Fables for Sable: Origins - Alexander Pendragon

Your father… okay, gimme a second. I’m not nearly drunk enough for this.

I need to be drunk so I can muster enough courage to talk about my best friend’s past to his daughter. My alternate self sound like he’s an idiot and too much of a pussy to talk to you about your old man’s life, and your dad sounds like he’s still too cagey about his past to let his kids know about who he was.

To be fair to both of them, they were likely told not to say anything by your fire-breathing dragon of a mom because… well, we’ll talk about that later.

Okay, so, Morgan Lafayette was originally someone else with a vastly different past.

He used to be Alexander Pendragon of House Pendragon, wielder of Excalibur and rightful future ruler of Britain.

He had a twin sister named Amelia Pendragon, wielder of a reforged Caliburn and heiress to House Pendragon.

Both were born to Hadrian Pendragon and his wife Patricia Williams, the then Minister of Finance of Britain and one of the best diplomats in the country at the time respectively.

When the twins were still kids, both displayed immense affinities for combat; your aunt was a skilled speaker and talented spellcaster, supposedly on par with Morgan Le Fay. Your father was loyal beyond compare and took to swinging a sword like a fish to water, mirroring your ancestor Arthur’s prowess in battle.

I never got the chance to talk to your aunt, your father’s twin, to much detail. All I have of her is through info I managed to glean off your old man after I got him drunk enough to talk. Beyond the sobs and angry drunken murmurings of how shitty of a sister she was, he used to talk about how she was so kind but had the tendency to be a spiteful bitch if someone ever ticked her off. Your dad never thought too much about it and reigned her in before she got nasty. According to him, such bitchiness should’ve been the first sign of her wickedness that he was too loving to actually notice.

Anyway, things came to a head when they turned fourteen or so, when their parents judged them both ready to try and pull Excalibur from the stone.

Your dad, being a good twin, let Amelia pull three times; once without magic, once with magic, and once with her closest group of friends pulling with her. She failed on all three.

He managed to pull it loose on his first try.

That… didn’t go too well with Amelia; according to your dad, she pitched the mother of all fits and demanded a do-over with an experienced mage to erase or dispel any foreign magic on the sword in case there was foul play at work. No-one agreed, because the chamber holding the sword was locked and enchanted to notify security if anyone entered without a Pendragon’s permission. And even if they did, then the sword would have dispelled such magics due to it being fucking Excalibur.

So she stormed out while your dad was congratulated and hailed as the next King of Britain. News of this spread far and wide, and soon enough the entire country was celebrating.

There were parades and confetti and cheering crowds. Your dad, being young and so full of youthful optimism, thought that your aunt could move past the sting of not being chosen on her own. He was wrong.

Everything went to shit around a year later, when he was on his way home from school along the Thames. A convoy stopped his limo and armed men stormed out, unloading small arms fire and ramming him off the road and into the river to finish the job. Your dad managed to pull himself out of the wreckage before he drowned, swam to shore, and tried to get home along the side streets and alleys to avoid the gunmen who he correctly assumed were still looking for him. He eventually managed to reach home and met with Amelia, who took him in while promising that whomever tried to do him in wouldn’t go unpunished.

Then she shot him five times in the chest, and stabbed him thrice just to make sure.

Apparently, she was still salty over your dad managing to pull out Excalibur when she couldn’t and spent the time plotting her pay-back.

Your father wasn’t the only one she targeted, but he was the only one who survived. Apparently, treachery still runs in the Pendragon family even after Mordred died…

The next thing your father knew, he was in a box that was half-filled with seawater. According to him, the panic and fear he felt unlocked his inner magic capability and he used that to break out; finding himself in the middle of a stormy ocean. He managed to cling on to a piece of drift wood and held on for dear life.

He kept holding on even after the storm faded, and survived through the mercy of wandering sea spirits and the occasional elemental who recognized his power and thought that currying favor by lending him aid at his weakest would mean something further down the line. It did, but that’s a story for another day.

Months later, he washed up on the Uruguayan shores and was brought in by a fisherman; Emilio Nieblas.

Emilio was a humble man, who never knew the luxuries of a life in riches or responsibilities. He lived in a small village by the sea and knew only the hardships that come from a life where he had to provide for himself. He was kind enough to take your father in and look after him while he recovered, not asking any questions until he was ready to speak.

That was where you dad found out what happened to his parents, and how the feud between him and you aunt began. He was heartbroken, betrayed, and… well, it speaks volumes of his hate when he still gets pissed off about it a decade later. Sufficed to say that he didn’t want anything to do with her then; if she wanted Excalibur badly enough to kill her family, then he’d bury her with it.

So it was that Alexander Pendragon became Morgan Lafayette and stayed with Emilio, preparing for that inevitable clash against his twin. Every day he’d go out with Emilio to fish and sell their catch. Everyday he’d train and use his magic to heal himself in time for the day’s work. Everyday he worked and trained, all with Emilio’s help and encouragement.

