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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"Take my hand in marriage. I'll marry you in the sight of our gods." he offered, reaching to cup her face. "Be my wife, bear more of my children. If it is revenge that you seek - I will be your servant." he professes, not wanting to freely love his niece. "I have a husband, Daemon." She reasons, staring deep into his dark-purple orbs.
"My blood flows for you. I won't mind being your second husband - as long as I am the first in your heart." he whispered in return, hoping that she'd listen to him. They were Valyrians - carved in the same fire that sought to destroy the world. They were beyond the laws of men.
—
All those years of torment brought them back to Dragonstone. The yearning and longing combined led them back to each other's arms. Saera takes a deep breath - eyes meeting those of her twin children.
"What about father?" Alyssa asked, eyes swelling with tears. She leans down to their level, cupping both of their faces with her hands. "My children," she began and the girl crossed her arms. There was no love between Harwin and Saera, both of them knew it - but their children didn't know that.
"Do you spurn me?" she asked, staring deep into her daughter's eyes. Alyssa's gaze softened. "I am not the mother that I wish I was." she confessed with a deep breath, "- and I have wronged you, all your lives." she added, a single tear flowing down her eyes - she had her children too young. She didn't realize that she was still oblivious to the world in those times.
"I don't understand you, muña." Alyssa admitted. Saera gives her a bitter smile. "You both wonder why you look more Targaryens than your cousins." Saera's left hand returned to her necklace, opening her right hand further - pulling the children so they'd be embracing her.
She inhales their scent - of honeyed limes and cinnamon. Her children and her blood. The fruits of her soul. She wanted to tell them about their real paternity - but she fought upon that thought seeing that they were still children.
"Daemon will not replace your father, I promise." she kissed the top of both their heads. "The conqueror had two wives, did he love one of them more than the other?" she questioned and the Twins shook their heads.
—
The traditions of Valyria were lost in time - but not lost to Daemon and Saera. Weddings of Old Valyria were typically simple and modest, they didn't wear fancy gowns or host luxurious feasts. Saera was wearing borrowed clothes that she had sewn the day before. It was shining white - with black and red threads.
"Hen lantoti ānogar, (blood of two)" Saera recited while taking the obsidian dagger, cutting her palms and watching as the blood seeped through her stained forearm. "Va syndroti vāedroma, (joined as one)" he answered - sharing a smile before taking the dagger and cutting his own palms. By this time, rain began to pour from the clouds - coating the soil with water.
He looks in her direction again, losing himself in her lavender hues. Saera Targaryen - his niece, his wife, and flesh. "Mēro perzot gīhoti, (ghostly flames)" she responded, eyes locked in his own. The sides of her mouth turned upwards, smiling softly while their hands entwined together - their blood flowing and mixing. "Elēdroma jārza sīr, (and song of shadows)" he recited, taking the blood from his palms and writing the Valyrian words on her forehead.
'Blood' he wrote.
'Fire' she added on his.
He resisted the urge to lean over and kiss her forehead. He looks over her shoulder to see their children watching them. "Izulī ampā perzī, (two hearts as embers.)" she whispered - like a prayer. She takes the dagger from his hand, allowing the moment to linger. She reaches for his face again, creating a soft line in the middle of his supple lips. "Prūmi lanti sēteksi, (forged in fourteen flames)" he whispered, doing the same thing to her.
"Hen jeny māzīlarionr, (to a future promised in glass)" she answered, feeling the blaze graze her lips. "Qēlossa ozūndesi, (the stars stand witness)" they say in unison, as the priest descends with a goblet filled with blood. "Syndroro ōñō jēdo, (the vow spoken through time)" they say at the same time. The smell of petrichor enters their lungs. It was a prophecy.
Saera takes a sip from the goblet — tasting the delicious taste of rust and iron. "Ry kīyla mazvestraksi, (of darkness and light)" he breathed out as her lips left the rim of the cup, offering him a chance to drink too. He takes a sip of the blood — smiling as he feels her hand delicately touch his forearm. After his lips leave the goblet. She wipes the crimson from his lips and brings her thumb to her mouth, tasting the iron of his tongue.
Dragons of thread, weaving dragons of destruction.
"To fire and blood," she whispered - grabbing his forearm and tasting the blood that he recently drank. "To the promise of spring," he answered.
—
Viserys placed the parchment loudly on his table, rattling the previous paperwork that laid waste. It was a letter informing that Saera had married his brother in Dragonstone - and that there was nothing he could do to stop them. "I'm sure that they are jesting," Lord Lyonel says uneasily - angered that his good-daughter has brought shame upon House Strong.
"We will get to the bottom of this, I assure you." Viserys comforts, the dragon inside of him stirring awake. He didn't mind seeing his daughter and brother around and making children - but marrying each other? It was too ambitious, even for Daemon. "Prince Daemon has never been one to think about the long-term outcomes of his actions. He is doing this for attention, your grace - you should pay him no mind." Ser Otto responds, reading the letter.
"It is a sin against the seven gods." Lyonel gritted his teeth, prepared to drag his good-daughter away from Dragonstone and barred in Harrenhal. "I understand if they were cousins - but uncle and niece? Princess Saera has known Prince Daemon since she was a babe." Lyonel antagonized.
Oh the nobles were going to make fun of him.
Question his grandchildren's legitimacy, even.
"According to the letter - they will arrive here tomorrow. I advise both of you to keep your opinions to yourselves. You are speaking of the prince and princess of this kingdom." Viserys reprimanded, still having a soft spot for Aemma's second daughter.
