~ Prologue ~
Departure
It was a beautiful summer morning. The sun peeked over the eastern horizon, illuminating the clear skies. Not a single cloud drifted overhead, assuring the passengers of the Rainfell that their path would likely remain clear, at least for the better part of the day.
But truthfully, it didn't matter too much. While conventional ships were often at the mercy of foul weather, even the devastating summer tempests could do little to hinder the Rainfell. And while most sailors would surmise from the pleasant weather that they were safe for at least a few days, the Rainfell was far faster, and her passengers had grown accustomed to cutting in and out of storms.
Even so, they weren't ready to let the fine morning go to waste, especially when the sun hadn't quite risen high enough to beam down uncomfortably upon them. Two of the ship's passengers stood upon the ship's stern deck, each brandishing a simple wooden training sword at the other. One was a young woman with dark eyes and long, vibrant red hair, only accessorized with a pair of pearl wing-shaped clips. She wore a long black robe, decorated with purple accents and golden tassels, with its hem trimmed in small gold triangles. The other was a tall young man with dark blue hair, perhaps a few years older than his smaller opponent, who insisted upon wearing his light plate armor even during casual training sessions. "A warrior must always be comfortable in his armor," he often insisted.
Morgan waited patiently, though she carefully turned to continue facing her opponent as Priam circled her steadily. Despite her outwardly calm demeanor, Morgan was rather frustrated. Priam was a skilled opponent, and only one in every five bouts ended with Morgan holding out long enough to land a blow against the faster and stronger warrior. Priam's swordplay wasn't perfect, but it was close enough. Even when he did slip up, most of the time Morgan found herself too slow to punish Priam's mistakes.
This would be their seventh round this morning, and only one had ended in Morgan's favor. Morgan smiled, determined to land at least one more blow on Priam. More often than not, their duel began the same way. As usual, Priam remained still, allowing Morgan to strike first. But after many bouts, Morgan sidestepped the obvious trap by simply ignoring the apparent opening. By now, she knew better than to try to slip past Priam's defenses while leaving herself open. Instead, she waited calmly to see what attack routines her opponent was in the mood for this time. Oddly enough, despite his frequent meditative rituals and philosophical manner of speech, Priam was not a patient man.
Just as she had predicted, Priam soon grew tired of waiting. As he finished circling Morgan again, he stepped forward suddenly, thrusting his weapon straight ahead. Morgan recognized the move at once, and knew Priam would inevitably follow with a quick sequence of forward thrusts. She stepped away, willingly giving ground and remaining out of Priam's reach.
Likely afraid that his opponent had read his movements too quickly, after the second thrust fell short, Priam swung his sword back and shifted his balance. This tell was as obvious as the first, but Morgan grimaced, recognizing the stance, and knowing that Priam would follow with a serious of relentless, powerful chops and slashes, with an emphasis on mobility.
Morgan knew she wouldn't be able to simply retreat this time, for Priam clearly intended to pace her steadily. Coming from any normal fighter, it wouldn't have been too much of a concern, for without momentum, her opponent would normally wear himself out quickly. But Priam wouldn't tire so easily, and often overwhelmed Morgan with this very tactic. Morgan usually ended up missing a parry, or simply falling behind long before Priam was forced to pause and catch his breath.
It was time for a change in tactics, Morgan knew. Out of the many times her opponent had attempted this gambit, Priam had only slipped up once. The odds were certainly not in her favor if she followed his lead, but Morgan wasn't overly concerned about playing fair. After all, Priam was taller, heavier, and stronger than she was, and faster with longer reach, to boot.
It was time to even the odds.
As Priam stepped forward, beginning his brutal forward assault, Morgan carefully measured and parried his first few attacks, while trying to draw nearer. Maintaining their distance would only work in Priam's favor, who would certainly love to remain out of her reach, while keeping her within striking distance.
