Chapter 35-Tragedy of Dreams!

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.

Their eyes met, their colour so familiar. Her father had told her that she had her mother's eyes, amethyst eyes that spoke of her Valyrian heritage, and yet there was more to that gaze.

Daemon Targaryen was said to be a demon who murdered thousands with his own hands. A man who had won a war singlehandedly and was rumored even to have slain a dragon. He was the devil incarnate himself and had sent many assassins after her.

And yet, as he stared at her, stared into her eyes, she found none of the hate, rage, and disgust she had expected. What she was a pity. Yes, it was a pity.

"You should have run away with that maid of yours," and the worlds shook her world. How did he know that?

"How do you know that?" she whispered out as she coughed.

"I know much more than that, Saera," and that shook her as well, for to all the world, she was Aegon. Aegon Blackfyre, the Blackfyre. Saera Blackfyre did not exist to the outside world except as the mother to the chosen one.

It should not exist.

"It is useless but know that I wished you no harm. Even with Balerion," he said looking up at her dragon, which he had killed without any mercy.

"Had you simply flown away as you so desired I would not have chased you," he said, and she scoffed, as she coughed up blood, the mere act of speaking made her pain worsen yet she fought through it.

"You lie! All these years! All those assassins, and yet you lie!" she raged as she looked him in the eye.

"You killed my mother, my uncle, my whole family!" she thundered, and he shook his head.

"I killed only your uncle, and even that, for he tried to do the same to my own family. And I never sent any assassins after you or your mother. Never," he said as he rose up and took out his sword, as she shook her head.

"You lie! You are lying," she screamed out as she lay there in a bloody pool.

"I do not. It is a pity that your whole life has been a lie, Saera Blackfyre. I just wished to give you a bit of the truth," and as tears slipped down her eyes she shook her head.

"No! NO! You are the devil! I hate you! You killed everyone. You killed all my family. You did! I hate you," she screamed as he raised his sword.

"If it eases your pain, hate me as much as you wish, Saera," and she bared her teeth.

"MY NAME IS NOT SAERA!" She felt the word shift, and the whole world began to rotate. Darkness overcame her vision.

"MY Name is Aego...."

THUD!

0000

DAEMON TARGARYEN

Daemon had learned of Saera Blackfyre years ago. Initially, he had thought her to be her mother, the mother of Aegon and was rather surprised at her being alive.

And yet as the years grew, the story became clearer, and the truth was revealed to him. The truth that there was no Aegon Blackfyre, but only a Saera Blackfyre, a simple girl whose whole life was a big lie. His source had been a servant serving her; a girl picked up from a brothel who had fallen in love with the said girl and had wished to save her from her evil father, Illyrio Mopatis.

And Saera herself was said to be rather enamored with the said girl, and when Illyrio had learned of this, he had the girl killed and the blame placed on him, further driving the little girl's rage and anger against him and the Targaryen line.

It was his belief that a part of her knew that she was being lied to, that some part of her recognised her father as the monster he was, but it was buried too deep and too powerless to do anything, for Saera Blackfyre had no one part from her father.

He had made it so that the only person she could rely on was him, as he used her to create his perfect Prince to launch a campaign against the Seven Kingdoms.

"You had a dragon," Oberyn added from the side, his eyes focused on the beast that stood behind him towering over buildings, glaring at the dark skies, its madness roaring even in Daemon's own head.

"All these years you had a dragon," Oberyn gasped once more staring at the Cannibal, who snarled as it turned its eyes towards the dead beast lying infront of him, baring its bloody fangs showing its intentions.

And so, Daemon walked forward and picked up the corpse of the pretender Prince Aegon, or Saera as she was in truth, after wrapping it in cloth and began to back away.

"Yes, I did," he finally replied as he set down the body a bit of a distance from the dragon's corpse the Cannibal roared and then began to tear into the bear that it had just slain.

"Seven Hells!" Oberyn gasped as blood rained down on them even at the distance as the Cannibal began its feast.

"Cannibal, it's really that dragon," Oberyn had recognised the beast, and he should have given that the man had spent quite a bit of years at the Citadel pouring over tomes, and old records.

"Yes it is," he replied. The two armies would be clashing outside the city, as they spoke. Without their dragon, the Golden Company and the mercenaries had no chance against Meereen's forces, especially after he had burnt nearly a quarter of their forces himself.

He could have done more, but riding the Cannibal took a toll on him; its madness was contagious, and it took much effort to keep it at bay and not let it affect him.

"All those trips to Dragonstone, they were for this. For it," Oberyn mentioned as he sat down beside him, and Dameon nodded.

