TWENTY-THREE —— CAN YOU FEEL MY HEART?

109 AC, KING'S LANDING.

Morrigan takes in a shallow breath as they make their way up the grand staircase towards the throne room, slowly weaving into the crowd of spectators hurrying towards the Great Hall— all of them eager to witness what might happen once Prince Daemon arrives in front of his brother, she's sure.

Smoothing down the skirt of the dress she'd worn for the travel back to King's Landing, Morrigan forces herself to fall into step with everyone else, casting her gaze over the crowd as she does.

By the time they reach the Great Hall, there's a nervous buzz of excitement in the air around them, quiet whispers haunting Morrigan like little ghosts wandering all over her skin, her senses, sending chills down her spine.

She's so caught up in it, she barely notices the familiar head of red curls as she passes the guards posted outside the throne room and a spike of surprise shoots through her. Morrigan comes to a stop, face to face with her husband.

Edmyn bows in front of Rhaenyra. "Princess."

Rhaenyra smiles slightly. "Ser Edmyn."

Morrigan lets her expression soften, relaxing her shoulders a little— hoping it will make the sight she must still make after how poorly she handled the travel back to the city aboard the ship a little less extreme, less jarring.

"Edmyn." She says with a smile, bridging the gap to the Lord Commander of the City Watch and rising on her toes a little to press a kiss on his cheek.

"You're back then," Edmyn says, glancing behind her for a moment as Morrigan motions for Rhaenyra to continue inside without her. "Where's Deran?"

"We just got back. We saw Caraxes make way for King's Landing as we were approaching the harbour." More like Caraxes nearly collided with their ship on his way to the city, Morrigan thinks silently. "Deran is with Rodrik. I thought it best to not toss him into all this turmoil with Prince Daemon's return after the excitement of the visit to Storm's End."

Edmyn's eyes focus back on her. "I see." He glances up, mustering the crowd for a moment, finding Rhaenyra already settled into a place within it before he holds up his arm for her. "Shall we?"

One of Morrigan's eyebrows quirks up a little. "Aren't you on duty?" She asks— the golden cloak her husband had donned had not gone unnoticed by her.

Edmyn shakes his head as he leads her inside. "Not until later today." So, like much else in this room, his appearance was for show, then. "How is your father faring?"

Morrigan lets her eyes wander over the crowd as Edmyn directs them closer to the Iron Throne. "He's faring fine," she replies— determined to never let the grief and the way her grandfather's death has shaken the very foundation of Storm's End spill over to where it does not belong. Where it would mean nothing but weakness.

"Alden put himself forward as a suitor for Rhaenyra," Morrigan says, for no other reason than it's the first thing that came to her mind. It's certainly better than conversing more about her father and how he settled into his new role as the Lord of Storm's End after he buried his own father.

There's a quiet sound from Edmyn— somewhere between laughing and choking, she isn't quite sure— and he turns his head to her, eyebrows a little high. "Oh?" He asks. "How did that go?"

Morrigan shrugs. "I really couldn't say." She really could. "But, unfortunately, I don't think that he will have much luck in the competition for the Princess's hand in marriage."

Edmyn laughs again as they come to a stop towards the end of the crowd, near where King Viserys is taking a seat on the Iron Throne. "I'd say."

Her cousin isn't very fond of her husband.

The feeling is mutual.

Overall, Morrigan is fairly certain that her family might be cordial and polite— but it's not the way it's with the Carons and Baratheons. The families had merged into one with her parents' marriage and had accepted each other with open arms. But there's a distinctive chasm between her own family and the one she'd married into. She isn't quite sure if it's because of the distance or the differences in the cultures they'd grown up in— but there's a rift between the family of her blood and the one of her vows.

Morrigan thinks she should not have been surprised in the least by this— but there's still a longing lodged deep into her chest, so vicious, it's almost painful.

Before Morrigan can reply— or really, even think of something to say— the sound of footsteps making their way to the entrance of the Great Hall echoes inside the large room and all the whispers die, heads turning to the open doors.

For a moment, Morrigan is certain that it's all just a fever dream, starting with how horrendous she felt aboard the ship this morning and that she will find none of this real, but then, a familiar shape turns the corner, making his way down the steps like he has not a care in the world. Like he is alone, and not being watched by a throne room filled with spectators.

At the sight of him, Morrigan's lungs seize up and she cannot breathe.

He looks the same, she thinks. And then— he does not.