Priam was unconcerned, for he had seen this counter before. And while it was true that one of his advantages was lost, he knew it would still be difficult for Morgan to strike at him while keeping up with his attack routine. He fully expected the move to bring a quicker end to their bout.
It certainly did, but not in the way the blue haired warrior expected. Morgan was tiring quickly, and as she blocked each blow in succession, it felt as if there was less and less weight behind her parries. Confidently, Priam forced Morgan's blade aside, then drew his weapon back to gain momentum for a single finishing blow.
A tome flew through the air, blocking his vision and striking him in the forehead. Startled, Priam nearly dropped his weapon, and stumbled back. But Morgan paced him, her sword cleanly poking at his belly. "Morgan wins!" the red haired girl shouted gleefully.
Priam groaned, exasperated. "A tome, Morgan? Really?" he protested, though it was hard to argue with the girl's exuberance. Though she was technically an adult, her small build and youthful face, not to mention her childish behavior, often made her seem much younger.
"Sorry, Priam. I wasn't sure how else to keep up with you so I kind of had to improvise," Morgan said, laughing sheepishly.
"Good improvisation," Priam conceded with another groan. He was more annoyed with himself than Morgan, though, for being taken by surprise so easily. Besides, he knew that if he was to complain, he would only be rewarded with another rightfully earned lecture.
"Hardly," Soren remarked snidely, where he was sitting in the shade of a canopy near the mast. Priam flinched, realizing he hadn't escaped the lecture after all with his apparent acceptance of defeat.
"I know, I wasn't paying attention," Priam admitted quickly.
Soren shook his head, disappointed. "You were paying attention. Just not to every relevant aspect. You were watching your opponent's blade, but again, you overlooked that the sword was not her only available weapon."
"It's only a training session, Uncle," Priam protested.
"A training session is meant to help you learn and grow. Rehearsing the same motions to improve your reflexes is certainly valuable, but it is hardly the only relevant aspect of battle," Soren said dismissively. "You are no warrior, Priam. You are a performer. And if you refuse to think like a warrior, you will never make proper progress."
Morgan winced uncomfortably, and shot her friend an apologetic, sympathetic look. Soren was always surprisingly harsh in his criticism, especially when it came to Priam. And while a steady string of losses often annoyed Morgan, and served to renew her determination and efforts, even a single defeat was crushing to Priam, made all the more insufferable by Soren's stinging commentary. "I don't know," she interrupted. "Priam's one of the strongest warriors I've ever met."
Soren didn't seem impressed, and her remark didn't seem to brighten Priam's dour mood at all. "Priam has every physical advantage when sparring with you," Soren reminded. "Given his frequent and extensive training, he should never be dropping a bout to you."
"Morgan's pretty skilled with the sword herself," Priam argued. "And she's clever. You said it yourself, Uncle, a true warrior fights with his mind!"
"Precisely. Why, then, do you refuse to use yours?" Soren challenged.
Priam straightened as if he had been slapped, and seemed to have a hard time formulating a response. "I'm sorry," he said stiffly, finding his voice at last. He turned to Morgan and extended his hand. Morgan smiled and gladly shook hands with Priam, for she knew how important such a simple formality was to Priam.
Soren only rolled his eyes and returned to gazing out to sea, vacantly, as Priam went below deck to stow the two training swords.
"You really shouldn't be so harsh on him," Morgan said, turning to Soren as soon as Priam was out of earshot.
"The truth is harsh," Soren said dispassionately. "I observe, and I share my observations. What good does idle flattery do for anyone?"
"A kind word or two would make him feel better," Morgan pointed out.
"Would it?" Soren asked dourly, as he set his book down. He stared at Morgan, and his penetrating ruby eyes seemed to bore right into her mind. "Tell me, Morgan, if I were to offer hollow, insincere compliments, do you truly think my words would hold any weight in Priam's mind?"
"Yes," Morgan replied defiantly. "Confidence is important to a warrior, too, you know."
"Rightful confidence is an asset. Overconfidence is a fatal flaw," Soren replied in his infuriatingly calm manner.
