Chapter Text
A couple of moons after Saeranera turned 3 and 10, Daemon woke her early one morning.
“What is it?” She asked, sitting up in bed and rubbing her eyes.
“Get dressed. We’re going on a flight.” That was all he said before leaving. Saera stared at her father's retreating form before sighing and getting out of bed. She got into her black and bronze riding leathers before leaving her room and heading to the beach where their dragons were waiting.
Daemon was tending to Caraxes, waiting for Saera.
The princess went over to Nagho, Soarmes, and Andar sleeping under his wings. “𝚉𝚒𝚛𝚢 𝚒𝚔𝚜𝚘𝚜 𝚓ē𝚍𝚊 𝚗𝚊𝚎𝚓𝚘𝚝 𝚓𝚒𝚔𝚊𝚐𝚘𝚗, 𝚗𝚊𝚐𝚑𝚘.” She said, smoothing a hand over his head.
The white dragon growled, annoyed at his disturbed sleep, but got up nonetheless and crawled out of the little cave he inhabited. Soarmes and Andar shrieked unhappily before huddling together and going back to sleep.
“𝚂𝚔𝚘𝚛𝚒𝚘𝚝 𝚒𝚜𝚜𝚒 ī𝚕𝚘𝚗 𝚓𝚒𝚔𝚊𝚐𝚘𝚗, 𝚔𝚎𝚙𝚊?” Saera asked, climbing into Nagho’s saddle and strapping in.
“𝙰𝚘 𝚓ā𝚑𝚘𝚛 ū𝚗𝚍𝚎𝚐𝚘𝚗, 𝚋𝚢𝚔𝚊 𝚣𝚊𝚕𝚍𝚛ī𝚣𝚎𝚜.” He said, getting into Caraxes’ saddle as well. “𝚂ō𝚟𝚎𝚜.”
Caraxes and Nagho took off to the sky, flying high in the early morning air.
They flew for hours, they stopped once as a day and a night passed. Saera didn’t know where they were going, she’d only flown to Kings Landing and the North. Her father wouldn’t say where they were going, just that she would see him soon. Saera hated it when her father was vague like that.
The princess was too tired to fly, so she flew with her father and they were off again. She rested her head against the Rogue Prince’s back and slept deeply as Nagho followed behind Caraxes. Some hours later, Saera woke to Caraxes shrieking as he landed. It was a shriek he let out when greeting another dragon. She opened her eyes and saw that they had landed just at the edge of a camp.
Saera got out of Caraxes’ saddle and went over to Nagho, who laid his head down to rest. A few feet away was Seasmoke, Laenor’s dragon.
Looking around, the princess took note of the blues and silvers, the teal and seafoam green colors, the swords, and spears, and the banners and shields with the sigil of a Seahorse.
“The Valeryons?” She turned back to look at her father, who had a small smirk on his face. She turned back around and scaled the small hill they landed by, and over it she could see the Valeryon fleet in the harbor, about 20 or so ships with a lot more tents and soldiers. Saera studied the landscape, as much as she could see, and once again faced her father. “The Stepstones?”
“𝙼ā𝚣𝚒𝚐𝚘𝚗.” Daemon inclined his head and Saera fell into step beside him. The father and daughter walked through the Velaryon camp. “𝙰𝚘 𝚒𝚜𝚜𝚒 𝚖𝚊𝚣𝚟𝚎𝚛𝚍ā𝚛𝚎 𝚋ē, 𝚋𝚢𝚔𝚊 𝚣𝚊𝚕𝚍𝚛ī𝚣𝚎𝚜. 𝚂ī𝚛 𝚗𝚢𝚔𝚎 𝚎𝚖𝚊𝚐𝚘𝚗 𝚒𝚍𝚎𝚛ē𝚋𝚊𝚐𝚘𝚗 𝚋𝚘𝚗𝚊 𝚣𝚒𝚛𝚢 𝚒𝚜𝚝𝚊𝚗 𝚓ē𝚍𝚊 𝚗𝚢𝚔𝚎 𝚗ā𝚐𝚎𝚕𝚝𝚒𝚐𝚘𝚗 𝚊𝚘 𝚜𝚔𝚘𝚛𝚘𝚜 𝚟ī𝚕ī𝚋ā𝚣𝚖𝚊, 𝚍𝚛ē𝚓𝚎 𝚟ī𝚕ī𝚋ā𝚣𝚖𝚊, 𝚓𝚞𝚛𝚗𝚎𝚐𝚘𝚗 𝚛𝚊𝚚𝚊𝚐𝚘𝚗.”
