Chapter Text
“Either you have better dice than me, or you’re cheating.” Valarr Targaryen scowled as he looked over the set of three dice strewn across the table, and the poor numbers that they displayed. A low night breeze rattled the window panes, but otherwise the inn was quiet aside from the Targaryen entourage that occupied it, the scent of roasted pork heavy on the air and the chatter of the guards and servants outside adding to an ambience of relaxation.
Across from Valarr, his twin sister Saera smirked as she examined her own dice with far more triumph. They shared the same brown hair, inherited from their Martell grandmother, but Saera possessed their mother Jena Dondarrion’s blue eyes, while Valarr had inherited their father's mismatched eyes, though instead of violet and hazel, one was blue and one hazel. Presently, Valarr’s eyes were narrowed in suspicion. Still dressed in the day’s finery of a deep crimson dress embroidered with dragons along her sleeves, Saera leaned back in her chair, triumphant.
“It’s simply skill, Valarr.” She said sweetly, gathering up her dice and casting her gaze around the inn, the fact that she could hear the snap of logs in the fire somewhat unnerving. The hall was sparse, a few tables cobbled together for the royal party. A wooden staircase spiralled up to the first floor landing, where the bedrooms were located.
Their party had dwindled somewhat, as several guards had been sent ahead to search for Daeron and Aegon. The two princes had managed to evade their own escort, and their unknown whereabouts was cause for concern.
The door to the inn opened with a loud creak, and the twins immediately sprung to their feet as Baelor and Maekar entered. Baelor examined his two oldest children with a small smile, which Saera automatically returned. As heir to the Iron Throne and Hand of the King, Baelor carried his titles and responsibilities with dignity, something Valarr had inherited from him. His younger brother Maekar, on the other hand…
“Where the fuck is your husband?” Maekar demanded, his sourness dampening the mood like a dark cloud. Saera noted that it was always ‘your husband’ and not ‘my son’ when Daeron had done something that pissed Maekar off.
Saera disliked her uncle’s tone, the way that fault somehow always rested upon her shoulders when Daeron insisted upon his antics. She and Daeron had been married for three years, but the couple’s relationship was fraught with a dangerous concoction of feelings, both positive and negative. She merely shrugged her shoulders, clasping her hands to hide her dice in them. Her grandfather, King Daeron II, had often said engaging in playing dice was unladylike.
“I wouldn’t know, uncle. I was never part of his retinue, as you’ll recall.”
There was a bite to Saera’s words, a reminder of the quarrel she and Daeron had before they had left King’s Landing. Daeron, who took his dreams for fact, had insisted he dreamed of their son and told Saera that ‘the boy will burn’. Saera had reminded him that they were devoid of children, and in all likelihood would continue to remain so. Daeron, frustrated with her nonchalance, had gone drinking as was his way.
“Maekar.” Baelor managed to inject enough disapproval into the word that his younger brother threw him a bitter look. “It’s not the girl’s fault. Daeron has always acted in such a manner, even before they were wed.”
Saera glanced over her shoulder at Aerion, who stood in silence beside the fire, unperturbed by the disappearance of his two brothers. Perhaps he wondered if he could throw himself in and survive the flames. It seemed the sort of behaviour she would expect from her cousin, who was cruel and mad and thought himself more dragon than man. One day, mayhaps he would actually throw himself into the fire and they would be rid of his stupidity.
Valarr’s wife Kiera had excused herself to bed, Saera’s sympathy following her as she had ascended the stairs. She had birthed another stillborn babe only a few months past, and her melancholy weighed heavy upon her shoulders. Valarr and Kiera had been married a year longer than Daeron and Saera, and they had only miscarriages and stillbirths to show for it. Valarr’s insistence upon staying to roll dice instead of accompanying his wife indicated things were tense between the pair, perhaps because of it.
Daeron and Saera had no children, for they rarely shared a bed. Saera could count on both hands the amount of times Daeron had bedded her. When they had first married, she had been fifteen and starry-eyed. Though she had not loved her cousin in a romantic way, she’d believed they could come to have a happy and loving marriage regardless. Daeron had proved himself more interested in wine and whores than Saera, and her hope had bled into resentment. She had little enough desire to share his bed anyway, so on the rare occasions he did come to her, she would counter him with barbed refusals.
When her eighteenth name-day passed without the hint of a pregnancy, Aerion had been snide, suggesting he could put a babe in her if his older brother was averse or unable to. Saera had sniped back that she’d sooner fuck Valarr, and Aerion had spent the rest of the night sulking in his cups.
