Chapter Text
94 AC - Volantis
The screams of agony echoed throughout the mansion, bouncing off the walls like a wail, drowning out the sound of the wind howling through the open windows. The silk curtains fluttered in the night breeze, and outside, Volantis pulsed with life. The torch-lit streets reflected the glow of the Rhoyne River, and in the distance, the Black Walls loomed against the night, guarding the secrets and sins of a city as old as the world itself.
Inside the room, however, time seemed to have stopped.
On the large golden wooden bed, a woman arched her body in agony, her long silver hair like the full moon clinging to her sweat-glazed skin. The sheets beneath her were soaked in blood, staining the golden embroidery a cruel red. She gasped, her chest rising and falling in despair, her nails digging into her own belly as another wave of pain tore through her body.
"Push, ma'am!" the midwife exclaimed, her voice mingled with urgency and desperation.
The sincere woman, a broken sound that tore at the soul. Her breath came in sobs, and tears streamed down her cheeks without her realizing it.
"I can't... I can't!" she sighed, her voice hoarse with exhaustion and fear.
"You can, Saera."
The voice calling her name made her eyes widen. Amidst the pain and despair, she met the steady gaze of Qeisht, her friend, her confidant, the only soul in the world who still called her by her true name.
"Look at me, Saera," Qeisht grabbed her bloodied hand, squeezing it tightly. "You've endured worse pain before. You've survived the impossible. Are you going to give up now? Come on, my friend... fight... just a little longer."
Saera Targaryen, exiled daughter of King Jaehaerys and Queen Alysanne, hesitated.
She wasn't weak...
She had never been...
And she would never let anyone think otherwise...
With a harsh scream, she forced her body to obey, summoning all the strength she had left... The world seemed to split in half, the pain evolving into something absolute, and then—a fragile, pure sound filled the room.
A faint scream…
The parties exchanged glances before wrapping the baby in a clean cloth. Silence fell over the room like a veil, broken only by Saera's shaky breathing.
“It’s a girl, ma’am.”
A girl.
For a moment, Saera simply stared. Her vision was blurred with tears, her limbs trembling, her body exhausted. But when the midwife placed the baby in her arms, time seemed to freeze.
The child's skin was hot...
By pressing...
Vivo...
The baby writhed, tiny hands searching for something to grab, its eyes still closed. Its hair, though stained with blood, looked captivating. But it was when those violet eyes finally opened that Saera caught her breath.
Violet.
The sweetest almond-shaped violet eyes she had ever seen.
Saera, who had been rejected by her family, who had fled with nothing but her pride and beauty, laughed. A shaky, tired laugh,
but full of something fierce.
"Nymeria..."
The name escaped her lips like a spell... Qeisht smiled beside her, her eyes gleaming with something indescribable.
“It’s a queen’s name.”
Saera tightened her hold on the baby against her chest… She stayed there, cradling the small, warm body against her, feeling her daughter’s gentle breath mix with her own. The smell of blood and sweat still clung to the air, but in that moment, nothing mattered more than the new life in her arms.
Her fingers traced the delicate line of the child’s tiny face, marveling at how small and perfect she was. The baby’s eyes, still clouded and unfamiliar with the world, seemed to hold an entire ocean within them.
Qeisht rose with one last look at mother and child.
“I’ll fetch warm water and clean cloths. Rest, my friend. You’ve conquered once more.”
She exited the room, closing the door gently. Silence enveloped them.
Saera closed her eyes, exhausted, but her peace was short-lived.
As the pain of the afterbirth lingered, one of the midwives moved closer to her, gently helping her to sit up. Saera winced, her body protesting against the movement, but the midwife was careful, her hands steady as she positioned the pillows behind Saera’s back. Another midwife knelt at the foot of the bed, preparing to tend to the placent
“Lean back, my lady,” the midwife said softly, her voice a calm reassurance in the midst of Saera’s lingering discomfort. “You need to rest now. Let us help.”
Saera, still holding Nymeria close to her chest, took a shallow breath. The baby’s soft warmth against her skin brought a sense of calm to her worn body. Her gaze never left her daughter’s face, her fingers brushing the baby’s delicate features as if she were afraid to blink, as if by doing so, she would somehow lose the precious moment. The baby’s violet eyes flickered briefly, their intensity already pulling Saera in, as though they already knew things about the world she had yet to learn.
