The Alpha and the Omega: Reunion
13 Aug 2018User1355
Hello!Three years ago I set out writing the story of Marra Morgan, my Elite Dangerous character. In that time, she rose from a drug-addled pirate and smuggler to the Consigliere of the infamous Pegasi firm Black Omega, bringing with her a whole host of colourful characters, many of which are the creations of fellow Elite fan-fic enthusiasts!
It gives me great pleasure to introduce the Grande Finale of the Pegasi Saga, written by my comrade-in-words Matt Lehman with collaboration from Jem Caesar and myself.
I will be publishing a chapter each morning, Monday to Friday, over the coming weeks to give you something to read over your lunchhour / breakfast / whenever
For those of you who are new to our works, or would like to catch-up, please visit Marra's biography - each arc of the story so far has been put into PDF for your reading pleasure!
Without further blabber from me - Ladies and Gentlemen, Cats and Thargoids...
The Alpha and the Omega
REUNION
The feasting chamber of Fort Crimson was packed, men and women filling the space from one stone wall to the other. It was a place that had seen much debauchery in recent decades, carnal desires of every sort satisfied in full view of one’s fellow clansmen. Yet today the mood was different; a mixture of grim determination and gods-borne confidence rested in the eyes of all present. Every soul that filled the chamber was at war, pledged to a newly-reborn Clan Morgana as kin or ally. Far from abandoning themselves to excess, they stood at dignified attention, each feeling that they were part of something much greater than themselves. In a way, they were correct- even the outsider who stood at the great arched entrance.
It was the second time that Matthew Victor Lehman had set his gaze upon the great hall, yet it couldn’t have been more different. The aroma of roasted swine and beef that had previously filled his nostrils was now that of pungent oils, the torches that lined the pillars burning their scent into the air. So, too, was the raucous atmosphere a thing of the past, Solomon Adisa’s convivial example replaced by-
The man’s face hardened.
Her.
Sitting in a thronelike chair of stone was Marrakech Imogen Morgana, reclining slightly, her every gesture one of power. She was a vision of Pegasi royalty itself, a black, silver-encrusted dress flowing down to her feet, over which was a thin maroon wrap that hung low. Adorning the garment were numerous pieces of polished metal, whispered to be taken from the Bucephalus- the flagship of her old mentor and destroyed by her very hand. Hanging from a palladium chain necklace was an unpolished red diamond, raw and larger than any that Matt had ever seen. Her shoulders were bare, the wheels of her ancestral clan visible for all to see. Like his, every eye on the chamber was upon her. The man gulped and forced himself to walk forward.
Reckon I liked it more when we were meeting in shitty nightclubs.
Surrounding the woman was a small entourage: Apollonia, who had filled Matt in on the recent events that had led to the resurrection of the Morgana clan. A pair of olive-skinned siblings whom he assumed were Isabella and Tausig. Idris, her monster of a bodyguard. Solomon Adisa himself. As Matt strode forward, the latter’s booming voice echoed through the chamber, with only a hint of private mockery lingering at its edges.
“At last the estranged warrior-mate returns to the fold. At last the clan is whole again!”
A cheer rose from the crowd, chilling the hunter to the bone. Marra said nothing, only regarding him with a look of power and amusement. Despite everything Apollonia had said he hadn’t quite been able to believe that Marra had not only regained political power, but had resurrected her old clan and stood strong enough to challenge Black Omega itself.
Now, he believed it.
Stretching for miles beyond Fort Crimson were the wrecks of numerous vessels- more painted black than otherwise- that told the story of a narrowly-won victory against their foe. Degginal DeVerre had attacked- precipitously, for he believed that immediate action was needed to quell the rebellion. Even over his consiglieri Victor Laius’s objections, he had ordered the survivors of the pitched battle that had marked the start of the war into a do-or-die assault on Fort Crimson itself. The larger ships favored by the firm had been ill-suited to atmospheric combat, and the resulting loss was seen by the native clansmen as further evidence of the gods’ favor and validation of the Matriarch’s leadership. Apollonia had told the tale as though a true believer of her mistress’s destiny herself. Perhaps she was.
The man scowled, uncomfortable with being at the center of so much attention.
And now she's calling herself Marra Morgana, sitting on a throne with her name on everyone’s lips. Hell of a switch from the last time we were here.
Indeed, the woman before him was a far cry from the pawn of other mens’ designs that he had met years ago. It had been neither of their ideas to be warrior-mated, but both had felt that a larger purpose was served by going through with the ritual. At the time it had seemed like a farce- was a farce, in their view, with neither taking the vows or the responsibilities that they carried with a shred of seriousness. Yet their relationship had persisted, Marra growing in confidence and cunning, keeping Matt on the hook with both overt leverage and an undercurrent of attraction. The man paused, looking up at the woman who had summoned him and feeling in every way her inferior. She had once been too afraid to even fly a larger ship, and now-
Matt exhaled, locking eyes with the woman.
And now here she is, the queen bitch of her own little castle.
Slowly Marrakech rose, holding up a hand to stifle the murmuring around them. One heeled foot stepped in front of the other as she descended to Matt’s level, her eyes boring into his. She halted an intimate distance from him, the energy between them one of fear and power. Matt tried and failed to sustain her gaze, his eyes dropping to the cold stone floor. A pair of soft fingers caressed his stubbled jaw, filling his body with an energy as sensual as it was dark. Finally she spoke, not addressing the multitude in the chamber but the man to whom she’d been mated so long ago.
“Tell me, husband,” she said. “Are you afraid to die?”
Matt looked up, his eyes hard.
“No. But I’m afraid of you.”