Saerra nestles against Rhaenyra's comforting embrace, finding solace in the warmth of her cousin's arms. Her feet find rest upon Daemon's lap, his gentle touch tracing circles on her tired legs, bringing relief to the ache that lingers.

Saerra's gaze flickers between Rhaenyra and Daemon, catching the unspoken words that pass between them. There is a secret held within their eyes, a truth yearning to be shared, and her heart quickens with a mix of hope and trepidation.

As Rhaenyra's hands tenderly glide over the gentle curve of Saerra's abdomen, the realization dawns upon her. Their eyes meet, and in that moment, they share an unspoken agreement. It is time. Time to reveal the truth that binds them together, a truth that will forever shape their lives.

Daemon's fingers still upon her legs, and his voice quivers with a mix of excitement and sorrow.

"There is something you must know."

Saerra's breath catches in her throat, her eyes wide with anticipation. She leans forward, her hand reaching out to clasp Daemon's, seeking strength and reassurance.

Rhaenyra's touch lingers upon the gentle curve of Saerra's belly, her eyes gleaming with unshed tears.

" You are with child," She whispers, her voice filled with a tender mix of joy and pain.

Saerra's heart skips a beat, a myriad of emotions crashing over her like a tidal wave. The tears well in her eyes, their shimmering presence a reflection of the conflicting emotions that surge within her. Joy intertwines with sorrow, hope intertwines with grief, creating a kaleidoscope of emotions that leaves her breathless.

She reaches for her belly, her hand trembling, fingers tracing the contours of the life that grows within her. A mixture of awe and longing fills her, the weight of the unborn child anchoring her to a future fraught with both beauty and heartache.

"Harwin..." Saerra trails, her voice barely above a whisper as reality settles upon her shoulders.

The sandy beach falls silent, the weight of the revelation hanging in the air. Saerra's tears fall freely now, a testament to the complexities of her emotions. Rhaenyra's embrace tightens, her arms enfolding Saerra in a cocoon of love and understanding. Daemon's hand reaches out to cup Saerra's cheek, his touch a gentle caress that seeks to wipe away both tears and sorrows.

Saerra's tears glisten like tiny diamonds, catching the soft moonlight as they trace delicate paths down her cheeks. They are tears born of the bittersweet knowledge that accompanies her pregnancy. A child conceived out of wedlock, carrying the weight of the label 'bastard' even before drawing its first breath.

Saerra's chest tightens, her breath catching in her throat. The waves crash against the shore in a symphony of rhythm, mirroring the ebb and flow of her emotions.

As the tears continue to fall, they become an offering of both sorrow and triumph. Each droplet represents a vow, a promise that Saerra makes to herself and her unborn child. She will be their protector, their unwavering shield against a world that may seek to diminish their worth.

A dragon screeching through the gloomy skies breaks the silence and the tension. All heads turn up, seeing a giant shadow soaring above, one that lands right by the castle.

And so, Saerra wipes away her tears, forcing herself to regain composure, even if it's just temporarily. Daemon and Rhaenyra walk with the expecting mother down the beach and up the many stone steps of the castle. For a moment, they leave behind their time together on the beach and get ready for bed, but Rhaenyra is barely able to slip on a nightgown before the guards are shouting in the hall and telling the Princess to come quickly.

Chaos erupts on Driftmark this night.

Rhaenyra rushes into the hall, her eyes instantly darting at her sons. She immediately rushes to their side to check for harm, just as Saerra comes sprinting their way. She kneels down and wraps her arms tightly around the small little boy, of whom is covered in blood, both his and not.

" My little sunshine," Saerra whispers as her eyes close for just a moment, " What happened?"

" They attacked me!"

" He attacked Baela!"

" He broke Luke's nose!"

" He threw me down!"

" They started it!"

" Aemond," Viserys sighs as he limps over to his son, " I will have the truth of what happened. Now."

" What else is there to hear?" The queen asks, " Your son has been maimed, her son is responsible."

" It was a regrettable accident," Rhaenyra defends.

" Accident? The Prince Lucerys brought a blade to the ambush. He meant to kill my son."

" It was mine sons who were attacked and forced to defend themselves. Vile insults were levied against them."

