THIRTY-SIX ——
TELL THE WOLVES I'M HOME (III)

116 AC, Storm's End.

There is something restless, something unnatural beneath her skin, in her heart. Something that twists her insides together in an iron fist and the closer they get to the castle she has spend her girlhood in— the harder it gets to breathe for Morrigan. The first sight of the drum in the distance is like taking a war hammer to her gut, chest cleaving in for a moment and she needs to force herself to breathe around the agony of seeing a relic of her past with her own eyes again.

Morrigan had not been back home in years. Not since she'd visited all that time ago with Rhaenyra.

They'd been supposed to attend Cassandra's wedding, but Mya had come early, had come before they could depart and Morrigan had been ordered by the Maester to remain to her bed in Riverrun for days with the labors and the aftermath and by the time he had been confident that she could travel the distance once more, it'd been too late, and they'd never made the journey at all.

It was supposed to be different. The first time her children came home. It was supposed to be something else.

But now it's to bury a man they had never known or could scarcely remember. To meet people, they'd been told stories of but had never seen for themselves.

The question of whether or not Deran remembers any of it— of their visit to Storm's End for her grandfather's funeral, for Rhaenyra's procession to find a suitor, of Alden's visit to King's Landing for the Princess's wedding— has ghosted in her head ever since they'd set off on this journey.

Morrigan supposes it is a testament to her cowardice that she does not have it in herself to ask her son whether any memories of these moments remained or had been written over entirely by time itself.

Not that any of it matters anymore, anyway. It's too late to change any of it.

Morrigan feels numb as an eerie kind of silence falls over them— somewhere between anxious anticipation and dread— the closer they get to Durran's Point until, at last, their journey comes to an end and Morrigan finds herself standing at the edge of a place she still knows blind, could paint any and every corner from memory even after over half a decade apart.

Storm's End is in her blood and her bones and there is no undoing something that had been written by the Seven even before she had ever taken her first breath in this life.

She forces herself to focus on the weight of Mya in her arms, on the way Jeyne stands at her side, one hand clutching to her dress's skirt like a tether as Deran stands at her other side, all glancing at the structure towering above all in the heart of Storm's End with big eyes.

Slowly, Morrigan takes in a shallow breath, features blank as a figure detaches from the set of guards in familiar armor and approaches through the gates and bowing deeply before her once he comes to a stop.

"Mylady," he says before he straightens again. "Please follow us inside. Your lady mother is breaking her fast in the Round Hall and is awaiting to welcome you and yours there."

Morrigan's back stiffens, muscles tensing a little as a sense of apprehension spills through her stomach. She's not ready to face her mother. She doesn't think she will ever be ready to face her mother.

It's all become so incredibly muddy. Morrigan loves her mother, but a part of her feels like there is an unbridgeable chasm between them that had build over years and years. She'd felt it during ehr time as companion to the princess, she'd felt it during her time as the wife to the Commander of the City Watch in King's Landing— and it'd been undeniable once they had left the city and the Red Keep and had returned to the seat of Edmyn's House— their House. It is a distance she does not think they will ever close again, might never figure out how to build a bridge between them where once they'd one had to reach out with a hand and find the other right next to them.

How can you fix invisible wounds inflicted upon the soul?

How can Morrigan truly forgive herself for not having it in her to forgive someone for having a child with someone she loved? How could she even harbour restenment for her mother when it is all she has ever wanted for herself?

It's been so long and Morrigan can see the years stretch out like an endless, barren land inside her mind.

There is nothing blooming anymore where once fields of flowers had been.

How could she fix it now, with the savaged remains of her heat? How could she undo things that had been done by time and distance and grief and nothing but ordinary lives?

This is the fate that awaits every daughter and there is nothing Morrigan can do about it.

Morrigan closes her eyes for a moment, trying to suppress the tremors and nausea chilling her blood, making her want to curl in on herself, before she sends the guards a smile. "Thank you, Ser Ronnal."

The knight bows once more before he turns, leading them through the gates and inside.

——————————

Her home is the same, Morrigan thinks. And yet, there is something dark and cold about it— a distance drenched in every inch and every corner that is foreign to her.

Like stepping into an old dress that still fits, but not quite right.

She'd always imagined it to be different. To step into the halls of her childhood and to be the one to sit at the head of the table. The one with the right to sit down at the seat right in the middle of the Round Hall and not be a child playing pretend anymore. To be the one to lead, to give voice to her family, her household— her entire homeland.

She'd always thought she would be older and wiser and have a heart made of the makings as the unbreakable stone of Storm's End.

And yet, now that the day is here, she still feels like that little girl with legs too short for her feet to reach the floor when she sits, cheeks burning with a blush because this isn't her's. It's her fathers.

Or perhaps, now it is Edmyn's.

Her grandfather's seat, her father's seat, her husband's seat, the seat of a brother not yet born— had the seat ever really been her's at all?

