An Important Discussion WHO Morgan OT Aisling WHAT A mission is discussed. WHERE Spring Court, Aisling's Suite WHEN Tuesday, February 21st, 2017 (Late-Night, backdated)
After decades of service to the Spring Court, Morgan was still glad that the Courts had made some unspoken agreement that plate armor was superior and that his own personal set was useful in his transition. What he could not understand or grow accustomed to was Liber's aesthetic for Roman clothing. For certain celebrations, Morgan was required to don the Roman inspired armor yet every time he wore it, he felt exposed without the remaining plate armor protecting his lower half. The comforting weight of chainmail was missed, the sound it made against the plates, and the whisper of his tunic was all familiar. It's absence throughout the celebration—A young Sidhe's debut—was sorely noticed to the Hellhound. The only assurance Morgan had was that Liber did not often require such attire from his guards and he was grateful when the evening was finally ending as he accompanied Aisling back to her suite.
As Captain and Princess walked in silence, they were accompanied by the banter of the four other guards assigned to protect her until Morgan called out, "Knock it off," as if he was having any other conversation. The command was followed by protests, "Aw, come on, Morgan! Don't you ever have any fun?" The Hellhound whirled on them, his action immediately ceasing any additional words with a stern look on his face. A beat passed where he looked at each guard until his mouth twitched into a smile.
Indicating to two of the four, "Clear her room and then you're dismissed. Be thorough!" He called after them as they scrambled for the door in a rush. Chuckles were accompanied his command and a hand clapped to his shoulder.
"Oh to be young and impulsive again," was the comment that made Morgan grin given the speaker was only a few hundred years older than the two that disappeared through the door. But the guard at his side was a father of three and often appeared to the wisest among them; That wisdom was an asset that Morgan often turned to when he was in need of advice.
Clapping a hand on the other fae's shoulder in turn, he replied, "Speak for yourself old man!" He teased before sobering, "The night watch will be here soon to relieve you, my friend." With a final pat to the fae's shoulder, Morgan strode across the threshold upon hearing the suite was secure and did a cursory glance through himself before officially dismissing the two fae and ducking his head back into the hall.
"Your suite is secure, Your Highness," and stepped aside to allow Aisling to enter.
Aisling hadn’t been much for conversation of late. For months her dreams about Cavan had been growing more persistent, more troubling, but she dared not confide in anyone for fear that her brother might find out. So burdened by secrets and fear, her spirit had dimmed considerably; while at first, it was easy to explain it away as the effect of the seasonal changes, with spring rapidly approaching, her continued ennui would be harder to mask.
She had spent most of the night with her practiced, polite smile fixed in place, though anyone sober enough to notice would have seen a distinct lack of light in her eyes. Her dress had been elegant and simple, blushing pink silk draped in the style her father so loved from the times of Ancient Rome, matching the theme of the guards’ armor. It had, of course, been looked down on as plain by many of the Sidhe in attendance, who had arrived resplendent in decadent outfits of luxurious fabrics and glittering with jewels. Aisling found it all rather tasteless, and had whispered as much to Malachi as they sat on the dais below her father. Her betrothed had just chuckled, and given her hand a squeeze.
“Are you sure you’re Fae?” he had teased her, the one moment of the night when she’d truly smiled.
He had kissed her goodnight as the evening wound down, leaving her be shepherded back to her rooms by her guards. She had walked beside Morgan, her chosen Captain, grateful to be rid of the echoing clamor of the gathering hall. The light chatter of her guards hadn’t bothered her, though when they fell silent at Morgan’s stern instruction, she still found herself relieved.
She waited patiently for them to inspect her suite, and gave them small nods of acknowledgement as they were dismissed for the night.
“If I might have a word,” she murmured as she stepped past Morgan into the anteroom, beckoning him in with a soft touch of his shoulder.
Safely in the privacy of her own rooms, she flung herself down on her favorite chaise with a wide yawn very much unbecoming of a princess.
“A word of advice, dear Morgan,” she sighed as she settled into the chaise. “If someone should ever present you with the opportunity to become nobility, turn them down and run for your life.”
"Then I am fortunate such an offer will never be given to me," Morgan replied with one of his patented small smiles as he followed the princess inside. The comment was made lightly and in jest, yet the words still carried a weight to them. The guard knew that as a member of court, that's all he'd ever be to some; A guard. Others, like Cavan, he was even less than that. Morgan knew he was lucky that Liber valued his skills and talent--despite two scandals behind him--and the guard had proven his worth time and time again the last fifty years.
