fic: [i'll be your] downfall // inheritance // selena
title: [i'll be your] downfall
fandom: inheritance
rating: pg-13/r
words: 4, 444. that has to be some kind of omen.
pairing/characters: selena, morzan, galbatorix, brom (morzan/selena, galbatorix/morzan, brom/selena)
warnings: brisingr spoilers (kind of), my very own shiny new backstory! slash + het + lots of people being dicks. all-smalls; other stuff that you probably will not get squicked by, so there is no point reading this list of warnings. ;)
disclaimer: eh, chris'; don't particularly want it, if i did i'd just have to change a couple of names and a few circumstances and i'd probably win some awards for scathing satire of the fantasy genre. title from matchbox twenty, downfall.
summary: only love can save us now. selena watches them, heartbreak in motion.
morzan is not the first man selena has ever loved. she is no shy, blushing maiden when she comes to him; she has seen the world in all its splendour, all its dark places and she has not flinched. she does not come to him expecting hearts and flowers, roses and metaphors and poetry under a tree that weeps pink blossoms, but there is a small girl inside her who cries for it, some nights. there is a part of selena that still, despite it all, wishes he would look at her with tenderness, like she is the only person who exists, but he does not, and she tries to convince herself that she does not care.
it's three years into morzan's service, into that time that she knows she loves him, that she first meets the king. she stands in the shadows beside morzan, all in black with magic humming under her fingertips (goddess, she hates court; it's all espionage and underhanded trickery and people trying to kill you all the fucking time) and he says, "my lord galbatorix, i introduce you to my black hand, the lady selena," and she curtsies, on cue, because that is how he has taught her.
she does not expect galbatorix to be beautiful like he is; he is blond and blue-eyed, strong-featured and attractive, and his smile, when it comes, is like the dawn breaking, but there is something a little hollow about it, something that does not quite reach his eyes. she knows a hundred thousand different ways to kill a man, but none that would work to kill this man. "my lady," he says, smiling faintly; he steps forward and takes her hand; bows and kisses it. when his eyes meet hers, when he looks up, it's like a lightning strike, like the tide crashing over her and for a moment she cannot move, cannot breathe, caught in the sheer force of him. "i cannot thank you enough for what you do," galbatorix, king of all alagaesia, says to her, selena once of carvahall, "morzan tells me he would be lost without you."
"i try my best," she says, "thank you." a blush creeps up her cheeks, despite herself. morzan rests his hand on her waist, carefully and proprietary; a little frisson of glee runs through her, like it always does when he is near her. he smiles blue-eyed at her, well done, and she smiles at the king and at his right-hand-man and wonders what the villagers back home would say if they knew where she was now.
the king lets go of her hand and she almost whimpers; he was warm and soft, her attraction to him inexorable, the way that moths are attracted to flames and apples must fall once their stems break and she did not want him to go. "morzan," he says, "you chose well." there is something underlying his words; she with her constant calculating busy mind cannot help but notice it. there is something in the way he says her lover's name that speaks of old conversations, of fights and also reconciliation and a deep, deep friendship that she cannot understand.
morzan is still the sun to her; he must be, will always be. he knows her name but that is not at the heart of it; he is at the heart of it, with the way he smiles and laughs and kills. he is looking at galbatorix now with a look that she has never seen in his mismatched eyes; it is gentle and kind, compassionate and concentrated, it is pure love and it is like she is not in the room. jealousy roils thick in her stomach and she shoves it down; there is nothing she can do to help this situation, all she can do is watch. "well," morzan says, lightly, "couldn't let myself have sub-standard backup; goddess only knows what would happen if i left you here on your own."
there is a connection between them, eyes meeting intangible, and she looks away from the strength of it, from the exclusivity of it; she knows when she is not wanted, and this is one of those times, but she cannot leave.
the moment passes. morzan's hand does not leave selena's waist; galbatorix steps back from them. "so," he says, "what news do you bring me from across the land?"
morzan nods to her, go.
she swallows, mouth suddenly dry. "surda is massing troops, which we expected; what we didn't is that lord leoben is funding them, with gold from his own coffers; as if the so-called royal family didn't take enough. my sources are telling me that he would support a change of regime."
galbatorix sighs, mouth setting angrily. "as if that bastard couldn't tell i was coming. morzan, what do you think? raid or do we let him keep working, wait for his plans to collapse in on themselves?"
--
the second time she meets galbatorix is without the buffer of morzan there to keep them distinct, separated; to keep her from drowning in him. she is older, this time, wiser; she has spent time in places that good women never see, never dream of, and she is harder, stronger. but she is still not prepared for galbatorix in full fury.
he is not shouting, but his words are loud nonetheless, spoken and burned into the minds of all of them standing around him. she crosses her arms across her chest, wrapping her fingers in the fabric of her dress. he is saying, they must die, they must die, and there is blood in his mind, in his words and she can see all the carnage that he envisions in her mind.
she thinks of the woman who died; amaryth, with her blue-green dragon and her smile desperate like the end of the world and she swallows, thinking, what have you done, to the man she has never met who killed this woman who might one day have been her friend. she thinks that if she knew him she might hate him; you don’t understand, she thinks, this is how things have to go.
