Everyone had a different opinion regarding what to do.

Ellaria and Janei Lannister insisted they should make Dragonstone uninhabitable. Fill it with people that Daenerys could not root out, lest she ignite a war before she even made it to King's Landing to speak with Saera. On top of that, they suggested she use the Iron Fleet to block off Blackwater Bay entirely.

Jon, Samwell, Jhiqui, and Jorah believed the best approach was to just let her stay there and see what she had to say. In the meantime, they could spread word to the rest of the Seven Kingdoms and warn them about what might happen if Daenerys grew too bold.

Everyone would be ready at a moment's notice to defend Saera. Especially if they chose to include a vital piece of information regarding their Queen's condition, something the majority of the Small Council was not yet aware of. Jorah and Samwell knew for obvious reasons, and surely Varys had heard a whisper by now, but the others were still in the dark.

Lord Varys, Ser Davos, and Bran refrained from making comments. Saera wondered if maybe one of them thought they should intercept them before arrival, if they should sink Daenerys's army to the best of their abilities so she had nothing but the dragons... and that wouldn't be enough.

"Enough, please," begged Saera, holding her head as they burst out their thoughts. They were quiet. "I don't– I don't know what to do. I knew this was coming but I hoped it wouldn't happen this way. I didn't think she'd try to come to Dragonstone." She breathed deeply. "I should have reached out when I had the chance, but even then, it's likely nothing would have stopped her from coming. For now... We'll clear Dragonstone of all its resources. Any food stored there will be brought here and distributed accordingly. We'll send letters to all the Kingdoms regarding her arrival and we will let her stay in Dragonstone provided that when she comes to see me, she doesn't bring her men and surround the city."

"Preventative measures could be taken further, Your Grace," offered Varys. "Daenerys intends to usurp your throne. We do not know if Lord Tyrion still advises her, and if he does, I doubt it will continue for much longer. We could ensure Daenerys is not a problem, seizing the advantage Lord Tyrion's presence may give us. Cut off her perceived claim right as she arrives."

She stared at him, knowing what he was implying. "I do not intend to be like my sister. I will not plan her murder so swiftly, I will not cut down all opposition. Then I am no better than Cersei."

"Your Grace, you must consider that whatever she is here to do is not going to benefit you or the Realm in any way."

"I know that. But until I've heard what she has to say, I will not make any such plans. I do not want to kill my sister for any reason. She is still my sister."

"Then what, if I may ask, is your intention?"

"I don't know," she admitted. "I simply don't. All I want is for her to apologize. I don't want to force our Realm into another war when they've barely had a chance to recover from the last two that came back-to-back, one lasting years and destroying many people permanently. I will not tolerate her trying to usurp the throne I have now taken, a throne she could have gotten for herself earlier but didn't. And by the time she wanted to..." she shook her head. "My relationship with my sister is complicated. I wish to avoid conflict at all costs, but Daenerys has wanted to exert her power over this land for years. She will do whatever she thinks is necessary to meet her own goals. She will show no remorse. I don't think anything I could have said would have stopped her from coming. And now, certainly..."

She clenched her fists around her armrests. "Let me speak to her when she comes. If the conversation goes poorly, we will plan from there. I've played a role many times before, I know how to pretend. I can do it again if need be. I have many Unsullied and Dothraki soldiers that remained here to serve me. If we do kill my sister... I trust they will give them the resources– on my behalf– to go wherever they wish and make lives for themselves. Here or in Essos... it doesn't matter. If we kill my sister, I'll have proven what they already suspected... at least those who remember me. I am stronger than her. It doesn't matter that all the Dothraki are her bloodriders, in the end she's only their Khaleesi because she doesn't burn and she speaks their language. She is not like other Khals they follow. I speak their language, I fight like them, and if Daenerys can be Unburnt, so can I. I will not let her take people I love from me."

"My Queen," said Varys seriously. "It is not only the Realm you are protecting now. Your sister will target you. She will target this Council, your husband, your..."

"My child," she finished, acknowledging the weak smiles cast her way. "I do not think her cruel enough to do such a thing, but... better safe than sorry. Which is why I wish our letters to the other Kingdoms include this announcement. The Queen is with child and... a usurper sails across the Narrow Sea to try and take what she thinks is hers."

Varys was not satisfied. "Queen Saera, if I may speak plainly–?"

"Always, Lord Varys."

