Silken red hair, a face like a goddess, and a sword at her side. She is the daughter of the tactician and apparently a master in battle. Her face brightens with a smirk that could be seen from miles away. Others in the army surround her, each earning smiles of their own as she dances about frivolously.
Laurent peers at the girl with interested eyes. Intriguing, he wonders, amazed. For someone to possess such levity during a plight this severe is certainly a trait subject to envy. And, of course, he envies it.
Perhaps this whimsy of hers should be frowned upon. Sincerity is something the army values on the battlefield. When it comes to the lives of others, a stern face should be worn with determination.
A stern face...it seems absolutely impossible on a face like hers. She is bright like an angel. Her hand reaches to her sword and unsheathes it expertly. The perfection of her stance is immeasurable as she points the tip at her apparent sparring partner, Vaike.
The spectators find their distance. Vaike readies himself and lashes first, swinging his axe around with incredible force. She sidesteps his attack with serpentine grace and places herself around him. However, he needs no time for recovery. She spins and blocks the blunt tip of the axe, which was hurdling back at her.
She is certainly the daughter of the tactician. Her moves were those of her father, and her speed could only be inherited from one in the camp. Patience and practice flows with every strike, every evasion. Still, there is a glad smirk on her face, unlike anything he had ever seen.
Is it that she enjoys battle? Battle can be satisfying, but it is not something to deal with lightly, even in practice.
Laurent pushes his glasses up onto the bridge of his nose and shakes his head as a sharp clink sounds in the air. The girl holds the axe back with her sword, but her limbs shake. Obviously, her strength is in her speed, not in her strike. The axe digs into the blade, causing it to snap and pull her to the ground. He takes advantage of the opportunity and points the dull axe to her nose.
She giggles, commenting happily at her defeat. Vaike grins at her and lends her his battered, gloved hand.
Laurent frowns at her loss and returns to his tent where he pulls up a book for the night. Evening settles in, and before long, the gentle coo of the night birds sound around them, the eerie darkness blanketing the night.
"Come on, Laurent! Let's go! It'll be fun, I promise," she says, persuasion dancing about her tongue.
Laurent sighs and passes a glare at Morgan. She truly is something unique, and it is not it the best way. In combat, her grace is expert. Outside of battle, however, she stomps around like a fool, seeming to have absolutely no knowledge on the subject whatsoever. In fact, her exuberance has proven to be nothing but a nuisance. She will not allow him to do anything without her interruption, and now she wants him to leave camp to play? This woman cannot be serious.
"I refuse to take part in this buffoonery," he stubbornly persists.
"C'mon. You're not going to learn anything good sticking your nose in that book all day! You have to take breaks sometimes. And plus, a day without laughter is a day wasted, right?"
"I disagree. Laughter is wasted time."
"Aw. You're such a party pooper, Laurent!"
He shakes his head and grits his teeth. "I cannot see how you are Robin's daughter. Your levity is absurd."
She feigns a frown and glances at him with puppy-dog eyes. "Fine then. I guess I'll go ask Owain instead."
He gives a curt nod and directs his attention back to his book. Morgan, pouting, trudges out of his tent, kicking her boots as if they were caked in mud.
His first impression of her had been marvelous, but quickly and cleanly, that hope of a great new warrior of the army had been wiped away. Every moment she giggles and grins, thinking of new ways to sabotage other's plans for her own amusement. Can't she see the flaw in her strength? Doesn't she know that she should be training, enabling her body for battle? As of now, she's a bent reed next to iron bricks. He rubs his forehead, doubting if she'd ever been allowed to battle with the rest of the army.
Huh. She'd be more useful as a dancer, but she'd never become one. It's just not Morgan.
His eyes graze over the pages, but his concentration has been completely obliterated. He'd been fine before that girl had arrived, but now every word is a foreign subject. Sighing, he pushes the book onto his desk.
Morgan.
A horrible screech sounds outside. It's the sound of a beast.
Morgan.
He involuntarily pushes himself from his seat. The shrill sent his nerves on edge, his skin tingling. It's mid-day. The sun instantly beats down on him the moment he steps onto the damp grass.
A small whine comes from around the corner and suddenly the great wyvern, Minerva, soars overhead, her sheer mass sending a massive rush of air through the camp. The commotion has most of the army outside, at the ready. Cherche is absolutely shocked and cannot find the will to run after her wyvern. Gerome grinds his teeth together brutally. Others quickly find their way out of the barracks, gasping and commenting. Sully curses loudly in confusion, wielding a sturdy spear.
A laugh escapes Laurent's lips. Morgan must be enjoying this game.
A laugh? This is not amusing. This is utterly problematic.
Morgan flips through Laurent's books, bored beyond her imagination. Her father had not been pleased with her shenanigans, and so, he did not take her to deal with the risen spotted nearby.
Now, what does one do when they are bored and alone at camp?
First, she trained herself. Strength, agility, and... She was already bored. After wandering around the camp forever, she found herself going through Laurent's things.
Hm. None of his books are interesting, and she already doodled in most of them, but what about the flasks? She plucks one from its holder and examines it lazily. Then another one appears in her hand. Soon, she's on the floor, building a tower from the vials. It's magical, and all of the colors of the mixtures conflict with one another.
Morgan smirks, squinting. She pulls a few of the flasks from the midst of the tower, and they kind of...mix all the sudden. Each of them turn a ghastly white shade and puff wildly. She raises a somewhat interested brow, and replaces them in the tower.
"Morgan? What are you doing here?"
Morgan, startled, flops over on her back, away from the stack.
"Uh, I was just looking through your books. I was trying to understand how you can stare at them all day," she explains with a cheery grin.
"What is this?"
