"I'm afraid he is in his final moments, Princess," Maester Walter said solemnly.
"Fucking finally," Saera thought to herself, sipping from her cup of wine. Instead of that, she said, "I see. He'll be with the gods soon."
"Indeed," the maester agreed as Mara and Jessamyn wept loudly.
"Saera!" Theomore croaked out loudly enough for them all to hear him.
"Yes, my love?" Saera asked as she rushed into the room, closing the door over behind her.
On the bed lay Theomore Manderly, her husband of fifteen years, who she ended up shackled to after failing to escape King's Landing in the aftermath of her scandal. He was set to wed her sister, Viserra, but after the whiny twit begged the king to let her wed someone else and suggested that he might make a suitable way to get Saera out of the city, that was that. The fact that Viserra's marriage hadn't gone terribly well either was cold comfort for the other princess.
"I think...ahk...I think this might be it for me," Theomore coughed.
"Don't say that, my love," Saera whispered soothingly, almost managing to look upset. "You've pulled through before."
"I've clung to life like a shipwrecked man clutching drifting wood," Theomore spat, "but I can feel myself fading."
"Well, if this is the end, know that you leave this family in good hands," Saera smiled. "Our Maegon is of age, if just barely, and will make a fine lord."
"He's a good...lad," Theomore panted, "but I fear his faith...is weak."
"The gods test us all at times," Saera said reassuringly, raking her nails gently through what remained of his thin gray hair, "but I'm sure that he will overcome whatever lies at the root of his crisis of faith. He is your son, after all."
"Alas," she thought to herself.
"Aye," Theomore sighed, letting his eyes drift shut. "My son and heir."
"Theomore?" Saera asked as he passed out.
She noticed his blubbery chest still rising and falling and knew that he wasn't gone just yet. As she looked over his corpulent form, she couldn't help but recall their many years together. When she first arrived in the North, furious beyond measure to be wed against her will to such an old and unappealing man, her plan was to escape aboard a ship, seduce the Sealord of Braavos, and find a way to hatch the eggs that her foolish aunt's lover had stolen and sold to one of his predecessors.
That plan quickly died as she realized both how difficult it would have been, and how admittedly comfortable White Harbor was. It was cold, of course, but not as much so as she'd initially feared, and it smelled so divine compared to that shitheap of a capital that she'd found herself almost pleased. Her husband was less pleasing, being aged and already stout, a feature that would only enhance itself in time. She'd contemplated making his death look like an accident a hundred times by the time their only child was born, and it was that birth that changed her entire outlook on their marriage, not because Maegon fostered any genuine affection on her part for his father, but because of how readily the man accepted the name.
"I do wish the king had replied to my letter telling him of the birth and the name I'd chosen," she thought to herself.
It was the only letter she'd written to Jaehaerys after he banished her from court and one she'd written purely because she knew the name, so similar to that of the man he hated most of all, would infuriate him. Her mother had actually replied, chastising her for antagonizing her father while hoping that she'd find some happiness in the North.
"In the end I did, once I figured out just how intensely attracted to me the old walrus was," she thought, laughing lightly to herself.
Men were weak-willed fools, she'd eventually discovered, and if one could figure out what they desired most of all, one could own them with ease. In Theomore's case, that ended up being her approval and affection, things that she'd quickly discovered he'd go to great lengths to acquire. Denying him again and again was intoxicating, and the look of pathetic joy in his pale blue eyes whenever she actually deigned to give him what he wanted was hilarious. She learned to toy with him, dolling out morsels of affection just sparingly enough to keep him desperate for more and slowly crushing his spirit until the once proud lord was reduced to a sniveling wreck.
A girl had to amuse herself after all, and Saera found more amusement in the frozen north than she'd ever expected. Schooling her features so that her obvious glee wouldn't be displayed to the world, she left her dying husband and returned to his children.
"He's resting, girls, but I'm sure he could handle quiet visitors for now," she said, giving Mara and Jessamyn a slight, comforting smile.
"Thank you," Mara replied, returning the look tightly while Jessamyn just rushed past her.
"The maester says this time is much worse," Maegon muttered as she approached, "and that he thinks it's his heart."
"Your father never ceased indulging himself to the end," Saera lectured. "Thankfully, you seem to get your stature and build from my side of the family, but this would still be a lesson worth heeding."
"Yes, Mother," Maegon replied dutifully.
"How fairs Serena?" Saera asked.
"She could give birth any day now," Maegon replied. "Gods, what a time for it."
"It's the cycle of life, my dove," Saera said warmly. "We're born, we live, we age, we die."
"I just...am I ready for this?" Maegon asked, his voice small.
"You are," Saera replied, running her nails through his long golden hair, so much like that of her late mother. "Whatever else you are, you're a dragon, Maegon. You were born to rule, and so you shall. With Serena set to birth your heir, your position will be strong, not that there are any legitimate claimants who could challenge you. Your cousins certainly couldn't."
"Sometimes I wish there were," Maegon mumbled under his breath. When Saera's eyes narrowed, he clarified, "I just wish I'd gotten to actually know my brothers. I barely remember Wylis or Warrick."
"They looked a lot like your father," Saera said, glad that he didn't. "There's no point focusing on what could have been. This is the reality we have, and you are more than up to the challenge."
"So Serena assures me as well," Maegon smiled.
"She has a good head on her shoulders, that good-daughter of mine," Saera smiled, "even if I do have to crane my neck up to see it."
"She's an Umber, Mother," Maegon laughed. "It comes with the blood. She has a good heart."
"Yes," Saera agreed, her tone teasing. "My first clue that I should talk your father into arranging the betrothal between you two was how often you used to stare at it."
"Mother!" Maegon exclaimed, sounding scandalized and nearly making her laugh before she remembered just where she was. "In all seriousness, though, I'll never be able to thank you enough for convincing Father to let me wed her. He wanted a southron match, and Serena is as far from that as possible."
