TEN —— TELL THE WOLVES I'M HOME

105 AC, STORM'S END.

There's a wild wind blowing, whirling Morrigan's stray hairs into a mess, and it is magnificent. Her eyes are closed, a peaceful smile on her face as they approach the castle upon the edge of the cliffs of Durran's Point, and there's a contentedness in her, she has not felt since the day she left— nearly two years ago now.

It feels like coming home to a part of her very soul she'd lost that day. It feels like being whole again.

Already from the distance, they can make out the tiny shapes of people— a procession awaiting their small group of riders that grows larger with the shrinking distance to the castle, and a brilliant smile spreads on Morrigan's face when she recognises her sister— a small girl she does not recognize but whole name she would know even in death, with dark curls jumping up and down patiently, waving at her.

Morrigan does not even remember the last time she smiled like this.

(That's a lie— she knows exactly when and where and with whom. But she does know like to think about him and any of it, and so— she doesn't remember the last time she smiled like this, it's been so long.)

By the time they reach the waiting crowd, Morrigan ahs put a name to every and all of the faces awaiting her, and it is Floris who is bouncing on her feet, hands holding Cassandra's tightly like it is the only thing holding her back from running ahead— Ellyn is too tall now, too old to be this young girl, even if she is still so infinitely small to Morrigan's eyes.

Morrigan is almost sure there are tears in her mother's eyes— she knows there are tears in Cassandra's, because she knows what her sister looks like when she cries— when she dismounts her horse and the servants, people she'd grown up around, who'd partaken in raising her, bow slightly as she does.

Her grandfather greets her first, enveloping her into a hug that's one of the unusual displays of affection he shows in public— he only really ever does in the heart of their home, in the safety of the Stormlands. "It is good to see you well, girl," he says quietly, but Morrigan can see a heaviness in his eyes she does not like at all.

It does not surprise her, though, when he adds quietly, just for her, "Seek me out in the library once you've settled in a little."

Morrigan forces herself to smile as she'd prepared herself to. "I will, grandfather."

He squeezes her shoulder once before letting go of her, stepping aside and before Morrigan knows what is happening, her mother's arms are around her, pulling her into a hug so tight, she cannot breathe for a moment.

Morrigan closes her eyes, taking in a deep breath of her mother's familiar scent as she hugs her back and when her mother leans a way, she takes her face in her hands, smiling, eyes red with tears. "Look at you— my beautiful, beautiful girl." She whispers. "You have grown so much."

"I told you, Elenda— our daughter has become a woman in her time at the Red Keep," her father says as he joins them, reaching out and squeezing her shoulder with the same, comforting weight her grandfather had.

He places a kiss against her temple before he quietly says to his wife, "We should make space, though, my love. I believe there are more people eager to greet our daughter."

With a wink at Morrigan, her father leads her mother aside, placing his hands on her shoulders as they watch her sisters descend on her.

Ellyn is the first to reach her, throwing herself into Morrigan's arms with a screech.

Ulike Floris, Maris and Ellyn has been five and four when Morrigan had left and old enough to remember her in whatever little way their children's minds were capable in such a long time.

"You're back!" She exclaims, clutching to her so fervently that all Morrigan can see for a long moment are her pale blonde waves— features from their mother's family that had often made Rhaenyra remind her of Ellyn, especially in the first weeks at the capital— and Morrigan laughs softly, hugging her back.

"That I am," she whispers as the others reach her, Maris joining the hug without hesitation, pushing herself forcefully into their little circle.

"Mor!" Her sister squeaks, jumping into her arms so that Morrigan needs to kneel down on the floor to keep her balance. "I missed you this much!" She spreads her arms as wide as she can, eyes big.

Morrigan grins. "I missed you twice as much."

"I missed you three times as much!" Maris counters.

"She's right," a third voice speaks up and Morrigan finds her other sisters standing in front of them, Cassandra smiling at her as Floris clutches to her arm. "For days it's been nothing but Mor this, Mor that."

Maris narrows her eyes, an indignant look on her face. "You're no better."

Cassandra rolls her eyes playfully. "Shut up."

"Cassandra," her mother says, exasperated and Morrigan can hear only from the tone of her mother's voice, it's not the first time this week she's had to reprimand one of her daughters for the language they'd used. She's rather familiar with the tone from her own childhood.

Morrigan ignores the banter, instead focusing her attention on the small girl at Cassandra's side, watching her with big eyes. Her head tilts a little before she sends her a soft, fond smile. "Hello Floris."

"Hello," Floris says quietly, a rosy blush creeping up her round cheeks and he ducks a little, leaning closer against Cassandra for a moment.

"It's really nice to see you again," Morrigan says and the blush deepens on her sister's cheek before she widens her arms a little— a feat she only manages from experiences with the two girls clinging to her— and Floris beams at her, letting to of Cassandra and running to Morrigan, hugging her— although, she is more hugging Ellyn and Maris, but she does not seem to care. Neither does Morrigan.

At last, Cassandra lowers herself to the ground, joining them and completes their hug by wrapping her arms around the mass of three girls between them before she leans forward and fests her forehead against Morrigan's. "I missed you," she mouths.

There's a familiar, deep-seated ache in Morrigan's chest as she looks into her sister's gray eyes and mouths back, "I missed you, too."

———————

Like many parts of the massive drum tower— the only true tower in Storm's End— Morrigan could describe the library in excruciating detail from nothing but memory. She cannot help but think that her grandfather chose this room, instead of the chambers he held private audiences, as a sort of neutral ground for the conversation.

Unlike she knows it was intended to, it does not put Morrigan at ease. In fact, it has much the opposite effect.

