The room is dimly lit by the soft glow of the flickering candles, casting a warm ambiance that embraces Saerra and her slumbering daughters. Exhaustion etches lines of weariness on Saerra's face, but her eyes remain fixed on Haelye and Maella, their innocent faces calm in the depths of sleep. She holds them close, their small bodies nestled against her, finding solace in their presence despite her weariness.

Baela and Rhaena stand at the doorway, their gazes filled with concern as they observe their stepmother's fatigue. Baela takes a step forward, her voice gentle yet resolute.

" You need to rest," She says softly.

Saerra's tired eyes meet Baela's, a mix of gratitude and hesitation shimmering within. She instinctively tightens her hold on Haelye and Maella, a protective instinct that refuses to waver. The weariness in her voice is palpable as she responds.

"I appreciate your concern, my beloveds," Saerra says, her voice soft yet firm, "But they need me. I must be here for them."

Baela and Rhaena exchange a knowing glance, silently acknowledging the depth of Saerra's love for her children. They step closer, their presence a gentle reassurance.

"We understand," Rhaena says, her voice filled with empathy, "But you need rest, too. It's been a long and trying journey for all of us."

Baela adds her voice, her tone gentle yet persistent.

"We will keep them safe while you rest."

Tears shimmer in Saerra's eyes as conflicting emotions wage war within her. She wants nothing more than to sink into the comforting embrace of sleep, but the thought of leaving her daughters even for a moment fills her with anxiety. The weariness that burdens her body battles with the unwavering love that fuels her spirit.

Saerra takes a deep breath, finding solace in Baela's words, in the unwavering support of her stepdaughters. With a tender sigh, she slowly eases her hold on Haelye and Maella, gently laying them down on the bed, arranging pillows around them to ensure their comfort.

Baela and Rhaena move to Saerra's side, their presence a silent reassurance. They encircle her with their arms, enveloping her in a cocoon of love and support. Saerra's weariness weighs heavily upon her, her body pleading for rest, and yet her heart tugs at the thought of leaving her daughters.

"Saerra, you need to rest," Rhaena whispers, her voice filled with understanding.

Saerra's tired eyes search Baela's and Rhaena's faces, finding nothing but sincerity and devotion. A tear escapes her eye, trailing down her cheek as she finally relents, surrendering to the exhaustion that threatens to consume her.

"Alright," Saerra whispers, her voice a fragile surrender, "Please keep my girls safe."

Baela and Rhaena nod, their eyes filled with determination and love. They guide Saerra to a nearby chair, their arms supporting her as she eases into its embrace. She leans back, closing her eyes, her heart finding solace in the knowledge that her stepdaughters will guard her daughters with fierce devotion.

As Saerra's breathing steadies and her exhaustion pulls her into the realm of slumber, Baela and Rhaena stand by the bed, their gazes fixed on the sleeping forms of Haelye and Maella. They exchange a knowing smile, a silent pact passing between them. They will be the guardians, the protectors, just as Saerra has always been for them.

Side by side, Baela and Rhaena stand vigil, their love a shield that will ward off any harm that may dare to approach. They lean in, pressing a gentle kiss to the foreheads of their sleeping sisters, whispering words of love and protection.

And as the room settles into a peaceful hush, Saerra drifts into a much-needed sleep, knowing that her precious daughters are safe in the loving care of those who have become her family.

Though the morning that comes is one that invites chaos and war. Dragonstone's new vistor is Princess Rhaenys Targaryen, who comes on dragonback clad in armor. Her presence makes Saerra gulp as the Princess stands within the hall of Dragonstone.

" Viserys is dead," Rhaenys says, her words bringing a strike through their heats, "I grieve this loss with you, Rhaenyra.  My cousin, your father... possessed a kind heart.  There is more.  Aegon has been crowned as his successor.

" They crowned him?" Rhaenyra asks as she feels her stomach clench and tighten, her hand instinctively reaching out for her wife.

" How did Viserys die?" Daemon asks.

" I could not say," Rhaenys replies.

" How long ago?"

" A day past, perhaps two.  I was made a prisoner in my quarters while the Queen made her preparations."

