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Galbatorix couldn’t remember the last time he’d sat on Shruikan’s back on anything resembling a saddle. It must have been in one of the last fights against the Order certainly. And for a good reason. The only way he could sit on the large dragon was cross legged, which was way too unstable for the strong winds beating against him. So, he had opted to lay on his front, pressing himself tightly against the large dragon's neck. He had no intention to take in the view anyway; fully concentrated on urging the dragon on to go faster, faster. The large black sails of Shruikan’s wings rose and fell next to his sides like giant ocean waves in a storm and in the dragon’s mind grew a spark of what could be called joy. Galbatorix didn’t notice. Besides directing Shruikan, he only allowed his attention to slip occasionally to the silver band on his ring finger; the ruby turned inwards towards his palm pulsing with a fluttering heartbeat. His own heart clenched for a second as the heartbeat stumbled and he risked a glance through Shruikan’s eyes. The dragon growled at his further intrusion, but let him see without resistance, perhaps sensing his distress. In the distance lay the burning city of Gil'ead, rapidly coming closer with every wingbeat. Confused by Galbatorix’ uncharacteristic panic, Shruikan let out a deafening roar, followed by a pillar of black fire. The king didn’t stop him. Should they know that he was on his way. Let them flee and hide in their dirty holes where they crawled out of. No matter the outcome of this, his revenge would come and it would hit them swift and painfully when they least expected it. He clenched his fist tighter around the ruby ring, begging the heartbeat echoed by it to just hold on a little longer.
When Shruikan landed, the ground shook and Galbatorix could hear some damaged buildings topple inside the city walls. He slid down the dragon’s side, uncaring how the sharp scales slit through one of his sleeves. The remaining few meters he fell to the ground, catching himself with magic. A distance away, a squad of soldiers nervously teetered at one of the gates, quickly scrambling, now that he had arrived. Galbatorix memorized every single one of their faces. They would all die a gruesome death for simply standing and staring and doing absolutely nothing. Having made sure that he’d really gotten everyone, he finally dared to look at what he was hurrying towards.
Without the still beating heart in his fist, he would have simply stopped and stared in hopeless disbelief. His wards he had laid on the other had warned him, yet he couldn’t grasp that something like this could ever happen to Morzan. Unbreakable, proud, strong, beautiful Morzan. Now pale and bloodied on the ground, his mindless partner half-curled around him, pressed against the damaged city wall. There were bloody smears on the dirt where the rider had dragged himself over to the dragon’s head, a limp hand still resting against her jaw.
Galbatorix made Shruikan follow close behind him, having him drop his wings around them where he stopped close to the city's wall, to cover them from curious eyes. Only then did he allow himself to fall onto his knees next to the unconscious man, healing spells pouring from his lips and magic from his hands. Despite the closing cuts and slashes, he quickly realized that something was wrong. A short but deep stab wound in the other’s chest refused to heal, no matter what spell he forced onto it. The heartbeat in his palm grew fainter. With a desperate noise, he gathered Morzan in his arms, pressing his face into his messy hair.
“You’re not leaving me alone here. I don’t allow you to!” He frantically pressed a hand against the still sluggishly bleeding wound in his chest. “You won’t die. You hear me? You won’t! That’s an order!”
Blinking harshly against tears, he pressed Morzan’s true name through his tight throat. The taller didn’t react. Not even the smallest twitch. The heartbeat in his fist and the heartbeat under his palm grew even weaker. Galbatorix suddenly felt very cold, the dirt under him turning into snow, the pale skin under his fingers turning to purple scales. He had failed to save his soul back then. Now, his heart was dying in his arms just the same. An ugly noise clawed its way out of his throat, shaking his body.
“No, no, nonono, you can’t do this to me. You promised. You promised.”
Rage, grief and helplessness clawed at his insides. Above them, Shruikan growled, ready to let it erupt in aimless violence and destruction. Yet, through the choked noises leaving his mouth unbidden and his wavering focus on the futile healing spells, he heard another sound. Faint, only a weak rumble. Blinking away the blurriness from his sight, he looked up. Directly into the half-opened eye of the red dragon. Galbatorix had thought her dead already. Thus, he looked on, motionless, as Morzan’s partner slowly lifted her head, neck muscles trembling. Even years later, Galbatorix would have no explanation for what happened next. She was name- and thus mindless; incapable of more than the most basic thoughts and needs. And most certainly; incapable of using magic. Still, with a shaky movement, she touched her snout gently to her rider’s clammy neck, as if in a soft nuzzle to say farewell. For a second, a glowing red spark seemed to light at the touch. Then her head fell away, limp, a last breath escaping her with a stream of smoke as it hit the ground.
