FOURTEEN —— THE SUBJECT AT THE ALTAR WANTS THEIR LIFE BACK

106 AC, KING'S LANDING.

To Morrigan's surprise— or maybe not really, she's not quite sure in truth— she's just a little excited when their ship docks at the port of Blackwater Bay and she steps off it and onto the ground of the familiar, busy scenery she'd gotten accustomed to in the past months. They'd been lucky with their travel— the waters all along the coastline of the stormlands had a nasty habit of being temperamental and it wasn't unusual that times for departures, arrivals or trips overall would get thrown over entirely.

She had not expected that there'd be any part in her chest that was relieved to be back— but she supposes it's the part that she'd carved out for Rhaenyra and Alicent over time.

Still, there's just the slightest hint of a smile as they make the journey up to the Red Keep, Morrigan's eyes fixed on the sea until the Bay disappears in the distance, swallowed by houses and hills, and she turns her gaze to the Red Keep once it comes into focus.

She isn't quite sure if it feels like relief to approach it, or like desperation— she knows, whether she likes it, or not, it's unstoppable— and everything that follows her arrival at the castle.

There's a sense of coming home to a familiar place to lay her head to rest at night she finds almost disconcerting— she had never once experienced this anywhere else, had never belonged anywhere else, not even here before she'd left— but it's here now and Morrigan cannot unknow it.

A part of her— no matter how small and unnatural it feels to her soul— is at home in King's Landing.

As they make their way through the Red Keep, the servants bringing their luggage back to the chambers they resided in, Morrigan feels Ser Rodrik's eyes on her, mustering her.

She sends him a look, staring up at the knight. "Yes?"

"You seem surprisingly... elated to be back here," he says after a moment and Morrigan knows what he means is that he'd expected her spirits to worsen even more than they'd had at Storm's End with her betrothal— and consequently, the looming wedding day drawing closer.

Morrigan had not forgotten about it, not really, it's always on her mind, but she'd been able to not just think about the sword hanging over her head for a few moments, instead focusing on her return and that she would see Rhaenyra and Alicent again soon. Now, it slams into her again with the force of an anvil and whatever good spirits she'd been in die a quick death.

She looks away from Ser Rodrik, instead staring ahead in the hallway. "Maybe I'm just glad I will no longer be a servant to the horrendous sea sickness all day long," she replies.

Rodrik gives her one of those looks. "You have not been seasick a day in your life, girl."

Damn him for knowing her this well. Anyone else would not have thought twice about the lie.

"It is a rather logical reason for the nausea that has plagued me, is it not?" Morrigan replies curtly, staring him in the eyes— challenging him to dig further.

He does not. Instead, Ser Rodrik simply watches her with those eyes of his that see too much and understand too much.

She turns her attention back on the way in front of them when she cannot bear it anymore; just in time to see a small cluster of people round the corner.

She's a little surprised when she recognizes them— the King and his Hand and a few members of the King's guard and Alicent and— a few paces behind them, Rhaenyra with a sort-of vacant expression on her eyes.

It's very similar to the one she'd had in the very first days after her mother's passing— a barrier between her and the entire world around her visible in the distance in her eyes.

It's also painfully similar to the expression Alicent wears herself.

The two girls straighten, twin looks of relief and surprise on their faces— although Alicent's falls a moment later— and the group comes to a stop when they spot them and Morrigan and Ser Rodrik come to a halt when they reach them.

Morrigan's lips stretch into a small polite smile as she falls into a curtsey before King Viserys. "Your Grace," She says softly, eyes fixed on the floor before she rises again.

And as she does, she lifts her eyes from the floor— meeting Otto Hightower's dark gaze boring into her.

Morrigan knows then that he has already heard about her rejection of his son— the Seven know how— and she all at once gets the sense that Otto Hightower does not much appreciate it when things do not go his way— even such small things as these.

She'd never much liked, or in truth trusted, the King's Hand to pursue any interest but his own— too familiar with the workings of cut-throat politicians and the games played in courts— but now, for the first time, it makes a cold shiver run down her spine.

Morrigan does not trust Otto Hightower— and she gets the sense than anyone who does might just as well end up with a blade in their backs when they no longer serve their purpose.

To her, it's just another name she adds to the list of the names.

How many people has Morrigan decided for herself she cannot trust in this city alone? Too many to count, too many to recall at once.

They're everywhere— she would have a far easier time listing people she does think she can trust in any capacity.

That list is far shorter.

The King smiles. "Morrigan, I see you have returned to us at last." He sends Rhaenyra a look. "You were greatly missed."

"You're too kind, Your Grace."

There's a bright smile on Rhaenyra's lips— a jarring contrast from her previous expression— as she makes her way past her father and to Morrigan. "I am so happy to see you returned save," she tells her before linking her arms with Morrigan's. "I have so much to tell you."

Knowing Rhaenyra, it's rather easy to see it as the escape strategy it is— but Morrigan doesn't mind providing her friend an out.

"As do I you," she replies with a smile, stomach twisting at the thought that it is not a lie. Rather the opposite really.

She dreads leaving more and more with each passing second.

