Let's hope I still have some creative juices left, hmm? I expended a good deal of my creativity recently writing a second chapter to a Bleach fanfic of mine, so this one might or might not be subpar. That's a word, right? Anyway, to those readers who deigned to ask questions about Morgan's (perhaps disproportionate) reactions last chapter, how do you think you'd feel if a member of a group you didn't care for to begin with reminded you of a very painful incident in your past, using rather poor word choice, while unintentionally pushing your buttons after you'd recently gone berserk? Wow, that was a long sentence. For those who say TL;DR, Morgan doesn't really like the Justice League much, Black Canary's choice of words gave a different impression to her than intended, and she's tremendously guilty about it and hates assumptions. Also possibly going off the deep end a bit.
Song for the chapter: "Arise" by Flyleaf.
-I am a line break, beginning the story-
I wake up and stumble through my morning routine. Not stumble, precisely, but I don't know of any verb that really describes the hurried but deliberate and thoroughly lethargic motions people go through in the morning. As soon as I'm too annoyed to attempt to get every stray hair into their braids and have most of my beads attached to the proper braids, I flop back onto the surface-world-style bed. Turns out that braids and long hair don't make a great combination when you lie on your back. I can feel each one as if I'm lying on scattered gravel.
I don't feel like getting up and facing the world. I just don't want to deal with the truth, and with awkwardness. I don't want to hear people talking today.
At the same time, I'm not tired, and boredom sets in quickly. I don't feel like doing anything, while simultaneously wanting to do something. Stupid immature mind.
I lie there for a few minutes, mind drifting to Atlantis as it always does when I have nothing better to do. I miss the volume of power I had there. It's only natural for people who live in water to learn magic that manipulates it, and if you learn enough...well, it's like Robin left alone in a room full of electronics and spare parts. Everything can be weaponized or turned to serve you.
More than that, I miss Kaldur. I miss ready smiles and thoughtful conversation. I miss gentlemanly behavior and loyalty. I miss generosity and the feeling that someone understands. Most of all, I miss how everything was then.
I wanted to learn every secret in the Akashic Archives at the very edge of the Atlantean city-states. I smiled more readily than I ever had and might have made some friends. I don't remember anymore. My memories of that time are gilded with warm currents and mischievous smiles. I felt like a human being, not a pawn that everyone wanted to see differently. I just want to go back then.
My anger and despair have dissipated into the little corners of my mind that I don't want to look at too closely, the ones that contain the memories of messing up a major spell in front of the class or accidentally touching someone in an inappropriate area. I can barely believe that I did it, and my now-self is yelling at my past-self angrily with every curse from every Atlantean dialect that I know. And plenty of English ones, too. That person who screamed at Black Canary wasn't me. She couldn't have been me, because I'm more self-controlled than that. But she was me.
A knock comes from the door, irritation welling up in me instantly. Alright, so I wasn't actually in the middle of anything important, but still.
"Come in!" I call, half-heartedly considering sitting up. I don't feel like it, so I stay sprawled over the covers.
King Orin of all people pokes his head in. Of all people, why is he in here? I wonder. I've got to be the least of his problems right now.
The blond man visibly forces a smile and enters the room, picking the room's sole chair to sit in. I can vouch for the fact that it isn't very comfortable. Austere I get, but picking a chair like that is just plain masochism.
I push myself up into a sitting position, tucking the little wisps of hair that one can't really do anything with behind my ears.
"Good morning, my king." I tell him, offering my own smile. The League probably sent him to talk to me, which stings a bit- I'd rather people actually show concern over me of their own volition. That said, just because this planet's protectors ordered him to do something doesn't mean that he disagrees with it, so I may as well assume that his worry is genuine.
"Good morning, Morgan'auli. Black Canary mentioned that you were...distressed." Aquaman's voice is hesitant and careful. Perfect for not treading on a volatile teenager's toes, except for the fact that the strained tone rubs me the wrong way every time.
