Disclaimer: I don't own Eragon or anything associated with the Inheritance Cycle.
Claimer: I, SussieKitten, own this plot and the story. Borrow or steal my plot, my original characters (when used) or story and I will report you. I also own my version of certain creatures' human appearances, and the universe and versions of the creatures I use in this story (hydras and chimeras in particular).
Warnings: Slash/Yaoi – meaning guy x guy action. Mature content – hint of sexual intercourse. Swearing or strong language. Supernatural creatures – there will be mainly dragons, vampires and werewolves in this story. Mentioned Character Death – Genuine C.P. Characters, but it'll just be mentioned. Hurt/Injuries – a character or two will get hurt. A little blood – this is a vampire fic after all. Hints of Non-Consensual sex. Hinted Mpreg – hinted and you have to really look to find it. If any of this disturbs you, click on the "back" button. I won't tolerate any flames.
A/N Read the warnings carefully; they're there for a reason!
This is dedicated to one of my beloved betas: dragonrider713. I wish I could have written a happier fic to you, hon, but I thought it was fitting since you made me aware of this pairing. Also, your M/B fic inspired me a little bit. :wink: I hope you enjoy this.
To the rest of you guys; enjoy this little Haunted/Obsession side-fic starring Brom and Morzan. You don't have to have read Haunted or Obsession to understand this story, but you will understand more if you have. This incident will probably never come up in Obsession again, but it is an alright story to read if you want to understand a little more about Obs!Brom's motivation and background.
This story is unbeat'ed since I didn't want to spoil the surprise by using the only one of my betas that currently is available. So, I'm sorry if there are any glaring spelling/grammar mistakes in this. I hope you'll still be able to enjoy it. :sweatdrop:
EDIT (16th of September)
There used to be a warning here so that you could skip the non-rape part and still get a feeling of the story. I have now cut out the rape part because of FFnet's rules. An unedited version has been posted on my "homepage", which is a site that allows mature content, so if you wish to read the story as its whole and are of age to do it, you can go to my profile and follow the link.
- A Desire for Bloodshed; A short tale from Brom's life
He supposed he was a bit fool-hearted and maybe even a little thick-headed. But ever since his best friend had died, he had forgotten why his life mattered anymore. All he had left was his courage, his cold heart, his mercilessness and his new mission.
Brom Teller was by no means a normal man. Even in Alagaësia, the special land he lived in, he wasn't considered normal. His father had been a magician while his mother had been human. And when a baby dragon had come to him during his youth, Brom had become even more special. That dragon had bonded with him and had then taken a human form, her hydra form. Safina had been her name. They had been best friends for nearly two decades when it had happened.
War had struck Alagaësia. Many people had died, and the dragon race had been forced to flee to the desert and the Beor Mountains, all because of that bastard King. The King's own hydra had died a month ago. The only reason Brom had been sad to hear that was because the hydra had merely been a tool to get the King crowned in the first place. It had gained him popularity and people had believed him to be honest. Dragons were excellent people readers. If King Galbatorix truly had been evil, the hydra wouldn't have chosen him, or so people had believed.
Brom had never been fooled by the King's mask. He wasn't sure how the poor hydra had chosen Galbatorix in the first place, but it didn't matter now. The hydra was dead. The King was going to be next.
But three months ago things had changed for Brom. Safina had been killed. Brom had been on a mission since then; to kill as many of Galbatorix's men as he could before he was killed as well.
It was by chance that Brom found himself back in Carvahall. He had been following one of Galbatorix's assassin squads, and they had stopped a few miles outside of the city. He had managed to kill all but two of them. That was the one thing he still had left of Safina; the magic their bond had graced him. Because even though his father was a magician, his magic skills had been nothing short of terrible before she had entered his life.
Now he could kill with just a simple spell.
Brom locked himself into his parents' old home and put up a shield around the manor. He was rarely there, so the dust had managed to build up quite nicely. He put down his things and walked straight to the shower he had claimed as his own.
His parents had died in the very beginning of the war. His mother had died of an illness and his father had gone down fighting. Brom had taken satisfaction in killing his father's killer with his bare hands.
He walked out of the shower fifteen minutes later, clean of all the blood and grime he had been smeared with from the encounter with the assassins. He put on a new set of clothes; put on a belt stocked with a handful of potions, stuck his favourite knife into its sheath and walked out. He reset the shield and started to explore the changes in Carvahall.
