Blood is blood, Dany thinks, and it is thicker than water. Family is family, the queen muses with pursed lips, and the bonds they share can never be broken.
Viserys had not been the best figure for a brother in her life – it is something that he could ever be for her, the ruins of their family and whatnot; the weight of responsibilities as he had so creatively called it upon his shoulders which Dany now earns – but he was of her blood. Still is, even after the afterlife staked a claim on his soul.
She does not know much about her father other than the things Barristan Selmy had told her. Unfortunately it applies to the rest of her relatives as well. Her brother Rhaegar and his complete, utter perfection of (supposedly) becoming the next King of Westeros, her mother who was said to be weak and sickly, the one she had torn apart during her birth, the Martells and her brother's children. The knowledge of their deaths, three young innocent children barely stepping over the line of six years old, burns through her fiercer than anything. Dark promises of vengeance too, are sweet and thick and intoxicating on the tip of her tongue. It is one of many motivations she has to reclaim what is rightfully hers, or so she thinks.
The Dragon must have three heads, the prophecy says. Look at my brother, Dany wants to scream. He believed in the prophecies once, of lands without war but filled with peace, glory and gold and prosperity and the Targaryens being able to lift their chins proudly without any sense of remorse or fear for the madness that runs through their veins. Look at my brother and see where the prophecy got him. But, Dany is not a child, not anymore. She restrains her tongue obediently like the good queen she is.
Aegon is like another version of Viserys. Not from the way he looks; her nephew is apparently the splitting image of her brother, but younger and taller, lithe and slender but also muscular and toned. His skin does not shy away from the sunlight like hers, hints of dark blue marring the soft silky tresses of their similar silver hair, and he is so perfect, so beautiful and gorgeous and basically the epitome of a 'Sex-God' it hurts her to look at him and not crave.
He is childish though. Childish and spoiled and acts like a brat. He is a pompous cocky arrogant self-appreciating prick that she has (strangely) grown fond of. Dany hates Aegon more than she hates herself at the knowledge, hates that she even bothered to admit it in the first place. He talks back and counters everything she says, shamelessly flirting with both women and men, verbally abusing them to his own selfish desire. She hates herself for letting him take her, spread her on all fours in open spaces in a way that a queen should not be taken.
Still, he is blood and therefore, the Dragon's second head.
Jon is another completely different matter altogether. Silent and cold and merciless in everything he does. He leads not because he wants to lead, not because he wants the glory of a victorious war or the pleasure it offers. He leads because his black brothers had chosen him to lead and the weight of the real responsibilities truly rest upon his shoulders. Jon is cold where Aegon is hot, a complete opposite of his half-brother the way Rhaegar and Lyanna must have been, once upon a time.
He is the Dragon's third head since the first time they saw him, she decided it so.
Which is why, when Jon refuses the seat of Dragonstone, Dany is, frankly speaking, flabbergasted. Aegon stares at him, mouth-agape ridiculously she might have laughed if not for the absurdity of it all, though she supposes that a part of her should have expected 'no' for an answer. Most people would definitely accept without a second thought when offered the seat of a King. Jon is not most people – and he is more a Stark than he is a Targaryen.
It hurts, to be refused like this, but Dany gracefully nods her head and shifts the topic.
Aegon? Not so much.
"But why?!" shouts her nephew for the umpteenth time. "Why would you refuse?! Is it too grim for you? We can switch if you want, as long as you're going with me back to King's Landing! You can't leave me in that pile of roaches alone Jon!"
Dany takes offense both at the whiny rather annoying sound coming from Aegon's lips, and the fact that he just called the Capitol they had fought so bravely for with blood and tears and teeth, simply as a pile of roaches. She considers butting in the conversation, shrugs the thought off once the look of amusement crosses Jon's face. Up until now, she still cannot understand how these two can fit together so sinfully good.
Well. This should be fun.
"I told you, I have my vows. You have yours." Jon says, pointedly looking at the marriage contract for Aegon and Arianne Martell of Dorne.
The Silver Prince – another thing he inherits from her brother – snarls angrily (childishly) in return. "It has nothing to do with anything! Aunt Dany herself can marry her for all I care!"
One perfect eyebrow lifts mockingly at that. Aegon ignores her, and so does Jon. Dany watches as the scene begins to unfold, watches Aegon throwing his body to Jon's, watches him snarl at the younger man in (childish) rage. When their hips start to buck, the thought of tearing them apart crosses her mind, but she doesn't. After all, for years they have been separated from each other without being aware of one's existence to the other.
Blood is blood, Dany sighs, discarding her gown swiftly before joining her nephews on the cold ground. The bonds they share can never be broken.