A/N: Hello everyone! Before I kick off my first Game of Thrones story, I wanted to make a note about a few things. One, you can expect the usual Game of Thrones themes of abuse, miscarriage, traumatic childbirth, underage marriage, violence, incest, etc. Two, it will be depressing in many aspects and have a great deal of angst. Three, I am basing this off of the show. I have not read any GoT fanfics, only HotD, so I'm mostly winging this. And four, as with my past fics, the main point is NOT necessarily the love story, it is about the growth of the character! Jorah Mormont is the intended love interest but the majority of the focus is on the OC's journey.
If you're still interested, go right ahead. For reference, the OC's face claim is Jeanne Goursaud (but with Valyrian features). If you look up gifs from her role as Thusnelda in Barbarians, you'll see the image I have of her.
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Astapor, 300 AC
"We've arrived, Princess."
She swept her hood sideways, tilting her head upward to stare at the magnificent golden harpy, the symbol of the Ghiscari Empire. Towers stretched as far overhead as they could reach, a strangely beautiful sight when one considered the city was proud to own slave-soldiers.
The journey had been unpleasant, but certainly not the worst voyage she'd been on in her life. Seasickness threatened to throw her overboard, and it was up to her companion to keep her focused on something else.
Hope. Family. A rebirth that she thought would never come.
She was here to meet her sister.
She'd always wanted a sister. She used to beg her mother for one, clinging to her leg and refusing to accept that it simply couldn't be planned that way, that the 'gods' had to decide. Wouldn't the gods have wanted her to have a sister? Brothers were a pain in the arse.
For a time, she had someone to call 'sister,' someone she loved. Tragedy seemed to strike wherever sisters were involved. Nothing lasted forever.
The first had been ripped away more violently than the second, though both still left an emptiness in her heart that she could not fill no matter how hard she tried. If she was braver, she might've dared to have children. Many claimed that kept them from succumbing to the suffering their lives were filled with; she didn't understand it. And she refused to have children solely for that purpose.
What good had having children by force ever done anyone?
She existed because her father forced himself on her mother. Her sister was conceived in that same situation, her brothers were most likely a product of similar abuse. The babies she'd intended to raise were brought into the world out of duty, not love. And it had never been enough, none of it.
They still lost everything.
The empire had started strong, their dynasty eviscerated abruptly because of stupidity, selfishness, madness– she wasn't sure what to call it anymore. The Targaryen rule had been in decline since the Dance, and she'd hardly had the age to understand what was happening around her as it collapsed. All she knew was that the walls had crumbled down and were it not for a handful of kind souls, she would have been crushed by them.
The sweet girl who sang to her horse and trembled at the sight of blood had died eighteen years ago.
She could still remember how pricking her finger used to make her wail. There was no hope of teaching her to use a sword; her brother had learned that the hard way when she fled from the training yard screaming her head off because he knocked her down and made her scrape her knee.
Her mother had always nursed her back to health, soothed her and asked her to be braver. Cowardice felt more comfortable; when would she ever need to be on the battlefield? Her brother could handle any fights that came to them; such was his skill as a warrior. She preferred to walk through the gardens with her friends and listen to Cersei Lannister complain about everything under the sun.
(She would rather deal with a cruel girl than see blood anywhere.)
Maybe if she'd been stronger, everyone's fates might've been different.
"How will we find her?" she asked her companion quietly, turning away as they neared the docks, the light of day bright enough that it might reveal her face prematurely. "If she is already speaking with Master Kraznys, we won't be able to get near her."
"Then we will wait until she finishes her bargaining," said the man with her. "They won't leave just yet, Princess. We have time to find them as they move."
"She will be doubtful of you," the woman warned. "Of your intentions. Me, well, she doesn't even know I survived. I don't imagine she's been expecting a sister nor do I expect she wants one. I've dreamed of this day. She most likely hasn't."
"Perhaps we will both induce skepticism. But my intentions are good and true; I will spread no lies when I pledge myself to her. As for you, your eyes are unique, Princess. If she was led to her dragons by a dream, she will understand who you are. She will accept you and be thankful for any piece of home she can have."
She accepted his hand to climb out onto the docks. "I wonder how much Viserys told her about me. It still breaks my heart knowing that he won't be here. He won't be anywhere, my sweet little brother."