"That's not the point," Morgan retorted angrily, although she hesitated a moment later. Wasn't that the point, after all? Soren's criticisms of Priam, while harsh, were always technically true. Why, then, did his words seem so crushing to Morgan?
"Isn't it?" Soren asked, clearly seeing the doubt in her expression.
"It isn't," Morgan said stubbornly. "The point is, he acts as if you're the closest thing he has to a father, but you don't even seem to care how he feels. Sometimes, you act as if you don't even know him! Not everything has to be about achieving your goals. Sometimes you just want someone you care about to care about you, too."
Soren shrugged. "I am not his father, nor am I his uncle, for that matter," was his only reply to that.
With a disgruntled sigh, Morgan retreated below deck, knowing that their conversation was going nowhere.
Ever since the first day of the voyage, Morgan had found the relationship between Priam and Soren to be quite unusual. In some ways, Priam reminded her of herself. The reverence Priam showed Soren, bordering on zealotry, was not unlike the love Morgan showed her own father. Unfortunately, sometimes it seemed as if Priam was doomed to never quite find Soren's approval. If it wasn't for the fact that Soren was more critical of Priam than anyone else, Morgan would never have guessed that the two men knew each other.
"Are you alright, Priam?" Morgan called, when she spotted Priam sitting on his cot, meditating quietly. Surprisingly enough, Priam had made it abundantly clear that he did not mind her interruptions.
"An indomitable spirit fosters an indomitable force. He who seeks to become such a force must never allow mere words to bruise his spirit," Priam said serenely, not bothering to open his eyes.
"Does that really work for you?" Morgan asked curiously, sitting down on her own cot across from Priam. "Words can stir emotions, can't they? Emotional wounds often sting more painfully than any physical wounds might."
"A true warrior must master his emotions," Priam replied.
"During a fight, sure," Morgan agreed. "But then, that's true of physical pain, too. In a fight, we have to do our best to push past any pain we feel. But that doesn't mean you can stop feeling it entirely… does it?" She hesitated slightly as she completed her thoughts. Seeing how abnormally strong her new companion was, if he claimed not to feel physical pain at all, she would've believed him wholeheartedly.
But perhaps she was overestimating his abilities just a little bit. "I guess that's true," Priam conceded. "Words, like physical injuries, may sting. But Soren was right. I still have much to learn, and pain, temporary as it is, will not outweigh my potential."
"Maybe, but you have to give yourself credit for your strengths, too," Morgan said consolingly.
Priam smiled faintly. "Thank you, Morgan."
"Any time," Morgan replied cheerily. The two sat in contented silence for some time, with Priam seemingly returning to his meditation.
"Tell me about it," Priam said, speaking up abruptly.
"About what?" Morgan asked, startled.
"When you spoke of emotional wounds, it sounded as if you were speaking from experience. I would understand if it's a story if you would rather not share, but if it's not a terrible imposition, I must admit, I am curious," Priam said. "I was still quite young when my parents passed away, so for quite a long period of my life, Uncle Soren was all I had. There is much to life that I have yet to experience for myself."
"I'm not sure it's something you want to experience," Morgan said. "I told you before about how I once lost my memories, right?"
"You did," Priam confirmed.
"Well… because of that, I didn't have much time to get to know Dad before he died. I remembered quite a bit about him, but most of it didn't make sense. We're not even sure they were real memories," Morgan admitted.
"Wait a moment. What do you mean before he died?" Priam asked, confused. "He seemed alive and well the last time we met."
"Oh, right. I skipped over that part, didn't I?" Morgan realized uncomfortably. Priam only stared at her as if she had sprouted another head all of a sudden. "I did mention how the Grimleal could control my father, right?"
"Yeah. You said that's how they took control of him and made him fight for the fell dragon," Priam recalled.
Morgan frowned. "That's only half the story," she admitted. "When Dad realized they could control him, he was scared the Grimleal would turn him against us. To ensure that could never happen, he took his own life, only a few days after the Shepherds found me."
