AN: I'm back! Finally! I really do apologize about the long wait. I was also going to wait until the first of August to post this, but then I figured that it had been long enough. I hope to have Chapter 15 up on September 1st, but I can't really make any promises right now. I am currently looking for a new job, am about to move, and my best friend's mother is terminal. Unfortunately, by the time September rolls around, I probably won't be in a writing mood. As of current, I'm trying to get all of my scheduled posts on my blog written ahead of time for the next two months—and sadly my blog comes before fanfiction. As such, you guys might not get the next chapter until sometime around October.

Additionally, I've been having a lot of health problems of my own as well, but hey, at least I'm finally done with school. I am really happy to be back though. I had almost forgotten how much fun writing this is. So hopefully I'll be able to keep it up. Anyway, enjoy!

Chapter 14: No One

The familiar crick in his back from sleeping on something hard greeted him as he awoke. His limbs felt stiff and sore, and the obnoxious light streaming in through the window did nothing to lessen his headache. He sat up straight with a jolt, but a wave of dizziness sent him crashing right back down. Too often he managed to fall asleep in the most terrible of positions. He willed himself to move, to at least stagger down the hallway toward his bed, but his body didn't care to listen.

"If you had gone to sleep last night," said a pounding voice to his right, "instead of staying up reading, that spell wouldn't have knocked you out."

Morzan threw his arms over his head, attempting to block out the light. "You're enjoying this, aren't you, Brom?"

"It gives me a certain satisfaction."

He could all but imagine the man's grin on his insipid, wrinkled face. Had Morzan's head not hurt so much, he might have even mustered enough effort to feel offended. But the exhaustion, the pain, and the unease at being alone in the other's presence, and in such a weakened state no less, were too overwhelming. Morzan didn't think he could handle much more.

"What happened?" he finally rasped out.

"The city watch came," Brom said. "Looking for an elf matching your description."

Why did everyone have to call him an elf? "I meant afterward, when I was—"

"Unconscious?"

Morzan turned to glare at the other. He found Brom sitting in a chair by the door, with the book he and Eragon had been reading from earlier resting in his lap. "Yes, exactly," he spat.

Brom raised an eyebrow. "You always were cranky after sleeping poorly."

Morzan rolled over onto his stomach. Then, on shaky arms, he pushed himself into a sitting position. Brom watched his struggle silently, expressionlessly. Once Morzan felt secure in his new position, he snarled, "you're an ass, you know that? All you have to do is answer the question."

"Indeed," Brom said. "But first, we need to talk."

"We've needed to talk since we met."

"About Eragon," Brom continued. He tossed the book down in front of Morzan. It slammed against the floor, sending up a puff of dust and causing another sharp sting to shoot through Morzan's skull. Against his will, he found himself flinching away. "So long as you're with us," Brom went on, "I can't stop you two from interacting with each other, but I will not have you conspiring against me with him as your unwitting ally."

"What can I say?" Morzan shrugged. "You're easy to conspire against."

"This situation can still get worse for you," Brom said, unrelenting.

"Eragon already knows who I am," Morzan snapped. "He probably knows more about me than I do. I might be a murderer, traitor, and all those other insults you throw my way, but at least I'm not a self-righteous, paranoid old man who keeps secrets to no purpose." Secrets that weren't even Brom's. If Morzan was entitled to anything, it was to his own history. "You have no one to blame but yourself. Eragon trusts me. At least I don't lie to him."

Brom's eyes narrowed, and he stared at him for a good long moment. Then, "The conspiring ends today."

"Or what?!" Morzan gave him the most spiteful sneer he could muster. Given his current condition, he probably didn't look anywhere near as vicious as he'd hoped, but it would have to do. "What can you possibly do to me?" he asked. "How can you make my situation any worse than it already is? I have nothing but my name, and that's worth shit for all the good it's done me."

Brom frowned, and for a second, he looked almost angry, but he did nothing to stop Morzan's tangent. Nor did he move as Morzan struggled to his feet.

