Forget Me Not

Your eyes linger on the clump of small, unremarkable blue flowers. You run a hand through the leaves and flash me a quick smile. "Forget-me-nots have always been my favourite flower." You say with a touch of embarrassment. You have never really liked talking about personal things- things that define you, especially not flowers. It makes you feel vulnerable and you hate that feeling.

I smile at you indulgently. I am not interested in flowers, except for the fire-flowers Oromis-elda had made for the Agaetí Blödhren once, but I pretend to be interested because I don't want to hurt your feelings. Your dragon snorts a sarcastic comment with a puff of smoke that sets mine laughing as well. I ignore him. Thorn is a prick at the best of times. I tell that to you and you laugh that wonderful melodious laugh of yours, green eyes sparkling in amusement.

"Thorn is practically the other half of your soul, you know." You tell me, a smile touching the corners of your lips. "You shouldn't be so mean to him this often, Morzan."

I know that, but I also know Thorn doesn't care for it; we have verbal spars more often than there are sandstorms in the desert. But I didn't care what Thorn thought of me this time. All I want is to hear your laugh.

"Thorn! Faster!" I shout in my mind to make myself heard over the rushing wind. Thorn snaps something back with that overly sharp tongue of his, but I don't hear him. I am determined to win this race. Ahead of us, your dragon suddenly plummets and pulls up just before she hits the ground, shooting upwards sharply. She dives into a series of impressive aerobatic manoeuvres, her brilliant coppery-gold scales flashing in the sunlight. You whoop in joy, your voice carried to me by the wind. I bite back a smile, and urges my red nuisance of a dragon on even though I know we are going to lose.

Thorn pulls out a few tricks of his own, diving and somersaulting with a few forward and back flips, catching me by surprise. I yell out in shock and comes damn near to pissing my pants as I held on for dear life. Thorn pulls to a stop beside your dragon, and you smirk at me, the joy of roaming the skies evident in your eyes. "What, Morzan? Can't take a bit of fancy flying?" You say in a teasing voice. I glare at you playfully, trying to come up with a witty comeback, but as soon as the words comes to my mind your smile melts them right off my damned tongue, reducing me to a pathetic stuttering idiot.

"Oooh." Thorn mocks in his deep dragon voice. "My miserable excuse of a Rider has a cruuush!"

I scowl, slapping his fiery red scales. I doubt he even feels it, the bloody moron. "You can speak. Don't you think I don't notice the way you look at her dragon, you overfed gecko." I snap back at him.

I sense a muted wave of embarrassment from Thorn, which is basically the mental equivalent of a blush. A sudden wave of realisation washes over me. "Wait... You do like her?!"

Thorn growls deep in his throat. "Shut it, Shorty. Not one word. Not. One. Word."

I laugh hysterically, but no one hears me because my voice is swept away by the wind.

Brom, that stupid derpy kid, smiles at me as I carry my newly-made sword out of Rhunön's forge. The sunlight glances off its wine-red sheath, splashing the ground with red light. I feel accomplished as I strap the beautiful weapon to my back, like some part of me had returned after going on a bloody trip to the other side of the world. Brom's blue eyes widen in awe and admiration as he gazed upon the deadly object. "May I hold it?" he asks quietly, eyes lingering on the sheath. I hesitate a bit, but gives him the sword. After all, it doesn't hurt to be nice once in a while, even if he is a little creep who follows me everywhere. I just hope he doesn't hurt anything with that wickedly sharp edge, the klutz.

A few moments of wide-eyed staring later, Brom hands the sword back to me. I carefully put it back in the sheath, holding it like something very precious. "That thing is awesome!" he says with a grin. "What are you going to name it?"

I debate with myself mentally. "Zar'roc." I decide. Misery. All swords are made with one purpose: To wreak havoc and bloody murder upon the owner's enemies. This sword was no different, however beautiful it seemed to be. One day, it will be stained with blood.

Thorn makes degrading remarks about my over-sentimentality. I snark back at him halfheartedly. Brom looks up at me with shining eyes. "One day I'll get my own sword." he announces. "I'm going to call it Undbitr."

I lift up an eyebrow. "Why?" I ask, as I can see in his eyes he expected me to do. The kid shrugs. "It just sounds cool." he replied. I snorted. Damn kid has gotta grow up first, or Oromis will never trust him to go near a sharp object, let alone own a sword.

I race up the stairs to your temporary home in Helgrind, knocking on the door sharply when I get there. I am covered in Ra'zac filth and pieces of Lethrblaka skin, and I simply cannot bother to find myself an inn. It is in the middle of the night and I am tired.

"Who is it? State your name and business." comes a sleepy voice from inside. I sigh in exasperation.

"It's fucking Santa." I growl, too weary to be polite. "I don't really know what business I'm here for, but I'll fucking kick the bloody door down if you're not opening it." I sense Thorn making a 'tch' sound in my mind from his spot on the roof.