Alicent straightens a little as she watches them— a longing in her eyes— and she opens her mouth before her eyes meet her father's.

Her mouth closes, the light in her eyes dying once more.

She turns back to Rhaenyra and Morrigan with a smile, but it's an empty one. "You should go outside, then. It is absolutely beautiful weather," she tells them, the smile still fixed on her face as she turns to Rhaenyra. "I don't think we'll require your presence for the further plans for the wedding at this point, Princess."

Morrigan looks at Alicent and for a brief moment their eyes meet, a silent, mutual understanding in them.

Grief for themselves— grief for each other. The expression of a damned woman about to go to the executioner's block. A lamb led to slaughter, a subject to be sacrificed at an altar, bound in chains.

And then, it's over before it really began and Rhaenyra is leading Morrigan down the hallway— away from Alicent.

———————

"So," Morrigan says slowly as the two of them make their way along the gardens of the Red Keep. "I gather from the fact that Alicent's presence is absent that you have not yet talked to her."

Maybe she shouldn't approach this— not again, not knowing that the issue seems to be getting worse rather than resolved— but maybe this will be easier than her own conflicts. Certainly easier than what she now needs to confess to her friends before Otto Hightower has the chance to spread the information at will.

At her side, Rhaenyra stiffens. "You know the answer to that," she says after a long moment.

Morrigan lets out a sigh. "You should talk to her. It cannot go on like this, Rhaenyra."

Rhaenyra scowls, just a little, "I still cannot stand the sight of them anywhere near each other and until I can, I have resolved to stay as far away as possible."

Morrigan gives her a look. "That's horrible thinking," she points out.

Rhaenyra gives her a matching look in reply. "It's not making it worse." She argues.

"But it is."

"Just..." Rhaenyra sighs, exasperated and it makes Morrigan wonder just how many similar conversations like this one she's had since the day her father announced his betrothal. "Leave it be, Mor— alright?"

Morrgian presses her lips together as they walk into the shade of one of the hallways, leading into the direction of her quarters. "Alright."

For a long while, the two of them walk in silence, neither quite willed to break it after their last topic, before Rhaenyra sends a glance at the Baratheon girl. "So..." She says, almost hesitantly. "How was you visit?"

Morrigan tries her best not to stiffen— she really does, but the reaction is so visceral, it happens before she even notices, much less has a chance to stop if— and Rhaenyra's gaze on her sharpens when she catches the motion. "It was fine." Morrigan says softly. "I enjoyed seeing my family again."

Rhaenyra eyes her, "Last I saw you, you were nearly bursting with excitement about seeing your family again and now this is all I get?" She asks, tone almost accusing and Morrigan's shoulders tense— and she knows Rhaenyra has seen at once the one thing she did not want her to notice, did not want to discuss.

Not yet— not yet.

Morrigan takes in a long breath. "It was very enjoyable to see them again— to be back at Storm's End, although I admit that I have missed the Red Keep more than I'd thought I would."

Rhaenyra frowns softly. "... But?"

Morrigan's doesn't answer for a moment, jaw set before she deflates a little, shoulders sagging from their previously rigid position. She glances away from Rhaenyra— suddenly unable to bear looking her friend in the eyes knowing she, too will soon share this fate. Like her. Like Alicent. Like all other women.

The child bed is our battlefield, Morrigan remembers the late Queen Aemma had told her daughter only days before her passing. She'd always known the truth in the words— but now, they feel final. A door closed and locked behind her back she can never go back through again.

She gives Rhaenyra a brittle, hollow smile. "I am to be wed to Ser Edmyn Tully. The betrothal was agreed upon during my visit home," she tells her and it feels almost mechanical— like another person is saying the words instead of her.

Rhaenyra's face falls as the words sink in, a sort of grief etched into her expression as they look at each other.

The princess reaches out, taking Morrigan's hands. "I'm sorry," she says quietly— but she doesn't have to. Morrigan can read it in her eyes, in the grief, in the horror and loss— for her.

Rhaenyra reaches out and wraps an arm around Morrigan, resting her head against the taller girl's shoulder.

For a long moment, they stand together in silence, before they continue their way together.

AUTHOR'S NOTE,
i'm so tired y'all like,,, idk what time zone it's for everyone but for me it's about 11 pm at the time of publishing this chapter which somehow became my usual updating time for this fic and like,,, i have so many sleeping issues it's not unusual for me but it is too late for my body to function at the same time 😭✋

i hope you enjoyed the chapter!! the title comes from a hotd edit i saw in reference to viserys and alicent on tumblr (like, obvi there are spoilers everywhere so be careful but some of the edits are stunning!!) and the used text said "it's strange relating to the lamb to the slaughter" with the caption saying "the subject at the altar wants their life back" and yeah,,, that hit. I can't find the origin of the quote or anything about it for the life of me, but it hasn't let me go and i am on a hunt now to do so skfjsk

anywho that was the unnecessary rambling from me!! as always, please consider leaving a vote & a comment or two when reading this as it always makes my day to see them and interact with your guys— i am absolutely amazed by all the feedback i've been getting for this fic 🥺❤❤

good night everyone! (or good day depending on where you live <3)