" What insults?" Viserys asks, as Otto leans forward to await the answer.

" The legitimacy of my son's birth was put loudly to question," Rhaenyra responds.

" He called us bastards," Jacaerys adds.

The room grows silent for a moment, the silence indicating that everyone   knows the accusations are true, but cannot speak up and confirm them.

" My sons are in line to inherit the Iron Throne, your grace," Rhaenyra   pleads as she steps forward, " This is the highest of treasons. Prince Aemond should be sharply questioned so we might learn where he heard   such slanders."

" Over an insult... my son has lost an eye," Alicent weeps as she stands before her injured boy.

Saerra keeps Lucerys in her arms, still kneeling before him. She feels the blood pumping through her veins, and she will do whatever it takes to protect the little on in her arms.

"You tell me, boy. Where did you hear this lie?" Viserys' voice cuts through the turmoil, his eyes fixed on Aemond.

"The insult was training yard bluster. The lot of boys. It was nothing," Alicent interjects.

But Viserys is persistent, directing his question to Aemond once again.

"Aemond... I asked you a question."

"  Where is Ser Laenor, I wonder? The boys' father? Perhaps he might have  something to say in the matter," Alicent pipes in, attempting to steer  the conversation away from her son.

Viserys's eyes bore into Aemond's, demanding the truth.

"Aemond... look at me. Your king demands an answer. Who spoke these lies to you?" He asks.

"It was Aegon," Aemond utters as his eye locks on his mother.

" Me? " The boy asks, dumbfoundedly.

" And you, boy? Where did you hear such calumnies?"

Viserys's gaze shifts from Aemond to Aegon, disbelief etched across his face.  Viserys, the king, and their father, attempt to restore order, his voice commanding the room's silence.

"This interminable infighting must cease! All of you! We are family! Now make your apologies and show goodwill to one another. Your father, your  grandsire, your king demands it!"

But Alicent, ever defiant, speaks up once more

"That is insufficient," She utters, " Aemond has been damaged, permanently, my king. 'Good will' cannot make him whole."

The tension escalates, and a sense of impending tragedy hangs heavy in the room.

"I know, Alicent, but I cannot restore his eye."

But Alicent's words are laced with vengeance, her voice cuts through the air like a sharpened blade.

"No, because it's been taken. What would you have me do? There is a debt to be paid. I shall have one of her son's eyes in return."

Visery's voice is strained as he tries to reason with his wife.

"My dear wife--"

" He is your son, Viserys! Your blood. Do not... allow your temper to guide your judgment.

  " If the King will not seek justice, the Queen will.  Ser Criston...  bring me the eye of Lucerys Velaryon. He can choose which eye to keep, a  privilege he did not grant my son."

As the words hang in the air, the room fell into a stunned silence. The weight of Alicent's demand echoes off the walls, causing a gasp to escape the lips of those who have witnessed the exchange.

Saerra swiftly picks up Lucerys and stands up straight. She holds him in her arms, ready to flee at any moment.

Viserys,  torn between his duties as a king and the emotions that tugged at his heart as a father, struggles to find the right words. His gaze shifts from Alicent to his injured son, Aemond, and then to Rhaenyra, who stands protectively by her own children.

"You will do no such thing," Viserys finally speaks, his voice firm but tinged with sorrow "Stay your hand."

Alicent's eyes blaze with fury as she locks her gaze with Viserys'. The tension in the room is palpable, threatening to unravel the fragile unity that had once bound House Targaryen together.

"Alicent, this matter... is finished. Do you understand?" Viserys voice, though resolute, carries a note of pleading.

But she doesn't. Alicent doesn't understand. The matter is not finished,  and so she takes it upon herself to act. From his belt, the King's dagger is removed and placed into Alicent's hand as she marches straight for the bastard child, only to be stopped by his mother. The entire room goes into a frenzy, all panicking and shouting as the women struggle against each other. Saerra grabs Jacerys by the back of his tunic, pulling both of the boys away from the scene taking place before them.

" You've gone too far."

"  What have I done but what was expected of me?  Forever upholding the kingdom, the family, the law.  While you flout it all to do as you please. Where is duty? Where is sacrifice?  It's trampled under your pretty foot again. And now you take my son's eye, and to even that, you  feel entitled."

