realpolitik | Morgan | Morgan

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Morgan | Morgan | 032

[Honestly, what she's doing here is exactly what she's always done. She's just carrying out her father's orders. The fact that she's killing her old friends, well...

It's a shame, it really is, but Father comes first. He's always come first. She may know them, faintly, but it's all trumped by the feeling of wanting to really, really make her father proud.

He wasn't the father she was used to, granted. Once upon a time, he had been so gentle, she remembered that. He'd be sweet and kind and had taught her all sorts of tactics--and now... Well, now she would just have to make him so proud that he would teach her tactics again. That would be enough, she thinks. That would be enough.

Which is why she surveys her army's formation with some satisfaction. They're Risen, which means that the strange army that has suddenly appeared will be able to take care of them relatively easily, but hopefully not before they kill the others. And...if not, she'll just have to take care of them herself.

Which is why she's not completely outside of the range of combat as she steps forward, spell tome clutched close. She doesn't expect anyone to get this far that easily, which admittedly is a miscalculation--and one she'll probably regret.]

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[Honestly, what he's doing here is exactly what he's always done. He's just following his mother's orders. The fact he's protecting his friends in a completely different timeline, well...

There's a certain weight to this battle that sets it apart from the others. He doesn't know these versions of his friends, but that doesn't change who they are. That doesn't change the fact they're his friends, and he's one of the few people standing between them and a grisly demise. And knowing they're in the future right now, part of him can't help but wonder as he fights... is this his future? Was his world like this?

But there's no time to think about that, his body twisting out of the way of a thrown spear as he suddenly bolts across the ground, closing the distance between him and a heavily armored Risen at speeds an ordinary soldier would have never been able to achieve, plunging the incredibly sharp blade of his silver sword hilt-deep into its chest before suddenly yanking it out. By the time the General is slumping forwards, Morgan's eyes are already on another Risen with an axe charging from behind it.

A second later and the young Exalt-tactician is planting one armored boot firmly on top of the General, kicking off of it and propelling himself straight towards the second Risen who barely has time to raise his axe before its head is neatly removed from its shoulders, Morgan twisting his sword around and stabbing backwards into it once for good measure. These Risen have strength far beyond any ordinary man... but he's the descendant of both the Fell and Exalt bloodlines. There's a certain kind of strength that comes with that, one he's fully realized over the course of his battles back home.

This only buys him a momentary reprieve though as he yanks his sword free, eyes settling on what he thought he saw earlier. There. That must be the person commanding them, they don't look like a Risen... but that's not what grabs his attention first. It's the cloak she's wearing.

Mostly because it's the same one he's wearing right now.

Patting the Thorin tome hooked to his belt with one hand just in case he needs it, he clutches his sword firmly before slowly walking towards her, knowing full well he'll be spotted. But it's not the element of surprise he's looking for.

It's answers.]

... you're the one commanding them, aren't you? [For once, his tone has taken on a far more serious edge than normal.]

[She was watching his progress.

Trained in tactics from a very young age and onwards, sensing the flow of the battle comes naturally to Morgan. And she senses the disturbance that this young man's easy defeat of the Risen before him brings. He seems to be coming to see her-- good. If she can prevent him from killing more of her soldiers, her plan has a greater chance of victory.

That much is clear enough to her, and so she lifts her spell tome (Thorin) idly and watches him as he stalks towards her, silver sword hung at her side.

But...not even Morgan is immune to the fact that he's wearing the same cloak she is, and--he looks a lot like her, actually, now that she analyzes him. How...

So she answers him with a short nod, because it's obvious he already knows she's the commander and she's always been honest, and instead blinks at him, looking surprised.]

Who are you?

['And why do you feel so familiar...?'

The battle rages on around them, but here is a small segment of peace, the eye in the storm, and it certainly won't last for long.]

[Something's wrong. He can damn near feel it instinctively, with that cloak she's wearing his first thought was that perhaps this was Robin. A horrifying enough thought in itself, but it's clearly not. She sounds much too young and if this is the future, with his friends being the same age as back home...

There aren't many other people that wear a cloak like that, he's noticed there's been no mention of him anywhere here so far, and she's even wearing the same weapons that he is. So for a moment there's just a tense silence, a swift breeze no doubt causing both of their cloaks to billow sideways for a moment.]