“𝙳𝚘𝚎𝚜 𝚖𝚞ñ𝚊 𝚐ī𝚖𝚒𝚐𝚘𝚗 𝚋ē 𝚋𝚒𝚜𝚊?” Saera asked. “𝙺𝚎𝚙𝚞𝚜?”
“𝙰ō𝚑𝚊 𝚖𝚞ñ𝚗𝚢𝚔𝚎ā 𝚐ī𝚖𝚒𝚐𝚘𝚗, 𝚜𝚎 𝚣𝚒𝚛𝚢 𝚛𝚞𝚊𝚕. 𝚈𝚗, 𝚣𝚒𝚛𝚢 𝚓𝚊𝚎𝚕𝚊𝚐𝚘𝚗 𝚊𝚘 𝚗𝚊𝚎𝚓𝚘𝚝 𝚜𝚊𝚐𝚘𝚗 𝚟𝚘𝚕𝚙𝚎.” Daemon said, wrapping his arm around his daughter’s shoulders. “𝙷𝚊𝚎 𝚜𝚢𝚝 𝚊ō𝚑𝚊 𝙺𝚎𝚙𝚞𝚜,” Daemon then shrugged after looking away for a minute. “𝚣𝚒𝚛𝚢 𝚓ā𝚑𝚘𝚛 𝚍𝚊𝚘𝚛 𝚊𝚒𝚍 𝚒𝚜𝚜𝚎 𝚜𝚎 𝚟ī𝚕ī𝚋ā𝚣𝚖𝚊. 𝚂ī𝚛 𝚊𝚘 𝚐𝚊𝚘𝚖𝚊𝚐𝚘𝚗 𝚍𝚊𝚘𝚛 𝚓𝚘𝚛𝚛ā𝚎𝚕𝚊𝚐𝚘𝚗 𝚛𝚞𝚊𝚕 𝚑𝚎𝚗 𝚣𝚒𝚛ȳ𝚕𝚊.”
Daemon brought his daughter to one of the larger tents, where inside resided Lord Corlys Velaryon, his brother Vaemond Velaryon, and his son Laenor. “Lord Corlys,” The Rogue Prince greeted the Sea Snake.
“Prince Daemon,” He said in his baritone. The stony face turned soft when his eyes shifted to Saera and he smiled. “Princess Saeranera.”
“Lord Corlys,” Saera smiled back, tipping her head in a small bow before rushing forward and wrapping her arms around the Sea Snake's waist. “So glad to see you again, grandsire.”
“Me too, my dear.” Corlys bellowed, hugging the girl back and lifting her off her feet for a moment before letting go.
The princess then latched onto Laenor, who held on just as tight with an equally large smile on his face. As she and the Sea Snake’s son talked, and as Daemon and Corlys talked, she saw Vaemond looking at her and her father with the same look in his eyes that the Consort Alicent and her father Otto Hightower have.
Later that day, when the sun set on the horizon, Daemon took his daughter to their tent, where they would be sleeping.
“You said we didn’t need permission from Uncle Viserys, but… what will he do when he learns of us fighting in the Stepstones? Or, learns of me fighting?” Saera asked her father as he tucked her in, sitting on the cot's edge. “I don’t want you to get into trouble.”
“Don’t worry about any of that, 𝚋𝚢𝚔𝚊 𝚣𝚊𝚕𝚍𝚛ī𝚣𝚎𝚜. ” He said with a small upturn of his lips. “What he thinks doesn’t matter. You are a dragon, my daughter. Every dragon experiences battle firsthand.”
“... not Uncle Viserys,” Saera added.
Her uncle was called ‘The Peaceful’ for a reason, because under his reign the realm knew peace, there were no battles, no wars. He fought in no battle, no war, hell, Saera’s never even seen him even lift Blackfyre, he only uses it for display. People thought that it was good that Viserys kept the peace, and that he didn’t fight in any war, but in Saera’s opinion, that just made him weak.
“No,” Daemon shook his head, with a small, disappointed look in his eyes. “Not Viserys.”