" Exhausting, wasn't it?  Hiding beneath the cloak of your own righteousness. But now they see you as you are."

Alicent pulls back in a flush of anger, and for a moment, all is calm, until all eyes follow the trail of blood spilling down Rhaenyra's arm. The two women stand on either side of the room, two women who were once closer than any other in this room.

Saerra rushes to her lover's side with Lucerys still in her arms. She gazes down at Rhaenyra's arm and watches as the blood dips down. Her head turns to Alicent, and her eyes bore into the Queen's, whose eyes are filled with tears and pain and a swell of other emotions.

But then... Saerra's head turns and meets her father's gaze.

The air grows heavy with tension, the atmosphere charged with unspoken emotions. Saerra's heart races within her chest as she gazes upon the figure standing before her, her estranged father, Lord Corlys Velaryon. Ten long years have passed since their paths last crossed, a decade filled with abandonment, rejection, and a constant reminder of her illegitimate status.

The memories of her father's disdainful glances and callous words surge forth, replaying like a relentless storm in her mind. Each cruel remark, each dismissive gesture, has etched itself deeply into her soul, leaving scars that still ache with unresolved pain.

Lord Corlys, a towering presence, looms before her. His regal bearing and stern countenance are the very embodiment of authority and power. Saerra's breath catches in her throat as she becomes acutely aware of her own vulnerability in his presence. The weight of his disapproval presses upon her, threatening to suffocate the flickering hope that has started to blossom within her heart.

Her eyes trace the lines on his face, weathered by time and burdened by responsibilities. They search for any sign of recognition, for a glimmer of remorse or a trace of regret. Yet, all she finds is an impenetrable mask, revealing nothing of the tumultuous emotions that lie beneath the surface.

The silence in the air is palpable, the unspoken words hanging heavy like a sword poised to strike. Saerra's hands tightly clench around the boy in her arms, her body instinctively bracing itself for the confrontation that awaits. A whirlwind of emotions swirls within her—a mixture of anger, longing, and an unsettling sense of vulnerability.

In this charged moment, the weight of the past collides with the uncertain future. The fragile threads that connect Saerra to her father, frayed and nearly severed by years of neglect, hang precariously in the balance. Will he acknowledge her existence? Will he look upon her with anything other than contempt? Or will he simply reaffirm the painful truth of her place as a despised bastard, unworthy of his love and acceptance?

As seconds stretch into an eternity, the intensity of the moment intensifies. The deafening silence speaks volumes, echoing the unspoken words and unhealed wounds that lie between them. The weight of expectation and disappointment hangs in the air, intertwining with a glimmer of desperate hope.

And in this stillness, Saerra stands tall, her chin held high, refusing to let her father's indifference define her worth. The fire within her burns brightly, a testament to her resilience and determination to forge her own path, regardless of the rejection she has endured.

As Lord Corlys's gaze briefly meets hers, a flicker of recognition passes across his eyes. Is it guilt or regret that flashes in that momentary connection? Or is it merely a passing shadow, a fleeting acknowledgment of her existence before retreating behind the facade of his stoic demeanor?

The seconds tick by, each one pregnant with anticipation, until finally, a choice is made. Lord Corlys, without uttering a word, turns away, his back stiff and resolute. The distance between them widens, a chasm that seems insurmountable, as he disappears into the shadows of the room.

Saerra's heart sinks, the weight of disappointment threatening to shatter her fragile resolve. But amidst the pain, a newfound strength emerges. She refuses to let Lord Corlys's indifference define her. She is more than the product of his rejection; she is a survivor.

As the rays of an early morning sun gleam through the windows, Rhaenyra's would is stitched up by the maester, her pain evident as she groans, with only Saerra at her side to hold her hand. Lucerys and Jacerys watch from the side, their mouths tight-lipped, for they have no wish to speak, not even as their 'father' enters the room, rejoining the family after a night out.

The Princess orders the room to be emptied, and so Saerra stands, ignoring her swirling stomach as she leads the boys out of the room and down to the sea. She takes them down the stone steps and allows them to play in the shallow waters, just as she once did when she was a child.