"I'd do anything to ensure your happiness, Maegon," Saera smiled. "You know that."
She'd done more for him than he'd ever know. Using her husband's weakness for her to convince him to let his heir wed a woman he thought ill-suited was the least of it.
"Am I...am I...late?" Septon Rodrik panted as he rushed in.
"Just barely not!" Jessamyn growled as she walked back out and glared at the old man. "Your lord lies...dying in his bed, and you take half a day to get here? What were you doing that was urgent?"
"Half a whorehouse, most likely," Saera thought, fighting to keep the smile off her face. "Now, now, the good septon is a busy man. It's not easy being the sole man of the gods in an entire city, even one as small as this."
"Still, Princess, her ladyship is correct," the septon cut in, giving Saera a grateful look. "I should have been here earlier, and I apologize, Lady Jessamyn. I will give his lordship his final blessing now, if that's alright."
"Of course," Jessamyn seethed. "I visited the Sept of the Snows earlier, you know. It would seem attendance has fallen even further since I was last here."
"We live in good times, my lady," the septon replied. "It often takes more unpleasant moments to remind the good people of their faith. When his lordship makes his way to the heavens, I expect that to remind a good many of the need to draw closer to the gods before the end."
"That man is a menace, Maegon," Jessamyn hissed once Septon Rodrik was out of earshot. "I implore you to write to the Starry Sept and request his replacement while there are still any faithful men and women in this city."
"Sweet sister, I think the good Septon does a fine job," Maegon argued.
"You would," Jessamyn scoffed, glaring between Maegon and Saera before rushing off.
"I'll speak to her," Mara offered before chasing down her sister.
"She shouldn't be rude to you like that," Maegon muttered.
"Relax," Saera smirked. Lowering her voice to barely more than a whisper, she added, "She's grieving, and it isn't as though she's entirely wrong."
"Do be cautious, Mother," Maegon whispered.
"Of course," Saera smiled. "That's not going to be the last request you're going to endure to do something about Septon Rodrik, by the way. Your father gets one at least once a week."
"And you've consistently managed to get him to ignore them," Maegon snorted.
"He's useful in his post," Saera smirked. "Such a comfort to those in need of spiritual guidance."
"Particularly the women," Maegon added, making her smile.
Once she had discovered just how much influence she could have over Theomore, she set about finding additional ways to amuse herself. One of them came in the form of Septon Rodrik, who had replaced the old, dying septon that had called White Harbor home when she first arrived not long after Maegon's birth. He was a genuine believer in the Seven, but he was a hilariously weak man who couldn't help himself when it came to women and had sired numerous bastards, many of whom he kept at his side in the Sept.
His blatant lack of piety had garnered many complaints from various subjects in the city, but she'd claimed each time that Theomore seemed to be considering trying to have him replaced that the man was the only septon who had ever made her truly feel connected to the gods, and he'd relented. It amused her more than anything to see the faith, which was so important to both the husband who had been forced on her and on the cunt who did the forcing, damaged so, and the growing presence of the North's traditional faith in the city was something she was proud of, not because she believed in them either, but because she knew it would have infuriated Jaehaerys.
"My lord, Princess, you two might want to come back in," Septon Rodrik said, and the two of them rushed inside.
"Father?" Maegon asked as he took the dying man's hand and heard his rattling breath.
"Son…" Theomore croaked. "I…"
Whatever he meant to say, the words didn't come as consciousness fled him. Just as Jessamyn and Mara rushed back into the room, his breathing stilled, and he knew no more.
Saera swallowed thickly as her husband's three surviving children wept at their loss, sweeping Maegon up into a hug. As glad as she was to be rid of him, she hated that it came at her son's expense, and even his half-sisters she sympathized with, even if they had never truly gotten along. She offered what comfort she could as the inescapable reality of their situation set in.
Eventually, Maegon declared that he needed to check on his wife, and Saera left with him, not wanting to remain in that room anymore. Serena was a large woman generally, and pregnancy had only added to that, though she remained gorgeous. Part of the reason why Saera had assisted her son with his chosen match was because she hoped that bringing another beautiful woman into the line would ensure that her grandchildren come out looking less Manderlyish.
"I'm so sorry, Maegon," the blonde said tiredly as she guessed from the look in his pale blue eyes just what she had missed.
"Ignore me, love," Maegon sighed, resting his hand gently on her rotund belly. "All I want you focusing on is this little wonder."
"Little he says," Serena scoffed, making Maegon look sheepish as Saera closed the door behind her.
"Does this mean that that lecherous old man won't be coming around as often?" Serena asked. "He's never failed to stare at my tits."
"I honestly don't know," Maegon replied. "His gods are not mine, and if I had my way, the city's center would house a grove of weirwood trees, but most of my people still hold to the Faith of the Seven."
"You're going to want to maintain appearances for the time being," Saera replied, "but there's no reason to pretend to be as pious as your father. The septon can do what he does best from the comfort of the sept. There's no reason to have him here as often as he has been."
"Thank you," Maegon smiled sadly at her. "I'm going to be relying on your guidance a lot in the coming weeks and moons."
"Weeks," Saera corrected him, and he furrowed his brow in confusion. "Your cousin the king has seen fit to invite me court, and, once things are settled here, I'm going to be taking him up on that offer."
"What?!" Maegon exclaimed. "Mother, I…"
"It won't be for at least a moon," Saera assured him. "I wouldn't leave without meeting my future grandson or granddaughter, after all, but once your father is buried, your sisters are back in Hornwood and Karhold, and this little one is born, then I'm going to see how much the city's changed since I was banished from it."
"I'm surprised that you're willing to return at all," Serena commented. "Every time you've even mentioned the capital, it's been with such venom…"
"I have some rather terrible memories of it, but I'm too intrigued by my nephew's offer to ignore it," Saera said.