Rattled, Galbatorix slowly looked back down at Morzan who he still held tightly against him. The wound wasn’t bleeding anymore. From where the dragon had touched the side of his neck, a thin silvery line, shimmering like a rider’s mark, travelled down to his clavicle where it spread out like lightning. The thickest branch flowed into the wound, forming a thick silvery border at the edges. Carefully, Galbatorix whispered another healing spell. Only to watch in frustration as once again nothing happened.
He cursed, angrily wiping away the wetness from his cheeks. The natural way it was then. His mind rapidly went through his possibilities, but with the way things were, he had no option but to put Morzan into a restorative sleep and hope for the best. The dragon had obviously given him another chance. The rest of the fight for his life, Morzan would have to do by himself. Almost by himself that was. Galbatorix had the full intention to support him by any means possible; he had made his own promise to never abandon him. He dared to let himself hope a little.
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Hope was for dreamers and dreams made people weak. The bed creaked slightly as Galbatorix shifted, gripping his own arms tighter. Ten years. Ten years and nothing. Morzan was alive, but the healing of his cursed wound had been progressing torturously slow. To make things worse; the times that Galbatorix had purposefully lifted all sustaining spells on him and had attempted to wake him, Morzan hadn’t shown a single reaction. In the beginning, the older had been worried that his brain might have been harmed in the fight or shortly after, but a short trip into his mind had disproved that theory. Morzan’s consciousness appeared like it always had when he’d been deeply asleep in the past.
Galbatorix swallowed where he sat on the edge of the bed, then slowly turned towards the unconscious man. He had sent the mages tasked with taking care of Morzan - and sworn to absolute silence and utmost loyalty – out of the room for this. Even if they could never speak of it, Galbatorix didn’t want them to witness anything of him that might be interpreted as weakness.
“Do you not want to wake up?”
He tried to find some anger towards Morzan in him at that thought, but he only found tiredness.
“Was it something I said?”
Tiredness and a deep crushing loneliness.
“This doesn’t count as keeping your promise, you know?”
As always, only heavy silence answered him. It felt almost accusing. Did Morzan blame him for his situation? He shook his head. What a stupid thought. Of course he wouldn’t. Wouldn’t he?
“Morzan. I miss you. So much. And I don’t know if I can do this anymore. I’m clinging to something that is likely never going to happen. It’s distracting.”
He kicked off his boots and crawled up the bed, curling up next to Morzan, only daring to press his forehead against the other’s shoulder. Anything else suddenly didn’t feel right anymore, like he might be overstepping. No matter how close they had been before… this all happened. He let out a trembling breath.
“And it hurts.”
For a short time, he closed his eyes and allowed himself to think that Morzan really was just asleep and about to wake up at any moment. He'd stretch himself, then roll onto his side to pull Galbatorix into his arms. He drew in a breath, inhaling his scent, then he sat up abruptly. Biting his lip until it was bleeding, he hastily pulled his boots back on. He had made a decision. When he left the room, he only allowed himself one last glance back, the picture of Morzan, asleep, burning into his mind. Well. Not for much longer.
Galbatorix locked himself into his chambers for three days, eating and sleeping only because he had to sustain the energy for his magic. Faster and faster, he built barriers and sections into his mind; locking away all the pesky feelings that ate at his heart every day and night. No more grief, no more pain. No more suffering. He had never feared much, but the last things he did fear, also wandered behind bars. The rising boldness, cruelty and coldness was exactly what he needed to get rid of his last problem. His feelings towards Morzan.
Even now, with having no mercy even towards himself, he hesitated. He couldn’t name the feeling anymore, incapable due to how he had torn apart his emotions. But it was bright and warm. It felt like it made him glow. Surely, it couldn’t be that bad then. Perhaps he could keep – enraged, he barked out another part of the spell, smothering the bright flame. Then he threw the memories connected to it into another barred corner of his mind.
There.
He was done.