Your father grew to befriend Emilio, eventually seeing him as a father figure. He went out with him during fishing trips and helped sell their catch. He drew a crowd whenever he was in town and all the girls flocked to him, at least according to your old man. Over time, exposed to nothing but kindness and positivity from the people there, he began to heal without him ever noticing. Began to enjoy that life. I mean, who wouldn’t? No responsibility, no expectations; just the honest work to provide for themselves.

It was freedom. It was addictive. He said he didn’t want to give it up. So much so that when Emilio’s ship one day ran aground and got damaged badly, your father gave up all the money he saved to help fix it.

But I know the truth; it wasn’t just the freedom and the lack of expectations. It was the kindness, the simple happiness, the joy of a humble existence without all the pomp and responsibility that came from being born a noble. He loved that, and he loved Emilio.

He didn’t want to give that up.

So it was that your father relinquished his vengeance to live a fisherman’s life, half a world away from his heritage. He hadn’t forgiven your aunt, but that hate had no place there.

But here’s the thing about power; it always finds a way to be used.

Your father’s immense magical power being present in that fishing village was a catalyst for environmental growth; fish bred like rabits, plants grew green, water was sparkling, and the people there began to clean up after their environment. The village prospered like never before and became a notable hotspot for its fresh fish and lush environment.

Such a success didn’t go unnoticed.

Before long, gangs began to crop up and demanding protection rackets for ‘keeping the peace’ and ‘watching over everyone’s backs’. That created conflict which drew more attention to the village. The bad kind.

The Uruguayan Cartel kind.

Shady people began to arrive and move in, converting locals to the Cartel and setting up shop here and there. New ships began to arrive; too big to be fishing boats and loaded with cargo that was definitely not legal trade goods. Construction began for bigger ports meant for these big ships. Anyone who protested were persuaded to quiet down through money. If that wasn’t enough, then they… disappeared.

Your father saw the signs and confronted the gangs. They fought back, and they got their asses handed to them.

The druggies got pissed and sent in gangs to teach your dad a lesson. He sent them back with bruises and broken bones.

They sent in enforcers armed with guns. They were sent back unarmed, dragging the bodies of those who tried to shoot Emilio.

Then they sent in a small army of thugs backed with heavy weapon support. He had a hard time, but your dad still broke the attack singlehandedly.

The village cheered and rallied to him, convinced that they could drive out the druggies with your dad at the lead. The Cartel’s head saw this and decided to send in the big guns.

In the dead of night, the Uruguayan Cartel’s best troubleshooters arrived; Uruguayan mages, soldiers, warriors known all over South America for their degree of martial prowess and skill. They were called Los Siete Diabólicos; the Devilish Seven. They went in and attacked. Your dad tried to fight back, but he was outnumbered seven to one against qualitatively superior opponents who weren't afraid to use every dirty trick in the book on him. He lost, and was made to watch his comrades killed.

Emilio tried to get your dad free, but… yeah, a non-powered civvie against seven of the deadly fighters in the Urguayan underworld? Hah, he didn’t stand a chance. The poor guy was caught, hanged, and his body left to burn in his house when Los Diabólicos set it alight.

…he still draws his sword at the mere implication of Los Diabólicos you know. At least, back in my timeline. I don’t know if your dad still has a hair-trigger temper about them, but better be safe than sorry.

He escaped somehow and fled into the jungle. He hid from Los Diabólicos for a few days, and went back to Emilio’s house to bury him and those that died that night. Then he took a machete and killed every. Last. One. Of the Cartel members in that village.

When Los Diabólicos tried to fight him, he got so angry that the spirits of those he killed and a few sympathetic elementals appeared to fight with him. Los Diabólicos was driven away, but not before he told them that the Urguayan Cartel’s days were numbered.

He went out from there, going from village to village, town to town, city to city hunting down every Cartel member and butchering them. He killed hundreds, maybe thousands. It didn’t matter where they were, who they were, what they had, who stood in his way, or how far they ran; they died. Nothing stopped him; he killed hundreds of heavily armed gunmen, slew war-beasts and enslaved spirits, scrapped whole power-armored infantry and tank platoons, sunk an Uruguayan National Navy frigate, and even downed an AC-130 when one of the Cartel members he was hunting got on it with a favor from the pilot.

His carnage was so great that they even have a name for him to this day; Vendaval de Terror. The Terror Gale.

After that display of power, the Uruguayan President asked to talk with him and they agreed on a treaty; he stops killing or destroying government assets and they help him root out Cartel members. In the span of a year, he singlehandedly took down a country spanning criminal organization with just his magic and a machete.

But there would always be a few stragglers. Like Los Diabólicos. Of the seven, he killed three. Four managed to escape Uruguay and set up shop elsewhere. That knowledge made your dad venture into South America proper and began hunting them while doing merc work on the side. I met him two years later, and in that he only managed to find one of them. The other three are still at large.

He posted a 10 million Euro reward for any information on them after he joined the 909-SOF and still takes leaves to personally check out promising leads. I helped him every now and then.

As for how your dad and I met… that’s a story for another time.