"How did that even come about?" Maegon asked. "I wasn't aware that you were in contact with any of the other Targaryens."
"I reached out to him when it became clear that your father was...in decline," Saera replied. "I just figured that he might be cross if he found out from someone else, given our relation, and he turned out to be far less cuntish than I expected. The invitation was still a shock, though."
"So, you're not likely to stay long, I take it," Maegon murmured.
"If you'd ever been to King's Landing, you wouldn't even ask that," Saera chuckled. "I intend to see just what has become of my nephews and the court and then return here."
It wasn't as though she was likely to find much of interest in the capital.
"You're too slow!" Rhaenyra cackled as she, atop Syrax, soared through the skies.
Jon Targaryen, son of Prince Daemon, and his wife Rhea Royce chased after her, though his mount wasn't as fast, being far larger. The Bronze Prince, as he was known, Jon had been named by his mother as his father wasn't present for the birth. The moniker had originally been a nod to his heritage, as the Royce's were so closely associated with bronze, but it had taken on a special meaning when he claimed his great-grandsire's mount as his own.
"Naejot, Vermithor!" he commanded, and Bronze Fury rumbled as he picked up his pace, though it was ultimately in vain.
Syrax landed in the Dragonpit first, and by the time Vermithor joined her, Rhaenyra was already standing on the ground, leaning against one of the stone walls and smirking up at Jon.
"I win. What's my prize?" she asked impishly as Jon joined her on the ground, leaving his great dragon to the handlers.
"What would you like?" Jon asked as he stepped close to her.
"I'd like you to come by more often," Rhaenyra replied, pouting. "It's been moons."
"In my defense, Runestone smells far better than King's Landing," Jon chuckled.
"I'd like to think that I more than make up for that," Rhaenyra breathed as his deep purple eyes bore into hers.
"Let's see," Jon grinned, and before Rhaenyra could ask what he meant, he'd buried his face in the crook of her neck, making her gasp. Inhaling deeply, he whispered, "Roses, lavender, smoke, dragon, and sweat. I'd say you more than make up for the city."
"Jon," Rhaenyra gasped, looking up at him with her lips parted in shock.
He leaned in, fully intending to capture those full, pouty lips he'd always adored, when a sudden commotion ruined the moment.
"Aegon, hold on!" Alicent cried.
"I want to see Sunfyre!" Aegon exclaimed brattily. "You're the one who said I couldn't later, and I'm not going a whole day without him just because Father wants to entertain some whore!"
"Aegon Targaryen!" Alicent screeched. "That language is wholly inappropriate. Where did you hear such rot?"
"Uncle Gwayne," Aegon replied, sounding confused. "You agreed with him."
"I…" Alicent stammered, and Jon could practically hear the blush in the queen's face reflect in her voice. "Your uncle was speaking out of turn. That's not something to be...Rhaenyra?!"
"Alicent," Rhaenyra replied coolly, removing her riding gloves. "Jon and I were just leaving."
"Ah, Prince Jon," Alicent said as she spotted him, still sounding out of sorts. "I thought I saw Vermithor earlier."
"He is difficult to miss," Jon replied. "Good day."
Rhaenyra led him back towards the keep, accompanied by her sworn shield, Ser Criston, though with Lamentation at his hip, he thought the presence of any member of the kingsguard was unnecessary.
"Whore?" Jon asked quietly once they were a fair distance from the pit.
"Princess Saera is due to come to the capital today," Rhaenyra replied.
"Wait...as in…" Jon went to ask.
"There's only one Saera," Rhaenyra chuckled. "Her husband died a moon or so ago, and Father decided to invite her over. She was sent to White Harbor not long after we were born, and both of our fathers have mentioned her so seldomly, I had almost forgotten that she existed."
"That makes two of us," Jon said. "I take it our dear queen isn't thrilled?"
"You know what she's like," Rhaenyra said flatly.
"How do you feel about it?" Jon asked.
"I don't really care," Rhaenyra replied. "Her scandal is ancient history, and everyone involved in it other than her is dead. The only one who was in the room to witness the old king's fury and still lives is Ser Harrold. I think your father's return and their reconciliation just put mine in a mood to extend olive branches."
"Well, I suppose it will be interesting to see what comes of it," Jon mused.
"Which of these old men do you mean for me to fight?" Ser Braxton had apparently asked, standing before the iron throne and the furious king who sat upon it.
That wretched cunt, Jonquil Darke had told Saera as much as when she forced her to watch her father butcher her lover in his trial by combat. As Saera gazed upon the throne that day, the memories flooded back to her, and she clenched her fist so tightly that her nails would have pierced her skin had she not cut them short for the journey.
"However that bitch died, it wasn't painful enough," Saera thought to herself.
"Aunt Saera!" Viserys exclaimed genially as he watched her approach.
Standing, he descended down from the throne, smiling widely at her, and Saera took in the look of him, finding herself less than impressed. She hated Jaehaerys with every fiber of her being, but she had to admit that he had looked every inch the king that he was. His grandson was less impressive, looking softer and less confident than the old king ever had. He wasn't as portly as her late husband, not even close, but was clearly more fond of feasting and less fond of training than his predecessor had been.
"If our line is prone to such, then I will need to warn Maegon to watch what he eats," she thought to herself, having hoped that, with him seeming to have so little of his father's looks, he might be spared the man's build as he aged.
"Your grace," Saera said tightly.
"I never demand such titles from family," Viserys smiled. His smile faded as he said, "We were expecting you later."
"The winds were kind," Saera murmured.
"Well, sadly, the family is still out and about," Viserys fretted.
"It hardly matters," Saera smiled. "I'll get to meet them all at the feast. You have three children now?"
