THIRTY-THREE ——
I STILL LOOK AT YOU WITH EYES THAT WANT YOU

110 AC, King's Landing.

There is a faint tremor still in her fingers and no matter how much Morrigan wills it to, it refuses to go away. She feels numb as she dances with Edmyn, her neck feeling too hot, too exposed as it rests on his shoulder. She watches the other dancers in the center of the room, but they're little more than noise and blurring shapes around her. Too fast, too loud.

Something in her head is raging, drowning out everything else.

And above it all— a chill in her very bones, a slight tremor that will not leave her limbs.

She scarcely notices it when the notes draw to an end, the music pausing for a moment before it bleeds into a faster, happier tune. Made for dancing across the room, with strangers or friends. For fun— and not with the notes of romance strung all throughout it as the previous ones.

Their steps slow to a stop as the crowd of dancers thickens and begins to jump in the rhythm and steps of the dance and Edmyn takes a step away from her. "We're going back to the table," he announces before he pauses and adds, "You should not exhaust yourself— in your state."

Morrigan doesn't think he would have bothered with any of it if they hadn't stood right at the edge of the guests laughing and cheering and hooting with the music as they dance. In plain view of any who bothered to watch.

"It seems I have impeccable timing then," a voice says— familiar and warm and rich— and Morrigan's head turns before she can stop herself to find deep blue eyes looking at them. "Would you do me the honor of giving me this dance, my lady?"

Morrigan stares at Eric, head bowed a little, hand offered to her in the air between them and she can feel Edmyn's gaze boring into them. Whatever she does now— it will only make what happens when they're alone again worse. So much worse.

But the damage is already done, is it not?

From the corner of her eyes she can see the edges in Edmyn's expression, can see his eyes sharp and cold and she knows it's only a matter of seconds before he will deny Eric.

She smiles at him. "Of course, I will." She replies and reaches out, taking Eric's hand.

Like with Alden, the contact of warm skin against her icy fingers feels jarring for a moment.

She forces herself not to look back at Edmyn as Eric pulls her with him towards the crowd dancing little circles, even as she can feel his stare boring into her back, making her skin crawl, making her stomach twist like a stones sit in it.

She forces herself to look at Eric instead— at his blue eyes and his dark hair, a little unruly and messy the way it's always been and the familiar lines of his face and slowly, the tension in her shoulders begin to ease. Just a little.

She takes in a shuddering, uneasy breath as they join the edge of the dancers, creeping a little closer inside before Eric spins her once and lifts her in tune with everyone else.

"You know, you clean up rather well." Eric says as she turns once around herself. "I would not have expected such a feat possible of a girl I saw covered in dirt and mud more than anything else."

Maybe it's the tension, the exhaustion from only such a short while in the feast. Maybe it's the way her insides are strung so taut they might snap at any moment, but Morrigan lets out a choking sound— something between a wheeze and a laugh— and it comes out half as a snort. It's the least like a lady of her standing she has sounded in ages.

She presses her lips together, trying to silence herself, but the corners of her mouth tugging up. "Shut up," she hisses, thinking it's not funny at all. It's actually rather insulting, really.

Eric gives her a look. "Eloquent, my lady."

Her lips tremble a little and she presses them together so much, the blood leeches from them. She narrows her eyes at him. "I have always known how to clean myself up, thank you very much."

Something softens in his gaze as he watches her. "Fair enough." He replies. There's a beat of silence before he adds, "You look even prettier like this, though."

Morrigan draws up one of her eyebrows a little, almost as if in challenge. "Like what?"

"Laughing when you actually mean it."

The crazed laugh fades and dies, leaving little more than the ghost of it playing along her lips as she looks up to him and warm spreads through her chest, seeping slowly into her entire body.

She doesn't know what to say. Words catch in her throat, refusing to come out and dimly, she wonders what they even would be as her mind goes blank.

She stares at Eric, and feels so little like laughing anymore. It's suddenly something so different.

Almost belatedly, she turns to make her way around him slowly, her body directing her more through the steps of the dance than she really pays any mind to them and she nearly falters as her gaze sweeps across the room and the crowd of dancers as she moves and catches sight of Daemon at the edge of the crowd of dancers, watching Laena Velaryon as she glides around him.

Something in her chest feels like she has stepped off of the cliffs at Durran's Point, falling.

Or maybe it's her stomach. She doesn't know.

Blinking, Morrigan turns her head away quickly and stares at Eric so hard, his features blur for a moment.

You did this, she tells herself. He made his choices, and so did you. He hurt you. You send him away. You send him away. You send him away—

So why does she feel like something inside her is dying?

"I'll kill him." Eric says suddenly, voice low as she finishes her way around him and the words jar her back into the present. She stares at him, face blank— not quite sure... "If that's what you want. I'll kill him. I don't care what he does in the city or that he stands to inherit that fucking shit-hole of rivers. He could be the king of the fucking continent, for all I care."

"I..." Morrigan breaks off. She doesn't know what to say. She'd thought... She hadn't thought— Edmyn— But then, why anyone else?

Eric stares at her with so much intent, so much anger, her palms begin to sweat nervously.

"I don't know what you mean," she says finally, slowly. Too slow.

Eric scoffs. "Sure." He says, and it's clear he doesn't believe a word she just said. "I don't know about the idiots who run around this court, but I'm not a fucking fool, Morrigan."

"You don't know what you're talking about."

The words taste like ash on her tongue.

