TW: Discussion of a brutal death, non-graphic. Brief, low-violence domestic abuse and intimidation/implication of the same. Stay safe, folks. 3
Though I've scarcely had any extended leisure in my life, I was occasionally free enough to read. I mention this to say that, in my experiences, tales of "treasuries," are often misunderstood and exaggerated. Most lords' wealth lay in their lands: the goods they produced and the taxes they collected. Realistically, a treasury was no more than a storeroom of valuable goods (silks, spices, seeds, emergency grain, and perhaps a small chest of gold). Even the highest-ranking nobleman (the ruling lords of various cities come to mind), were only as powerful as they were useful. Misers sitting upon heaps of gold coins and gems are the image of folk tales, most of which were conjured by starving peasants and told to villainize the upper class.
Deservedly so... but that is another matter entirely.
All this to say that the treasury of Uru'baen was the exception to this rule. Beyond merely housing a horde of riches to make even those exaggerated tyrants blush, it also stored many of the artifacts accumulated throughout the ages. Before the fall, Illirea had been the center of culture for thousands of years; a cosmopolitan utopia. This extended to art, science, and above all else: magic. After Galbatorix's coup, it also held many of the objects he'd scavenged from the Rider's bastions. This one room contained more of human history than any other place in the civilized world.
The treasury also served one more crucial function; it was a retreat for poor Shruikan.
Katana buzzed with excitement. He's been even quieter than usual lately. I'm glad for a chance to see him, even if it is only through your eyes.
I rolled them and giggled. We spend most of our time in the same building. Can't you reach out with your thoughts?
It's troublesome reaching through the whole palace. And, the one time I tried, he ignored me. As flippant as she tried to sound, I could tell she was hurt.
An interrupted tangent from the other day reemerged. Have you two mended whatever quarrel you had?
It was less, "quarrel," and more, "mutual trauma." Her thoughts turned grey as cooled ash. Our courtship was an ugly thing for him. I thought touching my mind would bring back unpleasant memories, so I stayed away from him out of respect.
Yet another hardship you bore unassisted.
I had little choice.
As had become our pattern, I accepted her rebuke without complaint. The more I learn about you, the more honored I am to be your partner.
Good. Just feeling the rush of warmth from Katana added strength and purpose to my steps. Have you put thought into which blade you're looking for?
I'll have to see them first. The only specific sword I would have wanted was most likely disintegrated along with its wielder… somewhere in the tunnels beneath this very citadel. Should I only examine dark blue blades?
It seems silly to match a color palette no one but you will ever see. What business is it of anyone else's what color scales I had? Choose the blade that fits you best.
We spent the rest of my walk debating the subject. Katana insisted that I would do better to forget swords and acquire proper claws of my own, where I was certain something light, narrow, and of middling length would best suit my style. We reached the pair of gargantuan stone doors well before Torix or Idril, so we had plenty of time to run through all the pros and cons of every weapon that held an edge. What if I find a katana?
Don't you dare! It's bad enough that you named me after an object, I don't need you owning one! If she'd been corporeal and not confined to her mind, I'm sure she would've blown smoke in my face.
I'm sorry! I laughed and leaned against the wall. Her name had come about by pure chance; by the time she was old enough to understand its origin (and take umbrage with it) the moniker had already stuck. I just thought the letters sounded pretty together. I never intended to offend!
I know. If you had, I would have found a new name for myself.
Shadowstalker or some such thing, no doubt-
I'm still partial to Whisperdeath.
We passed the rest of our wait in comfortable banter, meandering through years' worth of wasted time. Only a fool ever truly relaxed in Uru'baen, but exchanging petty (and, often barbed) riddles with Katana was as close to peace as I was likely to get. A warning label too faint to read, deadly poison in the air you breathe-
If it isn't Idril, it ought to be. A distant jingling in my physical ears permeated to my mental audience. It seems I've invoked the demon.
She was coming whether we mentioned her or not, but I'd hoped Galbatorix would arrive first. Dozens of jangling brass bells neared our position at a crawl, though they're source was still out of sight. The nearer they came, the more sounds I found mixing in with their cacophony: tinkling chimes, clanging clappers, and the unmistakable scrape of scales and claws on stone.
Idril skipped into view ahead of her dragon but paused for them to catch up.