" Viserys has been slain."

" Alicent demanded you declare for Aegon," Rhaenyra utters, her eyes filled with tears, mind spacing out as her heart breaks whilst her wife keeps her company.

" She did.  I refused her," Rhaenys affirms

" And yet you are," Saerra remarks lowly, her head turning to meet the gaze of a woman who could never be her mother, her eyes filled with a fire that burns to protect that which she loves, "Alive."

" The High Septon crowned Aegon. ..in the Dragonpit," The Princess continues, "I witnessed it myself just before I fled on Meleys."

" They crowned him before the masses," Rhaenyra mutters as the tears stream down her face, only for Saerra to quickly wipe them away.

" So that the masses would see him as their rightful king," Rhaenys affirms.

" That whοre of a Queen murdered my brother and stole his throne.  And you could have burned them all for it," Daemon all but seethes.

" A war is like to be fought over this treachery, to be sure.  Hmm.  But that war is not mine to begin.  I only rushed this warning to you out of loyalty to my husband and to my house.  The Greens are coming for you, Rhaenyra.  And for your children.  You should leave Dragonstone at once," Rhaenys suggests.

But there's no time.

Rhaenyra dips a hand under her dress to feel it become wet, and lifts it to her eye sto see it red wiht blood.

"The babe is coming."

The events that follow can only be described as horrid and decrepit. Rhaenyra, in her grief and anguish, goes into labor before the babe is expected. Rhaenyra's screams and wails are echoed across the entire castle, nearly drowning out Daemon's council meeting as he elects to ignore his wife's labors. But Saerra never leaves her side. Saerra is right there with Rhaenyra, to aid her wife in a time of need and a time of misery.

Rhaenyra's labors give her physical pain to her emotional heartache. On the day she learns of her father's death, her daughter is born... only her first breath never comes.

Visenya Targaryen.

A still-born.

Twisted and malformed with a hole in her chest where her heart should be... and a stubbed, scaled tail.

Rhaenyra cradles the dead babe in her arms, rocking back and forth as her eyes shut to catch her breath and soothe her calming heart. And even as Rhaenyra wraps the babe in cloth before the Silent Sisters, Saerra refuses to let her tears fall. She needs to be Rhaenyra's anchor, her rock. She provides a shoulder to cry on for her wife, guiding her up the rocky path to the stone pyre where Visenya will be burned, all whist glaring daggers at their husband for putting his plot of war over the well-being of their wife.

The babe is burned before a crowd on the isle. The parents stand the closest, whilst everyone else is spread out. Haelye and Maella hold hands, standing between Jace and Luke as they watch their mother from afar, their heads turning in synch as they hear footsteps coming up the hill. All heads turn to see the knight kneel before Rhaenyra... where he pulls out her father's crown and swears allegiance to her... as Queen.

Saerra and Daemon exchange a glance, though they may have their troubles, they find a common cause in this moment, and so place the crown upon their wife's head together.

" Queen Rhaenyra Targaryen, First of Her Name, Queen of the Andals and the Rhoynar and the First Men.  Lady of the Seven Kingdoms and Protector of the Realm."

" What is our standing?" The Queen asks as she stands before her council with her wife by her side.

" We have 30 knights, a hundred crossbowmen, and 300 men-at-arms," Her husband replies, " Dragonstone is relatively easy to defend, but as an instrument of conquest, our army leaves a lot to be desired.  We have sent word to my loyal men in the City Watch.  I'll have some support there, but I cannot speak to the numbers.  We already have declarations from Celtigar and Staunton, Massey, Darklyn, Bar Emmon."

" My lady mother was an Arryn.  The Vale will not turn cloak against their own kin," Rhaenyra adds.

" Riverrun was always a close friend to your father, Your Grace.  With Prince Daemon's acquiescence, I've already sent ravens to Lord Grover."

" Lord Grover is fickle and easily swayed," Rhaenyra utters, "He will need to be convinced of the strength of our position and that we will support him should it come to war.  I'm going to treat with him myself. "

" What of Storm's End and Winterfell?"

" There has never lived a Stark who forgot an oath."

