THIRTY —— FEAR THE COLOR GOLD

110 AC, KING'S LANDING.

It takes just over one and a half months for the crown to prepare all the celebrations of the wedding between Princess Rhaenyra Targaryen and Laenor Targaryen, son of Lord Corlys Velaryon and Princess Rhaenys Targaryen— the Sea Snake and the Queen Who Never Was— and by the time Morrigan is reading herself for the welcoming feast, her stomach, while only a relatively small bump to what it will grow in a few months more time, is still clearly showing her progress. Everyone in the Red Keep knows the wife of the Lord Commander of the gold cloaks is carrying his second child. By now, she knows that her family back at home will have long known it too, after she'd sent a raven in the last days of the previous year.

Morrigan takes in a shallow breath and finds her fingertips trembling just the smallest amount. Only three weeks ago, Rodrik had taken a short leave to visit his family at home— and ever since the day he'd departed, she misses him like nothing else. For the first time in nearly six years, she is without him and she feels like a ship lost at sea, without direction or course or cannons, ready to be torn apart by the enemy.

She forces herself to exhale again, ignoring the way her lungs feel like they're refusing to work properly and turns back to the gown she'd picked out for tonight's celebrations. It's silver and blue and for a split moment, she sees a grotesque ghost of her wedding dress in front of her.

It's a pretty dress— and Morrigan hates it even more for that. It's the Tully colors and pretty and modest. It's everything she should be.

Morrigan wants to tear it apart, wants to set it on fire and watch it go up in flames until there is nothing left of it but ashes.

She takes in another breathe, blowing it out slowly, before she looks away from the dress, trying to force her muscles to move. If she doesn't, she'll be late soon— by now, guests will have started to arrive slowly and she knows that she''ll soon meet up with Edmyn and his siblings— Brandon and Celia— and if she does not start to ready herself now, she will be late for their joint entrance at the feast.

And yet— she cannot bring herself to reach out to the dress she feels so much contempt for in her very bones.

She stares at the blue dress and before she lets herself change her mind, she turns away from it and begins reading herself.

———————

Morrigan takes a moment— just one heartbeat— to center herself in the hall, just before the corner. Behind, she can hear the voices of Edmyn and his siblings, no doubt amongst their chosen to have accompanied them for the celebrations. Then, reminding herself it is too late to change now, she rounds the corner, entering a fray of guests and makes her way through them towards her husband and his House.

She knows the exact moment their attention catches on her— can feel the way Edmyn's gaze catches on her and stays and how his whole body tenses up more than she can actually see his reaction. It feels so visceral, for a moment she's certain it might just be her own as their eyes meet.

And she knows, in that very moment, that if she'd just worn the blue dress she hates, this night would have been spent with peace between them.

Now, it will not.

Upon his reaction, Brandon and Celia turn to her and it's almost eerie how their expressions are so similar to Edmyn's— Brandon looks just like his brother. Even without ever knowing him, Morrigan thinks she might be able to read him.

And his reaction is the same as his brother's when he sees her.

Because, by name and right and law, Morrigan Baratheon is dead and gone. A that's left of her is Morrigan Tully now.

And Tullys did not dress in gowns of black and gold.

Morrigan forces herself to smile as she stops in front of them and places a kiss on Edmyn's cheek, knowing that in public, not one of them will make a sound— not if they want to avoid a scene. "Husband," she greets him before turning to Brandon and Celia. "Good brother, sister, it is such a pleasure to see you all again."

Celia is the first to return her smile. "Congratulations, dear." She sends Brandon a sharp look, over before it really began. "We were all so delighted to hear of the news. I do hope you will be blessed with another child as healthy and lovely as Deran— he is a delight."

For a moment, she thinks the smile might turn brittle, but Morrigan keeps it fixed on her face. "Thank you, Celia. I do hope the same."

In her peripheral vision she can see an exchange between Brandon and Edmyn— just a split second of eyes meeting really— and Brandon's jaw ticks, and Morrigan thinks she's only noticing any of it because she knows Edmyn and Brandon is so much like him. It's like looking into a mirror, showing her the future of her own husband standing right in front of her.

"Shall we join the celebrations?" Edmyn asks at her side, still looking at his brother.

Brandon smiles and it's Edmyn's smile. The smile he'd given Daemon that day in the gardens. It's the same.

The hairs on her neck stand up at the sight. At the eerie mirror she cannot unknow.

"Let's not keep them waiting." Brandon announces before he turns to lead their group inside.

Morrigan catches just the briefest glimpse of Ser Harrold as Brandon descends the stairs and the knight begins to announce their arrival into the room. "House Tully with their Lord, Brandon Tully. Lord Paramount of the Trident."

Even after all these years, Morrigan needs to work to not have a reaction to the titles. To the family name. To not flinch at the voicing of her new allegiance.

She has long ceased being a Baratheon, she knows, but it doesn't feel like it.

There is something so inherently wrong with her belonging to House Tully, it makes her feel sick.

But still— she smiles and descends the stairs at Edmyn's side without missing a step.

Instead, she fixes her gaze on the long table ahead of them, most seats still unoccupied with the impending arrival of House Velaryon, and finds Rhaenyra sitting at her father's side, the new Hand of the King, Lord Lyonel Strong, two seats to the King's left, Alicent's seat still empty. Something in Morrigan's heart twists and warps as she stares at the table, following Brandon at Edmyn's side just the way she is supposed to.