"The news I heard concerning your brother's death was upsetting," said the man. "He became a vicious man, Princess, not at all the little boy you once knew. I am sure you have heard that it was him who wed her to Khal Drogo."
"Grief and anger are a terrible mixture," she murmured solemnly. "And for Targaryens, well... we seem to be prone to madness."
We couldn't be trusted to hold the throne anymore.
Her father had hardly been that to her. He was her King, her sire. His paranoia drove every choice, all decisions concerning her and her brother. It ruined them. It destroyed their family.
She was the third girl born that year to one of the Great Houses. First came Lyanna Stark, then Lysa Tully, and lastly her, the first daughter of King Aerys Targaryen and his sister-wife Queen Rhaella, named Saera after their mother, the late Queen Shaera.
The realm was overjoyed. It was thought that a fine double-match could be made to suit the Hand of the King. Her elder brother Rhaegar would wed Cersei Lannister, while Saera would be betrothed to Jamie Lannister, only five years her elder.
Aerys refused to entertain the idea.
Word already floated through the Red Keep that Tywin Lannister was the true ruler of the Seven Kingdoms– the only one that held them together. The only reason the unreliable Aerys was still in power.
Many presumed that the only alternative Aerys would consider was wedding Saera to her elder brother, Rhaegar. Both he and his wife refused. She, because of her suffering at his hands. He, because he insisted that everyone was out to get him, that he needed men loyal to him, that he needed insurance. His children needed to be used to acquire strong allies. They'd be wed to whoever proved most beneficial to him.
Rhaegar was used to bring the Dornish closer, while her match remained undecided. Aerys could have married her to Eddard Stark or Stannis Baratheon, both only a few years older, or even the barely-younger Edmure Tully, had he not expressed severe distrust for their fathers.
Many times, Saera had wondered what any of those marriages might have been like. Eddard Stark was an honorable man; she saw it herself. He would have made a fine husband, she could have been happy. Stannis Baratheon was anything but warm, yet he would have protected her and possibly let her do what she pleased, which would have been fine too. Edmure Tully was said to be foolish, though she was certain he would have made her laugh. Jamie Lannister she'd known all her life, and while he was incredibly handsome, she never thought he paid her much attention. Like Stannis, he might've given her the freedom to make herself happy.
Would she have fared better if she'd been wed before everything blew up in their faces? Or would it have been worse?
No matter who her husband was, she was sure Robert Baratheon would have orchestrated her death. And if she'd had any children... she didn't even want to think of it.
She grew up trying not to be bothered by the prospect of an arranged marriage, knowing there was an expectation of her and that no matter what, she would try to keep a stiff lip about it. There was a duty she had to perform as a Princess. There was no other choice.
Though, the idea of leaving her family was less than ideal. After Viserys's birth, she realized how much she liked it there. He looked up to her, and adored spending time behind her when he wasn't demanding sweets and attention from other sources. King's Landing became harder to draw away from.
She should have left sooner. Would it have even happened?
Saera had been four-and-ten when Rhaegar, at two-and-twenty, married Elia. She suddenly had a sister, one she liked very much. She kept Elia company during the months she was on bedrest, and had doted happily on her beloved niece when she was born, a tiny beautiful thing that she thought was the most perfect being on the planet. She treated Rhaenys much like her own baby, thinking she was good practice for when she inevitably became a mother.
But even as a young girl she knew that Rhaegar and Elia's marriage was anything but happy. Such was the burden of fulfilling a duty. No one truly seemed satisfied with their partners when it was arranged in such a way. She grew less and less fond of the idea of her own arranged marriage, wondering how best to avoid the situation.
She loved her brother, and had always thought Rhaegar was a wonderful man. Yet, the way he treated Elia made realization dawn on her: no matter how 'nice' someone seemed, they could still make their partner miserable. It diminished her hopes of being paired with a husband who would respect her. Her own brother, who sang to her every night, who gave money to poor children, was so obsessed with the idea of three children that he put Elia through another pregnancy when she hadn't yet healed from the first.
Elia survived it, perhaps only because of her presence. She didn't want anything to happen to her. The way Rhaegar treated her gave her chills. What would have happened if the siblings were betrothed and Rhaegar was making his much younger sister birth children for him? Elia stood firm for that reason and that reason only.
Her spirits were dampened significantly at the Tourney of Harrenhal. No one understood it. Rhaegar named Lyanna Stark the Queen of Love and Beauty. A girl he didn't know, over his own wife. A child over his own wife. It was sickening.