She watches over the two Princes, hand resting itself over her stomach, as her darling Rhaenyra deals with the troubles and turmoils of her own marriage, one that is crumbling beneath her feet. Time is running out, and Rhaenyra may not be able to salvage the remnants of the mummer's farce, words echoed by Saerra as she and her lovers join together on the steps of Driftmark.

" Fire is such strange power.  Everything that House Targaryen possesses is owed to it.  Yet it has cost us all what we loved," Rhaenyra utters.

" Perhaps the Velaryons knew the truth of it, " Daemon remarks, "The sea is the better ally."

" Fire is a prison.  The sea offers an escape," She continues.

" It does," Saerra nods as her eyes gaze upon the rolling tides, " The sea is perfect and calm on a warm and sunny day... but deadly and relentless on a dark and stormy night."

In all three minds, an idea pops up, almost in synch. One that is mad and preposterous... but one that will bring them closer to achieving the very thing they've longed for years.

" Perhaps the sea could offer us our escape," Saerra suggests as her eyes flicker between her two loves.

" From the prison of fire... comes a soothing tide," Rhaenyra adds, her mind synching with the Salt woman.

" Saerra, you and I are the only ones free to marry," Daemon interjects, then turns his head to his niece, " We could not marry unless Laenor were dead."

" I know."

A solemn understanding passes between them, the weight of their shared predicament bearing down upon their shoulders. They stand on the steps of Driftmark, their gazes fixed upon the horizon where the sea meets the sky, a vast expanse of untamed beauty that holds the answers to their deepest desires.

The plan takes shape in their minds, each step outlined with precision and caution. They will orchestrate Laenor's death, a necessary sacrifice to untangle the web of deceit that has ensnared them all. The news of his demise will spread, shrouding Rhaenyra in widowhood and freeing her from the chains of her loveless marriage. It is a drastic measure, but one they deem necessary to forge a future where their unconventional love can thrive.

As the waves crash against the shores of Driftmark, their resolve strengthens. They turn their gaze inward, drawing upon the ancient Valyrian traditions that run through their veins. The marriage between Rhaenyra, Daemon, and Saerra will be consecrated in the sacred ways of Old Valyria, a bond that transcends the limitations of societal norms and embraces the timeless power of their shared heritage.

The journey to Dragonstone begins, their hearts filled with equal parts excitement and apprehension. They leave behind the familiar shores of Driftmark, sailing across the Narrow Sea towards their new home, where destiny awaits them. The island fortress rises before them like a beacon of hope, its towering volcanic cliffs a testament to the indomitable spirit that resides within the blood of House Targaryen.

Upon Dragonstone's ancient shores, they stand together, a trio bound by love and a shared purpose. The sun casts its ethereal glow upon them, as if the heavens themselves bear witness to the profound significance of this moment. They gather atop a cliff on the island, joined by a priest, a maester, and the children from two different marriages.

Saerra's heart flutters and races as she stands dressed in traditional garb before the two people she loves more than anything in the realm. They exchange vows, their words carrying the weight of a lifetime of longing, devotion, and acceptance. The ancient Valyrian words spill from their lips, a melody that resonates with the echoes of their ancestors, binding them together in a sacred covenant. Their lips are cut, spilling the blood that binds them. They share it between them three, forever cementing their union.

As the ceremony draws to a close, they exchange rings, each symbolizing their commitment to one another. The metal glimmers in the soft light, a tangible reminder of the unbreakable bond they have forged. Their hearts swell with a profound sense of completion, a recognition that they have defied societal expectations and embraced their true selves.

In the afterglow of their union, they find solace in each other's arms, their bodies entwined in a dance of love and intimacy. The weight of their choices and the consequences that lie ahead are momentarily forgotten as they revel in the ecstasy of the present. The world outside their chamber fades away, leaving only the three of them, united in a sacred union that defies convention.

And so, Rhaenyra, Daemon, and Saerra, bound by love, destiny, and the ever-present call of the sea, begin their journey as a united front. Their love, tested and forged in the crucible of adversity, will serve as an unbreakable armor, guiding them towards a future where they can truly be themselves and find solace in the embrace of their unconventional family.

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[ we made it 🫡 ]