The princess sighed and closed her eyes. Daemon blew out the light and went to bed as well.
The next morning, the father and daughter got up early, at the crack of dawn. Saera woke up and her father was gone, but by her cot was an armor stand.
On it, sat black and bronze leather armor with chainmail underneath. The armor had sharp edges, like dragon scales, with their house symbol on the chest. It looked just her size, and she wondered how long it took to make this, and if her father got the armor made in advance.
Saeranera donned the armor and it fit perfectly, snug against her body but with enough room to breathe and move freely.
She exited the tent and saw her father waiting for her. He ran his eyes over her and gave a satisfied smile. “Fits?” He asked. Saera nodded with a smile. “Good. now, before we meet with Lord Corlys, we need to make a couple of stops.”
The camp was bustling with activity, knights and squires and whatnot working nonstop.
The princess followed her father to where their dragons were staying. Caraxes was sleeping, and Seasmoke was rolling around in the grass with Nagho. “𝙽𝚊𝚐𝚑𝚘, 𝚒𝚜𝚜𝚊 𝚐𝚎𝚟𝚒𝚎 𝚟𝚊𝚕𝚘𝚗𝚚𝚊𝚛. 𝙸𝚜𝚜𝚒 𝚊𝚘 𝚜ȳ𝚣?” Saera ran up to her dragon and threw herself at him, scratching his scales in just the right spots.
“Saera,” She turned to her father as came up. They were dirty-looking, covered in soot and grime, and carrying large pieces of armor. “I want you to listen to me. Corlys’ spies said that the Triarchy has Scorpions.”
Scorpions. The only weapons in the world that can kill dragons, aside from themselves. There have only been illustrations of the weapons in the history books, but no one has seen or created a Scorpion in years. The men then wearily approached Nagho, waiting for the dragon to calm before strapping on the armor, and covering his chest.
“They aren’t easy to aim, and take a moment to reload.” Daemon lowered himself down, grabbing the back of his daughter's neck and pulling her close. “But, I want you to be careful. Don’t get cocky, use your head. Okay?”
“Okay.”
Next, they stopped by the blacksmiths. About 10 men were hammering armor, sharpening swords, and smelting the metal. “Why are we here?” Saera asked.
“You’ll see,” Daemon said with a cheeky smirk. “Oi! Leygood!”
One of the blacksmiths, Leygood apparently, turned and brightened up a bit at the sight of the Rogue Prince. “Prince Daemon! And mini Daemon!” Saera giggled at the name, while her father rolled his eyes. “Got it right here! I tell ya, making it sure was a challenge.”
Leygood rushed off, moving a few things, looking for something before laughing in triumph. He returned to the prince and princess with something wrapped in a black cloth. He unwrapped it, and revealed a Valyrian steel sword. A straight-edged blade, gold crossguard with fire detailing, black leather grip, and a jeweled gold pommel. With a smile, he offered the simple, but beautiful sword to Saeranera.
Wordlessly, she took the sword, staring at the craftsmanship in awe. It was gorgeous, the Valyrian steel shone in the light, making it look almost ethereal. It was so light, unlike the swords Saera was accustomed to using.
“I figured it was time you got your blade,” Daemon said softly as he kneeled beside his daughter. She held the sword by the grip, moving it around, testing the weight.
“Where…” Did you get Valyrian steel, Saera was unable to finish her question, rendered speechless. The only place you could get Valyrian steel was the ruins of Old Valyria, and even if you got some, crafting even a dagger of Valyrian steel would be a challenge to the greatest blacksmith in Westeros.
“I took a trip to Old Valyria. Found some steel and some fragments of a diagram.” Daemon shrugged as if it were not a big deal that he had gone through so much trouble to get Saera an amazingly beautiful Valyrian sword.
The prince grunted when his daughter set her new sword down and threw herself on her father, wrapping her arms around his neck tightly, but not enough to choke him. “I think this is the best thing you have ever gotten for me,” Saera muttered into her father's neck.
“I thought having little sisters was the best thing I gave you,” Daemon smirked.
“I wanted a brother.”
The Rogue prince rolled his eyes as Leygood and a few others chuckled and snickered.
The Triarchy was advancing, and Saera joined her father with the Velaryons at the war table. He wanted her to listen to everything very carefully.
