Hello my friends!

Longclaw and I are back with a final story to our first book 'A Targaryen Dynasty'. It's gonna be short, but worth the read.

We can't wait to hear from you guys!

Much Love,

BlackRose999 and Longclaw1-6


The Dragon's Daughter

Chapter 1: New Dynasty


'The year is three hundred and twenty-eight years since the restoration of the Targaryen Dynasty upon the Seven Kingdoms.

As I write this new chapter in the saga of House Targaryen, one must resolve to note that while the early reign of our monarchs when they were still a disunited force of pretenders and regional Kings embroiled in war, intrigue, and what ended up the true battle for the fate of life itself against darkness and death, time since has been rather peaceful. Not uneventful, but peaceful. A chance for the Realm both here in Westeros - since expanded greatly beyond its original boundaries to the now seasonal lands beyond the Wall - and in the new Targaryen domains of Dragon's Bay as well as the allied states of the Free Cities. And yet this maester of the Citadel still finds his monarchs keen to surprise him.

Granted, resurrections, ice monsters, and walking into a blazing pit of fire only to come out with dragons is surprising enough, but for a man that has traveled the world to discover magic, it is the complexity of human emotion that so shocks me more.

I digress, but with twenty years having passed since hostilities ended and the final of the remaining scions of the line of Rhaella Targaryen - at the time at least - was anointed with the crown of All Westeros, the Kingdoms buzzed with the most startling of announcements. Both the King and his two Queens would be abdicating their thrones effectively upon the passage of two weeks past the beginning of spring, just one day shy of the nameday of Queen Daenerys.

To say this is shocking is an understatement. Age could be said to have crept up on the royal family but compared to most, their Graces retain a vibrancy that many youths five and ten years their junior lack, riding their dragons and sweating upon the sparring grounds with vigor and skill. King Aegon, Sixth of His Name and once known as Jon Snow - still often called by that given name by his first wife and cousins - are five and forty and the same slender yet toned powerhouse that had battled enemies from the Wall to Dragon's Bay and all in between. Retaining the humility taught to him when he was known as but a bastard son of his uncle, the late Lord Eddard Stark, he has fully adopted his mantle as the son of Prince Rhaegar and shows no sign of fatigue in his duties as the Dragonwolf King.

One of his many titles.

There are some monarchs in history to whom their consorts are lost to time, having done little of note or been prohibited from such action by husbands seeking only heirs. Queen Daenerys Targaryen and Queen Rhaenys Targaryen - aunt and half-sister of King Aegon respectively - are not those sorts of consorts, and history shall never forget them even if it is only their own deeds to be taken into account, though most of those have already been spoken of in this text. Equal in authority alongside their King, such is not to say that their marriage is only for politics or for family unity. I am no wanton man, writing to titillate future generations with sordid tales, but all that serve in the Red Keep would at one point or another catch the pairs of the monarchs, or all three together, producing sounds of the most torrid of passions.

It makes for ribald humor of the masses, but unlike Aegon the Unworthy or Robert the Usurper, those tales are fond ones of beloved rulers enamored with each other the way all those married should emulate.

Once again I divulge.

Each Queen is still a striking beauty even at their ages. Queen Rhaenys had turned eight and forty two moons past, while Queen Daenerys turns the same age as his Grace on the aforementioned sixteenth day of Spring. They keep active lifestyles, integrating themselves in the affairs of their expansive realms. Queen Rhaenys is an avid warrior, oft using her sword or spear to spar with his Grace or her cousins, both Elia Sand and Lady Arya Stark Baratheon. Queen Daenerys is skilled with a blade but prefers horsemanship to sparring. Both Queens share a fondness for dragon riding though, their mighty mounts Drogon the Black Dread Reborn and Bloodwyng the Red Fury soaring over the skies of Blackwater Bay and the surrounding countryside.

Age has yet to hobble them, lifestyles active, figures undamaged, and stamina for both battle, governing, and matters of love and lust undiminished. And yet through my own conversations with them they've expressed their desire for a change to the precedent set by the Old King, Jaehaerys, First of His Name. Instead of continuing till their deaths, they wish to part with the throne on their own terms. To leave before age, senility, or any number of factors would hobble them.

As one of their confidants - joined in this by their family on his Grace's Stark side, her Grace's Martell side, their Mistress of Whisperers Nilvane, or Hand of the King Davos Seaworth before his death and replacement by Princess Arianne Martell of Sunspear - I can say with certainty that two other factors are involved.