There's a chasm between her and the table, even as they approach. A mountain too monstrous to cross.

In her heart, something whispers she never will again.

She wants to be sick, has to press her lips together as they near the table, awaiting their turn to greet the royal family next.

At the table, she can feel Rhaenyra's attention shifting to her when she notices her approach, can see her subtly trying to catch her eye without the ones in front of her noticing. Morrigan can barely bear to return the gaze. She tries to smile, but she thinks it must be a thing that's both horrifying and brittle. Despite her efforts, she knows Rhaenyra notices— sees the moment of hesitation, like the princess has missed a step on a staircase, heart setting out, tumbling for a moment before catching itself again.

For a split second, Morrigan is relieved when they're moving again and she has an excuse to shift her gaze away from Rhaenyra, but before she can even catch up with it, they're with Brandon in front of the table and greeting the King and his heir.

She lets her expression mold and shit into a soft smile— a talent she's become more and more adept at— before she joins the rest of the Commander's family in bowing to King Viserys and Rhaenyra.

Brandon gives them a smile as he looks up again. "My King, Princess, my congratulations for such a joyous occasion. A truly exceptional match, Your Grace." He turns to Rhaenyra. "You must be overjoyed by this."

Rhaenyra gives him a smile Morrigan recognises as the one she's adapted ever since the day her mother had died and she'd been named heir— thrown into a world of politics neither Lords nor her had been prepared for and Rhaenyra— ever willful and stubborn— had seldom found much common ground with one of the higher Lords in the kingdoms. "I indeed am, good Lord."

Viserys mirrors his daughter's smile. "We are honored by your words and your presence, Lord Tully." He turns to Morrigan with the same look of seeking a tether between them in hopes to be the thread that binds Rhaenyra and Alicent together as she had tried for so many weeks after the betrothal. "And we are overjoyed by the attendance of the Lord Commander and his dear wife, the Lady Morrigan. I cannot imagine the Princess nor the Queen would want this occasion to be without their dear friend."

Morrigan's jaw clenches, her muscles locking up— just for a moment. But she's become good at being a calm surface, and not a raging sea, for many years now and so she bows again and smiles. "You honor me, Your Grace."

She wonders if he knows just how much resentment for him festers in her chest like it's rot.

Brandon bows to the king again. "Princess, Your Grace." He says before leading them away from the table to make room for the next guests to pay their respects.

She fixes her gaze on Brandon's back as they approach one of the long tables, where Celia and the other Tully guests had taken a seat, until she can feel Edmyn's presence closing in a little, body moving closer to her's as they walk and he reaches up to take her lower arm— not quite her hand, but just at her wrist. She's sure to anyone else, the movement would not strike them as out of the ordinary. And even if it did, the gesture is too hidden to be seen as anything but martial affection from a husband to a wife.

Morrigan can feel her muscles stiffening, her muscles locking up as the pressure around her wrist grows and grows until a stinging ache echoes up her arm.

"What are you wearing?" There's an edge, a harshness, to his voice too quiet for anyone else but them to hear— Brandon, perhaps, but Morrigan sincerely doubts her good brother cares. There's never been a particularly large amount of love between them. Not when she has given the younger brother who will inherit all Brandon is worth for a son and stands to give him another child within the year.

She'd known there would be consequences when she'd stood in their chambers to ready herself. And now that she had made her bed— she had no choice but to lie in it. What does it matter if now, faced with Edmyn's hard gaze, it makes her feel sick?

"A dress," Morrigan says after a moment, glancing at her husband. "I thought it stunning and fitting for such an occasion."

She can see the tick in his jaw, can see the way his eyes darken, something raging in them she is too familiar with.

Before he has the chance to say something— and she can see in the way his throat moves, he is just about to— the Lord Commander of the Kingsguard announces new arrivals into the hall.

"House Baratheon with Ser Alden Caron, nephew of Lord Borros Baratheon, Lord Paramount of the Stormlands and cousin to his daughter and heir, Lady Morrigan Baratheon, future Lady Paramount of the Stormlands."

Something catches in her throat and it feels like agony. Like that rotting thing in her chest that never heals, ripped wide open again. It feels like the worst longing she has ever felt.

For a moment, she is certain it might just kill her.

Slowly, Morrigan turns to the entrance and finds three figures entering, the sight of them so familiar her heart aches for them. Eric and Rodrik and ahead of them— Alden.

Dressed in black.

And in gold.

AUTHOR'S NOTE,
me vs this chapter: a struggle over eight days

also in case you're not following me and thus did not see my notifs on my profile: uni classes have officially started again (i'm also considering possibly moving this winter) so, as you noticed, my writing pace has slowed compared to what it was the past two months simply because i need to prioritise a) my mental health (which hasn't been that great in general and always gets worse in winter and during the time period of university classes) and b) my classes. i will update when i get the time to - but it will not be as much as before (though, stormbringer was always an odd hyperfixation with uncharacteristically many updates lmao).

in that sense i am asking you to please refrain from commenting "(please) update" or "finally" when i do update. i know it's all in good nature but, please, don't. thank you ❤