There's a moment of pause as Eric looks down at her. Morrigan wonders when they'd stopped dancing— she can't remember. But now they're standing just a hair's breadth away from each other. She tries to look nonchalant, tries to look away, but her eyes feel like they're rooted in Eric's gaze.

"Maybe not. I don't know what happens behind your doors or in your conversations." Eric says after a moment and something flashes in his eyes. "But what I know is you and your heart." He takes another step towards her and now they're so close they're almost touching. "And if any man makes you look like that when you're dancing with him— I don't need to know everything. I know enough."

Morrigan stares up at him— at her closest friend— and her throat burns, closing up. Her eyes sting so much she can barely keep herself from blinking rapidly. And suddenly, she feels so, so tired. "Eric," Morrigan whispers. She can barely hear her own words. "Eric, stop."

She's pleading— with her eyes, with her words.

She is so tired.

Can't they see? Can't they see that there is no end for her? There is no way out.

And Eric looks at her like Alden did— like she is breaking his heart.

His jaw works, and he looks like he wants to say something, one hand reaching for her as a voice cuts in.

"— May I dance with the Lady Morrigan?"

Morrigan's body seizes up, muscles tensing to a point where she is half-convinced something might break and, as if on instinct, Eric takes a half-step between her and Daemon, staring at the prince with a flat look. "No."

Daemon slowly turns to look at Eric. "I beg your pardon?" He asks, voice low and cold.

Eric doesn't so much as move. "You may not dance with her."

Damn Eric, she thinks. Damn them all. Damn her own body most of all. She's sure Alden would have not let her either. Not if she reacts like this— to Edmyn, to Daemon. To any man catching her off guard.

For a fleeting moment, as she thinks it, Morrigan's gaze wanders over to where Alden and Rodrik are still sitting, finding them watching her. Alden's eyebrows are half drawn up in an expression of intrigue and she can almost hear him toast to Eric. Did not believe the boy had it in him.

Rodrik is frowning at them.

It's Rodrik's expression, more than anything, that makes her turn back to Eric and slowly place a hand on his upper arm in reassurance. She doesn't dare look at the spot on the table where she knows the Tullys are sitting. Doesn't dare to even look past Daemon's chin, really, as she steps around him and lets her hand slip from Eric's body slowly. "It would be an honor, your Grace."

There's something in his eyes at her words, so subtle she's half sure she's imagined it altogether, and yet, the ghost of a memory echoes through her mind. His voice, whispering in the dark halls of the Red Keep. Your Grace? Last night it was my prince.

Eric sends her a look— a silent question she knows how to read like it's a language she has grown up with and Morrigan sends him a look of reassurance she isn't sure she feels at all, but it's enough to make Eric dip his head and back away, leaving the room in the heart of the Great Hall which had been reserved for dance.

Morrigan takes in a slow breath, watching the dancers around them before she turns in tune with the other women, moving her arms in the familiar gestures as she does.

For a split second, the disappearance of him from her line of sight brings her a moment of reprieve, relief spilling through her chest, easing the knot in it a little before the reminder barges into her mind that now he's at her back— right there, watching her like he has any right to. Like her husband isn't there, watching. Like he doesn't know.

Like they're alone.

Slowly, controlled, Morrigan lowers her arms again and turns around, eyes finding Daemon's before she even really knows it's happening and then she is approaching him again before she begins making her way slowly around him.

It's only once she's not directly facing him anymore that she speaks. "What do you want, Daemon?"

"To dance." He sounds almost defensive.

Morrigan tries not to huff. "Right." She draws out the word for a moment. "You can't seriously expect me to believe that."

"Believe what you want." Daemon replies as he watches the room around them, hands folded at his front.

Morrigan's jaw clenches, for just a moment. She knows he knows what she means— knows he knows what she is asking.

So why, for once, can't he just answer simply? Why does it always have to be pretty words and eloquent tales and games to prying out the truth with him?

"I would like to extend my congratulations, Lady Morrigan. Motherhood becomes you." He says after a moment and Morrigan nearly stumbles, an unbidden and unwanted memory surging once again. Of another reunion, of another conversation. I'd like to extend my condolences for your loss, Lady Morrigan.

By the Gods, why won't she ever stop?

When will it be enough, twisting this knife around in the rotting wound in her chest?

When will it be enough?

"Thank you, your Grace." Morrigan says stiffly as she reaches his front again.

"Of course, it would look even better on you if it were mine."

Morrigan comes to an abrupt stop.

Her blood is roaring in her eyes, heartbeat unsteady as if running on shaky ground, and she stares at him. Because— because— he doesn't care. He doesn't care. It's for fun and for games and for petty grudges against his brother and he doesn't care.

"I think our dance is over," Morrigan chokes out, uncaring that the crowd is still dancing around them, blurring, music echoing through the entire hall.

"Mor—"

A scream cuts him off and Morrigan jerks at the sudden disruption.

Then, mayhem descents upon the hall.

AUTHOR'S NOTE,

my dog watching me screech and sob over the one cup of mulled wine i drank while writing this chapter at half past eleven in the night bcs of some fanfic:

anywho!!! i know the wedding celebrations after viserys's speech prob was longer than the like half an hour or so it was in the fic, but whatever 😭 oof this wedding is a ROLLERCOASTER and sldjfskd we're getting SO close to the end of act 2 and thus the end of ella hunt as young!morrigan and i'm emotional over this. over all of it.