First, their Graces are tired. Ruling is straining to all, yet since their early years, they took it in stride, never allowing anyone to see them strain or pass under the yoke. Still, they grow exhausted mentally by the duties of ruling and after so many decades of devotion to the people of their Realm, they wish to enjoy their remaining years with the true peace that has eluded those who were once a bastard son, a beggar princess, and a chained dragon.

Second, something I have heard her Grace, Queen Daenerys, oft speak to her husband and wife in tearful worries… she fears of the specter of her father. Their grandfather, Aerys, Second of His Name, also known as the 'Mad King.'

Myself, I feel her Grace shouldn't be worried. She is one of the sweetest souls to have graced the Red Keep, and her devotion to the people of Westeros and the other domains under the Targaryen banner is worthy of legend. And yet, her worries here simply show how devoted she is.

And so the proclamation is sent out, and while there is shock and sorrow there truly isn't terror for the future, for in spite of when Queen Daenerys thought herself barren due to the lies of a rather vile witch of Lhazar the Queens have proven quite fecund. King Aegon has sired five children, three from Queen Daenerys and two from Queen Rhaenys, and unlike Aenys and Maegor they are quite close to one another. Beloved by the Kingdoms and regarded as fully capable to assume the mantle of their legendary parents. I shall describe them from youngest to oldest.

The sweet apple of their Graces' eyes is Princess Visenya, four and ten and already promising to be a vivacious beauty. She has a mix of all the traits of her ancestors, dark raven hair of the Starks, violet eyes of the Targaryens, and the Martell olive skin of her mother Queen Rhaenys. Wild and flirty as was her great-uncle Oberyn the Red Viper from what I can remember of him, underneath she is of quite kind disposition. Mischievous, but not malicious. She has had a dragon since her birth, the blue beauty Tessarion of which she is quite fond. It is said that she has become taken with her second cousin, Ser Jon Baratheon, heir of Storm's End, but there is no official betrothal as of yet.

Prince Aemon Targaryen is the youngest of Queen Daenerys' three babes, a full two years older than his half-sister. Recently knighted after fighting Lorathi pirates alongside Lady Yara Greyjoy's Royal Fleet, he is yet more a scholar than a warrior much like his namesake, although proficient in both. I have had the privilege of mentoring the boy. He can be an Archmaester one day but is far too enamored with the opposite sex to engage in such. Women flock to him and he has been known to partake in their attention. His betrothal to Princess Deria Martell, daughter of the Lady Hand, will only amplify rather than dampen his appetites considering hers as well. Bound since birth to the powerful she-dragon Meleys, he never strays far from her side.

Said to be the spitting image of her grandmother Princess Lyanna Stark but for violet eyes, Princess Lyanna Targaryen - named for her after all - is older than her brother at nine and ten but I shall count her third down the line for reasons obvious. Unlike Visenya and her eldest sister, Princess Lyanna is no warrior. Ride her dragon she does often, the mighty male Vermithor after the dragon of Jaehaerys I, but sword and spear do not interest her. Music, art, mummery, and dance draw her attention as a fire would to a moth, and more lively a Princess there is not. Fostered at Winterfell where Lady Sansa took her under her wing, she has returned to patronize the arts in King's Landing. Joining her is her husband, Ser Eddard Stark, eldest son of Lady Sansa and Lord Larence Hornwood.

She is with child as of this writing.

The eldest of the males is Prince Daeron, a magnificent specimen of Targaryen prowess. Said to resemble Daemon the Rogue Prince apart for the grey eyes of his Stark grandmother, the eldest of Queen Rhaenys' children owes the same precocious and irascible personality. Trained by his father and mother in the sword and his other mother in dragon riding, his first love is Caraxes, his dragon. Cavorting with the baser elements of the city as well as the hedge knights and fourth sons that often find their way into the military ranks, he has led a very eccentric life in his soon-to-be nine and ten years. He very nearly took to wed the bastard daughter of Lord Harrold Arryn of the Vale, but a surge of the shivers took her away from him. That, as well as the girl he did wed, have served to soften his harder edges since, and certainly, his parents breathed a sigh of relief.

And we finally arrive at the Crown Princess herself. Aeryssa Targaryen, the miracle of House Targaryen, quickened within Queen Daenerys when she thought herself barren. The sweet babe that melted the hardened heart of Queen Rhaenys. Heir to the throne, her dragon was hatched from the first clutch of Drogon when she was discovered to be a she-dragon. A magnificent golden beast Dreamfyre, as beautiful as the Princess, a perfect Valyrian maiden. Unlike her mother, she is a tall woman with a shapely figure, honed by years of combat training. Taught in scholarship by myself and in ruling by their Graces and the Small Council before fostering in both Winterfell and Storm's End, at one and twenty she is most certainly ready to take the mantle of Queen.