The princess looked every bit Targaryen and Daemon’s daughter. She was clad in her new, black leather armor with her sword, Embersong, strapped to her right side. Her chin-length hair was tied back in a half bun. She stood rigid at her father's side, tall and proud.
Detachments of the Triarchy were coming from the southeast, ships armed with Scorpions and men willing to die for their cause to the bitter end.
Vaemond and Daemon were arguing about the best course of action, it was getting heated and her father was getting angry.
Laenor and Saera exchanged glances, the Heir of the Tides gave her an encouraging look. For a while, Saera wanted to speak up and give her input, but she felt that it wasn’t her place. She was just a child here, she didn’t know anything about strategies or warfare. But that was why she was here, to learn the trade of battle and war, so she would be prepared to fight her battles in the future.
Saeranera was the Blood of the Dragon, she was Daemon Targaryen’s daughter, and warfare was second nature to her.
“Father,” The princess found her voice, speaking above the arguing men. It fell silent and all eyes were on the girl. “I have an idea of what to do about the invading ships.”
Her father calmed down and sighed, taking his hand off Dark Sister’s pommel, Vaemond Velaryon scoffed. “Are we now so desperate as to listen to a child-”
“Vaemond.” Lord Corlys snapped, cutting his brother off. When he backed off, the Sea Snake nodded to his step-granddaughter.
“Ships are coming from the southeast, about 20 or 40, armed with Scorpions and hundreds of men. They rely on strength in numbers. I propose we set a trap.” Saeranera stepped up to the table, picking up a few map pieces that represented the Valeryons and the Triarchy, using them as she laid out her plan. “We’ll have the men hide in the caves, allowing them to dock. Once the ships have stopped, Laenor and I will fly our dragons and rain fire from above. Scorpions are large, deadly weapons, but they are difficult to aim and reload, so we’ll circle above. With the aerial assault, Lord Corlys, you and my father can lead the soldiers on a frontal assault.”
That was the first time men, aside from her father and grandsire, looked upon her with awe and respect.
The next day, 28 ships carrying the Triarchy’s sigil arrived in the Stepstones harbor.
The men clamored from the ships and onto land, apprehensive and confused as to why there was no one. It was deathly silent. Until…
One of the commanders looked to the sky, lifting his hand to block out the sun, and saw a dot coming from above. The dot got bigger and bigger, and the commander's eyes widened as a dragon, as white as the clouds with Dragonfire eyes, roared with a thundering fury. On its back, was what the commander thought to be a miniature version of Prince Daemon.
The white dragon drew nearer, and once they got close enough, Saera shouted, “𝙳𝚛𝚊𝚌𝚊𝚛𝚢𝚜!”
Before the commander could yell a warning or ready the Scorpion, golden fire rained down, burning wood and flesh and bone.
Soon after, Seasmoke appeared and joined Nagho in burning the Triarchy ships.
With the element of surprise, the Velaryon soldiers and Prince Daemon left their hiding places in the caves and advanced on the Triarchy.
The battle was bloody and hard-fought, even with surprise on the Velaryon’s side.
Saera watched from the back of her dragon, soaring high above, raining fire down on any ships left. The princess watched as swords clashed, shields splintered, blood spilled, flesh torn. The scent of blood and burnt flesh crept its way up her nostrils, nearly making Saera sick. The smell seemed to be bothering Nagho as well, as he growled and his smooth flying started to get a bit shaky.
“𝙻𝚢𝚔𝚒𝚛ī, 𝙽𝚊𝚐𝚑𝚘. 𝙻𝚢𝚔𝚒𝚛ī.” Saera ran her hand over her dragon scales, reaching through their still-young bond to try and calm Nagho down.
Just then, something flew past the princess, nearly grazing her cheek. She yelped and saw on one of the remaining ships, the Triarchy fighting men struggling to reload the Scorpion. The Rogue Prince’s daughter steered her dragon down and yelled, “𝙳𝚛𝚊𝚌𝚊𝚛𝚢𝚜!”
Even with dragons, wars can drag out for months, even years.
Saera’s plan had worked to push the Triarchy back, but only for so long. Over a couple of moons, they kept coming back, with more men and just as many ships armed with Scorpions.