I look away, breaking the obligatory eye contact. "I-"
Gently, he interrupts me. "She said that you had been very emotional. Rather angry and threatening towards her." Atlantis's king sighs. "I told her that I couldn't imagine such behavior from you. I just want to know...did you truly kill those purists?"
I blink a few times, irritation shoved aside by my frenzied thinking about how to respond while putting myself in the best light. "Yes, my king. Black Canary is right, as well. I lost my temper and exploded at her. It was thoughtless and stupid of me, and I apologize greatly." I dip my head.
"Morgan, I was hoping that you would have another answer for me." Orin says, voice and expression troubled. "As much as the purists were wrong in their actions, murder in the process of escape isn't right. I can't condone it, and I can't say that a hero would kill like that."
So I was just supposed to let them get away with it? Let them torture me and worse to force me to use my magic for them? I bite my lip. There isn't anything I can say to get me out of this one. "M-my king?" I say hesitantly.
"I don't want to do this, Morgan. You've done good work here, made a good teammate for these young heroes. They like you, and you have the strength to be a hero. But mass murder, it's evil. I have to ask you to give up your uniform and title." He reaches out and lifts my chin up to force me to look him in the eye. "You're going to face prosecution in Atlantis, Morgan. I'm sorry." Wetness is clear in my king's sea-blue eyes, pain and heartbreak written all over him. That little detail irks me to no end. He's supposed to be stoic, a symbol for the people. Can't he leave aside his personal feelings?
Shock rolls through me, ice flooding my veins. If the world could drop out from under me, it would have. Give up the uniform? Fine, even if it is a shame that such craftsmanship will go to waste. Abandon my title? I never considered myself to be a hero in the first place. But having others judge me for my vengeance upon enemies of the crown? How can he say that?
A combination of carelessness and simple lack of desire to inhibit my emotions casts sorrow, outrage, and fear over my face. "Don't make me laugh." I say flatly. "I haven't been a good teammate, just a good pawn in Nightwing's strategies." A bitter huff of air that sounds almost humorous escapes me. "Mass murder? Try vengeance. I'm an avenger, not a hero. I needed to kill them. They deserved it, and anyone who tries to kill me deserves retribution too." I surge to my feet, knuckles white as my fists clench. "Forgive me, my king, if I don't share the fear to kill murderers and manipulators that everyone else around here has." I say sarcastically.
I cross the room, pausing before slipping out the door to turn suddenly and punch a dent into the wall. It hurts, and I can feel the raw skin starting to give way to blood, but you know what? Who gives an el'creh about pain when you're about to be stripped of hard-earned prestige and tried before a court like criminal scum? I don't, certainly.
"If anyone needs me, I'll be at the beach." I snap.
Five minutes later, I'm standing at the edge of the shore in my uniform and holding my water-bearers, watching the impassive waves brush the pebbles and sand. They don't care either, just do their job day in and day out. At least it turns out that my uniform was sitting in the infirmary, where some genius had thought to change me into a scratchy paper gown. I rectified that and took my weapons as well. If I'm to be leaving, no need to leave technosorcerous weapons lying around on the surface world.
No need to leave them lying around in the possession of the Atlantean government, either. They'll be fine with me in some backwater surface-world nation, I think.
A voice comes from behind me.
"Thinking of leaving?" Nightwing asks calmly. "It'd be a shame to see you go so soon. Better to have an escort anyway, with all the dangers in the ocean. Of course, anything beyond baby magic could fend those off."
I turn my head to see him standing there, Aquaman by his side. Well, I'm well and truly done for now.
"Was it a shame to see Kaldur go so soon as well?" I ask. "Must've been an awful shame to see a loyal man quietly vanish, and such a shame that no one ever found out why." I materialize his signature swords, then let the water composing them flow back into the water-bearers. "Did you know that no one's supposed to mention him in Atlantis? No one's even supposed to tell his close friends what happened. I've waited so long without knowing if the man I love died, did you know that? The great Nightwing knows everything, right?"
