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TWENTY-ONE —— MY WOUNDED WINGS STILL BEATING

109 AC, STORM'S END.

The echo of wind blowing against stone seeping through the thick walls of stone might be the most soothing thing Morrigan Tully has heard in years as she sits in the Round Hall of the drum tower. Even if there's grief festering in her, old and rotting that will not stop aching. The last time she'd been in the castle she'd spent her entire childhood, half a year ago, it'd been to watch her grandfather's body being paid his final respects.

She'd not been back in Storm's End since Lord Boremund Baratheon's funeral, and her father's subsequent ascension as the Lord Paramount of the Stormlands, and now there's something cold about the very halls she'd grown up in. Something less. A piece missing.

Silently, she wonders if it will ever return.

"—the walls of Blackhaven are unscalable vassalstone. And the castle is surrounded by a deep, dry moat. It is well fortified against any future Dornish incursions. And though my seat may be lesser in size, it is situated most pleasingly." Lord Dondarrion clears his throat, coughing slightly as he pauses in his speech to pour himself a goblet of wine and take a drink.

In the following silence, Morrigan sends her father a look from her seat at his right, knowing fully well that he'd never even so much as entertain the thought of any of them as a suitor for her for any other reason than displaying respect to the House they're from.

Which is likely the only reason Rhaenyra is still here.

To Morrigan, the entire ordeal has been not what she'd call successful— from all and any minor and mayor lords under the Baratheons sending their best suitors, many of whom she's sure had already made a try for her own hand before she'd been wed, she knows that not one of them will stand a chance. The one who'd be the most likely to gain even so much as a moment of Rhaenyra's attention had been Alden— although Morrigan knows for a fact that her cousin has not a single spark of personal interest in marrying the princess.

And from the way her father's expression shifts subtly, he knows it, too.

"The view across the Marches is inspiring, so said Queen Alysanne herself when she honored my father and I—"

"And tell me, Lord Dondarrion, did you think my great-grandmother as beautiful as they say?"

Lord Dondarrion's eyebrows draw together in confusion, a slight frown on his face. "This was half a century ago, Princess," he says slowly.

Morrigan tries her best to keep her smile in place and not pinch the bridge of her nose.

"Yes, it was."

Around them, the crowd erupts into laughter and across the room, where he's standing in the background leaning against one of the walls, arms crossed, Alden draws up one eyebrow at Morrigan.

"That was unseemly, Princess," her father says softly.

"The man is older than my father," Rhaenyra replies just as quietly. "It's unseemly for him to put himself forward as a contender for my hand."

Morrigan exchanges a silent look with her father, who looks like he needs to hold his sigh of both exhaustion and defeat in— knowing well she, and he himself, would be of the same opinion, if it was her hand they were competing for— as he turns back to Lord Dondarrion. "Next!"

Morrigan's smile strains a little as Willem Blackwood takes his place, watching as the boy pushes his shoulders back for a straight posture— and she knows it's to command more respect in a room full of older suitors.

Rhaenyra stares at him as he bows in front of them. "And now a child."

"The Blackwoods are an ancient House with a formidable army. In the Riverlands they once ruled as kings. The blood of the First Men still flows in their veins." Her father replies in a quiet voice, meant only for them and not their audience. Morrigan can't help but notice the pained strain in his expression— likely only noticeable to her due to the fact she has known Borros Baratheon her entire life before he turns to Willem Blackwood. "Go on."

"My Princess, ours is a bond that has long endured, since Lucas Blackwood, the grand sire of my grand sire, aided the Dragon in his war of conquest—"

"Aye, the Blackwoods truly turned the tide on that one." Jerrel Bracken calls out from his place in the crowd and once again, laughter rises up in the crowd.

Morrigan is fairly certain that this entire audience will not continue much longer— either Rhaenyra will end it or, knowing the history and animosity of the House Blackwood and Bracken, a fight might just as well break out.

"—Coursed with the blood of the First Men, our history is deeply rooted in this land, which your house has made its home. If chosen as your match, Princess, your days shall be easy and nights safe under my protection. "

"—Protection? The Princess has a dragon, you dumb cսոt."

Her father's head turns to the man. "Bracken."

"I could learn to like that one." Rhaenyra mutters before she sighs, glancing at the Lord of Storm's End. "Let us have the next so we may go to supper."

Willem Blackwood looks at her stiffly before he turns and makes room for the next suitor— only making it a few steps before Jerrel Bracken says, "Craven."

The boy stops in his tracks, spinning around and seething as he unsheathes his sword.

Morrigan sighs as she watches the two men approach each other, weapons brandished.

Rhaenyra gives Ser Criston a look. "We're leaving," she announces, rising from her seat at the same time as her father.

