The blood of Old Valyria lives on still in both the Targaryens and Velaryons, and another who fits in neither category. Saerra Salt is a bastard, born out of wedlock as a result of Lord Corlys's drunken night on the Street of Silk. He takes care of...
King of the Narrow Sea. A moniker fitting of the man who ended the war in the Stepstones. Daemon holds all the credit, even if it was not his actions alone that ended the war. Saerra, as always, is pushed to the sidelines and barely even seen as a respected name to be held with such grace and importance. She watches as Daemon takes all the credit and basks in the glory of celebration. She was the one who stood with him and fought for years. She was the one who pushed for herself to be in the fight. She was the one who fought on that beach as well, and trimmed his blood-soaked hair in the aftermath. Where is her reward? Where is her honor?
For months, Saerra is viewed as nothing more than Daemon's whore. Her quiet and dutiful nature makes it ever so easy for her to be cast aside. Her temper is not as ill-fated as the Rogue Prince, but her frustrations fester and bubble up inside. She is eternally grateful to Daemon for giving her the life she now has, but cannot, in good faith, continue being treated this way. She spent an entire lifetime being no one, and will not allow the King of the Narrow Sea to subject her to the same fate.
On their way back to King's Landing, Daemon flies Caraxes down to one of the Targaryen ships. He nearly topples it, but it's all just amusing to him. It's all just a game. He's sat up on his high horse where nothing can knock him down. Saerra's back is pressed against his chest, and the moment they land, she rushes down to the ground and smoothes out the material of her fine dress.
All gather inside the Great Hall, where King Viserys sits upon his throne with the crown on his head, and soon comes his brother. Daemon dawns a crown made out of bone with hair shaved and cut down as he carries an axe with him to address the King.
" Add it to the chair," He utters, then drops the axe at his feet.
" You wear a crown. Do you also call yourself King?" Viserys questions.
" Once we smashed the Triarchy, they named me King of the Narrow Sea."
Saerra has to physically restrain herself from rolling her eyes as she seamlessly blends in with the crowd.
" But I know that there is only one true King, your Grace," Daemon continues, then bends his knee before his brother, " My crown and the Stepstones... are yours."
" Where is Lord Corlys?" Viserys ponders as he attempts to hide his smile.
" He sailed home to Driftmark," The Prince responds.
" Who holds the Stepstones?"
" The tides, the crabs, and 2,000 dead Triarchy corsairs, staked to the sand to warn those who may follow."
The King, sword-in-hand, marches down the steps to stand before his brother, who continues to kneel as he offers the makeshift crown. Viserys takes the makeshift crown an examines it in his hands, before flickering his eyes back to his brother. The people wait as the tension grows thick, waiting for the King to speak as he hands off the crown to a member of his guard.
" Rise."
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