Breaker, Broken | Jorah Mormont

Chapter 7

Meereen had erupted into chaos.

Saera kept to herself for weeks, missing Jorah and only speaking to her training partners and Ser Barristan on a good day. All other times, she wrote to Ellaria, she made notes to herself as she grieved Prince Oberyn, remembering the scared little girl she'd been when he took her in.

It was strange to not see his body, to not be able to mourn him. Then again, it was exactly what she'd experienced with her parents, brothers, Elia, Rhaenys, and Aegon. Always knowing they were gone forever, hearing about the horrible ways they died and then nothing.

They became nothing, remembered fondly in her heart and her heart alone. No one missed the Mad King, but she missed the father he'd been on his best days. No one was left to remember Rhaegar and Queen Rhaella the way they should, but she'd never forget all the times they comforted her when she was afraid of the smallest things, sang and soothed her without judgment. Viserys would not be mourned because of who he'd become. The Dornish were the only ones who, aside from her, felt pain when remembering Elia and her children.

They were gone, too. Gone, gone...

And Saera was here, without her close friend, isolated from all but a few people who valued her. Shunned and unappreciated by her sister.

Why had she ever expected differently?

She hated herself for ever entertaining the idea that life in Essos would have been like a fairytale, where everything went her way. She thought she'd braid Daenerys's hair for her every night and sing to her. She thought they'd be arm in arm, that her sister would look consistently happy with her presence because for the first time in her life, she'd feel the utmost security with Saera there.

Instead months had gone by where Saera was sure Daenerys wanted her gone, dead even.

Daenerys considered Saera might be right about one thing. Was she behaving like their father? Was she really so paranoid that she thought her own sister was here to usurp her throne?

(Wouldn't be the first time someone tried to usurp the throne. And definitely not the last.)

She knew Saera was a good person; she'd seen how she cared for people, she'd seen that she tried to understand situations. And yet Daenerys just couldn't shake the thought that her sister judged her every choice, her every move.

Saera wouldn't shut up about the crucifixions, she wouldn't hold her tongue at the Small Council meetings, she wouldn't stop ranting about the dragons. A constant challenge, something Daenerys wished she could welcome, but instead loathed.

She'd never wanted a sister. She never thought she'd get one. And now that she had one she wished she didn't. She wished Saera had never come, that she hadn't disrupted what she was trying to build.

She didn't want Saera here. And she told herself the best way out of this was to assign her to do something elsewhere. She would, because she still wanted to help her and keep her safe.

But at least then they wouldn't have to deal with one another.

She could see that Saera was miserable. If she wasn't beating into Kavarro, Black Fist, and anyone else who wanted to train with her (lately the line was growing longer), she was in her chambers alone. She didn't walk among the Meereenese because they both knew Daenerys wouldn't like it. Saera had nothing to say to them; if she got to hearing their problems she knew she'd offer something her sister would find problematic.

Daenerys had considered sending her back to Dorne, but then they'd received another letter from Ellaria.

"Tywin Lannister is dead," said Saera hotly. "We have the opening of a lifetime right now. That man– who while wicked was extremely brilliant and capable on the battlefield– is gone. King Tommen hasn't got a Hand anymore, Tyrion Lannister is gone and the suspected killer... they are vulnerable. If there was ever a time you wanted to conquer, it would be now."