Everything fell apart afterward. Aerys continued to dismiss the possibility of Jamie Lannister, aged ten-and-nine, wedding his daughter and instead named him to the Kingsguard. Tywin had resigned angrily, storming back to Casterly Rock. Robert's Rebellion began soon after, and Rhaegar died for what he'd done.
Aerys had immediately tried to get his remaining children to safety. Saera slipped away, promising her mother and brother that she'd find them later; she refused to leave when Elia, Rhaenys, and her newborn nephew Aegon remained in the castle to keep the Dornish motivated. Aerys was convinced they were the reason they lost the Battle of the Trident, the reason he lost Rhaegar.
She was still there when the Lannisters sacked the city. Were it not for the man with her, Ser Barristan Selmy, she wouldn't have made it out of the Red Keep as the Mountain tore Elia and the children apart, screams echoing all through the secret passageway that led her into the city.
She wouldn't have made it further than that if it weren't for the generosity of Eddard Stark, the only man who recognized her but let her go because he never wanted Elia and the children to die that way. He never condoned it.
She was smuggled to Dorne, the only place anyone was sure that she'd be protected. Prince Oberyn had paid a high price to make sure that she would not be found. A charred corpse was left behind wearing her necklace, many were paid to say they saw her trying to escape and was thrown from her horse right into a burning brothel.
All the while she remained among the Dornish, hair dyed black and skin tanning as much as it could under the bright sun. Prince Doran protected her because it was what Elia would have wanted, insisting his sister would not have demanded he take revenge.
Everyone thought otherwise.
She wanted to find her mother and brother, regretting her choice not to run with them when she had the chance. She was already too late. Her mother was dead, Dragonstone was seized, and she was told her little brother had been shipped to Essos with the babe her mother had been carrying, the tiny Daenerys Stormborn who would know only one brother and nothing else, the Targaryen dynasty crumbled to ashes behind them.
The petals fell away, one for each death that shook her to her core. Aegon. Rhaenys. Elia. Rhaegar. Queen Rhaella. King Aerys. The numerous childhood friends who didn't survive the Sack of King's Landing; they'd either been killed outright or raped first. It sickened her. It broke her.
Blood stopped bothering her. The streets had flowed red as she sprinted away, and she hadn't been able to push aside the thought that even one drop she might have stepped in belonged to someone she loved. She set that fear aside; she couldn't afford failing to protect herself and the people she loved ever again. She could no longer be bothered by blood, lest it kill her next time.
At first she swore an oath of vengeance, insisting she would take everyone Tywin Lannister cared about away from him and she would make him wish he hadn't let her slip through his greedy fingers.
But she cried a lot when this thought came into her mind; it wasn't what Elia would have wanted. If Saera had the opportunity to kill Tywin and the Mountain, she would. But just them. No one else. Committing a Lannister massacre would not make her better than them. It wouldn't bring Elia, Rhaenys, and Aegon back. Some men were blinded into following orders. Those who committed great war crimes were already dead or living on the Wall. Only two people were truly guilty for what'd happened and only those two people needed to die.
As long as she and her sister no longer had a price on their heads, everything would be fine. She didn't want the castle back, she didn't care if their dynasty ended with them. There were more important things than the Red Keep and the Iron Throne.
Fighting became her solace. There was no other outlet for the anger that came after she lost everything. Whether she was beating into something or running until her body ached and her heart threatened to burst, all that could calm her was a violent release, against inanimate objects or herself. Never another. Not when they didn't deserve it.
No one was here to fight for her anymore; the only one who could truly protect her was herself. And if she had to die, she refused to die begging for her life. She would fight until her last breath. No one would take her alive. No one would find it easy to end her bloodline. No one would go on to say that Saera Targaryen was a weakling, a coward, a fragile Princess.
The Dornish taught her everything they knew. Swords, she mustered up the courage to learn. She wasn't half bad at it. They told her it was the blood of the dragon that flowed through her, the blood of Aegon the Conqueror, Visenya, Maegor, Jaehaerys, Daemon, Maekar, and Rhaegar.
Spears were much easier. She was even better at those, both when it came to sparring with them and when it came to throwing them at a target. Her aim was deadly. They decided that was when she should learn to use knives, both for fighting and throwing. Her skill seemed to improve in all areas with each new skill she mastered. All forms relied on one another in some ways.
