Rogue | Daemon&Rhaenyra

17

Saerra sits in the saddle on top of Syrax, nestled into Rhaenyra's arms as the Targaryen steers the dragon off to Driftmark. She attempts to comfort her love, but there's only so much that can be done to soothe Saerra's nerves. She hates it here, always has. And the moment her feet step onto the green grass, a chill runs up her spine as all the horrid memories come flooding back, swelling up her mind and heart, bringing tears to her eyes and bile up her throat. Saerra kneels over a cliff as she empties out the contents of her stomach, and a soothing hand soon places itself upon her back.

Rhaenyra does her best to coddle her lover, even through her own tears. She recognizes the symptoms, for they plagued her many moons ago. The Princess uses a cloth to clean off Saerra's face, then presses a gentle kiss to her forehead.

The families stand together as one for the funeral procession. They stand together and mourn the loss of one of their own, Lady Laena Velaryon. Vaemond is the one to deliver the speech in High Valyrian as the casket is dropped down into the depths of the ocean, and whilst most eyes are on the wooden box... Saerra's eyes are on Daemon.

She sees the old tears that stain his face. She sees his hair has grown over the years. She sees the remenants of the man she once loved... but it is not him. Daemon is not the same man she once loved... as is Saerra not the same woman he once loved.

Time has woven its intricate web, entangling their lives in separate paths, leading them to this moment of heartbreaking separation.

As the funeral procession reaches its solemn climax, with Vaemond delivering the eulogy in the ancient tongue, Saerra's eyes remain fixed on Daemon. She observes his every movement, his gestures, and the way his gaze lingers upon the casket that carries Laena's earthly vessel. In that poignant moment, the weight of their shared history hangs heavily in the air.

Rhaenyra, ever attuned to Saerra's emotions, stands beside her, offering silent support. She knows the complexity of the feelings that intertwine within Saerra's heart, the lingering traces of love and longing that refuse to be extinguished. Rhaenyra's hand finds its way to Saerra's, their fingers intertwining in a gesture of shared understanding and unwavering love.

But as Saerra's eyes wander over to the two twin girls with hair white as snow, she feels the bile creep back up her throat, for Laena was able to give Daemon the very thing she never could. Laena was a wife from a noble house, the richest house in all the realm. She had the dragon's blood coursing through her veins, and was able to give Daemon two children within their marriage, two girls who stand to inherit a bountiful blessing.

It makes Saerra sick to her stomach. She feels the nauseating presence of Ser Otto Hightower, of whom has recently reclaimed his title of Hand. Her ears ring as her stomach churns, and sadly must depart from the crowd to find something that will ease her pain and suffering. She finds a glass of water and chugs it until there's no more, but once she sets the glass down, she finds a pair of eyes staring at her.

Daemon's eyes.

As Saerra's gaze meets Daemon's, a surge of electricity seems to course through the air, crackling with the tension between them. Time hangs suspended, their eyes locked in an unyielding battle of emotions and memories. In those moments, a torrent of unspoken words flows between them, carrying the weight of their shared history and the depth of their unfulfilled desires.

Daemon's eyes, once so familiar and filled with passion, now carry a mix of sorrow, longing, and a hint of regret. They bear witness to the scars left behind by their tumultuous past, a reminder of the love that was lost and the wounds that never fully healed. The intensity of his gaze seems to mirror Saerra's own internal turmoil, a reflection of the tangled emotions that reside within her.