It had nearly been seven years since he had last been in the city. The war could be seen everywhere now. A few shops were closed and few men were walking in the street. The women looked troubled, and he recognized a few protective spells here and there. Even with them, a few buildings showed signs of having been shot at. Even little Carvahall was at war.
"Excuse me," he said politely.
The old woman tending to her shop looked up. She narrowed her eyes to see him better.
"What can I do for you?" she asked softly.
"I'm looking for Fram's shop. I thought it was supposed to be around here?" Brom asked.
"Oh, he left Carvahall with his son and ward three years ago," the old woman sighed. "Carvahall is no place to raise a toddler anymore."
Brom nodded solemnly.
"Thank you for your help," he gave her a few coins. "Have a good day."
"And a good day to you too, dear," the woman smiled crookedly at him.
Brom turned to walk away when the old woman's words hit home. He turned back around.
"Excuse me, but did you say that Fram had a ward?" he frowned.
"Oh yes," the old woman nodded. "His sister gave birth a year before Garrow left. She died after the birth, the poor dear. She refused to say who the father was. We suspect he left her the second he found out she was pregnant."
Brom's hands fisted at his sides.
"Garrow said he would be back after the war was over. Said he was waiting for someone."
"Alright. Thank you again," he nodded and walked away.
A few hours later he found himself at the cemetery. He usually avoided it, knowing what kind of creatures that could lurk there even in the light shadows of the day, but today he braved it.
He found her headstone easily enough. Selena Fram it said. Underneath he read the dates of her birth and death. And underneath that again; Beloved mother and sister. You will be dearly missed.
So she truly was dead. Another person was gone from his life. Brom clenched his jaw. And she had given birth to a child, a child that soon would be five years old. He wondered who the father was.
Brom put down the flower he had bought on her headstone.
"I'm sorry I didn't come earlier," he said softly. "You are missed, dear friend."
He stuffed his hands into his pockets and stalked out of the cemetery.
It didn't take him long to sense that he wasn't the only magical being in Carvahall. With Safina, he had trained himself to notice the presence of creatures and magical beings, just in case they would ever get separated. He thanked her to this day that she had helped him.
It took Brom a bit longer to recognize the signature of the other beings. He knew there were a couple of magicians that lived just outside the city border and a few inside the city itself. There was a small population of werewolves in the Spine, but they seemed to be moving further away from the city.
That gave him a very vital clue. Whoever was there wasn't liked by the werewolves. His best guess would be vampires.
Vampires feasted on pain and misery as much as blood, in Brom's opinion. But why they had chosen to settle down in Carvahall was beyond him. There were hardly any battles there. The community was a little closed off due to the war; newcomers weren't always welcome. They could be easily spotted and singled out. It made Brom a little curious. Who would dare to take such a huge risk?
Brom was polishing his best hunting knife when an answer came to him. Morzan would take such a huge risk. He scowled when he remembered their first meeting. He had only gotten away because Morzan had underestimated him and Safina had come to his rescue. If this was indeed Morzan, then he was going to stay away.
He wasn't suicidal enough to visit Morzan yet. He knew he only had a small chance to get away from Morzan, the most dangerous vampire of the modern time, if he encountered him again. Brom knew he had grown stronger, but there was no doubt that Morzan had grown stronger too.
Brom sheathed his knife and walked out of the house again. If he was going to keep himself from bumping into Morzan, he needed to know where he was and where he liked to hunt.
He was walking down the street and was surprised when he recognized the old woman from earlier. It was getting late. What was she doing out at this hour?
"Ma'am?" he said softly.
The woman smiled crookedly.
"What can I do for you, dear?"
"Would you happen to know how I can reach Fram by any chance?" he asked on a whim.
It was better to ask that than to ask what she was doing out after dusk. He wasn't quite sure he wanted her to answer his other question.
"I don't, but the blacksmith might. Horst is his name, I believe," she said and pointed across the street. "There's his shop right there. I think he's still in."
"Thank you," he gave her another coin. "Good night."
"And good night to you," she replied.
He crossed the street and walked into the shop. It wasn't as hot as he had expected, meaning that they had put out the fire in the oven some time ago.
"Can I help you?" a man at his age asked as he walked out from the back.
Brom figured this had to be Horst.