Everything inside him was burnt and empty.
Dead, like Morzan.
Galbatorix was wearing a silver band on one of his ring-fingers. He didn’t know why. It was a broad but simple ring, with a small ruby set into it. He always wore it so that the stone was facing inwards, towards his palm. When he touched it, he could feel a heartbeat in it. It confused him. Yet, every time he tried to figure out what spell laid on the ring, or where it even came from, his thoughts slipped away from it and he forgot that he had even thought about it. Still, he never thought about taking it off even once.
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Pain, fear, grief, anger. Interspersed with the smallest gleams of happiness and other emotions that rushed past too fast or dulled behind others to pick up on. But mostly it was just pain. In any other situation, Galbatorix might have laughed at himself for his own stupidity. He should have overcome himself and send out Shruikan to burn down the whole Varden camp and not just scare them a bit. He should have simply had squashed that boy’s mind as soon as he had kicked down its abysmal defenses. And he should have put a tighter leash on Murtagh. He would have, if his face didn’t remind him so much of Morzan, which for some reason had stayed his hand from harsh punishments more often than not. He couldn’t figure out why that had been so important.
Pain tore through him in another wave, the other emotions fading fully into the background. Nothing was stronger than pain. Whatever that spell's intent had been that the boy flung at him, the only thing it brought was agony. He tried to reach for something different to hold onto in his mind, but he only hit icy steel bars, unable to shield him, burning him with their cold. Feeling his mind starting to crack and splinter, to his horror he heard himself beg. For it to stop. Or maybe he just hoped for a swift end. If he were of clearer mind, he might have scoffed at the hypocrisy. Galbatorix regretted having knocked out Murtagh. He would certainly not have hesitated to end him swiftly, to be done with it. Like coming up from under the waves, a realization hit him like a breath of air. He regretted?
The pain in his mind abated for a second for far more physical pain and he looked down in surprise at the blood coming from a wound in his abdomen. He touched his fingers to it. Another crack formed in his mind. The red gleamed almost beautifully. Something in his mind, behind his discovery of regret, shattered like a thick wall of glass.
Morzan.
He was alive.
His breath caught for a second and he stumbled. Then he swung Vrangr again to get some space, because damn it, he needed to think and that boy Eragon trying to stab him really wasn’t helping. At least not anymore. Galbatorix could give him credit for the wound in his stomach. That had been helpful. Another wave of agony swept over him, but this time he clung to the bright glow emerging from the deepest corner of his mind. He had to get Morzan out of here. Out of Urû’baen. If Galbatorix died, those bastards would find the other. And they would hurt him. He suddenly felt disgusted at his previous thoughts of simply ending things. Thinking about it, the disgust went even further back. How could he ever seal away his love for Morzan, like a mere nuisance?
Holding onto the crimson flame in his heart, he reached out towards his eldunarya, digging his mental claws into their strength. Ignoring how they howled at the pain flowing over from his mind at them, he tried to speak a spell. No words would come from his lips, pulled into a pained grimace. Desperation strangled his throat. He just needed to get to Morzan unseen and -
A flash of light that made him squeeze his eyes shut.
Silence.
The noise from the throne room had died off abruptly and even the waves of pain flooding his mind had ebbed to a dull throb. Galbatorix slowly opened his eyes again, as he heard a gasp, followed by a quiet voice.
“Your… your Majesty?”
The mages tasked with guarding Morzan stared at him with wide eyes. He took in a deep breath. Right. Somehow, he had transported himself here. With wordless magic even. Something he'd never used, because his mind always tried to improve things while he was doing magic, never considering anything good enough. And that could end fatal when using no words.
With a sigh, he first healed the stab wound in his gut, then turned fully towards the mages.
“Pack up the eldunarya in here. I'm taking Lord Morzan with me.”
Both women bowed, then set to unweave the six eldunari from the protective wards of the room without question. Despite knowing that he should hurry, Galbatorix felt oddly relaxed out of sudden. He carefully pulled back the blankets from Morzan, then leaned him against him, taking his time to re-braid the man’s long black hair.
“How do you feel about taking a prolonged trip, my dearest?”
Of course there was no answer. But Galbatorix allowed himself to hope again. Suddenly, something else tore in his mind, and he had to bury his face into the other’s shoulder for a moment to hide his expression from the mages. Shruikan. He gritted his teeth. He had no time for that. Maybe it was even better like this. Despite his thoughts, he still had to blink away tears, breathing in Morzan’s scent to calm himself.