Without children that she is, all within the Red Keep are confident that this is temporary.

Princess Aeryssa is happily married to the love of her life - none other than Prince Daeron. They had been close from the beginning, fast friends from the moment Daeron had been old enough to talk and walk, shadowing his older sister to her delight. It is only natural given their father and both their mothers that they grow even closer upon coming of age, and at long last, they obtained their parents' permission to marry only two years previously.

Having planted a weirwood sapling in the Red Keep's godswood early in their reign, it was here that King Aegon, Queen Daenerys, and Queen Rhaenys saw their son and daughter wed before the old gods. His Grace gave the bride away, while Lady Sansa officiated. It had been a beautiful ceremony, Princess Aeryssa wearing her hair up into an intricate, floral-shaped bun with silver-blonde curls framing her smile. Her gown was black and red, the Targaryen colors, though not as severe as one would expect. It complemented her well, the almost ethereal Targaryen beauty of shimmering hair and piercing violet eyes on full display.

Himself knighted for three years and the victor of a half-dozen tourneys and just as many skirmishes across the realm, Prince Daeron was equally as impressive as his sister and bride. Muscles on display in his armor, it was clear to the world that this pair was not one to be trifled with. Apart from the monstrously-sized Jon Baratheon - a gentle giant as his father Lord Gendry - only Aeryssa could match Prince Daeron in the combat arts or upon dragonback. A pair meant for each other.

Certainly obvious as the cries of pleasure that night mirrored their parents' in shaking the foundations of the Red Keep.

And now, they ready themselves for rule, Aeryssa as Queen and Daeron to be crowned by her as her King, to sit by each other's side as their parents had done. One cannot be certain what the future shall bring, but I can only relay that few doubt the ability of the Crown Princess and her Prince to continue the prosperity of House Targaryen and the Realm for the years ahead.'

Excerpt from the History of the Targaryen Restoration by Grand Maester Marwyn


Aeryssa Targaryen, Princess of Dragonstone


"And as you approach the throne of the Azure Empress, you must bow as so." Marwyn acted out the gesture, which was repeated. "You are not their subject so your bow is shallow, but it is a necessary gesture of respect… Princess Aeryssa, are you paying attention?"

Aeryssa gritted her teeth as yet another monotonous tutoring session from Maester Marwyn droned on, wishing she could run to her beloved dragon and just fly away somewhere. Something to end the monotony. "Aye, Grand Maester," she remarked. "I am listening."

"What did I say?"

"That as a fellow monarch and an equal I must greet the Azure Empress with a sense of respect as befitting my first diplomatic visit to Yi Ti as the Queen of the Targaryen Realm." She smirked slightly. "I am no longer a little girl, Marwyn, but a fully grown woman that can be trusted."

He nodded, pursing his lips. "Grown-up you may have, but to hold such arrogance that you radiate boredom and contempt for common processes will serve you horribly. Now continue." She resisted her groan, knowing from past experience it was better to grin and bear it.

Such was the quickest way to get out of there.

As expected, the session lasted about a third hour before Aeryssa was finally excused. Fleeing as swiftly as her feet could carry her… only for a smirk from her shadow. "Go away, Sam."

"And disobey the Lady Commander? Not in your lifetime." Ser Samwell Tarly, Knight of the Kingsguard, was tall and broad-shouldered. A quite martial man rather unlike his stout, bookish father and namesake. Some rumors abounded that he wasn't Lord Samwell's son and rather that of some wildling lover of his mother the Lady Gilly, but the clear exhibition of the Tarly martial prowess just as his clearly trueborn brother Ser Jon put to bed most of those.

He was also one of Aeryssa's close friends and the King's former squire. "Vastly preferred when Aunt Arya was Lady Commander. She was fun." Brienne was very competent, but fun she was not.

Sam's lips were curled in a ghost of a smirk. "It is my duty to protect you, your Grace."

"Oh please, you love ordering me around," Aryssa smirked back, both of them eventually chuckling. "Gods, the tediousness. Perhaps when I am Queen it'll lessen."

"I think so. You'll have your Hand and your Small Council. It's not like your father and mother rule alone."

