Breaker, Broken | Jorah Mormont

Chapter 2

The night was spent telling stories.

Saera wanted to know everything about Daenerys, and her sister was just as eager– if not more– to learn more about Rhaegar, about what it'd been like to grow up in King's Landing.

It broke her heart to know what her little sister had had to endure at the hands of Viserys. They called him the 'Beggar King,' and the stories about him were much worse coming from Daenerys, who had suffered his abuse her whole life. She hadn't had an easy life, hadn't known true peace ever.

That was where they differed.

Daenerys soon learned that Saera was quite unlike the picture she had painted in her head by Viserys. She had been told that her sister wouldn't hurt a fly. Viserys remembered her squealing at the sight of any creature that wiggled unnaturally. Sweet Saera, Sensitive Saera who was a butterfly compared to the dragon that was Rhaegar.

Now she was Saera the Slayer. A vicious nickname that resembled Maegor the Cruel and Aerys the Mad King, given to her by the Dornish who watched her blossom from a timid girl into a formidable warrior.

How easily might 'slayer' turn into 'kinslayer?'

This woman, her sister, smeared red and black paint on her face before a battle (though so far all her 'battles' had been practice fights with hired assassins that Oberyn used to get her used to killing and gaining the upper hand). She'd killed men with a variety of weapons and even with her bare hands.

It was a lot to get used to.

Saera had no problem adjusting to Daenerys. She'd always dreamed of her, even before she was conceived. She'd known she was out there the whole time and knew she'd meet her. Now she was here, along with three dragons.

"They're beautiful," said Saera, peeking into the baskets that Rhaegal, Viserion, and Drogon slept in. She knelt in front of Viserion, who chirped and stared at her curiously. When she tried to touch him, he nipped at her finger, causing her to withdraw it with a smile. "Have you bonded with one yet? I remember old stories spoke of eggs placed in cradles to mark true Targaryens. The bonds those children had with their dragons was truly something else. You really ought to solidify your relationship with one of them."

"Drogon clings to me the most," said Daenerys, who knew Saera meant well with her recommendation, but was taken aback by how suddenly a command was being given. "I am their mother; the bond is different. Perhaps deeper."

Saera wasn't too sure about that; dragons, like many other animals, didn't seem to cling to their mothers for too long. Humans were different. She decided to say only, "I hope that means they will grow to be very large. The last skulls I saw were very, very small."

"They've grown a great deal in a short time. I am sure they will be magnificent."

Saera smiled, beckoning Daenerys to sit in front of her. "Come, let me braid your hair for bed."

"That's alright," said Daenerys, unsure why she felt so awkward accepting the offer. "I will braid my own."

The Princess withdrew her hands, hoping this had not come as an offense. She'd heard Daenerys adopted the Dothraki tradition of braiding in correlation with battles. "Very well," she said simply. "Perhaps I could bring you a tea or draw you a bath."

"Truth be told, I am quite tired," said Daenerys, who was worried about whether she'd even be able to acquire the Unsullied or not. "I'll need to continue negotiations with Master Kraznys in the morning."

Saera accepted with a weak nod. "Of course. Then I will let you sleep. Sweet dreams, little dragon."

Daenerys watched her go, a thought immediately forcing its way into her mind, 'They call her The Slayer, they know her as a killer. But me? I'm only a little dragon.'