"Life is to be treasured. To take one's own life is… unthinkable," Priam remarked, shaking his head. "But if he killed himself, then how is he still alive?"
"To be honest, no one's really sure," Morgan admitted. "The Grimleal were able to resurrect him, and when they did, he became part of the fell dragon. He managed to break free for a short while, just long enough to destroy Grima. He disappeared along with Grima, and Naga told us that he was gone for good. But later, he just… reappeared."
"How odd," Priam wondered. "Are you sure it's really him?"
"Absolutely," Morgan said, without even a trace of doubt. She couldn't help but smile upon thinking of her loving father. "I know him quite well now, and he can't be anyone but my father. And he and Mom are closer than ever, too."
"Interesting. I would have imagined that such a difficult decision would've had the opposite effect, distancing him from those that he was close to," Priam said.
Morgan shook her head. "When I first met my father, he was the most important person in the world to me. Then, when I lost him, I realized he was even more important to me than I could have imagined. That's the way it is sometimes. Just when you think you understand the bonds you share with the people you care about, you realize you've barely scratched the surface," Morgan said sagely.
Priam nodded wistfully. "I wonder if Soren and I are the same way," he said softly.
Soren again. Morgan tried to tell herself that Priam knew and understood the reserved, ancient tactician much better than she did, but it was hard to ignore the persistent longing she saw in Priam's eyes whenever he spoke of Soren.
"Maybe," Morgan finally said. "But it doesn't have to be just a single person, either. I have my mother and sister, too. Well, sisters, now."
"And your friends," Priam reminded. "Such as the one we're searching for now."
"Yep," Morgan agreed. "I'm sure you have other friends, too, right?"
Priam nodded solemnly. "I suppose I do. I have met many kindred spirits in my few years. And, of course, you are my friend too, are you not?"
Morgan blinked, surprised by how Priam had so quickly set her apart from the other "kindred spirits" he had mentioned. "Of course. But we've only known each other for a couple weeks, haven't we? I'm sure you've had friends you've known longer than that."
"There is time spent together, and there is the depth of the bonds shared," Priam replied philosophically. "I have spent years alongside some of the people of Azure Pyre without ever truly understanding who they are or how they live their lives. Besides, we are partners in this quest, are we not? Nothing fosters a stronger connection than a common cause."
"I suppose," Morgan said noncommittally. That sentiment certainly held a grain of truth, for Morgan had seen firsthand the strength of the relationships that the Shepherds had forged over the years. But though the former Shepherds would all likely remain friends and remember each other fondly for the rest of their days, they had still each returned to their own lives.
~ A week later ~
Since the lectern had to be attended to at all hours of the day, and Priam had little to no affinity with magic, Morgan had initially asked that Soren watch over it for a few hours every day. To her surprise, Soren immediately offered to break each day into two twelve hour shifts. Thinking to at least give Soren the easier shift, Morgan claimed the nightshift for herself.
Upon further reflection, she wondered if Soren even cared which shift was his. Soren was astonishingly stoic, and seemed to care little about anything at all. On the other hand, Morgan didn't really mind the nightshift either, even when the weather was poor, as it was this night.
The canopy stretched over the lectern kept Morgan reasonably dry as the rain pattered down on the deck all around her. A small conventional lantern hung just below the canopy, illuminating the lectern and the small nightstand she had moved to the deck. As her two companions were supposed to be sleeping, the red haired tactician amused herself by studying a small wooden playing board and the formations of the playing pieces she had placed upon it.
"It has been many years since I've seen someone playing that game, and I don't believe I've ever seen it played alone," Soren remarked quietly, alerting Morgan to his presence.
Morgan looked up, startled. "Oh, hello," she greeted. "Shouldn't you be sleeping?"
"I will sleep when I find it necessary," Soren replied calmly, as he took a closer look at the board. "I do not believe such positions are truly possible in a normal game of Conquest," he observed.