Daemon was firm about Saera staying to the skies on Nagho, threatening to send her back to Pentos if she set one foot off the saddle during the battle. The girl could do nothing but abide by her father’s command, but she wasn’t happy about it.
The princess wanted to do more in the war effort, she didn’t want to just be on the support. She wanted to put her sword to use and fight side-by-side with her father on the battlefield. She wanted to prove herself to everyone that she was as capable as her father and step-grandsire. She just wanted a chance.
Saeranera would get that chance in a battle that the bards would sing about and the maesters would write in the history books.
The Triarchy ambushed the Velaryons, nearly outnumbering them. Saera and Laenor heard about it from camp from a messenger and made haste to their dragons and took off.
Nagho flew faster than Seasmoke, cutting through the clouds at such a speed it left the seafoam-colored dragon in the metaphoric dust. From above, Saera could see the Triarchy ships outnumber the Velaryon ships, most of them on fire and lost to the depths of the vast ocean. On the ground, the princess saw the silver and blue of the Velaryons nearly drowned out by the browns and yellows of the Triarchy. And Saeranera couldn’t see her father.
She was suddenly hit with a wave of overwhelming emotions of fear, sorrow, shock, horror, and rage. A fury, unlike anything she had felt before filled her body like wildfire.
Her white beauty, her Nagho echoed her rage and dove down with a mighty, earth-thundering roar, that drowned out all other noise. Nearly everyone stopped the fighting to turn to the sky and blanched at the sight of a white, hellfire-eyed beast with a roar to rival the Bronze Fury’s.
“𝙳𝚁𝙰𝙲𝙰𝚁𝚈𝚂!” Saeranera wailed and the dragon spewed golden fire onto the Triarchy ships, destroying them and killing the men.
Somehow, the golden fire burned hotter than any regular flame or dragonfire. It melted steel and molded rock together, wood turned to ash within a second, and bodies became disfigured masses.
The history books would say that the princess truly looked like a Valyrian Dragonlord in the war. Her short, silver-white hair flowed in the air, soot clinging to her pale skin, her face pulled into a snarl and her eyes alight with fiery rage.
Daemon would look up at his daughter, screaming 𝙳𝚛𝚊𝚌𝚊𝚛𝚢𝚜 at the top of her lungs, and for a moment the Rogue Prince was staring at his father, Baelon the Brave.
In her anger, Princess Saeranera grew careless and didn’t notice one of the Scorpions was still standing. The bolt, as sharp as Valyrian steel, whistled through the air and deeply grazed Nagho’s shoulder. The white dragon roared in pain and fell to the ground, angling his body so Saera wouldn’t get hurt.
The second the princess was freed from her dragon's saddle, the two were practically swarmed by the Triarchy.
It seemed a terrible fate, a young Targaryen princess and her adolescent dragon against a horde of enemies. Most would think that would have been their end, the closing of their story.
But Saeranera Alysanne Targaryen wasn’t a simple princess, she was the daughter of Daemon Targaryen, with the blood of Old Valyria in her veins. She was a Dragon.
Valyrian Steel cut swiftly and cleanly, blood soaking into the sand and painting silver red. Flesh ripped and burned as the dragon released its rage. Princess Saeranera fought with fury and ferociousness more commonly seen in men who thrive in the art of war, men like Prince Daemon.
The princess and her dragon made quick work of dwindling the Triarchy numbers, allowing the Velaryons to push the pirates back to the sea and kill them.
Some tried to run away, managing to escape through the caves, but once they exited the mouth of the cave they were stopped by a wall of dragonfire. They looked up, and standing before them atop a bolder was Saeranera Targaryen, blood on her face and staining her white hair, her Valyrian steel sword gleaming in the sunlight. Her dragon, Nagho stood high behind her, growling at the remaining Triarchy, teeth stained blood and eyes glowing like fire, his pure white hide covered in cuts and blood.
As the Targaryen princess stood above the pirates, their lives in her hands, covered in blood as the sun shone on her, casting the girl in an ethereal light, Saeranera looked like a God.
“𝙳𝚛𝚊𝚌𝚊𝚛𝚢𝚜.”
A feast was had later that night for successfully pushing back the Triarchy.
A large bonfire was made and everyone was gathered around, cheering and drinking and eating.
“To Princess Saeranera the Brave!” Laenor shouted, raising his mug of ale high.