"Sheathe that steel, you twats!" The Lord of Storm's End barks as Rhaenyra and Ser Criston make their way through the Round Hall and Morrigan watches the scene in silence, wondering who in the name of the Seven had thought it a good idea to send suitors of both Houses to be presented to the princess on the same occasion.

She almost misses it when little Willem Blackwood spears Jerrel Bracken though the abdomen with his sword.

————————

Morrigan lets out a soft sigh as she descends down the stairs through the drum tower, making her way away from the Round Hall and to the doors leading outside to the outer ring of Storm's End.

She nearly jolts in surprise when she rounds the corner and finds Alden standing there— waiting, looking for all the world like he has not a care in the world. She wants to strangle him for the expression alone.

"Cousin." He gives her a grin as he pushes off the wall to join her in her way outside. "Motherhood becomes you."

Morrigan tries not to let the angry sigh threatening to escape through her teeth out of her throat as she stops and rounds on him. "Why did you even put yourself forward as a suitor?" She hisses softly, pointing at him. "It's wasted time. You have no interest in marrying Rhaenyra. Don't even try to tell me otherwise."

Alden gives her a look like she's a fool. "Because I'm the heir of House Caron. And I'm unwed. Anyone in my position would be an idiot to even consider not presenting himself to the future Queen of the Seven Kingdoms. It'd be an insult not to."

Morrigan crosses her arms in front of her chest, giving him an accusing look. "Eric didn't either, and he's the son of Head of House Knighton. They're one of the most powerful Houses in the Stormlands."

"He's the third son."

"One of his elder brothers is at Castle Black and can hardly break his oath and come South as a deserter to compete for Rhaenyra's hand and the other is married already. He's the next after his brother and any of his children and unmarried and didn't present himself."

Alden lets out a snort under his breath. "Well, pardon me, cousin, but not all of us can be like your darling Eric."

Morrigan's eyes flash. "What is that supposed to mean?"

"Nothing." Alden says, and Morrigan doesn't like the expression on his face one bit. "But tell me one thing, if you were in my place, would you not try and win the Princess's hand?" His eyes flash much in the same manners as her's. "I think you of all people should rather understand that it's a matter of duty for one's family and not personal preference for character when it comes to the match of the eldest child and heir."

Morrigan tries not to flinch at his words. "Careful," she bares her teeth at him. "What you say to me."

"Am I wrong?" Alden shoots back, leaning forward a little, crowding her with his height. Two predators facing off. "Tell me I'm fucking wrong, Morrigan."

"It's not the fucking same—"

"—Isn't it? Tell me then, if it's not about protecting our family and our home from any and all threats, then why is your husband still alive if you clearly cannot stand the reality of your marriage?"

Morrigan rears back a little. "Excuse me?"

Alden's eyebrows draw up, unsurprised. "Tell me I'm wrong." He points at her. "If you would not fear what his family might do to your son or what they might claim from this land, you'd have been a widow long ago."

Her jaw tenses so much, it hurts. She thinks some muscle or tendon might snap with the force of how much her body tenses.

"Tell me I'm wrong, Morrigan," Alden says again, voice softer this time.

She doesn't say a thing.

He lets out a bitter laugh. "And there's a cold, hard truth— you would do anything for your family and so would I. What does it matter if we're miserable? Marrying someone we do not care for seems like a rather small sacrifice for them, does it not?"

Her throat bobs at his words.

The feral, angry expression bleeds from his face and now they're staring at each other, stuck in a solem sort of understanding. "That's what I thought," he says quietly.

He takes a step back and offers her his arm. "Let's go and find that son of yours before your sisters teach him anything that'll make your life miserable," he says.

Morrigan feels numb again when she takes his arm and lets him lead her down the stairs.

———————

The sound of thunder has grown more distant— a sign that their spontaneous departure might proceed as planned— by the time they leave the drum tower and find a small crowd of dark-haired children and adolescents— and one with pale blonde hair— running through her great-grandmother's gardens. The smallest of them is still unsteady on his legs, running after Floris, loud giggles erupting from him and Morrigan's expression softens a touch at the sight.

Ellyn is the first to notice their arrival, coming to a stop and waving at them. "Mor! Alden!" She calls out, grinning and breathless, cheeks flushed from all the running and chasing.

At the sound of their names,the boy spins at the sound of her voice, running towards her with a bright grin.

"Mama!" He exclaims, more tripping than running over the grass as he makes his way over to her, running into her arms.

There's a small smile tugging at Morrigan's lips, even as something lodges in her throat, closing it up. "Hello, Deran." She says softly, pressing a kiss against his temple before she rises again.

She glances at her mother, standing a few steps away from her daughters with Eric and Rodrik. "Thank you for looking after him."