she steps up, because that's all she can do, kisses galbatorix, mightiest king this country has ever seen; kisses him softly on the lips, just skin-to-skin, easy like dancing, and murmurs in morzan's voice, no, stop.
he slaps her but she was prepared for that; she steps back, one hand to her stinging cheek, and he rubs his hand over his eyes. "all right," he says, "we're done here." he turns away from them and goes out the door; a shriek comes piercing through the air; his dragon.
there is no morzan here, no one left but her so she follows him, quiet whisper of her silk dress on the ground betraying her as she walks. she says, slowly, "it's not your fault."
he says, "i know, fuck--" but he is choking, on the words. she wishes suddenly and desperately for morzan, but he is halfway across the country with blood and fire competing for his attention in the ruins of the land that once was leoben's. "it was amaryth," he says, "she was--"
"there's nothing you could have done," she says, "it's down to the bastard who did this."
"i could have killed him," galbatorix says, helplessly, staring out into the moody, grey sky. "i didn't."
she says, "it's done."
he says, "yes."
--
selena and morzan sit next to each other in bed, sheets over them and between them. she hugs her knees to her chest, staring at the ceiling, all dark-wood rafters and shadows; he stretches out, like a cat.
she says, slowly, "brom killed amaryth."
she would not notice the flinch, if she were not as attuned to him as much as she is; it's barely noticeable, even so. "yeah," he says, "yeah."
"galbatorix said-- the king said he could have killed him first."
morzan sighs. "what's your point, selena?"
"why did you stop him?" she says it quietly, curiously, like she doesn't know the answer.
"who says i did?" his eyes are slate, steelly and unreadable.
she waits.
"i cared about him, once," he says, finally. "i didn't know i did until it was too late, and he hated me for all he was worth, but i--"
"did you love him?" she asks. she's not sure if she wants the answer. "did you love him like you love the king?"
"he loved me," morzan says, hint of a wry bitter smile dragging at the corners of his mouth, "certainly he loved me. i don't know if i'm allowed to love, anymore. i don't know if i was ever capable of it; maybe it went with the name of my dragon."
she breaths out, resting her head against the headboard. "i think that you must be allowed to love," she says, even though it hurts, "because the king loves you more than anything else in the world, more than anything that has ever existed or been dreamed of, and i love you, more than i ever thought was fair or true or possible, and the smallest of our sins outweigh yours, morzan, because your sins are all for love."
"love's just a syllable," morzan says. "it'll fade, in time. be forgotten."
"but you'll never stop wanting to kiss him, never stop wanting to hold him in your arms and listen to his heartbeat," she says, "just to know that both of you are alive."
he puts her hand in his, and kisses her cheek. "thank you," he murmurs, pulling her into his arms, holding her close.
she's not sure if it should feel like a lie, but there is a part of her that does not care, and that part listens to the sound of him breathing, and it drowns out everything else in the world.
--
she does not mean to see it, this time. she is a ghost, most days; she flickers through the halls, wishes she could be transparent and she almost is. she has never in her life not been at good at what she does (except--) and this is what she has chosen; she lets the whispers of court and country trickle through her ears until she has chosen the ones that work; lets everything that is selena fade away, replaced with the nameless, faceless, ruthless woman who is morzan's black hand.
sometimes, though, the remnants of the girl she used to be are stronger; sometimes she feels like herself again and the overwhelming love (obsession) she feels for morzan lessens, a little. some days she takes up space in the hallways, rests her hands on shoulders and smiles. this is not one of those days, or she does not think it will be, and usually she can tell.
she does not mean to see it, when she does. she is leaning whisper-thin on the wall, taking a breath, thinking of what to tell morzan; he has been meddling in the oberwyn valley and that is where a certain rebel has decided to make his new base, by way of converting the entire valley to anti-empire propaganda, so his soldiers have to pull out or die and she's not stupid, neither is he but he's, you know, impulsive-- she breathes out.
they walk past her, morzan and galbatorix; right-hand-man and king; only this time (she has never seen them like this before) there is something between them, something warm and gentle written in the line of galbatorix's shoulder and the smile in morzan's eyes, in the arms just gently brushing, in the laugh that's warm on morzan's lips. they don't notice her and she knows that it is good, that it shows just how clever she's become but at the same time it almost hurts.
(it's like her heart is pumping too much blood and not enough at the same time; she can't breathe--)
she follows them, because she can; because she is cat-quiet and shadow-lithe, because this is what she does. (because she loves him, maybe a little too much, maybe far too much; maybe garrow was right but she shoves that to the back of her mind, bottom of her heart where it won't bother her.)
morzan leans his head on galbatorix's shoulder, just for a little while; his hair brushes against galbatorix's jawline. there is a faint bruise on his knuckles, purple for royalty, red for blood (like the blood on his shirt). he whispers something; she tilts her head, coaxes the magic he taught her and listens. i love you, morzan is saying, i love you. if nothing else, i love you.
galbatorix stops, turns and kisses morzan, soft and gentle like there's no one else in the world. something in selena feels sick, feels lonely and lost; she cannot pull her eyes away. they're standing together like something out of a fairytale, galbatorix just slightly taller than morzan, hair gleaming gold in perfect contrast with morzan's black and it's perfect, like they fit together (like she never did, with him).
i love you too, galbatorix says, breaking the kiss, morzan, i'm sorry. his eyes are brightbright blue, concentrated light, piercing and intense; he bends his head to morzan again, and if she lowers her eyelids just so she can see the magic in the two of them, the magic they call innate like extensions of themselves; morzan's red twines with galbatorix's silver-black-blue-gold, sparking like a star, dying.
she can't watch anymore, just can't; she ghosts away, down the hall in the other direction. she does not know where she's going but she knows she cannot stay here.
