FIVE —— STORMS AND DRAGONS

105 AC, KING'S LANDING.

There's a restless sort of energy in the Red Keep that day— like a living thing, writhing and thrumming beneath the surface. The world holding it's breath. And everyone is looking at them. At Rhaenyra.

And, beneath it all, is the thread of uncertainty— naming a new Heir to the Iron Throne, having all the Lords of the Seven Kingdoms swear to her right, is supposed to bring a sense of peace to the realm. Instead, Morrigan can feel the unrest like a living, hungry thing in the shadows.

Better the Realm's Delight than Lord Flea Bottom, so many of them say, but beneath it all, they're still hungering for Rhaenyra's crown, waiting to tear it from her.

Like with Rhaenys Targaryen at the Great Council, they're lying in wait— all knowing the order of things are not supposed to be this way. The son is the heir, even if it's a brother. A daughter doesn't inherit, and if she does it's as regent for her son until he comes of age.

There has never been a queen on the Iron Throne in her own right— it's always in the name of another.

And, even with her own grandfather, who had never been very fond of Prince Daemon Targaryen as far as Morrigan can think back, she knows he's not very fond of the alternative, either.

But still, he will swear his loyalty because ever since Orys Baratheon defeated the Last Storm King a century ago and bound them to the Iron Throne, House Baratheon has been loyal to that chair and the man who sits upon it.

Smoothing out the dress she's donned early today for the occasion— a black one with golden accents, her House colors and her hair up in an elaborate braid with jewels hanging from her ears— Morrigan sends a brief glance into the mirror handing on the wall before she turns to her grandfather.

Her head tilts and she gives him a soft smile, reaching out and smoothing out the crease between his eyebrows. "Rhaenyra will be a good queen, grandfather. A much better monarch than Daemon could ever be," Morrigan says softly. "I know it."

Her grandfather sighs. "I know, dear." And he does, Morrigan is certain— he might have the temper of their people, but he is also the Lord Paramount of the Stormlands and knows how to think like a ruler. And how to recognise one. "I just don't like that the girl doesn't have any political experience whatsoever— at least Prince Daemon is a proven fighter."

"She has been her father's cupbearer at the meetings of the small council for quite some time," Morrigan reminds him.

"It isn't enough to be a monarch."

"I know Rhaenyra. She will surprise all those who doubt her now."

Her grandfather sighs as he rises from his seat. "We'll see."

———————

She's on her way to Rhaenyra to help her and Alicent prepare the princess for the day when she sees him again and she wonders if he's haunting her like a ghost or if the gods just like laughing at her misfortune by bringing them together in deserted, solitary hallways with no witnesses but them.

The moment their eyes meet, Morrigan stops, surprised.

She— she had not expected to see him. She'd thought him to be long gone. After all, the King had ordered him to leave the Red Keep and return to Runestone at once, hadn't he?

Daemon's presence startles her so much that she only remembers their last interaction when he's already making his way to her.

Her reaction to his approach, paired with the insult's she'd hurled at him the last time they'd spoken before storming off is birthed by pure instinct. She's learned long ago that her anger— the storm so many people of her home were said to have in their veins— isn't well received. Most certainly not by Lords in power when it comes from a little girl. She's learned that lesson. She's seen her mistakes each time she's made them, and she's seen the difference when she swallows her anger and her words.

Even as a young girl, Morrigan had discovered that her storm did not always mean good things.

And so, Morrigan doesn't even think about it when she falls into a curtsey deeper than any of the ones she'd given Daemon before. "Your Grace."

She's staring at the floor as he approaches— another thing about conveying respect she'd been taught by her septa at a young age— and watches as first his shadow and then his shoes come into her field of vision until he's standing right in front of her. If she reached out an arm she could easily touch him.

Daemon catches her chin with his right hand, tilting her head up so she is forced to look him in the eyes again and there's something in them she cannot quite put her finger on— she almost wants to say it's disappointment, but there's a sharper edge to it and Morrigan doesn't know what to make with the way his eyes flash when they meet her's. "Don't cower and don't pretend to be a foolish girl, Lady Morrigan. It doesn't suit you."

