Daario Naharis returned.
He'd snuck past all the Dothraki and Unsullied, past the campfire where Saera was listening to Ser Jorah and Ser Barristan swap stories of battle. He'd entered the tent where Missandei was helping Daenerys bathe, and had brought her the heads of Mero and Prendahl.
Saera was furious once more.
She said nothing, because she knew Daenerys would be upset. But it made her blood boil thinking that they'd all been such poor guards, a sellsword had snuck in uncontested and might have managed to kill their Queen with ease, if that had been his intention. Saera should've been there, she should be with Daenerys at all times if Ser Barristan couldn't be.
But because her sister was upset with her, she wasn't. Because her sister thought her too volatile, she wasn't.
Saera hated it.
Daario had, in fact, been sent there to kill Daenerys. He hadn't done it because he didn't want to. He wanted to fight for Daenerys, and had pledged the Second Sons to her, swearing over his sword.
"Where?" asked Daenerys the following morning, looking down at a map of Yunkai as their steadily-growing Small Council met to plan their attack.
"There," said Daario, coming behind her and moving her hand to point where he indicated. "It's a back gate. My men use it when they visit Yunkai's bed slaves."
"Your men," said Ser Jorah, "but not you?"
"I have no interest in slaves," said Daario. "A man cannot make love to property. This is where we enter the city. Very few guards. They know me. They'll let me inside."
"Break the walls from within," muttered Saera, seeing her idea could work with Daario's help.
Daario nodded. "I kill the guards. I take your two best men and lead them through the back streets, which I know well, and open the front gates. Then comes the army. Once the walls are breached, the city will fall in hours."
"Or perhaps you'll lead Grey Worm and me to the slaughter," said Ser Jorah. "Cutting the head off our army. The masters of Yunkai will pay your fee and you won't have to split it three ways 'cause you've already slaughtered your partners."
"You have a very suspicious mind," noted Daario. "In my experience, only dishonest people think this way."
"In my experience," clipped Saera, "that is the way to think of people who prove traitorous and whose motives are in question."
"You command the Unsullied," Ser Jorah told Grey Worm. "What do you think?"
"Iksā iā jentys sir," said Daenerys. "Gaomagon ao pāsagon zirȳla?" (T: You are a leader now. Do you trust him?)
Grey Worm replied, "Nyke pāsagon zirȳla." (T: I trust him.)
When Ser Barristan did not disagree with this, Daenerys decided, "You leave tonight."
"Very good," said Ser Jorah. "We'll prepare."
"Ser Jorah," said Ser Barristan as they began to walk out. "You could use an extra sword."
"You're the Queensguard, Ser Barristan. Your place is by the Queen. If we are truly her loyal servants, we'll do whatever needs to be done, no matter the cost, no matter our pride."
"The Princess can stay with her," insisted Ser Barristan. "She can protect her as well as I can."
"No," said Saera. "I mean to finally test my skills in a real battle. Ser Jorah is right, you are the Queensguard, not I. If Grey Worm is going to follow Ser Jorah and Daario, there needs to be someone at the front gate with the rest of the army. I plan to be that person..." she looked at her sister, "With the Queen's permission."
Daenerys hated that a horrible, awful thought jumped into her head. What if Saera died? What if this was her one and only battle? What if she no longer had a sister to compete with after today?
She didn't dare voice the thought to anyone. She didn't want them to know how afraid she was that Saera would take any power she grasped away from her.
She remained with Ser Barristan in her tent, her three children beside her, while Daario, Ser Jorah, and Grey Worm snuck ahead with Daario.
Saera followed soon after on foot, red and black paint smeared on her face, the Unsullied and Dothraki behind her, marching as quietly as possible. She had two knives and an arakh at her belt, a sword strapped to her back, and a spear in her hand, no shortage of weapons but no shield and only her Dornish armor.
She meant to test every skill she had.
As soon as the gate opened, she pointed her spear forward, calling the Unsullied, "Naejot vīlībāzma!" (T: To battle.) As they marched in, she called the Dothraki, "Tat vilajero!" (T: To battle!)
She joined them, soldiers already coming out to meet them; clearly the others had made enough noise to alert the entire city of their arrival. Saera rushed up ahead as far as she could, cutting down anyone who came near her, spear whirling over her head and smashing into helmets, cutting into chests, slicing across necks. When it was knocked out of her hands in the commotion, she turned to her sword, repeating the process and retrieving her spear once the soldiers surrendered; slaves didn't want to fight longer than necessary to prevent their own freedom. They couldn't win, and they knew it.