"I was told you were a friend of Garrow Fram. Do you know how I can get in touch with him?" Brom asked. "I'm a friend of the family. Brom Teller is my name."
Something flickered in Horst's eyes. He reached under the counter and pulled out a thick and mattered book. Horst flipped through the pages before stopping.
"Here it is," Horst paused before saying the phone number out loud. "That's where he's supposed to stay, according to the letters he's been sending me. He prefers letters, that man, but knows that he needs to leave a number every now and then."
Brom repeated the number eight times in his head to make sure he remembered it.
"Thank you. How did you know you could trust me?"
"Garrow told me you might stop by one of these days," Horst replied.
Brom frowned. He hadn't been in Carvahall in years; why would Garrow think that?
"Well, thank you again. Apparently I missed a lot in the years I was away," Brom said and gave a small polite nod.
"Indeed you did. Good night."
"To you too," he replied and walked out of the shop.
Sleep didn't come easily that night. And when he woke up, he didn't feel like he had slept at all. All he could remember was black-red eyes and pain.
Brom got up and felt more awake after a long shower. He hoped the nightmares had been just that; nightmares. A few of his dreams had come true, and he had a feeling he didn't want this one to come true anytime soon.
He roamed the streets again that day. He was surprised to see an art gallery open and walked inside. He nodded politely to the girl behind the counter and walked around. It wasn't until he reached the very back of the shop that a painting caught his eye.
"Do you like it?" the girl asked.
Brom looked at her. She almost reminded him of Selena with her dark hair and soft eyes. He shook the feeling away.
"I think it's creepy," she continued. "Who wants to paint a vampire, anyway? That's what that guy is; a vampire."
Brom looked back at the painting. He knew it was a vampire. He even knew who it was.
"Some people find beauty in different places than others," Brom said nonchalantly.
"No one seems to find the beauty in that one," she gestured at it. "We've had it for nearly ten years, and no one is willing to buy it. Few even dare to look at it."
Brom studied it further. The tall frame, black and grey clothes, long dark hair, the cruel smirk and glimmering black-red eyes...it was all familiar. It almost made him want to...
"I'll take it."
The girl blinked. She looked at him for a long time before nodding softly.
"Come with me, please," she said and walked back to the counter.
Brom followed her. He hoped he wasn't making a mistake.
The painting was stuffed into the back of one of his closets. Even though he had bought it, Brom had no intention of putting it on display. He had just wanted to buy it and, unable to quench that thirst, had bought it. But no one was going to know. No one needed to know. The painting would remain his private secret.
He was out on the streets just an hour after taking the painting home. He reset the shield and started the search for Morzan's hideout.
Brom knew he was being stupid. He could easily get caught, and if he got caught...But somehow that didn't matter. He needed to know if Morzan was there and if he was; how he could stay away from him. Just in case he had to go to the extremes and actually kill the vampire, he had brought a lighter and a matchbox along.
Carvahall had many rundown or empty houses thanks to the war. Brom checked all of them, but to no avail; they were all empty.
Brom sat down on a bench that had seen better days, if not better years. He remembered something then. He had heard rumours that Morzan was a father now, had been the first time Brom had run into him as well. From what Brom had heard, it was a boy and Morzan had made sure the boy was a vampire before he had killed the mother. According to the rumours, the boy would be nine or ten years old.
With the boy, it made sense that Morzan would have picked a secluded place to live. And all the places Brom had looked at so far had been at the city border or within the city. Hardly secluded at all. He needed to check the outskirts of the city or a place that hardly had any other houses around it.
One place suddenly stood out to Brom. He stood and decided to check it right away.
Brom wasn't sure why he had felt so compelled to check the place out, but would later chalk it up as the same curiosity that made him buy the painting. A part of him needed to know if Morzan was around for other reasons than to know how to stay away from him.
Ever since their last meeting, which was also their first, Brom had always been half-aware of Morzan's whereabouts. How could he not? Morzan was a dangerous man. He needed to know where his enemies were, especially the ones he needed to avoid.
But now that it had been close to ten years since their last meeting, Brom had almost forgotten about Morzan. He no longer listened in on the gossip to hear if Morzan was around. He no longer checked the city he stayed in for any unsolved murders or deaths. Perhaps it was time to pick up that habit?
Brom ran a hand through his brown hair and looked at the rundown mansion in front of him. It was a good ten minutes out of the centre of Carvahall and had its own cemetery. The family had that lived there had died well before the war had started. It was as seclude as it could get in the Palancar Valley.