"Four," Viserys corrected her. "Little Aemond was born last year. Ahead of him are Helaena, Aegon, and, of course, my Rhaenyra."
"Ah, yes, your heir," Saera remarked. When Viserys tensed, she quickly added, "I for one think it's wonderful that you've fit to name your eldest your heir regardless of anything."
"Really?" Viserys asked.
"Jaehaerys set the precedent that a king can choose who he likes as his heir when he named Baelon over Aemon's girl," Saera replied. "What you've done is perfectly in line with the spirit of that precedent."
She almost wished that the old king was still around to react to his heir's decision. It would have been hilarious.
"Right, that's what I've said!" Viserys exclaimed, relaxing instantly. "Listen, today was a slow day for petitions, and I was just about to retire to my solar when I received news of your early arrival. Would you care to join me for a drink? I've never been to White Harbor and would so love to hear about it."
"It smells nice for one thing," Saera snarked.
"Ah, yes," Viserys winced as he led her on, accompanied by the only Kingsguard left that she recognized.
"Princess," Ser Harrold said gruffly as her eyes fell on him.
"Ser Harrold," Saera returned much the same way.
"Was that Vermithor I saw flying through the sky earlier?" Saera asked.
"Was he chasing after a smaller, yellow dragon?" Viserys asked.
"I didn't notice the smaller dragon's color," Saera replied.
"That was likely him," Viserys chuckled. "Jon, Daemon's boy, claimed him a few years after Grandfather died."
"It's hard to imagine him being ridden by anyone else," Saera scowled. "Wait, his name's Jon?"
"Named by his mother, Lady Rhea," Viserys replied, his tone suggesting that he didn't want to say much more about that. "The singers found it oddly poetic, a son of the line of the Bronze Kings mounting the Bronze Fury."
"Singers love harping on about nonsense," Saera muttered.
"Yes, well, ah, there they are now!" Viserys exclaimed. "Rhaenyra!"
The Valyrian girl, still dressed in her riding leathers, turned around, and a moment later, so did her companion, who made Saera's breath hitch.
"By the gods," she thought to herself as she took in his handsome visage.
Rhaenyra was utterly beautiful, easily equaling Viserra in her prime, and the fact that she was insipid little Daella's granddaughter would have shocked Saera to her core if her brain hadn't frozen at the sight of Jon. Tall without being huge and incredibly broad, he was easily the most attractive man she'd laid eyes on in years. His long, wavy brown hair fell to his shoulders, framing a face that showed his dragon heritage where his coloring didn't. His jaw was wonderfully square and sharp, complementing his prominent cheekbones perfectly. His lips were full and eminently kissable, his nose long and straight, and his dark purple eyes radiated confidence.
"Princess Saera," Rhaenyra said, smiling softly. "It's a pleasure to meet you."
"Likewise, Princess," Saera replied, her eyes widening as Jon stepped closer.
Taking her hand in his, he brought his lips to her knuckles and kissed them softly, sending a shiver down her spine.
"I'm always happy to meet more of our extended family," he rumbled, and she felt heat pool in her core in a way that hadn't happened in years.
"No one can say you aren't a Targaryen," Saera commented. "The hair color's different, but I swear you look like Baelon."
"I've been saying that for years," Viserys laughed. "Daemon doesn't see it, but the nose and lips are purely our father."
"And the eyes," Saera added, looking up into them.
Rhaenyra cleared her throat then, and it broke Saera out of her trance. Stepping back, she half-expected to see jealousy and annoyance in her great-niece's eyes, but as she looked over at the hauntingly beautiful girl, all she saw was amusement.
"Have you settled into whatever chambers Father's arranged for you yet?" the Princess of Dragonstone asked.
"No, I actually forgot to ask about them," Saera replied.
"Mother mentioned which rooms were yours...back in the day," Viserys replied, "and I recalled, so I had them prepared for you."
"Thank you, Nephew," Saera smiled, genuinely surprised. "I know I said I'd join you in your solar, but I would like to see them again."
"Alright," Viserys replied. "My hand, Lord Lyonel, had your servants sent to your rooms with your things when you first arrived. Ser Criston, escort my aunt to your chambers."
"I…" Ser Criston went to say.
"Nyra will be in good hands with me, Cole," Jon interrupted him, earning a glare from the white cloak that sparked Saera's interest. "We are in the Red Keep, after all."
"Quite right," Viserys chuckled. "If you have time after you've settled in, just tell Ser Criston to bring you to me; otherwise, I'll see you at the feast tonight."
The knight escorted her as ordered, and the moment Saera crossed the threshold of her old chambers, she slammed the door behind her, her eyes growing instantly misty. The years of fun and revelry she'd enjoyed in these rooms rushed back to her, and for the first time since Maegon's birth, she cried.
The news of the various tragedies that had afflicted her family in the years after her banishment had barely affected her. She had little use for most of her siblings, and her all-consuming hatred for her father had spoiled even her best memories of her youth. Her mother's death had made her feel something, at least, as the letters that the two had shared had soothed some of her resentment of her, but it still wasn't enough to make her cry. Standing in her old chambers for the first time in over a decade, though, that did it. She spotted a pitcher of wine in the corner and rushed over to pour herself a glass, downing the contents quickly.
"Fuck," she hissed to herself, annoyed by her own weakness. "This will take some getting used to."
Of course, that would be dependent on her staying long enough to get used to anything. Her first experience back in the keep had been positively pleasant, so long as nothing annoyed her too much, she wouldn't seek to return north terribly soon.
"Fuck she's annoying," Saera thought to herself as Alicent prattled on about nothing.
"You're so fortunate to live in White Harbor, Princess," the queen smiled. "I cannot imagine living in a place without a sept, and its the only one in all the North, correct?"
"That is correct," Saera replied. "There might be other worshipers of the Seven scattered through the North, but the lion's share of them live in White Harbor for a reason."
