Grief is a storm that never seems to end.

Grief is a constant presence.

Grief is a wound that refuses to heal.

The tempest inside Saerra has turned her heart into a battlefield, her soul into a war-torn land.

She can scarcely remember a time when she did not feel this hollow ache, this unrelenting pain.

The world outside her chamber seems like a distant dream, a place where her sunshine, Lucerys, still smiles and laughs.

Saerra has always been a fighter, but grief has a way of stripping away even the strongest armor.

She lies in her bed, staring at the ceiling, the weight of her sorrow pressing down on her chest.

Every breath is a struggle, every moment an eternity. She has forgotten the thrill of battle, the satisfaction of a well-fought victory. All she knows now is loss.

Rhaenyra, her wife, has been gone for days. She is driven by a desperate need to find proof of Luke's death, to confirm the nightmare that has consumed their lives.

Saerra, however, has already accepted the unbearable truth. She has fallen into a deep depression, unable to find the strength to rise from her bed.

Daemon, ever the warrior, wants revenge for Luke's death. He cares for Saerra, but his desire for vengeance runs deep.

" You need to eat," Daemon insists, his voice a mixture of frustration and concern. He stands by the bedside, a tray of food in his hands, "You cannot waste away like this."

Saerra turns her head away, her eyes closing as if to shut out the world, "I can't, Daemon. I just can't."

Daemon sets the tray down, his hands clenching into fists, "This isn't you. The woman I know would never let herself be defeated so easily."

"The woman you knew is gone," Saerra murmurs, her voice barely a whisper.

Daemon sighs, his anger getting the best of him. He wants to be there for his wife, but the actions of his other wife make it more difficult for him. With the Queen gone, he's stuck waging her war instead of bending knees at Harrenhal.

And so alone she sits through the night.

" Mama?" A little voice asks, one that Saerra knows all too well.

" Haelye," Saerra whispers as she turns around to see her six-year-old walking toward the bed," What's wrong?"

" Are you okay?" Haeyle asks, her big brown eyes illuminated by the candlelight.

" I'm alright, angel," Saerra utters as the child climbs into bed, seeking out her mother's arms.

" Why didn't Luke come back?"

The question completely shatters Saerra's heart. More tears slip down her cheeks as she holds her eldest child close to her chest, attempting to steady her breathing.

" I do not know," Saerra lies.

As if on cue, Maella toddles into the room, rubbing her sleepy eyes, "Mama, can I sleep with you?"

" Of course, my gem," Saerra replies, her heart aching as she gathers both of her daughters into her arms.

They are her reason for living, her anchor in the storm of her grief. As she holds them close, she feels a flicker of determination ignite within her. She must protect them, no matter the cost.

Daemon watches from the doorway, his expression softening as he sees the fragile strength in Saerra's eyes. He knows that she is still there, beneath the layers of sorrow and pain. And he knows that, together, they will find a way to move forward.

On the morrow, Saerra watches Haeyle and Maella play with each other, both having their own toy dolls and dragons. Their laughter fills the room, a stark contrast to the heaviness in her heart. The innocence of their play is a small solace, a reminder that life goes on even in the midst of unimaginable loss. The sight of her daughters playing together brings a faint smile to her lips, but it quickly fades as the reality of Lucerys' death settles in her chest like a stone.

Saerra lies in bed, her body weak and her spirit broken. She feels a deep exhaustion that goes beyond physical fatigue; it is the weariness of a soul burdened by grief. The room around her is dimly lit, the shadows lengthening as the day turns to evening. She has barely moved from this spot in days, her mind lost in a labyrinth of sorrow and memories.

The door creaks open, and Saerra turns her head slightly to see Rhaena standing in the doorway. Rhaena's face is pale, her eyes red-rimmed and swollen from crying. She hesitates for a moment before stepping into the room, closing the door softly behind her.

"Saerra," Rhaena whispers, her voice trembling.

She crosses the room and sits on the edge of the bed, reaching out to take Saerra's hand. The touch is gentle, a lifeline in the sea of their shared despair.

"Rhaena," Saerra replies, her voice barely audible.

She squeezes Rhaena's hand, finding a small measure of comfort in the familiar presence. They sit in silence for a moment, the weight of their grief hanging heavily in the air.

"How are you?" Rhaena asks, though she knows the answer.

The question is more a way to fill the silence than a genuine inquiry.

"I don't know," Saerra admits, her eyes fixed on her daughters, "I feel like I'm drowning, but I have to keep breathing for them."

She nods toward Haeyle and Maella, who are still engrossed in their play, oblivious to the tragedy that has befallen their family.

Rhaena follows Saerra's gaze, her heart aching at the sight of the two little girls.

"They don't know yet, do they?" She asks softly.

Saerra shakes her head, "No. I don't know how to tell them. How do you explain something like this to a child?"

Her voice breaks, and she takes a shaky breath, trying to hold back the tears that threaten to spill once again.

Rhaena nods, understanding all too well, " I miss him so much already..."

Her voice trails off, and she looks down at her lap, tears slipping silently down her cheeks.

" How do we keep going when everything feels so broken?" The young Targaryen asks.

"We take it one day at a time," Saerra says, her voice steady despite the turmoil inside her, " For Joffrey, For Haeyle, for Maella, for each other. We have to keep living, if only for them."

Rhaena nods, wiping away her tears. She glances over at the girls, who are now giggling as they make their toy dragons fly through the air. The sight brings a bittersweet smile to her face, "They remind me of him."

Saerra smiles faintly, " He adored them, and they adored him."