Brom narrowed his eyes and checked the mansion's windows. None of them were lit up, but it wasn't like vampires needed light to see. He didn't want to enter the grounds in case Morzan was indeed staying there. He was close enough as it was. Since it was so vacant around him; every house around the mansions was empty, his heartbeat could and would give him away if he got any closer.
Brom checked the gate in front of him with his hands and eyes. He frowned when he checked the chain. It seemed fairly new. He rolled up the sleeve of his right arm and pressed two fingers to the tattoo just above his pulse. His left hand glowed softly. Brom stared sadly at the turquoise colour of his magic aura. It always reminded him of Safina.
He shook his head and touched the chain. Yes, it was new, and there was a slight flare of magic still on it. Rider magic.
"Morzan," he murmured under his breath.
He had been right. Morzan was indeed there. He stepped back without deactivating his magic. He needed to leave now.
"Going so soon?"
Brom froze. He cursed himself for having gotten lost in his thoughts. He should have noticed it when the other had snuck up on him. Now it was too late. Now he needed to find out how he could escape. Damn vampires.
"Yes," Brom said coldly. "There doesn't have to be any fighting here."
The other breathed on his ear. Brom shuddered. He could hear the vampire smirk.
"No?" the vampire breathed. "Not even if I were to attack you?"
Brom reached for his knife. A cold hand stopped him. Cold? What the hell? Usually vampires didn't get cold unless it had been a while, usually two or so weeks, since they had last fed. Was Morzan not living up to his infamous reputation of 'one a day' anymore?
"Tut tut, none of that," Morzan breathed.
Brom ripped his hand out of Morzan's hold and whirled around. There was no one there. Brom cursed and could only freeze when he felt his own knife being pressed against his throat. An arm slipped around him and held him back against a hard body.
"You haven't changed at all, Teller."
"Same to you," Brom spat.
Morzan chuckled darkly. Brom could feel it rumble through his own body and he felt an unpleasant shiver run down his spine as a result.
"That wasn't very nice," Morzan breathed on his neck.
"What do you know about being nice?" Brom growled. "And if you want to bite me, bite already!"
"Where's the fun in that?" Morzan smirked.
Brom struggled against him. He hissed when the knife slid against his skin. It burned as the steel left a cut in its wake. Brom could feel it start to bleed. Behind him, Morzan stiffened slightly.
"My, don't we smell good?" the vampire purred softly.
Fuck. That could only mean bad things.
"Let go off me," he ground out.
"Hmm, how about no?" Morzan smirked.
Brom tensed. He grabbed onto the arm that held him back, forced it to release the hold on his hips and spun out of the embrace. The blade cut shallowly across his neck as he spun out. Brom held a hand to his neck as he stood before Morzan.
The man truly hadn't changed. He still had the same dark and slightly elegant clothes. Dark hair was still pulled back into a low ponytail and the same smothering black-red eyes still stood out glaringly on his pale face.
Brom glared at him and whispered a soft spell to heal the wound on his neck. He watched as Morzan lifted the blade to his mouth and licked the blood off it. Morzan licked his lips. Sharp fangs gleamed in the soft moon light before the mouth was closed again.
"You taste good too. Hmm, what a coincidence."
"You sick fuck," Brom snarled.
"Such harsh language," Morzan laughed.
Brom watched the vampire twirl his blade in the air. Throw, catch and repeat.
"Want this back?" the smirk widened. "Come and get it."
Brom began a summoning spell, but Morzan cut him off.
"You can't con a fellow rider, Teller," Morzan tsk'ed. "Why don't you be a man about it and come and get it back?"
A different kind of shiver ran down his back. Brom recognized the signs. As a warrior of the resistance, he had learned everything there was to know about the enemy and its creatures. Was Morzan trying to...seduce him? Impossible.
Even so, that was his favourite knife. Brom didn't even brace himself before he shot at the other man.
He should have known that Morzan was going to be fast. Damn that vampire! By the time he had gotten over to where he had been standing, Morzan was gone. Brom growled loudly.
"Will Teller come out and play?" Morzan hissed into his ear.
Brom snarled and grabbed after him, but the vampire had already jumped out of reach.
"You're pathetic! Why bother to tell me to act like a man when you're going to act like a coward yourself?"