"Conquest?" Morgan asked curiously. "I didn't know this game had a name."
"Really? How do you refer to it, then?" Soren asked, showing the slightest hint of curiosity.
"Depends on who you ask," Morgan admitted. "If you ask Dad, it's just 'The Strategy Game', or 'The War Game'. But if you ask our friend, Anna, it's 'Lords and Tacticians'. She says it's more marketable that way. Then again, if you ask Uncle Chrom, it's 'That Game No One Understands'."
"He doesn't seem fond of strategy games," Soren said.
"He isn't, but sometimes he gets bored enough to play it anyways," Morgan said. "But Dad and I made a few changes to the game to simulate battlefield situations. They're not always necessarily fair, but…"
"But that's the way it is in war. The battlefield is rarely perfectly even," Soren said, completing her thought perfectly.
"Exactly," Morgan agreed.
"Do keep in mind that our resources in this little quest of yours include neither wyverns nor Pegasi," Soren noted dryly, pointing at the pieces on the board simulating aerial combatants positioned on both sides of the field.
"Oh, this isn't for our mission," Morgan said. "Sometimes I just run through these situations to practice."
"I see. Good luck, then," Soren said, sounding rather insincere, as he started for the cabin.
"Wait, Soren!" Morgan called, an idea striking her. Soren obediently paused and turned back. "Do you know how to play?"
"Of course," Soren replied, seeming a bit irritated.
"Let's play, then," Morgan offered, with an inviting smile.
"No thank you," Soren said, as he began to turn away again.
"Come on, Soren. Just one game," Morgan pleaded. "You were a great tactician once, too, weren't you?"
"There were some who believed me to be, yes," Soren said dismissively. "But the difference between an average tactician and a great tactician isn't always immediately obvious. In battle, too much depends on factors beyond a tactician's control."
"But flexibility is also a great asset for tacticians," Morgan argued. "Being able to overcome unfavorable situations is part of being a good tactician."
"Being able to overcome unfavorable situations usually requires the situation to be not quite as unfavorable as it appears," Soren retorted. "Which usually means either a poor understanding of the scenario, or a fortunate and unpredicted turn of events."
"So you're saying that during the War of the Goddess, you and Ike were lucky, and that you weren't a very good tactician after all," Morgan accused, being deliberately obtuse.
"That's not what I said," Soren corrected immediately.
"Show me then," Morgan said with an eager smile.
Soren sighed. He could see through the girl's attempted manipulation easily enough, and was tempted to turn away anyways simply out of spite. But in truth, Soren didn't really care either way. "Fine. One game," Soren agreed, and he collected a small wooden chair and seated himself across from Morgan, as Morgan began arranging the pieces into their standard starting positions.
"This is our normal starting formation," Morgan explained, as she finished placing the last few pieces. "Is it the same one that you normally play with?"
"It doesn't matter," Soren replied brusquely, quickly memorizing the formations. "You may have the first move, Morgan."
Morgan nodded and went with her favorite opening gambit, moving her common soldiers in the center of her line to open up her tactician, mages, and cavaliers as quickly as possible. Soren mirrored her first few moves, which left Morgan wondering if he was playing a similar style to take her measure, or simply because it was his own preference, too.
But she soon realized that Soren's play style was quite different after all. Soren's play seemed recklessly aggressive, and he made his moves quickly, unlike Morgan who took her time calculating each move carefully. Despite that, it seemed as if Soren's moves were just as carefully measured, and Soren soon took control of the game, forcing Morgan to trade pieces with him or give up favorable positions.
By the time Morgan realized she was playing too defensively, it was too late. Soren had manipulated her into a corner, with her own pieces getting in her way, while his pieces were cleverly dispersed across the field. "Mate in four," Morgan said, realizing the game would soon be over as Soren advanced his marshal forward.