--
"this is not how we end," she says, sitting with her knees tucked up to her chin, under a willow tree in a courtyard in some dukedom three hours by dragon away from the castle. she closes her eyes and says it again, like if she says it enough times, she can make her words true. "this is not what is going to happen, goddess-damn-it."
the wind runs through her hair, tangling it mercilessly against her cold bare arms. she bites her lip, stares into empty space like it can reassure her. (she knows, from experience, that it can't.)
"what's ending?"
she looks up; there is a man standing over her, quiet and lanky, skin tanned and worn, smile creasing at the corners of his mouth. his clothes are worn and there is a long, thin sword at his waist; he is nothing like morzan.
"nothing," she says, thinking, everything. willow leaves fall, brushed by the wind onto the stone floor.
he sits down next to her, "do you mind?"
"of course," she says, sweeping the line of her skirt away from his feet, catching twigs on the bottom. "i'm alianne," she lies, easy as breathing.
"kalan," he says, quirk of his mouth, light in his eyes telling her he's a liar too. she likes him instinctively, definitely, as if she made a choice.
they sit. she can hear his heartbeat; she slows her breathing, matches his rhythm and watches the rain-clouds looming on the horizon.
"it's going to rain," he says, "you all right?"
she sighs. "the man i married is in love with someone else."
he blinks.
"you asked, before," she says, "that's what ended. him and me. kind of, i think."
"i did ask," he says, and there is a silence before he continues. "i'm sorry."
"it's not your fault," she says, and she gets up, shaking the bottom of her dress to shed the leaves and grass. "it's going to rain; i'd better get inside."
"i'll see you," he says, and she can feel his eyes boring into her back as she walks through the door.
--
galbatorix hands her a bloody sword, light and sure; his hands are beautiful, even as red as they are. "you're morzan's hand," he says, like it does not matter, like he's just making conversation, "why?"
she pulls, waits for the sound of bone cracking; tilts her head at the scream when it comes. "i don't know," she says, "but i would die for him. that's all that matters, right?"
"all right," he says, "i'll give you that." he smiles, and his teeth are white like bone.
--
"did you not know?" he asks, sliding up beside her; they are in the forests near furnost and she is inspecting a mine that she's had whispers is under siege. she does not know what he is doing here; but her horse does not seem to care.
she adjusts her skirts. "what are you doing here?"
"you looked like you needed someone to talk to; i was heading this way anyway. so how did you not know about your husband?" his horse is pale brown, stocky and capable. his scabbard is battered, with lines scoring the length of the hide.
"not that it's any of your business," she says, "but i thought he was done with that. i thought they were done; turns out we are, instead."
"i'm sorry," he says, for the second time; there is sincerity in his voice and his voice. "i've had that before; it-- it's a shitty situation, and you don't deserve it."
she sighs. "sometimes i think i do," she says, and then she closes her eyes and runs her fingers through her hair. "forget i said that."
--
morzan kisses her fast and brutal, scorching and piercing, with fire in his eyes and she kisses him back, breath stolen away but she can't help but think what has galbatorix done now, even as she's pressing her lips to his and sliding to her knees.
--
"this isn't what i normally do," she says, the third time they meet; he half-smiles at her, toasts her with his glass of wine.
"hey," he says, "it always pays to make nice with the staff."
"you're not staff," she says, "or, you're not meant to be. who are you?"
"brom," he says, simply, the smile fading from his lips and his eyes.
she says, "all right."
"well," he says, "i've given you a name; can i have yours?"
"i'm morzan's black hand," she says, shortly, "i don't have a name."
"that's silly," he says. "everyone has a name."
"you know who doesn't?" she snaps, "morzan's dragon. kialandi's dragon. amaryth's dragon. who's fault is that?"
"theirs," brom says, and there is no trace of pity in his eyes; no emotion, just stating a fact. "the dragons had no choice, alianne-or-whatever-your-name-is; there was nothing else they could do."
"fuck you," she says, words bubbling into her mouth, catching in her throat, "fuck you and the fucking self-righteous aggrandising horse you rode in on. fuck you to fucking hell."
"you could just kill me," he says, lightly, like he doesn't care.
"you killed amaryth," she says, "did you even know her?"
he shrugs, "so take your revenge. that's what we do here, right? this vicious fucking cycle that never ever stops." he sounds tired, lines worn on his face, and his eyes are hollow.
"i'm drunk," she says, slowly, "and besides. you sat with me under a willow tree and told me everything was going to be all right; that has to count for something." but her hands are white-knuckled with fury, and she is trembling just a little.
he tilts his head back, staring at the space above them. "i'm sorry," he says.
she says, "don't be."