My name's Morgan. ... why are you wearing that cloak? I know you're not Mother. [Part of him suspects he knows the answer to that question, a sense of dread starting to build within him. Part of him had worried that his counterpart in this time had been killed... but now he wasn't so sure.]

Mother...?

[She can't help the inquisitive, half-muttered comment. It's funny--he sounds just like she does when talking about her father. But...mother. Everyone knows that Lord Grima is male, and--and why is she even thinking this? That would mean that she really believes...

But he's standing right in front of her, the same build, the same hair, the same weapons and cloak, the same eyes. It really feels like standing in front of a mirror, though he is of course not her...

And his name is Morgan. She frowns at that.]

My father gave me this cloak, of course...and my name is Morgan. [She takes a step back, but only to take a better spellcasting stance, tome in her hand.]

I don't know what you're playing at, but if you intend to get in my Lord Grima's way, I will stop you!

[And with that much of a warning, she lifts up her hand and launches a Thoron spell his way.]

[... that's what he was afraid of. Lord Grima. She's on their side, fighting alongside the Grimleal. She's trying to kill the very people he's trying to protect.

... does that mean that's what he was doing too? But when she takes a step back his mind violently shifts gears, instinctively recognizing what she's about to do and his concerns are momentarily silenced by the need to stay alive long enough to figure out what's going on. He has a sword out and he's at range, a counterattack is unlikely at best.

But the second her hand comes up his body is already twisting to the side, shifting his weight sideways before throwing himself in that direction, tensing as he feels the bolt of magical energy surge right past him. The power in that was obvious, even at his level a shot like that would have hurt. With no time to waste he returns his blade to its sheath, his free hand snapping the Thorin tome off of his belt as he brings himself upright again, a bolt of energy identical to the one she just fired at him arcing through the air at her a second later.]

What the hell are you talking about, those are our friends! Why are you helping Grima?!

[He dodged that well, and she's noting that in her mind even as he trades his sword for his spell tome. She was given a bit more warning than he was, as far as the attack is concerned, and so she can dance out of the way of the bolt of electricity with a bit more grace.

But yikes, that would hurt if it connected, and she notes that too, grimly. She can't let him stop her from carrying out her orders, though.

So it would be better if she takes care of this quickly. If she doesn't engage in discussion. If she takes him by surprise and wipes him out as quickly as possible. That would be tactically sound--but she doesn't. She doesn't know why, but that what he said strikes a chord, and she can't let him get away with such a scoffing tone when talking about Grima.]

Of course they're our friends. [She's never denied that she's here to kill her friends.

She's never denied it at all...]

But what Lord Grima says goes. I would never betray him...never! And if I succeed here, maybe he'll be proud of me...!

[Because at base, all Morgans function on the same sort of obsession--that of pleasing their parent.]

[He hates her answer because it makes perfect sense to him. That's one of the things he's always wanted, to just make Robin proud. So what she's doing... it makes sense. She hasn't turned her back on her friends, she just doesn't value them as much as she does her father.

It hurts to realize he might not be so different. But that thought takes a back seat to his next move, suddenly aiming a second Thorin bolt her way again. This one however doesn't actually aim to hit her, rather arcing downwards slightly at the last second and detonating violently with the ground in front of her. A split second later and he's sprinting forwards, the blast wouldn't be close enough to actually hurt her but the cloud of dust kicked up by it should mask his movements just long enough to close in.

Not that he's stupid enough to assume she won't just fire through it, which is why a little over halfway there he suddenly changes directions, kicking himself towards the side in the hopes of evading the blind shot he's pretty damn sure he'd fire in her situation. Closing to melee won't be quite that easy, but hopefully he'll at least be closer now.

Granted, that means less time for either of them to dodge, but hey. He's winging this shit, give him some credit.]

Do you really think that? That Robin would want you to kill your own friends?! Just look at what he's doing to the world!

[She prepares to dodge the Thorin bolt, hardly thinking of particularly clever tactics when there's so much anger and frustration and need to be successful here; it's a distracting mix of emotions, and then the cloud of dust is kicked up and she can't see anything at all.

She scowls at that, expression nearly a pout. She could fire blindly, but he'd expect that, wouldn't he? And as satisfying as it would be to nail him with a Thoron spell, she can recognize a gambit when she sees one.