Steeling himself, he took the bag with the eldunarya from one of the mages, then lifted Morzan into his arms. There was no time to gather more things. They had to leave. Vrangr was left behind, laying on the floor like a discarded old bone splinter.
One of the mages disappeared after half of the way to the stables. Galbatorix didn’t bother with it. He didn’t have the time or motivation to chase her down. If she ran into one of the Varden, they would kill her before she could tell on him anyway. To his surprise, when they reached the stables she reappeared though, starting to pack the saddlebags of two horses with supplies from a pack she had brought. Loyalty truly was a wonderous thing. Covering himself with a cloak, as well as Morzan after he had been secured in the saddle so he wouldn’t slip off, he reached for the six eldunarya's energy. There was still pain pulsing through his mind, but a brighter light shone over it now. The most difficult part was yet to come. Warding and hiding them both and their horses with a spell, Galbatorix allowed himself a small grin. Urû'baen had started to bore him anyway.
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Morzan waking up, had been both less and more spectacular than Galbatorix had expected. Less, because at some point while they had almost reached the opposite end of the Hadarac, Morzan had simply woken up with a cough and complained about sand between his teeth. More, because a few moments later he had a full breakdown, as his partner was dead and he had been peacefully asleep for years. Galbatorix had thought that the news that Selena also had apparently had an affair with Brom would sour his mood further, but instead it just amused him greatly. At least until he broke into tears again remembering his partner. The other couldn’t blame him. Loosing Jarnunvösk had never stopped hurting.
“How strange.”
Galbatorix looked up from where he had been cleaning up the bowls from their dinner. They had passed by Hedarth a week ago and simply had continued heading east, currently resting under some trees, next to a small stream. Having pulled down his collar, Morzan prodded at the silvery shimmering lines that his partner had given him as a final gift. Letting the dishes be dishes for now, Galbatorix shuffled over and settled next to him. Morzan dropped his head on his shoulder with a sigh.
“Do you think that she was… aware when she did that?”
The older frowned. It had been something he had wondered about. Even if it was highly unlikely. “I have no idea. It should be impossible, but all considered there seems to be no other explanation.”
He leaned his head to the side, pressing a kiss to Morzan’s neat hair. The taller reached for his hand, weaving their fingers together. Galbatorix felt like falling in love all over again, with how naturally they still fit together. Perhaps even better than before. Morzan rubbed his thumb over the silver ring on Galbatorix’ finger, beautiful black and blue eyes turning contemplative.
“So. What do we do now?”
“I'd like to travel. At least for a bit. Right now, I can’t stand the thought of staying in one place for longer than necessary.”
Morzan hummed in agreement. “We'll go and see the world a bit then. I like that.”
Frowning, Murtagh stepped out of the tavern he had slept at. The weather had been good enough to sleep under Thorn’s wing – if a little cold – but the dragon had all but demanded him to sleep in a warm place with proper food after months of travelling further east from Mount Arngor. He had to admit that he did feel far less tired now and the annoying scratch in his throat had also disappeared. With a grumble, he rubbed the pointed tip of his ear. Almost hundred years old and still getting annoyed by common colds, just his luck.
Thorn was still asleep, the peaceful calm Murtagh could feel over their connection, making him smile softly. Deciding to let his partner rest - hidden in the hills surrounding the village, just to be safe – he took the short walk towards the village's large pond, just to stretch his legs. He'd pick up supplies after. On the way, he passed by the inn's stable, its door half propped open as the innkeeper’s son fed the guests’ few horses. Catching a glimpse of two sturdy black horses, he felt almost a bit wistful. No matter Thorn’s opinion on the animals, he still missed riding once in a while. Riding a dragon couldn’t be compared with riding a horse. Especially since no horse would suddenly decide to charge headfirst into an icy lake, just because they thought their rider was especially grumpy today and needed that kind of ‘cheer up'. No jumping off of a dragon either. Softly whistling to himself, he approached the pond’s edge. The morning sun reflected beautifully on the water's surface. A dragonfly zipped past him.
“Such a strange thing to call them dragonflies.”
“They’re shiny, long and pretty fast too. Slept well?”