"Grandfather," Morrigan greets the Lord of Storm's End as he comes into sight— the only other person in the library.

He is seated at the fireplace, the flames crackling quietly, motioning at a vacant seat across from his. "Please, take a seat."

Morrgian really would rather not.

She smiles at him. "Of course," she replies as she approaches.

It feels like walking to the gallows.

They sit in silence for a long moment, before her grandfather lets out a heavy sigh. He looks incredibly exhausted to her in that moment. "I had not wished to have this conversation this soon into your visit," he admit, a regretful look on his face. "I wanted you to enjoy yourself for a few days before we broach the topic. But, I know you, and I know you would prefer this to be out in the open before your cousin arrives tomorrow. I know how the two of you can get if the mood strikes."

Fair enough, Morrigan supposes— Alden and her had a long history of fights and arguments much more extensive than those of her sisters. Unlike the five of them; Alden Caron and Morrigan Baratheon seldom made up quickly after them.

Their parents— especially her mother and his father— often liked to point out it was because they were so alike.

Truthfully, as a girl, it'd been that, more than anything her cousin could ever say, that had attacked her.

Now that she was older, she could admit that they were not exactly wrong.

Morrigan stares at her grandfather, expression carefully blank. "What matter?"

And she knows the words that will leave his mouth even before they do when he says, "That of marriage."

Morrigan's throat bobs. She'd known— Gods, she had known— but it still feels like a blow right into her chest. She needs to work to keep her breathing even, forcing her lungs to work even through the feeling of her ribcage tightening, the air choking her. "Did anyone make an offer for a betrothal already?"

Her grandfather give her a look. "You are well aware how many of my lords would like to marry their sons to you. There have been plenty of offers these past years."

"I meant an offer to consider," Morrigan replies. Because any of those lords— they were too low on the scale of power, to insignificant to consider. They were important and appreciated and recognised in the inner workings of the Stormlands— but Morrigan had always aimed for higher.

Her grandfather knew that. He'd known for a long time of her ambitions— to marry as best as she possibly could when time came, so that her sisters would not have to. It was her responsibility, after all. She was the oldest of them. She was responsible for taking care of them, of their futures— if they wanted them. The better a match she made in her marriage, the more freedom her sisters had. Maybe Floris— or even Ellyn— or, dare she dream Maris— could marry for love. And Cassandra could choose her husband even from a minor lord of her own free will, if Morrigan married well enough.

"A raven came from Riverrun some time ago," her grandfather says after a moment of watching her. "The new Lord Paramount of the Trident— Brandon Tully— has offered the hand of his younger brother and heir, Edmyn."

Morrigan closes her eyes for a moment before she looks back at him. "Is that all, or are there any others?"

Her grandfather frowns, more at himself than her, before he sighs again, quietly— and Morrigan knows he hates this for her sake as much as she does. "The only one of them that could compare to being married to the future liege lord of the Riverlands is Gwayne Hightower— the Hand's eldest son. He sent a raven from Oldtown before his departure to King's Landing where he albeit did not make a final offer, but declared his intentions quite clearly."

Morrigan nods, looking at her grandfather. Even if she does not see a thing, not really. "Do I have to make a decision now?" She asks and to her ears her voice feels foreign. Hollow.

Her grandfather shakes his head. "Not yet. But soon. The sooner, the better."

Before they could find a more favorable bride, he meant. After all— Rhaenyra would soon herself have to begin entertaining the idea of marriage. And a princess— the heir to the throne— would always be more favorable than some lord's granddaughter. It would not matter that she was her father's current heir— nobody would win against Rhaenyra in this. So, they would have to act before the chances vanished before their eyes, like water through fingers.

Morrigan is staring at the flames, trying not to think of a different kind of fire, from a different source— and the absolute exhilarating freedom she had felt in the sky. Those days, she had almost been able to taste the life she wanted, it seemed so close.

Now, it feels like a lifetime ago.

There's a gentle expression on her grandfather's face as he rises from his seat, stopping in front of her. He reaches out and places his hand on her shoulder— a warm weight centering Morrigan to the conversation, to the world outside her spinning mind, her retracting ribcage. "I know this isn't what you wished for yourself," he says quietly. "And by the Gods, I wish it was different. I wish I could give you the life you want. The freedom you deserve to have. But it isn't about you, or me. It's about our family. It's for family we do things like these."

He squeezes her shoulder, before he turns and leaves her in the silence of the library.

Only when she hears the door shut and she knows she is truly alone, does Mor close her eyes, shoulders curling inward as tears run down her eyes— weeping in silence for a future she had known she would never be able to grasp, but had still against all reason, hoped to have in her hands one day.

AUTHOR'S NOTE,
dun dun duunnn 🥴

who of you saw the proposal(s) coming?? 👀 v curious to see this as i have outlined all of mor's story overall with the chapters of act 1 individually (or the guideline for them at least) and i never know how much to tease something bcs sometimes none of my readers pick up on something and sometimes someone mentions something and it is v much correct when i never thought anyone would even notice the tiny comment that could be a reference lmao 😂

not gonna lie i am very excited to finally introduce two of my ocs for this fic— alden caron (mor's cousin on her mother's side who is basically a,,, male mor idek how to describe him any other way 💀 the name may still be subject to change we'll see!!) and eric knighton (the knight who took over as the baratheon sisters' guard when rodrik left for king's landing with mor and an old friend of mor's)— in the next chapters 🤭🤭

also!! just a head's up, idk if i'll be able to update to tomorrow as i'm busy most of the early day and prob going out in the evening... but i shall leave you with the promise that i *might* try and aim for a double update on saturday if that's the case (no promises though!)