The Burnt Prince-GOT SI (OC x Ashara Dayne)

Part 35

Chapter 35

SAERA BLACKFYRE

Saera Blackfyre was a special child. One born with a destiny and burden that had come to her from a lineage that went back hundreds of years. She was an avenger, the last remnant of a lineage robbed of its birthright, the last flagbearer of the legacy of House Blackfyre—the true heirs to the Iron Throne.

And yet she had desired none of it. None of the legacy, none of the burdens. No, the truth was Saera Blackfyre's life was a lie, one propagated by her own father so that he could exact revenge on the people who had murdered her mother and her family. And yet she desired none of it, for she knew little of them both.

For as long as she could recall, she had been kept in a cage, a gilded cage as her father paraded her around as the savior of the realm, showing her to be the last bearer of Valyria's legacy. No, the truth was that he never cared for Saera. No, what he showed and what he cared for was Aegon, the perfect Prince, one fluent in High Valyrian, trained in the way of the sword and the spear.

He did not care for Saera, his daughter. No, what he truly cared for was Aegon, the perfect Prince with his perfect little dragon to showcase his legitimacy. She was trained to be the perfect Prince. She dressed in trousers, and leather. She rode horses, fought with a blade, struck lances in jousts, all while every day losing a part of Saera Blackfyre, the little girl who had once dreamt of taking to the skies on her dragon and seeing all the wonders of the world, the little girl who liked only reading, and watching stars in the skies.

And yet, none had any need for Saera, not even her own father. They had need of only Aegon, and like every child, Saera wished to be loved, wished to be needed, and so she endured, and endured killing off Saera as she moulded herself into the perfect Prince, believing herself to be the salvation and blessed child her father presented her to be.

She would become Aegon Blackfyre, rider of the second coming of Balerion itself. Named after her legendary ancestor who had united the Seven Kingdoms under his rule. And she would carry on his legacy, decimating the pretenders who had slaughtered her family, and rule as Aegon Blackfyre and unite the realm.

Yet as she lay there, propped up against the moving and bloodied remains of the only thing that was truly her own—Balerion the younger, she realized that neither Aegon nor Saera's dreams would ever come true, and the destiny and dreams she had spent so long chasing after had been but a lie—yet a part of her always knew that.

And she coughed up blood as battle raged around her. Blood seeped from her wounds and formed a puddle around her while the ground shook as a colossal beast landed infront of her, its size double if not even greater than her own Balerion, who now lay dead behind her as a single person jumped off of it.

Even at night, his armor was dark, as if he were cacked in charred coal. In some ways, it was similar to her own, with the symbols of the three-headed dragon carved into its chest in jewels. While hers were black, as in obsidian, his were red, symbolizing his House's colors.

She recognized him, for few in the world would not. He was the masked warrior, the liberator of Slaver's Bay, the King of the Seven Kingdoms, and the Burnt Prince, and to her, he was the Pretender, the killer of her uncle.

Daemon Targaryen.

He was the person who had saved the pretender's line from ruin, killing her own uncle who had gone to foreign land to exact revenge on the Targaryen line for the murder of her mother.

He walked towards her, his steps measured, and she tried to force herself to stand, yet her body refused to budge. The bones in her legs had been broken, and she could do little but watch as he walked up to her before he crouched down and reached for the helmet that covered her face.