Rogue | Daemon&Rhaenyra

13

By all rights, Saerra is a war veteran. She fought in the war in the Step Stones. She trained under Prince Daemon and his gold cloaks. She vanquished enemies and helped lead the men to victory... and yet she's being treated as if she were never there.

As if her history has been erased before it was ever written.

The Sea Snake is one of the two men showered in gratuity for the victory. He and the Rogue Prince share the credit, and do not have any inkling to give Saerra hers.

During the King's next Small Council meeting, the war in the Steps Stones is briefly discussed, before the men of the realm move on to a subject they deem more important.

Rhaenyra's marriage.

A proposal is invented, one that would wed Princess Rhaenyra to Ser Laenor, and they invent it in the very room the princess sits in.

The deafening cries of the babe, Prince Aegon, reverberate through the opulent halls of the Red Keep, filling the air with a haunting melody of distress. Rhaenyra, wearied by the echoes, wearily makes her way back to her chambers, the mournful wails trailing behind her like a persistent ghost.

Meanwhile, Saerra sits before her vanity, her delicate fingers deftly weaving her raven locks into an intricate braid. Each pull of the comb through her hair is interrupted by the piercing cries that seem to seep into her very being. Lost in her own thoughts, Saerra starts at the sudden intrusion of a looming presence behind her, her heart skipping a beat. Instinctively, she clutches the comb in her hand, ready to wield it as a makeshift weapon. But the tension melts away as she meets the intense gaze of Daemon, his eyes aflame with determination, yet softened by a cloak that conceals his signature white hair.

"My prince," She breathes, her voice a mere whisper, "What are you--"

A finger pressed gently against his lips silences her, and Daemon's eyes implore her to keep their encounter secret. A shiver courses through Saerra's body as she watches him approach, his steps deliberate and soundless, like a panther stalking its prey. In his hands, he carries an old and tattered cloak, worn by time and bearing the weight of forgotten stories.

Without a word, Daemon drapes the cloak around Saerra's slender shoulders, the fabric cascading down her frame like a whisper of solace. It carries with it the scent of adventure and untold tales, as if it has traveled through countless realms and borne witness to both triumph and despair. Saerra's breath hitches as she feels the weight of the cloak settle upon her, its touch igniting a myriad of emotions within her soul.

She turns to face Daemon fully, her eyes seeking answers, her lips parting to speak the words that dance upon her tongue. But Daemon's eyes hold a silent plea, a request to keep their encounter hidden from prying eyes and curious ears. In the intimate space between them, words become obsolete, replaced by an unspoken understanding that binds them together.

The room is enveloped in a charged silence as their gazes lock, the air thick with unspoken desires and uncharted territories. Saerra's pulse quickens as she feels the heat of Daemon's presence, the electricity that crackles between them. She longs to reach out and touch him, to trace the contours of his face, but the weight of their unacknowledged connection keeps her rooted in place.

As the cries of Prince Aegon continue to reverberate through the Red Keep, Saerra finds solace in the shelter of the cloak, in the sanctuary it provides from the outside world. It wraps around her like a shield, guarding her from the chaos and uncertainty that surrounds them. And in that moment, she realizes that the tattered cloak is more than just a garment—it is a symbol of their shared secrets and unspoken longings, a clandestine bond forged in the depths of their hearts.