𝕞𝕖𝕞𝕠𝕣𝕪 𝕝𝕒𝕟𝕖.

╰     ┈     [  milly alcock , 22 , cis female , she/her ]  in the time of dragons , SAERA TARGARYEN is entering the game of thrones . said to be audacious + determined , we can only hope that is the case as regrettably they are also well known to be distrustful + impulsive . when asked about them , people are always reminded of burning pages of old books, the sparks of fire seconds before it begins to burn, the urge to voice an opinion when it's not needed, unopened letters, clenched fists . though they are the LADY OF CASTAMERE , their true loyalties lie with house targaryen and rumour has it that if given the choice they would support their family above all else . those of us in the shadows wish them luck and can only hope they will survive what is to come .   ──  zahra , 23 , gmt+3 , she/her .

saera hadn’t been on the best terms with her mother lately, especially since arriving at king’s landing which brought more tension between the two for various reasons. she wanted to avoid the arguments for one night ( despite stirring them up after one too many glasses of wine ) and actually find delightment in the feast, which was at its wildest as the hour of the wolf approached and most of the guests were drunk.

“please, don’t move--” saera urged the person next to her as she took shelter at a random table, sinking into the seat so she could be out of view for her mother’s watchful gaze. she watched as helaena looked around before exiting the great hall. only then saera sat more comfortably, taking notice of which table happened to be her temporary hiding place; it was golden locks she’d used as a shield. “my apologies, lady lannister. how are you enjoying the feast?”

“I… believe the Gods do listen, my lady.” Mariya replied.

She had come to the Sept to pray for health, for happiness, for love, for well-being, for her family, and for her future.

Mariya was indeed pious but yet she wasn’t one to spend all her time devoted to The Seven.

She kneeled next to the Lady of Castamere as if she were to pray, illuminated by more candles than she could count and gazed at her.

“Is there any particular reason why you don’t think The Gods listen?” She asked softly, curiosity lining her tone and her orbs.

“lady rowan.” saera greeted the woman as she approached, before she kneeled next to her. “you do?” it was a question of genuine surprise. the targaryen had no knowledge of how pious lady mariya was; she didn’t know her well, yet she provided a new perspective. “it’s just..” saera had to be careful with her words, she didn’t wish to reveal anything too personal. “if they did listen, if the gods were merciful, so many cruel things wouldn’t happen to people who don’t deserve it.”

“    why  would  you  need  gods  when  you  have  me  ,  saera  ?    ”      bold  words  for  a  lord  stepping  onto  sacred  ground  .  but  a  god  was  nothing  to  the  faithless  ,  and  gael  had  long  since  forgotten  how  it  felt  to  have  room  in  his  heart  for  faith  .  it  was  for  his  sister  that  he  was  here  at  all  ,  the  sept  of  baelor  reduced  to  another  temple  of  fools  in  his  eyes  .  a  hand  pressed  onto  saera’s  shoulder  ,  the  other  digging  into  his  pocket  .      “    have  you  tried  screaming  ?  if  your  prayers  do  not  work  ,  tilt  your  head  up  towards  the  skies  and  roar  .  we  dragons  will  not  go  ignored  .    ”

“you can’t protect everyone all the time, gael.” the younger targaryen pulled away. her voice was soft in case she choked on her words, a tear threatening to fall down. gods, she can’t be crying, not now, not ever. she hated the feeling of it. “you shouldn’t have to.” of course saera was grateful for everything her brother had done for the family; but who took care of him? why were they pretending to move on with the rest of the realm upon hearing of the false version of owyn’s so declared tragic murder when there were so many wounds left unhealed? saera couldn’t get the image of her brother back then, the state he was in, refusing to leave his chambers for weeks at a time. why were they pretending it never happened? did screaming at the gods make it any better -- and who did she blame? helaena for not preventing this from happening? owyn? he was dead and long forgotten. “no one should have to bear a burden like that, yet you are. do you believe that’s fair? even mother, why does she pretend we’re all fine? she refuses to speak of-” saera caught herself before she spoke too much. everybody knew even the walls had ears in king’s landing. she decided to take on gael’s advice after all and grabbed one of the glass candleholders, paying no attention to how hot it was and threw it at the carefully placed candles at the altar, letting out a scream she’d been holding in for a while.

“cousin,” meera spoke softly as she approached saera. of everything that her septa had instilled in her about gods and religion, the only thing that meera had taken away was that life was unfair but a master of lessons. meera sighed, lingering closely to saera. she didn’t want to invade the blonde’s space but wanted to be as close as possible. meera mulled on the words, “the gods don’t actually listen, do they?” she didn’t share the same heartbreak as saera but meera could feel the sorrow in the air. the blonde let silence linger for a moment before answering the question, “i think the gods do not favor, i believe destiny was made by man to make us feel like we have some control when we do not,” meera offered. it wasn’t a statement meant to be comforting but somewhat assuring as tragedy had no favorites, just prey. 

saera felt some relief upon seeing her cousin. it took her a while to speak as she took in meera’s words. “is it strange that.. this is oddly comforting? a freedom of sorts.” the targaryen mused as she blew out the last of her candles, stepping away from the altar. enough wallowing - she rarely got to see meera as the tower was so far from her own home. so just like that, saera brushed those thoughts aside, burying them somewhere deep inside of her mind, undealt with, unprocessed. for another time. “it’s.. it’s getting late. the feast has began, hasn’t it? it would be rude to be late, though i’m not sure how many nights in a row i could bear to hear the rains of castamere.”

           𝐀  𝐒𝐔𝐑𝐏𝐑𝐈𝐒𝐄  to  have  spotted  the  willowing  blonde  hair  of  his  cousin  ,  having  stumbled  upon  her  due  to  a  complete  accident  .  a  detour  of  a  ravenous  crowd  who  only  seemed  to  be  growing  more  furious  with  volume  .  “  i  believe  that  comes  down  to  the  own  belief  of  one’s  self  .  “  it  was  a  complex  question  ,  in  fact  ,  daeron  did  not  entirely  know  where  to  begin  .  “  do  you  in  your  truest  of  hearts  believe  that  they  lend  an  ear  to  us  ?  then  you  may  have  your  answer  .  “

“i must admit.. i’m not quite sure if i believe wholeheartedly.” saera responded after a few moments of silence. daeron’s words had given her food for thought. “my septa back in castamere, she prayed day and night, yet the shivers still took her nephews. if the gods do listen, they must be cruel.” she decided, knowing well enough that was far from the only reason for her statement. it was only then saera realized she’d stumbled upon daeron in the sept out of all places. “do you pray, cousin? i did not take you for a pious man.”

septs to saera usually meant funerals. tradition. something you get over it. she’d never been particularly pious; sure, the septa taught her all the prayers as was her job, but actually praying had never occurred to the targaryen, not until her father’s death. she couldn’t do anything to protect her family, maybe the gods would help, as the septa had told her. desperate times, desperate measures. most of the time, she wasn’t even praying. she just liked the solace. the darkness illuminated by nothing but the candles, the way her steps echoed across the building. once again surrounded by death and bad feelings of what’s to come but this time in king’s landing, saera found herself in the sept of baelor. it was much bigger and more beautiful than the one in castamere. she stayed there for a bit, alone with her own thoughts, until she heard footsteps approach. “the gods don’t actually listen, do they?”