Suddenly Morzan was standing right in front of him. All previous humour was gone from his face.
"You want to be a man about this?" Morzan traced a finger down his cheek. "Then let's."
Brom barely had time to push the hand off of him before Morzan kicked him back into the gate. He grunted in pain as the back of his skull hit one of the metal bars dead-on. Brom grabbed onto one of the bars to keep himself upright.
Brom barely saw him charge, but this time he managed to jump out of the way. He skidded on the gravel and saw one of Morzan's hands calmly let go of the metal bar it had been clenched around. It had thinned considerably.
Damn, he was strong.
"Come kitty, kitty," Morzan smirked nastily.
Brom growled. He leaped at Morzan, and this time the vampire met him halfway. Morzan punched him in the stomach and threw him hard into the metal fence. Brom cried out. His shoulder was at least sprained now. He held both of his hands in front of him nonetheless and pushed Morzan away with a nasty spell. The vampire shot away from him and slid across the gravel.
Brom grabbed his shoulder and pushed away from the fence. A little sore, but nothing he couldn't handle. He wiped the blood from his mouth and watched coolly as Morzan stood.
"Rely on magic too much dear Teller, and it'll be your downfall," the vampire taunted.
"Rely on your strength too much, and it might fail you," he taunted back.
And then Morzan charged again.
The fight only lasted for a half hour, but it was the longest half hour in Brom's life. During this time his shirt had been torn, two of his potions had been smashed as the belt had been ripped from him, and his knees had been bloodied through the jeans he was wearing. He had a nasty gash down his ribs that had been bleeding severely. Brom had just managed to stop it before Morzan had charged again. He also had several bruises and a road rash on his hands from where Morzan had thrown him to the ground.
To be fair, the vampire didn't look that good either, even though the bastard would look peachy by tomorrow. Damn vampiric healing abilities. The ponytail was basically gone and he had a healing gash across of his face. There was a severe road rash on his shoulder and partially down his back that had only begun to heal. His shirt was at least more ruined that Brom's was.
Brom had just pushed him off when Morzan turned around and slammed him into the wall. As they had fought, they had moved. It wasn't the first time Brom had been pushed into the empty buildings' walls a few metres away from the mansion's gate, but it was the first time he was pinned to it.
"You're a worthy opponent," Morzan hummed. "But you've had your fun. Now it's time I get mine."
"If you think this is my idea of fun -" Brom snarled, but was cut off.
Being pushed hard into a wall face first ought to do it.
Brom grunted and tried to push away, but before he could his hands had been forced behind his back. A strong grip kept them there. Before he could utter a spell, he found his hands restrained by one. He cursed loudly.
Morzan chuckled right into his ear. It nearly made his blood turn to ice.
"Brace yourself," Morzan said and licked down his neck.
He closed his eyes. He was going to die, he knew it. At least, so he wished when he felt Morzan rip down his pants. Dear God, no.
Morzan slammed him back against the wall when he tried to get away. It was made of bricks and scraped up his face when he was pushed against it. Brom growled out a spell, but felt it fade before it got to his fingertips.
"DAMN YOU!" Brom roared.
Morzan laughed loudly. He snarled when he heard Morzan push down his own pants.
"Curse me all you want, love, you're not getting away," he chuckled and Brom stiffened when he felt the fangs scrape across his jugular.
"Just kill me and get it over with. You don't have to -"
"No," the vampire interrupted him silkily. "I don't have to, but I want to."
He knew he hadn't been out for more than a minute or two, but when he came to he was aching all over and his neck was throbbing. As was his ass. And of course he was seated on said ass. He had also been redressed.
Brom groaned and cupped his neck. He instantly released it. It literally burned.
Brom looked up. Morzan crouched down in front of him with a very satisfied smirk on his lips. His fangs glimmered when he licked his lips.
"Did you have fun?" Morzan asked, the smirk widening just a hint.
Brom glared at him. To emphasize his hatred, he spat on him.
Morzan blinked. Brom was surprised when he hit him as well, even more so at Morzan's slightly shocked look.
The vampire raised his hand slowly and wiped away the spit.
"That wasn't very nice," Morzan said coldly and straightened. "Well, I was going to kill you anyway, so..."
Brom pushed himself up. He winced when he felt the fire return and pain start to shoot up his spine. He could also feel the semen and blood slide out of his hole, down his crack and down his leg, staining his underwear in the process.
