The dark and gloomy night skies transform into a dark and gloomy morning, bringing about a new day for the crown to set sail, and a new day for Rhaenyra to sneak into the bastard girl's chambers. Saerra is still fast asleep in her bed as Rhaenyra giggles in delight, her feet gently padding against the cool floor as she rushes to the bed. The princess hops in next to the girl, only to kiss her cheek and whisper in her ear.
Saerra jumps awake, startled by the sudden contact, where her heart skips a beat as her eyes settle on Rhaenyra.
" My princess," Saerra gulps, " I, um... what are you doing here?"
" I came to see you," Rhaenyra smiles, then leans in to kiss her soft lips, " Last night was rather fun."
" Twas," Saerra nods in agreement.
" I think we should do it again," The princess proposes as she grabs the girl's hands, " Come with me to Driftmark. We shall have a nice big room all to ourselves."
Saerra's heart grows heavy at the mention of her old home. The place she spent the first years of her life has brought her nothing but pain and suffering, which is why she has no choice but to decline the proposal.
" I'm sorry," Saerra utters as she pulls her hands away, " But I can't."
Rhaenyra continues on the journey to Driftmark with a pout on her face. She's able to be there with Ser Criston, yet it brings her just a fraction of the joy that Saerra does.
The storm runs across the land and sea, drowning the Red Keep in the rain as Saerra sits at her windowsill, looking out at the city as her mind goes blank. Not a thought nor care in the world as she sits perched all by her lonesome. Down below, her eyes happen to come across the queen trudging through the mud as she says goodbye to her father, though it means little to Saerra's melancholy mind.
A sigh escapes her lips as her heart tightens in her chest. She misses the warm embrace she's grown accustomed to. Her body yearns for an embrace, from Rhaenyra or Daemon it matters not... or perhaps all that matters is having them both. Perhaps that is what's missing from her life... both of them.
Prince Daemon is supposedly back in the Vale with his wife.
And Princess Rhaenyra is across the bay with her future husband.
Leaving Saerra Salt all alone within the walls of the Red Keep.
The very next day, when the crown returns to the castle, the king takes one step out of the royal carriage and falls flat on his face, serving as a reminder to all of his failing health. He's cared for by the maesters, but even they cannot make a broken man whole.
But he has such little time to care, for nearly the entire realm is on the way to King's Landing in order to join together in the wedding celebrations. Days and days of feasts and parties to celebrate the union of House Targaryen and House Velaryon.
Even Saerra is welcome to join, and is gifted a dress to wear by the princess. It's delivered to her chambers by a servant with a note a top of it
𝒮𝑜 𝐼'𝓁𝓁 𝒽𝒶𝓋𝑒 𝓈𝑜𝓂𝑒𝓉𝒽𝒾𝓃𝑔 𝒷𝑒𝒶𝓊𝓉𝒾𝒻𝓊𝓁 𝓉𝑜 𝓁𝑜𝑜𝓀 𝒶𝓉.
Saerra blushes at the note, and kindly protests against the servant's help in favor of dressing herself. The dress is blood red and velvety soft. It contains gorgeous gold detailing and hangs off her soft shoulders. She looks in the mirror as she styles her black hair, half up and half down. A gentle puff of air escapes her lips as she begins walking down the hall, listening as the air gets more and more full and vibrant. She passes through the threshold of the Great Hall, suddenly unaware that she belongs to no house and has no place to sit. She's stuck and unmoveable, eyes scanning the room in an attempt to find an empty chair, only for a hand to wrap around her arm and pull her to the side so she won't get trampled by the incoming house.
" I apologize, my lady," The knight utters as he meets her gaze, " But I could not allow for you to be harmed."
" Thank you," Saerra says with a temporary smile, " But I'm not a lady."
The knight's brows furrow in confusion for a moment.
" Lord Corlys of House Velaryon. Lord of the Tides and Master of Driftmark. And his Ladywife, Princess Rhaenya Targaryen. And their son and heir, Ser Laenor Velaryon, the future king consort."