" And with House Stark, the North will follow.  Lord Borros Baratheon will need to be reminded of his father's promises," Rhaenyra affirms, "  What news from Driftmark?"

Saerra nearly gags at the mention of the isle.

" Lord Corlys sails for Dragonstone," Rhaenys speaks up.

" To declare for his Queen," The Queen adds.

" The Velaryon fleet is in my husband's yoke.  He decides where they sail," The Princess states.

" We shall pray for both you and your husband's support," Rhaenyra nods, " Just as we prayed nightly for the Sea Snake's return to good health.  There's no port on the Narrow Sea that would dare to make an enemy of the Velaryon fleet."

Though not all pray for Corlys' good health. In fact, Saerra prays nightly for the exact opposite. She prays for her father to never get better and to die of his wounds. Over the years, she has learned to become less apologetic for her hatred of her father. He has hated her since the day she was convinced, and so it is only right that she reciprocates the feelings.

In the quiet solitude of her chamber, Saerra kneels before a small altar, her hands clasped tightly in prayer. The flickering candlelight casts an ethereal glow upon her face, highlighting the determination in her eyes. Her prayers, whispered with a mix of desperation and defiance, reveal the depths of her conflicted emotions.

"Gods, hear my plea," Saerra's voice trembles with a mix of anger and sorrow, "Grant me the strength to overcome the darkness that has plagued my life. Release me from the burden of my father's presence."

With each word, her resentment spills forth, fueled by years of neglect, abuse, and an overwhelming sense of betrayal. Saerra has carried the weight of her father's disdain for far too long, and now she seeks solace in her secret prayers, knowing that she can confide her true feelings to the gods who might understand her pain.

"He has never shown me love, nor has he ever sought to understand me," Saerra's voice wavers with the weight of her confession, "I have longed for his approval, his affection, but all I have received is disdain and disappointment."

In the flickering candlelight, her expression transforms from anguish to determination. Saerra's prayer takes on a tone of righteous defiance, a declaration of her own worth and her refusal to be defined by her father's hatred.

"I will no longer beg for his love or acceptance," She proclaims, her voice gaining strength, "I will rise above the shadow he has cast upon me."

Saerra's hands tighten into fists, her resolve firm and unyielding. The fire within her burns brighter than ever before as she embraces her own power and self-worth.

"I pray not for his recovery, but for his release from this world," She declares with a mixture of sorrow and determination, "May his passing bring an end to the pain he has inflicted upon our family, and may I find peace and healing in his absence."

As her prayer concludes, Saerra remains kneeling, her eyes closed in quiet contemplation. The room is filled with a heavy silence, broken only by the flickering of the candle flame. In that moment, she feels a flicker of liberation, a glimmer of hope that her father's hold over her might finally diminish.

Once more, Saerra has entrusted the care of her daughters to Baela and Rhaenya, of whom absolutely adore Haelye and Maella.

As Saerra observes Baela and Rhaenya engrossed in reading a story to Haelye and Maella, a bittersweet smile tugs at the corners of her lips. The sight warms her heart, reminding her of the unwavering love her daughters receive from their devoted caretakers. The bond between the girls is palpable, their laughter and animated gestures filling the room with joy.

Lost in her thoughts, Saerra is startled when she feels a gentle touch on her shoulder. Turning her gaze, she finds Rhaenys standing beside her, a mixture of apprehension and remorse etched across her face. It's a rare occurrence for Rhaenys to reach out to her, and Saerra can't help but feel a flicker of hope for their fractured relationship.

" You have beautiful daughters," Rhaenys comments as they both turn to gaze upon the children.

" Thank you," Saerra mutters, confused on how exactly to respond.

Saerra's voice carries a hint of both surprise and gratitude. She finds herself taken aback by Rhaenys' unexpected acknowledgment, yet she welcomes the opportunity to bridge the divide that has plagued their relationship for so long.

"They are my greatest joy," Saerra continues, her voice laced with a mixture of pride and vulnerability," I'm grateful that they have Baela and Rhaena to love and care for them."

Rhaenys' eyes soften, her gaze lingering on the children as they giggle in response to a particularly amusing part of the story. She takes a deep breath, her next words weighed with sincerity and a touch of regret.

