Choices

(1105 ac)

Morgan produces a cigarette, no mention of the war goes without one it seems. It is black with a silver band; the tip goes red hot as he draws inward upon it, without the need of a lighter. Green eyes go momentarily distant, as he gazes out to the stables from the garden table they shared. "The War was hard, Bea... for all the reasons you'd expect, and for a whole bunch more." He paused, "I was not a soldier... not really... I mean I fought, and hurled spells, and bled and shed blood... but I was also a healer... and more importantly, I was appointed by Oberon to be the advisor to the Regent on all matter Arcane and Metaphysical... "

He breathed smoke, "It was a lot to carry, but I felt like I was doing my part. I was defending my Family, because at the time, Amber wasn't home... not yet, not really... a part of me loved it, how could I not? But it wasn't home... but I loved Marty, and Antonia, Random and Fiona... my family. They were all going off to war, and I thought I'd be with them... but making sure they had home to come back to was my job... mine and 'Gina's."

"After the war... It's been wonderful, YOU'VE been wonderful, Summerisle is home now... It's been like a vacation. But... I feel a gap... I feel like I'm not doing my part... not like before... Understand?"

"It's not like I'm a thrill seeker." He laughs, "Well I can be... but that's not it. I LIKED being a part of things, being relied upon, defending kith and kin." He shrugs, "It's what I was raised to do... I was a King once, however briefly, an old world King, like the songs... I never had the chance to do my part for Avalon."

Beatrice shakes her head, her expression still troubled. "No, I don't. There's no War - what are you after defending against? You're not the King here - why do you want a king's duties? What happens when your vacation ends, Morgan? I can understand wanting some responsibility, but you sound like you want the world on your shoulders. I don't understand that."

"No, not the world... I had that... I just feel a need to do my part. Julian still patrols, Caine still sails... I want to be involved."

"So you're going to... patrol. No, that's not right. You're going to go be a commando. Killing people for the Crown. I still don't get it."

"Random's not one to send assassins in the night, Bea. And while there's peace here, Benedict still has to contain the periphery. The Vert are the best, and it plays to my strengths... I think I can make the best difference there. I think we all have a little responsibility for the place... and with our advantages, ours should be greater."

"But you've already said you made a difference, Morgan. You defended Amber during the War. Responsibility doesn't have to mean taking up active military duty. What about helping the people themselves, directly? What about ambassador work? Why battle?"

Morgan exhaled smoke, and looked at her, "I'm a warrior, Bea... even my Harping was for the battlefield. I'm not a diplomat, cheating with that would be too tempting, and we need real deals, not charms and glamours." He breathed a sigh, "I don't think holding charity galas will satisfy me either." Morgan took a drag on his cigarette, the fragrance pleasant. "I am still thinking about it, Beatrice... "

"I know," she answered, reaching out to lay a hand on his arm. "It's that that makes me ask questions and try to offer options." She sighed and smiled a little. "I have a few reservations about the idea, that's all."

Morgan shifted his arm and took her hand, the cigarette between the fingers of his opposite hand. "And, doubtless, I'm not doing a very good job of talking about it." He thoughtfully drew on his smoke, and exhaled towards the small cotton-ball clouds in the sky. "Like a lot of things in the war, it's complicated and mixed up... especially for me, I can't speak for others... a lot of things at once, a lot of losses." Morgan shook his head, and looked at her, "I understand your reservations... "

"It's all right." Beatrice squeezed his hand gently. "Wars are always complicated and mixed up - I think it's part of the definition." She looked down at their hands for a moment, her hair falling forward around her face. "I think I'm out of questions for now, a ghrį, and if you understand my reservations... " She shrugged slightly. "It's a beautiful day; let's go for a walk."

"Down to the beach? Our feet, or theirs?" He smiled and lifts his chin towards the stables where Loyal and Fiach share the paddock with the Summerisle Malwainese Cobs. Morgan got smoothly to his feet, and stubbed his cigarette out in a pot nearby meant for just that purpose. He pulled her to hers, met her eyes, and then kissed her deeply, before stepping back and tugging her hand. "Well, c'mon then, the beach won't come to us... "

"Oh, let's take our own today." She smiled up at him, the change in subject chasing shadows out of her green eyes, and returned the kiss with interest. "And how am I supposed to hurry," she asked, laughing as he tugged her hand, "when you're kissing me? Let's go."