Corvus Crown: Morrigan

Morrigan emptied her mind as she leaned back into the water of the hot spring, her long crimson hair flowing around her head. She stared at the night sky, taking in the beauty of the stars, and tried to push the war from her thoughts. Her muscles throbbed to the beat of her heart, so she slid further into the heated water. She would be fine within an hour. 

Irritation wove itself around her heart as the battle, the loss of her soldiers, surged to the forefront of her mind once more. She couldn’t understand how her army had survived. Morale had plummeted in the aftermath of the left line being wiped out in a matter of minutes. Many of her troops had scrambled to put some semblance of order back in place, just barely holding it together until a retreat was called. She knew the opposing army had some kind of caeles the moment her strategy had been torn asunder within the first hour of battle. She found it irksome that they would use majik when it was humans fighting on both sides. Their pulling back, a ploy to sow terror and hopelessness, only incensed her further. 
 

Humans were weak, both in mind and body, always craving destruction. Such things worked in her majik’s favor, though. She thrived in the thick of battle, her majik death itself. She knew some had confused her fae kin to be gods, though she could never trust such a misguided faith. Many warriors looked to her, sought her blessing on the battlefields. They wanted her to take their souls as they perished, as though she were one of the fates. She snorted at the thought and shook her head. Humans were such strange creatures.
 

She sank deeper into the water, letting it cascade over her face as she was submerged, and closed her eyes against the day. She sighed, feeling bubbles escape above her, found her footing, and stood. If she didn’t get out at that moment, she was likely to fall asleep and drown. Water dripped from bare skin and her curls, undone by the weight, covered her breasts as she slid her fingers through to get out any lingering knots. She stepped out of the pool and gathered her shirt, draped it on, and grimaced as it clung to her, soaking up the water.
 

“Lonán.” She called out to her familiar, looking through his eyes to see the camp. The soldiers were so

exhausted that the night watch was half asleep where they stood. One man was leaning against his spear so

precariously that he was on the verge of falling. If they were attacked now, it would all be over. She sighed

as she pulled on her pants without trying off, all the towels had been turned into strips for bandages. She

carried her boots, unwilling to struggle with them as she went back to her tent to don her belt and sword.

She planned to end this now. Her troops deserved better. Her lover was fast asleep, still in her uniform. She

leaned over and planted a soft kiss on her golden brow, Aisling so exhausted she didn’t stir.
 

Morrigan stalked from the camp, her raven familiar gliding next to her. None of her soldiers noticed as she

slipped out of their territory and made her way across the battlefield. She grimaced, a mixture of excitement

and worry knotting its way through her stomach. She didn’t know what kind of opponent to expect, what

kind of caeles she’d need to guard against. She encountered a few scouts and dealt them instant blows.

There was no need to use her majik to find them, and she curled her lip at the ease of it. There was no fun in

simple slaughter. Lonán soared higher, giving her the layout of the troops she was to face, which ones may

have been able to escape had she not noticed them. Through his eyes, she watched an enemy trying to creep

up on her, and she allowed him to get close. She listened to his fumbling footsteps as he got closer and

closer. When she heard his blade move, as he readied to attack, she spun on her heel and placed a hand

against his cheek, siphoning his life. Her muscles no longer ached, and she breathed deeply of his demise.

She continued on into the heart of the empty camp, slaughtering any she came across with a single blow and

no thought. She left the soon-to-be-dead alone in their tents, no reason to hasten their paths when they’d

succumb to the prior battle on their own. 
 

A captain found her once she edged the center of camp, and a feral delight filled her to the bone. All the

lives she’d stolen on her path left her abuzz with energy. “It was stupid of you to come alone.” The captain

charged at her as she watched with bated breath, a few foot soldiers following suit. 
 

