The night was spent telling stories.
Saera wanted to know everything about Daenerys, and her sister was just as eager– if not more– to learn more about Rhaegar, about what it'd been like to grow up in King's Landing.
It broke her heart to know what her little sister had had to endure at the hands of Viserys. They called him the 'Beggar King,' and the stories about him were much worse coming from Daenerys, who had suffered his abuse her whole life. She hadn't had an easy life, hadn't known true peace ever.
That was where they differed.
Daenerys soon learned that Saera was quite unlike the picture she had painted in her head by Viserys. She had been told that her sister wouldn't hurt a fly. Viserys remembered her squealing at the sight of any creature that wiggled unnaturally. Sweet Saera, Sensitive Saera who was a butterfly compared to the dragon that was Rhaegar.
Now she was Saera the Slayer. A vicious nickname that resembled Maegor the Cruel and Aerys the Mad King, given to her by the Dornish who watched her blossom from a timid girl into a formidable warrior.
How easily might 'slayer' turn into 'kinslayer?'
This woman, her sister, smeared red and black paint on her face before a battle (though so far all her 'battles' had been practice fights with hired assassins that Oberyn used to get her used to killing and gaining the upper hand). She'd killed men with a variety of weapons and even with her bare hands.
It was a lot to get used to.
Saera had no problem adjusting to Daenerys. She'd always dreamed of her, even before she was conceived. She'd known she was out there the whole time and knew she'd meet her. Now she was here, along with three dragons.
"They're beautiful," said Saera, peeking into the baskets that Rhaegal, Viserion, and Drogon slept in. She knelt in front of Viserion, who chirped and stared at her curiously. When she tried to touch him, he nipped at her finger, causing her to withdraw it with a smile. "Have you bonded with one yet? I remember old stories spoke of eggs placed in cradles to mark true Targaryens. The bonds those children had with their dragons was truly something else. You really ought to solidify your relationship with one of them."
"Drogon clings to me the most," said Daenerys, who knew Saera meant well with her recommendation, but was taken aback by how suddenly a command was being given. "I am their mother; the bond is different. Perhaps deeper."
Saera wasn't too sure about that; dragons, like many other animals, didn't seem to cling to their mothers for too long. Humans were different. She decided to say only, "I hope that means they will grow to be very large. The last skulls I saw were very, very small."
"They've grown a great deal in a short time. I am sure they will be magnificent."
Saera smiled, beckoning Daenerys to sit in front of her. "Come, let me braid your hair for bed."
"That's alright," said Daenerys, unsure why she felt so awkward accepting the offer. "I will braid my own."
The Princess withdrew her hands, hoping this had not come as an offense. She'd heard Daenerys adopted the Dothraki tradition of braiding in correlation with battles. "Very well," she said simply. "Perhaps I could bring you a tea or draw you a bath."
"Truth be told, I am quite tired," said Daenerys, who was worried about whether she'd even be able to acquire the Unsullied or not. "I'll need to continue negotiations with Master Kraznys in the morning."
Saera accepted with a weak nod. "Of course. Then I will let you sleep. Sweet dreams, little dragon."
Daenerys watched her go, a thought immediately forcing its way into her mind, 'They call her The Slayer, they know her as a killer. But me? I'm only a little dragon.'
Her sister's mind was being invaded by different thoughts. Saera always assumed that if she were to be reunited with her sister, she would make up for everything she'd missed out on. She hadn't seen her take her first steps, hadn't heard her first words, hadn't been the one to explain what it was like to grow up and become a woman. All she wanted was to protect her in the ways she hadn't been able to before.
Had she arrived too late?
Daenerys couldn't wrap her mind around why Saera hadn't come sooner. She'd admitted to knowing she was going to be wed to Khal Drogo. If she wanted to, she could have. She explained that she was held back for safety. But if she had finally acquired their location, why not come sooner? Why wait until she was a woman grown? Why come here trying to make up for lost time by babying her?
She didn't want to admit that she was upset that Saera hadn't come sooner. She didn't want to admit that she resented how Saera had been enjoying life in Dorne raising other people's children while Daenerys suffered at the hands of Viserys.
Now here she was trying to bond with her dragons, trying to pick up where she seemingly thought they left off. She understood Saera's side of it but she had yet to adjust to her new normal.
A sister would be behind her each time she made a strategic move to prepare for the new conquest. A sister could and probably would question her every decision. She might even undermine her.
Saera was older, more experienced. She'd already said that Dorne was a guaranteed ally for when they conquered Westeros. She was one of the few Targaryens who had been unconditionally loved by her people for being kind and gentle. Anyone who still lived and remembered her as such might be inclined to hear what she had to say.