--
she throws up at dawn, washes her mouth out with water and hopes no one heard; she feels sick, nauseous and too tired and she wants to go home (not morzan's cool empty castle but home, for the first time in years she wants to sit with garrow, put her head in his lap and have him stroke her hair and call her silly) but she can't because she has to kill some people in a couple of hours and right now she is feeling like it is all just not worth it.
she runs her hands through her hair and breathes out, aftertaste thick and acidic in her mouth, burning her teeth and throat; she thinks of the words that morzan taught her, goes with heal and has to lunge for the bucket immediately after. she thinks of magic, thinks of the way her body is supposed to work and asks it what is wrong; it tells her.
fuck, she thinks, revelations cascading onto her head like falling stars, fuck. she is not exactly living the kind of life that is appropriate for a child, or for that matter, condusive to being pregnant; but she does not want to drink the tea or do the spell, not now, not when she is so tired she can barely drag herself to the pitcher of water on the counter and rinse out her mouth.
she reaches for morzan's mind, sloshing water in her mouth; it is the right thing to do, right? even if selena's never quite been the kind of girl who liked morality plays. hello, she says, carefully, opening her mind to him.
what, he says, the sun's not even up yet.
it is here, she says, look.
his mind's not gentle, in hers; it never is but it could be worse, there's no real malice to the way he goes through her thoughts, discarding them one at a time. she buries brom at the back of her mind; she doesn't like the man but she's met him and she doesn't think she wants to have to find a reason to kill him, not just yet. oh, fuck, morzan says, are you sure.
yes, she says; she can't help feeling guilty, i'm sorry.
no, he says, it's not your-- do you want to keep it? it's funny, because she never thought he would be the kind of man to offer her the choice.
she says, what are the odds it'll end up a rider, because that is the first thing she thinks of. she could never fly, not like morzan does, but if she had a child it might make up for that lack, perhaps.
pretty high, he says, but. he is worried about galbatorix; the mindlink goes both ways. it's mine, you're sure.
she quirks her mouth where he can't see it. yes, she says. there's no one else.
all right, he says, look, come home, we'll deal with it face to face--
let me finish this, she says, because it's morning sickness for a reason, right? it will fade, in time, she'll do what she needs to do, feel like an actual person before all people see when they look at her is the child in her stomach; she's seen what happens, when riders have children.
you don't have to, he says, oddly sweet.
i'd like to, she says, please.
he severs the link; she wipes her mouth, again, and spits the water into the bucket.
--
the thing is, is that the first time she kills someone is not the time morzan put her in a room with twelve of his best soldiers and one word of magic; as long as selena has been alive, she has lived with death like a black dog on her shoulder, has seen the plague and has killed for mercy and for justice and until she has been sick from it.
the thing is, is that she has never killed someone that she did not love before morzan asked her to, quietly and gently, and with death she knew quite well in his eyes, mirroring her own.
the thing is, is that she is sitting in a room with blood on her hands and a knife fallen to the ground in front of her, the sound of its fall still ringing in her ears, and there are men dead around her, because she killed them. and she is numb.
this is how it works, she thinks, sitting there on the cold stone floor, this is what it takes to make the sun rise and the magic burn in your hands. she would not give it up if he asked her for death as a price.
the door opens and morzan comes in, dark hair falling careful to his shoulders, loose clothes slipping across his collarbone to show a dark red mark from a sword and the hint of a bandage extending across his shoulderblade. "well done," he says, "the king will be pleased when i tell him i've found a new mage."
--
brom sits with her in the garden, under a willow tree. its leaves fall gently, blowing in the wind. "are you all right?" he asks, eyes meeting hers, unflinching. his hands are still; one is draped across his bent knee, the other is resting on the cool courtyard tile.
she sighs, resting her hand on the bump of her stomach. "i'm fine," she says, "i'll be better when it stops kicking me in the gut all the time."
he half-smiles. "have you thought of a name?"
"i was thinking," she says, slowly, "there was a hero, way before-- the first one to talk to dragons, to make them calm and real. maybe eragon?"
brom says, "that is a beautiful name; but then any child of yours would need a beautiful name to fit its demeanour."
she says, "i don't know if i should be charmed by that," but there is a slight smile curving her lips, nonetheless. "but nevermind; morzan says he wants to name it after this man he knew once, one of the thirteen that i never met. murtagh."
"what'll you do if it's a girl?" brom asks, skirting around her words.
selena laughs, despite herself. "we haven't really thought that far. i suppose-- i've always liked alianne."
his eyes go intense, silver-blue like the heart of a fire. the same colour as morzan's blue, she thinks, before he leans over until he is within kissing distance, until she can feel his breath on her lips. "may i?" he asks, this half-hesitant moment where he is for once shy; she can feel the heat coming off him, warming her too. morzan was never like this.
she thinks of morzan, thinks of the child in her belly, thinks of the way she used to say i love you and the way she says it now, and she kisses brom, softly, quickly. "he can never know," she says, but she leans against him nonetheless, and he kisses her back, just as careful.
he says, almost surprised, "look, the sun is setting."
she blinks; the sky is crimson, stained with gold.