Her laugh was a melody that would haunt the soldiers into their next lives. “Where is the caeles?” She

frowned at the confusion that slid across their faces. She blocked the swing of one blade with ease, dodging

one and draining another in the process. One of the remaining four managed to land a blow to her bicep,

and she hissed as the blade slid through her skin. She plunged her own sword through his stomach in

response, dancing out of reach of the captain as they brought theirs down in a straight arch. She grinned

wildly as the light faded from the eyes of her victim, Lonán catching the soul before it escaped the field.

She grabbed the throat of another soldier who charged her, thinking her distracted. She lifted them from the

ground, a scream of fear coming from one who collapsed from backpedaling too quickly. 
 

The captain halted a moment, staring at her clean, smooth arm. “You heal as fast as he does.”  He put up his

guard, glaring at her hand that crushed the neck of his comrade before letting the body fall.
 

“Who is he?” She tilted her head as she held eye contact. 
 

Shouts rang throughout the camp as more soldiers appeared, circling in on her. She grinned, this was her

favorite way to fight: everyone coming at once, so she could end it all the faster. She realized that some of

the shouts were a name, called over and over like a demand and a prayer wrapped into one. “Clíodhna.” She

smirked. That must be her real opponent. The captain couldn’t stop her from wiping out the entire battalion

in a matter of minutes. She didn’t have to hold back if there were no witnesses. 
 

She could feel the majik creep along the ground as the true threat made its way to her. The captain gave all

his effort for a final blow, his sword held high, and Morrigan removed his head before he could even begin

his downward arch. Delicious power wrapped around her, causing a shiver to course through her. “What

makes you think we haven’t sent reports of this back to the main host?” A soft, low voice drifted through

the bodies. 
 

“No one would believe the report.” Morrigan watched the figure come into view, a subtle layer of fog

hanging around their ankles. A woman in a simple green dress that was draped over blue-tinged skin. She

was slight, her wild hair a tangled mess as it floated around her head. The stranger took a deep breath, and

Morrigan barely covered her ears before the unearthly scream shattered the area. “Well, that explains a lot.”

She glared at the banshee. “I’m surprised you’re alive.”
 

“More of my kin exist than you’d like to think.” Another scream burst from the woman, a gust of hard air

knocking Morrigan back a few feet. It stole her breath away as it hit her square in the stomach. She was

pissed, she couldn’t wield her sword and cover her ears at the same time.
 

“Why are you fighting with these humans?” She grimaced as she sheathed her sword, contemplating her

next move. The kingdom Clíodhna fought for was led by the Emerald King, a man intent on killing

caelestes. 
 

“Why do you fight with yours?” The banshee eyed her with distrust, noting her fae features. “I get rid of

you, my home will be off limits to the rest of their little empire. Prosperity for my clan is within reach.” The

woman knelt, gathered a deep breath as her hands came up to her chest in a prayer-like motion. Morrigan’s

lip twitched in irritation, she hadn’t dealt with a banshee in centuries. Most of them had been hiding

themselves away, both in the city and in nature. Or being slowly eradicated by humans and caelestes alike.

They were symbols of fear, their destructive sorrow and melancholy too much for most to handle. 
 

Lonán let out a cry, taking himself higher on a gust of wind, as out of the way as possible. Morrigan

covered her ears, taking three giant leaps back as the banshee started to sing. Long, loud notes carried over

the bodies that littered the camp center, bringing the death song to caress Morrigan. The banshee sang death

into some of her own soldiers, the last to join the fray, taking them out within minutes of hearing the song.

Morrigan almost felt bad to be pitted against someone so useless against her, even humans stood a better

chance. With death as her own majik, singing it to her would not result in her demise. Death was a good

friend of hers. 
 