"I'm nothing right now," Morzan all but shouted in the other's face. "I don't have my memories, I don't have my dragon. I don't even remember where I was born, or what my parents look like. Or even if I have parents. All I had was Daret. And Trevor, and Dilwen, and Dal, and all the others. They were the closest I had to a family and you took me away from them!" His legs nearly collapsed from underneath him, and he had to lean against the wall for support.

Brom still said nothing. Morzan could only wonder at what could possibly be going on through his head. More secrets perhaps. The man was nothing if not filled with secrets. Secrets he had no right to keep.

And now, he also had the audacity to tell Morzan—to accuse him of a conspiracy, when all he and Eragon had done together was read. Maybe it had been Morzan's idea to eavesdrop on Brom's conversation with Jeod, and he had attempted to exploit Eragon's distrust in the man, but that was beside the point.

Eragon was the only person around Morzan could even remotely sympathize with, and he'd be damned if Brom was going to take that away from him too.

"When I left with you," Morzan continued, "I thought… I thought that you would have all my answers, but you don't tell me anything. You call me a horrible person, but you won't tell me why. It's not because I joined Galbatorix and betrayed the order. I know it's not that, because it's something I did to you personally. I can see it in the way to talk to me, about me. Why won't you just tell me what I did?!" His face was wet, but he couldn't stop now. He didn't think he could stop even if he wanted to.

His head was pounding, and the light was still too bright. He could hardly keep himself on his own two feet—and his head still wouldn't stop that insufferable pounding.

And all the while, Brom said nothing.

"You came to Daret, and you took me away. You stole me from what life I had, and you gave me nothing back." His voice broke. "I don't even know myself. I'm not a person if I can't be me. How can I be if I don't have an identity? I know that I can't sleep at night because I have nightmares. I know that you hate me. That Trevor idolizes me. But worst of all, I think I hate myself, and I don't even know why I feel this way." His self-hatred only intensified after remembering the man he'd almost murdered back in the alley; he couldn't get his pleading face out of his thoughts.

He slid down the wall until his was sitting again, with his knees pressed up against his chest. It was a wonder that Brom could even understand a broken word he said.

But his head, the pain just wouldn't go away. It kept pulsing, and it was all Morzan could do to not vomit. He was exhausted, and the situation just kept worsening no matter what he did. First the Ra'zac had been looking for him. Then, Brom had found him. Now, on top of everything else, the arguments, the resentment, the almost-murder, Brom was trying to take something else from him.

His chest constricted, his arms shook, and slowly his fingers and toes started tingling. His face felt cold, and he could hardly breathe.

"Then you just sit there and you don't do anything!" he managed to gasp out. "Say something!"

But Brom didn't. Morzan's outburst didn't seem to affect him in the slightest.

"Well?" Morzan prompted. "What are you waiting for? Call me some generic insult that means nothing to me."

More silence.

"Hit me," Morzan tried. "You had not trouble doing it before."

Still nothing. The man was as still as a statue and Morzan was spent. He gave himself over to wracking sobs, completely helpless to stop himself. Every negative emotion he had came bubbling up to the surface, and more than ever, he wanted to go running to Trevor or Dilwen or anyone else from Daret. He'd even take Aled. But Daret was leagues away, and at this point Morzan would do anything to be back there and out of Brom's sight. At least in Daret, he had people who cared about him. At least he had never almost murdered someone there.

When it came to Brom, nothing he did made a difference. The man wouldn't budge, wouldn't relent on any issue. It probably didn't matter that Morzan could have turned both Brom and Eragon over to the guard he'd encountered, that he could have ended their quest to find the Ra'zac the minute they entered Teirm. That he could be on his way to Galbatorix right now. Morzan couldn't even begin to fathom what he must have done for Brom to see him as such as monster.

"Are you quite done?" Brom broke through his thoughts.

"I hate you," Morzan choked out. "I hate you so much."

Nothing more was said after that. Brom just continued to watch him sob and exhaust himself even more. And his headache just kept pounding behind his eyes, so strong that the room seemed to spin. He went on this way for minutes—hours, maybe. He couldn't tell. His sense of time had all but diminished by the time he finally started to calm down. The sun, however, had hardly changed its position outside the window, so he supposed it hadn't been that long.