"Aye, aye." She knew that all of this was meant to prepare her fully for the throne. It was just… "Never mind," Aeryssa snapped. Sam sighed but nodded, following behind her without a word as she journeyed towards her own quarters in Maegor's Holdfast.

The decorations were lavish in her solar… not as much or as garish as the days of Robert the Usurper or Joffrey the Vicious Idiot according to the long-time servants or Lord Tyrion - the Imp having written a history of the short-lived Baratheon-Lannister Dynasty before his death of old age four years prior - but still lively. Reds and blacks were everywhere, with a little bit of gold and blue for color and grey to honor her grandmother. Aeryssa may have fought like her aunt Arya, but was as much a feminine Princess as her munas or aunt Sansa in all else. "Ladies," she said, striding in.

Five young women of various ages rose, curtseying. "Your Grace." It was a formality, even though Aryssa had grown up among them. "Marwyn kept you long?" asked Myranda Hightower, daughter of Lord Baelor Hightower and rather soft-spoken. Hid a sharp mind.

At Aeryssa's nod, Marla Umber snorted. "What was it this time? How to properly wear one's frilly garter in a particular district of Volantis?"

Aeryssa giggled. "Something like that." The Umbers were a wild and crude bunch, but Lady Marla was even more so from her mother, Lord Ned's dear wife Munda Giantsbane. As tall, as kissed by fire, and as fierce as her father Tormund. "It's all the same shit." The Princess loved Marla around, her scandalizing the prisses of court always amusing.

Only one other could make her laugh so easily.

As she sat down, the others did. "Well, only a week to go till the coronation." Deria Martell had her leg folded over the other, showing off plenty of skin with her slit dress. Very much tempting to the men - and some women - at court. Especially that of Aeryssa's brother Aemon. "My dragon says that the Starks and Baratheons should be arriving any day now?"

While the thought of her little brother - her other little brother - having a sex life repulsed her, it did make Aeryssa smile to hear Deria speak so lovingly of Aemon. "They are."

"Mother and father will arrive by tomorrow," added Alysanne Stark, cousin to the royal brood and middle child of Lady Sansa. Red of hair, all else was Stark in nature, and she had no shortage of male suitors. "They said as much in their raven from White Harbor."

Sharra Corbray rolled her eyes. As severe as the mountains from which she was raised, she didn't mince words. "And when did you get it?"

"Two weeks ago."

"Hmmm… alright." Sharra shrugged. Aeryssa knew she had a good heart underneath the frown. "Any sooner than that and I would've had my doubts on that timetable. Ships can't just fly from one part of the sea to another."

"Ships are not dragons, aye," Aeryssa replied. "Enough of that, though. Any juicy gossip at court? As the future Queen, I should know this."

"We're your little birds now, your Grace?" Deria asked with a twinkle in her eyes.

Aeryssa matched it with a grin. "If I command it."

As lovely as her moments with her favorites, unfortunately, they were forced to depart for their own quarters elsewhere in the rebuilt Red Keep. As the Crown Princess, when she was not in Dragonstone she dwelt in the Maidenvault. Windows had been cut into it after her parents stayed there following the capture of King's Landing and it was comfortable, but the prison-like structure of it that Baelor the Blessed so desired truly did make one lonely.

Is this what it's like for my parents? For kepa and munas? To be on top… and a dragon, there were few that could understand. Loneliness came with the crown, it seemed.

At just that moment the door opened, prompting Aeryssa to curtly turn her head as she didn't wish to bother to speak. But such irritation changed quickly to the warmest of smiles as the handsome figure of Daeron appeared at the doorway and entered her private solar. Dressed in his leather armor emblazoned with the Targaryen sigil and Dark Sister - discovered long ago beyond the Wall by their Uncle Bran and Aunt Meera - beside him slipped Winter, his direwolf. The grey-white beast quickly rushed to greet her companion and mate.

Just like her kepa, Aeryssa had to admit. Just like her as her muna, it turned out, dreamily gazing at her devoted and loyal brother. Her man in all respects. My Prince…

Daeron bowed as would a knight of the Kingsguard to her."Your Grace," he spoke, a mischievous grin forming on his face.

Never change, my love. Aeryssa's heart, normally so serious and reserved, filled with affection for her lively husband. "Prince Daeron," she played along. Only Daeron could draw her out of her shell. "Have you come to swear loyalty to me as your Queen."

"No," he replied back, that smirk never leaving his face. Aeryssa didn't know whether she wanted to punch it off or kiss it off. "I have decided that I wish to rebel from the Iron Throne."