Saera Targaryen had once been the greatest joy of the realm. She was said to be Rhaenys and Rhaenyra reborn, a sweet girl who adored the arts and was as charming as she was beautiful.
Meanwhile, Rhaegar had been considered the last dragon. That dragon was now dead. And his sister had stopped being the girl that needed to be defended from spiders, that couldn't even hold an axe because it was too heavy.
She was the last dragon. She could and would defend herself and her family until her dying breath. One day, she would be free. One day, she wouldn't have to fight anymore.
She looked forward to it.
But her first goal had been to be reunited with her family. Her skills, she would use to protect them. To care for them. They were all that remained of House Targaryen. They needed to be together.
They could never get ahead of Robert. He found out where Viserys and Daenerys were before anyone, and by the time they heard where the children had been placed, Robert had already sent assassins and the children were moved, leaving everyone to start looking again, from scratch.
Saera had no choice but to make herself at home in Dorne. A fake name and identity, always sneaking around. It was made easy by the Prince and his paramour, who loved her like one of their own children. Were it not for the fact she wanted more than anything to find her siblings, she would have stayed in Dorne forever, the adoptive daughter of Oberyn and Ellaria, sister to the Sand Snakes.
Ser Barristan Selmy had arrived after being removed from the Kingsguard. He knew Saera could still be alive, and he knew just who would make it their business to protect her. Prince Oberyn had made sure he was brought in secretly to discuss his plans with Saera, who leapt at the opportunity to travel to Essos immediately. It had been impossible before; Oberyn and Ellaria would not let her go alone and she didn't know how to find her sister.
Now, they had an opening.
He told her that Daenerys had made it out of Qarth and was said to be traveling to Astapor. He knelt in front of Saera, sword against his knee, and pledged himself to her, promising the Princess that he would take her to meet her sister at long last. She pulled him to his feet and asked how soon they could leave.
"Come back to us," Oberyn had asked, "this may yet be a trap."
"She will be safe in Essos," said Ellaria, hugging her tightly. "Do not forget us. Be quick and be fierce."
Saera nodded, kissing their cheeks, "I will be. As fierce as you both taught me to be." She drew away to bid farewell to the Sand Snakes. "My sisters, I will return as soon as I can."
One by one, the girls took her hands and pressed their foreheads together, a silent goodbye.
"Soon you may not need to hide who you are," said Oberyn. "When that day comes, perhaps you will present to us beautiful babes with silver hair, and the Targaryen line will continue. We will avenge them all."
She smiled weakly, "Don't anyone let their arrogance get the best of them until then. Wait for me."
She followed Ser Barristan through the city, both walking quickly and letting their gaze jump over everyone who passed them. Daenerys would not be disguised, all they needed was to find a young woman with white-blond hair and they'd have what they sought.
She kept her spear tight in hand, fist clenched around the handle, ready to use it at a moment's notice. She let the bottom tap against the floor like a cane, eyes darting around and making sure no one was staring for too long.
"There," said Ser Barristan, pointing at a woman in a blue dress with platinum blonde hair done half up in braids and the rest flowing down in curls against her back.
Saera seemed to lose her ability to breathe. The sea breeze had been soothing up until that moment, when she realized her sister was right there, a few paces away, walking amongst the people in Astapor. Beside her stood a man in armor; Ser Barristan had told her that Daenerys was known to be in the company of Ser Jorah Mormont. Here he was, protecting her sister, when it should have been Saera.
I should have gone to Dragonstone with them.
She would have done anything to keep those children safe. She would have married anyone she had to, done whatever work she could, whatever could have helped them grow up safe and happy. If she had, Viserys might still be alive. He might not have turned into a cruel man who would exploit his own sister.
"Eight thousand dead babies," they could hear Daenerys saying up ahead. Word had spread that she was looking to build an army.
"The Unsullied are a means to an end," replied Ser Jorah.
"Once I own them, these men–"
"They're not men. Not anymore."
Daenerys amended her statement, "Once I own an army of slaves, what will I be?"
"You think these slaves will have better lives serving men like Kraznys or serving you?"
Saera and Ser Barristan were drawing nearer, cloaks billowing at their feet, air caught in them even though Saera hadn't felt like she'd been breathing for the past minute. Daenerys was so close, so close–
"You'd be fair to them," Ser Jorah was saying. "You won't mutilate them to make a point. You won't order them to murder babies. You'll see they're properly fed and sheltered. A great injustice has been done to them. Closing your eyes will not undo it."