A mass of light-teal scales and interwoven chains rounded the bend. Their eyes were milky and stared into space; hollow as glass ornaments. Their body was thin for their age and size as if they hadn't gotten a satisfactory meal in many years. Their long neck and entire chest was covered in ornaments; the source of the otherworldly clamor. That decoration served to warn those around this dragon of their identity rather than to embellish their looks. Idril's partner had not been in their right mind at the beginning of the war.
In unison too perfect to be incidental, Idril and her partner turned all four of their eyes on me. Even knowing that the dragon could only see through their rider's view, I still found the combined effect of their gazes impossible to escape. Idril took advantage of my frozen state and marched up to me, tiny feet bare and yet somehow still silent on the stone floor. She leaned forward and I tensed, unsure if I should fight or flee. She whispered, "Do you want to know a secret?"
I shook my head.
She shrugged. "Neither did I, but I was there and no one else knows. I guess it's a secret now. But, if I tell you, it won't be anymore." She slid a wrapped sweet from her sleeve and stuck it, wrapper and all, into her mouth. "Until one of us dies."
"Keep it."
"Don't want to." She spat the wad of paper onto the floor. "I know who killed Xanist."
Hearing his name from her mouth was surreal as a nightmare. I tried to chuckle, much like Torix would when he was humoring her. "Everyone knows that." I'd long since settled in my mind that Xanist's death was, in some convoluted way, Galbatorix's fault. Every miserable thing in my life linked back to that truth; the particulars mattered little.
"No, they don't. Eltereth was the only one I ever told, and she killed herself right after."
A sudden bout of lightheadedness nearly knocked me over. "You were there… you were with her when she…?"
"It was my idea." Idril's dragon snaked forward a few roving steps, grinding part of their harness against the wall. They cocked their head to the sound, then retreated a few steps to repeat the motion. Smoke curled from the end of their scarred snout. "Torix's oaths aren't as good as he thinks they are. He's actually kind of stupid sometimes."
I indulged in a brief fantasy of punching this little hellspawn straight into the next life. But I could only say, "I was sad when I heard she was gone."
"Then you're stupid too. She wanted to die for a long time, I just helped her find a way." Idril quirked her head like a caterpillar seeking out the next leaf to decimate. "Xanist was the same."
"You're saying he took his own life?" That was impossible. How many times had he been the one pulling me out of my darkness… could he really have been suffering through his own? Gods, I'm letting this parasite lay eggs in my brain! I need to focus-
"No. I'm saying that he wanted to." I knew that Torix would have smiled; he was a sadistic creep who lived for the game. But Idril only blinked in her perfect, doll-like stillness as she said, "I helped him."
She killed Xanist. The revelation was a brutal blow. I'd allowed myself to accept the version of events Amroth had presented: they'd met resistance, Xanist had been left for dead… but this spoke of something fouler still. My imagination was already working overtime conjuring horror after horror, so I surrendered to the dreadful curiosity. "What did you do, Idril?"
"Paralyzed him." Her response was as shallow and cold as the sliver of ice in the hollow of a tree. For good measure, she added, "Like Torix asked me to. He probably didn't survive long enough to burn. Amroth set one of the charges right above him."
Numb disorientation pulsed in my head. The sudden absence of feeling was worse than any pain; like a part of me had been permanently snuffed out. Murder. The motive couldn't be any plainer; Torix had fully confessed to it that afternoon so many years ago…
Xanist asked him, "And the rest?" They'd been speaking of the remaining riders, but even I knew the connotation: what would happen to those who resisted Galbatorix's vision for the new world?
"Will burn." The simple, ruthless, delight in that proclamation defined that man.
I stuttered back to the present as all-too-familiar clicking steps entered the hall. The teal dragon whipped their head to the side, cocking this way and that to properly measure the echo. Idril, apparently done with me for the time being, walked backward and plopped onto the dragon's foot.
I bowed to my blood donor; my real father's murderer. If I could have killed with a glare alone, the ground would have split and swallowed us all. His voice- that same perfect voice!- dragged me from my revenge fantasies. "I haven't long to waste on this. Let it be done." I did not miss how his eyes lingered with satisfaction on the chain around my neck, the pendant stashed away but weighing heavier than ever before.
He parted the wards around the doors exactly enough for the four of us to pass through. He led the way, sweeping into the massive vault like it was just an extension of his rooms. I followed close behind, purely from a desire to put some distance between me and Idril. Her dragon obediently slid their feet forward in awkward, shuffling steps so she didn't have to put in any effort herself.