You open the door and peek at me, still half-asleep. I immediately regret my choice of words, but you don't seem to mind. Perhaps you just got used to me.

"You could have just said 'It's Morzan, the retard you grew up with'." you mutter at me, opening the door wider. "Why are you trailing filth on my carpet?"

I brush at my clothes self-consciously, suddenly wishing I'd taken the time to change. "I got sent on a job to get rid of some flying rats and their insect kids." I answer. "They couldn't spare any of the older Riders because of Galbatorix."

You look troubled, and I suddenly wish I hadn't brought up the subject. The shining Rider with his white dragon turned into a homicidal maniac by the death of his soul-partner, now intent on wiping out the Shur'tugal for a death not of our fault. Already a group of young Riders had fallen foul of him, and only one had made it back alive- without her dragon.

He used to be my best friend. His dragon was gentle and kind, and did not deserve the death dealt by the bloody war-hungry Urgals. But the world is a cruel place, as I had learnt in the wreck of a burning caravan, surrounded by the bodies of my family when I was five. Their screams still ring in my mind as I remembered the Urgals and their crude weapons when I hid in the caravan, too scared to come out. The Riders had arrived too late then.

I am afraid it is too late for the Riders now.

I do not know what happened. One moment we were flying, and your dragon was showing off with her acrobatics again, and the next she was falling. You hung limp in your saddle, and no matter how hard Thorn and I screamed with our minds, neither you nor your dragon would respond. We dive after you and Thorn's dragon magic lashes out, stopping you form crashing into the hills at the last second. You fall off your dragon's back (you always rode bareback, because your dragon's scales were smooth and would not wear holes in your pants. You were always too happy to tempt fate by risking your life in some way or another.)

I scramble off Thorn's back in a hurry and rush to your side, I shake you gently, but you would not wake up. I shook you harder, then I slap you lightly on the cheeks. I draw water from the air and splash on your face. But no matter what I try, you do not move so much as an inch. I do not check your pulse, or reach for your mind, for I am afraid of the answer I might get.

Thorn nuzzles your golden dragon like a puppy, whining softly. I could see he, too, did not want to risk checking for signs of life.

"Wake up" I say softly. You don't respond. I try again, with the same results. Finally, I grow impatient. "Wake up!" I cry out, shaking you hard by your shoulders. You stay still, eyes not opening, ears not hearing.

I try not to look, but I eventually couldn't help noticing you weren't breathing. I sink to my knees, holding your head in my lap. Thorn unleashes a howl of grief to the skies as I sit there, numb with shock.

No. This is just a dream. I'm having a nightmare, that's all. I think to myself. I kneel there for I don't know how long, cradling you in my arms, waiting for this terrible dream to end. But it never did.

I brush stray strands of raven hair from your face. I reach for your mind, but it wasn't there anymore. A tear slips down my cheek, then another. You've made me cry. I think, expecting you to wake up and laugh at me. This can't be real. It's just another one of your pranks, right? It has to be.

"You're crying." Thorn says dully, with none of his usual bite. His nose is buried under your dragon's jaw, and his wing is draped over her still-warm body.

"I..." I choke. "I... love you." Three simple words. The three simple words I've been waiting to say all my life, but now that I finally got my courage together to say it, it was too late. You don't hear me, and you never will again. I say it in the Ancient Language, and it makes no difference. Thorn doesn't even make fun of me now.

I sit there for what seemed like an eternity, stroking your face, until the other Riders arrive, drawn by Thorn's howl. It was a mistake, they explain. It was a trap meant for Galbatorix and his new black dragon, and they hadn't gotten around to telling the majority of the Riders yet. I wanted to feel angry, I wanted to hate them for doing this to us, but my emotions are numbed with shock and grief, some of it washing over from Thorn's side, and some of mine going over to Thorn.

As they take your limp body and that of your dragon's away, I reach for your mind one last time, hoping against hope this was just a trick. I don't find you, but I find the ghost of a thought.

Forget me not. Your mind whispers with a fading echo.

I clench my fists so tightly my nails draw blood as a wave of emotion swamps over me, drowning me with its depth and intensity. I vow to myself in the Ancient Language I would never forget, as long as my damaged heart kept beating.

The bastards will pay.

I wrote this because my friend bet I couldn't write soppy love stories...

I kinda did this on a dare. But anyways, I'd always been a Morzan fan (I don't know why), so I thought there must have been an excuse for him to join the Forsworn and commit random mass homicide (and mass dracocide) aside from the hunger for power. I am very good at making excuses, if I say so myself.

Besides, for those who were wondering, yes, the crush was a girl. Not a boy. Not that I'm homophobic, but I've read wayyy too many Morzan/Brom fics to be comfortable with Morzan being gay.