She shifted slightly, her exhaustion taking its toll, but the midwives were there, supporting her as they gently eased her back into a more comfortable position. One of them brought over a bowl of warm water and clean cloths, helping to cleanse her body. Despite the overwhelming fatigue, Saera couldn’t tear her eyes away from Nymeria. She held her daughter close, feeling the little one’s warmth seep into her very soul, and the weight of motherhood settled deep in her heart.
With the final moments of the painful process behind her, Saera closed her eyes again, letting herself relax for the first time in what seemed like ages. Her daughter’s soft breath, the rhythmic pulse of life so near to her, filled the room, and for once, in that silence, the world felt still and whole.
She whispered again, her voice soft with
awe and love.
“Nymeria…”
Suddenly, the door was thrown open with a crash...
Saera jolted, instinctively pressing her daughter closer to her chest. The wind sent the silk curtains fluttering, and the flickering light of the candles revealed the figure that entered the room.
A man...
Tall and imposing, his bronzed skin gleamed under the flames, his brown hair disheveled by the wind. He wore clothes in golden and yellow hues, embroidered with the black sun of his house, and his dark brown eyes met hers with a mix of concern and relief.
Qoren Martell...
Her beloved... Her lover. The man who, against all odds, had chosen to love her without fear.
For a moment, he stood there, absorbing the scene before him. Saera, exhausted and pale, her silver hair clinging to her face. The tiny baby, still smeared with blood, nestled in her arms... Then, a relieved smile appeared on his lips, and he crossed the room swiftly.
"Thank Mother Royce," he whispered as he knelt beside her.
With delicate care, he touched Saera’s face, gently brushing the damp strands of sweat from her skin. His touch was warm, firm, full of a tenderness that few could have imagined coming from the Prince of Dorne.
"Are you alright?" he asked softly, as if afraid to shatter the moment.
Saera, still weary, simply nodded.
Qoren’s eyes then drifted down to the tiny form in her arms. He held his breath as if witnessing a miracle. With a reverence bordering on devotion, he reached out, his fingers grazing the soft skin of the baby, marveling at the perfection of the little creature who had just entered the world.
He looked back at Saera, his gaze full of awe and admiration, and whispered, his voice thick with emotion:
"And what is our daughter’s name?"
Saera met his eyes, a gleam of defiance and pride in her own, and replied with a sense of fierce pride:
"Nymeria..."
Her voice was steady, a declaration of not just the child’s name, but the beginning of a new life — a life that carried within it the legacy of both their houses, their love, and the undeniable power of the bond they had created.
Qoren blinked, momentarily surprised. Then, his face lit up with something that was not just love—but pride.
He chuckled softly, a low, husky sound, as if the name itself carried a prophecy he had always known would come true.
"Nymeria Sand..." he murmured, testing the name on his lips. His gaze met Saera's again, and he nodded, resolute. "My daughter. My heir."
And with those words, Qoren Martell kissed the baby's forehead, sealing her fate.
Saera’s lips curled into a faint, tired but contented smile, her exhaustion momentarily forgotten as she looked at the man she loved. Her eyes gleamed with a fiery determination, and she spoke, her voice steady despite the heaviness of the moment.
“She will be our heir, Qoren. Don't doubt it.” Her words carried the weight of an iron will, a declaration not just of what they had, but of what their daughter would one day become.
Qoren's eyes darkened with affection and amusement at her boldness, his smile widening. "Oh? Is that so?" he teased, his voice thick with pride.
Saera, never one to back down, met his teasing gaze with her own, her lips curling into something mischievous. "Yes. She will be our heir... and more. A queen in her own right. One that no one will dare challenge."
Qoren laughed, the sound rich and full of warmth. It was the kind of laugh that made Saera’s heart swell with love, the kind that made everything in the world seem to fade away. He leaned in, his hand cupping her cheek gently, and kissed her lips with a sweet, passionate kiss—slow, deep, and full of promises that only they understood.
When they finally pulled away, he kissed her forehead tenderly, then turned his attention back to the small bundle in her arms. With reverence, he kissed the baby’s forehead, his lips lingering for just a moment longer than necessary, as if sealing not just a future, but a legacy.
"My Nymeria," he whispered, voice full of devotion and fierce pride. "You will carry us both."
