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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He marched to her room – with fury following his aura. His eyebrows were merged together, fists clenched and turning white.
Daemon opens the door, seeing her sprawled on the bed and reading a book. The light perfectly bounced on her face, highlighting her best features – he couldn't stay angry, not in the sight of an angel. She begins to sit up straight, the book was long forgotten beside her.
"Uncle, how was the meeting?" she inquired, patting the empty space beside her. She was her uncle's close confidant. The brains behind his commissions. "Horrible," he replied with one word. He sat on the bed. The mattress slightly bounced due to their shared weight.
She places her hand behind his back.
"Did they work against you once more?" she questioned, and he buried his face on her chest. It was hard being the only person in the council who cared about their safety. To other lords, it was mere business – a status symbol that their daughters can flaunt.
"It was nothing I couldn't handle." he mumbled, still laying his head low – like a child in need of his mother. "They are all against battle," he groaned as she continued to comb through his hair. "The battle must be fought to prevent war." he added while freeing his head of her chest.
He stared at her eyes again. Her eyes have comforted her more than words. "Father is always hesitant when it comes to war. He believes that violence belongs to a bygone age. You're different, uncle – I'm not sure if I prefer you more." her lips pressed into a thin line.
She liked her uncle more.
"You don't need to choose, Saera." he smiled, eyes trailing to the other side of the room. The people in his brother's council told him that Daemon would rip his daughters away from him, but it was the opposite. Daemon craved his brother's acknowledgement, he could never poison his nieces' brains. She places her hand on his chest, feeling his warmth radiate off the black robe.
"The people at court believe that you are my father's heir. My mother thinks that you'll be the King after him." she whispered.
His hands slid up to hold hers. "Do you want me to become king?" he asked playfully, eyes narrowing with his tone. He wanted to be King, but only if Saera was his Queen – not that bronze bitch. "No." she answered truthfully.
She was staring at him, which meant that she was telling the truth. "And why not?" he questioned in mock-offense. She smiles softly, feeling the layers of herself unravel for him. "I don't want to see you ruined – the throne corrupts many. You don't have any children, where will the throne pass on?" she added. He paused for a while, thinking of her opinion.
No children.
"None yet," he replied with a smirk. Her eyes widened, but it returned to its original shape. "You will return to the Vale then? You'll consummate your marriage with Lady Rhea?" she inquired, though her tone implied that she didn't want it to happen. "Of course not. I wish to have children with another woman – someone preferably attractive and with Valyrian blood." he added, and his last sentence brought a scarlet tint on her cheeks.