There were at least two such worshipers in the North, as her husband's daughters had been wed off to Northern lords. Part of the reason why Jessamyn disliked her so was her suspicion that it had been Saera who convinced her father to wed her to the heir of Hornwood instead of the Darklyn heir he'd been considering. The girl came with a sizable dowry, and denying it to the kin of Jonquil Darke was something Saera was just petty enough to do. The fact that marrying both girls off to Northerners had denied them connections who might object to Maegon eventually dismantling the Sept of the Snows, should the congregation dwindle enough to make that possible, was also a benefit.
"I cannot imagine living in a place where where most people don't worship the Seven. I've heard good things about the Northerners, of course, and I suppose that it just falls to their parents to instill a basic goodness in their children. As we know, even growing up with truly pious and wonderful parents and having regular access to a truly good septon isn't always enough to keep people from falling into sin," Alicent chuckled, and Saera fought to keep her fake smile on her face.
"I've come to find the Northerners rather refreshing, honestly," Saera replied. "If they don't like you, they'll just punch you in the face rather than smile falsely and then stab you in the back. I guess that's different between the impious and the pious."
"Well, I imagine it's far warmer down here," Viserys cut in, giving both of them a pointed look.
"Much," Saera replied, noticing Jon leaving. Rhaenrya had done so earlier, claiming to have developed a headache, and she doubted that Jon's sudden departure was unconnected. "My dear nephew, you've been so kind and welcoming. The lack of seafood dishes in the feast tonight has been particularly touching."
"Yes, I went back and forth on that," Viserys chuckled. "I considered having a number of fish dishes done as a nod to your home, but then I wondered if perhaps you might like a change."
"You have no idea," Saera smiled. "Alas, I'm afraid that I rarely sleep well on ships and I'm exhausted."
"Ah, I see," Viserys said. "By all means, retire to your chambers. Do you require an escort again?"
"No, thank you," Saera replied. "I recall the way now."
"Good night," Viserys smiled.
"Yes, good night, Princess," Alicent added, smiling tightly.
Saera returned the false smile and left, going in the direction that she'd seen Jon turn in last. Rhaenyra had mentioned which chambers were hers earlier, the rooms that had once belonged to her grandmother, funny enough, and Saera recalled well how to get into them. She used to enjoy bothering her skittish older sister a great deal and had been able to pull off so many of her pranks in large part because of a hidden passage that she'd found as a girl. It had been nearly twenty years since she'd last been inside it, but she was relatively sure that she could remember how to access it.
"It was a loose stone in one of these little alcoves, I'm sure," she grumbled mentally as she pawed at the stones in the third one she'd looked through thus far.
The stone she was looking for wasn't particularly high up, either, because she'd been rather short when she first found it. As she ducked into another small alcove, glaring at the servant who looked at her questioningly until the women ran off, she noticed something almost immediately that made her grin. One of the stones had obvious finger marks, as though someone had had fingers stained with grease from one of the many dishes they'd eaten that night and placed their hand on it without cleaning them.
"Sloppy, Jon," she thought to herself as she pressed on the stone, feeling it move forward as it had for her as a girl.
A section of the wall loosened, and Saera pulled the false panel forward before rushing inside before anyone could see her. She'd been expecting to find Jon having snuck into Rhaenyra's chambers, but she figured that the girl would just send her guard off to fetch something for her and smuggle him in before the man returned.
"Apparently I'm far from the only one who ever searched this place for Maegor's brilliance," she thought to herself as she moved swiftly through the tunnel she'd not stepped foot in in decades.
"Mmm, Jon!" Rhaenyra cried.
Smirking to herself, Saera carefully opened the hidden door to Rhaenyra's chambers and watched the scene on her bed with wide eyes. The beautiful princess was dressed only in her small clothes, and Jon had his face buried between her large, unfairly perky breasts.
"You're a goddess," Jon groaned as he switched from one nipple to the next, kissing, licking, and sucking on the hard nub.
"Fuck, that feels so good!" Rhaenrya whimpered.
"I could make you feel better," Jon rumbled, kissing his way down her flat, soft-looking belly. "Just let me remove these, and I'll show you pleasure beyond your wildest dreams."
He grabbed one of the ties of her sudden small clothes with his teeth and tugged only for Rhaenyra to grab his head.
"Stop, stop, stop," the princess wailed mournfully. "We can't."
"Why not?" Jon asked, sounding frustrated. "Uncle Viserys seemed perfectly happy with my presence today. You said that you'd work on getting him used to the idea of us."
"I haven't...mentioned you by name," Rhaenyra shuddered, "but I've been discussing potential betrothals, and, though he's claimed that he won't force me into it, he's really keen on Laenor."
"Laenor?!" Jon spat. "Has he not heard the rumors of his...tastes?"
"My father has a way of seeing and hearing what he likes," Rhaenrya replied. "Both you and Uncle Daemon have benefited from that over the years, or do you honestly think that Alicent hasn't suggested to him that the time we spend together when you're here is improper? He's wary of insulting the Velaryons more than he already has."
"Then he should have wed Laena," Jon scowled.
"You'll hear no argument from me," Rhaenyra said dryly. "He was going on the other day about how unfortunate it is the lines of Aemon and Baelon have been divided for so long."
"Then I can wed Laena too," Jon muttered. "My eldest daughter by her can wed our eldest son, tying the lines together for good."
"I think the Velaryons might object to that," Rhaenyra remarked, "not to mention the faith."
"Then I'll invite Vermithor to the wedding," Jon rumbled. "Let them object then. There is nothing I would not do to make you mine."
"Oh, Jon," Rhaenyra sighed.
"Now this is a man," Saera thought to herself as she listened in on the young royals plotting and venting their frustration. "Strong, sure of himself, and willing to take what he wants no matter the cost. Maegon could learn from him."
