AN: handwavey magic ahead, I really can't remember how flexible the magic system was in Eragon, lol. This was sitting in pieces in my docs, ooops? Well, now it's a chapter, I'm also a bit busy over on ao3 with another fanfic. Don't worry, this will get updated! Just, needs some time.

Chapter 19 – the choices we make

Eragon | Vanir

"I'm going to look at the oath Galbatorix had you swear."

The guard, a tall wiry man whose name was Geralt, nodded. He was kneeling, his hands bound securely behind his back but not to the point that it would become painful. At least this much decency the elven guards allowed their prisoners.

Eragon closed his eyes in concentration. He righted his senses to his own mind at first, his protections in place. The bond was a bright golden stream leading to Vanir's consciousness, warm and ethereal and he had to remind himself what he was going to do to stop basking in the feeling of their connection.

He felt the shielded minds of the elven guards, the untrained mind of the woman outside the doors who couldn't be persuaded to go home. Eragon had politely but kindly told her to leave since he didn't want her to see if the magical bindings had hidden traps that would lash out at her husband if Eragon made a mistake. She shouldn't have to see that.

The guard's mind was untrained. It bore the traces of magic from swearing oaths in the old language though. Eragon felt bitter at seeing the way it snaked its way around certain thoughts, unknowing to the man who didn't know how much he was bound by the words he'd sworn even proudly to duke Asbjorn on initiation.

Duke Asbjorn in the memory looked at his new guards with a look of someone who knew some of what this meant, repeating these words in a language that was bound and woven to magic, that couldn't be broken no matter how much you tried. But it could be changed, Eragon noted. The exact wording wasn't an airtight net. It was made with the knowledge that these were simple men to become guards and foot soldiers, no higher rank among them. They were sworn to fight Galbatorix enemies, and to defend their home when necessary. They were sworn to uphold the laws of the land. Eragon had experience in the ways you could make mistakes if you mispronounced something or used the wrong word for something in the old language, so the oaths were similarly effective; they were simple. Not one word was too much, and in an abstract way, Eragon could marvel at the mastery of the old language to make so much out of so few words.

It would be hard to find the words to slowly unravel the net woven around these men. He had to look who had sworn the same oaths and who'd been made to swear additional oaths. But if he was allowed another day, at least, he could save them from a summary execution.

It would mean they would gain the city's favour, and one less ally for Galbatorix. Knowledge won by these soldiers would also mean they had one over the king.

Having gained sufficient knowledge on the guard's magical binding oaths, he retreated slowly and carefully, knowing his alien presence could harm the human mind. It wasn't the same as an elf's, but with Saphira's echo living through him, he couldn't say what effects it would have.

The man shuddered visibly, glancing warily at the indlvarn when he opened his eyes.

"It's possible, I think. The oath was more of a general slew of words, meant to prevent deserting and lawbreaking, or joining the enemy. As long as we can build around that, I think they will be fine." Eragon said in Vanir's general direction.

"Can you do that?"; Vanir asked. Could he? They hadn't much time, to be honest, and with time against them, Eragon wasn't sure of his ability to find the right words to counteract the sworn oaths of these men. He did say he would try everything. But what if his everything wasn't enough? He knew the elf wasn't questioning his ability. They both knew their time limit and the way things stood, with queen Izlandadí opposing Eragon's decision.

"Two minds are better than one," Eragon said, after having taken a moment to reflect on what he'd learnt. "It's not the first time I tried the impossible."

Vanir huffed in amusement.

Vanir had been lying on his stomach, the grass tickling his skin where his tunic was riding up slightly, his grip on the book broken only to bläätern another page. They'd been going through any and all kinds of knowledge about oaths in the ancient language they could get their hands on without access to an actual library. They'd asked around camp for the handful of books now strewn between them. His ears picked up a sound that hadn't been part of the ambience before. His forehead wrinkled in a frown as he listened. Silence for another moment. Then, "..!"

He turned his head. Eragon sat beside him, a fragile looking script in his hands. He had a peculiar expression on his face. Before Vanir could ask him about the sound, he saw Eragon's mouth open slightly before the sound returned once again.

Alarmed, Vanir sat up. He hadn't imagined it had he? There it was again and he watched Eragon's Adam's apple bob up and down, his lips open as a high pitched aborted sound escaped them.

He couldn't explain what was happening. Eragon didn't look in pain but he looked...embarrassed? Chagrined?

Vanir was befuddled, never having heard something like this. It seemed uncontrollable by the indlvarn to stop the sounds from the way he could feel the mounting frustration now through their bond, coupled with embarrassment.

"Eragon? Is everything alright?"

The indlvarn sighed. Another of these sounds escaped him. "I'm fine. I'm sorry if I disturbed you." His sentence was broken through by his gasps for air. They seemed to hinder his speech pattern. It could be a curse, he thought with growing concern. If it impaired his speech like that it was certainly something malicious.

"Are you sure? We can go to the healer," he offered.

Eragon seemed taken aback. "Why would I go to the healer?"

Another strangled sound.

"Your speech is hindered by whatever curse or illness you've somehow caught." Vanir said seriously.

For a moment, Eragon looked at him blankly. Then the words registered and Eragon… laughed. As if he weren't stuttering in his breathing every ten seconds!

Vanir blinked at the laughing indlvarn, the sound broken by his strange japsing that had Vanir recall every healing spell he knew.

Vanir didn't know what had been so funny. He was concerned for Eragon's health, he didn't want him to die if they underestimated their enemies, he would not appreciate Eragon's mirth. It incensed him that he felt nothing of his own worry over this condition in Eragon.

