THIRTY-SEVEN ——
IS THIS HOUSE REALLY YOUR HOME?

116 AC, Storm's End

The day is exhausting, and yet, Morrigan knows it will be nothing to what the next one brings.

After they had finished their scarce meal, Morrigan had managed to convince her mother to rest for a while before bringing the children to her and, after a moment, the Lady of Storm's End had relented to her pleas and allowed her to guide her back to the Lord's chambers.

Chambers that, by right, were no longer were she should reside now that her father is gone.

Morrigan does her best not to think of it.

The mere idea makes her feel nauseous.

Taking in a fortifying breath, Morrigan curls her hands together at her sides, fingers cold and stiff as she makes her way into the Round Hall. The steps are so familiar that even now, in this void space in her mind, her feet find steady ground and carry her all the way to the front doors.

If she is announced, she's not sure — she can't hear a thing.

But as she makes her way inside, she finds the conversation at the table stalling.

They'd all gathered here and waited for her, she realizes dimly, the thought odd to her own ears.

Morrigan's steps slow when she finds the seat at the head of the table, the one her grandfather and then her father had occupied empty. Waiting for her.

She blinks, mind spinning and it takes her a moment before she can continue making her way over towards the seat. They're all here, Alden, her uncle and grandfather and even Cassandra and her husband are seated at the table — all gathered for the final honors of the Head of their House. The only ones missing from the table are the young ones, Morrigan's younger sisters and children.

Every face at the table is familiar to Morrigan, safe for the one of the woman sitting next to Alden.

She has dark skin and dark eyes, dressed in a dark shade of lilac and adorned with gemstones, and she is ethereally beautiful.

It's a stark contrast to have this one stranger sitting in a group of faces she could draw blind, even after these years, and it is enough to jolt Morrigan back into motion.

Quickly, she makes herself bridge the distance to the last seat left, between her grandfather and her husband, and ignores the way her skin crawls as she takes it. It's the Lord's seat, the one her father and before him her grandfather had taken as the Head of both, their House and household.

It is her seat now, and Morrigan feels impossibly young as she stares out at the faces of her family, mouth dry.

The silence feels too loud in her own ears and it's all she can do to stop herself from sagging with relief when her grandfather turns to her and asks, "Your mother?"

There's a concern in his eyes she has never seen — Lord Royce Caron had never been a man of worries, had always been steadfast and strong in her own memories. To find him now worried and hesitant after years of not seeing him makes her feel like she is sitting in front of a stranger

Still, Morrigan makes herself smile even as the movement feels like a grimance. "She is resting," she replies and her grandfather nods, brows slighlty drawn together at some thought Morrigan can't discern.

He nods slowly. "Good. That is good. She needs the rest," he says, more to himself than her and he shifts a little before he reaches out, resting his hand on the edge of her elbow where it rests on the arms of the seat. "Morrigan, child — granddaughter. We all want to give you our condolences for your loss. Your father always held you girls dear and it breaks my heart that you had to lose him."

Morrigan smiles, though it feels all wrong as she reaches over with her other arm and takes her grandfather's hand, squeezing it. "Thank you, grandfather."

She had not lost her father all at once. Rather, it had been piece by piece over many hears, starting when she had left for King's Landing as a girl and continues all the way in the last years when she had not seen him at all.

Morrigan wonders how one is supposed to mourn the death of a loss they have suffered long ago.

If there is a right way, she is blind to it.

She swallows, trying to avoid looking at her sister before she lets go of her grandfather's hand. "Maester Reen informed me that the preparations for the funeral have been finished and that it is to be held tomorrow morning."

There is a beat of pause before her grandfather nods. "Indeed. You mother wanted to wait for you and Cassandra to have returned to Storm's End before we did your father his last honors."

Little Cassandra, who is not little at all anymore, sitting amongst them with her husband like it is her right.

And it is. It just feels so... soon. In her mind, Cassandra is still ten and five, barely old enough to have a taste of her mother's favourite sweet wine.

Now she is wed and lives on Tarth, wife of the Evenstar and Lady of the Island.

Lady Cassandra Tarth is the woman sitting amongst them now, and  Cassandra Baratheon is little more than a memory.

"And I am... grateful to be here amongst you all for this day," Morrigan says slowly, tongue too heavy. "I thank you all for being here to put my father to his final rest. It is an honor to do so with all these familiar faces around us."

A slight smile tugs at Cassandra's lips, eyes tired when they meet for a brief moment and she nods in silent agreement.

Morrigan knows there is more to say, more to do, and yet there are no thoughts in her head. Her mind is blank to her duties, and all she can think of is little bodies and laughs getting less carefree with each year.

She turns to Edmyn. "Where are the children?"

Her husband tenses for a moment, so subtle she doubts any of the others would even notice before he shrugs. "Your sisters took them."

Morrigan tries not to press her lips into a line, chest twisting at the dismissal in his voice audible to only her.

"They're all out in the gardens with Eric," Alden's voice comes from where he sits next to his father and Morrigan turns to look at him.

The last time she had seen her cousin had been when he had visited during Rhaenyra's wedding and it's distorting to look at Alden, perhaps more so than to look at Cassandra. He is the same and he is not and yet, eyes both familiar and foreign, even as his voice is the same as in her memory.