Applause roars through the room as the richest house in all of Westeros makes its grand entrance. The knight's eyes then flicker between Saerra's raven braids and Corlys's white locks, before a look of conclusion spreads across his face.
" My apologizes, Saerra," He utters, then gently grabs her hand to plant a soft kiss upon it, " Ser Harwin Strong."
" It's a pleasure, Ser Breakbones," Saerra teases as their eyes remain locked.
" Come, you are more than welcome to join my brother and I," Harwin smiles, then leads her over to the table with an empty chair, " Allow me to introduce you to Lord Larys Strong. Brother, this is the Lady Saerra Salt."
" I told you, I am no lady," The woman protests.
" It is an unfortunate reality," Larys nods in agreement, " Pleasure to meet you."
" Likewise."
As Ser Harwin pulls out a chair for her, Saerra offers him a grateful smile and gracefully takes her seat. However, just as she prepares to settle into her newfound place at the table, her eyes are captivated by a figure descending the steps of the Great Hall—a figure she knows all too well. The Rogue Prince, Daemon, saunters down the aisle with an air of confidence, seemingly oblivious to the woman he has left behind.
A pang of hurt strikes Saerra's heart, its impact reverberating through her entire being. She can't tear her eyes away as he moves further away from her, his presence both magnetizing and painful. Unbeknownst to her, her reaction doesn't go unnoticed by Lord Larys, who observes her closely, his gaze filled with empathy and a hint of concern.
" Be welcome, as we join together in celebration. Tonight is only its beginning. We honor the crown's oldest and fiercest ally, House Velaryon. Reaching back to the days of Old Valyria and the Age of Dragons. With House Targaryen and..."
The King's speech is all but interrupted by the Queen joining the feast, her gown an emerald green as she makes her presence known.
" The King will not be happy," Harwin observes, " Right in the midst of his speech."
" The beacon on the Hightower, do you know what color it glows when Oldtown calls its banners to war?" Larys asks.
" Green," Saerra simply responds.
" With House Targaryen and House Velaryon united, I hope to herald in a second Age of Dragons in Westeros. And after tonight's small affair...seven days of tournament and feasting. At the end of it all... At the end of it all, a royal wedding... between my daughter, my heir... your future Queen... and Ser Laenor Velaryon, the heir to Driftmark."
The resounding applause fills the grand hall as the King concludes his eloquent speech, graciously retreating to his seat amidst the adoration of the court. The symphony of music starts, weaving its enchanting melodies through the air, casting a spell that beckons the attendees to embrace the festivities. Ser Laenor, the future king consort, rises from his chair, extending his hand towards his betrothed, inviting her to join him in a dance. The room brims with anticipation and joy as they gracefully sway to the rhythm, their steps guided by the harmonious notes.
Meanwhile, Saerra finds herself unable to tear her eyes away from Daemon, her emotions tumultuous and conflicted. Love and hatred intertwine within her heart, creating a maelstrom of feelings that confound her desires. The years they spent together, the memories they shared, now seem to hold no significance to the Prince, leaving Saerra feeling adrift and uncertain.
As Daemon's gaze shifts across the table, drawn to Lady Laena, a pang of bitterness clenches Saerra's heart. If Daemon wishes to keep Saerra, the unloved Velaryon bastard, by his side, he must honor his commitment to marry Lady Laena. A commitment of which Saerra is still completely unaware of.
Saerra's eyes lock with Daemon's, a whirlwind of emotions flickering within their depths. She sees the conflict in his gaze, the silent plea for understanding, and the burden he carries upon his shoulders. The desire to hold him accountable for his actions wrestles with the longing to reach out to him, to bridge the distance that has grown between them. But she hesitates, her pride warring against her yearning.
The twirling white fabric on the dance floor tears Saerra's attention away from the Prince, where she then watches Rhaenyra dance with her betrothed.