The Dothraki valued strength above all; Ser Jorah had just reminded her of that. Saera was stronger than Daenerys, perhaps both mentally and physically. How long before the Dothraki began to question her? How long before they realized that Saera had both brain and brawn, that if the dragons were ever big enough to ride, she'd be a threat to her enemies both on and off the dragon? How long before–
She didn't want to entertain that thought. She wanted to trust Saera, she wanted to believe that this would be a good thing.
But she was still wary of strangers.
What would even come after their conquest? Would Saera still claim she didn't want the throne when they were looking at it? Daenerys did not plan to have children, but it seemed Saera did. Saera's children would be the heirs if Daenerys had none of her own. The Targaryen bloodline that followed would be her sister's, not hers. What if she crowned her own sons or daughters the way Visenya did Maegor? What if–
Daenerys buried her face into her pillow, covering her ears and begging the paranoid thoughts to let her rest.
Saera fidgeted nervously, fingers tapping rhythmically over the hilt of her knives, always strapped to her belt in case she needed them. She was following a similar train of thought, not because she cared about her children being the heirs, but because she knew a ruler's claim was only ever strengthened by having offspring, particularly sons. How would that work if Daenerys refused to have any? Was it even possible anymore?
She hated that she hadn't been there to help Daenerys when she lost her son and her husband on the same day. She hated that she'd had to experience that pain. It wasn't fair. She wouldn't even wish it on her worst enemy.
"Princess."
She came to a halt as Ser Jorah rounded the corner. "Ser Jorah," she greeted. "I would say it is good to see you again but I actually don't recall if we have met before. If so, I apologize for not remembering you."
He nodded his head kindly, turning on his heel to walk her to her room. It was a wonder Master Kraznys was willing to give them accommodations. "I do not believe we have, otherwise I would see it in my mind as clear as this day. I heard a great deal about you even when you were much younger, Princess. I look forward to learning about who you have become."
"I hate to disappoint you, Ser, but I am quite unlike the girl you heard stories about. Even Ser Barristan was stunned to hear my story as we sailed here. The loving Targaryen Princess is now a warrior."
He beamed. "It is admirable all the same, Princess. I am glad that Khaleesi has you here now."
"I am glad, too. It is my understanding that Daenerys aims to conquer Westeros again?"
"Yes, Princess."
She smiled slightly. "Well... if that happens, I certainly expect she will rule better than our father did. She is a good person, I can sense it."
"And you, Princess? Do you consider yourself to be the same way?"
"No, not quite. I cannot claim to be a good woman like my sister. I have much anger and have grown used to killing in a way that could never grant me the title of 'innocent' ever again. But to support her, I swear I will keep myself contained. I won't hurt innocents; I'll enact my wrath only on the guilty and those who meet us in the battlefield. There is always a time and place for negotiation and another time and place for a show of force. If Aegon and his sisters didn't kill unnecessarily, neither should we. I will do whatever is necessary to keep her safe and happy, to give her the throne."
"You do not desire it for yourself?"
She narrowed her eyes curiously. "Why would I? A life on the throne is a life chained down. It's not my style. I want us to be free in Westeros so that I may do as I please. I fully intend to live out the rest of my days in Dorne once I've ensured I have given Daenerys everything I am able to. If this is what she wants, so be it. I owe it to her."
"You never once thought you might be Queen?"
"No. I didn't wish to be wed to Rhaegar or to anyone, truly. Power over a kingdom or several did not call out to me. I wanted only power over my own life. I suppose if we'd all grown up together, Daenerys would have been even further away from a crown. But she is the one who birthed three dragons and brought what was supposedly an extinct species back into the world. That alone is a sign from the gods. I have seen her dragons... Drogon is practically Balerion reborn. Three dragons, just like when Aegon conquered Westeros. It means something and I will support her in her endeavors."
"It pleases me to hear that, Princess," said Ser Jorah, stopping in his tracks as they reached her room. "I wish you a good night."
She got the sense their talk had been more of an interrogation.
Nobody here trusts me.
I understand it. But I loathe it.
She found it hard to sleep. She'd spent many restless nights wondering what this day would be like, how happy she would find herself. She had thought nothing could possibly ruin her mood at least for the first few days that she would be in her sister's company.
She was wrong. She understood why; Daenerys had been through her own trauma. If Saera had been in her place, she wouldn't have trusted her either. The Targaryens weren't the only ones of Valyrian descent; as unique as they were, someone else could be out there who by chance looked similar. It could have all been a trick.
She just needed to be patient. She could do that. For her little sister, she'd do anything.