“I would have thought Saera could be a positive influence on Daeron.” Maekar’s voice reflected his utter disappointment. Maekar was not a man to hide his moods, far more blunt than his older brother. Baelor was a man who was respected and admired for his friendly demeanour, always quick to put people at ease.
Saera wished she could emulate that, but she was prickly and forthright, her dismay showing as plain on her face as her happiness. Daeron was not a man to be won with honeyed words, and try as she might, he had never listened to Saera.
“I have tried my best, uncle.” Saera fought to hide her own frustration. “Yet Daeron continues to follow his own whims.”
“He will show up as he always does.” Aerion’s tone was dismissive, for he cared nothing for his brothers. “Drunk and a disgrace.”
“We have no need for your insolence, boy.” Maekar snapped, his sharpness turning upon his second son. Aerion’s jaw clenched, but he obediently lapsed into silence. Saera wondered whether Maekar’s children had become more unruly since the passing of their mother Dyanna Dayne two years before, or if they had always been incorrigible.
“Come, Maekar.” Baelor’s voice was gentle, and he rested a hand on his younger brother’s shoulder. “Let us have a drink, and turn our mind from the matter.”
“We should go to bed.” Saera turned to Valarr, pressing the dice in her twin’s hands. Their younger brother Matarys had also gone up to read some hours before, and Saera was beginning to think sleep may improve everyone’s moods.
Valarr’s eyes flicked to the stairs, uncertainty crossing his features, before he sighed and nodded. As Baelor and Maekar departed, Aerion moved away from the hearth, violet eyes glittering with menace as he approached the twins. Though they were a year his elder, Saera in particular was never spared from Aerion’s cruel taunts. Her hand remained in Valarr’s, her fingers linking through his. Aerion caught the movement with a smirk.
“Since Lady Kiera is indisposed and Daeron is missing, perhaps Valarr can warm your bed instead, Saera.”
Valarr had little tolerance for Aerion’s malevolence, and he simply rolled his eyes and released Saera’s hand, sweeping across the room and ascending the stairs leading up to the inn’s bedrooms. Though Saera disliked being left alone with Aerion, she could hardly fault her twin for immediately wanting to remove himself from the situation. It was the wisest thing to do, but Saera often found herself falling for Aerion’s bait.
“Yes, cousin, I visit everyone’s bed but yours.” Contempt and cruelty dripped from Saera’s words as she narrowed her eyes at him. “Perhaps I’ll visit your father’s, and through me he can have a son he’d be proud of.”
Rage flashed across Aerion’s face, and he marched over to her, hand cracking across her face. He wasn’t the only one capable of getting under people’s skin, Saera mused with bitter satisfaction as she raised a hand to her cheek. It was rare that Aerion would result to physical violence, but perhaps Maekar’s ire was reflected in his son. Saera let her fingers linger on her cheek as she glowered at him.
“What?” Aerion challenged gleefully, the promise of further violence glittering in his eyes. She wouldn’t put it past him to grab her wrist and try and hold her hand over the fire, as he’d done when they were children. “Your brother and protector has gone up to bed. Your father quarrels with mine. Your husband would be useless even if he was here.”
“Good night, Aerion.” Saera said flatly. Valarr was right; he often criticised her for rising to meet Aerion’s fire with her own. She should have simply ignored him and gone upstairs as her twin had done, but instead she couldn’t help herself, the lash of her tongue the instigator for Aerion’s violence.
She swept past her cousin and pushed open the door to the inn, breathing in the freshness of the outside air. The scent of recent rainfall was on the wind, as well as smoke from the fire around which the three Kingsguard members who had accompanied them huddled around. They appeared to be playing a game of cards, though as Saera approached, their laughter turned into stiff courtesy over the crackle of the fire.
“Princess.” Ser Donnel of Duskendale, the oldest of the three, inclined his head. Her gaze cast around at the other two, Ser Willem Wylde and Ser Roland Crakehall. Ser Roland was the closest to her in age, and had been the topic of many a forbidden fantasy when she had grown sexually frustrated.
Roland’s brow furrowed and he rose to his feet, examining the red mark upon her cheek. He was much taller than her, and she had to crane her neck to look up at him.
“Your face, princess…”
“My cousin Aerion and I quarrelled, that is all.” Saera remarked, though she was secretly pleased at Roland’s concern. Yet, what could any of the Kingsguard do when it came to violence between members of the Targaryen family? Outside threats could easily be dealt with, less so inside ones. “Is there no news of my husband?”