"But if you had him for years, why didn't you show it. Why did you prepare all those scorpions and other weapons to face a dragon when you had one of your own," Oberyn's question was sahrp.

"What would have happened if I had shown my hand earlier?" he asked as he looked him in the eye, and Oberyn frowned, rubbing his chin.

The Dornish Prince had an astute mind, for he figured out the answer.

"Your enemies would have prepared just as you did," he reasoned, and Aegon nodded.

"You prepared to fight a dragon so that they would not. And now their war is over," he pointed out, looking at the dead body of the girl beside him.

"Yes, it is. Illyrio Mopatis's so-called allies stood behind him only because they saw it as a very profitable conquest. They poured gold into his little plot by the millions, funding and feeding his armies, and now, with the lynchpin holding it all together gone, they will all slither away like rats abandoning a sinking ship, making them all easy picking for a formidable foe," and he knew that as soon as word of Aegon's death and his true identity got out, Illyrio Mopatis's alliance would break into a thousand pieces.

And Daemon wouldn't even have to go after the man himself. His allies would take care of that, trying to curry favor with him. And given that the largest support to his cause had come from the exiled slave masters, the last of the refuge for the Slave Masters Yunkai shall fall within a few years as well, ending the tragedy of Slaver's Bay and giving House Targaryen a strong foothold this side of the Narrow Sea.

"That formidable foe being you," Oberyn pointed out, and he shook his head.

"I am afraid not. This is not my war," Daemon clarified as he rose up once more. His dragon was rather done with his feast.

"Then whose is it?" Oberyn questioned as he jumped after him.

Daemon glanced back as he answered.

"Yours and Viserys's," he added as Oberyn's eyes widened. It was why he had sent him to Meereen, both as an ambassador and as to lay the groundwork for Viserys if his brother wished to test his mettle against the world.

"Go wild," he added as he walked towards the Cannibal, who turned towards him with his bloody maw, its sharp green eyes focused onto him, as it snarled. Any normal human would have backed off, but Daemon was anything but and did not shift as he continued to gaze into those beady eyes.

"It's time to go back," he said, and the Cannibal snarled and yet lowered its head allowing Daemon to walk up to the saddle as Oberyn's voice came from behind.

"But if its our war, then which war were you preparing for all these years?" he questioned and Daemon looked him in the eye, as he answered.

"The Final one," and with that, he got on the saddle as he whispered.

"Soves...." and then, with a massive roar, the Cannibal took to the skies, and the tale of Aegon Blackfyre and his conquests came to an end just as quickly as they had begun, and the whole world would hear the whisper in a day, confirming the shippers that had been lingering in the air for many years.

That Magic was alive once more.

0000

And as Edmure led the Prince back to Riverrun, alongside his friend Baelis after showing him the army hidden in Maidenpool, he smiled as he saw the Prince's expression.

"You just need to give the order, and I shall personally lead the army towards the Kingsladning, and the Iron Throne will be yours as it was meant to be," he offered.

"But what of my brother? Daemon?" the Prince questioned.

"Him and his men will not stand for it," the Prince asked.

"There are ways, of course," Baelish added from the side as they rode towards Riverrun, and he heard the herald sound the alarms for the gates to be opened for them.

"Your brother has retired with the Queen to Dragonstone. The Greyjoy have already sent their fleet to the island and shall contain your brother and his men at your command. Whatever fate you desire upon them can be carried out, either openly or in secret. After all, childbirth can be a rather dangerous thing," Baelish added as they entered Riverrun the Prince's horse halted as he looked at both him and Baelish.

And there was something in his eyes, something troubling and ominous, as Edmure felt his throat dry up and yet he still stepped forward.

"This is the opportunity to claim your birthright, my Prince. Say the word, and we shall see to it that you sit on the Iron Throne," he offered, and the Prince opened his mouth.

"Say the word, huh," he scoffed as he passed a hand through his hair and looked into his eyes, before he began chuckling loudly, his laughs ringing across the grounds as Edmure frowned.

The Prince only stopped later as he shook his head and snarled softly.

"I already did," and he frowned as he couldn't comprehend the meaning when suddenly Baelish gasped and reached for a dagger and rushed towards the Prince, and yet before he could take two steps forward an arrow hit him in the neck showering Edmure with blood as he stood there and watched his friend's body collapse to the ground as he found himself surrounded by guards—no. Not guards.

Their armors, he only noticed now how they were different. The sigil was not the Tully fish but the three-headed dragon of House Targaryen.

"NO," he gasped as it all clicked together, and his uncle's warning rang in his ears, as he found a whole slew of blades pointed at his neck.

0000

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