Saera watched them, her heart full, as if the world outside had vanished. There, in that quiet, sacred space, it was just them—Qoren, Saera, and Nymeria. The bond between them was more than love. It was destiny.
Qoren’s arms enveloped Saera in a tender, protective embrace, pulling her close to him. His warmth wrapped around her like a comforting cloak, as he kissed her temple gently, the sense of relief palpable in the air.
He pulled back slightly, his fingers brushing a stray lock of hair away from her face as his gaze fell on the letter she had been reading earlier, still held loosely in her hand. His brow furrowed in curiosity as he looked at her, his voice soft, yet tinged with concern.
“Is that from your mother?” he asked, his tone careful, as if treading on delicate ground. “What does it say?”
Saera sighed, a weary but resigned sound that seemed to come from deep within her. Her fingers traced the edges of the parchment for a moment before she finally spoke, her voice a mixture of melancholy and something deeper—something like resignation.
“my mother.....,” she began, her gaze drifting to the letter as if it weighed heavy in her hands. “She found out about the baby... she... wanted to see if I was alright. If I was well.”
Her voice trailed off as she closed her eyes for a brief moment, her thoughts taking her back to her past, to the painful memories of a mother who had once been so much more than a distant figure.
Qoren’s arms tightened around her, his chin resting lightly on the top of her head as he kissed her hair softly, offering her silent comfort. He understood the complexities of Saera's relationship with her mother—how much she had lost, and yet, how much still lingered in her heart.
“She’s a queen,” Qoren murmured softly, “but she’ll always be your mother first.”
Saera took a deep breath, her body relaxing slightly in his embrace, though her eyes remained distant, lost in the memories of a life she had once known.
“I wish I could believe that,” she whispered, her voice small, as if the weight of her own words was too much to bear. But in his arms, Saera allowed herself a moment of vulnerability, something she rarely gave into. She let the comfort of Qoren’s presence soothe her soul for just a while longer.
Qoren pulled back slightly, his eyes softening as he looked down at Saera. He cupped her cheek gently, his thumb brushing over her skin with a tenderness that seemed to speak volumes.
"It doesn’t matter anymore," he said, his voice low and firm. "What matters now is that you, me, and Nymeria… we’re a family. We have a future together." His gaze softened as he looked at the baby in Saera's arms, the little girl still peacefully resting against her mother. "And as for Gaemon... I've already considered him my son. He’s mine as much as Nymeria is."
Saera’s lips curved into a faint, amused smile, her eyes lighting up for the first time in a while. She shifted slightly, careful not to disturb Nymeria, and met Qoren’s eyes.
"Well," she said with a quiet laugh, "you might not have to consider him your son for much longer. My boy already calls you ‘father.’"
Qoren’s brow furrowed in surprise, a look of incredulity crossing his features. "He does?"
Saera nodded, her eyes softening with affection as she thought about her son. "He’s always been… attached to you. Since the first time he saw you, he’s always had this sense that you were meant to be in his life. You might not have noticed, but he always watches you, even when he thinks I’m not looking."
A warm chuckle escaped from Qoren’s lips, his heart swelling at the thought. "I hadn’t noticed," he said, his voice rich with emotion. "But if he sees me as his father, then that’s something I’ll honor, always."
Saera smiled at the sincerity in his voice, the love and commitment that had always been evident in his every action. "You already do," she whispered, leaning into him, her hand gently resting over his, which had found its way to her waist. "You’re more of a father to him than anyone else has ever been."
Qoren’s gaze softened, his hand tightening ever so slightly around her waist as he held her close. "Then let’s make sure we build a life for all of us, one that’s full of love and strength. No matter what comes next, we’ll face it together, as a family."
Saera looked at him, her eyes filled with the same unspoken promise, the same certainty in her heart. "Together," she whispered, resting her head on his shoulder, feeling the weight of the past slowly begin to lift as the future stretched out before them—an uncertain, but hopeful future.
Qoren stood by the door, his figure imposing yet tender, as he looked at Saera one last time before he left. Nymeria, still nestled in her mother’s arms, slept peacefully, her small chest rising and falling with each breath. Gaemon, only four years old, stood a few steps away, his curious gaze fixed on Qoren as he quietly observed the man.