It all becomes too much for Saerra's heart to handle. She cannot deny her feelings for both Rhaenyra and Daemon... but she couldn't possibly have them both, she's lucky to have just had one. The realm would never allow it. The realm would never allow a bastard to be with not only a Prince, but a Princess as well.
The music swells once more, its melody reaching a crescendo that sets the room alive with a renewed energy. Saerra, caught in the ebb and flow of emotions, momentarily forgets the weight of her inner turmoil as a hand extends before her. It is the hand of Ser Breakbones, his eyes filled with a mixture of kindness and curiosity, inviting her to join him on the dance floor.
Saerra, though still grappling with her own conflicted heart, accepts his offer with a tentative yet genuine smile. She allows herself to be led onto the dance floor, surrendering to the rhythm of the music and the gentle guidance of her dance partner. As they move together, Saerra's initial reservations begin to fade, replaced by a newfound sense of comfort and connection.
Harwin's presence brings a different energy to the dance. Unlike Daemon's smooth yet intense movements, Harwin's steps are strong and grounded, exuding a quiet strength that resonates within Saerra. They sway and spin with effortless grace, their bodies gracefully entwined in harmony with the music. There is a sense of ease between them, a dance that transcends the physical, as if their souls are speaking a language only they can understand.
Saerra's eyes meet Daemon's gaze from across the room, and she senses a subtle shift in his demeanor. The lines of his face tighten ever so slightly, betraying a hint of jealousy that flickers within his eyes. His brows knit together as he watches her dance with another, the possessiveness of his nature coming to the forefront. Yet, he remains rooted in his spot, silently observing their shared moments.
Unbeknownst to Saerra, the dance she shares with Harwin becomes a canvas upon which Daemon's conflicting emotions are painted. He witnesses her radiant smile, the genuine joy that emanates from within, and a pang of longing stirs within him. The jealousy that tugs at his heart reveals the depths of his own hidden desires, his yearning to be the one who holds her hand and leads her across the dance floor.
As the dance progresses, Saerra and Harwin become lost in their own world, spinning and twirling with a grace that seems to defy the weight of the realm's expectations. Their steps carry them effortlessly through the melodies, their bodies drawing closer and their connection deepening with each passing moment. The chemistry between them, born out of understanding and shared experiences, creates an invisible bond that neither can deny.
And yet, as Saerra's eyes meet Daemon's once more, she catches a glimpse of the storm brewing within him. It is a mixture of desire and frustration, a silent plea that lingers in the depths of his gaze. Saerra senses the conflicting emotions that Daemon wrestles with, the invisible thread that ties them together becoming more tangible by the second.
As the final notes of the ballad fill the air, Saerra and Harwin come to a graceful halt, their hands lingering in the space between them. Their dance, though brief, holds a weight that resonates deep within their souls. Saerra, catching her breath, gazes at Harwin with a mix of gratitude and understanding. It is a dance that has revealed a glimpse of her own capacity to love, and the beauty of connections forged in unexpected places.
Meanwhile, Daemon, his eyes still locked on Saerra, musters the courage to step forward. He makes his way toward them, his strides purposeful yet filled with a hint of trepidation. His presence, once again, shifts the dynamics in the room, the air charged with a tension that is palpable to all those who bear witness.
And as the Rogue Prince watches Rhaenyra dance with her betrothed, the pit in his heart only grows. He watches the two women of which he desires more than anything in the world dance with men that aren't him. The Great Hall is filled with swirling emotions.
Rhaenyra desires Saerra, as does Saerra desire Rhaenyra. Daemon desires them both, as do they desire him. Something quite simple that is ever so complicated.
The moment Saerra's hand slips from Harwin's grasp and finds its way into Rhaenyra's, a surge of electricity courses through the air. The atmosphere crackles with a mixture of anticipation, longing, and unspoken desires. The music takes on a slower, more intimate melody, perfectly capturing the tension that swirls around the trio.