“Saeranera the Brave!” The Velaryon soldiers echoed, shouting victoriously, they all raised their cups high and cheered. The princess, clean and wearing more simple clothes, smiled widely and drank her watered-down ale, a blush high on her pale cheeks.
Daemon Targaryen looked at his daughter from where he was sitting at the bonfire, nursing his cup of ale.
A small, rare smile graced the Rogue Prince’s face. He was so unbelievably proud of his daughter, for successfully pushing the crabs back, and for earning his father’s previous title. Saeranera the Brave had a nice ring to it.
Setting down his ale, Daemon walked across the camp, grabbed his daughter, and hoisted her high on his shoulder. “To Saeranera the Brave!” Daemon cheered.
“To Saeranera the Brave!!”
It wouldn’t be long until the tale of the battle reached Westeros. Within a week, everyone in the Seven Kingdoms knew of Princess Saeranera’s endeavors and victories.
King Viserys was in a Small Council meeting, Rhaenyra to his right and Lyonel to his left, listening as Mellos and Otto drone on about something, with Queen Consort Alicent sometimes chiming in and Viserys wondered why his wife was here. Rhaenyra was just about to cut Otto off, when one of the King's pages burst through the doors, a boy of 4 and 10, panting, holding a parchment in his hand.
“Your grace! Your grace!” The boy exclaimed excitedly before realizing there was a meeting in place. “Message from- Ah! Forgive me for the intrusion, my King.”
“You know better than to burst into a council meeting, boy.” Consort Alicent snapped in a threatening tone. The boy blinked, then bowed his head in apology.
The Consort technically didn’t have the authority to punish anyone, she could only do that if the King agreed to it. She could have the authority, only if she had the people's respect, but Alicent Hightower only has the barely concealed ire of the people and nothing more.
King Viserys waved his wife off. “What news have you, boy?” He asked.
“Message from the Stepstones, your grace!” Viserys, Rhaenyra, and Lyonel perked up at that, nodding for the boy to continue. “The Velaryons, Prince Daemon, and Princess Saeranera managed to push the Triarchy back, and they think they should be able to reclaim the Stepstones within a moon!”
The members of the Small Council, as well as the few knights and servants outside the chambers that heard, cheered, while only a couple of people, Otto and Alicent Hightower, Maester Mellos, and Tyland Lannister, didn’t share the same joy.
Rhaenyra grabbed her father's hand and squeezed, barely refraining from laughing when he muttered “of course Daemon would bring his daughter to a battle.”
“There is more, your grace. It wasn’t just the Velaryons that pushed back the pirates, Princess Saeranera played a big part in it!”
Surprise came over everyone’s faces, and with a simple gesture, the boy told the tale of the princess’ battle. How she and her mount descended upon the pirates from the sky, dragon fire spewing from a maw full of sharp teeth as flesh turned to ash. How the pirates barely had time to react before several of their Scorpions were destroyed. How just a young Targaryen princess and her adolescent dragon pushed the Triarchy back on their own and dwindled their numbers in just a couple of hours. How Saeranera looked like a Targaryen Dragonlord and earned the title of ‘Saeranera the Brave’.
Despite the disappointment Viserys felt towards his brother, mild as it was, and the relief that they were alright, the King felt pride fill his chest. He was so incredibly proud of his niece, who was like her father but not at the same time, for saving her father and the Velaryons, and for earning his father's moniker.
The Greens, however, were bitter about the whole thing.
They’d hoped that Daemon and his feral daughter would perish in the Stepstones, Corlys Velaryon too if the Seven were merciful.
Instead, the Velaryons reclaimed the Stepstones, dwindled the Triarchy's numbers heavily, and that wild Targaryen girl was given the moniker of Baelon Targaryen. The people's love and admiration for her had grown, and the more it grew, the more people she would have behind her, and it didn’t help that she supported and loved Rhaenyra.
The more people loved and supported them, the lesser the chances the Greens had for naming Aegon as Heir to the Iron Throne.
The rumors they spread, or tried spreading, haven't been helping at all. No one believes them, and the accusations of Saeranera’s illegitimacy are quickly dispelled when her uncle says she looked like his mother, a pure-blooded Royce, and he explains the timeline of her conception when Daemon was forced back to Runestone.
