A/N: Well hello there! xD I haven't written fanfiction in a loooong time, so this story kind of struck me as an unexpected surprise, but then again, what has to be written, has to be written. And man, if this isn't a weird pairing o.o But my boyfriend's main is Swain and I also am fangirling over him while Morg is my main (not just because girls ususally play support) and he also plays her when he has no other choice, so yeah, that is how my obsession with Swain and Morg was born. I haven't been around for a long while, but then again, I hope you'll like this story :o3
Chapter I.
The Master Tactician was an ambitious man, so ambitious that, despite his limping and general life-imposed difficulties, he's made it to the top of the Noxian army. And, as if it is to be expected, his ambition does not end here. He will become the pillar of strength Noxus needs, for it to take over Valoran. Coming from a wealthy family had nothing to do with it; even if that, too, helped in nourishing his well-crafted ambition. But wealth hadn't brought him this far, and neither his physical appearance, for the matter.
Who would, after all, take seriously a limping man, with a bird cawing on his shoulder? Who would believe that, no matter how wealthy and influential one's family is, there are some things impossible to accomplish. And for those questions precisely, there is an answer. Well, the Master Tactician himself, to be more precise: Jericho Swain. The most dangerous and powerful man in Noxus, the one believed to lead the country towards certain victory soon. All he needs is... more heads to roll. Unscrupulous and clearly missing a heart, this man undoubtedly represents Noxus' rise or fall.
And this strong man is also suffering from a severe lack of sleep. Having already awoken from his not-so-peaceful slumber, the man struggles with the slight headache that has come over him and lies still, until his whole body awakens, and that sensation is long gone. The moon is still reigning outside his residence's walls, which only makes the man shift uncomfortably in his side of the bed, looking lazily for his robe to put on.
After doing so, and finding his usual cane, he spares a second to look at the bed, where the deceiver's naked skin is bathed in the moonlight, as she has her back at him. How can she sleep without a worry in his vicinity? It has always been a mystery to Swain. But then again, he could ask himself the same question: how can he shut his eyes and dream of resting, with her around? She's merely a business partner, under no way is he in love with her, nor he cares about her. The sex, however, fucking her will always feel like heaven.
Whatever that is.
Limping through the gigantic, but seemingly empty room, the man passes by his favourite ally's own home, the bird awakening with little noise. Almost immediately, as if it were a natural occurrence, it flies to its master's shoulder, accompanying him wherever he goes. His house big, but ever so empty, the owner of the place makes his way through the tall corridors, darkness still perpetual and the shadows waltzing around him, as only a few beams are lit.
Swain arrives to his well-desired room, where he heads to the bar, to mix himself a drink. It might be too late – or too early for a drink – but he could care less about that. There are so many things to do, so many people to kill, victories to obtain and way too little time. The man limps towards the gigantic windows, once his drink is made, watching the beautiful Noxus alive even at such hours.
His house happens to reside somewhere above the city, on the higher grounds – where every other man of importance has their quarters – and watches behind the tall glass the magnificent scenery. The city at his feet is filled with lights and vibrations, proving once again that Noxus never truly sleeps. The sky around it is painted a faded red, the clouds dark and heavy, carrying murderous intent and possible bloodshed.
"I'm so close to make it belong to me, Beatrice," he says hoarsely and sips from his alcoholic drink, bright red eyes not leaving the deadly sight. Beautiful, it's such a beautiful city. The bird on his shoulder, apparently named Beatrice responds vocally to his master's words, probably agreeing with him. "And yet, I am so far from it as well. Something, something has to be done to change the course of things, otherwise Noxus will fall into the wrong hands." Then again, whoever's hands aren't Swain's can be considered the wrong ones.
So many possibilities rush through his mind, with even more parallel endings, each and every one relying on a different possibility. In mere seconds, he'd taken in consideration any possible hindrance, obstacle, any breath coming out wrong. And yet, it was not enough. His complex strategies would eventually bring him to power, but it would also take too long for his taste.
He will step through blood if he has to, and he is more than happy to oblige. He is not afraid of death, for it had feared Jericho Swain instead. And a head will roll, it simply depends whose...
Of course, high on his list is not just a person, but he should certainly prioritize one: Boram Darkwill.
"Now," Swain hums towards his companion, having already finished his drink and slowly heading towards the couches from the middle of the room. "Shall we look around the city for a bit?" At his question, Beatrice makes a sound similar to an affirmation.
He takes a seat on the couch, after placing the empty glass on the wooden table then leans against the furniture, closing his eyes, but not planning to fall asleep.
Her small room is taken over by duality, a fine battle between the stubborn darkness and the strong light. It is still too early for her to get up, and she would not want to give up the comfort of her mattress for anything, although she has work to do, cookies to bake. Her room might not be huge, or her bed flamboyant, but it is just enough to fit her thin body and degenerated wings.