Daenerys asked for Saera and Ser Barristan to join her in all future negotiations with Master Kraznys. Saera was honored; it was another small step toward seeing her sister shine and showing Daenerys how valuable she could be to her cause
As they walked up to Master Kraznys's palace, they passed down a strip by the sea where slaves had been tied to wooden planks, chained and bleeding after being tortured. Saera remembered a time when she would have fainted at the sight of all the blood. Now, she was desensitized to it, but furious. Why would anyone do that to another for no reason? Or even if there was a reason, surely this sort of punishment was only suitable for a raper or a cold-hearted killer.
"The Walk of Punishment is a warning, Your Grace," said Ser Jorah as Daenerys cringed at the bodies around them. She frowned, questioning, "To whom?" He replied, "To any slave who contemplates doing whatever these slaves did."
Daenerys reached out to Ser Jorah. "Give me your water."
Hesitantly, he handed it over. "Khaleesi, this man has been sentenced to death."
The look she gave him suggested she didn't care about that. She was going to give that man water whether the masters liked it or not. Saera watched curiously as Daenerys approached, standing on the bricks and trying to get him to drink. He wouldn't.
"Leave this place, Your Grace," said Ser Barristan, clutching his sword. "Leave tonight, I beg you."
"And what is she to do for soldiers?" asked Ser Jorah.
"We can find sellswords in Pentos and Myr."
Ser Jorah huffed, "Is it 'we' already, Ser Barristan?"
"Why shouldn't it be?" said Saera tightly. "We are here to help keep Daenerys safe. The only way she can conquer anything is if she stays alive."
He sighed, looking up at Daenerys, "If you want to sit the throne your ancestors built, you must win it. That means blood on your hands before the thing is done."
"The blood of my enemies," clarified Daenerys. "Not the blood of innocents."
She walked ahead, head held high, unhappy that Ser Barristan wanted her to give up and that Ser Jorah was continuing to counsel a show of strength that she didn't seem ready to give.
"How many wars have you fought in, Ser Barristan?" asked Ser Jorah.
"Three," the older man replied.
"Have you ever seen a war where innocents didn't die by the thousands?"
He shook his head. Ser Jorah continued, "I was in King's Landing after the sack, Khaleesi. I saw the aftermath of what your sister escaped. You heard it from her, what your brother's wife and their children suffered. You know what I saw, walking toward the Red Keep? Butchery. Babies, children, old men. More women raped than you can count. Saera is lucky to have survived any of it. There's a beast in every man, and it stirs when you put a sword in his hand. But the Unsullied are not men. They do not rape, they do not put cities to the sword unless they're ordered to do so. If you buy them, the only men they'll kill are those you want dead."
"You disagree, Ser Barristan?" asked Daenerys.
He spoke, "When your brother Rhaegar led his army into battle at the Trident, men died for him because they believed in him, because they loved him, not because they'd been bought at a slaver's auction. I fought beside the last dragon on that day, Your Grace. I bled beside him."
"Rhaegar fought valiantly," agreed Ser Jorah. "Rhaegar fought nobly. And Rhaegar died."
Saera tapped her fingers carefully against her spear. "If I may, I believe there is truth to both statements. Yes, the Unsullied are well suited to your needs if butchering innocents is something you wish to avoid. Though, considering the Dothraki also fight with you, that will need to be enforced some other way. You must show them you are strong and compassionate. Give them something to fight for and a reason to listen to you. Yes, you will buy them now, but prove to them that you are not buying them to treat them like the masters do. Show them all who you intend to be."
Daenerys considered it. "I wish I'd known Rhaegar." Her eyes darkened, a determined look on her face, "But he was not the last dragon."
She watched her sister closely as they arrived at their audience with Master Kraznys, a bald and unpleasant man who had a look on his face as if he was constantly smelling a pile of shit. Daenerys had asked that Ser Jorah, Ser Barristan, and Saera say nothing during negotiations– to not even show any reactions. Saera wasn't sure why she was asking this of them, but was certain it was for a reason.
Daenerys had had an idea, she was sure of it.
"All?" said the girl beside Master Kraznys, his translator. "Did this one's ears mishear, Your Grace?"
They did not," said Daenerys firmly. "I want to buy them all."
The girl turned to Master Kraznys, speaking in Valyrian, "Jaelza naejot sindigon pōntoma." (T: She wants to buy them all.)
Master Kraznys replied with a sneer, "Ziry kostagon daor addemmagon syt zirȳ. Se rene pendagon kostas urnēptre zirȳla naejos, se mazverdagon īlva tepagon zirȳla skoros mirre jaelza." (T: She can't afford them. The slut thinks she can flash her tits and make us give her whatever she wants.)