He's coming closer, and she reaches for her sword, closing her eyes and straining her ears to hear where he's coming from.]

If he wins...when he wins...then he'll--

[She sweeps her tome out to try to scatter some of the dust, coughing.]

Then he'll teach me tactics again, like he used to!

[And really, she's so hinged on this. She knows that Grima isn't the sweet, gentle father she used to know. But...he's her father, and maybe, just maybe, if she's successful, he'll look at her like he used to again, and he'll be her father, sweet and kind, again.

She's being used, but she just refuses to acknowledge it, because acknowledging something as dangerous as that is the same as breaking, in the end.]

[When the blind counterattack doesn't come he realizes she's figured him out, not that it's hugely surprising. And if he were in her shoes, he'd be expecting a sudden charge to close range and probably going for her sword. While there's a fraction of a second where he's considering taking another shot at her, he realizes a tome is a poor choice of melee weapon and finally goes for his own sword again, kicking himself off the ground and towards her from the side while both drawing his sword and swinging in the same, smooth motion.

He fully expects to feel silver upon silver in about a second or so.

But at the same time his mind isn't quite a hundred percent on the fight, just the thought of his mother changing, becoming someone like Grima... it's horrifying. It's both something he can't imagine and yet can imagine all too clearly, and would he have done any differently in her position? That's a question he's not quite sure he wants to try and answer.]

... I know what you mean. But don't you realize why he's changed? Why he's the way he is now? Just think about it!

[Their swords do meet with a metallic clang, as she heard him coming with just enough time to bring her sword up to defend herself. He's fast, and he's good--and Morgan doesn't want to consider that maybe that's because he's her--so she's going to have to be faster and better.

She's not sure how she'll accomplish that yet, but if she can't even manage this, then she doesn't deserve to call herself as amazing as her father.

"Just think about it", he says, as if she hasn't hundreds of times before, when her friends' parents were killed, when her father sent her even now to kill her own friends. So she grits her teeth and she shoves with all of the force she musters, trying to get him to back off a few steps so that she can swing her sword down towards his head.

And as she does--]

I don't care what you say! I'll never betray Master Grima. I'll make him proud here, instead!

[starting with the Morgan in front of her, whose apparent "mother" (Robin?) never became Grima. She'll start with the Morgan in front of her, who doesn't seem to realize just how lucky he is.]

[She's fast. Wicked fast, which isn't really a surprise given how obvious it is to him by now they're the same person.

Somehow. Nevermind that she's a she and apparently Robin is a he in this timeline.

But the second she shoves him back he focuses on maintaining his footing, stumbling backwards a couple of steps before instinctively raising his sword up to parry the incoming swing, knowing full well an overhead swing would be the most effective from her position. Another clang echoes into the distance as they lock blades, and after replacing his Thorin tome on his belt he finds himself gripping the hilt of his sword with both hands, struggling.

Apparently she matches him in strength too, which is really saying something.]

He's just using you! That's not actually your father!

[But with her pushing so firmly into their locked blades he suddenly gets an idea, sliding one boot further behind him before leaning back and suddenly twisting out of the way, hoping with him suddenly not in front of her and her pushing forwards so hard her own strength will at least cause her to stumble for a second. And in anticipation of that, he's already bringing the hilt of his sword snapping forwards, aiming to catch her right in the center of the chest with a sudden hilt-smash.

She's excellent, but he's just as confident in his swordsmanship after-all. Chrom is his father, and no Rightful King would be caught dead with anything less than top-notch skill with a blade.]

[Their swords meet sharply, and she clings to the sword she has with all of her strength. He's predicting her moves so well that it's scary, and it's making it very difficult to get the drop on him. And then he ducks out of the way suddenly, and the loss of that force in front of her leads to Morgan stumbling forward a few steps, just as he planned.

But she predicts what he's going to do, just as he predicts her.

This Morgan was, of course, never trained by Chrom. Her father married another, and so skilled swordswoman as she is, she isn't the Exalt's daughter. That singular title belongs to Lucina--and apparently, the Exalt's son to the Morgan in front of her. Regardless, it means she doesn't have the time or skill to bring her sword down to block the blow he strikes towards her chest, and she can't dodge either, off-balance as she is. It's a last-ditch effort, but she's good at those, and so she brings the tome she never quite secured away up to her chest as fast as she can.