As Rhaenyra pulls Saerra into her embrace, their bodies melding together in a fluid and sensual dance, a myriad of emotions pass between them. Their eyes lock, holding a silent conversation that speaks volumes of the uncharted territories their hearts wish to explore. There is a raw honesty in their connection, a recognition of the deep affection that simmers beneath the surface.
Daemon stands rooted to the spot, his breath catching in his throat as he witnesses the chemistry between the two women who have stolen his heart. A pang of longing and jealousy courses through him, his own desires intertwined with the complexity of their shared connection. It is a dance of intricate emotions, one that paints a portrait of a love that defies societal expectations and norms.
The Great Hall seems to fade into the background as Saerra and Rhaenyra twirl and sway, their bodies moving in perfect harmony. They dance with a tenderness and intensity that transcends the physical realm, their souls entwined in a delicate balance between passion and restraint. Each movement is imbued with unspoken promises and unfulfilled longing, a testament to the depth of their connection.
As Daemon watches, a mix of yearning and resignation etches itself onto his features. He longs to be the one who dances with both of them, to share in the intertwining desires that have ignited a fire within him. But he knows the complexities and challenges that lie ahead. The realm's expectations, the weight of duty, and the boundaries that society has imposed threaten to smother the flame of their unconventional desires.
Yet, even in the midst of the turmoil, there is a glimmer of hope. The undeniable chemistry between Saerra, Rhaenyra, and himself has woven a web of emotions that cannot be easily dismissed. In this dance of longing and unspoken words, the seeds of a bond, unconventional as it may be, have been planted.
As the dance reaches its crescendo, Saerra and Rhaenyra find themselves locked in an embrace, their bodies pressed intimately against each other. Their eyes meet, and in that moment, the weight of their unspoken desires hangs heavily in the air. The intensity of their connection is undeniable, as is the question that lingers unspoken: Can they find a way to navigate the treacherous path laid before them, to follow their hearts and forge a love that transcends societal expectations?
The music fades, and the dance comes to an end, leaving the trio standing together, caught in a web of emotions and uncharted territories. The Great Hall remains silent, as if holding its breath, awaiting the next move in this intricate dance of desires and the delicate balance between love and duty.
Until finally, Daemon has enough. He rises from his chair and follows Lady Laena onto the dance floor, as Saerra's breath is hot and heavy.
" I must rest, my Princess," Saerra utters, before slipping away from the princess to take her seat.
Saerra plops down on her chair and down her goblet of wine with ease, her skin hot and sticky and her heart racing and fluttering. She places the goblet back down, and her eyes land on Daemon, whose hands are cupping Rhaenyra's face as they stand only inches apart. It brings more heat to Saerra's body, of whom feels her heart yearn to be embedded between them both.
" Beautiful, isn't she?" Larys ponders from beside the Salt bastard, " The Princess?"
" Oh... yes. She is quite beautiful," Saerra nods.
Saerra's voice quivers slightly as she responds, her eyes never leaving the captivating scene before her. She can feel her pulse quicken, her senses heightened by the intoxicating mix of desire and longing that swirls within her. The wine in her goblet seems to warm her from within, adding fuel to the fire of her conflicted emotions.
As Daemon's hands cradle Rhaenyra's face, a surge of envy courses through Saerra's veins. She can almost taste the sweetness of their connection, their proximity igniting a hunger within her that she struggles to contain. The intensity of their bond is undeniable, and it stirs a longing deep within her own heart, a longing she is beginning to understand and accept.
Larys's gaze remains fixed on Saerra, his keen eyes picking up on the turmoil that ripples across her features. He sees the flicker of desire in her eyes, the way her lips part ever so slightly as she watches the intimate exchange between Daemon and Rhaenyra.
And all it takes is one blood-curdling scream for everything to go to hell. Chaos ensues, and Saerra's eyes immediately scan for the Princess, of whom is nowhere to be found. She cares little for Ser Criston beating a man to a pulp. Her heart pounds as she attempts to stand and search for the Princess, only to be brought back to her chair by Larys.