"Don’t worry, little one," Qoren said with a soft chuckle, as if reading the boy’s thoughts. "I’m just going to introduce Nymeria to her grandparents. I’ll be back before you know it."
He crossed the room, his heart swelling at the sight of Saera’s tired but content expression. He bent down and kissed her gently on the lips, his hand lingering on her cheek as he whispered, "I’ll be back soon, my love. Take care of her for me."
Then, with a warmth in his eyes, he turned to Gaemon, who continued to watch him with a mixture of curiosity and wonder. Qoren crouched down to the boy’s level, his large hands gently resting on Gaemon’s shoulders. The child, despite his young age, seemed to understand the importance of the moment, and for a second, there was a quiet, almost sacred exchange between them.
"I love you, Gaemon," Qoren said softly, pulling the boy into a warm embrace. "And I’ll be back before you know it, alright?"
Gaemon, ever so trusting, wrapped his small arms around Qoren’s neck, squeezing him tightly. "Okay, papa," the boy said with a small smile, his voice soft but firm.
Qoren smiled, his heart full. He stood, giving Saera one last glance before walking towards the door. "I’ll return soon," he promised again, his voice carrying the weight of love and devotion. As he stepped out, the door gently closed behind him, leaving Saera and Gaemon in the quiet comfort of their home, waiting for the moment when their family would be whole again.
The Old Palace of Sunspear was a spectacle in itself. Its marble courtyards gleamed under the scorching sun of Dorne, fountains sang refreshing melodies, and the breeze carried the scent of spices and hot sand. But at that moment, within the private halls of House Martell, the atmosphere was thick with anticipation and tension.
Qoren Martell, Prince of Dorne, held his daughter firmly in his arms, his warm gaze filled with pride and mixed with a hint of anxiety. Nymeria, only a few months old, slept peacefully in her father's embrace, unaware of the eyes upon her.
Doran Martell, his father and ruler of Dorne, sat on a carved throne, observing the scene with a calculating gaze. Beside him, Eliandra Dayne, Qoren's mother, still a beautiful woman despite the years, leaned in to get a better look at her granddaughter.
"She’s beautiful..." murmured Eliandra, her eyes scanning the serene face of the child.
Doran nodded slowly, his fingers drumming on the arm of the throne.
"Indeed... a fair child. But..." His voice slowed, and his eyes narrowed.
Then came the eyes of the little girl...
Pale violets...
Unmistakable.
Eliandra’s blue-dark eyes widened, her breath catching in her throat. Doran, who had always maintained an impassive posture, sat up straighter in his throne. He exchanged a sharp glance with his wife before turning his gaze back to Qoren.
The Solar Hall of Sunspear was hot, but the heat that dominated that moment did not come only from the scorching sun of Dorne. It emanated from Doran Martell, sitting on the throne carved from golden sandstone, and from the growing fury in his eyes.
Qoren stood still, holding Nymeria in his arms as if his very life depended on it. His daughter slept peacefully, unaware of the whirlwind of emotions surrounding her.
Eliandra Dayne, beside her husband, hesitated as she extended a finger to touch the fine strands of brown and silver hair on her granddaughter's head. Her face, which had once been illuminated by the charm of seeing her for the first time, was now marked by silent astonishment.
"Her eyes..." she murmured, her voice almost swallowed by the tension in the air.
Doran needed no further confirmation. He had seen it before, in other children. He knew what it meant.
"Qoren." His voice cut through the silence like a blade.
The son did not answer.
"Answer me, son." Doran leaned forward, his jaw clenched. "Where did this blood come from? Some woman from Lys? Volantis?"
Qoren took a deep breath, his mouth opening and closing without words coming out.
Eliandra looked at her husband, then at her son, and then back at Nymeria. The expression in her blue-dark eyes shifted.
"No..." Eliandra whispered, but her voice carried the weight of certainty.
Doran froze for a moment. Then he murmured the same word:
"No...!"
It was a no filled with refusal. With indignation. With disbelief.
He looked at Qoren, waiting for him to deny it, waiting for an explanation. But the silence from his son was the only answer he received... The Prince of Dorne took a deep breath, his fingers curling into the arm of the throne. Then, with a sharp motion, he handed the baby back to Qoren, as if, suddenly, she burned in his hands.