They made their way out of Yunkai, back to their camp in the hills. Saera walked ahead with Ser Jorah and Grey Worm, all of them covered in blood. Daenerys was waiting eagerly, and perked up immediately when she heard them arrive.
"It was just as you said," announced Ser Jorah. "They did not believe until it was too late. Their slaves soldiers threw down their spears and surrendered."
Daenerys smiled proudly. "And Daario Naharis?"
He walked up from behind, offering the bloody banner of Yunkai. "The city is yours, my Queen."
Saera found it hard to sleep. The Dothraki were energetic, and Jhiqui invited her to sit with her and a few of the Dothraki men who'd also gone into battle, all of them making gestures at Saera's face the instant they saw her.
"What are they saying?" asked Saera, unsure whether she should laugh along with them or be offended that they were pointing at her so much. "I am well-aware I need a bath, but–"
Jhiqui laughed. "They see the blood," she slid a bit of the blood mixed with red and black paint onto her finger to show her, "they say you are destroyer. The Red Serpent: Jin Virzeth Tyvar."
Saera tried to repeat, "Jin Virzeth Tyvar."
She clapped enthusiastically. "Yes. Face and hair, all red. Do not look Targaryen. Look like Red Priestess from Asshai."
She grinned. "That red? I need a bath more badly than I realized."
"Bath, yes, then braid. You have earned."
"I have?"
"You won battle. Fought bravely, great warrior, strong general. No more... this–" she gestured, unsure what to call the strange ponytail Saera had made. She tied it every few inches, creating bumps that were almost circular. "Braid is better."
"Thank you," said Saera, hoping Jhiqui would translate and convey her gratitude for their admiration. "It was an honor to fight with you."
Daenerys's hands trembled when Jhiqui happened to mention this new nickname the following morning.
Saera the Slayer, The Sand Dragon, The Red Serpent.
How easily might 'serpent' turn into 'usurper?'
What was next on her list of titles? Queen?
She wished that hitting her head with her own hands would actually get rid of her sinful thoughts.
Their forces gathered outside of Yunkai, waiting for the slaves to come and meet them. Daenerys was already in a foul mood and quickly growing impatient.
"They will come, Your Grace," Ser Barristan assured her. "When they're ready."
"Perhaps they didn't want to be conquered," murmured Daenerys.
"You didn't conquer them," said Ser Jorah. "You liberated them."
"People learn to love their chains."
"Only if they do not know any better," said Saera. "You will show them a better way."
Daenerys wished this was the feeling she could focus on instead of all the negativity swirling around.
The doors opened, the slaves of Yunkai walking out in a large mass to meet them. All with their chains still around their necks, tired and carrying nothing but the clothes on their backs.
Missandei spoke up, "Bisa iksis Daenērys Targārien. Se Jelmāzmo, se Dorzalty, se Dāria Sikudo Dārȳti Vestero, se Muña Zaldrīzoti. Issa naejot zirȳla ao enkagon aōha dāez–" (T: This is Daenerys Targaryen. The Stormborn, the Unburnt, the Queen of the Seven Kingdoms of Westeros, the Mother of Dragons. It is to her you owe your freedom–)
"No," said Daenerys, stopping her. "Gaomā daor enkagon nyke aōha dāez. Nyke daor tepagon ziry naejot ao. Aōha dāez iksis daor ñuhon naejot tepagon. Issa aōhon se aōhon mērī. Lo jaelā ziry arlī, istia gūrogon ziry syt aōla. Mirre se tolvie mēre hen ao." (T: You do not owe me your freedom. I cannot give it to you. Your freedom is not mine to give. It belongs to you and you alone. If you want it back, you must take it for yourselves. Each and every one of you.)
"Mhysa!" a man and his daughter cried out. The chant grew, louder and louder, each of the slaves calling out to her.
"What does it mean?" asked Daenerys.
"It is old Ghiscari, Khaleesi," said Missandei. "It means 'mother.'"
Daenerys smiled, walking out to them, asking her dragons to fly into the air and the Unsullied to clear a path for her to reach out and hold the hands of those who called for her.
They all wanted to touch her, all wanted her to notice them. They lifted her up, acknowledging her as their mother, as the woman who gave them authority over their own freedom.