By the end of the night, the man Ser Laenor was head over heels for lay dead on the floor in the Great Hall. And before he even gets a chance to mourn, he's standing before a priest to marry Rhaenyra. Both the bride and groom stand with tears in their eyes. They do not love one another, but they must perform their duties.
And as for Saerra, she stumbles through the steps in the castle, nearly tripping over her dress as she tries to find her way back to her chambers. Footsteps echo behind her, but in a way that rings familiar in her ears.
" Saerra."
She turns and sees Daemon rushing for her.
" Let's go."
The Prince grabs her arm, thinking he can just drag her to the dragon pit and flee, but she refuses.
" No," Saerra utters as she removes her arm from his grasp.
" Saerra, we must," Daemon counters.
" Why?" She asks as her voice trembles, " Why must I always listen to you when you never listen to me?"
" Saerra--"
" No, Daemon."
Time is fleeting. It's draining, and the truth is no longer able to stay hidden.
" Why do you look at Laena the way you used to look at me?" She asks.
He remains silent.
" Or Rhaenyra? Why do you never treat me with such care?"
" Saerra..." Daemon mutters as he steps forward, " All I've ever done is care for you. I did what I had to in order to keep you."
" To keep me? What are you--"
" I made a deal with your father. In order to keep you... I agreed to marry Laena."
Saerra's heart sinks down into her stomach. Her eyes well up with tears as betrayal spread across her face.
" Because you would never marry a bastard," She breathes, " That's it, isn't it? You could never stoop so low as to marry someone like me? Some bastard girl with no house and no money to her name? Someone so unwanted that even her own blood turn their back on her?"
" Saerra--"
She takes a step back just as he lifts his hand to touch her.
" You cannot keep me because of a deal you made with my father," Saerra utters, " I am not something to be sold, Daemon."
" It wasn't like that," Daemon softly protests as he once more attempts to reach out for her.
" No," She shakes her head as she steps back, " I cannot. I cannot keep giving my love to someone... someone who thinks so little of me."
The Prince's heart breaks as he hears her words, even if his face does not show it.
As Saerra's words hang heavy in the air, a profound silence settles between them. The weight of their unspoken history, their tangled emotions, presses upon them, suffocating the once vibrant connection that bound them together. It is a painful realization for both Saerra and Daemon, the culmination of a journey that has led them to this defining moment.
Daemon's outstretched hand slowly lowers, his features contorted with a mix of anguish and regret. He searches for the right words, the ones that might bridge the widening chasm between them, but his voice fails him. Instead, he stands there, his gaze locked on Saerra, silently begging for understanding.
But Saerra has made up her mind. She stands tall, a resolve radiating from within her, as she meets Daemon's gaze with a steely determination. Her tears, once threatening to spill over, are now held at bay, a testament to her newfound strength.
Daemon's eyes glisten with unshed tears, mirroring the anguish in Saerra's own gaze. He reaches out once more, his hand hovering in the space between them, desperate to bridge the divide that has grown between them.
"Saerra, please," He pleads, his voice filled with a raw vulnerability, "I care for you, more than words can express. I never meant to hurt you."
Saerra takes a step back, creating a physical distance that mirrors the emotional chasm that now separates them.
"Care is not enough," She whispers, her voice cracking.
The air around them seems to grow heavier as their unspoken history hangs between them. Saerra's heartaches, torn between the love she once held for Daemon and the realization that she deserves more. She takes a deep breath, her resolve strengthening with each passing moment.
" Goodbye, Daemon."
With those final words, Saerra turns away, her steps resolute as she walks away from the man she once loved. The weight of her decision hangs heavy in her heart, but she knows that it is a step towards her own liberation, towards a future where she can embrace her true desires and find the love and fulfillment she deserves.
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[ how do we feel about rhaenyra x harwin x saerra? ]