One sight utterly dominated the room.
A wall of darkness, steep as the sheerest cliff and blacker than the tunnels beneath Tronjheim, halted any view past the first few yards of the chamber. The only hint of its real form was in the steady grating of plate-like scales as the body beneath breathed out a hot, sulfurous wall of air. Even I had only seen him in passing; he never spoke to anyone, never woke longer than he needed to, never moved unless ordered to by his… our captor.
Shruikan had grown yet again since last I'd been in his presence. As my eyes adjusted to the dimly lit room, I found the sheen of his tail tapering off into the distance- though, at the bend, it was still taller at its narrowest point than was I! No spikes were visible, so I gathered he was laying on his side.
Galbatorix crossed the no man's land between us and the slumbering dragon. He placed a hand- gloved in the shorn flesh of the beleaguered creature's ancestor- to Shruikan's chest.
The result was instantaneous. A rumbling growl erupted from the mountainous dragon, laced with hate so vitriolic it made my own seem tame indeed. Shruikan was by far the largest dragon alive- perhaps in the running for the largest to ever live!- and his one and only desire was to torture Galbatorix tenfold for every pain he'd endured. All this and more he communicated in one sound.
A whoomph crashed behind me as Idril's partner pressed their body tightly to the floor, soaking in the vibration like a lizard bathes in a sunbeam. Galbatorix had the fucking audacity to chuckle. "Mor'ranr, Shruikan. We have not come to interrupt your slumber, only to peruse the treasury. Shift your bulk and then you may return to your rest."
A ripple of oily light shivered down his neck as he lifted his head (a touch too small for the neck that bore it) to point one icy eye at Torix. He scanned us lesser intruders passingly as if weighing how much Torix would punish him for eating us, before obeying the command. Rather than move aside, he rotated around the room until he closed off our exit and revealed the rest of the space.
What an incredible security measure! No one can reach the rest of the chamber and the door at the same time.
He is protective of his cave, as all dragons ought to be. Katana's anguish for him tasted like blood in the back of my mouth. He has little in his life worth protecting.
What are you waiting for? Reach out to him!
She hesitated. He's tired-
You made me haul you down here, you're damn well going to use the opportunity!
I was shocked when she closed herself off to me. I was about to poke at her defenses when a shiver struck down Shruikan's spine. The tip of his tail lashed like a whip into the rough-hewn walls, carving away a chunk of rock like it were no more than snow.
Torix frowned but ignored him. Instead, he turned to me and muttered, "I see Katana has perked back up?"
I pressed my lips together before I could spit something vindictive I would regret. After a deep breath, I managed, "Anything would be an improvement over how she was."
"Except dying again," Idril added helpfully, floating past Torix toward a grouping of bizarre machines.
I clenched my teeth so hard I thought one of them would crack. I swear on my mother's bones, if you so much as approach her, I will teach you to fear before I let you die.
As if in response to my anger, Idril's dragon slapped their tail on the floor. Compared to Shruikan's outburst moments before, it seemed very much like a salmon imitating a nidwhal. Then they scurried deeper into the room, skidding to a stop in front of a small pile of coins and bars with a red cushion drooped atop it. They breathed heavily through their nostrils as Shruikan growled again (less viciously but the warning was plain). The teal dragon stumbled over their own feet in their haste to skirt the pile and stick their head in a cluster of rusty junk in a corner. Surprisingly, Shruikan tolerated this activity with no more concern than a mountain would give a mouse- as if this were a normal occurrence.
No matter how many times Torix claimed to have painstakingly organized the space, it still seemed senseless to me. Much of the actual coin of the land was in circulation- he wouldn't be much of a king if he couldn't at least do that- but the rest was piled arbitrarily. Chests, caskets, baskets, and bags of the stuff were lying hither and thither around the edges of the room. Gems glinted from fine armor pieces, sculptures, jewelry, and from velvet-lined cases. One side of the room seemed more armory than treasury, though the ecclectic range of pieces was more daunting than any arms master could maintain. And it was this area I'd come to survey; particularly a massive line of stone cubbies fitted with sword stands, many of them filled with multi-colored swords.
