TWENTY —— KILL THE GIRL, AND LET THE WOMAN BE BORN (II)

107 AC, KING'S LANDING.

It's only a few weeks after her own name day, late into the third month of the new year, when the pain— clenching and unforgiving— sets in and Morrigan knows, in her very bones, what it means. 

Almost like they're intertwined together— ancient companions wandering the earth hand in hand— the terror grips her heart in an iron fist. Only a little less than two years ago, the late Queen had passed from childbirth.

She does not even remember how many women this fate has taken to the grave.

And she wonders if she will join them, too.

Or if she will be trapped here— living in a prison of mortal making.

It starts small, at first, growing slowly, stretching over hours until the Grand Maester eventually declares the hour of her birth to be close and confines her to her chambers and bed— and Morrigan wonders just how stupid it would be to take up the closest candleabrum— a thing of solid gold— and bash his skull in with it until nothing but gore and blood and broken pieces of bone are left of it when she might need him for the birth later.

Not that she much wants him there— she'd rather Mellos stay as far away as he can get from her.

She thinks at least she has her mother at her side, her close family having stayed in King's Landing after that had come to celebrate her name day late with her and stayed until the birth. Elenda Baratheon might at least keep her from committing murder in her brithing room.

Cassandra is sitting in a chair next to her bed, staring at her with wide eyes. Her mother had sent her sisters away, citing them too young and that they would only crowd the room but Cassandra had dug her heels in, protested that at eleven she was old enough to handle it and eventually her mother had relented.

"You look— terrible," her sister whispers like she is voicing something sacrilegious. She looks at their mother. "I don't think I like this much."

Her mother gives Cassandra a stern look. "Then you should not be here. You're too you for this, anyhow."

Cassandra sets her jaw, raising her chin. "I'm here for Morrigan." She says it like a declaration of war and to her, Morrigan supposes, it might just be. A line drawn in the sand, an alliance laid bare with pride.

Her sister peers down at where Morrigan has been placed on the bed, face contorted with the pain stretching up her entire stomach and looks a little green. "I don't think I like this, though." She says before she hesitantly reaches out and brushes one of the sweat-drenched strnads of Morrigans hair out of her forehead, mirroring her mother's gesture of comfort from only moments before with almost clumsy movements.

Frankly, Morrigan thinks as the pain ripples through her abdomen once more, with so much force, it almost makes her curl in on herself. She does not, either.

———————

The screams tear from her body with so much violence, Morrigan is convinced that something in her throat is about to snap— and she isn't sure anymore if she is crying or screaming as she clutches to her mother's hands. She isn't sure it matters when the Grand Maester tells her she is close and all she can feel is pain, pain, pain—

It feels like dying— not, it feels like she might welcome death instead of this.

The only coherent thought Morrigan manages is that she's glad they got Cassandra to leave some time ago— How long has this been anyways? It feels eternal to her. Eternal and punishing.— and at least, her little sister won't have to see her like this. Her mother knows this, has lived through this, but her little sister— she'd already looked ready to faint when they'd prepared the room for the birth.

At least, Cassandra isn't here now and instead has joined her other sisters— wherever they are now.

Or maybe she is running wild. Morrigan doesn't know and for the first time in her life, she cannot find it in herself to care. Not when it feels like she is being cleaved in half by a giant's hand.

She wonders if this is normal— only days ago, Alicent had told her that Aegon had come quickly, had come without fuss the day of his birth as she cradled the young babe. Then, Morrigan had wanted nothing more than to get away, sick of all the talk of birth and children, sick of the sight of the Prince for no reason of the child's own fault— but because she'd be in Alicent's place in only a few days' time.

Now, she wishes she had asked more when answers had been in reach to grasp.

Now, it's too late to try and get them.

Her eyes are pressed closed, and she is sobbing when— Finally, Finally...— another sound pierces the room— high-pitched and new. Morrigan's firstborn child comes into the world kicking and screaming, and just like that, the Grand Maester's acolytes rush to Mellos's side, only a handful of them remaining for her.

Somewhere between it all, Morrigan hears her mother take in a gasp and looks up to her, finding the woman she'd so often been told she looked just like her so many times she'd lost count long ago, looking to the spot where the Grand Maester stands, eyes glistening with tears.