“Not yet, though I’m sure the guards will find him soon enough.” Donnel offered her a pleasant smile. He was of a similar age to Baelor, and Saera often found it comforting that he had such an easygoing way about him. He was always the first to reassure her when Daeron disappeared to find drink and company. He was right; Daeron had always shown up in the past.
Saera cast her gaze to the night sky and breathed out a long sigh, her breath misting on the wind. She had no sisters, and the female cousins closest to her in age were young, less than ten years old. It was vexing to be stuck with only her brothers and older cousins, all men, for company. She was thankful for Kiera, though her good-sister had been silent as a ghost since her latest stillbirth. With every loss, Kiera drifted further from her, and Saera ached with the loss of their closeness.
When Kiera and Valarr had first wed, she and Saera had been thick as thieves, close in the way that teenage girls often were. They had shared picnics in the godswood, gossiped and drank honeyed wine in Saera’s rooms, danced together at feasts and parties. But then the miscarriages and the stillbirths began, and Kiera was no longer prone to laughter. Valarr had attempted to comfort her through the first few, until the rift began to widen between them. After the last stillbirth, Kiera kept to her rooms and Valarr kept to the training yard.
Saera would know little of loss, for she took moon tea after the scant handful of times that Daeron had visited her bed. Part of her feared that if she was to get pregnant, Kiera would be unable to handle it and would never speak to her again. That was just a small part, though; Saera did not particularly want to be a mother, certainly not to her cousin’s child.
Fuck you, Daeron, Saera thought, bitter and angry with her husband for pulling his usual bullshit and leaving her trapped with the consequences. Why did Maekar think she was meant to be responsible for a grown man? Daeron’s behaviour was his own concern, not Saera’s.
Drawing her cloak tighter around herself, Saera bid goodnight to the Kingsguard and made her way back into the inn. To her relief, Aerion had given up on creating chaos for the night and had gone up to bed. The stairs creaked beneath her feet as she ascended them, and she trudged down the corridor to her bedroom, pausing when she heard muffled voices behind another of the other doors.
“...would have hoped that they took this seriously by now.” It was Maekar, the annoyed bite still in his tone. “They’ve been married for three years, Baelor. There has never been any sign that Saera has gotten with child.”
Saera scowled, because of course that was the biggest concern. She despised the fact that all she was seen as good for was producing children. She had married Daeron, as she was bid, without complaint. Would it not be worse to be Kiera, pregnant multiple times with none of the babes living? Besides, it wasn’t as though Daeron was close enough to the throne for their lack of children to truly matter.
“Children aren’t going to fix the problem, Maekar.” Baelor’s response was quieter and yet no less intense. “You and I both know what it is to be a father. Daeron would only continue as he is, and Saera would be left to contend with the child on her own.”
Saera leaned closer, though one of the floorboards betrayed her and creaked beneath her foot. She cursed quietly under her breath, especially when the room went silent. Before she could debate whether her father and uncle had heard her, the door was thrown open and Maekar’s scowling face stared down at her. Saera’s eyes widened and she went to stammer an excuse, but her uncle made an exasperated noise.
“If you’re going to eavesdrop, girl, you may as well come in.”
Saera made her way into the room, which appeared to be Baelor’s quarters for the evening if the sheer size was anything to judge by. Unlike Maekar, Baelor did not appear to be frustrated with her intrusion, instead offering his daughter a warm smile and holding out his hand. When she took it, his skin was warm against hers.
“Come sit by the fire, sweetling.”
Saera did as she was bid, sinking into one of the chairs by the hearth. Unlike Aerion, she was not spellbound by the flames. ‘Fire and blood’ were just words, and the real dragons had been gone for years. She could feel her father’s scrutiny on her, polite and patient, and hear her uncle’s agitated pacing behind her.
“I didn’t mean to eavesdrop.” Saera murmured, though she didn’t know whether either of them believed her. “I could just tell you were talking about Daeron and I.”
“Your uncle and I are concerned that the pair of you are…neglecting your duties.” Baelor said, which made Saera scoff at the delicate phrasing of what was a crude matter. They were speaking of sex, so why not be plain? Saera was no longer a blushing maiden, which she was certain both Baelor and Maekar were aware of.
“You mean, you think he should be fucking me more.”
Valarr and Matarys would have put it far more tactfully, and around members of the court, Saera was perfectly capable of playing the part expected of her. Baelor exhaled slowly, while Maekar made a choking sound at her vulgarity. When she turned to glance at her uncle, he was midway through a gulp of wine, lowering his cup from his mouth.
“Gods be good, girl.” Maekar slammed the cup down on the table, his brow furrowing. “Mind your tongue.”