She decided that their next target would be Meereen. Their tents were packed, the Yunkish came along with them carrying everything they could own. The trip would be long now that they had to stop more frequently to find food for everyone and accommodate some of the older population who could not walk as fast. Daenerys was fine with taking her time, walking proud and with her head held high.
"This came for you, Princess," said Ser Jorah two weeks later, offering Saera a letter as she sat on a rock overlooking the sea at once of their camps. "Delivered by a man who claims to be working for The Viper."
She smiled, accepting the parchment. "Prince Oberyn. A truer father to me than my own was." She unfurled it, reading quickly, "They're about to leave Dorne to attend Prince Joffrey's wedding to Lady Margaery Tyrell. I suppose by now they've arrived in King's Landing. Oh..." she furrowed her brows, "Robb Stark is dead. Murdered at the Twins along with his wife... oh, oh gods... orchestrated by the Lannisters and the Boltons... a massacre... desecrated his body and that of Lady Catelyn Stark. That is awful!"
She offered the letter to Jorah, letting him read it for himself. "I will speak to Ser Barristan and the Khaleesi about this tonight," he murmured.
"The War of the Five Kings and so many are already dead," said Saera. "Renly Baratheon, Robb Stark... who is even left? The bastard Joffrey, Balon Greyjoy, Stannis Baratheon. Only one among those has a true claim. I've heard the Greyjoys accomplished nothing so far and the Lannisters, well, they have the benefit of coin and the mind of Tywin Lannister, that cunt."
Jorah blinked. "You mean you believe Stannis Baratheon has a true claim?"
"The Targaryens conquered Westeros, and as such, the Targaryen bloodline had the claim. We lost it. The Baratheons won by right of conquest and the throne does belong to the Baratheon line. Were Joffrey a trueborn son of King Robert, he would own it. But I would say technically it is for Stannis. This mission here is to win it back for the Targaryen line."
"You do not sound as though you agree with our entire purpose."
She shrugged. "Daenerys will be a good Queen because she is better than all those men. She isn't wicked like Joffrey, or selfish and disagreeable like Stannis. She is a Queen who loves and respects her people, who manifests her own power, who reacts with honor and has great virtues. She has the power to seize the throne for herself and she should. She will restore the dynasty."
He hesitated, but asked, "And is restoring the dynasty what you truly want?"
She thought about it for a long moment. "I want the safety to be able to go wherever I please and know I won't be murdered for the sins of my father. I want my sister to have the freedom to do whatever she likes without that same fear. That is it, truly. If there has to be someone that rules over all Seven Kingdoms, it should be someone like her, who will care for the common folk in ways others won't."
"If there has to be someone?"
"In all honesty, I do not see why the Seven Kingdoms should not be independent. I suppose there are benefits and downsides to being united and being separate. If it were truly up to me, someone who wants freedom for herself and would wish it for others too... everyone should do what benefits their people the most. The North and Dorne sustained themselves for a long time, but other Kingdoms have thrived more because of the union Aegon brought. He did not have any right to the Seven Kingdoms; neither do we. No one truly does deserve everything."
She lowered her voice, "If I wanted to be Queen, I am not sure I'd wish for my line and my line alone to keep the power. I suppose it's stupid but I once heard talk in Dorne of a system where every few years, the King or Queen would be from a different Kingdom. Or better yet, would be chosen by the people. It's thought to be a very... bizarre and radical idea. But I am not necessarily opposed to it." She laughed weakly, "I suppose that goes to show why I am not meant to be Queen of anything. My sister... she can do what she pleases and I will support her. That is what I am here to do."
"You and your sister seem to have trouble getting along."
"A regrettable truth," admitted Saera. "I wish it were not so. I believe I may have come too late. I want to protect her but so many awful things happened when I was not here, when I could have been here had I been a little stronger, had I not abandoned my mother and Viserys eighteen years ago. I... wish to believe she is still growing adjusted to the idea of me, though as of late it seems she dislikes and distrusts me."
He could see clear as day that Daenerys was jealous of Saera. "Your sister cares for you," he assured her. "In recent times, she has grown used to doing things on her own terms, for herself. She does not take kindly when any of us interfere with that. I believe a bit of space is all she needs. To see that you do not wish to smother her. Do not worry, Princess. She will come around. She has to be strong for her people. It will take a lot for her to admit she needs help from her older sister."