--
fandom: inheritance
rating: pg-13/r
words: 4, 444. that has to be some kind of omen.
pairing/characters: selena, morzan, galbatorix, brom (morzan/selena, galbatorix/morzan, brom/selena)
warnings: brisingr spoilers (kind of), my very own shiny new backstory! slash + het + lots of people being dicks. all-smalls; other stuff that you probably will not get squicked by, so there is no point reading this list of warnings. ;)
disclaimer: eh, chris'; don't particularly want it, if i did i'd just have to change a couple of names and a few circumstances and i'd probably win some awards for scathing satire of the fantasy genre. title from matchbox twenty, downfall.
summary: only love can save us now. selena watches them, heartbreak in motion.
morzan is not the first man selena has ever loved. she is no shy, blushing maiden when she comes to him; she has seen the world in all its splendour, all its dark places and she has not flinched. she does not come to him expecting hearts and flowers, roses and metaphors and poetry under a tree that weeps pink blossoms, but there is a small girl inside her who cries for it, some nights. there is a part of selena that still, despite it all, wishes he would look at her with tenderness, like she is the only person who exists, but he does not, and she tries to convince herself that she does not care.
it's three years into morzan's service, into that time that she knows she loves him, that she first meets the king. she stands in the shadows beside morzan, all in black with magic humming under her fingertips (goddess, she hates court; it's all espionage and underhanded trickery and people trying to kill you all the fucking time) and he says, "my lord galbatorix, i introduce you to my black hand, the lady selena," and she curtsies, on cue, because that is how he has taught her.
she does not expect galbatorix to be beautiful like he is; he is blond and blue-eyed, strong-featured and attractive, and his smile, when it comes, is like the dawn breaking, but there is something a little hollow about it, something that does not quite reach his eyes. she knows a hundred thousand different ways to kill a man, but none that would work to kill this man. "my lady," he says, smiling faintly; he steps forward and takes her hand; bows and kisses it. when his eyes meet hers, when he looks up, it's like a lightning strike, like the tide crashing over her and for a moment she cannot move, cannot breathe, caught in the sheer force of him. "i cannot thank you enough for what you do," galbatorix, king of all alagaesia, says to her, selena once of carvahall, "morzan tells me he would be lost without you."
"i try my best," she says, "thank you." a blush creeps up her cheeks, despite herself. morzan rests his hand on her waist, carefully and proprietary; a little frisson of glee runs through her, like it always does when he is near her. he smiles blue-eyed at her, well done, and she smiles at the king and at his right-hand-man and wonders what the villagers back home would say if they knew where she was now.
the king lets go of her hand and she almost whimpers; he was warm and soft, her attraction to him inexorable, the way that moths are attracted to flames and apples must fall once their stems break and she did not want him to go. "morzan," he says, "you chose well." there is something underlying his words; she with her constant calculating busy mind cannot help but notice it. there is something in the way he says her lover's name that speaks of old conversations, of fights and also reconciliation and a deep, deep friendship that she cannot understand.
morzan is still the sun to her; he must be, will always be. he knows her name but that is not at the heart of it; he is at the heart of it, with the way he smiles and laughs and kills. he is looking at galbatorix now with a look that she has never seen in his mismatched eyes; it is gentle and kind, compassionate and concentrated, it is pure love and it is like she is not in the room. jealousy roils thick in her stomach and she shoves it down; there is nothing she can do to help this situation, all she can do is watch. "well," morzan says, lightly, "couldn't let myself have sub-standard backup; goddess only knows what would happen if i left you here on your own."
there is a connection between them, eyes meeting intangible, and she looks away from the strength of it, from the exclusivity of it; she knows when she is not wanted, and this is one of those times, but she cannot leave.
the moment passes. morzan's hand does not leave selena's waist; galbatorix steps back from them. "so," he says, "what news do you bring me from across the land?"
morzan nods to her, go.
she swallows, mouth suddenly dry. "surda is massing troops, which we expected; what we didn't is that lord leoben is funding them, with gold from his own coffers; as if the so-called royal family didn't take enough. my sources are telling me that he would support a change of regime."
galbatorix sighs, mouth setting angrily. "as if that bastard couldn't tell i was coming. morzan, what do you think? raid or do we let him keep working, wait for his plans to collapse in on themselves?"
--
the second time she meets galbatorix is without the buffer of morzan there to keep them distinct, separated; to keep her from drowning in him. she is older, this time, wiser; she has spent time in places that good women never see, never dream of, and she is harder, stronger. but she is still not prepared for galbatorix in full fury.
he is not shouting, but his words are loud nonetheless, spoken and burned into the minds of all of them standing around him. she crosses her arms across her chest, wrapping her fingers in the fabric of her dress. he is saying, they must die, they must die, and there is blood in his mind, in his words and she can see all the carnage that he envisions in her mind.
she thinks of the woman who died; amaryth, with her blue-green dragon and her smile desperate like the end of the world and she swallows, thinking, what have you done, to the man she has never met who killed this woman who might one day have been her friend. she thinks that if she knew him she might hate him; you don’t understand, she thinks, this is how things have to go.