Something in her heart twists at the words— a rhythm that doesn't quite match the one before.

She almost asks him for forgiveness the way her own training tells her to— Forgive me, Your Grace— the words are on her tongue, begging to be let out.

It doesn't suit you.

Morrigan swallows the plea she doesn't mean until it's quiet.

"I thought you were to leave King's Landing immediately and return to the Vale by order of the King, Your Grace."

Daemon's eyes narrow for a moment, as if to consider whether or not her words pass some measure, before he lets go of her chin and takes a step back. "I'm leaving soon— later today. I was just on my way to the Dragonpit."

Morrigan gives him a look. "You'll be taking Caraxes to the Vale?" She asks, disbelieving. "Where would he even go there?"

She cannot quite imagine the Blood Wyrm peacefully grazing in the scenery, eating sheep as Daemon is next to his wife, both miserable.

Something in Daemon's expression changes and for a moment, she is certain he might wink at her or grin. "Now, I never said I was going to the Vale."

Morrigan's head tilts, just a little, her brows drawing together. "And here I heard that was the King's order."

"You hear a lot for someone who insists she has no part in the spy business."

Now she just feels insulted at his jab, even if it holds no trace of the threat from that night in the secret passage. "I'm close with the princess and the daughter of the King's Hand. With that position I'm bound to hear one thing or the other."

The corners of Daemon's mouth twitch. "Fair enough, I suppose." He pauses her a moment, before adding, "Will you be required to help my niece get ready for her big day?"

Morrigan gives him a look. "Yes. I'm on my way to them right now."

He nods slowly. "Of course you are." He says as if it's obvious.

This is the oddest conversation Morrigan has ever had with Prince Daemon and considering their, albeit short, history of running into each other at the most peculiar of times, she thinks that must say something.

It throws her off so much she almost forgets to be angry at him.

She curtseys. "Your Grace." Morrigan says, and it feels like a goodbye of sorts, before she rises and turns, continuing her walk down the hallway.

"It's a pity, though." Daemon calls after her. "I was just wondering if Caraxes would still remember the blood of the Storm Kings. It's not even been twenty years since my uncle died, after all. But, I understand that Lady Alicent will need your assistance with the princess."

Morrigan stops.

Slowly, she turns to him. "Pardon me, Your Grace?"

She can't quite make it out in the distance, but she could swear there's just the slightest hint of a satisfied grin on his lips, like he's just won some sort of game.

"I was wondering if you'd accompany me to see whether Caraxes would still recognise the blood of the Storm Kings," he says slowly.

She heard him the first time. She just... can't quite comprehend what he's trying to say.

Morrigan stares at him. "What— to feed me to him?"

Daemon pauses for the length of a heartbeat. "I was more thinking along the lines of taking you for a short flight if he lets you on his back."

Oh.

Oh.

"I... what?" Morrigan asks softly, watching as he closes the distance between them.

"I do suppose Syrax has the right for your first flight, since you're so close with her rider, but since it might still be quite some time until she is large enough to saddle two, I figured I might steal your first time on dragonback from her."

"You want me to join you to the Dragonpit to meet Caraxes and to ride him?" Morrigan says slowly because this must be some kind of joke.

"If he lets you."

Morrigan's throat bobs as she looks up to Daemon. She knows— by the gods she knows she should leave and join Rhaenyra and Alicent. It's still hours until the Lords gather in the Throne Room to swear fealty to Rhaenyra but it's a stupid, foolish idea to even consider this. It could have so many disastrous consequences.

She should leave. Right now.

She knows that.

Morrigan stays.

———————

She's never been inside the Dragonpit, instead she'd only ever seen smaller entrances from a short distance on the instances Alicent and her had joined Rhaenyra on her way to or from the Dragonpit. She's never interacted with the Dragonkeepers, either— had only watched them mind the dragons.

The Dragonpit atop Rhaenys's Hill had always been more of a mystery— a fantastical thing beyond an invisible border Morrigan had never been able to cross.