Saera nodded, hoping this was true. "You still call me 'Princess.'"
"It feels inappropriate to call you only by your name. Forgive me... Saera. I will adjust."
She smiled. "You are a good man, Ser Jorah. I am glad that my sister has you here to advise her."
"You honor me greatly Pri– Saera. Saera. If we will be on a first-name basis, I will insist you call me Jorah."
"Very well, Jorah. Oh, gods, you're right," she giggled, eliciting a laugh from him, "it does sound strange." She pursed her lips, staring up at the sky. "If you could have any title in the world, solely based on how it sounds, what would it be?"
"That is an interesting question. I don't quite know."
"I have a couple of ideas. Ser Saera would sound wonderful if I was a knight. Or Lady Commander Saera... in my early days of being in Dorne, I wished for Prince Oberyn to send me to serve on the Wall. We still had no confirmation of whether my siblings had made it to Essos alive and I convinced myself, for a time, that they were dead. I heard the son of King Maekar served as a Maester at Castle Black. I figured I could find a more distant family member and cling to them."
"And why didn't you?"
"Prince Oberyn encouraged me to be patient, he swore we would hear soon. And we did. I was filled with hope again. I just wanted my family. I wanted... to be reunited with them, to have a home we could share, to raise them as my own and eventually have children with someone who would love and respect me. I've lived most of my life in Dorne drinking tansy tea as a refreshment. It was too much of a risk, becoming pregnant and birthing a child that may have Valyrian features. Not to mention it would be difficult to travel with a babe. I never knew how long I would be there; I could either find my siblings soon or I could be discovered and forced to run. I couldn't bring a child into that. It was hard enough for me as a young girl."
"You survived a great deal, Saera," said Jorah. "Many would not have managed it. I've no way of imagining the horrors you must have seen as you fled King's Landing. To leave it all while still nearly a child yourself, to know that you were leaving behind the bodies of those you loved... you have grown into a strong woman. Your mother would have been incredibly proud."
"I would truly hope so. I have no way of knowing how she might have reacted to me becoming this fierce woman. But I would hope that she would love me for it." She smiled, thinking of her mother's beautiful, gentle face. "She was such a sweet woman. She loved us so very much, despite how we came into this world. She never let what my father did to her ruin her ability to treat us kindly. And Elia, she too was a wonderful mother even when Rhaegar disrespected her. I cannot understand people who do that, who are unfaithful..." she trailed off when she realized why Ser Jorah had looked away. "Forgive me, I ought not speak of such things."
"You are well within your rights. The pain has lessened over the years. The resentment, too. All that I did to try and please her, my reputation destroyed, my morals skewed and my respect for myself... vanished. And in the end it did not make her love me any more. Unrequited love can be a vicious pain. To answer your question, I do not think I could be anything but a 'Ser.' I want to be as I am, to be appreciated for that. Perhaps if my title were different, it would have been easier to keep my wife. But in the end, I've learned to accept that it simply would not have worked no matter what I did."
She winced sympathetically. "I can understand the desperation that would drive a man to do what you did. What you felt you had to do. It does not make it right, but I aim to see why these things happen. Why does anyone become a criminal or simply an awful person? You are different from the men in this bay, Jorah. I can see you feel remorse for your deeds. I respect you for the man you are now. The man who learned from his mistakes. The man who deserves to find love and be loved for who he is and what he has to offer right at this moment."
He smiled shyly, staring down at a rock he kicked between his feet. "I should hope you find the same, Saera, you deserve it even more than I. Any man would be lucky to call you his wife. You will have your pick of any man in the Seven Kingdoms when our Queen retakes the Iron Throne."
She considered she may have to marry someone to benefit Daenerys, to elevate her family. She may have a bigger role to play even if she didn't want it.
(Even if Daenerys didn't want her too close, too much of a threat.)
-
The dragons were misbehaving lately. Drogon was already bigger than Daenerys, and the other two weren't far behind. They fought for food right in front of Daenerys, snapping at her if she reached out to break their quarrel up. Ser Jorah insisted they could never be tamed.
Saera recalled the stories her father used to tell her, about the young Targaryen children who would claim the dragons that hatched with them in their cradle when they were about this size, only just larger than a man. They asked them to serve them, to obey them, and then the dragons would have a connection with them, they would mirror the emotions of their rider and to a great extent would do what they wished.