"Indeed," Soren confirmed, seemingly taking no joy or pride in his victory. His eyebrow did quirk upward slightly. "You played well," he congratulated.
"Not well enough, obviously," Morgan said, trying to hide her disappointment. "I don't understand, though. It felt like you weren't taking any time to think your moves over at all."
"After you've seen this game played so many times, over the course of centuries, reading your opponent tells you all that you need to know," Soren explained. "Your opening gambit was aggressive, but you followed it with extremely conservative positioning. You value your more potent units, and while you wanted to put them to use, you were hesitant to put them in danger. That made your moves easy to anticipate. By forcing you to trade pieces with me, I was limiting your options."
"But I did accept some of those trades," Morgan argued.
"The ones I knew you would accept," Soren stated coolly. "They were the ones that were seemingly favorable to you, since you were too focused on the pieces. You sacrificed your favorable positions for the pieces you thought were most important. It's a common error, particularly among those who have been in a real battle and often follow the same reflexes in a game."
"So you're saying that I shouldn't have been so reluctant to sacrifice my more important pieces?" Morgan asked.
"Not at all. You can formulate effective strategies around protecting multiple pieces, if you prefer to play that way. But you can't simply hide your valuable pieces because you're afraid to lose them, especially after spending valuable time advancing them. Sometimes, an aggressive position can be as safe, or safer, than a defensive position," Soren explained. Without further prompting, he began resetting the board, despite his earlier reluctance to play. "Allow me to demonstrate. The first move is yours," he invited.
Morgan was surprised to see Soren volunteering to play another round with her, but naturally, she didn't argue. Back in Ylisse, Morgan often played with her father, and her father almost always seemed to hold the upper hand. Maybe a new instructor was the breakthrough she needed.
~ Two weeks later ~
Morgan awoke late in the evening with a loud yawn. After stretching her arms briefly, she reached for the comb lying beneath her pillow. Though growing out her hair had seemed an amusing novelty at first, it was so incredibly frustrating to care for sometimes, and Morgan was seriously considering trimming her hair short once more.
"Good morning," Priam greeted, when he noticed she was awake.
"Morning?" Morgan echoed, confused.
"Or evening, I suppose," Priam corrected absentmindedly. He seemed entirely focused on the book he was reading.
"Which book is that?" Morgan asked curiously, tilting her head and peering at the cover. It was probably one of the many books she had brought along, which she had been more than willing to share with her two companions.
"It's one of yours," Priam answered. "Treatise of Naval Warfare."
Morgan glanced at him quizzically. "Did you want to become a fleet admiral or something? That book was pretty boring."
"That it is," Priam said with a laugh. "And no, I don't think I'll ever find myself leading an army at sea, or any army at all for that matter. Still, I find that principles may be applied in ways outside of what the author suggests."
"Really? How?" Morgan asked.
"For instance," Priam began, flipping back several pages. "This chapter speaks of the proper use of ballistae and catapults, and the varying purposes of different projectiles. The author explicitly notes the value of flaming pitch, which is used only to gauge distance and battlefield conditions."
"But siege weapons used at sea are different from similar weapons used on land," Morgan pointed out. "The weapons are designed differently, since they're not necessarily always used from level ground, and when your weapons are stationary, it is generally easier to prepare for battle."
"Right," Priam agreed. "The chapter very specifically relates to the use of naval siege weaponry, and on the surface, relates to little else. But it emphasizes the importance of awareness of one's arsenal and accurate information. The real lesson within is to know the advantages and drawbacks of your weaponry and be constantly aware of the changing conditions in a fight."
"But that's just one of the basic tenets of strategy," Morgan said, not quite understanding Priam's point.
"Yes, of course. Know your weaknesses to adequately protect yourself from defeat. Be aware of your surroundings and use them to your advantage. Basic principles, perhaps. But the author emphasizes how these principles are perceived in this particular situation. In other words, you need to assess these same principles as they relate to each challenge that you face, and interpret them accordingly," Priam said.