Morzan watched him amusedly. Brom kept one hand at the wall as he got to his feet. His knees wobbled slightly, but so be it. He wasn't going to let Morzan kill him that easily; not after everything he had just been through.
Brom had never hated anyone so much before, but now he did.
"So kill me, you asshole," Brom snarled. "I'm ready!"
Morzan tilted his head. For a second, nothing happened. When that second passed, someone was suddenly standing beside the vampire. That someone was short and was clearly a child. A very frighteningly familiar child, even though Brom knew he had never seen him before.
"Father," the child greeted dryly.
Brom stared at the child in shock. There was no denying it. The dark hair, the abnormally pale skin, the near-blinding beauty...this was Morzan's son.
"Father's busy," Morzan said coldly. "Leave."
Brom flinched when the child's eyes met his. They weren't clouded over in bloodlust, he realised suddenly. Instead they were a startling hazel colour. If they came from the boy's mother or Morzan himself, Brom didn't know. The hazel eyed flickered before looking away.
"I said leave, Murtagh," Morzan snarled.
Murtagh? Brom would have to remember that name. If he made it out of there alive, that was.
"That man has lost his dragon. I'd rather not have to deal with you being moody after drinking yourself sadder, father," Murtagh said suddenly.
Suddenly the time stood still. Brom felt his eyes widen. How had the child known that? His eyes flickered to the child's father. Morzan's eyes were locked at Murtagh. They were glazed over, but never once lost their black-red shine. When they narrowed, Brom realised he only had a second to get away.
He shot away from the wall and ran. He ran and ran, not caring about the pain shooting up his spine or that his breathing was steadily getting more and more laboured.
Brom only dared to look behind himself once. Black-red eyes met his. That stare would haunt him even during his waking hours.
And so Brom managed to escape death.
It was only later that he would begin to question Morzan's strange behaviour. He would wonder why Morzan had let him go so easily. He knew that Morzan's dragon was dead, but...had that really been enough? Pity had not been Morzan's forte.
He would wonder about Garrow's strange words and promises and the father of Selena's child. Would he ever get an answer?
He would wonder what would have happened if he had gone back to take Morzan down himself. Would it have changed how Morzan's child had turned out? Brom didn't feel guilty, but...he would still wonder.
Brom would wonder if he had done the right thing by leaving Carvahall the next day. Should he have stayed? If he had, would it had changed anything? Would he have gotten himself killed if he had?
He would wonder if the consequences had been worth the entire ordeal. They certainly had brought him down a peg or two. It might even have saved him from getting himself killed later.
Brom would wonder if he had the right to feel relieved when he had heard that he wasn't 'expecting' after all.
And last but not least, he would question his own feelings regarding everything; that last meeting with Morzan in particular. Would he ever be able to go back to that day and find out what he really felt, especially with the knowledge he possessed today that he hadn't had back then? Was what was going on his head the same as what had been going on back then?
Even years later, he would still struggle with these questions. The only thing he did know was that he was lucky to be alive. That and that he would remember his last encounter with Morzan for the rest of his life.
A/N If anyone's wondering, this is the incident that Brom mentioned in chapter 1 of Obsession. Murtagh's line is identical from that chapter, though if you read what Brom says again, you'll see that he left quite a bit out when he retold this to Saphira and Eragon.
While writing Obsession, I began to notice certain things that Murtagh says and thinks about his father and Brom. It got me thinking. It was then I acknowledged, to myself at first and then discussed it with dragonrider713, that there were subtle hints of Morzan/Brom in the story. But due to the fact that Morzan died, and that Brom remained childless, it was obvious that a relationship was never meant to even be engaged between these two.
And yes, I am hinting what you think I'm hinting at here. Brom was Morzan's mate. And I know what you might wonder now. If so, how could Morzan get weakened after just a few days of not getting Brom's blood? Because Morzan was bloodthirsty enough to feed once a day; his illness would therefore progress faster than Murtagh's did in Obsession. Murtagh fed once or twice a week at the most. The illness needed a few weeks to take hold of Murtagh, but no more than a week to take hold of Morzan. By that week then, Murtagh was very capable of ending his father's life singlehandedly.
But enough rambling. I really hope you enjoyed this little side-fic. I know I enjoyed writing it, perhaps even a bit too much. :laughs: Good night, all.