Time is quite kind to the Salt bastard as the years fly away. Over the course of the war, she begins to prove herself as a warrior. She has a ways to go before she can come close to a knight, but the more she fights, the more she learns. Saerra takes no pleasure in taking lives and killing, but she finds honor in defending the land and protecting them from committing further chaos. She finds strength in being able to fight her own battles.
Prince Daemon seems to care more about Saerra's safety than she does. He wants to use her only if needed, and oftentimes drags her away without a single word.
Whereas Lord Corlys couldn't care less. Would it be seen as odd that his bastard daughter died in battle? Sure. But would it also spare him the headache of dealing with the girl? Absolutely. The bargain he struck with the Prince fades into the back of his mind, for he truly just does not care for the bastard girl. Her life is inconsequential in his mind.
After three years of fighting, morale becomes quite low. The soldiers are tired, beaten, and homesick. They stand on a cliff where camp has been made, covered in dirt and ash. Saerra stands behind the table with the map where the men gather, for it is not her place to speak up. Her hair is pulled back, she has dried blood on her neck and shoulder. Her once frail arms have grown the slightest bit of muscle and her bone structure is more defined. She is physically stronger, though her mental strength still needs room to grow. She is getting used to speaking her mind, but will never dare to speak in the presence of her Uncle Vaemond.
Daemon soon returns from battle, bringing a gentle smile to Saerra's face. The Prince is approached by a messenger, of whom carries a letter from the King.
𝓑𝓻𝓸𝓽𝓱𝓮𝓻,
𝓘 𝓱𝓪𝓿𝓮 𝓸𝓻𝓭𝓮𝓻𝓮𝓭 10 𝓼𝓱𝓲𝓹𝓼 𝓪𝓷𝓭 2,000 𝓶𝓮𝓷 𝓽𝓸 𝓼𝓮𝓽 𝓼𝓪𝓲𝓵 𝓯𝓻𝓸𝓶 𝓚𝓲𝓷𝓰'𝓼 𝓛𝓪𝓷𝓭𝓲𝓷𝓰 𝓽𝓸 𝓳𝓸𝓲𝓷 𝓽𝓱𝓮 𝓮𝓯𝓯𝓸𝓻𝓽𝓼 𝓲𝓷 𝓽𝓱𝓮 𝓢𝓽𝓮𝓹𝓼𝓽𝓸𝓷𝓮𝓼. 𝓣𝓱𝓸𝓾𝓰𝓱 𝓽𝓲𝓶𝓮 𝓪𝓷𝓭 𝓬𝓲𝓻𝓬𝓾𝓶𝓼𝓽𝓪𝓷𝓬𝓮 𝓱𝓪𝓿𝓮 𝓼𝓮𝓮𝓷 𝓾𝓼 𝓮𝓼𝓽𝓻𝓪𝓷𝓰𝓮𝓭, 𝓴𝓷𝓸𝔀 𝓽𝓱𝓪𝓽 𝓲𝓽 𝓲𝓼 𝓷𝓸𝓽 𝓶𝔂 𝓭𝓮𝓼𝓲𝓻𝓮 𝓽𝓸 𝓼𝓮𝓮 𝔂𝓸𝓾 𝓯𝓪𝓲𝓵 𝓲𝓷 𝔂𝓸𝓾𝓻 𝓬𝓪𝓾𝓼𝓮. 𝓘𝓽 𝓲𝓼 𝓲𝓷𝓼𝓽𝓮𝓪𝓭 𝓶𝔂 𝓱𝓸𝓹𝓮 𝓽𝓱𝓪𝓽 𝓽𝓱𝓲𝓼 𝓪𝓲𝓭 𝔀𝓲𝓵𝓵 𝓭𝓮𝓵𝓲𝓿𝓮𝓻 𝓽𝓱𝓮 𝓿𝓲𝓬𝓽𝓸𝓻𝔂 𝓽𝓱𝓪𝓽 𝓱𝓪𝓼 𝓽𝓱𝓾𝓼 𝓯𝓪𝓻 𝓮𝓿𝓪𝓭𝓮𝓭 𝓾𝓼. 𝓘 𝓼𝓱𝓪𝓵𝓵 𝓹𝓻𝓪𝔂 𝓷𝓲𝓰𝓱𝓽𝓵𝔂 𝓽𝓸 𝓽𝓱𝓮 𝓰𝓸𝓭𝓼 𝓯𝓸𝓻 𝔂𝓸𝓾𝓻 𝓼𝓪𝓯𝓮 𝓻𝓮𝓽𝓾𝓻𝓷.