"Lilleth, you have a choice to make. I will not influence it, beyond vetoing a few options." He approached Dozens of them were there; a graveyard of legends who'd paid for their loyalty with their lives. His bronzed fingers tapped three blades: a soft blue, a pearly green, and an orange so vibrant it seemed poisonous. "These I would consider a poor choice unless you would like to make instant enemies with one of your elders."
"Like choosing Vrael's sword?" I lifted an eyebrow and gestured at Vrangr. Of course, the full meaning of my words translated only to Torix.
Expectedly, he scowled. "The blue was Brom's Undbitr. Were Morzan to see it roaming free in the world again, he'd likely cut it from your hand himself. The green belonged to an enemy of Formora's; I would not recommend asking her for details of how she acquired it… unless you have an iron stomach. The orange belonged to a man named Grahm. He and I knew one another once; it was at his expense that I first used magic."
An act of primal rage, I recalled. I anger him enough without any added memories. "None of them would suit me in any case." I started at one end of the shelves and scoured the collection. Every single one of them was undoubtedly a masterpiece. Some I removed from their place and unsheathed, even tried a few testing cuts… but none were right.
Until one in particular caught my eye.
This alcove was on the far end of the shelves, the second cubby from the bottom. I was first drawn by the sheen on the sheath, glossy as if molded from glass rather than leather. The silver ornamentation was fine as any other blade, but it was the color itself that made my heart beat in double time. I'd only ever seen one dragon that was pure silver before… though I hadn't seen her in over fifteen years. I lifted the blade up in shaking hands to be sure. There, pressed into the sheath were the intertwined runes for "evarinya" and "gala."
Xanist's blade, by the name of, "Stars' Song".
I had never really gotten to see my papa fight, though I'd been told he was an exceptional warrior. He never wanted me to think of him as I did the rest of the thirteen; just another killing machine. The few times I'd seen his sword on his waist it was always as a precaution, and I'd yet to see a situation he couldn't handle with words- magical or otherwise. I gripped the sheath tightly. So… they robbed you before leaving you for dead, did they? Is it shameful that I'm grateful to them for that? I never thought to have a memorial of you, Father. It felt right to finally put the word to the man who'd most earned it.
I unsheathed the sword. Ironically, the rare and beautiful color of the dragoness made for a rather unassuming blade. The repeated glyph on the flat of the blade, fine silver wire on the hilt, and tear-shaped diamond set into the hilt were the only indicators of its true nature. It was shorter than I'd expected, more of an arming sword one would expect of a cavalryman than a longsword suited for dueling. I spun it experimentally in my hand- perfection.
Still watching out for me, ey old man? I resheathed the blade and turned to find Idril staring up at me.
"We all have shelves here," she said. "This one is mine." She touched a bare, dusty nook between two identical ones. "Torix takes trophies from friend and foe alike. Which one will I be?" She slapped the stone once, like a toddler pining for more sweets, then drifted back to… whatever it was she'd come there to do.
Galbatorix stood to one side, shrouded in his cape so he appeared like a sulking bat. I attached Gala Evarinya to my belt methodically, maintaining eye contact all the while. Neither of us spoke; no words could ever convey our positions better than this moment; his own blood and former left-hand… claiming the sword of the dissenter he'd had murdered. Let it be war, Galbatorix, until one of our blades ends up on these very shelves.
I've recently paged back through this log and found, on the very first page, a request that any reader, "Please forgive my dramatic streak." …. I would like to reiterate and reframe this request. Life-defining statements of purpose are so often made in the privacy of one's own mind. In this volume, it is my aim to bare those thoughts (and many more) to you to better illustrate who I now am and have been. I don't seek forgiveness or acceptance… only patience.
That word, "patience," conjures a miasma of unpleasant thoughts. I am not patient by nature, and no amount of training ever implanted that virtue within me. When I waited, it was only under threat of worse than death or to protect someone I could not bear to lose. In this, I found that the newest member of our family- the willful, untamable, unstoppable, oh-so-lovable Selena- was more my twin than even Vera could have ever been.
… The dwarves relate everything in their life back to stone. In this case, I find it fitting. The foundation of Selena and Morzan's relationship was shaky at best and utterly fabricated at worst. The flaws were so compounded that "sand" is too tame a metaphor. In later years, certain people claimed that Morzan never loved her. I only infer this to be false because of my own experiences: spite of that caliber does not burst from disinterest. Only spurned love can breed hate that powerful.