The two of them were so focused on each other that neither noticed as Saera opened the hidden door and neither noticed again as she shut it again. Her mind raced with the intrigue she'd stumbled across. It meant nothing to her, save for a minor source of amusement, but she found herself captivated by the young, hot-tempered prince. She had never thought much of his father or uncle back in the day, as she'd feared that either one would rule her if she wed them, and she much preferred being in control back then.
She had no intention of wedding again at all, being content to live her life as a dowager lady and influence her son going forward. She would be as Visenya to his Maegor, his advocate and advisor, and help him accomplish all that he wished to. In the meantime, though, she'd have fun as the opportunities arose, and as the hidden door was opened abruptly and a clearly frustrated Jon, stalked into the dark tunnel, she realized that such an opportunity was staring her right in the face.
"The little princess denied you?" she purred, making him startle.
A moment later, she found herself pushed against the wall roughly, a large, strong hand gripping her throat.
"Saera?" Jon asked as he realized who she was, loosening his grip.
"Dropping titles already, are we?" Saera croaked, rubbing her neck.
"What are you doing here?" Jon asked, ignoring her question.
"I used to use this tunnel to sneak into Daella's room to prank her," Saera explained half-truthfully. "I remembered how to access it and slipped inside for old time's sake. Imagine my surprise when I found Rhaenyra in there with such pleasant company."
"You're not going to speak a word of what you think you saw," Jon said dangerously.
"Jon, you know my history, surely," Saera laughed. "I'm not that judgmental cunt my nephew made queen."
"I suppose not," Jon sighed, letting her go entirely.
"You're a true dragon, you know," Saera said softly. "That will to take what you want no matter what, as the conqueror did when he took Rhaenys to wife as well, you have that fire that our kin are known for."
"For all the bloody good it's done me," Jon grumbled. "The king…"
"Loves his daughter," Saera cut him off. "You're lucky that Viserys sits on the conqueror's throne. If he were Jaehaerys, he'd have already wed Rhaenyra off haphazardly with nary a care. His love for her is his weakness. Find a way to exploit it, and you'll get what you so deeply desire."
"Jaehaerys?" Jon asked, cocking an eyebrow. "Not your father?"
"Just because he bred my mother like a prize cow doesn't mean that I have to consider him anything in particular," Saera replied coldly.
"Fair enough," Jon remarked, not wanting to get further into that particular subject. "I have wine in my chambers that I'd hate to drink alone."
"Wine became a treat for me in White Harbor," Saera murmured. "Getting it all the way up there in significant quantities was difficult, and I mostly drank ale. I'd love to enjoy more."
"Then come this way," Jon smirked, leading her onward.
Saera followed him through the tunnel, bumping into his broad back when he stopped at the corner rather than turn.
"What the…" she went to ask only for her eyes to widen in shock when Jon pulled a lever she'd never noticed before and opened a hidden pathway. "Wow."
"Never came across this?" Jon asked. "I was just a boy when I first realized that I could get to Nyra's chambers from my own here."
"You're certainly not a boy now," Saera purred, smirking as he stilled for a moment.
He led her into chambers not dissimilar to the ones she'd just seen him in and closed the hidden door behind them. Pouring two cups of wine, he handed her one and sat down.
"So why did you return after all this time?" he asked. "Surely the king would have invited you sooner if you'd reached out."
"For many years I thought that I never wanted to lay eyes on these walls again," Saera replied. "My final memories here were wretched enough to taint all the others. I certainly wouldn't have wanted to return while the old king still lived, not that he would have ever permitted me to anyway. When my husband's condition grew grave, I reached out to Viserys to let him know, and he surprised me with an invitation. After he died, I figured, why not?"
"I'm sorry about that, by the way," Jon murmured.
"Don't be," Saera muttered, downing the rest of her wine. As Jon refilled her cup, she added, "It was a marriage I didn't desire at all to a man I desired even less. I did my duty and got a son out of it, but that's all."
"So there was nothing there at all?" Jon asked.
"Oh, he adored me," Saera scowled. "I was young and beautiful then, and he was intoxicated from the start. I, on the other hand, went from enjoying young warriors to being shackled to a stout slob barely a decade younger than my own parents. It was every bit the insult that Jaehaerys intended it to be."
"You could wed again," Jon said. "You are still young and beautiful, and my uncle would not deny you a match that you actually desired."
"You're sweet, but no," Saera laughed. "I have no desire for further children, drank my weight in moon tea while Theomore was still physically capable of having me, and wouldn't wed just for the sake of companionship. I'll focus on my son and his family for the time being and amuse myself as I wish."
"Right, I heard you mention that your son and his wife had twins," Jon murmured.
"Little Thea and Aemon," Saera smiled. Convincing Maegon to name his daughter after his father instead of his son had taken some effort. "They're adorable."
The two of them continued to drink in silence for another minute, just enjoying the comforting warmth of the room and the pleasant intoxication of the wine.
"So how long have you been trying to fuck Rhaenyra?" Saera asked suddenly, making him scowl.
"A while," Jon replied. "She's concerned about giving Alicent further reason to try and convince the king to name her brat his heir, which I understand on one level, but fuck, I crave her like air."
"She is stunning," Saera chuckled. "Until you figure out how to get yourself betrothed to her, just inflame your passions with her and then go settle them with whores. It's what they're for."
"No whore compares to her," Jon muttered. "Not even the rare Lysene one available around here."
"You really are taken with her," Saera grinned. "Nothing but true Targaryen stock will do?"
"I suppose you could say…" Jon went to reply, only to trail off as Saera slowly uncrossed her legs and spread them.
Her black and red gown was tight around her bodice, showing off the slim figure she managed to maintain, as well as the tops of her sizable breasts. The skirts were flowing, but not excessively, and as she parted her thighs wide, Jon was able to see for himself just how much she'd done so.