Saera felt anger already bubbling in her chest, wishing to fling her spear right into Master Kraznys's throat. She remained as still as her sister commanded, attempting to hide the fury on her face by pretending the sun was bothering her.
The translator asked, "There are eight-thousand Unsullied in Astapor. Is this what you mean by all?"
"Yes, eight-thousand. And the ones still in training as well."
The girl turned to the masters, "Kessa, jaelza mirre." (T: Yes, she wants all.)
The other master turned to Kraznys, "Lo pōnta qringaomagon isse vīlībāzma, kessi daor rigle Astapor." (T: If they fail on the battlefield, they will shame Astapor.)
Once more, the girl translated, "Master Greizhen says they cannot sell half-trained boys. If they fail on the battlefield, they will bring shame upon all of Astapor."
"I will have them all or take none," said Daenerys. "Many will fall in battle. I'll need the boys to pick up the words they drop."
Master Kraznys hissed, "Se rene daor addemmagon syt mirre hen bisa–" (T: The slut cannot pay for all of this.)
"Master Kraznys says you cannot afford this–"
"Zirȳla lōgor kessa sindigon zirȳla mēre gār Dovaogēdy, dombo–" (T: Her ship will buy her one hundred Unsullied, no more.)
"–your ship will buy you one hundred Unsullied–"
"Si kizy vasko v'uvar ez zya gundja yn hilas–" (T: And this is because I like the curve of her ass.)
"–because Master Kraznys is generous–"
"Skoros iksis geptot kessa sindigon zirȳla ampa–" (T: What is left will buy her ten.)
"–the gold you have left will buy ten–"
"Kesan tepagon zirȳla lantēpsa lo kessa keligon zirȳla dovodedha limagon–" (T: I will give her twenty if it will stop her ignorant whimpering.)
"–but good Master Kraznys will give you twenty–"
"Zirȳla Dōthrāki yknagon hen qrugh yn kostagon sagon sȳz hae beqes havor–" (Her Dothraki smell of shit but can be useful as pig feed.)
The girl began, "The Dothraki you have with you–" she made a face, clearly upset with the things Master Kraznys was truly saying, though she wasn't under the impression anyone else could understand, "The Dothraki you have with you are not worth what they cost to feed."
"Kesan tepagon zirȳla hāre syt lī–" (T: I will give her three for those.)
"–but Master Kraznys will give you three Unsullied for all of them–"
"Sīr epagon bisa mijegindita dāria, skorkydoso kessa ziry addemmagon syt se sīkuda pyrys jēnqagār sīkudēpsa sīkuda Dovaogēdy?" (T: So ask this beggar queen, how will she pay for the remaining seven-thousand-eight-hundred-seventy-seven Unsullied?)
The translator finished, "Master Kraznys asks how you propose to pay for the remaining seven-thousand-eight-hundred-seventy-seven Unsullied?"
Daenerys was looking up at a small girl on the roof of the palace, a chain around her neck. Saera had half a mind to attack the masters and take the city now. When the masters were dead, who would the Unsullied have to answer to? They wouldn't have to pay a dime.
"I have dragons," said Daenerys, causing Ser Jorah to immediately lose his composure. "I'll give you one."
The girl translated, "Ēza zaldrīzoti, vestras kessa tepagon ao mēre." (T: She has dragons, she says she will give you one.)
Ser Barristan approached her, "You will win the throne with dragons, not slaves, Your Grace."
"Khaleesi, please," said Ser Jorah.
There was no way Daenerys would truly give up one of her dragons. Perhaps she expected whichever she gave could easily escape and come and find her. Coins would be kept easily by the masters, but dragons had minds of their own.
Surely Daenerys had something else in mind. It was that hope that made Saera keep her mouth shut.
Daenerys glared at Ser Jorah, warning him and Ser Barristan to let her make her own choice. She moved close to Master Kraznys, who said in the Common Tongue, "Three dragons."
"One," said Daenerys flatly.
"Two."
"One."
His lip curled up, annoyed, and he whispered something to Master Greizhen before saying to the translator, "Pār jaelan se rovaja mēre." (T: Then I want the biggest one.)
"They want the biggest one," said the translator.
"Done," decided Daenerys.
"Done," repeated Master Kraznys mockingly.
Daenerys was about to walk away when she turned back and said, "I'll take you as well, now. You'll be Master Kraznys's gift to me. A token of a bargain well-struck."
The translator turned to Master Kraznys, surprised. "Ziry epagon bona ao tepagon nyke naejot zirȳla hae iā rudhy. Ziry epagon bona gaomā bisa sir." (T: She asks that you give me to her as a present. She asks that you do this now.)