It doesn't feel real as she follows Daemon through the entrance, flanked by Dragonkeepers.

She can hear the quiet echoes of the other dragons— their roars and screeches and Morrigan swears she can even hear their wings flapping— every now and then as they lead her inside.

To her right is an open edge— an exit for the dragons to fly through— and under any other circumstances, Morrigan would run to it, to look outside and watch the view from the high stop atop the hill, watching the city and sea below.

Now, she doesn't even notice it.

Morrigan has never seen Caraxes herself, having only ever heard stories about the Blood Wyrm. In fact, the only dragon she has ever seen in her life is Syrax.

And now, staring at him in the huge, cavernous space— Caraxes takes her breath away.

Morrigan had always thought that watching the massive storms from Durran's Point would be the most wondrous thing she would ever see— beautiful and destructive and otherworldly all at once. Now, she thinks she was wrong about it. Caraxes is huge and magnificent and beautiful in the same way the storms at Shipbreaker Bay are.

Distantly, she thinks that if he eats her right then and there, it would all have been worth it.

Caraxes lets out a soft hiss, shifting restlessly as his eyes land upon her and he registers a stranger's presence invading the space he'd claimed for himself.

For a moment, Morrigan lets herself watch as Daemon, arms at the skin of Caraxes' jaw like he's hugging the massive beast, leans against Caraxes, his riders' presence soothing him a little before the Dragonkeepers begin leading her towards them.

Caraxes puffs out a breath of air, shifting again, his eyes snapping from Daemon to her and to him again.

Even though the Dragonkeepers had instructed her how to act, to to avoid provoking the dragon when approaching him when they'd first arrived at the Dragonpit, Morrigan wasn't a Targaryen or a Dragonkeeper, and there was a part of her— that little girl who'd grown up with stories about beasts in the sky meant to scare her into common sense just like the other scary stories she'd been told— is screaming at her that they'd been taught if they ever saw a dragon up close to run and hide and pray to all the gods that crossed her mind that the beast didn't spot her.

But, Morrigan had always had a taste for destruction— her great-grandmother's gardens, the storms upon Shipbreaker Bay. She thinks it's not much of a surprise that that small voice isn't enough to keep her away.

If he eats her, it's still worth this very moment, Morrigan thinks as she takes in a shallow breath when the Dragonkeepers stop and she continues on her own, slowly approaching Daemon and Caraxes until she's at the princes' side.

"Give me your hand," Daemon instructs her and, without thinking about it, Morrigan obeys him, holding up her hand for him.

Holding her breath, she watches as Daemon takes her hand, resting the palm flat against Caraxes' scales and almost instantly, the dragon settles down, watching her.

When he doesn't eat her, she glances at Daemon to gauge his reaction— he'll be able to judge Caraxes better than she ever could. At his expression, the tension leaves her body and she looks back at Caraxes with a soft laugh, a look of wonder on her face.

Cautiously, Morrigan runs her palm over Caraxes' scales, half expecting him to react or for Daemon to stop her, but all the dragon does is watch her in silence.

A brilliant smile spreads out across her face as she looks back at Daemon, beaming, only to find him watching her already.

"It seems he does remember," Daemon says softly before he holds up his hand, offering it to her. "Are you ready for your first flight?"

Morrigan's smile widens even more.

Without hesitating, she takes his hand.

AUTHOR'S NOTE,
y'all don't understand i HAD to write this scene with caraxes okay!!! i really wanted morrigan to meet him and who knows when we will get another chance in the next episodes and i was too impatient to wait until who knows when dkfjskd so ,,, yeah i took the firsr opportunity i had lmao

also!!! this is the last update until monday as i'm going on vacation tomorrow until then<3 (yes i wrote this instead of starting to pack yes it's half 9 in the evening now and i'm the driver tomorrow so i need to sleep soon i make bad life choices sometimes) so until then i hope you've enjoyed this chapter (end of episode 1 yay!!) and please consider leaving me a comment or two if you did!

i'll see you next week <3