Much like she might, she supposes. She's been told by her family on multiple occasions that she's not aged much— but she has. She's not the girl anymore she was the last time she saw Prince Daemon, and neither is he. She's just not sure what it means. She knows how she has changed— but if she ever had an idea about Daemon Targaryen, it's long lost.

Taking in a shallow breath, Morrigan's fingers twist and turn where they rest, folded together, in front of her abdomen and it's all she can do to not dig her fingertips into her palms like a predator until she draws blood. It's all she can do to stand still, a smooth expression of mild curiosity on her face as she watches Daemon approach.

A cold chill runs down at the sight of the hammer in Daemon's hand. It must be the Crabfeeder's, Morrigan thinks. The one he used to stake men to the beach anda leave them to the crabs

The King's brother advances towards the Iron Throne until he stands nearly in front of it— stopped only by the tip of Ser Harrold's sword resting against his chest.

For a moment, Daemon glances down at the blade before he looks up at his brother, holding up the hammer in his right hand. "Add it to the chair."

Morrigan's throat bobs slightly as Daemon drops the hammer, the loud clang of metal echoing through the throne room.

King Viserys stares at his brother in silence for a moment. "You wear a crown. Do you also call yourself king?"

It's a trap— Morrigan knows it. Daemon must know it, too. Here, in front of the court, in front of the Kingsguard and the Lord of the Seven Kingdoms there's only one right answer to this question. Any sane man would know to take that route— only, Morrigan is not quite so sure she can say Daemon would.

With his hands folded over each other at his front, Daemon looks up to where his brother stands in front of his throne. "Once we smashed the Triarchy, they named me King of the Narrow Sea— but I know that there is only one true king, Your Grace," Daemon adds, sinking to one knee and reaching up to take off the crown of bones and wood atop his head. "My crown and the Stepstones— are yours."

"Well, where is Lord Corlys?"

"He sailed home to Driftmark."

"Who holds the Stepstones?"

"The tides, the crabs and two-thousand dead Triarchy corsairs, stakes to the sand to warn those who might follow." Daemon says it so nonchalantly, that for a split second Morrigan thinks she might've misheard him— but, no. Two-thousand men. And yet— with a painful throb in her heart— she knows that if her grandfather were still here to witness Daemon's return, he would curse out the Prince for not leaving men behind.

Corpses rot and decay. Memories wane. And neither would make good insurance that the Stepstones remain under the control of the crown.

She forces herself not to think of it— to look away from Daemon, and instead towards the king as he slowly begins to make his way towards his brother, the sound of his sword upon the ground echoing to Morrigan's ears with each step.

She doesn't look at Daemon— she doesn't— and instead focuses on the crown of bones he hands his brother. Bones and wood— such a jarring opposite of his brother's crown. She wonders if that was his intention when he fashioned it, or whether these were just the materials available in overflow on the Stepstones.

She doesn't look at Daemon, focusing on his crown instead, and so Morrigan misses the brief glance he sends to the right, exchanging a look with Otto Hightower so fast, it's over before it really began. She misses, too, when Daemon's gaze catches on her, for just a moment.

And then, it's all over and Daemon is looking back at his brother, and so is Morrigan.

"Rise," King Viserys commands his brother, mustering him as he does and for a moment, the silence seems to be so loud, it screams into Morrigan's ears, before King Viserys reaches out and rests his hand against Daemon's shoulder, pulling him against him.

Morrigan blinks for a moment, gaze fixed on where Daemon and Viserys stand, the King's hand on his brother's shoulder and the Prince's head resting against his brother's shoulder in an embrace as the crowd begins to applaud.

It takes her a moment to join them in it and the noise makes it harder for her to understand what else King Viserys says— but she can take a good guess.

"The realm owes you a great debt, brother." One of the King's arms wraps around his brother's back and he begins to guide him towards the open doors. "Come."

Morrigan watches them go— and wonders just why in the name of the Seven Daemon Targaryen chose to return to King's Landing now.

AUTHOR'S NOTE,
first off, i want to thank everyone for the well wishes 🥺❤ you guys are seriously the best! i'm doing a lot better today than i did the past days (thankfully) but i'm still def not 100% well. so, updates won't be coming as quick as before but i really want to write again i'm so sick of lying in my bed with a fever doing nothing 🥴

also,,, when i tell you all this chapter did NOT want to come easy i mean it. this took me about three times the amount of time any of the other chapters for this fic took me so far 💀 but, yeah, we're back baby!