"You must be prepared to flee if it comes to that. You and our King. You've already named an heir. If we decide from this moment who will succeed Prince Jon–"

"I will not abandon this city unless it is the only way to make sure my child is able to grow up one day. My sister wouldn't if she knew. She's lost a child of her own. And she won't want blood on her hands."

"Needless to say, she doesn't have to get blood anywhere. She could feed you to her dragons as Aegon the Usurper did his sister, Queen Rhaenyra."

"I should hope it won't come to that. You are right about one thing, Lord Varys." She faced Jon, "Start thinking about who you want to succeed you in the event that becomes necessary. Your claim will be stronger if you have an heir in place. Once I am no longer Queen I cannot control what you do or don't do with the crown. Though I'd like for power to rotate between the Great Houses... it is possible that this cannot be done if no leaders or heirs of those Kingdoms prove competent enough to be named Prince or Princess of Dragonstone."

Jon knew what she meant. Saera continued, "In which case I ask you to start considering marriage, to have heirs that are your own blood who you could educate as needed. My only requirement is that you find someone you love and who makes you a better version of yourself. Do not marry for duty. We've seen too many wed for duty and how did that turn out?"

He nodded, "Yes, My Queen. At your command."

"At your leisure," she corrected. "I do not wish to pressure you into this. It's only a precaution."

"The dragons," piped up Ser Davos once it was quiet. "What about them? Armies, we can defeat in the field. But she has one more dragon than you. One larger, based on what you've told us, Your Grace."

She shut her eyes for a moment. "I refuse to force Viserion to fight his own brothers. As much as I do not wish to make dragons extinct again..." she pressed her fist to the table. "Let us rebuild the scorpions that Qyburn fashioned for Cersei. Pluck him out of the black cells long enough for him to explain them. I doubt she'll have thought to use armor for her dragons. Rhaegal is riderless, he will be subdued more easily."

They were quiet, able to see how stressed Saera was. She held her head with one hand, the other instinctively lowered to hold her stomach. "Forgive me, I must step out," she said, choosing to get up. She dipped down to kiss Jorah, "I leave them to you."

She walked all the way to the Dragonpit, the Queensguard insisting on following her. They were patient as Saera stopped to greet everyone who called out to her, making her trip much longer than intended. She arrived at last and found Viserion asleep in the sun, wings spread out and small whirls of sand billowing around his face each time he snored.

"Good morrow, my boy," said Saera, announcing her presence. He opened his eyes lazily, cooing as she started to caress his forehead, humming and pressing her cheek down against his. "I'm told you're eating much more. Perhaps that was your way of telling me something about myself? I had three helpings of rye and cheese for breakfast."

He lifted his head, cocking it side to side for a good moment, as if making this new observation about her. She stood still as he leaned down, tapping his nose over her belly as gently as he could. She smiled, rubbing his chin affectionately. "I hope we won't see battle for quite some time," she said. "But I don't quite know."

He stared at her, blinking slowly, as if able to feel that she wanted to cry out of frustration, happiness, and sadness all at the same time. He lowered his shoulders, making a path for her to climb on. She didn't bother with the saddle and settled herself comfortably, calling out, "Soves!" (T: Fly.)

She never wanted to forget the feeling of shooting upwards into the air, the rush of the wind that seemed to brush her face sweetly in greeting, a weightless feeling and all worries suddenly dissipated because in the sky, nothing else mattered. No one could come and bother her, no one could badger her with questions. Viserion spread his wings wide, gliding over King's Landing and flying out over Blackwater Bay.

She knew he was leading her to Dragonstone without her having to ask. He understood why she was worried without her needing to rant for several minutes. She wondered if he was worried, too. If he realized what his mother might command his brothers to do. The sacrifice Daenerys ight be willing to make in order to get rid of Saera.

She had to trust that Daenerys wasn't so heartless. To kill her own sister, to kill a pregnant woman in general, to let her dragons kill each other because she didn't get what she wanted. How selfish it would be of Daenerys to send her armies to die against the men of Westeros, to kill those she intended to rule because she hadn't been kind to her sister when she had the chance.

All Saera had ever wanted was for her and Daenerys to get along. Her sister shoved her aside almost immediately. She distrusted her, she assumed the worst, she made Saera feel like a burden, like she was worth nothing.

