The life of Saera Targaryen told in four acts.
She was her father's forgotten daughter, cast aside as she looked nothing like her mother. Her younger days were spent beside her uncle. Years following her marriage with Ser Harwin Strong, she catches...
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When Aemma Arryn was heavy with her second-child, Viserys would speak about a dream – that this child would come out and wear the crown of Kings. When Saera Targaryen was born, her father expected a little boy, but received another girl.
There were no feasts or tourneys.
Visiting lords would wear black, and offer their deepest sympathies. Saera's birth was a tragedy – another failure of siring a sin. Her mother tried again, she promised to bear a son – but she will fail. The Queen will not birth sons, rather dragons of impunity.
Aemma Arryn's first daughter, Rhaenyra was bold and forged of fire, her hair was the lightest shade of ivory – she walked around court with a fiery aura, lighting the realm on fire. She was called "The Realm's Delight" and all that saw her, claimed that she was the most beautiful maiden in all the seven kingdoms.
Her youngest daughter, Saera was the opposite – she was demure and quiet, naive to the world around her. Her hair was a darker shade of white, her eyes were a lighter shade of purple – she was hardly noticed around her father's court. They provided no title, nor songs filled with admiration – but she was the white dragon. The blood that would save the realm.
She leaned slightly at the rim of the royal-box. Saera dreaded tournaments, they were more akin to plays rather than real warfare. It was men making their own problems because their minds are incapable of elaborate thought. "Bored?" Daemon leaned on her shoulder, taking a casual sip of his wine.
"I wish to lay in my bed." she complained, holding the goblet tightly in her hand. She was going to be forced to stay another hour – or two. "The tourney bores me." she huffed, leaning into him naturally.
Daemon was about to open his mouth – mention a few more words of rebellion, but Saera wasn't like that. She listened to her father, and followed all of his rules. To do something – to mention anything would mean changing her. And he loved her as is.
"The tournament is a proper way to meet knights. One of them could be your future husband." he chuckled. She likes spending her days with her uncle. He treated her like an equal – a person who wielded the same power as him. "Knights bore me," she yawned while watching Criston Cole win another fight.
He grabs his chest, acting like he was in great pain. "I am a knight, my dragon – you hurt me." he joked. She smiles slightly, before turning her attention back to the tournament. She was not a fan of violence – but her uncle craved it like a wanton whore in heat. There was fire in his veins, with coal to fuel it.
She touches the pendant of her necklace, fiddling with it for comfort. With her sister's neglect and her father's cowardice – Saera has been alone in King's Landing. No one was truly by her side, not until her uncle returned. She wasn't alone. She had him now.