Qoren held his daughter firmly but lowered his head, like a warrior who knew he could not win this battle.
"You..." Doran began, and his voice trembled. Not with fear, but with rage. "You did not sleep with... a... a damn Valyrian, did you? A Targaryen."
He spat the name.
Eliandra brought her hand to her mouth, horrified... Qoren, a man always proud and sharp-tongued, shrank, his shoulders stiffening under the weight of the accusation.
He knew his father despised dragons.
He knew Doran would never accept Valyrian blood mixed with his lineage.
But he also knew that no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t deny Nymeria...
Because she was his daughter...
And because he loved her...
"Say it’s a lie...!"
Qoren gritted his teeth.
"Father..."
" SAY IT’S A LIE!" Doran roared, his voice echoing through the hall.
But Qoren's silence was the only response he gave...
Doran Martell rose from the throne with surprising speed, his eyes flashing like embers ready to consume everything around them. The hot air of Dorne seemed to shrink in the face of the fury he radiated. The room became stifling, the heat unbearable, but what burned there was not the sun. It was the venom in Doran’s words.
"It’s been barely eighty years!" Doran roared, his voice sharp and heavy, reverberating off the golden marble walls of the Solar Hall.
His clenched fingers were white, as though he wished to break the sandstone throne. The anger that had been contained for so long now exploded like an overflowing river, and his twisted mouth spoke words that echoed like ancient curses...
"It’s been barely eighty years since those damn dragonlords burned Dorne! They burned our lands, our families, our children! And the people still remember! The people haven’t forgotten! No one has forgotten, Qoren! No one!" Doran continued, stepping toward his son, hatred spilling from every word. His eyes, once impassive, were now bloodshot with fury, as if the flames of the past still burned in his chest...
"And you come here, son!" Doran went on, his voice trembling with rage.
"You lie with one of them, a damn Targaryen? Can’t you see? Can’t you realize what you’re doing? Do you think, because she has those eyes and that skin, she can be different from the monsters who destroyed our land? She carries the blood of those who killed our brothers, our sisters, who ripped our families apart with their flames! And you, Qoren, you take her as your own?!"
Doran’s face was red, as if the old pain had been reopened, and his body trembled with primordial rage. He was not just speaking of Nymeria, but of all the bitter memories, all the scars that time had failed to heal.
"Do you know what this means? Do you think, because she has silver hair and violet eyes, she can be something else? Have you forgotten what we are? What we did to survive? And now you come to me with this! A Valyrian! A line of killers and tyrants!"
The silence weighed heavily in the room, but Doran’s words still echoed. Every syllable felt like it burned, and even the air seemed thicker, hotter. Qoren’s gaze was the only thing that remained unshaken, but there was something in his eyes that made Doran hesitate. Maybe it was the pain, or the silent plea for understanding, but that did nothing to lessen the prince’s fury.
Qoren looked at his father, his fingers tightening around his daughter, but his voice was soft, almost hesitant, in the face of Doran’s wrath.
"I love her, father..." he said, and the words, in their simplicity, were filled with an impossible-to-contain passion.
"The woman I love... Saera... she’s different from the Targaryens. She doesn’t carry their pain. She’s not what you think..." Qoren tried, his voice trembling. Doran laughed, a bitter, disdainful laugh.
"Different?" Doran spat, almost mocking the very word. "She carries their blood, Qoren. And that will never change..."
Qoren looked at Nymeria, still in his arms, the innocent child who slept peacefully, unaware of the storm unfolding around her. His eyes met Doran’s again, more determined now, and he did not look away.
"She has their blood, yes. But she is not like them. She is not what she will become. She won’t bring fire or destruction. She will bring something different. Something you and I, father, haven’t seen until now," Qoren spoke, his voice filled with fury, like a lion protecting its cubs.
Doran fell silent, the weight of Qoren’s words lingering in the air. But Qoren’s gaze, carrying something deeper than mere stubbornness, seemed to plant a seed of doubt in Doran’s mind. He wanted to deny it, wanted to destroy that hope. But deep down, he knew that what Qoren was saying might just be the only truth that remained...
Doran sighed deeply, the sound heavy and tired, as if an even greater burden had settled on his shoulders. His eyes softened for a brief moment, but there was no kindness in them, only a bitter acceptance of what was to come. He looked at Qoren, his son, with an expression that blended rage and exhaustion, and his words came out as though they had been torn from his soul...