"Do you know how long it's been since I was with a man I actually found desirable?" Saera asked, delighting in how his purple eyes darkened with lust.
"Not once in all these years?" Jon asked, surprised.
"I didn't dare at first, fearing what Jaehaerys might do to me next," Saera spat, "and as the years went on, I found other ways to amuse myself. I wrapped my fool of a husband around my finger and toyed with him until he was reduced to a shell of himself. Are you a man of faith?"
"Despite my mother's best efforts, no," Jon replied. "I've always found septs to be tedious and dull, something I have in common with my father. My grandmother also worked quietly to instill in me an appreciation for the old gods. She was a Stark, you see."
"The septon in White Harbor is a lecherous fool, whose impiety and dull sermons have weakened the faith of countless people in the city," Saera explained. "I convinced my husband to ignore the complaints against him, and subtlety worked to bring in men who worshiped the old gods to come lure away the shaken faithful, while also raising my son to worship them. I watched the city change bit by bit, all while working to keep Theomore oblivious, just because I found it amusing."
"It might have been better for your husband if you'd just taken a lover," Jon chuckled. Leaning in across the table, he murmured, "You are positively wicked, dear aunt."
"You have no idea," Saera grinned, leaning in. "You'll wed your pretty little princess, Jon, but in the meantime, there's no reason why you and I can't help each other. I'm bored, and you're so very pent up."
She slipped her foot between his legs and nearly laughed out loud at the groan he let out.
"Fuck," Jon gasped as her toes rubbed against him.
"My, my, I think Rhaenyra's going to be very lucky woman someday," Saera purred as she felt his sizable length harden under her foot.
Jon was out of his chair in an instant and rushed over to her, pulling her out of hers and kissing her fiercely. Saera moaned into his mouth as his tongue probed hers and, for the first time in years, felt genuine desire course through her. Heat pooled deep in her lower belly almost too quickly, and as Jon walked her to his bed, she felt her small clothes grow rapidly soaked.
"So responsive," Jon chuckled as he palmed one of her breasts through her gown, making her cry out. "After so many years of neglect, I think you're the pent up one, Saera."
"You have no idea," Saera whimpered. "Gods, I had most forgotten what pleasure was."
"Then allow me to remind you in full," Jon smirked against her ear before kissing her neck.
His hands opened up her dress with expect precision, and soon enough he was able to pull it down, freeing her full breasts. She'd had only a single child in her life and had done her best to maintain her figure, not wanting to look anything like her husband. Her breasts were still quick perky and sat high on her chest, if slightly lower than they once were, while her belly was soft but flat.
The extra weight Maegon had put on her had mostly been shed, save for that which hit her hips, thighs, and arse, which stubbornly held on. As Jon turned her around and finished undressing her, his groan of appreciation was all she needed to know that he didn't mind that in the slightest.
"Fucking gorgeous," Jon groaned, palming her ass and spreading her plump cheeks wide.
Her cunt was so wet that he could see her arousal dampening her silver-gold curls. If some kissing and light touching was enough to make her this slick for him, he was going to ruin her before the night was done.
"Jon, please," Saera whimpered.
Flipping her onto her back, he grinned down at her and asked, "Please what?"
"Touch me, lick me, fuck me, just do something!" Saera demanded. "I haven't felt like this in years."
"Hmm, you do smell good," Jon chuckled, kissing her belly just above the triangle of hair, making her shiver. "I could taste you."
"Do it!" Saera cried. Glaring at him, she said, "I do not like to be teased."
"I imagine not," Jon grinned, laying wet kisses on her thick thighs. "You were probably more spoiled than Nyra back in the day."
"I was a princess and learned early on what that meant," Saera scowled. "In the end, it meant less than I imagined."
"The old king's dead, you're still here, and you're free of your husband," Jon shrugged. "All that's left to do is make up for lost time."
"I have more than a decade to make up for," Saera huffed.
"Then I'd best get started," Jon chuckled, parting her silver curls with his fingers, making her gasp. He leaned in then and gave her slick folds a long, slow lick with the flat of his tongue.
"Ohhh!" Saera cried, grabbing his head immediately.
Her thighs clamped around his head, and he grabbed them to keep them parted as he began lapping at her cunt properly. He felt them quiver in his hands and knew at once that it wouldn't be long before she came. Even if she hadn't said anything, he'd have quickly figured out that it had been a very long time since she was even partially satisfied. The Targaryen beauty was instantly responsive to him, bucking and writhing against him in pleasure more quickly than any other woman he'd ever been with.
"Oh fuck, oh gods, oh gods!" Saera moaned, her fingers digging in against his scalp as he teased her nether lips with his lips and tongue. "Oh fucking hells, higher!"
He'd always loved eating cunt, ever since he got his first taste with a pair of serving girls at Runestone who were just as fond of each other as they were of him. They'd taught him well, and he was very good at making women scream as he devoured them. Even if he'd been a complete notice, though, he imagined that he'd have done fine with Saera just then, and as soon as he wrapped his lips around her throbbing little pearl and sucked gently, her moans turned to screams.
"Yes, yes, YES!" the older woman shrieked at the top of her lungs, her back arching off the bed as her body went taut as a bowstring.
She fell then, convulsing in absolute ecstasy on his bed as a geyser of fluid sprayed from her cunt, soaking his face. Jon flinched in surprise at first, but as he realized that it didn't smell as he initially feared, he shrugged and returned his face between her legs, prolonging her pleasure as much as he could. Her orgasm went on for a while, drowning her in pleasure the likes of which she'd not known in ages, and as it ended, she collapsed, panting for breath and staring blankly forward with glassy, unfocused eyes. Jon stepped back and wiped his face clean, licking her juices off of his fingers as he did so.
"Needed that...so much," Saera panted.