" You did not deserve the life you were given," She notes, " Nor did you deserve my hatred."

" I suppose I didn't," Saerra sighs, her eyes still locked on her children, " Though words do little to change the facts of history."

" I suppose you're right," Rhaenys affirms with a gentle nod, " All I can offer are words."

The Salt woman refuses to turn her head, even if she feels Rhaenys' eyes on her.

" I'm sorry, Saerra," The Princess says, " Truly."

" Your apology is appreciated, Rhaenys," Saerra utters, " Truly."

Though their bond is far from healed, they are now in a place of acceptance, rather than a place of hatred and disdain. And that very conversation is what fuels Rhaenys to strongly defend Saerra and her spouses, sitting by Lord Corlys' side as he wakes. It makes Corlys' heart clench, to see his wife defending the very bastard she would have let drown all those years ago. His own feelings toward his daughter may still not be happy ones... but both the Lord of the Tides and the Queen Who Never Was have to accept one very real truth.

Saerra is the only child they have left.

Both Laena and Laenor fell victim to the flames. And even if Saerra was not born a true Velaryon... she is the closest thing they have to a daughter.

It is that very fact that prompts the Lord of the Tides to side with the Blacks, acknowledging Rhaenyra as the true Queen, even if it does little to win over Saerra's heart. Her eyes roll as he makes his big speech, and she would gladly leave the room if it wasn't for her wife, The Queen.

" The Triarchy have been routed.  The Narrow Sea is ours," Lord Corlys announces, " If we further seal the Gullet, we can cut off all seaborne  travel and trade to King's Landing."

" I shall take Meleys and patrol the Gullet myself," Rhaenys speaks up.

" When we drain the Narrow Sea, we can surround King's Landing, lay  siege to the Red Keep, and force the Greens' surrender."

" If we are to have enough swords to surround King's Landing, we must first secure the support of Winterfell, the Eyrie, and Storm's End," Rhaenyra states.

" I'll prepare the ravens, Your Grace."

" We should bear those messages.  Dragons can fly faster than ravens and they're more convincing.  Send us," Jacaerys speaks up.

" No," Saerra says as she takes a step forward, " You are just boys."

" We are men," He corrects.

" Young men," She counters, " This is not an errand for the heir to the Iron Throne and the heir to the Driftwood throne. No, I will not allow it."

Saerra turns her head, her eyes meeting with her wife's, hoping to get her support... but it never comes.

" Very well," Rhaenyra utters, making her wife's eyes practically bulge out of her head, "Prince Jacaerys will fly north.  First to the Eyrie to see my mother's cousin, the Lady Jeyne Arryn, and  then to Winterfell to treat with Lord Cregan Stark for the support of the North.  Prince Lucerys will fly south to Storm's End and treat with Lord Borros  Baratheon.  We must remind these lords of the oaths they swore.  And... the cost of breaking them."

Saerra's heart sinks as Rhaenyra overrules her, deciding to send their sons on a perilous journey to garner support for their cause. She had hoped her voice, as their mother and protector, would hold sway, but the weight of Rhaenyra's authority as Queen looms large in the room.

The room falls silent, the tension thickening in the air as Saerra struggles to find her words. She takes a deep breath, her eyes darting between her sons and Rhaenyra, desperate to make them understand her concerns.

"Rhaenyra, please," Saerra pleads, her voice tinged with worry, "They are young, inexperienced, and the dangers they may face..."

Rhaenyra's gaze hardens, her resolve unwavering as she cuts off Saerra's protest with a stern look.

"The time for hesitation is over, Saerra," Rhaenyra asserts, her tone firm but tinged with sadness, "If we are to reclaim what is rightfully ours, we must make difficult choices."

Saerra's shoulders slump as her hopes for Rhaenyra's support are dashed. She feels a sense of isolation and helplessness, her concerns dismissed in the face of political necessity. The weight of her responsibility as a mother bears down on her, and she fights to keep herself steady.

As Jace and Luke make their final preparations to depart on Dragonback, Saerra observes Luke approaching her with a mix of determination and fear etched on his young face. Her heart breaks at the sight of her son's vulnerability, and she quickly gathers him into her arms, holding him tightly.