Pathetic. He was pathetic, to have lost so much control over himself, to have displayed such weakness in front of somebody like Brom. He was a weak, powerless, and at the other's mercy. He was pathetic. Brom could do whatever he wanted to him, and Morzan would be helpless to stop him. Brom could hurt him—kill him even. Morzan knew he wanted to, yet the man still did nothing.

Finally, after what seemed like an eternity. Brom stood up and came to kneel down in front of him. He grabbed Morzan's chin and forced him to look him in the eye. It wasn't a bruising grip, but it was still strong enough that Morzan couldn't turn away.

"Your name," Brom said slowly, deliberately, "is the most important part of your identity, the most intrinsic."

His voice was harsh, but his eyes were shining, as though he was holding back his own tears. That couldn't be the reason, though. Because what reason would Brom have to cry?

"Someday, Morzan, you will understand that, and when you do, you will understand true agony. But until you do know the truth, if I ever again hear you say one more time that your name means nothing, I will hit you."

Then he got up and left the room, slamming the door behind him and leaving Morzan alone to his thoughts.

The sun had set by the time Morzan wandered from the room, still mulling Brom's words over and over again in his head. For the life of him, he couldn't figure out what the man had meant, or how his name could be that important. It certainly wasn't important enough for Brom or Trevor to stop calling him "Morgan" in public. This just had to be one more secret that Brom was unwilling to share, and Morzan couldn't tell if Brom actually thought he was protecting him from something. Much more likely, Brom was going to savor whatever internal pain he thought knowing the truth would inevitably cause Morzan.

You will understand true agony.

He repeated those words over and over again, and no matter how hard he tried, he couldn't stop thinking about them. On top of that, he was hungry and still so tired. Too hungry to go to sleep, but too embarrassed over his tantrum and upset to risk running into Brom on his way to the kitchen. Not sure where to go, he stood in the hall, clutching the book Brom had left back in the room with shaky hands. His headache had dulled down, but it was still a constant throb threatening to come back full force.

He still didn't know what had happened after the guards had left. And to think, that if he had just kept his mouth shut, had not given into such childish behavior, Brom would have more than likely told him. He probably would have told him more than that. The man had been all set to finally tell both him and Eragon something before the raid had interrupted him. Morzan suspected that now he would never know what Brom had been about to say—or at least he wouldn't for a long while.

"Morgan?"

Morzan—or Morgan, he supposed; whichever name he went by really didn't matter at this point. He turned to find Eragon standing behind him. "What do you want?" He didn't want to deal with the Rider right now. He didn't want to deal with anyone. However, his tone didn't seem to dissuade the other in the slightest.

"To see how you were doing," Eragon said. "You sounded upset earlier."

Morzan stiffened. "You heard?"

"We all heard." Eragon shrugged. "You were really loud."

Morzan nodded as calmly as possible, though on the inside, his emotions were still a swirling mess. It was one thing to lose control of himself in front of Brom or Eragon, even if he didn't like it, but it was something else entirely for people so far beneath him, like Jeod and Helen, to whiteness him in such a weakened state.

"You all heard?" he said slowly.

Eragon nodded. "I'd be upset too, if I were you. Are you feeling better at least?"

"Do I look like I'm feeling better," Morzan practically snarled.

Eragon did seem taken aback that time, and Morzan inwardly cursed himself. Right now, Eragon was the closest—and only—person he had to a friend, and it wouldn't do to drive him away.

"I-I'm sorry," Morzan quickly tried to amend. "I didn't mean—" And just like that, his tears were back. Something was wrong with him, something had to be for him to act like this. Morzan's memory was admittedly rather short, but he couldn't remember ever feeling this upset before.

"Here," Eragon said. Then, before Morzan knew it, the boy had grabbed him by the hand and was leading him down the hallway. Inside the room at the end, Morzan could see some of the damage the house had suffered in the raid. The bed lay flipped over, and the dresser was on its side. Nothing in the room looked untouched.

"Is the whole house like this?" Morzan asked.