While those years were barely the blink of an eye, for Morgan they were long and once again he found himself feeling out of place. It took centuries for Summer to finally accept him and there was no telling how long he'd remain in Spring on this mission for Etaine and separated from Aurora. At the thought of the Summer princess, a pang of regret went through him, but he quickly tamped it down. Expressing how he felt about Aurora was folly--his relationship with Elaine had proved that--and doing so would only end badly for the both of them. It was better that the Summer princess remain ignorant of his feelings. Realizing he'd gone uncharacteristically quiet (for him, at least), Morgan cleared his throat and straightened to his full 6'5".
"You wished to speak to me, Your Highness?"
"Never say never," Aisling chided gently, although they both knew his statement was true. There was a better chance that she'd be exiled from Faerie than Morgan having the chance to ascend to a grander status. It bothered her to see him so unfairly treated, especially by her brother, which was why she had deliberately chosen the Hellhound as her Captain.
Cavan, of course, had turned up his nose at the idea and seized every opportunity to take a jab at Morgan. Aisling admired her Captain for his steadfastness, his ability to remain calm and unflinching in the face of such abuse. They had that much in common, at least; Cavan's affection for her was a double-edged sword, and she had more than once borne his fits of sharp critique with quiet dignity as he railed against her behaviors as a stain upon the crown, unbefitting a princess of her stature and station.
"I'm only looking out for you, dear sister," Cavan had told her on more than one occasion. Aisling knew better than to believe him.
It was for that reason she had called Morgan in for a private word, which would hardly go noticed between a princess and her Captain. Before her betrothal to Malachi, such a summons had often meant sharing her affections with the Captain, though such affairs were eventually interrupted when Cavan had them sent away. In Morgan's case, she had simple need of a confidante in whom she could absolutely trust. Given his distaste for her brother, and vice-versa, she felt confident that Morgan would not betray her trust.
Still, she had to start opaquely. One could never be too sure about who or what Cavan might have spying.
"I wonder, have you heard any rumors about my brother?" she asked innocently, playing with the hem of a trail of fabric from her gown. "Tonight was certainly full of gossip, and one must be informed at Court."
There was a second where a brow lifted and Morgan had to wonder if the princess had a touch too much wine that evening because it was Court and gossiping was the most favored pastime. But, understanding quickly chased his thought because, after all, it had only been fifty years since his arrival and perhaps her Dear Brother had instructed him to play a Long Game. It saddened Morgan that the princess had to be so careful even around someone whom she should have implicit trust with, but that was a lesson Morgan had learned in the hardest of ways so he could not blame Aisling in the least.
Another small, more genuine smile spread across his face, "Your Highness, I think I would be more shocked if members of Court were not spreading rumors or gossiping." He then indicated to a chair and side table set situated near her chaise, waiting until she nodded before removing the ridiculous horse-tailed helmet indicating his rank he'd been forced to wear. Setting it on the table, Morgan took a seat, positioning himself so that he faced the princess.
"I'll speak plain, Your Highness. Your father is the one who assigned me to you and he is the one to whom I must report, if necessary. I am not now, nor will I ever be, Cavan's lapdog."
Aisling was wary a moment longer, until the earnestness in Morgan's face convinced her that it was safe to relax. A small, relieved smile blossomed as the tension in her shoulders melted away, a soft breath blown out with it all.
"I appreciate your candor, Captain," she murmured. "I trust you're judicious in the company you choose to share it with."
Morgan was hardly a barbarian, but in many ways he was still something of a blunt instrument. Still, she doubted her warning was entirely necessary, even if she felt it prudent to deliver. She was lucky - if that was even the applicable term - to have grown up among the tiresome politics and finesse of the Sidhe Courts. Adept though he had proved at negotiating the social realm, Morgan was no noble. However, his assignment by her father also seemed to a be a silent endorsement of the Hellhound's ability to blend in - and perhaps a silent condemnation of the issue at hand, Cavan.
"I'm certain you can imagine the cruelty my brother is capable of, he's certainly shown that side to you," she continued, careful to keep her voice low. She'd had chambermaids and ladies in waiting betray her in the past; the last thing she needed now was for one of them to eavesdrop and run to Cavan's callous arms.
"He has already proven capable of betraying our brother," she sighed. "I fear a dark future ahead if he is allowed to reign free."
