Saera was her mother's favorite daughter, known for being demure and obedient, the smallfolk adored her. She obeyed everything that her king commanded of her, but she protested against her marriage to Ser Harwin Strong.
She catches him in an affai...
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Saera spent the last months of her pregnancy bedridden, by this time there were bags underneath her eyes and the pain of having a child was too toilsome for her. Daemon is reminded of the Targaryen curse - that having dragon children was against all laws of nature. He takes a swig of his ale, allowing the bitterness to seep down his throat.
A maid of pale-skin ran towards the Prince, with her eyes cast on the floor. "M-my prince," she stuttered while grabbing the sides of her gown. His eyebrow raises, a scowl playing on his face at the rude interruption. "Spit it out child, lest it be your tongue." he threatened with familiar hostility.
The maid takes a deep breath, eyes looking everywhere except his. "Lady Mysaria says that - the Princess has begun her labors." the woman chokes out, but before she could make any other movements - the Rogue Prince was already marching to her chambers. Daemon never cared about children. He found them annoying and irresponsible, but for some reason - he seemed to care about this one.
He kicks the door open - ignoring the confused stares from the midwives he imported from Pentos. He looked at her body, she was pale as a ghost - he could almost see through her skin. He'd think that she was dead if it weren't for the rising and falling of her chest - but still, it was too erratic, it was clear that she was having a hard time. His eyes softened, he wanted to touch, hold and whisper sweet nothings to her.
Daemon wasn't a maester or a midwife, but he knew that her condition was dire - that if the children refused to come out today, her chances of living are slim. He takes a deep breath. He opens his mouth to speak, but instead of talking to her - he grabs the midwife's hand. "What is going on?" he interrogates, ignoring the man's blood soaked hands. None of the grime and dirt mattered - only his dragon's life.
"Princess Saera is having hard labor, my prince." the woman answered with hidden fear. The people at court found his antics strange - he shouldn't care deeply about a child that wasn't his.
"A hard labor? Like Queen Aemma's?" he insinuated.
His fear of losing her was too great. It would ruin him someday. To the woman's credit, she didn't have another round of words with the Prince - instead she ordered the other midwives to send him away and call for Ser Harwin who was in the Capital.
His eyes catch a wisp of Saera. She nods her head, smiling weakly at him. "Go kepus, I can handle this." she smiles with softness and he relents - his hands reaching for the door and twisting it. He couldn't be there - he'd cry too much and ask to hold the babe first.
—
Daemon didn't believe in gods, even if they were real - they were merciless and undeserving of praise. But this one time, he finds himself kneeling on the floor, with his hands near his eyes, preventing the tears from spilling out. Luckily, there was a small chapel in Dragonstone - near the coast with the Statue of the Seven Gods.
'Please' he prays, ignoring the strange looks from other worshippers. 'Please let our child live until five and two or seventy and two. Let them live a full grown life.' he prayed, feeling his agony seep through the station of the Mother.
The mother guides little children.
But the mother never guides women. She didn't guide his mother, Alyssa, or his good-sister, Aemma. His eyes open - staring at her cold statuesque eyes. Was there still hope? Or was it a thing of the righteous?
He couldn't feel the sincerity of his prayers, only despair. That was the bitter thing about being faithless - there was no one to save you, no one to pray to, not even faith to look for guidance. Only yourself.
This wasn't the first time Daemon Targaryen prayed. When his mother gave birth to his brother: Aegon (stillborn) he prayed too. He asked the father, mother and stranger for guidance. He asked them to take him instead - for his mother had eyes of summer, but the gods failed him.
'This is your chance of redemption,' he thinks as if he was conversing with the gods at that very moment. A little negotiation to ensure that the love of his life wouldn't lose the battle of birth. In the back of his mind, he promised to give the gods everything - even his own life.
To the mother, he promised a shrine. To the stranger, a new statue.
All just to make sure that Saera and her child would live.
'Please' he begged, but the gods were cruel and unjust.
—
Saera held the little boy close to her chest - it's been an hour since the babe was born, but the midwife tells her that there's another one. She heaves at the sensation of another babe coming out of her. She closed her eyes for a second, feeling the warmth of her babe on her chest - and the warmth of another one coming.
A shrill cry comes out - echoing through the room.
"A girl, my lady." she informs, and the tears began to flow from her eyes. Saera's lips shudder and the midwife brings the child closer. Daegon had pale-blonde hair, and dark-lilac eyes. His cry was the loudest the realm has ever known, a permanent frown was etched on his face - earning a chuckle from his muña. Alyssa was different - though her cry was shrill at first, Saera knew that she'd be the patient one, as it was evident with the smile on her face.
She could hear the door slightly open - and the figure of her kepa walked slowly towards them. "Two?" Daemon asked, wiping the tears away from his face. "Daegon and Alyssa," she smiled, pressing a kiss on both of their foreheads. "Tis unfair, I'm the one who's bleeding and they look nothing like me." she huffed - he placed his hand atop her head, staring at the two gifts in Saera's arms.
"Daegon looked like you - when you were a babe." he informed with an amused smile. There was a petulant frown on the babe's face, a mirror of his mother as a child. "They are the sweetest thing I've ever seen." she cooed, already wrapped around the tiny finger of her twins.
"Alyssa looks like you - if you smiled more." she hummed, watching as the servants flee her quarters, giving the both of them privacy. Daemon exchanged a soft stare with his beloved. "Now, give them to their kepa while you rest." he pleaded, quickly taking the twins off her arms with ease. They were light - like dragon-eggs and he feared that he'd drop them accidentally.
"Don't wander too far, kepa." she hums.
—
His mother, Alyssa taught them how to be dragon-riders. She flew him on dragonback mere days after his birth - but his children were different, they were more dragon than men. He smiles, cleaning their little bodies and wrapping them in brand new clothes. Alyssa in red, and Daegon in black. His children were paragons of royalty.
His dragon, Caraxes, was singing to Melarys - Daemon felt bad for interrupting their romance. "Caraxes," he opened his mouth - keeping the twins close to his body and secure with a carrier made of cloth.
Both dragons began to turn at him - staring at his chest.
Melarys was the first to roar, smelling the scent of her rider on him. She was giving birth too - at the same time as Saera. There were three eggs inside their nest, and she was hiding it from Daemon. "I'm not here for you, girl." he breathes, keeping his distance since Saera wasn't with him.
"We're going riding," he announces to Caraxes - earning a roar of disapproval from the dragon's lover. He pulls on Caraxes' saddle - ensuring that he'd be safe. He boards the dragon, patting his lightly as they took flight.
Daemon was proud of his heritage. He's even prouder now that he had children to share it with.