"Really? I couldn't tell," Jon said sarcastically, earning a glare from the princess, who waited until she'd caught her breath to respond.
"I hope you're as good with your cock as you are with your mouth," Saera muttered.
"I've had no complaints," Jon chuckled as he began undressing.
"The only girl around here who would dare complain about a prince's performance you haven't fucked yet," Saera pointed out teasingly, her eyes flitting over his muscular chest and stomach as he unveiled them to her.
"Then I guess I'll be relying on you for your honest opinion tonight," Jon replied, smirking at the lust on her face as he slowly undressed, "provided you don't pass out on me."
"Such big promi…" Saera went to say before he cut her off with a kiss.
She wrapped her arms around him, and the two of them kissed passionately as he pressed her down into the bed. Their tongues dueled for dominance in their mouths, and Saera grinned as she realized just how young he'd already made her feel. He finished removing his breeches as he kissed her, groaning in relief as he felt his cock be freed from its confines. Reaching down, he wrapped his hand around his thick length, lined himself up with her dripping hole, and plunged forward.
"Fuck!" Saera screamed as she felt him slip inside her slick depths. "What in the hells is that?"
"You...have had a child, right?" Jon asked, moving up to give her a view of where they were joined.
"Seven hells," Saera gasped as she saw not just how impossibly thick his cock was but that half of it still remained outside of her.
"Gods, you're tight," Jon groaned, delighting in how her hot, wet, silky walls clung to him.
"No wonder Alyssa was so obsessed," Saera whimpered. When he furrowed his brow in confusion, she added, "I'm just going to assume you got that from Baelon. Either that or the Royces have horse ancestry."
Jon snorted at that and pushed forward more slowly, keeping his eyes locked onto hers as he sank, inch by inch, inside her until his balls were resting against her plump arse. Saera's eyes grew progressively wider as he stretched her further than any man ever had. It didn't compare to giving birth, of course, and she wasn't shocked that she could take all of him, but it was still beyond anything she remembered from her youth.
"Put my legs on your shoulders," she whimpered.
"As you wish," Jon grinned, grabbing her ankles and lifting her legs up until her feet were by his head.
"Now, fuck me," Saera whispered, more than ready for him.
"Fucking hells, you feel amazing," Jon groaned as he started slowly working his cock in and out of her molten depths.
"Yes!" Saera cried, grabbing at the bedding around her as the feeling of being split open by him again and again swiftly overwhelmed her.
"How did I go so long without this?" she wondered to herself.
"Fuck me, I can already feel you fluttering around me," Jon groaned.
"I need it so badly," Saera whined. "It's been too...ahh...long."
"I'll make it up to you," Jon promised, picking up his pace.
"Going to hold you to...fuck...that!" Saera cried, reaching above her head and grabbing at the pillows as she soared towards her peak.
Jon fucked her harder and faster, and the force of it started making her tits jiggle and roll across her chest.
"Gods, you're beautiful," Jon groaned, watching them in delight.
"Oh, fuck!" Saera cried as he brushed against something inside her that felt incredible.
Jon grinned and reached down to cup her jiggling breasts, kneading the pillowy mounds and gently pinching her hard nipples. A song of moans, whimpers, and cries erupted from her lips as she drew closer and closer to her peak, drowning out the sound of his hips slapping against her arse.
"That feels so good," Saera moaned.
Letting her legs slip from his shoulders, he leaned in and captured one of her pebbled peaks with his lips. She wrapped her legs around his waist tightly and threw back her head, crying out in pleasure as he worshiped her breasts, and continued fucking her with long, hard thrusts.
"So deep!" Saera cried. "Gods, I love your fucking cock."
Jon changed the angle of his thrusts slightly, trying to find something deep inside her that he figured she'd love. It could be hard to find, depending on the woman, but was always worth it when he managed.
"Don't stop, don't stop, don't…" Saera trailed off as he struck a spot deep inside her that took her breath away.
Jon felt the head of his cock slip inside a little pocket and looked up at her face, grinning when he saw her eyes widen.
"Ahh!" Saera shrieked, digging her fingers into the bedding on either side of her as lights went off behind her eyes. "Right there!"
"So, how good would you say I am with my cock?" Jon asked, grinning.
"Cocky CUNT!" Saera screamed. "Oh gods, I'm so close! Yes, yes, yes, YES!"
She squealed at the top of her lungs as she came, her cunt fluttering around his length as she began to buck and writhe under him in pleasure. Jon groaned, delighting in the feeling of her coming undone around him, and continued fucking her through her orgasm. Reaching around to the back of her head, he grabbed her hair and tugged back, making her stare at him in surprise. Their purple eyes locked, and Jon delighted in the look of ecstasy and shock in hers. When her pleasure began to ebb and she collapsed on her back, a panting, limp wreck, Jon pulled out of her and laid down on his side, happy to take a break.
"Fucking hells," Saera sighed when she'd recovered enough to speak.
"As good as you remember?" he asked, tracing a finger along her left breast down to her hip.
"Nothing I remember was that good," Saera sighed, rolling over to face him. When she felt his hard length press against her leg, she looked down for a moment before looking up at him in surprise, saying, "You didn't…"
"I promised to make up for more than a decade without pleasure," Jon rumbled, making her shudder. "A single round can hardly do that."
"Fuck, if you'd been around in my day, I'd have looked nowhere else," Saera shuddered.
"Roll onto your belly," Jon commanded. "I want to hear you scream my name while I fuck you into the bed."
Saera had never complied with an order faster in her entire life, and as she lay prone on the bed with her legs parted, she wondered just how much more this absolute stud could have in store for her. He buried himself to the hilt inside her a moment later, and she moaned loudly in delight, clawing at the bedding as she felt herself stretched to her absolute limit again.
As Jon started fucking her in the new position, only one thought went through her head.
"Perhaps I can stay a little longer."