The sword hilt slams into the book (which slams into her chest, still knocking the breath from her lungs), but it doesn't connect directly, and she supposes that has to be good enough. She staggers backwards, breathing harshly, not attacking in return yet as she takes the chance to try to gulp in air.]

He's...my father! And he's...the most...amazing person...you'll ever see!

[She scowls at him, but there's a hint of desperation there. If Grima isn't her father...it means her father is dead.

And that simply can't be.]

[Despite himself? Despite the intensity of the moment? He can't help but admit there's a certain rush to fighting someone like this. For as similar as they are, there are slight differences in how they decide to fight.

Maybe this means one of them can actually win. He just hopes it isn't her.

As she stumbles away from him he pulls the sword back up in front of him, tense and ready, but when he sees she's gasping for breath he takes this second to take in an extra breath himself. Fighting at a breakneck pace like this is exhausting, and while he's willing to bet the tome still works, he's still at close enough range to retaliate against either weapon should she suddenly try and switch things up.]

She is, I know. Well, he is. You know what I mean. But that's Robin, and right now? He's Grima, not Robin!

[There's a strange edge to his voice as he speaks that, a certain conviction to the wa he says it.]

Think for a minute, why would he up and start calling himself Grima for no reason? He's being controlled! [And although his sword is ready, if she suddenly tries to use her tome his other hand is drifting around his own tome, ready to switch at a split seconds notice.]

[Morgan just stares at him for a long moment. Think, he says. Always think. Think for a moment--as if she isn't already trying to stop all thinking. And there's a waver to her voice, because--]

I know. I k-know.

[She knows that Grima has taken over her father...but she can't let it go at that. She shakes her head, expression pained, and points her sword at him, though she has no intention of attacking him with it. It's more for emphasis than anything; right now, she's too distracted by this topic to even think about the fight.]

He chose to become Grima. It was...It was his choice! And he must have chosen for a reason this way...

[It hurts to think. If he hadn't chosen that way, then he would...still be the father she loved so much. But he didn't. He chose otherwise. And she has to respect that. It's the only choice she has.]

I'll serve him regardless, because he's my father!

[And much like an animal backed into a corner, she lashes out, not with the sword but with the tome, as he expected. She has noticed that he seems to have the edge over her in swordsmanship, so she'll mix it up and throw a Thoron spell at him instead, hardly even taking the time to aim properly.]

[At her words his hand tightens around the grip of his sword, hard enough that under his glove his knuckles are turning white. And it's because he can understand where she's coming from, completely. If mother chose to become Grima... well. He's not sure he wouldn't have followed.

That thought terrifies him more than any other. That might have been what happened in his past, and now he's suddenly not so sure he wants the rest of his memories back anymore.

But he knows that's not the case, knows Robin would never have chosen something like that that. And that's why he can't surrender here or give up, that's why he can't just leave her to her fate. He's the son of the greatest tactician to ever live and the Exalt himself, just as they're fighting right now to save everyone he's going to fight too.

And they're going to save everyone. Even her.

There's no time to speak though as she suddenly brings her hand up, instinctively dropping his sword onto the ground and yanking the tome free with his other hand. There's no time to switch weapons properly, and at this range there's only one thing he can really do. And that's level his hand right at hers and fire a Thorin off, full power, at the exact same time.

The resulting explosion hurts, because the next thing he knows he's skidding backwards along the ground on his side and the world is spinning, the result of two blasts of such power colliding being the single largest explosion to rock the battlefield so far. His tome is still clutched in one hand, but he's not even sure where his sword has vanished off to. Despite the soreness across his entire body he tries to get a hand underneath him, trying to force himself back up to his feet slowly.]

Robin... [Ow. Talking hurts.] Robin didn't get to make that choice...

[He's insane. He's crazy! She knows this as soon as he whips out his spell tome, but at that point, there's nothing she can do. The spells collide, and she is flung by the force of that explosion, tumbling to the ground a good ways away.

Gods that hurt...

Would it be terrible, she wonders, to lie there? To not get up, not kill her friends, not lose everything for the sake of her father. Would it be terrible...?

Yes. Because then she would be letting him down.

Part of her knows that the things this other Morgan has said--well, they've all been true. She's always been honest, so she assumes he is pretty honest too. And it's hurtful. It hurts so much more than the scrapes and burns from the explosion...

