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THIRTY-TWO —— Memories Feel Like Weapons
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110 AC, King's Landing.
There is a restless sort of energy humming just beneath Morrigan's skin and no matter how much she tries to distract herself— she cannot. It's a living, angry thing and it makes it nearly impossible for her to sit still.
Blood roaring in her ears, Morrigan dares to send a brief glance down the length of the table where Alden, Eric and Rodrik had taken a seat. Between them sit the Hightowers, and Morrigan does her best not to linger on Gwayne.
She had not seen Gwayne since Aegon's second name day.
It's like seeing a ghost of who she used to be— and she isn't sure what to make of him at all.
From his seat, Alden's pale eyes meet her own dark ones and there's a stab in her chest at the contact. A longing so vicious it takes her breath away.
She cannot bring herself to look at Eric and Rodrik, too.
She is a ghost, sitting in this hall with the relics of her past.
Morrigan lets out a shaky breath, forcing her attention back to the room at large, letting her gaze wander over the guests. A man half-way familiar is conversing with the King and a slight frown pulls her eyebrows together.
It takes her a long moment to remember his face, but then, with a slight jolt, she realizes it's one of Rhea Royce's cousins from the Vale— a man she'd only met that one time she had accompanied Edmyn to the Vale as part of a visit to Riverrun. They'd gone to the Eyrie... and to Runestone.
She stares at the man and something she cannot put her finger on chills her blood, settling in her stomach like a stone.
Rhea Royce had only died only days ago.
Morrigan's throat bobs as she watches Rhea's cousin and a pang of relief echoes through her when, at last, the sounds of the drums picking up reaches her ears and, then, Ser Harrold clears his throat as the doors open once more.