"Nothing. Just a tower of flasks.
He frowns crossly, a line creasing his stressed forehead.
"I'll put them back for you!" she offers hurriedly.
"Each of them have their own place. I'll have to do it myself."
"I can help though! Please?"
"Fine. Gather them cautiously."
"Okay!"
She hands him the vials quickly and warily, and he sort them back into place. That is, until he finds the steaming white mixture.
"You do realize this could kill someone if they were not aware of your tampering, correct?"
"Yeah, but at least it was fun!"
He raises a stern brow at her, and she smiles in return. That's exactly the reaction you must expect from Morgan. Its strange, the way her smile gleams like that, and how it always is there, apparent and everywhere. She's an optimist beyond any he'd ever seen.
"I cannot expect you to be serious, can I?" he sighs, turning to her and replacing the flask.
"Serious? Of course I can be serious, silly!"
He sighs again. "You have yet to display any knowledge of it whatsoever, Morgan."
A call sounds outside the tent, and Morgan jumps up nimbly.
"That's father! I'll be right back," she promises, rushing outside. She nearly trips over her own feet in her urgency.
Laurent tips back in his seat lazily. His thoughts couldn't help return to when he first saw her, in all her grace. Huh. Was she always this clumsy?
He only ponders on the thought for a few moments before resuming organizing.
"Can't... Can't you see I'm serious? Everything I do is serious now," her lip curled back into a scowl, "because I am a...serious person. Nothing's...silly about me, if anything... YOU'RE the silly one!"
It's midnight, the air is crisp, and Morgan is acting like a child. Laurent had only walked into the barracks for a moment to retrieve a weapon for tomorrow's march, and suddenly Morgan is screaming at him like a lunatic.
"You are being absurd."
"You're wrong. In fact, I'll prove my seriousness to you!" She raises her sword and readies herself. "Face me in combat!"
He leans back casually. "Absolutely not."
"Stop being a chicken! Can't you see...nobody else could be THIS serious! I. AM. SO. SERIOUS!"
The next thing surprises her. He laughs. Lightly, but it is a laugh.
"Do you doubt me?" she threatens. "I have been training relentlessly for this!"
"Morgan, I won't fight you. I see the whimsical person you are. You couldn't sustain a straight face if your life depended on it. That is alright though, I suppose."
She lowers her weapon, her forced expression softening but refusing to completely fade.
"Tell me," Laurent persists, "how many people have you attempted to be 'serious' for?"
"I don't attempt to be serious, Laurent. I am -" Her sword slips from here hands, and she instantly grabs at it. In a failed attempt, she scrambles to fetch it, her face reddening angrily.
"Don't laugh at me!" she spits nervously. "Er, serious people don't enjoy being laughed at!"
Her composure falters and she swiftly storms out of the barracks. Laurent, now left alone, smirks, wondering. He'd made Morgan, the carefree thing that couldn't help but smile every waking moment, enraged. And the only thing he had done was walk in on her training.
And he rather liked it.
Laurent packs tomes into his handy satchel, glad for the shade of his hat. The sun beating down on the army, everyone prepares to go. Well, except for Morgan, who got into more trouble for her games. She wanders aimlessly, passing jealous glares at them. She also frowns at her father, who is discussing frantically with Chrom, peeking into his books every once in while. She tries desperately to keep her eyes from meeting Laurent, and every time she fails, she drives her teeth together. Gods, why did he have to leave?
She rounds a corner and lands herself behind a storehouse. Plopping onto the ground, she chews her lip, envious. Suddenly though, an idea bursts in her head, and she grins wonderfully.
The plan is perfect, amazing, and guaranteed to keep him here... She stepped up to her feet and eyed the army from behind the corner.
She readies herself and abruptly runs out, screaming a battle shout, "CHARGE!" Laurent, who was previously focused on finding the spells within the doodles, notices her finally once she hooks their arms and knocks the tome out of his hands. She jerked him viciously along, smiling and ignoring the shouts of her name.
"Morgan!" Laurent shouts. She continues pulling him until they reach nearly the end of camp, away from the entire army.
"Ah, ha!" Morgan declares happily. Laurent frowns at her, panting.
"Morgan... What is it?" he says between heavy breaths.
"I had something to tell you," she explains, smirking. "You probably won't get back in time now too, so you can stay here!"
"At least now I will not have to scour my tomes for spells," he sighs while Morgan snickers mischievously.
"Sorry about the doodles. I got so bored. And plus, it kept you thinking about me in battle, didn't it?"
"Yes. It was quite distracting. What did you have to tell me?"
She giggles freely, catching his hand. For a moment, she hesitates. "I'm in love with you!"
"Wh-what?" He gapes instantly, aghast. "This isn't! -"
"I'm not joking, Laurent. This is the serious me! I'm just happy-serious." She steps up to him, daringly meeting his eyes. Hers sparkle maliciously. "Really, I am in love with you."
"I see... I am..." he trails off, caught in shock.
"Hm?"
He recovers quickly, fighting off a blush. "I am quite in love with you as well. No one has ever made me feel like you do, Morgan."
Morgan smirks involuntarily, her chocolate eyes lighting up more brightly than anything he'd ever seen.
"I would also like you to be my wife," he purrs, entwining their fingers. Morgan's face sets aflame, nearly as bright as her crimson locks.
"Really?" she gasps. His words truly came in the spur-of-the-moment, but regret does not follow them. He nods fiercely, trying to keep his face a shade lighter than hers.
She purses her lips and leans closer, whispering softly, happily, "Of course."
A/N: Okay... DONE! The ending seemed kind of rushed to me, but I was too lazy to fix it. :/ Now! If you liked, please review/favorite! :3