It would have been unfortunate if the princess had not believed him. Not only that, but it would be sad that she couldn't fully trust him and a testament to life at Court. Morgan, not being Sidhe, was not been born into or raised at Court, although he remembered a few times he'd visited because of his father. While the Yates were not among the nobility, they were afforded a modicum of respect because Owaine, Morgan's father, was a member of the Wild Hunt before he settled down with the woman who would become Morgan's mother. If the war among the Courts hadn't broken out, Morgan would have followed in his father's footsteps, but alas. Instead, the Hellhound had been forced to slay members of Faerie for hundreds of years because someone had thought they were above the rules. A view that Cavan seemed to have great familiarity with. It prompted Morgan to speak up again.
"I met Flynnwood once during the war," he began, his gaze going distant as he recalled the memory, "There was a truce at that time between Spring and Autumn as they negotiated a marriage contract. That, of course, did not sit well with Summer and we were warring with them." Morgan paused a moment, coming back to himself with a clearing of his throat, "One of my men took an arrow that I've begun to believe was meant for Flynnwood. By the time he was able to help, it was too late although your brother tried. The arrowhead contained just enough iron in it to be lethal and I believe your other brother to be behind the attempted assassination." A rueful smile curved his mouth, "I can never prove it, however, because the culprit was dressed entirely in Summer armour and unidentifiable and the arrow disappeared." The Hellhound shrugged helplessly before a gesture was made with a hand, "But, the aftermath… what your brother did, always impressed me. Whatever obsession he has for the humans, baffling as it is to most, Flynnwood has kindness in his heart and that is something Cavan greatly lacks unless it's to his advantage." There was yet another pause before Morgan added another thought, "I think the land itself knew about Cavan before the rest of us and chose Flynnwood because of that." After Morgan's veritable speech, he fell silent after another shrug lifted and sagged his shoulders.
The faintest smile came to Aisling's lips, a rare, genuine smile, not the gleaming falsity she plastered on for appearances. Her cheeks gained a pale blush as her skin took on a dim, dewy luster, as if the light of a lantern were just reaching the surface from some immense depth within. Morgan's words soothed her, the thought that despite his banishment, Flynnwood's rightful place was still recognized buoying her spirits. The faint glimmer of hope for her brother's returned was for the briefest moment stoked, until the shadow of Cavan quickly overtook it once again.
Her skin returned to what was now its normal pale, porcelain-like look, her face gone back to the carefully crafted neutral mask she wore more often than not, even in her private quarters. A touch of blue shadowed her eyes as sorrow rushed to fill the hollow space left by Flynnwood's prolonged absence.
"I'm pleased to know my brother's kindness lingers, even now," she said softly, playing absent-mindedly with a hem before her hand stilled, her eyes gone cold.
"But Cavan doesn't miss. Nor would he have been so blunt as to simply assassinate Flynnwood. Better to have slaughtered you and your men and painted the beloved prince as a traitor to our allies."
She sighed, her shoulders sinking. It bothered her to no end that she had come to know her eldest brother's mind so well, and yet to still have no inkling of what he was truly up to beyond the hazy glimpses she sometimes was visited by in her dreams.
"For that reason, I'm grateful it wasn't him." She lifted her gaze to meet Morgan's. "Else I'd find myself an ally short."
Morgan was silent for a moment as he was somewhat perturbed by the revelation bestowed upon him by the princess. All this time, he had thought that Cavan had been behind the attack and it had, in fact, been someone from Summer... Well, they had been at war at the time, so there was no point in feeling anger toward Etaine now, was there? Alliances changed frequently during such times, after all, and one could almost say the same thing of life at Court. Her words of gratitude and the subsequent deby that tugged at his heart, however, pulled him out of his thoughts.
He could not school the widening of his eyes, no matter how appreciative he was of the thought behind Aislings words, Morgan was certainly not worth the debt behind her gratitude. However, it would be exceedingly rude of him not to acknowledge it. Lifting a hand to his chest, it was placed over his heart and he bowed slightly.
Morgan gazed back at her, sadness in his eyes when he straightened, "You honor me with such kindness, Your Highness. But, I'm afraid you bestow it upon someone who is not worthy of such a price you will have to pay for later." Gulping, the Hellhound took a second to compose himself before adding, "I believe you mentioned fearing a dark future ahead?" He questioned, attempting to change the subject to the matter she had called him into the suite for.