As the evening wears on, the two women sit together in quiet companionship, their shared grief forming a bond that neither of them could have anticipated. They speak softly, their voices barely rising above a whisper, mindful of the children playing nearby.

"He always had a gentle heart," Saerra says, her smile fading into a look of sorrow, "He would have been a wonderful husband to you, Rhaena."

"And a wonderful father," Rhaena adds, her voice breaking slightly.

Saerra nods, tears filling her eyes once more.

They fall into silence again, each lost in their own thoughts. The room grows darker as the sun sets, but neither of them moves to light a candle. The shadows seem fitting, a reflection of the darkness that has settled over their hearts.

Eventually, Haeyle and Maella tire of their play and climb into bed with Saerra. She wraps her arms around them, drawing comfort from their warmth and innocence. Rhaena watches them, her heart aching for the family they have lost and the future that will never be.

"Goodnight, my loves," Saerra whispers, kissing each of her daughters on the forehead, "Sleep well."

"Goodnight, mama," Haeyle and Maella reply in unison, their voices sleepy and sweet.

Saerra closes her eyes, holding her daughters close. The storm of grief still rages inside her, but for the first time in days, she feels a glimmer of hope.

In the quiet of the night, Saerra whispers a silent prayer to the gods, asking for the strength to endure, the courage to face the days ahead, and the love to keep her family whole.

And so, as the first stars begin to twinkle in the night sky, Saerra drifts into a restless sleep, her heart heavy with sorrow but also filled with a fierce determination to protect and cherish those she loves. The storm of grief may never fully pass, but within its midst, she finds the strength to keep going, one day at a time.

The first light of dawn filters through the curtains, casting a soft glow over the room. Saerra stirs from her restless sleep, her heart heavy with the ache of loss. But this morning, there is a faint spark of resolve. She takes a deep breath, feeling the steady rise and fall of her daughters' chests as they sleep beside her. The warmth of their small bodies provides a semblance of comfort.

Gently, Saerra extricates herself from the tangle of limbs, careful not to wake Haeyle and Maella. She moves quietly to the washbasin, splashing cool water on her face, washing away the remnants of sleep and tears. Her reflection in the mirror shows the toll of grief.

She dresses quickly, selecting a simple gown that speaks of practicality rather than nobility. As she fastens the last button, she hears the soft stirrings of her daughters waking. Haeyle's sleepy eyes meet hers, and Saerra offers a small, reassuring smile.

Together, they leave the room, walking hand in hand through the dimly lit corridors of Dragonstone. The castle is eerily quiet in the early morning hours, the silence broken only by the distant sound of waves crashing against the rocky shore. As they approach the Great Hall, the scent of freshly baked bread and roasted meats wafts through the air, stirring Saerra's appetite for the first time in days.

The Great Hall is sparsely populated at this hour, with a few servants bustling about, preparing for the day's activities. Saerra guides her daughters to a table near the hearth, where the warmth of the fire chases away the lingering chill. She helps them into their seats, her movements slow and deliberate, as if rediscovering the rhythm of everyday life.

Plates of food are set before them, and Saerra takes a moment to appreciate the simple beauty of a meal shared with loved ones. She watches as Haeyle and Maella eagerly dig into their breakfast, their innocent delight a stark contrast to the sorrow that has shadowed their family. Her own stomach growls in response, and for the first time in days, she allows herself to eat.

Each bite is a reminder of her body's needs, a step towards reclaiming her strength. She chews slowly, savoring the flavors that she had long ignored. The bread is warm and soft, the butter melting into a golden pool. The meats are tender and flavorful, a testament to the skill of the castle's cooks. Saerra eats with purpose, each mouthful a defiant act of survival.

From his vantage point near the entrance, Daemon watches Saerra with a mixture of relief and admiration. His eyes, dark with unspoken grief and simmering rage, soften as he observes her. He knows the depth of her pain, the unbearable weight of losing a child. But he also sees the glimmers of her inner strength, the resilience that has carried her through countless battles and courtly intrigues.

Daemon's own desire for revenge burns fiercely within him, a relentless flame that demands justice for Lucerys. Yet, as he watches Saerra eat, he finds a momentary peace. Her presence, her determination to care for their daughters, brings a sense of balance to his tumultuous emotions. He knows that Saerra is stronger than she appears.

Saerra's attention shifts to her daughters, who are now engaged in a playful argument over the last piece of fruit. She intervenes with a gentle smile, dividing the fruit equally between them. The sight of their happy faces, their laughter ringing through the hall, is a balm to her wounded heart. For a brief moment, she feels the warmth of joy, a fleeting reprieve from the crushing sorrow.

As she continues to eat, Saerra's thoughts drift to Rhaenyra, who has been gone for days, consumed by her own quest for closure. Saerra understands her wife's desperation, the need to find proof of Lucerys' death. But she also knows that they must find a way to move forward, to honor his memory by living, by fighting for the future of their family.

Daemon's gaze remains fixed on Saerra, noting the subtle changes in her demeanor. The way she sits a little straighter, the light that returns to her eyes, however faint. He sees the warrior within her, the fierce protector who has faced countless challenges and emerged stronger. He knows that she has the strength to fight by his side, to reclaim the future that has been so cruelly disrupted.

As the meal progresses, Saerra's appetite grows, and she takes pleasure in the simple act of eating, of nourishing her body. The food revitalizes her, bringing a flush of color to her cheeks and a spark to her eyes.

And that's the very spark Daemon's been looking for. That's the very spark he was hoping to see, so he wouldn't have to rely on the help of the White Worm down in the cells.

But rely on the help of his very own wife, the Tider Breaker.

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[ WE'RE BACK BABY ]