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THIRTY-SEVEN —— IS THIS HOUSE REALLY YOUR HOME?
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116 AC, Storm's End
The day is exhausting, and yet, Morrigan knows it will be nothing to what the next one brings.
After they had finished their scarce meal, Morrigan had managed to convince her mother to rest for a while before bringing the children to her and, after a moment, the Lady of Storm's End had relented to her pleas and allowed her to guide her back to the Lord's chambers.
Chambers that, by right, were no longer were she should reside now that her father is gone.
Morrigan does her best not to think of it.
The mere idea makes her feel nauseous.
Taking in a fortifying breath, Morrigan curls her hands together at her sides, fingers cold and stiff as she makes her way into the Round Hall. The steps are so familiar that even now, in this void space in her mind, her feet find steady ground and carry her all the way to the front doors.
If she is announced, she's not sure — she can't hear a thing.
But as she makes her way inside, she finds the conversation at the table stalling.
They'd all gathered here and waited for her, she realizes dimly, the thought odd to her own ears.
Morrigan's steps slow when she finds the seat at the head of the table, the one her grandfather and then her father had occupied empty. Waiting for her.
She blinks, mind spinning and it takes her a moment before she can continue making her way over towards the seat. They're all here, Alden, her uncle and grandfather and even Cassandra and her husband are seated at the table — all gathered for the final honors of the Head of their House. The only ones missing from the table are the young ones, Morrigan's younger sisters and children.
Every face at the table is familiar to Morrigan, safe for the one of the woman sitting next to Alden.
She has dark skin and dark eyes, dressed in a dark shade of lilac and adorned with gemstones, and she is ethereally beautiful.