The man eyed her curiously, relenting.
"Khaleesi," said Ser Jorah, stressed, as they walked out of the palace. "A dragon is worth more than any army."
"Aegon Targaryen proved that," agreed Ser Barristan.
She turned on her heel. "You're both here to advise me. I value your advice, but if you ever question me in front of strangers again, you'll be advising someone else. Is that understood?"
Saera couldn't help but smile, following her sister as the two men stood, speechless. Daenerys questioned the slave girl, "Do you have a name?"
"This one's name is Missandei, Your Grace," said the girl.
"Do you have a family? A mother and a father you'd return to if you had the choice?"
"No, Your Grace. No family living."
"You belong to me now. It is your duty to tell me the truth."
"Yes, Your Grace. Lying is a great offense. Many of those on the Walk of Punishment were taken there for less."
"I offered water to a slave dying on the Walk of Punishment. Do you know what he said to me? 'Let me die.'"
"There are no masters in the grave, Your Grace."
"Is it true, what Master Kraznys told me about the Unsullied? About their obedience?"
"All questions have been taken from them. They obey, that is all. Once they are yours, they are yours. They will fall on their swords if you command it."
"And what about you? You know that I'm taking you to war. You may go hungry, you may fall sick. You may be killed."
The girl spoke, "Valar Morghulis."
"Yes, all men must die. But we are not men."
Saera saw the smile on Missandei's face as she trotted behind Daenerys eagerly.
"You showed no reaction, Princess," said Ser Jorah as he and Ser Barristan caught up.
"It's what my sister asked me to do," said Saera. "It doesn't matter that I understood what was being said. My Queen gave a command, I adhered to it. She has a plan. Only a wicked mother would offer her child up like that. Her heart is pure; her bargain serves a purpose we may not yet understand."
"We risk a great deal furthering these negotiations," warned Ser Barristan. "I insist, sellswords..."
"I agree, they may be necessary. But not as the main army, no, as an auxiliary force wielded only off the main battlefield. To gain allies and to end smaller conflicts that the Queen need not concern herself with. I trust it will all come together. She's smart. I look forward to seeing where she takes us."
Both men couldn't help but wonder how differently the parlaying would have gone if Saera had been in charge. Ser Barristan was sure she would have bought whatever Unsullied she could and commanded them to keep her path clear in order to kill Masters Kraznys and Greizhen, and anyone else that stood in her way of commanding them. Once they had no masters, they'd answer to her. She would have freed the slaves by slaying their masters with her bare hands.
(She would have left a few Unsullied behind to make sure slavery never returned to Astapor.)
Ser Jorah supervised her as she spent the day speaking to the Dothraki, asking Missandei to accompany her so she might translate her greetings and any questions she had. He stood at a distance while Saera showed one of the Dothraki, Kavarro, how she could twirl her spear around her body and attack suddenly. She asked him to guide her in using an arakh, finding it was a much more interesting weapon than a long knife, and much easier to wield than a sword.
She even lingered around to chat with Malakho, sitting eagerly at his feet while Missandei– also interested and happy to be included– translated his story and told Saera about some of the Dothraki customs that she was not yet familiar with.
He drew nearer once Saera had sat up on her knees, eagerly explaining how the Dornish, like the Dothraki, were more inclined to set armor aside in favor of unlimited movement in a fight. Anything they did wear was significantly less heavy, which she tried to convey with a series of hand gestures to describe how the armor differed and why she liked it better than the sort of things Ser Jorah and Ser Barristan wore.
"I look forward to spending more time with the Dothraki," said Saera as Ser Jorah escorted her back to their temporary living quarters. "I would very much like to learn their language. They told me lajak means warrior. The pronunciation is not easy, but it interests me. Daenerys is so brilliant, fluent in the Common Tongue, Dothraki, and High Valyrian. I don't doubt she will learn more with Missandei at her side. The girl simply adores her."
"That she does," said Ser Jorah with a tight smile. "You ought to get some rest, Princess. Tomorrow... we will see what our Khaleesi has planned."
She turned to face him, stopping him suddenly. "Do you dislike me, Ser Jorah?"
He blinked. "Not at all, Princess, why do you ask?"
"I am under the impression you do not trust me. I understand it, but I wish to remedy that in any way I can."
"I only seek your sister's wellbeing. I want to keep her safe."
"As do I. I assure you, I am not here to do harm."
He couldn't help but feel Daenerys believed the opposite of that. He supposed it would go away after a while. Once she saw that Saera was true to her word.
But how would she prove that?