she steps up, because that's all she can do, kisses galbatorix, mightiest king this country has ever seen; kisses him softly on the lips, just skin-to-skin, easy like dancing, and murmurs in morzan's voice, no, stop.
he slaps her but she was prepared for that; she steps back, one hand to her stinging cheek, and he rubs his hand over his eyes. "all right," he says, "we're done here." he turns away from them and goes out the door; a shriek comes piercing through the air; his dragon.
there is no morzan here, no one left but her so she follows him, quiet whisper of her silk dress on the ground betraying her as she walks. she says, slowly, "it's not your fault."
he says, "i know, fuck--" but he is choking, on the words. she wishes suddenly and desperately for morzan, but he is halfway across the country with blood and fire competing for his attention in the ruins of the land that once was leoben's. "it was amaryth," he says, "she was--"
"there's nothing you could have done," she says, "it's down to the bastard who did this."
"i could have killed him," galbatorix says, helplessly, staring out into the moody, grey sky. "i didn't."
she says, "it's done."
he says, "yes."
--
selena and morzan sit next to each other in bed, sheets over them and between them. she hugs her knees to her chest, staring at the ceiling, all dark-wood rafters and shadows; he stretches out, like a cat.
she says, slowly, "brom killed amaryth."
she would not notice the flinch, if she were not as attuned to him as much as she is; it's barely noticeable, even so. "yeah," he says, "yeah."
"galbatorix said-- the king said he could have killed him first."
morzan sighs. "what's your point, selena?"
"why did you stop him?" she says it quietly, curiously, like she doesn't know the answer.
"who says i did?" his eyes are slate, steelly and unreadable.
she waits.
"i cared about him, once," he says, finally. "i didn't know i did until it was too late, and he hated me for all he was worth, but i--"
"did you love him?" she asks. she's not sure if she wants the answer. "did you love him like you love the king?"
"he loved me," morzan says, hint of a wry bitter smile dragging at the corners of his mouth, "certainly he loved me. i don't know if i'm allowed to love, anymore. i don't know if i was ever capable of it; maybe it went with the name of my dragon."
she breaths out, resting her head against the headboard. "i think that you must be allowed to love," she says, even though it hurts, "because the king loves you more than anything else in the world, more than anything that has ever existed or been dreamed of, and i love you, more than i ever thought was fair or true or possible, and the smallest of our sins outweigh yours, morzan, because your sins are all for love."
"love's just a syllable," morzan says. "it'll fade, in time. be forgotten."
"but you'll never stop wanting to kiss him, never stop wanting to hold him in your arms and listen to his heartbeat," she says, "just to know that both of you are alive."
he puts her hand in his, and kisses her cheek. "thank you," he murmurs, pulling her into his arms, holding her close.
she's not sure if it should feel like a lie, but there is a part of her that does not care, and that part listens to the sound of him breathing, and it drowns out everything else in the world.
--
she does not mean to see it, this time. she is a ghost, most days; she flickers through the halls, wishes she could be transparent and she almost is. she has never in her life not been at good at what she does (except--) and this is what she has chosen; she lets the whispers of court and country trickle through her ears until she has chosen the ones that work; lets everything that is selena fade away, replaced with the nameless, faceless, ruthless woman who is morzan's black hand.
sometimes, though, the remnants of the girl she used to be are stronger; sometimes she feels like herself again and the overwhelming love (obsession) she feels for morzan lessens, a little. some days she takes up space in the hallways, rests her hands on shoulders and smiles. this is not one of those days, or she does not think it will be, and usually she can tell.
she does not mean to see it, when she does. she is leaning whisper-thin on the wall, taking a breath, thinking of what to tell morzan; he has been meddling in the oberwyn valley and that is where a certain rebel has decided to make his new base, by way of converting the entire valley to anti-empire propaganda, so his soldiers have to pull out or die and she's not stupid, neither is he but he's, you know, impulsive-- she breathes out.
they walk past her, morzan and galbatorix; right-hand-man and king; only this time (she has never seen them like this before) there is something between them, something warm and gentle written in the line of galbatorix's shoulder and the smile in morzan's eyes, in the arms just gently brushing, in the laugh that's warm on morzan's lips. they don't notice her and she knows that it is good, that it shows just how clever she's become but at the same time it almost hurts.
(it's like her heart is pumping too much blood and not enough at the same time; she can't breathe--)
she follows them, because she can; because she is cat-quiet and shadow-lithe, because this is what she does. (because she loves him, maybe a little too much, maybe far too much; maybe garrow was right but she shoves that to the back of her mind, bottom of her heart where it won't bother her.)
morzan leans his head on galbatorix's shoulder, just for a little while; his hair brushes against galbatorix's jawline. there is a faint bruise on his knuckles, purple for royalty, red for blood (like the blood on his shirt). he whispers something; she tilts her head, coaxes the magic he taught her and listens. i love you, morzan is saying, i love you. if nothing else, i love you.
galbatorix stops, turns and kisses morzan, soft and gentle like there's no one else in the world. something in selena feels sick, feels lonely and lost; she cannot pull her eyes away. they're standing together like something out of a fairytale, galbatorix just slightly taller than morzan, hair gleaming gold in perfect contrast with morzan's black and it's perfect, like they fit together (like she never did, with him).
i love you too, galbatorix says, breaking the kiss, morzan, i'm sorry. his eyes are brightbright blue, concentrated light, piercing and intense; he bends his head to morzan again, and if she lowers her eyelids just so she can see the magic in the two of them, the magic they call innate like extensions of themselves; morzan's red twines with galbatorix's silver-black-blue-gold, sparking like a star, dying.
she can't watch anymore, just can't; she ghosts away, down the hall in the other direction. she does not know where she's going but she knows she cannot stay here.