I could swear that I see the dark-haired man go a few shades paler. "You knew Kaldur?" He asks incredulously. What, no background checks in the hero business?
"I loved him, like I said. You think I came here because I wanted to go beat up the bad guys? I'm flattered. I really thought I was a worse liar than that." I scoff. "The only reason I ever came to this barbaric place was to find him, and maybe learn a few tricks in the process. So where is he, fearless leader?"
Nightwing's eyes narrow. "Stand down and I'll tell you."
"I value my life and the potential of finding him through other sources more than your deceit. So no, I don't think so." I bite out. I've settled on an incantation to use, and we'll see if I can pull it off.
"Morgan!" Aquaman blurts. "Please, don't do this! We don't want to hurt you. Kaldur'ahm's working for Black Manta, his biological father. It is the truth, I swear to it! Now please stand down. You aren't strong enough to win if we have to use force."
A razor-edged grin spreads over my features, even as internally I can barely process the information. Kaldur would never work for villains. He would never ally with evil. He's Kaldur, the generous, kind man who never lets his friends down and never fails to defeat his foes. Not a cruel monster. That isn't right. It isn't right, it can't be.
Regardless, I have to operate on that for now and process it later. "I'm not strong enough? You're right." I laugh. "I am not strong enough, but my magic is. And you haven't seen any of my true ability yet, don't forget."
At once I've snatched one of my water-bearers and slashed the back of my left forearm, blood welling up, immediately illuminated by the brilliant star-blue light of my tattoos.
"The Seals of the Five Elemental Lords." I intone quietly and as hurriedly as I can without actually messing it up, not letting them hear my words. "First Seal: Earth."I press my index and middle fingers together on both hands and lock them together.
The brief realization that I've struck first on their faces is priceless.
The solid ground they stand on, just beyond the beach's mainland-facing edge, caves in, spikes of stone bursting out inside the pit to impale anyone who is unfortunate enough to get in their way. Nightwing leaps nimbly through the emerging rock spines to land at the edge of my sinkhole, which begins to crumble as well. His stumbling is the window of opportunity I need to raise a dome of stone and earth to enclose him and begin to tighten it.
My king has emerged, bleeding slightly from the side, from the pit. He stares at me in shock. All Orin ever wanted was to redeem himself after Kaldur vanished, if my guess is correct, and so he tried so hard to pick a worthy sidekick and overlook her flaws. He needed to believe that someone was uncorrupted, that I could make up for his failures. I don't know why he's so surprised, really. I never professed to love justice.
"You can save Nightwing, and use his expertise and skills later to do more good, or go after me, let him die, and maybe catch me, if you don't end up hurt worse." I sneer. "Your choice. As long as my wound is open and I'm within a mile, I can still attack."
With that, I turn and enter the waiting water. Truth be told, this spell is draining my reserves more quickly than I'd like, and it isn't easy forcing your mind to be hard, tough, and uncompromising, which earth magic often requires.
He picks saving Nightwing, of course, and I leave as fast as I can, an illusion masking me as soon as I am sure that no one's following me to see the casting and I can safely end the Earth Seal. I know these waters as well as any Atlantean, and I've got the benefit of divination magic to help with navigation.
It turns into a battle of raw willpower and mindless routine after about ten minutes. The magical drain is taking its toll on me, and so is the strain of swimming at top speed as adrenaline wears off.
There're limits to what willpower can do, of course. When I wake up, I'm lying sand-caked on a beach near some trees. I must've passed out and let the current carry me, and the utter lack of strength in my limbs isn't one I can overcome through determination.
Needless to say, I pass out again.
-I am a line break, ending the story-
So that was my latest effort! Something told me it was time for things to come to a head, and that manifested as Morgan finally taking French leave from Young Justice. And finally finding out about Kaldur, too. For the record: she would've been answered had she asked, but the whole thing about even her king not telling her his fate made her paranoid that asking would bring bad consequences onto her.