But it didn't begin that way. If I had not… if she had never…. So many things that are, would not have been. But, again, I get ahead of myself. Better to tell it in order and be done with it… If I were to indulge my desire to live in my memories of their peaceful moments, then I would never come to know the very person for whose benefit I've penned this journal in the first place.
I first learned of the rot beneath the veneer a few weeks after I'd met my new friend.
"Lilly!" Selena came running down the central staircase of Morzan's estate, her crimson gown fluttering behind her like butterfly wings. For all her "brushing up" to become the lady of a fine estate, she still had the free-spirited mannerisms of a village girl.
I hoped she would stay that way forever.
I embraced her as tightly as I dared, always a little too conscious of how very human she was. "Good to see you!" I released her just enough to examine her more closely. Her cheeks were flushed from her sprint, and her chest was heaving but, otherwise, she was the picture of health. "Married life suits you!"
She waved off the compliment shyly and grabbed one of my hands in both of hers. "I'm so glad you've arrived! I just had a breakthrough in planning my garden! The rose bushes should go in the nearest corner; then they won't be wind-whipped in the fall or baked against the bricks in the summer. If I take good enough care of them, I may get an extra month or two of blooms!"
"You know quite a bit about plants." I'd never had much inclination or time to learn more than the basics of herblore. I knew which plants were life-saving and which were life-ending- so far, that had been sufficient.
"I spent my whole life on a farm! I'd better know at least the basics. But, since I've come here, I've been reading through every book I can find on flowers. It's fascinating stuff; every single plant is unique!" Her literacy was one of the most shocking things about Selena. Not many sustenance farmers on the edge of the world had the skill or time to educate even their sons, let alone their daughters. But, as Selena herself told me, it was either learn her letters or find a husband. In her hometown, only two men had been looking for wives when she came of age: a thirty-something widower with three children already, and a thirteen-year-old boy. She'd been content to stay a literal spinster, helping the older women work textiles into usable things like stockings and blankets.
Every little detail about this magnetic woman was fascinating to me. "Are you planning on starting a farm here?"
She snorted. "Please, I left that life behind for a reason! Besides, a farm is more trouble than I could handle on my own."
"You could always have your servants do the tending." She scoffed. She may have settled into the look of a wealthy woman, but clearly, the lifestyle was still alien to her. "If you hated it so much, then why do I always seem to find you rooting around in the dirt?"
"That is different! The plants in my garden have no purpose but to live and be lovely. This is something I can do just for me." A dreamy smile took over her face. She settled onto one of the steps and clasped her rough hands. "Everything still feels so surreal."
I knew better than most how she felt. It had been at my insisting that Morzan and her departed for his private manor ( at least to begin their marriage. She was, by default, one of the highest-ranking nobles in the known world. Better that she be given time to process the change (and that was assuming she ever could). I decided she needed more levity so I flopped next to her, leaned in, and whispered, "Hey, putting up with Morzan should come with some benefits!"
She slapped my shoulder affectionately. For some reason, the gesture was comforting. "You know that isn't why I married him! If wealth was enough to secure a wife, we would have a queen."
"You won't catch me arguing." We locked eyes for a fragment of a heartbeat before bursting into laughter. She'd only lived in the same city as the man for three days, but it had been more than enough to hear all kinds of unpleasant rumors. [The fact that many of them were from me is beside the point.]
She wiped a tear from her eye with the tip of a finger. "Speaking of, what has he done to anger you this time? You only visit when you're fed up with him."
Gods, am I becoming that predictable? "He's throwing a fit because there was a mass breakout at Balor's estate."
"So that's where Morzan is going. He was in such a foul mood…" She chewed her lip pensively.
"Balor called in a favor he couldn't refuse, but Morzan isn't thrilled about helping. Apparently, the breakout was orchestrated and led by a man named Ajihad; Balor was keeping him and the others as slaves."
"The dark-skinned man with the little daughter?" She sighed and wrung her hands worriedly. "I know that they're technically committing treason, but I can't find it in me to condemn a man for trying to give his child a better life."
"That's your humanity talking," I looked at her carefully, impressing my esteem and approval as firmly as I could. "Hang on to that."
"You talk like you didn't?"
As would someday become a trend, the keenness of her observations was as startling as her eyes. My eyes unfocused; I whispered. "It's never that simple."