Her mother sends her a smile as they approach. "It was no bother," she says, a fond smile on her face as she reaches out and smoothes Deran's wild, dark hair a little. "He's a delight."

Deran glances up at her, clutching a little to the skirt of her dress for balance. Tethering towards his mother the way he has always done— like a ship on sea during a storm might towards a beacon on the shore, visible in the distance.

Elenda turns towards Alden with the same smile on her face. "Alden," she says, her calm voice warm.

Alden bows his head. "Aunt," he says and there's a sort of earnest respect in his voice that Morrigan has seldom heard in her cousin's voice. It's reserved only for a select few— she's never been one of them. But, she knows that many lords and ladies of the Stormlands regard her father and mother with the same reverence, born of respect earned. The same they had her grandfather.

The thought pierces at her open chest, clawing at the open wound and Morrigan's fingers curl a little, clenching into fists, fingertips digging into her palm, pain spasming up her arms in response to the pressure.

A warm weight rests against her legs and when she looks down she finds Deran still looking up at her with the same, big-eyed expression, leaning into her.

Morrigan's expression softens and she uncurls her fingers to reach out and brush a few strands of his hair that had already fallen out of order again out of his eyes.

"Master Lyonel tells me that you'll be departing early," her mother says, eyebrows drawing up a little in an expression both surprised and curious.

Morrigan blows out a breath. "Yes," she replies, glancing at Rodrik for a moment. "It seems none of the suitors caught the princess's eye."

"A pity," her mother replies, giving Alden a pointed look.

Alden frowns. "Truly." He says slowly.

Elenda Baratheon stares at her nephew with the sort of disappointed motherly expression she'd perfected early into motherhood— courtesy of her firstborn. "I should think a man like you would know how to act around a princess and to treat her accordingly."

Alden gives Morrigan a look as if to say, I'm not even in godsdamned Nightsong and yet my mother has found a way to haunt me all the way here. He gives her mother a smile. "I did, aunt. I'm afraid the princess was just not... charmed enough by my attempts."

"Hm." Elenda doesn't look particularly convinced by the explanation before she waves one of her hands in the air. "I do suppose it was too much to hope for a match that would allow you to keep Morrigan company in King's Landing." There's an earnest sorrow in her eyes now at her words and it breaks Morrigan's heart.

Alden sighs. "I can visit her even if I'm not married to the Princess."

Elenda gives him a look, pointing at him. "I'll believe that when I see it," her mother huffs, but there's a smile on her lips now.

There's a groan from behind them. "Mother," Ellyn draws out the word as she reaches them.

Elenda raises an eyebrow at her. "Yes?"

Ellyn looks at Morrigan, expectantly.

Morrigan smiles at her mother. "I believe you are embarrassing my sister, mother."

"MOR!" Ellyn lets out a high pitched screech, eyes full of horror.

The smile fades and dims on Morrigan's lips as she watches her sister turn to her mother, beginning to gesture wildly. She can't really hear any of the words her sister speaks as they argue— the carefree expression on her face is almost mesmerizing to her. It's the expression of someone who had never been tainted by hardship. Who knew that no painful repercussions would follow this little altercation.

It's almost a miracle, Morrigan thinks. That her sisters' hearts are still light enough for this.

It might just be one of the most precious things she has ever beholden.

A chill sets in, climbing up her spine, her rib cage tightening as she tips her head upwards, watching the clouds above— dark and unruly and wild. Free. Thunder ripples across the distance, and for a moment, the sight of the storms soothes the one in her chest.

She lets out a soft breath and when she curls her fingers together again, she finds them cold to the touch.

Morrigan glances down again, catching Rodrik's eyes and his head bows a little in acknowledgement as he approaches her.

"Would you mind looking after Deran a little while longer?" Morrigan asks quietly. "I'd like to—" Her voice cracks a little and she takes in a shallows breath. "I'd like to visit my grandfather before we make our departure."

There's a solemn look in his eyes— a grim understanding born of shared grief for the person they'd lost.

"Of course, my Lady."

AUTHOR'S NOTE,
welcome to act 2!!! u might have noticed we skipped ep 3 and went straight for ep 4. much like the first chapter(s) of act 1 this is more of a lil introduction to the new setting etc and we'll get into the ~good~ stuff the farther we get into the act and boy i'm excited!!! 🤭🤭

sorry if this wasn't my best work in terms of writing, the first one/two chapters of a new fic and each new act are always off for me and also, i've written this over a bit of time and just finished up today in the two hours i did not feel like crap so 😅 moving on lmao.

also!!! if i see anyone hating on deran for whatever reason we're gonna have issues, like hate on me, hate on mor, hate on anyone idc but do not come after my best boi thx <3 i'd fistfight god for him ✋