SEVENTEEN —— KILL THE GIRL, AND LET THE WOMAN BE BORN

106 AC, KING'S LANDING.

An odd sensation is spreading through Morrigan's chest— like it's too fuzzy, her mind moving sloggily. There's a roar in Morrigan's head that's starting to set into numbness— nothing more than a background noise, really. Nothing feels more like background noise. It feels like nothing is happening at all. It feels like this isn't her to begin with.

But it is.

It's her turn now, standing in front of the mirror as her mother is helping her into her wedding gown.

"You look beautiful," her mother says softly as she finishes closing up her dress, resting her hands on Morrigan's shoulders almost carefully. In the mirror, her mother smiles at her, but there's a tinge of sadness in it, too. Her head turns a little to where her sisters are placed all throughout the room. "Doesn't she?"

Cassandra looks up, eyes going from Morrigan to their mother and her lips press together for the briefest of moments— over so fast, you'd barley notice and Morrigan cannot help to think of the argument she'd overheard when they'd arrived a few days ago. She knows Cassandra's words had not been intended for her ears, knows that her mother had shut her down for a reason, knows none of them had known she was near, but still, she cannot help to think of it now.

She doesn't belong her, her sister had hissed, eyes flashing with a fierce temper they'd all inherited in some shape. She doesn't belong with Edmyn Tully. She belongs with us.

Cassandra gives them a smile. "She does." She says.

Ellyn nods quickly, pale hair bobbing with each movement. "Your dress is beautiful, Mor." She says, a dreamy-eyed look on her face as she reaches out, tracing along the train of the dress.

Morrigan supposes she is right— the dress is of a pale blue fabric with a silver sheen over that will make the gown shine a little in the sunlight and, all over the dress, are small white accents of lace. The pearls she wears around her neck— around her throat and over her collarbone— and dangling off her ears are silver.

She is decked out in Tully colors— there is no trace of gold or of black. No traces of her own House colors.

This dress is beautiful and Morrigan thinks she just might hate it.

Morrigan takes in a deep breath, staring at herself in the reflection of the large mirror, before she smoothes the dress a little and turns to her mother, a smile on her face. "Thank you, mother," she says, knowing this now will be practice for the feast later on.

She watches as her mother swallows, throat bobbing with the movement, tears in her eyes.

There's a knock at the door cutting off any further conversation they might've had and Morrigan straightens, smoothing over her expression as her sisters stand to attention— even though they all know whose arrival has been announced.

Morrigan's head turns. "Come in," she calls out, silently grateful they've given her at least this little honor to do and chose on her own on a day she has so little say over herself.

The door opens and her father comes into sight, Ser Rodrik a few steps beside him as they enter. "It's time, my love," her father says softly as he takes her in.

Morrigan blinks, nodding.

She'd known what her father's arrival would bring.

Silently, Morrigan watches as her sisters say their goodbyes, leaving the room and her mother gives her father a kiss— wondering whether she will ever have what they managed to built with each other and knowing she likely will not— before she turns to Morrigan a last time, cupping her face with one hand for a moment before she turns and leaves.

Her father bridges the distance between them, a soft of sorrow in his eyes Morrigan has never seen before on him, as he takes her in. "You look beautiful," he says at last.

Morrigan's throat burns as she stares up at him, blinking quickly. "I..." She doesn't even know what words she'd planned to say, what syllables get stuck in her throat like lead. Not that it matters— she cannot say them, either way.

Her father reaches up, taking her head in his hands before resting his forehead against hers for a moment. "I want you to know," he says quietly. "That we are proud of you, your mother and I. And no matter what happens from this day onward you will always be a Baratheon of Storm's End. You will always have a home where you belong."

Morrigan takes in a sharp breath, chest constricting as she looks away, forcing herself not to let the tears burning in her eyes fall.

Her father squeezes her face for a moment, warmth reassuring, before his hands leave her and instead, he offers her his arm.

Something dies in Morrigan as she takes it and lets him lead her out of the room.

———————

There are familiar faces everywhere in the Sept as her father leads her through the entrance.