Morgan just shrugged. Despite Priam's lengthy explanation, it didn't sound like the text had truly inspired any new concepts. But then again, that was Priam's nature; the simplest thing could be the first stepping stone to a wide arc of reflection. "Well, I'm glad someone likes that book," Morgan said with a grin. "Now if we finally find ourselves with a fleet short of a commander, we know where to find one."
"I hope not," Priam said, laughing. "I suspect that would end quite badly."
Morgan laughed, too, as she finally gave up trying to entangle her messy hair, reasoning that neither Priam nor Soren were likely to care. If Severa were anywhere nearby, it would be a different story, but by now they were hundreds of miles away from Ylisse. As she thought of Severa, though, Morgan's laughter died away, and again she wondered if it had been a mistake to set off without at least telling her protective older sister.
When Owain had left Ylisse in search of the mysterious sea monster, his departure had left a strange void in all of their lives. Morgan had initially thought it to be out of fear for her friend. But though she held no doubts in her own course, and knew that she would see her friends and family again soon enough, leaving her parents and sisters behind only redoubled the strange, hollow sensation.
A feeling of guilt also plagued Morgan, for she knew that her family would likely be feeling the same way. In Severa's case, it was probably even worse. Though Morgan's older sister had grown quite adept at concealing her feelings from others, Morgan saw through the snarky, carefree façade easily enough. Sometimes, Morgan wondered if she had been lucky in losing her memories. Severa had been plagued by memories of the loss of her entire family even as she entered this timeline, only to lose her father yet again.
Morgan knew that Severa was sensitive to the thought of losing someone she cared dearly for. Severa had taken Owain's departure harder than anyone else, it seemed, though she tried so desperately to hide it. And now Morgan had taken herself out of reach, too. "Sorry, Sis," Morgan whispered quietly.
"What was that?" Priam asked, startling Morgan from her thoughts.
"Oh! It's nothing, I was just talking to myself," Morgan said quickly, feeling a little bit embarrassed.
~ Two weeks later ~
"Soren, you said you have the blood of a Laguz, right?" Morgan asked, as she casually slid her soldier forward. Despite his initial reluctance, Soren turned out to be quite willing to continue playing Conquest with Morgan after the first night. Morgan's theory was that he, too, was bored. Then again, the game didn't seem to captivate his attention, either, and Soren looked just as bored sitting across from her, barely paying attention to the game.
"Yes," Soren said simply, as he retaliated by moving his wyvern knight closer. Morgan saw his plan immediately, for the flying wyvern knight was only a move away from threatening her lord, and from a safe position where it could also strike at her mage.
"What kind of Laguz?" Morgan asked, as she preemptively repositioned her mage. She wasn't sure if Soren would answer, but she figured she'd try anyways. Hopefully it would distract Soren a little bit. And besides, she really was curious.
"I never found out," Soren admitted, as he reached instead for a piece on the other side of the board. Morgan fidgeted uncomfortably as she realized Soren never expected her to actually fall for the obvious maneuver, and must have been hoping for her to move her mage out of the way as she had just done. "Why do you ask?"
"Well, I was thinking, it would be pretty awesome if you could transform into an animal," Morgan mused, as she reviewed her options. "But that could depend on what kind of animal, right?"
"I told you, the branded cannot transform," Soren replied. "A branded child is no different from a Beorc aside from his lifespan and the brand itself. The Laguz parent even permanently loses his or her ability to transform."
"Yeah, but the heritage is still there, right? What if it's just, I don't know, waiting to be unlocked?" Morgan invented wildly as she finally decided to advance her marshal.
"Unlikely," Soren replied, as he quickly repositioned his own mage. "Heron."
"Heron?" Morgan echoed hollowly.
"The beast Laguz rarely live more than three or four centuries. The bird Laguz, outside of the herons, can live nearly twice as long, between six and seven centuries. Branded typically have about half the lifespan of their Laguz parentage," Soren explained. "Given that I have seen five centuries myself, and outwardly still appear young, I am likely descended from the herons."