"Being with Morzan- even for the few weeks I have- has already taught me that much." She stroked my arm like she was my own sister in arms; like no one ever really had.
I cleared my throat. "Speaking of… how is he? Does he treat you well?"
Here, she quieted.
A prickle of unease stirred inside me. He was mooning over her less than a month ago! What could possibly have changed since then? I took her hands in mine as she had done only a few minutes before. "Selena, there is nothing in this world I can't handle. If something has happened between the two of you-"
"No, no, nothing like that. We got into an argument the other night, that's all."
I paled in spite of myself. Morzan was famed for physical violence, but he had a powerful voice, brutal tongue, and short fuse- not every kind of torture leaves scars. "Please, tell me as much as you can."
She shrugged and leaned her head on my shoulder. "It was about a meeting he'd had with the king. Most of it went over my head, but I could tell he was upset. Now I assume it was about the breakout you've just spoken of. I'd said something to criticize the king- I can't even remember what it was now- and he just exploded!"
I nodded sympathetically. "There it is. Never, ever, speak ill of Torix- especially to Morzan. He can speak freely, and he has on occasion, but they tolerate it from no one but each other." I conveniently left out my own participation in this dynamic.
"I understand the politics involved, I just didn't realize they applied to our marriage as well!" She huffed and leaned back, elbows on the steps. "Is he really just as controlling as the small-minded men I grew up thinking I'd have to marry? That can't be the case; it just can't!"
I shrugged. "Politics is just… people on a larger scale. Morzan and Torix's bond runs deeper than most… and that makes it as painful as it is pleasant for them."
She sighed. "Is anything in your life simple?"
I patted her leg with a grin. "Just you."
This innocuous cloud would spell the beginning of the end for Selena's peace of mind.
I promised myself that I wouldn't lie to her. I'd never had a relationship built on mutual growth and trust, not even with my own dragon. But, the more Selena heard from me, the more she fought with Morzan; petty squabbles at first, but eventually they turned into differences that separated them like a great, roiling sea. Morzan would willingly follow Galbatorix through any atrocity without remorse or hesitation. Selena would not, could not, do the same.
Two other events defined their shift from love to hate.
The first was her unlocking the ability to use magic. Of all the spell casters I have known, I learned the most from watching Selena (and, considering one of my teachers was a self-styled god among men, that's pretty astonishing). She was so gifted and so loyal to Morzan; obviously he used her skills. But, unluckily for him, she had not been mentally broken first as I had been for Torix. She was not numb to the horror of taking life; every new assignment disturbed her more than the last. She obeyed his orders because she had no choice, but he never ordered her to close her eyes to the suffering she caused. Her ruthless efficiency was, in its own way, a kind of mercy; many perished but none ever suffered at her hand. She fell firmly out of love with Morzan. The man then reverted to the worst version of himself. Oh yes, she did Morzan's dirty work… but did she really have a choice? Did either of us? By the time she told me her… "news"… the wreck of their marriage was already smoldering into dismal ashes all around her.
No child deserves to be born into such a storm.
Silent, bitter tears streamed down her cheeks. She sat regally in her bed-chamber, blue velvet gown splayed over the dark bedding next to her. She only wore a gauzy cotton shift, through which I could easily see the source of her weeping. With her extensive traveling and training, she had always kept a trim figure. This made it even more concerning to see her abdomen extending in a round little bump. Her hands rested against the incongruity as if to shield herself, and her passenger, from the reality of their situation.
I gaped at her in silent horror.
"I didn't know," she sniffed delicately, "until it was too late to do anything. When I misaligned with the moons, I only thought it was the stress of my last assignment. But then I started to feel ill and weary," she met my look with such vulnerable pain in her much younger eyes. For once she actually looked her age, a young woman who was totally alone… and so very afraid. "What can I do? If he learns…"
She didn't need to finish the thought.
"You can't stay here." My mind raced through a dozen different scenarios, stumbling speech hardly able to keep up, "We'll bring you somewhere safe until it's born, and then-"
"I cannot," she sobbed plaintively, fingers twisting into the fabric beneath them. "The oaths. I can't leave the estate without his permission. And I would have to be quit of this place before he returned, which might be any moment! It's too late for me… for us." Her face twisted into a miserable grimace. "He'll kill me! Or worse; he won't. He'll force me to live without them…" and then she fell again into gasping cries.