She thought it was about time that Daenerys claimed Drogon (who was clearly her favorite and the one who clung to her the most) properly instead of continuing to treat them all like her children. They would always be that, but they were growing up and were already not listening to her.
Saera still wished to claim one of them. She was a Targaryen, it felt like the right thing to do. It called to her, like a gut feeling that drew her toward them. Viserion always watched her, more than the other two, and when flying around, would purposely soar down near her head to startle her.
Did he feel a connection, too? She swore it existed. She swore that she was meant to claim this dragon, that when he grew large enough, she might ride him as her ancestors did their own Valyrian beasts.
Daenerys was clearly not a fan of it.
Whenever Saera got too close to the dragons, she had them leave. Now, they left of their own volition because they'd become less and less fond of people in general. Saera wanted to hatch a plan to acquire her dragon, but didn't want to overstep when her sister was still wary of her after her behavior with Mero the Titan's Bastard.
The dragon's mother was incredibly protective of her children.
(It hurt Saera that Daenerys didn't trust her around them. As if she would steal them. Nothing would change the fact Daenerys birthed them. Saera only wanted one. The one who seemed to want her, too.)
The march to Meereen was tiring. Saera rode at the front with Daenerys, Jorah, and Ser Barristan. Grey Worm and Daario had been condemned to ride in the back with the livestock they'd gathered because they'd been caught gambling instead of assembling the troops as Daenerys ordered.
It was painfully obvious that Daario Naharis fancied Daenerys Stormborn. Saera could see how he looked at her with longing, how he smiled every time she called him to her tent to speak with everyone at once or when she passed by where he sat with the Unsullied officers, telling stories and sharpening their blades. He gathered flowers for her, he told jokes, he did everything he could to be near her.
Daenerys wasn't opposed to it. Saera hadn't known what it was like for her sister to be married to Khal Drogo; she heard it started horribly but soon she fell in love with him, and was shattered when he passed. She didn't know if Daenerys would ever love a man more than she loved Khal Drogo, given she vowed she would not have children until the sun rose in the west and set in the east. But it was evident that Daenerys felt something for Daario, even if she would not voice it to anyone who asked, least of all Saera.
(Another invasive thought forced its way into Daenerys's mind after the battle at Yunkai. The Dothraki and Unsullied clearly adored Saera. They saw her as vicious in all the ways Daenerys refused to be. Saera appealed to their desires for a formidable leader, an experienced warrior. She wondered if Daario would prefer her, too. After all, he knew his way around weapons just like Saera. There was much they could bond over.
Daario only wanted Daenerys.)
"Halt!" called Ser Jorah suddenly, seeing something up ahead.
Daenerys rushed up, face pale when she saw the corpse of a little slave girl nailed to a cross, her hand extended to point down the road.
"There's one on every mile marker between here and Meereen," said Ser Jorah sadly.
"How many miles are there between here and Meereen?" said Daenerys.
"One-hundred-and-sixty-three, Your Grace."
Ser Barristan offered, I'll tell our men to ride ahead and bury them. You don't need to see this."
"You will do no such thing," said Daenerys. "I will see each and every one of their faces. Remove her collar before you bury her."
Saera helped Grey Worm and Daario dig while Daenerys and Missandei supervised, everyone in proximity equally as disgusted by what the Meereenese masters had done to these poor girls. Daenerys insisted on being the one to brush the final mound of dirt over their faces before they covered them completely and leveled out the ground. It broke her heart but she did it anyway.
At last, they arrived in Meereen. All one-hundred-and-sixty-three little girls had been buried, the great pyramid in sight. Daenerys had the army line up behind her, barrels filled with the old chains of the Yunkish to make a statement she was going to give no matter what.
The great gates opened, the majority of the masters and slaves looking from the overhead balconies. "Are they attacking?" asked Daenerys.
"A single rider," said Ser Jorah when he saw one man on a horse. "A champion of Meereen. They want you to send your own champion against him."
Daenerys watched the rider as he dismounted, unlacing his pants. "What is he doing?"
Ser Barristan made a face. "I believe he means to..." they all groaned as the man started to piss. The Meereenese laughed from the balconies.
"He says we're an army of men without man parts," translated Missandei when she heard the man shouting. "He claims you are no woman at all, but a man who... hides his cock in his own arsehole."
Saera rolled her eyes. "Ignore him, Your Grace," said Ser Barristan. "These are meaningless words."
"They're not meaningless if half the city you intend to take is listening to them," reasoned Ser Jorah.