Eric. Morrigan blinks for a moment. Cousin and childhood friend turned into men turned into strangers.

"Should I go and get them?" The woman next to Alden asks, a slight accent to her voice, as she sends a brief glance to Morrigan before looking up to Alden, a silent question in her eyes.

Morrigan tenses for a moment, the idea of a stranger with her sisters and children not sitting right with her, but she knows Alden and her cousin would not bring her here like this for no reason. Her cousin would not look at her like he is right now, either, if she were nothing.

Some silent conversation passes before Alden sends Morrigan a look, asking for permission and Morrigan's shoulders stiffen. He's asking her to trust a stranger with her children because he trusts her with them. Morrigan swallows before she nods. "Please."

The woman looks at Morrigan and she thinks she can see a faint blush on her cheeks before she nods and rises from her sear gracefully, leaving the room on silent feet.

Morrigan blinks after her for a moment, head tilting just a little.

It's only once the woman has left the Round Hall, that she turns her eyes to Alden.

"Who is that?" Morrigan asks and Alden looks up.

His attention had been half-fixed on the doors and the woman's departure, but Morrigan at least has the right to know who the stranger housing in her castle and minding her children is.

A bear of silence passes between them, and Morrigan notices with some amazement that Alden is trying not to avoid her gaze before their eyes meet.

"Her name is Kiera," he says and there is a hesitation on her cousin's face unlike any she has ever seen before.

With a holt, Morrigan realizes it's somewhere between devotion and protectiveness.

Kiera. She can almost hear the word he wants to use instead.

Beloved.

"She is from Braavos," Alden continues. "I met her during my travels in Essos."

Morrigan's brows rise. She hadn't even known that he had been away.

At her side, Edmyn shifts, a frown on his face. "And what business has this Kiera from Braavos at this table?"

Her cousin's eyes narrow on him and there is a dangerous edge to his voice when he says, "My betrothed has every right to sit at this table."

Edymn scoffs, eyebrows drawing up. "Your betrothed?" He repeats. "No man in their right mind would allow the heir to Nightsong to marry some Braavosi girl."

Something flashes in Alden's eyes, ugly and dangerous. "Then it is a good thing I don't need your permission, consort."

Edymn rises from his seat, palm slamming against the wooden table and Morrigan flinches a little at the sound. "Watch your mouth —"

"Enough!" Morrigan snaps, voice like a crack and she's relieved when she doesn't choke on the syllables.

Alden falls silent, lips pressed together as Edymn seethes at her side and Morrigan turns her eyes to her cousin. "Leave."

The way his nostrils flare with anger is the only indication he gives that he has heard her.

"Now. All of you."

She's glad when none of the others try to defy her words and instead, they rise, the scraping of their chairs the only sound as Morrigan watches them leave and it's only when they are alone that she makes herself look at her husband again.

For a long moment, Morrigan sits and stares at the little imperfections on the wooden surface of the table in front of her. Silent and waiting. She is always waiting when it comes to him now.

There's always more to give, Morrigan had thought in a hall in a city during a wedding that is burned into her nightmares. A door had opened and shut that night and, as she'd tasted her own blood in her mouth in her chambers, she'd locked it tight.

Morrigan had not been away from the Riverlands in seven years.

She has nothing more to give now.

Blood rushing in her ears, Morrigan glances to her left, finding her husband unmoved standing at the table. "Edmyn...," she says softly, though the words to make the situation better fail to come to her.

Consort, Alden had called him, knowing Edymn's place had been as his brother's spare, pulled away with Andrey's birth. Knowing that her mother might just birth a healthy boy to be Lord of Storm's End within the next few months.

Edymn had hit at Kiera and Alden had returned the blow where he knew it would hurt.

"Edmyn," Morrigan repeats once, hesitant before she rises from her seat. "You know Alden," she continues. "He doesn’t like the idea of you above him." She reaches out and rests her hand on his arm. "Let's go and see the children and tonight when they're in bed, we can visit the Maester and see what he thinks, yes?"

The words taste like bile on her tongue, but she makes herself say them anyway.

He's still angry, the features of his face all wrong and sharp and she doesn't have the energy to make her smile reach her eyes as she looks at Edmyn and tries to soothingly rub his arm with her thumb. "Just let it go, Edmyn."

This is where she went wrong, she will later think. She went too far.

Now, she just feels the stining pain on the side of her face where he had backhanded her.

Morrigan flinches a little at the sudden sting, hands curling at her side to stop them from going to her cheek as Edymn looks down at her. "You're my wife," he says, voice sharp as a knife. "My wife." With the hand that he had hit her with, her husband reaches out and wraps it around the base at the back of her neck, pulling her towards him until they're chest to chest.

"Know your place," Edymn says quietly, and Morrigan stares ahead, eyes burning. She nods, feeling numb and Edymn presses a kiss against her hair.

This time, she does flinch.

It's only when he has left and she is alone that she sinks to the floor, choking on soundless sobs.

Author's Note

a stormbringer update?? in this economy??? 😵‍💫 unheard of

even tho it's been a while (forgive the quality of this chapter on counts of... me taking nearly a year to write it?) i would love it if you guys could leave a vote & a comment or two 🥺❤️