Daemon is quite good at keeping his emotions hidden, but this time, he lets his emotions drive him to beat the messenger, where he nearly dies from the punches of the Prince. Saerra rushes to pull Daemon off of the poor man, but he doesn't even acknowledge her. Instead, Daemon sets off on his own journey, with his own plan. He decides then and there that it is he who will win the war... not his brother.
The Prince acts alone. He goes to the Crabfeeder, as if he's about to surrender, but he gives the men the exact advantage they need. He slays the enemies with a blade and allows for an ambush to take over. Ser Laenor rides Seasmoke and burns the Triarchy alive, whilst Corlys leads the charge. Saerra stands a top the sand mound and strikes her enemies down with an arrow as Daemon steps into the cavern, and walks out with the bloody and chopped-up body of the Crabfeeder. The Prince drops the body down onto the sand beneath his feet, showing off his good work as he stands drenched in blood. Saerra's eyes find him in the distance, and feels the bile working its way up her throat. Though she is no stranger to battle, the sight of Daemon covered head to toe in another man's blood upsets her stomach.
The men all arrive back at the camp, where it will be their last night before they are able to go back home. Saerra sits on a log by and open fire, keeping herself wrapped in a cloak to trap in any warmth she can. A few of the men have attempted to bed the bastard girl, while others pay her no mind and leave her be. A few tired soldiers sit around the fire as well, eating soup and drinking wine as they celebrate their victory, for it hangs in the air like a sweet, intoxicating fragrance. Daemon, weary yet triumphant, finds himself standing with Saerra amidst the aftermath of the battlefield. His heart pounds with adrenaline, his gaze filled with a mix of exhaustion and desire.
His fingertips gently graze over her soft and supple skin. His body stands strong, showing no sense of hesitation of uncertainty. He walks her backward, slowly and carefully, till her back breaches the fabric of his tent. Daemon pulls Saerra close to him, and while most of the blood has been washed away, some of it still remains. Saerra's heart flutters with glee, though her mind isn't truly in it, making itself clear as the Prince gropes at her flesh.
"Saerra," Daemon begins, his voice husky with a newfound intensity, "You are tense."
Saerra's eyes flicker with a mix of apprehension and warmth as she meets his gaze. Her voice is gentle, but firm, as she tries to temper the spark that dances between them.
" I am, " She affirms.
" Why?" He ponders as his hands slowly undo the strings of her shirt.
" War is very tiring, my Prince," Saerra softly utters, her breath hitching in her throat as her shirt falls to the floor, " We need time to heal, to find solace in the aftermath of war."
Daemon's brows furrow, a mix of desire and impatience evident in his expression. He pulls her even closer, drawing a gasp from her lips as her nipples graze against his cool armor. He absolutely adores her reactions, even after all this time. He knows exactly what he wants. They've been fighting this war for years, and they deserve to celebrate their victory. Her eyes are gentle as they flicker between his, still remaining firm with her decision as the Prince grows less and less patient. His lips trail down to her neck, where he begins to kiss her skin as his hands work on removing her pants. Saerra is still flustered, even after the countless nights they've spent together. She will not deny that spending another night with Daemon will be quite enjoyable but stays true to her own desires by stopping Daemon from going any further and using a word she grows more comfortable with every day.
" No."
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[ back in king's landing next chapter! ]