Otto Hightower and Queen Consort Alicent held their tongues as the king joyously praised his niece, proclaiming that a celebration was in order.
Within a day or two, Princess Saeranera and her father could be seen flying their dragons over Kings Landing. The people cheered and called out Princess Saeranera’s name.
King Viserys and his Heir, Princess Rhaenyra along with her husband and children, were on the steps of the Red Keep to welcome Saera and Daemon.
The two, riding their horses, came to a stop and dismounted.
Princess Saeranera had grown after two years of fighting in the Stepstones. She was taller now, up to Daemon’s chin. The remaining baby fat was practically gone now, making her no longer look like a girl, but now a beautiful young woman. Her hair was still short, but a little lighter with two braids tied at the back of her head. Her purple eyes have lightened, and her skin is a bit tan. There was a scar on her cheek now, starting at the bridge of her nose and stopping an inch before her ear. It didn’t make her any less beautiful though.
“Saera, my dear niece,” Viserys smiled at the girl, now 5 and 10, who bowed her head to the king.
“Uncle,” Saera smiled back, skilfully managing to keep her displeasure at the sight of the Queen consort, the cunt Otto, her dog, and her half-breeds standing on the other side of King Viserys.
Saeranera was glad to be back at the Red Keep, despite the… vermin lurking about. The princess didn’t bother thinking about them, instead, she decided to spend her time with Rhaenyra and her children.
When the princess arrived at the Heir’s chambers, she was surprised to see Princess Helaena sitting with Dany and Harwin’s little sister, who was a member of Rhaenyra’s household. The second daughter of the king was wearing a light violet gown made of silk with butterfly and dragonflies embroidered into the hem and neckline, with her hair brushed back and braided.
Helaena was fostering with Rhaenyra after a little altercation with the Queen Consort while Saera was away. She would need to get the story about what happened later.
It greatly pleased the girl with how big Jacaerys, Daenerys, Lucerys, and Naerys have grown, along with their dragons. And Rhaenyra had two more sons!
Jace was 7 now, Dany 6, and Luke and Naerys 4. Saera could tell that Jace was gonna grow into a fine young man, with the blood of the Dragon and First Men running through his veins. Dany was already so beautiful at such a young age, she was Rhaenyra’s daughter after all, with her silky silver-white hair and big purple eyes. Luke, to put it simply, was the most adorable little boy Saera had ever laid eyes on, with his cute button nose and innocent violet eyes. Naerys, despite not being a Targaryen and having the birthmark on her eye, was still a beautiful little girl, with brown eyes, long brown hair, and pale skin. The new boys, Daemion Targaryen and Arthur Strong, 9 moons and 2 namedays, respectively looked like their parents. Daemion had white hair and brown eyes, and Arthur had brown hair and violet eyes.
Rhaenyra and Harwin’s children were so beautiful and kind and just… and fuck if Saera didn’t love them all so much. It’s the main reason that Saera swore to protect every one of them when she lit her 14 candles.
Her father always rolled his eyes when he found her lighting them, souvenirs from Old Valyria he brought back for her, but Daemon never voiced any displeasure of his daughter's worship of their gods.
A day after Daemon and Saeranera’s arrival, the King had called them to the Small Council chambers.
It was anticipated, being called before the council, before the king for going to war. Well, mostly because Daemon took Saera with him to the Stepstones, a young girl of 3 and 10.
Saera wasn’t all that worried about the meeting, since Otto Hightower was no longer the Hand of the King, in his former place was now Lyonel Strong, a good man who knew of the Greens' intentions, and would do everything in his power to thwart them. But Otto Hightower was still on the council, a Master of something, but Viserys still considered him a “Friend” and might listen to what the cunt says.
Luckily, Saera is becoming quite adept in the art of speechcraft.
Entering the chambers, the father and daughter duo gave off an air of indifference, totally calm and unworried. Daemon wore simple but fancy clothing, all black and red, the colors of their house, with Dark Sister strapped to his side. Saera, though more liking trousers and coats and chemises, wore a black, gold, and red dress of Pentoshi and Lyrish silk, with a high standing collar, long cuffs on detachable sleeves, a rear corset belt, dragon scale epaulets on her shoulders, and her necklace around her neck.
“Your grace,” Saera and Daemon bowed their heads a bit, and the Hightowers looked disgruntled at the lack of etiquette by the two.