She dropped her hands and stalked her way back, smirking as the song faltered, fear etching its way into the

banshee’s heart. An immense sorrow lodged itself in her chest, the pain flowing along with the melody. She

struggled to stand straight as a sob forced itself from her, her body slowly trying to shut down. Morrigan

wailed, keening against the death of her soldiers, mourning everything that had ever saddened her during

her long life. Every grief she’d ever held slammed into her at once, her sobs the drum of the song. It

engulfed her so completely that not even a flicker of her anger could surface. Lonán swooped down and

landed on her head, digging his claws into her scalp. He let out a loud series of discordant caws, going

against the melody and breaking its rhythm. It blocked just enough from her that she could suck down a

breath, forcing the wracking sobs to still.
 

Morrigan stood, Lonán still yelling his defiance at the banshee. She wished she had her bow, even if she

wasn’t as proficient with it as with her sword. She charged, gripping the banshee’s hands as the woman fell

back, not accustomed to anyone breaking from her spell. Morrigan pulled on the banshee’s life force, as a

caeles, it required more effort than draining a human. Their majik clashed so violently that the entirety of

the remaining camp slipped from life. Death was so quiet that neither noticed the stillness that took over.

Morrigan managed to kick the banshee hard enough that she had a moment to grab her sword. She raised

her blade, and her ragged breathing made her stagger a step before bringing it down into the heart. “You are

the perfect mourner, but all grief must come to an end.” She twisted the blade, feeling no joy as the light

dimmed slowly from bright, tearful eyes. She let out a breath, hating that the keening sound still rang in her

ears. The sun peeked over the horizon, blinding her a moment before she turned her back on it. She glanced

once more at the banshee and snarled. All that remained was a puddle of water littered with moss. 
 

She wiped the blood from her blade and returned it to its sheath. “Fuck.” She seethed, how had she not

noticed the banshee slip away? “Let us return, Lonán.” The raven cawed his agreement, ignoring her

clipped tone, and took to the sky in a single wing beat. Crows sang out in the stillness, descending from the

ebbing darkness to feast upon the dead.
 

Morrigan returned to her tent, placing her sword belt on the table in the center of the space, and discarded

her clothes before falling into her bed of linen and furs. Without waking, Aisling slid an arm around her and

nuzzled closer. 
 

~
 

Morrigan woke alone to screams, her heart thundering in her chest at the sounds of slaughter. She hastily

put on her clothes, not bothering with the shoes as she charged out of her tent to see the camp ablaze. No

one near her tent had been left alive, and her mind raced trying to figure out who could be attacking them,

who would have known. She skidded to a halt once the long feast table came into view, her soldiers piled

upon it. They had been setting up for her…
 

She blinked at the masculine laughter that came from the other side, another body being tossed up and onto

the pile. She snarled, her anger flaring so hot she was trembling, “Who the hell do you think you are?”
 

The laughter stopped, an uneasy silence lingering until he slowly poked his head over a low  spot on the

side. “Morrigan?”
 

“Neit?”
 

Her brother-in-law shrank back, the amusement long gone. “I-I didn’t know it was you. Didn’t know it was

your camp.” He dropped back down to where she could only see the top of his dark auburn head. He had to

be the one the captain had mentioned. She hadn’t thought twice about the sentence once she started fighting

the banshee. “You killed Clíodhna?” He brought her attention back to him.
 

“The banshee? No, it looks like she got away. Though I swear, I gave her a death blow.” She stood

straighter, not certain if she wanted to outright kill him or just beat him senseless.
 

“Aye…” He looked at a loss for what to do. “Well, she is a banshee. They are as linked with death as you are.” They both stared at one another in silence for a moment too long. “Are we to fight then?”
 

“You slaughtered-”
 

“Aye, as you did mine!” He huffed at her, coming around the table so they could face one another properly.

She frowned, hating that he wasn’t wrong. 
 

“Fine, we fight.”
 

“Nemain will not be ok with that, even less so if we kill each other.” He invoked his wife’s name like it

would save him.
 

“What makes you think you can kill me?” She raised a brow at him, and his face scrunched in irritation.

“She’d be less pleased with us avoiding a fight, and you know it.” She twirled her sword, ready to get on

with it. A careless smile came over him, his attraction to danger making him pull his own sword.