Had she made mistakes? Surely. She should have gone with her mother from the first. She shouldn't have hidden in Dorne, she should have demanded she be taken to Essos so at least then the children wouldn't have had to hide alone. She shouldn't have tried to voice any opinions until she'd gotten a proper feel for her (though she thought it wrong she'd have ever had to hold her tongue just because her sister didn't like being told she was wrong).

Still, Saera hadn't exactly made her feel like she could let her guard down. She could have made other choices. And yet, she wasn't sure Daenerys would have reacted any differently. She'd decided Saera was someone to be wary of from the moment they met. She labeled her as an enemy soon after.

Whatever happened couldn't be changed. Saera had conquered and Daenerys had not. Saera was loved by the Westerosi and Daenerys was not. She could be happy in Meereen where almost everyone put her on a pedestal because she freed them from slavery. But even that, she didn't do quite right. Saera worried about Daenerys's predilection towards cruelty.

How much worse would it be here, in Westeros, where the practice of independence, strength, and resistance had lived for years already? Daenerys would have to burn people alive to send a message and no one would submit just because she did it. The rulers of the Seven Kingdoms wouldn't bend so easily to Daenerys.

They loved Saera. They would fight for Saera. For her unborn child. For the continuation of the peace she brought, that she held, that she managed because she didn't choose to inspire fear, because she listened instead of clinging to her own ideas.

Saera could have been The Mother of Dragons, The Unburnt, The Breaker of Chains, The Queen of Meereen, and The Khaleesi of the Great Grass Sea if the opportunity had arisen.

But Daenerys could never have been The Slayer, The Sand Dragon, or The Red Serpent. And Daenerys could never and would never become the Queen of the Seven Kingdoms.

Viserion landed on the grassy field north of the Dragonstone castle. She dismounted, smiling as he flopped onto the grass, rolling onto his side as if to take a nap. She walked alone toward the castle, abandoned since Stannis Baratheon went up to the Wall to defeat the wildling army.

She thought of all the dragons that used to reside here. Caves filled with mysterious clutches of eggs lying in wait for birth or for someone to find them. So many dragons and now there were only three in the entire world that they knew of.

Saera felt that there could be more. A handful more, at least. Perhaps one was out there carrying an unborn female dragon that could produce more eggs in the future. Eggs that Jon, her children, his, and others could have (if they had enough Valyrian blood to allow them some control over the dragons). They could still be here, in the caves.

And then, she remembered that her father did once speak of that. Eggs turned to stone found in the depths of Dragonstone. She didn't know what'd happened to those eggs, where they'd gone.

They could still be here. Or in the Red Keep.

"Viserion!" she called, walking back to him. He snorted tiredly. "Well, I suppose, whenever you're ready... we can fly back to say we will send a team to search for dragon eggs. We might not be able to hatch them but at the very least it stops Daenerys from getting them. And if we do hatch them, then we will have the advantage."

He flew her back after he ate twenty wild sheep he found grazing on the northern banks. When she landed, she gave the order to deplete Dragonstone of its resources, to make sure the castle was left with only furniture and no stores of food. The wild sheep and horses she left there because she didn't know how they'd fare in a new environment. Viserion would probably return to Dragonstone during the next several weeks just to eat them; he might kill them all himself.

Letters were sent to every corner of the Realm detailing what they knew about Daenerys's impending arrival and announcing happily that the Queen and King would soon welcome their first child. Though she was sure people would whisper about it, she imagined none of it would cause any trouble. Let them talk and say they conceived the child out of wedlock; it still happened after she announced to the entire country that she intended to wed Jorah. And the babe would be born well after they were married. A little Prince or Princess who maybe, just maybe, would have an egg placed in their cradle.

"I'd come closer, but I fear I'll be left without eyebrows," said Jorah with a smile when he found her soaking in a boiling bath, the day's events leaving her quite stressed.

She smiled, opening her eyes. "And to think, it isn't yet hot enough to me. I might need to have Viserion stick his head into the window to top it off. Did you enjoy supper?"

"I did, but I missed you. I worried you might be ill when I heard you were taking it in your room."

"Thankfully not. Yet. I will definitely refrain from sharing meals with the others once I find myself unable to hold anything down. Today was just a difficult day. I needed a moment alone. Forgive me."

"What have you done that needs to be forgiven? I cannot fault you for needing time alone. Daenerys's arrival is a difficult event to prepare for." He knelt as close as he could without the heat waves bothering him. "By the time she arrives, it may be harder to hide."