But she lifts her head when he starts talking again. He's...still alive. He's still focused on this? Truly?

She doesn't move, not at first. Instead she just clenches her fists, biting her lip and closing her eyes as she presses her face to the ground. And her voice is hoarse, but--]

It's...it's not fair! I just...wanted him to teach me tactics again, like he used to!

[That's all she wanted. And here she is, sprawled on the ground, and she's doing nothing for him like this.]

[It'd certainly be so much easier to just... not get back up. But he's never been any good at quitting, or admitting defeat. And truthfully some part of that is the Exalt blood in him, neither Lucina nor Chrom seemed to even know how to give up. Maybe that's where he inherited all this determination from.

If there's any chance- any that he can save this other Morgan from Grima... he's not going to give up. He doesn't stand up right away, only pushing himself up to one knee, one hand resting on that knee while his other hand grips his tome. It's too soon to tell if this fight's actually over, but while she's down he has no intention of attacking again.]

... I know. If mother stopped teaching me tactics, I'd be pretty torn up too. But maybe you can still get that back, somehow. Not like this though.

[He sucks in another breath, cringing slightly as he does so. Yeah, that blast took more out of him than he first thought, although he thinks he's still got some fight in him. The armor under his cloak isn't just for show after all.]

If your father is anything like my mother, he's probably still in there somewhere. I don't think even Grima could kill him! But that's why we have to save him from Grima!

[There's silence on Morgan's end. "I know", he says, and it makes her want to snap back, because he doesn't know. None of them can possibly know what it felt like to have felt like she was losing her father's love if she didn't succeed--

None of them can possibly know it. And she takes a shuddering breath that's almost a sob again...and then he continues.

"Save him from Grima".

Oddly, despite her smarts, the thought never crossed Morgan's mind--probably because she always assumed that Father would fight until he was dead, and that didn't quite work out in her favor. Maybe it's because she's Grima's pawn in the end, and going against him never really was a thought either.

For whatever reason, it strikes a chord. And despite the aches and pains and the fact that it almost takes her breath away to do so, she immediately rolls to her feet--and stumbles, because that was way too much movement for how battered she is. She manages to catch herself on her sword, impaling it into the ground, and winces. And then she ignores all of that to stare at Morgan.]

...Do you really think so? Because if that's so, I'll do anything to help him...!

Of course! Back home... that's what we're trying to do. We're fighting against Grima for the fate of the world, but also for Robin.

[He holds his position for the moment, knowing that with the distance between them if she tried to attack again with her sword, he'd have ample time to get back to his feet. No sense pushing himself too far too quickly, any mistakes could be fatal.

... that, and he thinks he's getting somewhere with this, that typical Morgan grin starting to finally return to his face although there's a far more determined edge to his tone than usual.]

I don't know all the details myself, but I was told enough. In our timeline, Grima wants to use Robin's body to revive himself. Herself? Itself. Whatever. Since this is the future, or a future or something like that, that's probably what happened.

... that's why we can't give up. We have to save the world, yeah. But we also gotta save Robin!

[He's smiling...and well, he's the enemy, so it really shouldn't work like this, but it does--his smile makes her smile too, her typical good cheer making an odd reappearance.]

Then...if there's any possible way of saving him, I want to help! I have to do my part now, since Father has always done more than his share.

[She's determined now, and it would be more impressive if she wasn't using a sword to hold herself up--which she slumps against a moment later, torn between a sigh and a laugh.]

Boy, I'm glad I don't have to fight you to the death. I'm not sure who would win!

Exactly! [Alright, you know what? They're not staring down Grima right this second and he's pretty sure he just saved her from a horrible fate as Grima's minion. Yeah they still gotta save the world, but he's earned a moments rest as he lets himself drop back to his knees. The grin is still there.]

Yeah really, you pretty much fight just like I do and that's really saying something! Together I know we can win!

[The optimism does a great deal at revitalizing her, though she also slumps to the ground--and then after a moment's though, she crawls over to where he's sitting, leaving her sword in the ground, both to not appear threatening and because it's just too much effort to grab it.

And she flops next to him, so they don't have to talk so loudly.]

Hmm...it sounds good to me! It's better than nothing, right? Besides...well, I think it'd be kind of nice to fight for something like that.

Something worth fighting for, and all!

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Morgan | Morgan | 032

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