This isn't my first story on the site, but it is my first Eragon story. The way Morzan is always portrayed as completely and utterly as evil as the King himself always bothered me. I don't really know why, but it did. This is what I think Morzan was really more like. If anyone sees any type of grammar or spelling mistake that they really think isn't right, please mention it in a review. Though please keep in mind, I write in a way that can described as almost backwards in some cases, so many of the sentences defy the laws of English grammar. Other than those notes, please read and enjoy my story!
~The-Camster
The Freedom in Death
If people were to talk of him, he was the leader of the Forsworn, an evil man, Galbatorix's wolf. Of course saying he was a wolf would insinuate that he actually had a will of his own, but 'Galbatorix's pet dog' would be more accurate.
He killed, slaughtered, and spread a horrible cloud of destruction on the land of Algaesia. His crimes were piled so high the gods would easily be able to stand upon them. The people he had killed, those families that had been left behind, were so numerous he would come to the end of his so-called 'immortal life' by the time he could finish counting them.
His name was Morzan, dragon rider of the Forsworn, wielder of the crimson blade Misery. His life was one of a truly horrible man. He was whispered of in the streets with fear, anger, and those desperate wails of the people he had taken something from. Homes, lovers, siblings, parents– it didn't matter he had taken something from just about everyone in Algaesia. He was the spreader of grief, death, and destruction.
At first he was held under the evil tongue of a snake of a man, one with a grand and alluring story of a new order, one more full of justice than the corrupted body there then had existed. That tongue had twisted the words to make the distrustful intent hidden. The trick had worked on the mind full of youthful rebellion and arrogance; it had played him good and well in its quest for power.
Then that tongue had gotten his Name. The one that allowed anyone power over him and his partner. This manipulative creature had found his doubt in that which he had helped with. The killing, oh the killing, there was too much. It wasn't justice, or peace, it wasn't what the tongue had promised him so long ago, yet so recently. The Name gave his will to the speaker. He was now under those bonds of unwilling self-sacrifice to a cause he no longer wanted to fight, to kill, for.
The curse and the blessing came later, in the form of such a beautiful face. So stubborn and strong, willful and prideful, those gorgeous eyes had captured his. Such a thing was that which kept his sanity and protection. Then the hands grasped the blessing and turned it into a curse for everyone. The unwilling Selena, his Selena, had become that which allowed the Kind absolute power over him.
It was kill those he was told to kill or that which held him stronger than the King would be killed in turn, at his hands, under the bond of the Name. Such a blessing those eyes, but a curse on the world for the pain her safety made him put upon everyone.
The fulfillment of the control came in the form of a small bundle and screams in the middle of the night. The face of the baby came as a surprise to no one. Those dark locks that lengthened as the son grew older and the features that developed over time were that of the father. The King had yet another hook in his heart. Such chains were not easily overcome until death, but even then the suffering would not be ceased. They would die when Galbatorix had no more such use of them. If they die precede him in death the insanity would leave evermore lost to those words of the King.
The pressure of the Kind and the drinks had made him such a puppet that night. His son nearly on the deathbed, caused by his drunken state of mind, taken over by the King. The scar and brand forevermore upon the son's back as a sign of a father's 'love'. So much the better if the pain turned to hatred for him. The son could not love the father and stay out of Galbatorix's hold. He must come to hate the parent or the hook would transfer to the offspring.
One hook, along with a third his heart, was ripped away. The beautiful and enchanting eyes had gone dark and dull. The crying son left now along with his horrid father and an evil King. The father and husband, respectively, of each, now slightly less sane, now had less to keep the cries of the dying from consuming him in his grief. Such a hole was the King to slip through. Morzan was truly starting to disappear.
The son hated him. He had succeeded on that goal. So much had gone wrong, but now the King could have no hold on the child through the parents. The loving one gone, passed away, with the apparently evil and harmful, hating, one left. Such resentment and hatred of him saved Murtagh. For such love would only allow Galbatorix a hook in the heart of the child.