"What made you think I was cursed?"

Vanir gestured helplessly at Eragon, saying, "You're making this... sound."

As if on cue, Eragon made it again. Vanir gave him a look, as if to say, see what I mean? Please stop being selfless now and let me get you to a healer.

Eragon shrugged after realizing what Vanir meant, still without any care for possibly being cursed. "It's really nothing. Just hiccups."

"You mean to say this is normal?!"

"Uh, yeah? Wait, you didn't know? Are you saying you have never had the hiccups? And you thought I was dying?"

Vanir huffed. "You are chaos prone enough for me to need to worry over you wherever you go off alone. How should I know it's some strange human affliction?"

"Alright alright. Still… elves really don't get them?"

Eragon looked amused. And Vanir couldn't believe the last ten minute had been spent worrying over the man.

"Shut up," he said weakly, feeling stupid over his own reaction now. He shouldn't feel embarrassed. He'd been truly terrified.

"I apologize for laughing at you." Eragon said softly, laying the scripture in his hands carefully on the ground beside him. Arms snaked around Vanir's waist and drew him close, Eragon nuzzling his neck affectionately. Vanir leaned into the contact and felt Eragon's chest jump with every one of these hiccups still. It seemed to be a malfunction in his breathing pattern. Which made sense if it impaired his speech. Eragon had said it wasn't deadly or serious, so he decided not to overly worry about it.

"It's a silly human thing. We sometimes get the hiccups and then we have to wait until they go away." Eragon explained for his husband's benefit. He hiccuped again. Vanir, now no longer distracted by worry, felt oddly curious about this human phenomenon. His fingers splayed across Eragon's chest, as he tried to trace where it originated from.

Eragon laid one hand above the hand touching his chest, nudging it to a position a bit lower, between his chest and stomach.

"Thanks to Oromis, I know a lot more of the inside of our bodies than I'd prefer. The muscle here, I think, it's connected to our breath. Sometimes it just gets irritated and that makes it spasm which… translates to hiccups. It will resolve itself. So you see. Not a curse at all, just silly human quirks." Eragon said and Vanir heard the smile in his last sentence.

He let his own hand fall away. "Humans are just weird."

Eragon huffed. "The same with you elves. There's no reason why you shouldn't be blessed with weird quirks like that, but no. You're simply perfect all around"

He hiccuped right after that sentence and Vanir looked at him in sympathy. It wasn't life threatening or anything, but it looked annoying.

"How long does it last?" He asked.

Eragon looked on in thought. "It should go away in another minute or so. I hope. I never had them for long. Roran would try to scare me as a kid to make me forget my hiccups."

"And that helped?"

"...no. But he tried his best."

Even with their races' close resemblance, humans were so different, Vanir thought.

"Elves are far from perfect," he said. "If we aren't careful we forget the rest of the world around us. Eternity can be but a moment to us."

Eragon gave a hum, not commenting on his words further. They stayed like this, Vanir sitting between Eragon's legs leaned against his chest, taking another book to continue their research. They hadn't found much yet, but Vanir hoped for Eragon's sake more than his that they would succeed in helping these men.

Eragon's words were proven true, Vanir realizing eventually that the chest behind him was calmly rising and falling with every breath, no longer the irregular rhythm of Eragon's hiccuping. He leaned up to meet twinkling brown eyes. The indlvarn in turn leaned down, angling his head to meet his lips in a soft kiss.

Their time limit meant they couldn't check their solution for mistakes, but Eragon was sure of it, at least of it not killing the guards. He'd needed to create a long passage in the old language and it would still haven't worked without Vanir's idea to use calathan. Since magic in the elven language was centred purely on intention, different in ways Eragon didn't yet grasp, it would be used to make them swear oaths against violence that could be undone after they'd defeated Galbatorix. Eragon hadn't liked to force them into becoming pacifists, but was soothed by knowing it would be temporary. It could only be undone by someone who spoke calathan as well, but it could be undone and that was all Eragon wanted.

He was back in the same room with Geralt, the city guard whose wife had begged him for help. This time, the other prisoners had been brought in as well. They all held similar ranks, half of them he recognized having sworn their fealty to duke Asbjorn at the same time as Geralt, or later when the man had attended the ceremony.

Geralt was the first to agree to the deal. Others were more suspicious than him. Those who agreed did so mostly for family, children, a spouse they didn't want to leave behind. Those who refused to lay down their weapons knowing the vulnerable state they would be in by his counterspell to their oath he realized, were regarding him with open disgust in their eyes. He knew the empire was made of people who thought Galbatorix' reign as a good thing, but it was different to hear about it and see these people openly believing their decision to follow Galbatorix as the right one.

In the end, it was down to twenty four who agreed to have him weave the spell into the oath they'd worn to Galbatorix. It was more than those who refused, he reminded himself. It was more lives saved simply because they hadn't given up on them. It was still not enough, he thought.

He left the fortress behind later that day, exhausted from the spellwork needed of him, with mixed feelings. Queen Izlandadí, after an explanation from Vanir on the new oaths these men had been sworn to, had relented and let those who were now harmless go. Geralt's wife and another woman with a small toddler on her back had been the first to approach him to thank him. They'd held no fear after seeing what he'd done. He didn't think he deserved as much thanks, but the women had looked at him like they hadn't dared to hope, so he'd mutely accepted their thanks and swiftly retreated from the city the moment people had stopped thanking him. Eragon was ready to leave this city and its occupants behind.