--
"this is not how we end," she says, sitting with her knees tucked up to her chin, under a willow tree in a courtyard in some dukedom three hours by dragon away from the castle. she closes her eyes and says it again, like if she says it enough times, she can make her words true. "this is not what is going to happen, goddess-damn-it."
the wind runs through her hair, tangling it mercilessly against her cold bare arms. she bites her lip, stares into empty space like it can reassure her. (she knows, from experience, that it can't.)
"what's ending?"
she looks up; there is a man standing over her, quiet and lanky, skin tanned and worn, smile creasing at the corners of his mouth. his clothes are worn and there is a long, thin sword at his waist; he is nothing like morzan.
"nothing," she says, thinking, everything. willow leaves fall, brushed by the wind onto the stone floor.
he sits down next to her, "do you mind?"
"of course," she says, sweeping the line of her skirt away from his feet, catching twigs on the bottom. "i'm alianne," she lies, easy as breathing.
"kalan," he says, quirk of his mouth, light in his eyes telling her he's a liar too. she likes him instinctively, definitely, as if she made a choice.
they sit. she can hear his heartbeat; she slows her breathing, matches his rhythm and watches the rain-clouds looming on the horizon.
"it's going to rain," he says, "you all right?"
she sighs. "the man i married is in love with someone else."
he blinks.
"you asked, before," she says, "that's what ended. him and me. kind of, i think."
"i did ask," he says, and there is a silence before he continues. "i'm sorry."
"it's not your fault," she says, and she gets up, shaking the bottom of her dress to shed the leaves and grass. "it's going to rain; i'd better get inside."
"i'll see you," he says, and she can feel his eyes boring into her back as she walks through the door.
--
galbatorix hands her a bloody sword, light and sure; his hands are beautiful, even as red as they are. "you're morzan's hand," he says, like it does not matter, like he's just making conversation, "why?"
she pulls, waits for the sound of bone cracking; tilts her head at the scream when it comes. "i don't know," she says, "but i would die for him. that's all that matters, right?"
"all right," he says, "i'll give you that." he smiles, and his teeth are white like bone.
--
"did you not know?" he asks, sliding up beside her; they are in the forests near furnost and she is inspecting a mine that she's had whispers is under siege. she does not know what he is doing here; but her horse does not seem to care.
she adjusts her skirts. "what are you doing here?"
"you looked like you needed someone to talk to; i was heading this way anyway. so how did you not know about your husband?" his horse is pale brown, stocky and capable. his scabbard is battered, with lines scoring the length of the hide.
"not that it's any of your business," she says, "but i thought he was done with that. i thought they were done; turns out we are, instead."
"i'm sorry," he says, for the second time; there is sincerity in his voice and his voice. "i've had that before; it-- it's a shitty situation, and you don't deserve it."
she sighs. "sometimes i think i do," she says, and then she closes her eyes and runs her fingers through her hair. "forget i said that."
--
morzan kisses her fast and brutal, scorching and piercing, with fire in his eyes and she kisses him back, breath stolen away but she can't help but think what has galbatorix done now, even as she's pressing her lips to his and sliding to her knees.
--
"this isn't what i normally do," she says, the third time they meet; he half-smiles at her, toasts her with his glass of wine.
"hey," he says, "it always pays to make nice with the staff."
"you're not staff," she says, "or, you're not meant to be. who are you?"
"brom," he says, simply, the smile fading from his lips and his eyes.
she says, "all right."
"well," he says, "i've given you a name; can i have yours?"
"i'm morzan's black hand," she says, shortly, "i don't have a name."
"that's silly," he says. "everyone has a name."
"you know who doesn't?" she snaps, "morzan's dragon. kialandi's dragon. amaryth's dragon. who's fault is that?"
"theirs," brom says, and there is no trace of pity in his eyes; no emotion, just stating a fact. "the dragons had no choice, alianne-or-whatever-your-name-is; there was nothing else they could do."
"fuck you," she says, words bubbling into her mouth, catching in her throat, "fuck you and the fucking self-righteous aggrandising horse you rode in on. fuck you to fucking hell."
"you could just kill me," he says, lightly, like he doesn't care.
"you killed amaryth," she says, "did you even know her?"
he shrugs, "so take your revenge. that's what we do here, right? this vicious fucking cycle that never ever stops." he sounds tired, lines worn on his face, and his eyes are hollow.
"i'm drunk," she says, slowly, "and besides. you sat with me under a willow tree and told me everything was going to be all right; that has to count for something." but her hands are white-knuckled with fury, and she is trembling just a little.
he tilts his head back, staring at the space above them. "i'm sorry," he says.
she says, "don't be."