"Just about," Eragon responded. "You might want to avoid Jeod and Helen for a while." He pulled open the window shutters. "Unfortunately, the whole city's looking for you right now, so until you can turn invisible again without passing out"—Morzan felt his face heat up, but at least he no longer felt like crying anymore—"you also can't be out in the streets either." Eragon pushed himself up onto the sill and swung his legs over. "Come on then."

"I thought you just said—"

"It leads to the backyard," Eragon explained. "Hopefully no one will see us."

Hopefully? Whatever Eragon planned didn't seem all that thought out. "By 'no one'," Morzan said, "I assume you mean Brom and not the city watch."

At Eragon's grin, Morzan tossed the book to the floor joined him up on the sill. Vines covered the outside of Jeod's house, and using them and the deep groves between the stones making up the outside wall, Morzan readied himself for the downward climb. The house was only two stories tall, but right now, it seemed a lot higher. Regardless, Morzan wasn't all that bothered by it. He supposed that as a Dragon Rider, he was probably used to impossible heights. Two stories had to be nothing.

"What's in the backyard?" he asked. The stables were back here, and he could see Murtagh tied up with the other horses, but other than that, there wasn't anything.

"Nothing," Eragon said as they reached the ground. "But we can go to the apothecary from back here."

Morzan frowned. "I don't think its owner wants to see me right now either." Considering the condition the guards had left Jeod's house in, Morzan suspected that Angela's shop hadn't fared much better. The woman was probably furious with him too.

"You'd be surprised," Eragon said. "I went to see her while you were sleeping."

"You did."

"I didn't want to stay at Jeod's. Everyone was just so angry," he said. "I know I should have stayed to help clean up—I could probably fix plenty of broken things with magic—it's just that, I needed to go out for a bit."

Morzan nodded.

"Angela asked about you," Eragon said as they reached the ground.

He snapped his head up. "What did she say?"

"That she wanted to see you," Eragon responded. "She's really something else."

They slunk around the house, ducking under windows in the process, until they reached the apothecary. Its backdoor lay wide open, and an odd cat sat at the entrance, staring at them. It stood up a moment later and padded its way into the shop. Together, Morzan and Eragon followed after it. Inside, Angela stood among turned over tables and broken vials. She swept some of the debris around with her broom, but she didn't look to be making much progress in the cleaning. The shop was a disaster. Morzan couldn't see one item that wasn't damaged in some way.

Unwelcome guilt bubbled up inside him. This was all his fault after all. If he hadn't gotten lost, if he had remembered to keep his hood up, if he had found somebody else—anybody else—to ask for directions, none of this would have happened.

And worst of all, he highly doubted that the guards wouldn't eventually be back with more questions for both Jeod and Angela.

The cat made its way to Angela's side, and both she and the creature stared at each other for a long moment. Then, she looked up at both him and Eragon.

"Ah," she said, smiling. "The boy who looks like an elf." She leaned against her broom, taking a long look at him. Her gaze wasn't intimidating or invasive, and Morzan was a little surprised that she didn't seem shocked at his physical appearance. He had forgotten his hood again. Not even Eragon had reminded him to bring it.

Although, he supposed at this point, it didn't matter. She and Eragon had obviously talked about him earlier, and Morzan had to wonder who this woman was that Eragon seemed to trust her so much.

"The next time you tell the guards you're coming to see me," Angela said, "you better come see me. Otherwise, you're a liar."

Morzan slowly nodded.

Angela then turned on her heel and left the two of them alone with the cat, which sat staring at him with haunting eyes. Uncomfortable, Morzan shrank away from the gaze. When Angela returned, it was with a second broom. She shoved one into each of their hands.

"Don't look at me like that," she said. "This is, after all, your fault, Morzan."

Morzan sputtered, shocked. He turned to Eragon. "You told her?"

"She knew," Eragon said. "She knew who you were the minute she saw us knocking on Jeod's door."

When Eragon had said that she asked about him earlier, he had assumed that Eragon had only mentioned him in passing, as the odd-looking boy called "Morgan". He didn't even consider that she would have known his real identity as well.

"You can talk as you clean," Angela demanded. "Come on. You both have magic. Let's get to it. Afterwards, I want to know your opinion on frogs and toads."