"I was thinking about that," she murmured, hands on her stomach. "Only a tad, of course, it won't grow so quickly. It won't yet be visible under my dress. The armor, barely. Depending how long she stays, well, it may in fact get to a point where it's the only thing she will see."

"Perhaps it will make her more sympathetic."

"Or perhaps it will make her see me as more of a threat," she admitted. "I challenged her claim, she hated that. Now there is Jon. The true heir if one forgets the Baratheon conquest. Then there is this little one, and older practices would dictate that it be placed above Jon in the line of succession. And however many others follow it, however many children Jon has... all above Daenerys because she is not here, she is not part of my family in anyone's eyes. She is my sister, as blood would have it, but she is no longer my sister in my heart."

"Yet you do not want to kill her."

She turned away. "It doesn't matter how angry I get, I cannot imagine myself harming her. I think of how my mother would feel and it... it makes my skin crawl uncomfortably. I still hold onto hope that she could admit she was not fair with me and we may yet come to like one another. That chance seems to grow slimmer and slimmer each time but... I wish for it, truly. I don't want to be like this. It shouldn't be like this."

"I wish it wasn't, my love." He reached his hand out, and she accepted it, stretching hers as far from the tub as she could. "I will protect you. Your Small Council and your Queensguard will protect you. Westeros will protect you. You may not need protecting because you are intelligent, fierce, and you have a dragon... but all the same we will stand by you. We won't let anyone take you off this throne."

"She could attack the Red Keep," said Saera quietly. "She could bring her dragons and roast us all alive."

He was quiet for a moment, then whispered, "It will never get to that point. I won't allow it."

It wasn't unnatural to find himself thinking of killing at random moments during the day, but it certainly was odd to imagine killing Daenerys. While he watched Samwell explaining what she needed to start eating to tend to her pregnancy, he imagined sneaking into Dragonstone and putting a knife in Daenerys's heart. He imagined commanding a force that would surround her before she could enter the city, killing her and making sure she didn't get anywhere near Saera.

He knew Saera didn't want to see Daenerys dead unless there was no other option to protect them. He surprised himself by thinking of it to such a high level of detail. But he knew it was necessary, he knew what he might have to do and he accepted the responsibility gladly because he would do anything for Saera. Anything for their unborn child.

Those nearest them would protect their Queen at all costs. Him most of all. He had the most to lose if something happened to her.

He'd make sure that wasn't the case.

Three weeks went by before word came from Sunspear that hundreds of ships bearing a black banner with the red sigil of House Targaryen were sailing past and nearly arrived at Dragonstone. It stood out quite a bit from Saera's banner, the red Martell sun wrapped around the black Targaryen sigil.

Saera wore armor under her dress each day as they waited for Daenerys to come for her audience. She hadn't sent any word to them, despite Saera sending ravens asking when she could expect her sister to come by. Clearly, Daenerys wanted it to be a surprise.

The scorpions were ready and hidden in the towers of the walls of King's Landing. Two stony dragon eggs had been recovered from Dragonstone; nothing else remained. One was kept for the babe's cradle, the other was given to Jon. Viserion had eaten all the wild animals he found before resorting to finish the supply at the Dragonpit. Varys insisted that Daenerys couldn't possibly house her whole army in Dragonstone; it wasn't sustainable and most of them would be forced to sleep in their ships.

A guard came running in one afternoon when Saera was sitting the throne, listening to a woman plead for a horse and carriage to visit her sick mother in the Riverlands. Saera granted it immediately, sitting up when the guard sprinted into the hall, nearly out of breath.

She knew what he was going to tell her before he could even get the words out. It was obvious; only one thing would have caused someone to run all the way to the Red Keep to tell her something important was going on.

"At the gates," he panted, holding his chest. "Visitors– Daenerys– her guards– the dragons."

Saera tried to remain calm, reaching for her spear and holding it tight in her hands. She smoothed a hand over the front of her dress, feeling the armor heavy but firm over her chest and abdomen. Jorah cast her a supportive look, one hand already on the hilt of his sword.

She turned to Varys, nodding, "Please let the Small Council know that she has arrived." She sat back down, looking over at Brienne. "Have them escort her in."

Her eyes turned to the doors, planning to wait silently until they opened again. "Tell her that Queen Saera of House Targaryen welcomes her to King's Landing."