"Mother," Morrigan says, voice gentle, as she enters the Round Hall and finds Elenda Baratheon sitting alone at a breakfast table, clothed in black.

Her mother's eyes are bloodshot and hollow as they find her, but a smile stretches across her lips when they fall on her. "Morrigan," her mother replies, rising from her seat before she winces, face contorting into a grimace for a moment and she sinks back into her seat, palm resting against the swell of her abdomen and the sight sends a stap of both agony and terror into Morrigan's heart.

She'd known her mother's pregnancy had been difficult, both due to her age and sheer bad luck. She'd received letters from her sisters and Alden and even one from the Maester on her father's behalf, updating and detailing how her mother had fared, but it's like a shock to her system. The former Lady of House Baratheon is pale, and gaunt, her plate filled with foods that had gone untouched and purple bruises had etched themselves beneath her eyes from lack of sleep.

Morrigan had known her mother would look worse now with her father gone than she had before, but even with all she had tried to prepare herself for this moment— it had been of no use.

It's like looking at the ghost of the memory of her mother that she had carried within her mind, smiling and healthy and happy.

She hurries over to her mother's side, sitting down in one of the empty seats. "Where is everyone?" She asks, brows drawing together with a frown.

Her mother waves her off, "I send them away so I might break my fast alone today," she replies as Morrigan takes one of her mother's cold hands into her own.

Morrigan's frown deepens. She'd have to have words with the guards and servants and her family about that. "Mother—"

"I do not want your sisters to see me like this," her mother cuts her off, avoiding her eyes. "They are suffering enough."

Morrigan tries not to huff. Frustration at her mother's stubborness would not help her try to make her mother handle her pain and grief better. It would not help her nourish her body again or give it the rest it needed. "Mother," Morrigan says gently. "I think being around you would ease their suffering, not worsen it."

Her mother's jaw sets a little and Morrigan's heart twists.

For as long as Morrigan can remember, her father and mother had been each other's anchors, had steadied each other— even if they fought, even with flaws Morrigan had been blind to as a young girl and had grown to see and accept as a woman, they'd dept each other in place. Now, without her father, her mother is adrift without a shore to return to.

It's a loss Morrigan has never known— would never know.

To lose her other half and be left incomplete.

Morrigan doesn't know how to help her mother's grief. With every blow, her father had been there so they could hold each other. How was she supposed to do this now, when it'd been his turn to go?

"I'm sorry I was not here," Morrigan says quietly into the silence after a long moment and her mother looks up, alarm in her eyes.

"My sweet girl," Elenda says, words with more passion than any of the ones she'd spoken before, "Whatever blame you are putting at your feet— it doesn't belong there. Do you understand me? It was not on you to be here, but with your own family."

You are my family, Morrigan wants to say but does not. She does not want to argue with her mother, not now.

"It would have been easier with me here," she says finally and means, I should have been here when you needed me. I should have been here when my father died. I should have been here for Cassandra's wedding. I should have been here for any of the past six years I did step foot into my own home or saw my own family.

Her mother makes a huffing noise before she gives her a stern look. "None of that. You were right where you were supposed to be, with your children." She says before she looks around, a hopeful glint in her eyes. "I do hope you brought them here."

"Ronnal is showing Edmyn and the children our chambers," Morrigan replies. "I thought it easier if it were only me to see you at first. You can see them later, if you wish." She hesitates for a moment, before she adds, "After we have broken our fast."

She doesn't mention the way Edmyn had bristled at the idea of being sent off like a boy by her— how she'd likened him to one of their children when she had suggested it.

She'd known it wouldn't end well even long before she'd spoken the words, but as Morrigan had mulled it all over on their inside the drum tower, she had decided there would not be away around it. She did not want to put any more strain on her mother when she saw her for the first time in years by bringing the children along. As well behaved as they were, it would always bring chaos to a room in some way by introducing three children into a room.

Her mother stares at her for a long moment, turning over the demand in her head and Morrigan doesn't need to take a closer look at her expression, at her posture to know that her mother doesn't have an appetite. That she is only sitting here to appease her family and the Maester.

But she also knows that her mother's state is too fragile— both mind and body— for her to sit out any more meals because of her grief and the strain put on her body by the child in her womb.

Morrigan turns to the table and reaches for one of the plates, putting it down in front of her before she grabs an apple and begins to slice it into pieces.

She's not hungry, either. In fact, the sight of the food makes her want to be sick.

But she still eats, not letting her expression change as she eats the apple while the silence presses in on her.

The tension only bleeds out of her shoulders once her mother reaches out to grab a slice of bread and joins her in eating.

AUTHOR'S NOTE,
took a little break during december from writing bcs uni, but happy new year! and welcome back(ish) to stormbringer! many reunions in the upcoming chapters (and also pain but what's new) and i'm v excited hehe <3