The swords clashed silver and red. Good and evil. Forming peers, they fought in a deadly match of skills. The lessons were long over, but the sparing matches had only gotten longer. Sadness in one's eyes, while desperation and forced rage boiled in another's.
Brom and Morzan, they both knew only one could, would, come out of this one alive. One had a son still, the mother dead, grief still a wound that bled freely to those he showed, no one able to see it. The son that hated him, to save him, the hatred saved. Irony in the truth hurts those alive to suffer for it.
The sparks and fire raged around the two caught in such a deadly dance. The battle went on and on, neither failing nor succeeding, only fighting. Snakes twisted and turned in the hands of each opponent those straight pieces of metals came around and flew, than back again together. Always swinging, slashing, at one another.
Yet again, talk went through, back and forth, back and forth. The eyes told what the mouth was not being let say. The pain of one told the other the unwillingness of the soul, while the hand said who really had to win. The good had to overcome the bad. Release the pain one said to the other in a desperate plea. Former friends in life and still as so in soul, Brom and Morzan fought, one begging for death and the other trying to give what had to be forced into the arms of the other.
The fury of the King showed through in the actions. The slightest bit of extra tension showed the fight of the owned, saying stop, STOP, go the other way arms. Into one's own chest, End the suffering, the killing, that was being afflicted upon everything else. The eyes and heart told the pained story of the one called Morzan.
As the last breath of life and grief started to leave the tortured body of the unwillingly betrayer, the holiest of the evils, and the chained and beaten wolf of Galbatorix, the now free lips said the free words. Bonds released by the coming of sweet death, the dying, but free man said his own words in many decades of his bloodied hands killing those not deserving of the death.
"I'm sorry, so sorry. I killed so many while awake, I must sleep to not kill. No more to suffer."
Tears now able to be released by Morzan's now free eyes fell down the cheeks, trickled down to earth in a steady stream. They were for Selena, his love caught in his binds and cut away with the same release. They were for his son, that soul directing hatred his way for reason beyond the child's own eyes, to save and stay free; the hatred was necessary. They were for those he had killed, those he had made suffer. The countless common peoples, soldiers, dragon riders, and dragons, all killed. All killed and their blood spilled upon the ground. Such tears that fell.
"I'm sorry. You don't have to tell good stories of me, do not in fact tell any that cause sympathy for me, friend of the soul. Brom the Bard and Storyteller," a slight chuckle as the once blocked memories of happy training days came to mind. "Tell them of the evils I committed in the Kin's name. Say it was willing, their hatred for me will bring Galbatorix down."
Those blue eyes that he could still remember young and bright, now sagged a bit as they stared down at him with the knowledge only gained by pain. , from their perch above him, held there by the knees kneeling weakly on the blood stained ground next to him. They held hatred and grief long suffered at the betrayal of the man in front of him on the ground. Such pain for and caused by him. The sadness in the gaze was more forgiving than anything else. They were sad for and because of him.
"I'm sorry, just know that, Brom. No forgiveness is needed from anyone, least of all you, but just know, just know, I'm sorry. So sorry." The words were mumbled through the lips that grew heavier and dribbled the blood that seemed black in the gloom of the night and light of the torches around them.
As the sight dulled and he felt his body cool, Morzan heard all he needed to hear to completely fade away as himself. To die as Morzan. Not as leader of the Forsworn, not as the betrayer, not as an evil man, and not as Galbatorix's dog.
As Morzan he heard and died as he. Morzan died to the only words that could save his soul.
"I forgive you. No one else probably ever will, but I forgive you."
There are many ways to control someone. The simplest is in the name, but if you truly want to have power over another being, capture their heart. Chain them in their grief.
I hope it was, if not enjoyable, a good read! Thanks for reading, and please comment. I try and reply to them all.
~The-Camster