"How long do heron Laguz live?" Morgan asked.
"I don't know," Soren replied with a shrug. "I've never heard of a heron growing old. In fact, I once met a heron who was over a millennium old, and still looked like a young man."
"A thousand years," Morgan whispered wonderingly. Then her expression grew sour.
"You seem disappointed," Soren noted.
"Herons are okay, I guess," Morgan said. "But I was hoping for something, I don't know, a little more interesting?"
Soren rolled his eyes. "Does it really matter?"
"Well, yeah, sort of," Morgan said. "Imagine if you were a bunny Laguz. Then you could have awesome fluffy ears when you transform."
It seemed Morgan had found the distraction she been searching for, as Soren's face slipped into his palms. "Branded don't transform, and there aren't any rabbit Laguz either," he said, sounding exasperated.
"Really? That's no fun," Morgan said, trying to hide her glee when she realized that Soren wasn't even looking at the board anymore. She quickly advanced her Pegasus knight, wondering if this could, perhaps, be her first victory over the clever tactician. "Your move."
"When did the subject of my heritage turn into a discussion of what would be 'fun'?" Soren asked dryly, as he reached for his archer. "If it makes you feel better, I suppose I could be descended from the dragon Laguz, too. Dragon Laguz lifespans are also known to surpass a thousand years."
"Now that's more like it," Morgan agreed cheerily as she retreated her Pegasus knight. "Why didn't you guess dragon to begin with?"
"Because the Goldoans keep to themselves, and few Beorc are foolish enough to intrude upon their self-imposed isolation. On the other hand, the herons were prized as slaves for their beauty. There are probably many branded children of the heron Laguz that were abandoned, as I was," Soren said matter-of-factly.
Morgan looked stunned. "Are you serious?" she demanded uncomfortably. "Laguz were kept as slaves?"
Soren laughed harshly, a rare bit of humor, though dark, from the normally reserved man. "When I drafted our adventures into a story, I deliberately withheld a few details. There was no need to get bogged down in every cruel subtlety of Tellius."
"That's horrible," Morgan muttered, as she watched Soren's tactician advance toward hers.
"That's reality," Soren countered coldly. "People have expectations of others, rooted in their own identities. When others fail to meet those expectations, or perhaps surpass them, such differences breed fear, which, in turn, begets discrimination. To be blunt, the prejudice and cruelty between Beorc and Laguz was quite mutual," he assured.
Somehow, that thought didn't make Morgan feel any better. "Is Tellius still that way?" Morgan asked hesitantly, as she moved one of her soldiers idly, her mind no longer really on the game.
"How should I know?" Soren asked. "Checkmate."
Morgan looked down, startled, and only then realized the error of her previous move. "Crud."
"Nice try, by the way," Soren said, a hint of a smirk crossing his expression. "It seems your attempts to distract me only distracted yourself. You positioned that soldier earlier to protect your lord, and there was no good reason to move it."
Embarrassed, Morgan cast her mind about for a change in subject. "Hey, Soren. If you find out you're really a dragon and not a heron…"
"Then it will change absolutely nothing," Soren said.
"But if you figure out how to transform," Morgan began again.
"Then I will have made a discovery that no one in Tellius believed possible," Soren interrupted impatiently.
"Right, but if you do," Morgan emphasized hastily. "Do you think you could give me a ride?"
The conversation had reached new heights of absurdity. "No," Soren said flatly. "Good night, Morgan," he added, as he stalked away, seeming more annoyed than Morgan had ever seen him before.
Morgan couldn't help but smile as she watched the tactician go. In some ways, teasing Soren was even more entertaining than playing pranks on her friends or her father back at home. And maybe Soren would be annoyed with her for a while, but knowing how imperturbable he was, she was fairly certain the dour mood wouldn't last too long.
What she couldn't see was Soren hiding a slight smile of his own, born of mixed amusement and exasperation.