Daenerys was hardly listening, more preoccupied with a little girl running through displays of cages for her amusement. She stopped in front of her, leaning down to accept a small ball the girl rolled toward her. She caught it, opening it at the girl's command.
Ser Barristan realized it was a trap before Saera did. He lunged forward, slapping it out of Daenerys's hand and letting it clatter to the floor. She fell as Ser Jorah lunged to hold him back, the ball opening to reveal a manticore. Saera had reacted first to the little girl trying to flee, flinging her spear at her and watching it sail right through her; the girl hadn't been a girl at all.
Ser Jorah released Ser Barristan when he realized who he was. The older man dove down, knife impaling the manticore before it could bite Daenerys.
Saera reached out to pick her up as she whispered, "The warlocks. Thank you... I owe you my life, Ser, and lady–?"
The honor is mine, my Queen," said Ser Barristan, removing his hood.
"You know this man?" asked Daenerys, seeing the recognition in Ser Jorah's eyes.
He nodded. "I know him as one of the greatest fighters the Seven Kingdoms has ever seen. And as the Lord Commander of Robert Baratheon's Kingsguard."
"King Robert is dead," said Ser Barristan. "I have been searching for you, Daenerys Stormborn, to ask your forgiveness. I was sworn to protect your family. I failed them." He knelt in front of her. "I am Barristan Selmy, Kingsguard to your father. Allow me to join your Queensguard, and I will not fail you again."
"Rise, Ser," said Daenerys softly.
He stood, beckoning Saera forward. "I have but one gift to offer you," he said. "The one good deed that survived as my service to your father came to a bitter end."
Saera removed her hood, brushing her silvery hair onto her shoulders, pupils constricting in the sunlight and letting Daenerys see her bright purple irises.
"It can't be," said Daenerys, eyes wide.
"My name is Saera Targaryen," she said, slowly approaching her. "First daughter of King Aerys and Queen Rhaella, second child after Rhaegar Targaryen, elder sister to Viserys and to you, the little sister I never met, but spoke to while you were still in our mother's belly."
"What will you name the baby?"
Queen Rhaella watched as Saera caressed her belly, poking at it curiously. "I am not sure yet, my love. I suppose your father will decide."
"May I decide instead, Mother?"
She smiled, "I am sure your father and I will both like whatever you pick. What are your ideas, little flower?"
"I like many names," said Saera thoughtfully. "Vaella, Baela, Alyssa, Elaena especially–"
"Are you so sure it will be a girl?"
"Yes! I have wanted a sister for far too long. Elia says I'm bound to have one. She had Rhaenys and broke the curse of no girls being born in the family."
The Queen laughed. "I hardly think it a curse."
"Well, I would like to think it is so. I suppose if it's a boy, you ought to name it Daeron."
"There have been many Daerons."
She thought hard, propping her head on her fist and staring at her belly. "Daenerys."
"What makes you say that?"
"The first Princess Daenerys brought Dorne formally into the Seven Kingdoms when she was wed to Prince Maron Martell. Elia has told me all about the Dornish. If the babe is a girl, it should be named Daenerys."
"Then it will be so, my darling Saera."
She knelt, palms facing her sister. "I, too, have come to pledge myself to you. To protect you, as I could not do when I was four-and-ten. Ser Barristan and Lord Eddard Stark helped smuggle me out of King's Landing. I've hidden in Dorne for the past eighteen years, unable to get to you until now."
"Saera," said Daenerys, accepting her hands. "Viserys– he told me you were dead. That you attempted to flee, that your body was burned beyond recognition."
"A necessary story to convince all of Westeros not to come looking for me," said Saera, cupping her face. "Gods, you look so much like her. You are beautiful."
Daenerys reached up to hold her wrists, closing her eyes as Saera hugged her, the two not having felt the embrace of family in what felt like a million years.
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A/N: If you want a sweet sister story... you're not going to find that here. Be prepared if you wish to continue reading. Don't worry— the story after this will be much nicer!
In case anyone has not seen and is interested, my Sprinting Fox Unwritten book has 2 House of the Dragon one-shots for Aegon Targaryen and Otto Hightower.
I look forward to sharing Saera's story with you all! Comment for more :)