Lying on her side, she lazily opens one eye, noting how the light makes weird shadows fall on the empty wall, after coming in contact with her broken wings. She watches the shadows for a while, the light shifting, automatically changing the shadows. And the show goes on like this for a few minutes, until she notices a bird by her window. But the shadows on the walls fall in such perfect place, that it seems as if her wing is a branch, with the bird sitting on it.
Then follows the tapping on the glass. The woman smiles softly as she forces her numb body to finally get up from the bed. She stretches her long arms above her head, straightens her back and runs her fingers through her hair, before getting out of bed.
She then slowly walks towards the window, touching the glass with her index and smiling at the black bird, her first guest of everyday and lately, her alarm clock as well.
"Well, hello there buddy. I will be out with bread crumbs in a few." She says with a hoarse voice, never ceasing to smile.
The woman then takes a robe and puts it around her, her dead wings not being uncomfortable at all. She's long got used not to feel them anymore, ever since the Fall, ever since landing in this world, and nostalgia rarely catches up to her. Her long, purple hair dances on her back as she exits her bedroom, heads to the bathroom and then walks down to the kitchen.
There, a small surprise awaits her, as she sees the lights on and the oven turned on as well. Looking around, the woman sees a tall and bulky man with a helmet covering his head, but overall, him wearing a pâtissier's clothing, and working hard from the very early morning.
"Oh, Lady Morgana, you're up so early." The man greets her respectfully and smiles behind the helmet. Or, well, so Morgana figures.
"I could say the same about yourself, Pantheon," she replies softly, as she makes her way towards a counter, grabbing a bowl of bread crumbs. "I will be back soon and begin our work for the day." She then adds from the threshold.
"Yes ma'am!" Exclaims the gladiator, being hyped up.
The one called Morgana walks around the building, which is her very own bakery, and heads to the backyard, where the usual suspects wait for her. Once stepped out, she is welcomed by some birds, and a smaller flock also lands in the yard. She throws the leftover crumbs at the hungry beasts, searching with her eyes for her favourite one. And eventually, her dark eyes land upon it, standing at a fair distance from the rest of the birds.
"Aren't you hungry as well?" She asks the black raven, as she kneels in front of the birds.
Eventually, the raven gains some courage and walks to the crumbs, feeding itself as well. Morgana watches them eat, fill their small, little stomachs, and notices their wings. So beautiful, so alive. Sometimes, only sometimes, she misses having her old wings, being able to fly, to touch the air and see the clouds.
But she cannot be held in one place by the past any longer. She knew very well that her decision has come with consequences, and for the last decades she's done exceptionally well in complying them. Morgana will not start to fall apart now.
She has a bakery to run, and sweet toothed Noxians to feed.
So, rising from her spot, she throws one last smile at the birds, and then her steps hurriedly take her inside, as to change and start yet another day. One thing she loves about Noxus above them all is the summery mornings and twilights.
What the fallen angel doesn't know, however, is that the red-eyed black raven has never taken its eyes off of her, while she was present.
"What's with that position, Jericho?" Her feminine voice echoes from the threshold and, as he opens his eyes, awoken from the trance, he sees the feline-woman he's shared so many nights and days with, standing there stark naked and wearing a bored expression on her dulled features.
The man simply shakes his head and gestures from his wrist, looking away. "At least have the decency to put on some clothes." He then says flatly.
She shrugs and makes her way in the room, slipping on the couch facing Swain's and tucking the soft blanket from it around her. Short hair a mess, she looks at him intently, but not with a genuine curiosity.
"What were you doing?" She then asks, for the sake of breaking the silence.
Their mornings were rather dull and boring, like a well-practiced routine. It wasn't sweet and filled with the afterglow so many couples experienced, but then again, they were no couple; they weren't in love.
"Thinking of my – our next move," Swain collects his thoughts, and looks at the woman. He still couldn't get used to this boring appearance of hers. But then again, some things had to remain a mystery for the public eye.
She chuckles softly, lying on the couch like any other cat, the edges of her lips curling evilly. "I think I know a great way to finally take down Darkwill." She says, slightly sleepily.
Swain cocks a brow upwards, crossing his arms over his chest and waits for her to continue. Beatrice stirs beside him, but he pays no attention to her; it can wait.
And waiting is all what he does, because the woman does not continue; she only looks at him with a dangerous glint in her eye. Swain lets out a frustrated sigh and speaks up rather tiredly: "What is it that you want in exchange?"
At that, she mewls happily, sitting up like a ten year old, who has just laid their hands on sweets. "There's someone in my circles I want permanently removed. But I cannot move a nail, because it'd be too obvious." She faked being in trouble, for Swain to softly roll his eyes.
"Consider it done. Now share with me your plan." He then says shortly, not really being a man of patience.
The woman smiles widely at him and opens her mouth to say what she has in mind.