"So make them listen to something else," recommended Saera.
This gave Daenerys an idea. "I have something to say to the people of Meereen. First, I will need this one–" she waved her hand dismissively at the pissing man, "to be quiet. Do I have a champion?"
Grey Worm offered, "Rual nyke bisa rigle, Muña Zaldrīzoti. Kesan daor qringaomagon ao." (T: Allow me this honor, Mother of Dragons. I will not disappoint you.)
Daenerys shook her head, "Iksā se udrāzmio hen dovaogēdy. Nyke daor kostagon daor ao." (T: You are the commander of the Unsullied. I cannot risk you.)
"My aim is good," said Saera. "On foot and on horseback. I will defeat this champion either way, won't have a scratch on me."
"No," said Daenerys softly. Let her die, let her die, let her die– "I cannot risk you, either."
"Your Grace," said Ser Barristan, "I've won more single combats than any man alive."
"Which is why you must remain by my side."
"I've been by your side longer than any of them, Khaleesi," said Ser Jorah. "Let me stand for you today as well."
She shook her head. "You are my most trusted advisor, my most valued general, and my dearest friend. I will not gamble with your life."
Daario cleared his throat. "I was the last to join your army. I'm not your general or sibling or member of your Queensguard or the commander of your Unsullied. My mother was a whore. I come from nothing. And before long, I will return to nothing. Let me kill that man for you."
Apparently, she was willing to risk his life. "Very well. You have quite an audience. Make it worth their while."
If Daario survived, he'd have glory beyond belief. And Saera suspected he'd have Daenerys's affections placed on a silver platter.
"He's very brave, Your Grace," said Missandei as Daario prepared himself.
"Yes," said Daenerys, "win or lose, as long as the whole city is watching."
Another Meereenese man had emerged from the gate, offering the rider a long colored pole, most likely with a sharp pointed end.
Daenerys stepped back, letting Daario take his place as the rider rushed at them. He stood still, unbothered by the prospect of being impaled by a long pole. He stood still almost too long. At the last minute, he threw his knife, stabbing the horse and throwing the rider off. With a quick swing of his arakh, he sliced open the man's throat.
Immediately, the Meereenese reacted, firing arrows at them.
None of them hit Daario, who smirked and pissed over where they landed.
Daenerys called out, "Iksan Daenērys Jelmāzmo. Aōha āeksia kostagon emagon ivestretan ao pirtra nūmāzma nyke, iā kostis emagon ivestretan ao daorun. Ziry gaomas daor. Eman daorun naejot ivestragon zirȳ. Nyke ȳdragon mērī naejot ao. Ēlī, istan naejot Astapor. Lī qilōni sia buzdari isse Astapor sir iōragon inkot nyke, dāez. Hembar istan naejot Yunkai. Lī qilōni sia buzdari isse Yunkai sir iōragon inkot nyke, dāez. Sir eman māzigon naejot Mīrīn. Iksan daor aōha qrinuntys. Aōha qrinuntys iksis paktot ao. Aōha qrinuntys laodigon se ossēnagon aōha riñar. Aōha qrinuntys ēza daorun syt ao yn belma se botagon se udrāzma. Gaoman daor maghagon ao udrāzma. Nyke maghagon ao iā iderennon. Se nyke maghagon aōha qrinuntyssy skoros pōnta gūrogon. Naejot!" (T: I am Daenerys Stormborn. Your Masters may have told you lies about me, or they may have told you nothing. It does not matter. I have nothing to say to them. I speak only to you. First, I went to Astapor. Those who were slaves in Astapor now stand behind me, free. Next I went to Yunkai. Those who were slaves in Yunkai now stand behind me, free. Now I have come to Meereen. I am not your enemy. Your enemy is beside you. Your enemy steals and murders your children. Your enemy has nothing for you but chains and suffering and commands. I do not bring you commands. I bring you a choice. And I bring your enemies what they deserve. Forward!)
The Unsullied pushed forward the catapults loaded with the barrels of slave collars. "Perzys," called Daenerys. (T: Fire.)
The barrels flew, breaking over the heads of the Meereenese masters and even the slaves. Saera was sure several people had been hit hard by it, perhaps harmed severely. It wasn't the best strategy to her, but she knew she had no place in speaking up against it.
She had to keep her mouth shut to avoid angering her sister. She wasn't free to speak her mind to her.