“If you want your daughter to be a Dornishwoman…” Doran said, his tone both resolute and filled with disgust, “…she will be a Dornishwoman. She will live in Dorne, live as we do. But do not come asking me to accept the woman who bore her, to have her at our side as if we were never destroyed, as if nothing ever happened…”
He stared into the distant horizon, as though seeking answers to his pain, but when his gaze returned to Qoren, it was heavy, cold.
“She will not be a part of what we are. She will be an outsider, just like all Targaryens. Her blood condemns her to be a foreigner, no matter how hard you try.”
Qoren froze, his eyes locked on his father, incredulous, as though Doran’s words were sharp blades, tearing apart his own trust, his own love. What he had just heard felt like an irreversible sentence, and the pain of losing everything he loved, even his own family, made the ground beneath him feel as though it had vanished. His eyes filled with tears, and the need for a single word of support, a word that would make him believe there was still meaning in all of this, became unbearable… He turned, seeking help, his eyes pleading—not with anger, but with sincere anguish. His gaze found his mother, his only source of comfort, of affection.
“Mother…” he murmured, his voice breaking. “Please… say something. You can’t agree with this. You can’t… I love her…”
But his mother’s response was a heavy silence. She lowered her eyes to the floor, avoiding the visible pain in her son, as if the weight of the decision was too much even for her to bear. A deep, almost painful sigh escaped her lips, but she did not look at him. There was nothing more to say. The words his mother did not speak said everything.
But his mother’s response was a heavy silence. She lowered her gaze to the floor, avoiding the visible pain in her son, as if the weight of the decision was too much even for her to bear. A deep, almost painful sigh escaped her lips, but she did not look at him. There was nothing left to say. The words she did not speak said everything.
Qoren felt the sting of rejection from both sides—the distant gaze of Doran and the crushing silence of his mother. He sought solace in his own memories, in the moments when he had believed that family could still be a strong, unbreakable bond. But now, faced with indifference and pain, he was more lost than ever.
He stood at the crossroads of two opposing realities, two choices that would shape the rest of his life. One path led him away from his family, his roots, the legacy that bound him to a land filled with both hatred and love. He could walk away with the woman who consumed him like a flame—the woman whose past was stained, yet whom he loved with every fiber of his being. A woman he would have, no matter the cost. A love forbidden, reckless, but real.
And then there was his family. The house that had forged him, the ties of blood, the history that defined him. And with an unbearable weight pressing against his chest, Qoren made his choice. He chose his family. He chose what was expected, what had always been expected.
But that meant the love he felt for Saera had to be forgotten. He would leave her behind, walk away from the woman who had given him meaning, who had made him feel whole, and surrender to the fate imposed upon him.
The pain of that decision struck like a cruel blow. The sound of his own choice echoed in his mind, muffled by the silent scream of his breaking heart. He was condemning himself, but he knew there was no turning back. He could not live with the shame of dishonoring his lineage, his heritage, his house.
That night, he entered his chambers with his daughter in his arms—the small child who represented everything pure within him and, at the same time, the bitterest reminder of the chasm that now lay between him and Saera. He looked down at her face, so innocent, so vulnerable, and his heart shattered once more.
He knew what he had done. He knew that by taking Saera’s daughter, he had committed a betrayal that could never be undone.
“I’m sorry,” he whispered, his voice cracking as he held the child tighter, as if that would somehow ease the pain. “I’m sorry, my little one. I know what I did, but…”
He looked at the baby, his eyes filled with unshed tears.
“Saera will hate me for this. She will hate me for taking you from her. She will hate me for abandoning her, as so many have done before. I know she won’t understand. But… there was no other choice.”
Every word felt like a dagger. Qoren could no longer look at his daughter and convince himself that he was doing the right thing. He knew he had lost a part of himself, and that loss would haunt him for the rest of his life. But what else could he do? He had chosen his family. Now, all that was left was to bear the weight of that choice, hoping that one day, perhaps, he could find redemption.
Abandon his family and his heritage... or surrender to a love so wild, so intense, for a woman who was once nothing more than a courtesan, but whom he loved more than anything.
He had chosen.
He had chosen his family.
That's right
Nymeria would stay with him.