“Daemon, Saera,” Viserys nodded to the two seats at the end of the table across from him. “You know why you were called here?”
“The Stepstones. Our battle,” Saera smirked, taking a sip of her wine which her father poured for her. “My… endeavors and victory against the Triarchy.”
The King and several members of the council smiled and chuckled, only the Consort, former Hand, Tyland Lannister, and Lord Wylde didn’t smile. Saera could see what she assumed to be jealousy and anger in the Green Queen and former Hand's eyes.
“The Velaryons have, once again, reclaimed the Stepstones and pushed the Crabs back. If they know what’s good for them, they’ll keep to the dark depths.” Saera quipped, taking another sip of her wine. She could see her father smirking proudly at her. “But I suppose you would like to know the part I played in the war. Well, to put it simply, I showed the Triarchy the wrath of House Targaryen.”
“I heard reports of how you rode your dragon headfirst into battle and rained dragonfire on the Crabs,” Viserys said with a note of awe in his voice.
Saeranera nodded, “Yes, we did.”
The king chuckled, looking tired but so proud of his niece. The moment was ruined when his Whore stepped to the king's side and spoke up. “Your grace, we must bring up the issue that is Princess Saeranera going into battle with Prince Daemon. The battlefield is no place for a lady, let alone a princess.”
“Did someone ask your opinion?” Saera cut in before the Hightower Consort could continue, quite rudely, she knew, but the princess had no fucking patience for the Hightower’s.
The Consort looked so scandalized it was a chore not to burst out laughing, but Saera managed to school her face into one of cool indifference. “Saera!” King Viserys chastised halfheartedly.
“What right and authority does she have to speak? The Queen Consort is not a member of the Small Council, and she, quite frankly, doesn’t know shit about politics.”
“I am the Queen-”
“ You are the Queen Consort .” You have no power or authority, went unsaid but everyone heard it, with how red the whore and her father got. From the corner of her eye, Saera could see a look of rage pass over Ser Crispin’s face, it looked like he was about to take a step forward but a stern look from the king stopped him.
“Well, I believe the Queen is right, your grace.” Of course, the cunt would step in and seize any chance he could to eliminate Daemon and Saeranera. “Prince Daemon brought his daughter to a deadly battle, where no woman should ever be. They should be summarily punished.”
“200 years ago, Aegon the Conqueror flew Balerion the Black Dread over Westeros and became King of the Seven Kingdoms,” Saera said, taking another sip of wine, she looked at all the men on the Council before her violet eyes fell on the Hightower cunt. “Everyone knows that, but people seem to forget that King Aegon couldn’t have done it without his sister wives, Visenya and Rhaenys. Visenya was a Warrior Queen, she subdued many Houses, claimed many riches, and secured harbors.” The princess set her goblet down and straightened in her chair. “Targaryen women do not abide by the customs of sheep. So, when there is a war or battle that I can damn sure fight and win, you expect me to embroider by the fire? Well, I won’t.”
Otto looked positively fuming with rage, his face was red and he was gripping his fists so tightly.
Several people were struggling not to laugh, and Lord Lyonel was smirking at his goblet.
“Your grace, I implore you to punish Princess Saeranera for her disrespectful-” The Consort began to say, her tone raising in pitch as she put a hand on the King's shoulder.
“Oh, I was unaware it was seen as disrespectful to speak the truth.” Saera feigned surprise. Lord Corlys coughed, struggling to hide his smile, and Saera internally beamed at the look of pride in the man's dark eyes. “You see, my father and dear mother implore me to speak the truth. Although, my father put it as ‘be blunter, Saera’ .”
Ser Harrold snorted quietly from his position by the door.
“Apologies Uncle, but can we hurry along? We promised Rhaenyra we would dine with her and her family later,” Saera waited for her kingly uncle to nod for her to continue before she was rudely interrupted. 10 minutes later, Saera recounted her battles and victories, leaving out some moments of near death. Once done, the princess and her father took their leave and walked towards Princess Rhaenyra’s quarters.
Prince Daemon wrapped an arm around his daughter's shoulders and pulled her to his side, kissing the top of her head, “Well said, 𝚋𝚢𝚔𝚊 𝚣𝚊𝚕𝚍𝚛ī𝚣𝚎𝚜. ”