"He wouldn't…" I couldn't finish the thought with any force. Morzan was famous for many things, and his mercy had never been one of them. "Then we'll keep him away! I'll spin a tale to Galbatorix, and we'll send him on a hunt after Brom. That will distract him for anywhere from weeks to months! You'd have plenty of time to bring the child to birth before-"
"Before what?"
Selena and I both froze.
In the doorway, his hulking frame far exceeding the confines of the portal behind him, loomed the man himself. His raven hair was unkempt, his crimson tunic stained with sweat and spilled drink. A nearly empty bottle dangled precariously from his fingers, looking like a child's toy in his massive paw. A vein pulsed over his darker eye; the blue one stared sightlessly through his drunken haze. His scarred lips twisted down in displeasure as he growled, "You thought to hide it from me? From me?" He slammed his fist against the door and split the solid wood down the center with the force of the blow.
Selena shrank back from him, curling inward. "Not… hide… I just thought you would be… displeased to learn-"
"Says who?" He bared his teeth in an approximation of a grin. "We should celebrate, my love. Didn't you always want a brat of your own?" Selena shook her head slowly, tears once more spilling down her face. He ignored her whimper as he staggered closer. Violent intent radiated off of him like a disease.
I stepped between them. Even at my fullest height I barely came up to Morzan's ribs. He stared down at me, the thunderclouds darkening behind his eyes. I lifted my chin and hissed, "You will not put a hand on her; not while she's carrying your child!"
He snarled, crushing the wine bottle in an explosion of glass shards. Selena yelled out and wrapped her arms more securely around her middle. I jumped and stiffened, ready to put up a fight worth remembering if he decided to brave me. He opened his clenched palm, blood dripping freely to the floor as he pointed his slashed finger in my face, "I could kill both of 'em if I wanted! You're damn lucky that I don't!" Without further ado, he shoved me aside like a leaf in a cyclone. "Now, my little wifey, you can quit your crying. You'll stay right here until it's out of you. Then we can be a happy little family." He grabbed her chin with his bloody hand and goaded, "How does that sound?" She stiffened at his touch, barely able to nod against his grip. He released her, leaving streaks of crimson over her face and shift. "The bigger brat here can help clean you up, then I want her out." He didn't even look twice at me as he staggered back to the exit. He slammed the door with enough force that the split board broke completely, collapsing outward like a blown sail.
Selena heroically tried to wipe her face and steady herself, but when she looked down to see the blood stains over her bump- drips from Morzan's fingers and superficial cuts she hadn't managed to block- she was overtaken again by weeping. "My baby…my poor baby… I'm so sorry…."
I could only hold her as she cried herself out.
The next time I saw her, she had a baby boy in her arms. I'll never forget Morzan's unreadable expression as he lifted one of the precious bottles of faelnirv to his lips and downed half of it in a single gulp. "At least it's a boy," he said. "If you taught me anything, it's that I'm useless with girls."
But I think we both knew he was going to be a disaster of a parent regardless of gender.
The boy was strong and healthy; with powerful cries and an even more powerful grip! He loved tangling his pudgy fingers in any strand that strayed too close to him, (I think we all fell victim to this at least once). His mother chose his name, which is why I think he will never change it… and, besides, it suits him rather well: Murtagh, the first, last, and only true-born son of the thirteen. (Even if any of the others managed to procreate, accidentally or otherwise, the products would be bastards. Murtagh is the sole legitimate child; even I cannot claim as much.)
His existence (for the first year of his life, anyway) was the most closely guarded secret our family ever had. Morzan, Torix, Selena, and I were all aware. The staff at the estate was reduced to the bare minimum to keep the building in order and keep the child alive… unhappy, but alive.
As soon as Selena was able to travel again, Morzan shucked her back onto the road. His cruel separation of the two cemented Selena's opinion of her husband. Her resentment, pity, and hurt all hardened into pure loathing.
I had less time to check in on the unhappy family than I would have liked… and I always seemed to arrive moments too late and leave moments too soon to do mother or son any good...
AN: So much for staying on track, ey? ;) As always, your indulgence is appreciated.
Also, gonna take a sec to plug my companion story 13 Wandering Paths for anyone who wants more context/background/details about any of my fanon forsworn. :) Or feel free to PM; I am ready to talk about them 24/7