--
she throws up at dawn, washes her mouth out with water and hopes no one heard; she feels sick, nauseous and too tired and she wants to go home (not morzan's cool empty castle but home, for the first time in years she wants to sit with garrow, put her head in his lap and have him stroke her hair and call her silly) but she can't because she has to kill some people in a couple of hours and right now she is feeling like it is all just not worth it.
she runs her hands through her hair and breathes out, aftertaste thick and acidic in her mouth, burning her teeth and throat; she thinks of the words that morzan taught her, goes with heal and has to lunge for the bucket immediately after. she thinks of magic, thinks of the way her body is supposed to work and asks it what is wrong; it tells her.
fuck, she thinks, revelations cascading onto her head like falling stars, fuck. she is not exactly living the kind of life that is appropriate for a child, or for that matter, condusive to being pregnant; but she does not want to drink the tea or do the spell, not now, not when she is so tired she can barely drag herself to the pitcher of water on the counter and rinse out her mouth.
she reaches for morzan's mind, sloshing water in her mouth; it is the right thing to do, right? even if selena's never quite been the kind of girl who liked morality plays. hello, she says, carefully, opening her mind to him.
what, he says, the sun's not even up yet.
it is here, she says, look.
his mind's not gentle, in hers; it never is but it could be worse, there's no real malice to the way he goes through her thoughts, discarding them one at a time. she buries brom at the back of her mind; she doesn't like the man but she's met him and she doesn't think she wants to have to find a reason to kill him, not just yet. oh, fuck, morzan says, are you sure.
yes, she says; she can't help feeling guilty, i'm sorry.
no, he says, it's not your-- do you want to keep it? it's funny, because she never thought he would be the kind of man to offer her the choice.
she says, what are the odds it'll end up a rider, because that is the first thing she thinks of. she could never fly, not like morzan does, but if she had a child it might make up for that lack, perhaps.
pretty high, he says, but. he is worried about galbatorix; the mindlink goes both ways. it's mine, you're sure.
she quirks her mouth where he can't see it. yes, she says. there's no one else.
all right, he says, look, come home, we'll deal with it face to face--
let me finish this, she says, because it's morning sickness for a reason, right? it will fade, in time, she'll do what she needs to do, feel like an actual person before all people see when they look at her is the child in her stomach; she's seen what happens, when riders have children.
you don't have to, he says, oddly sweet.
i'd like to, she says, please.
he severs the link; she wipes her mouth, again, and spits the water into the bucket.
--
the thing is, is that the first time she kills someone is not the time morzan put her in a room with twelve of his best soldiers and one word of magic; as long as selena has been alive, she has lived with death like a black dog on her shoulder, has seen the plague and has killed for mercy and for justice and until she has been sick from it.
the thing is, is that she has never killed someone that she did not love before morzan asked her to, quietly and gently, and with death she knew quite well in his eyes, mirroring her own.
the thing is, is that she is sitting in a room with blood on her hands and a knife fallen to the ground in front of her, the sound of its fall still ringing in her ears, and there are men dead around her, because she killed them. and she is numb.
this is how it works, she thinks, sitting there on the cold stone floor, this is what it takes to make the sun rise and the magic burn in your hands. she would not give it up if he asked her for death as a price.
the door opens and morzan comes in, dark hair falling careful to his shoulders, loose clothes slipping across his collarbone to show a dark red mark from a sword and the hint of a bandage extending across his shoulderblade. "well done," he says, "the king will be pleased when i tell him i've found a new mage."
--
brom sits with her in the garden, under a willow tree. its leaves fall gently, blowing in the wind. "are you all right?" he asks, eyes meeting hers, unflinching. his hands are still; one is draped across his bent knee, the other is resting on the cool courtyard tile.
she sighs, resting her hand on the bump of her stomach. "i'm fine," she says, "i'll be better when it stops kicking me in the gut all the time."
he half-smiles. "have you thought of a name?"
"i was thinking," she says, slowly, "there was a hero, way before-- the first one to talk to dragons, to make them calm and real. maybe eragon?"
brom says, "that is a beautiful name; but then any child of yours would need a beautiful name to fit its demeanour."
she says, "i don't know if i should be charmed by that," but there is a slight smile curving her lips, nonetheless. "but nevermind; morzan says he wants to name it after this man he knew once, one of the thirteen that i never met. murtagh."
"what'll you do if it's a girl?" brom asks, skirting around her words.
selena laughs, despite herself. "we haven't really thought that far. i suppose-- i've always liked alianne."
his eyes go intense, silver-blue like the heart of a fire. the same colour as morzan's blue, she thinks, before he leans over until he is within kissing distance, until she can feel his breath on her lips. "may i?" he asks, this half-hesitant moment where he is for once shy; she can feel the heat coming off him, warming her too. morzan was never like this.
she thinks of morzan, thinks of the child in her belly, thinks of the way she used to say i love you and the way she says it now, and she kisses brom, softly, quickly. "he can never know," she says, but she leans against him nonetheless, and he kisses her back, just as careful.
he says, almost surprised, "look, the sun is setting."
she blinks; the sky is crimson, stained with gold.
--