She should not have looked. She knows, she should not have— there's no reason other than a deluded, ludicrous idea, and yet— she looks. Out of the corner of her eyes, Morrigan catches herself searching, counting. Gaze catching on each head of pale blonde hair, taking them in— first Alden with his father, then Ellyn, barely visible beside their mother and grandfather and Cassandra, and then further into the Sept, at the head of the crowd stands Rhaenyra, giving her a look Morrigan knows is meant to be reassuring, and— before all— stands King Viserys, Alicent at his side instead of Rhaenyra.

All people she knows, all she is glad, deep in her heart, to see and yet— the sinking sensation in her heart tells her, that the face she'd searched for is not in the Sept.

Is not even in the city, she knows.

Why she'd thought he'd be here even if he had not been present at his own brother's wedding— the king's wedding— she does not know. There is no reason, and still— and still she had tended and protected that small kernel of hope taking root in her heart until this very moment.

She had wanted just one last taste of that freedom he had given her— even if it's only the ghost of it.

Chest aching as the sinking sensation of the finality of her own fate settles in, Morrigan forces herself to turn her attention back towards where the Septon and Edmyn Tully are awaiting her and Morrigan is still grieving the loss of her own self, knowing that she had entered as a Stormlander and would leave as someone who was not.

Morrigan Baratheon had come here to die so that Morrigan Tully could be born.

But— this was in her blood. The storm and the fury and the edges and so Morrigan straightens her spine, shoulders drawing back and takes the walk to her groom like a soldier marching to battle.

She was a Baratheon of Storm's End before all and she would not let them see her weak, see her falter.

Her father squeezes her arm— a moment so brief it's over before it really began— and then his grip loosens on her arm and then it is gone and she is walking alone, joining Edmyn Tully as they come to a stop in front of the High Septon.

The aged man looks between the two of them for a moment before he addresses Edmyn, "You may now cloak the bride and bring her under your protection."

Edmyn turns to her, unfolding the cloak in his hands— blue and red with the silver trout embroidered at places— and Morrigan turns, bearing her back to him. A moment later, she feels the heavy weight of the cloak on her shoulders and turns back to face the High Septon.

The High Septon looks at the gathered crowd behind them, addressing first the King and Alicent before he turns to Rhaenyra and then the rest of them and Morrigan forces herself to stare at the High Septon ahead and not behind. There's nothing awaiting her behind her— nobody awaiting her. No freedom or reprieve that is not already lost.

And why should there be? She'd been a fool, hadn't she— looking around the Sept as they'd made their way through the building, looking for a head of pale silver hair she'd known would not be there— finding only Alden and Ellyn and Rhaenyra and King Viserys. She'd known and still, she'd been a fool.

"You Grace, Your Grace, Princess, my lords, my ladies, we stand here in the sight of gods and men to witness the union of man and wife," the High Septon begins the ceremony. "One flesh, one heart, one soul, now and forever."

The roaring is back in her ears as the Septon speaks, and for a moment Morrigan cannot hear a word he says— but she knows them, still. She could recite the words in her sleep, if need be.

The numbness spreads again, brain fogging and she doesn't even notice she has raised her hands until Edmyn takes her own, freezing hand in his hand— the warmth bleeding from his skin so jarring, it feels scorching for a moment.

"Let it be known that Morrigan of the House Baratheon and Edmyn of the House Tully are one heart, one flesh, one soul. Cursed be he who would seek to tear them asunder."

She watches as the High Septon begins to bind the ribbon around their joined hands.

"In the sight of the Seven, I hereby seal these two souls, binding them as one for eternity. Look upon one another and say the words."

Morrigan turns to face Edmyn, staring up into his eyes, and then— as one— they begin to speak. Her throat feels chafed raw; like sand and as the words leave her mouth they taste like ash. "Father, Smith, Warrior, Mother, Maiden, Crone, Stanger. I am his and he is mine. From this day, until the end of my days."

Their bound hands still between them, Edmyn's eyes don't leave her's. "With this kiss, I pledge my love," he announces before his free hand rises to Morrigan's chin, catching it in his light grip and he leans forward, pressing his lips against her's.

And it's all over.

AUTHOR'S NOTE,
so, ik that brides in westeros don't dress the way they do, for example, here in germany nowadays but i thought the gif was fitting nontheless 🤧🤧

as apollomooney said: rip morrigan baratheon u will be missed

wedding part one baby, whoop!!! i'm going straight into writing a bit for part two 🤭