“Mhm. Nice to have a break from your snoring.”
“Thought you always drown that out with your own.”
Thorn gave his mind an amused shove and Murtagh was about to poke him back, when his eyes caught on something across the lake. Or rather someone. Two someones to be precise. He froze.
“Thorn. I think I’m seeing things.”
He felt the dragon catch a glimpse through his eyes and then pull back abruptly, startled.
“No. I think those two are very real. The one on the left, is that…?”
“Yes. That’s my apparently not-so-dead father.”
Eragon, Arya and him, already had had their suspicions about Galbatorix’ supposed death. Especially after Vrangr had been found in a hidden away room, the bed unmade and a slight chaos all around. Since they hadn’t seen or heard anything of him, they had decided after sixty years to let the matter rest. Not fully, never that, they wouldn’t repeat the Order’s mistakes. But they didn’t actively hunt after every suspicious cough and sneeze anymore. And now, here, in the middle of nowhere, after eighty years, there suddenly were even two supposedly dead people.
Murtagh stepped back a bit, to hide himself at least a little behind some sad shrubbery. He was curious, and he should really find out if they were a possible threat still. Mostly, it simply was curiosity though.
The two older riders were sitting on the fallen trunk of a tree, that had a quarter of it carved out to form a rudimentary bench. There were also a lot of carved hearts and initials all over it. Galbatorix didn’t look much changed from when he remembered him. Somehow, Murtagh had expected to see him aged at least a little more. He had an ankle resting on his knee, reading a book with a rather bored expression, eyes partially hidden behind strands of his black hair. Murtagh had a faint memory of Galbatorix grumbling about what he called ‘dumb-literature', the exact criteria that made a book qualify for it, having escaped his mind though. Next to the former king sat a definitely very alive Morzan. And there was no denying who he was; Murtagh recognized his own face in his, with the biggest difference being his father’s long black hair that he wore in a thick braid and his eyes, even if Murtagh couldn’t see the blue and black from this distance. It felt strange to see him now, after he had only been a rarely appearing specter in his nightmares when he’d been much younger. It was even stranger to see him feedings ducks with oats, that he certainly had nabbed from the inn's stable. It seemed unfair somehow to see them this content, simply sitting on a bench, after all they had done.
“Are you going to confront them? If you do; give me a moment to fly over to you.”
Murtagh’s grip tightened on Ithring for a second, then he dropped his hand. “No. No, there’s been enough bloodshed because of them. I won’t add to that. I doubt it’ll be only their own blood that will be spilled if I decide to attack them. And… I just want to let it rest.”
Murtagh was about to turn and walk away, when black eyes caught his. He froze as Galbatorix stared directly at him from across the lake. A flicker of fear rose in him, then died away. Somehow, he knew that nothing would happen to him. Morzan’s reaction was sharper than the shorter man’s; at following Galbatorix’ line of sight, he jolted at spotting Murtagh. He looked like he was about to jump up for a second, but Galbatorix dropped a hand on his thigh. Murtagh could appreciate the former king holding him back, he didn’t feel like talking to them at all. Although the implied closeness by the gesture confused him a little. With a nod, Murtagh turned and left. He might leave a little sooner than planned. Yet, there was no hurry in his steps.
“Why does his sword look like Zar’roc?”
Galbatorix had to bite down on a grin, but failed when Morzan gave him an offended look.
“Did you hand it to him?”
He closed his – quite below mediocre – book and laid a hand on the back of Morzan’s neck, rubbing a gentle circle with his thumb. “No. It found its own way to him. I never had it; Brom the rat stole it from you when he almost killed you.”
Morzan grimaced at being reminded of his almost demise, gaze shooting back to where Murtagh had disappeared on the other side of the lake for a moment. A duck gave a demanding tug at one of his bootlaces. Galbatorix tugged the taller towards him by his grip on his neck, breaking the glassy look in his eyes and pressing their foreheads together.
“It’s alright. You’re here.”
It was as much of a reassurance for Morzan, as it was for himself. He blinked quickly, tossed the remaining oats on the ground, much to the ducks’ joy, and gave him a soft smile that made Galbatorix’ heart beat with warmth.
“So are you.”
He kissed him softly, sweet almost. Galbatorix had never thought that he’d find a liking for calmness and peace again. And yet, here he was.