"I'm scared, Mother," Luke whispers, his voice trembling with uncertainty, "What if something goes wrong? What if we don't come back?"

Saerra takes a deep breath, steeling herself against her own fears, and gently strokes Luke's hair, her voice filled with a tender reassurance.

"Luke, my little sunshine," She murmurs, her voice steady despite the turmoil within her, "I won't lie to you; there are risks ahead, but you and your brother are strong and capable."

Luke looks up at her with wide eyes, searching for solace and finding it in his mother's unwavering support.

"But what if... what if something happens to you?" He whispers, his voice barely audible.

Saerra swallows the lump in her throat, pushing down her own fears and insecurities. She cups Luke's face in her hands, looking deep into his eyes with a gaze filled with love and determination.

"You mustn't worry about me," She says softly, her voice filled with conviction, "I will do everything in my power to protect you, your brother, your sisters, your mother, and your father. You have a responsibility to fulfill, just as your father and I do. You are the hope of our family, the future. And I have faith that you will return safely to us."

Luke's expression softens as he takes in his mother's words. He nods, a mixture of fear and determination flickering in his eyes.

"I'll do my best, Mother," He whispers, his voice filled with newfound resolve.

Saerra smiles, her heart swelling with pride at her son's bravery. She leans in and kisses his forehead, a silent pledge passing between them.

"I know you will, sunshine" She replies, her voice filled with love, "Now go, and remember that we will be waiting for your triumphant return."

Luke pulls away from the embrace, his eyes reflecting a mix of determination and gratitude. He takes a deep breath, squaring his shoulders, ready to face the challenges ahead.

As Saerra watches her son join Jace in their final preparations, a surge of conflicting emotions swirls within her. She pushes her own fears deep down, choosing instead to be their pillar of strength. She cannot let them see how terrified she truly is. Her love for them fuels her resolve, and she silently prays to the gods for their protection.

In the midst of the commotion, Rhaenys approaches Saerra, her eyes filled with a mix of remorse and regret. Saerra turns to face her, her expression guarded yet hopeful for a moment of understanding.

No words are spoken as Rhaenyra interlocks their fingers, planting a gentle kiss on Saerra's shoulder to comfort her wife.

With a silent prayer on her lips, Saerra watches as Jace and Luke mount the dragons, their figures growing smaller against the vast sky. She holds her breath, hoping for their safe return, and finds solace in the knowledge that they carry her love and protection with them, even as they soar toward the unknown.

Saerra eagerly awaits Luke's arrival. Each passing moment feels like an eternity, and her heart clenches with worry and anticipation. Saerra's heart stops as she sees the sorrow etched upon Daemon's face as he approaches his wives. He relays the devastating message, his voice heavy with grief.

The words hit Saerra like a bolt of lightning, shattering her heart into a million pieces. The reality of her worst fears becomes a cruel and painful truth. She collapses to her knees, unable to bear the weight of the unbearable loss. A primal wail escapes her lips as grief engulfs her, her cries echoing through the halls of their home. The pain is insurmountable, tearing at her soul with a relentless ferocity. Every hope, every dream she had for Luke is now shattered, replaced by an agonizing emptiness.

Rhaenyra, blinded by her own rage and sorrow, stands frozen for a moment, unable to comprehend the magnitude of the tragedy that has befallen them.

Saerra's daughters, Maella and Haelye, sensing their mother's anguish, rush to her side. They wrap their small arms around Saerra, clinging to her as if trying to shield her from the world's cruelty. Their innocent love becomes a lifeline for Saerra, grounding her in the midst of her unbearable grief.

In that moment, Saerra's anguish and sorrow spill out like a torrential storm. She weeps for the son she has lost, for the dreams that will never be realized, and for the shattered pieces of her own heart.

Prince Aemond Targaryen played a sick and twisted game, one that ended in the death of Prince Lucerys Velaryon... and one that has started the Dance of the Dragons.

𝓉𝑜 𝒷𝑒 𝒸𝑜𝓃𝓉𝒾𝓃𝓊𝑒𝒹...