"Oh, Morrigan," her mother breathes, grip on her hands tightening as they all fuss over the crying child. "Oh, my love. You did so well."

She looks down at her with a smile made of nothing but warmth and comfort and, in that moment, to Morrigan it feels like the worst sight she has ever seen.

Morrigan's head shakes, frantically as she stares at her mother, eyes blurring. "I can't do this," she chokes out, words nothing more than a gasp. "I can't do this."

Her mother's grip on her tightens. "Yes, you can," she replies with so much conviction in her voice it only makes Morrigan feel worse.

Morrigan lets out a sob, clutching to her mother. "I can't do this." She breathes as Mellos approaches.

He is cradling the screaming babe in his arms, peering down at her. "Congratulations, Lady Tully. You have a healthy son."

Morrigan cannot stand the sight of them and so she stares at her mother, vision blurring. "Good," she says, voice raw from hours of screaming, and feels infinitely far away from this bed as she turns to her side, curling in on herself. "That means I'm done, right?" Her voice cracks. "I've birthed an heir and now I'm done."

Heir to the Stormlands. Heir to the Riverlands.

She's done her duty.

There's a beat of silence— only disturbed by the crying of the child coming closer as Mellos closes a bit more of the distance between them and she wants to scream at him to get away. She doesn't want him here— she wants the man gone.

Her mother's face comes into her view, leaning over her and then she takes her face in her hands with a near vice-like grip. "Look at me," she says quietly. Morrigan doesn't have it in her to follow the command and her mother turns her face, tilting her up so that she returns her gaze and there's so much agony in the tears swimming in them. "Look at me."

Morrigan stares up at her mother with hollow eyes and feels nothing but what a drowning man might feel. A saved man? She does not know.

"That boy needs you, do you understand?" Her mother says quietly and Morrigan shakes her head, trying to get free from her mother's eyes that see too much, her throat closing up, her eyes burning. "He won't make it without you. If you can't love him on instinct, you need to chose to love him. Do you understand me?"

Just like that, Morrigan is a girl of no more than seven again, curled in on herself, refusing to look at her sister— refusing to love her like she had her brother.

"I can't," Morrigan chokes out, sobbing. "I can't."

"Yes, you can," her mother says with so much conviction it makes her sob again. "I've seen it before. I've seen your love before and it's a beautiful thing. It doesn't come easy to you— but it's built of the strongest material I've ever seen. You don't love easy, but you love with all your heart. I've seen it. I know you can."

Morrigan's face twists, tears running down her face as she closes her eyes, trying not to hear her mother's words— but she does. She does. And she is seven again, refusing to look at her sister.

You need to choose to love her, Morrigan.

Morrigan sobs again, hands shaking as she curls them into fists.

You need to choose to love him, Morrigan.

Morrigan wants to scream but the sound catches in her throat, choking her.

You don't love easy.

Morrigan thinks of her brother buried— of the siblings dead in the cradle— of the sisters who'd been nothing but prey when they'd been born. They'd been prey to the world and so she had become their predator. You don't love easy. She takes in an unsteady breath as the wound burrowed deep beneath her ribcage numbs— not healing, never healing, but scabbed over.

She looks up at Mellos, chest unmoving, holding her breath— afraid that even the smallest of movements will make it all fall down— and reaches out to take the newborn babe from his arms.

Almost hesitantly, Mellos places the child in her grasp and it's like being a little girl again, holding Deran, holding Tya, holding her sisters. He's prey in her arms— defenseless and weak. And she is the predator.

The newborn is still crying, blindly grasping and twisting as Morrigan adjusts her grip, staring down at him and it's only when she lets him grasp at her index finger with tiny hands that he opens his eyes to stare up at her.

Morrigan takes in an unsteady breath.

Her son looks just like her.

END OF ACT ONE

AUTHOR'S NOTE,
aaaannnd that's a wrap on act 1 of stormbringer (i did tell you all things would be happening fast in the final chapters of the act sjdhsk)!! literally blown away by the support and love this fic has gotten since i've published it, you all are the best 🥺🥺❤

thank you all so much, from the bottom of my heart for giving this story a chance and sticking with it so far❤❤