Saera just smiled sweetly. “I’m mildly astonished you haven’t asked me if Daeron likes my tongue, since you are awfully concerned with where he’s spilling his seed.”
“Saera.” Baelor held up a hand before Maekar, who had gone red in the face, could raise his voice at her. “There’s no need to sting. You and Daeron have been married three years, and in that time, Valarr and Kiera have announced four pregnancies.”
It would be unkind to say that the pregnancies had all come to naught. It was not Valarr and Kiera’s fault, and yet she understood Baelor’s meaning. Aerys had no children, while Rhaegel had young twins the same age as Aegon. It was time for her generation to begin having babes of their own, and despite being married, she was not delivering. She was a princess married to a prince, and whether she and Daeron liked it or not, they had a duty.
“Daeron prefers other beds to mine.” Saera folded her arms over her chest, unable to inject enough bitterness into her voice, for in truth she didn’t care whose bed her husband frequented. “Aerys has no children either, have you told him that he and Lady Aelinor should try?”
“We are discussing you, Saera.” Baelor reminded her firmly. “I take it then that you and Daeron are not engaging in marital duties as often as you should.”
“No, we are not.” Saera eased herself to her feet, fixing Baelor with a pleading look. “Now, may I go to bed?”
She could dig down to the root of the issue: Maekar was concerned about Daeron and Aegon, and chose to fix on the problems he could solve, such as Daeron and Saera having no children. Yet Saera simmered with resentment at becoming the focus, when she was by no means to blame for Daeron’s ongoing antics.
“What’s this mark on your face?” Baelor stepped closer to his daughter, taking her by the chin and gently tilting her face to illuminate the red mark upon her cheek. His expression darkened at the sight of it. “What happened?”
“Aerion and I argued.” She shrugged her shoulders, though she noted Maekar’s eyes flutter closed in despair at the erratic behaviour of yet another of his children. “I lashed out with words, Aerion lashed out with his hand.”
“That fucking boy.” Maekar seethed through clenched teeth, casting his eyes to the heavens as if praying to the gods that at least one of his children would see fit to behave. “I will deal with him. He should not have struck you.”
Maekar marched over to the door, his footsteps loud against the floorboards like the approach of an impending storm. The door slammed shut behind him, and there was no doubting the relief that slackened Saera’s shoulders as she was left alone with her father. Whenever Maekar was present, there were constant interruptions and arguments. Her uncle was an ever-present reminder of the perceived failure in her duties, and when he was gone, she could speak to Baelor openly, as a young woman talking to her father.
How she wished her mother would have come along. Saera was close with Baelor, yet there were aspects of being a wife that only Jena would understand. When Saera had discussed her struggles with Jena, her mother had listened, not tried to override her. Maekar had proved that to him, her opinions did not matter: she was obligated to provide his oldest son with an heir.
“Can it be annulled?” Saera asked quietly, wringing her hands and refusing to meet her father’s gaze. It was true that the marriage had been consummated, yet no children had come of it. She would never have suggested such a thing with Maekar present, knowing that he would see it as the gravest of insults to know she wished to set aside her marriage to his eldest son.
“No, dear girl.” Baelor kissed the top of her head, and disappointment settled in the pit of her stomach despite knowing that would be the answer. “Your cousin is not cruel to you, is he?”
Saera shook her head vigorously. Aerion was the only cousin guilty of cruelty toward her. She and Daeron were…complicated. They quarrelled often, and yet in many ways, they supported one another when other people didn’t. For all her complaints about Daeron’s dreams, Saera had seen more than once that they had come true. She just wished he didn’t babble in his sleep so often, because between that and his snoring, it was another reason they rarely shared a bed.
“We all have our duties.” Baelor’s voice was soft as he continued, but there was a tiredness to his eyes, and Saera was reminded that her father was the heir to the throne and the Hand. Her responsibilities paled in comparison to his, and she must seem a silly little girl to complain. “We must tackle them with grace, no?”
“Yes, Father.” Saera swallowed down her objections, once again lapsing into the role that had been created for her. She did not have the fertility problems of Valarr and Kiera. All she had was own disdain and disinterest, and it was quickly becoming apparent those were not good enough reasons to forsake the marital bed.
“Saera.” The door to the room slammed open once again. Maekar, the only person who would enter so abruptly and with such a lack of courtesy, marched back into the room, his tone somewhere between confusion and anger. “Did you tell Aerion that you were going to fuck me?”
Saera assessed her uncle for a moment, trying to ascertain whether he thought that it had been a serious remark she’d made, before her mirth got the better of her and she threw back her head and laughed.