She scowled. "I could feed you to the dragons for your insolence."

He seemed to nod, pursing his lips. "Which dragon could feed on me, cause there is a particular one that finds part of me quite delicious."

Aeryssa faked a gasp. "Prince Daeron Targaryen, you are impertinent in front of your Queen." Once filled with apprehension that collapsed soon after her brother entered, she finally burst into merry laughter and rushed to him. Leaping into Daeron's waiting arms and embracing him tightly. At that moment, all of the stresses in the world left her form. "I love you, husband… kiss me." It was not a request.

The younger Prince would never refuse such a command, unlike others. Slanting his mouth over hers, Aeryssa moaned at the contact, hands running all over his body. Melding to his body, nearly half a head taller than her. She loved it, but unfortunately, air was a must. "What's the matter, love?" he asked with concern as they broke apart.

Sighing, Aeryssa buried herself in the crook of his neck "Am I that obvious?"

"To most, no. You normally look like you want to torch men with Dreamfyre or grant them the mercy of not torching them with Dreamfyre, and few see through it." She smirked while he ran a hand up her back, nuzzling his shoulder. "But I am an expert in the emotions of the Crown Princess. My favorite is that quiver in your lips when you cum for me."

She slapped him. "Shut it, valonqar." He was always like this, wisecracking in his words and rogue in his duties. Aeryssa wouldn't have him any other way. "You are an expert though, I'll give you that." The princess let out a few shaky breaths, however, kissing his neck as he wound his fingers through her hair.

"Ryssa?" he asked using his pet name for her.

"N… nothing my love. Just worries for the future, nothing more."

Daeron pulled her back to his chest, his hands stroking her hair. "Doesn't look like nothing to me. Please talk to your husband." When he wanted to be, Daeron could be the warmest, most compassionate soul. "I'm scared, I'm not sure if I'm ready for this." She whispered into his chest as she held him close. "They've had years to get ready to rule, and muna had practice while she was in Meereen while kepa was Lord Commander of the Night's Watch… Muna learned alongside them and in war… I've no such prerequisites, I'm as green as the stalks of the Winter Lilies of the North."

Daeron smiled at her humility, knowing it would help her later on. "And you should be my sweetling, you're what the smallfolk need. A humble and honest queen who knows she needs experience and isn't going to subject them to her false sense of superiority and arrogance." Aeryssa thought about that, her mind working as she weeded out the insecurities and fears so ingrained into her brain from the announcement of her impending coronation.

With a solemn heart, she pulled away and looked deep into his eyes. "I will do everything in my power to make this world a better, stronger place. A legacy our parents can be proud of even when they've long since gone to the Night Lands…" Her hand stroked at the back of his neck. "And you, my Prince, are a good husband."

"Oh? How so?"

"For loving me… calming me down."

He nodded. "Latter is quite hard sometimes, but loving you comes naturally to me. I can't help but adore you, Ryssa."

Aeryssa melted. "And if your Queen has another command for you, Prince Daeron?"

His brow rose. "Name it and it's done."

"Kiss me." As said, Daeron saw it done.


Daenerys Targaryen, Queen of the Targaryen Realm


It all seemed… as if a circle. A memory, deep down nearly twenty-eight years in the past. Twenty-eight years, seven hells. Clad in a gossamer dress near sheer, showing off all parts of her body at her brother's insistence gazing west across the Narrow Sea and yearning for a home. For somewhere to belong.

And now, wearing an equally gossamer robe draped over her nude body in the summer's heat, here she was. Gazing east across Blackwater Bay having found her home. Not some castle, though it was quite comfortable. Not some city, though once the smell of shit and smoke had departed it was a beautiful place to live.

"Dany?" A smile tinged her lips at the words.

Her home was where her family lived - with her, be it King's Landing, Dragonstone, or the times they traveled together to Winterfell. "Out here, Rhae."

Half-Dornish in her blood, unlike her cousin Arianne and their soon to be gooddaughter Deria, Rhaenys was actually rather modest in her attire. Unlike the Dothraki and Meereenese influenced Dany, she preferred the garments of the North. As shown in her nightshift, though this one was sleeveless and ended just above the knee to show off olive-toned arms and legs. Still as smooth and powerful as her youth. "What are you doing out here?" she asked, moving to Dany's left and leaning her forearms on the stone banister as she did. "Come to bed."

"Just thinking."

A snort. "It's our husband that broods, not you."

"I'm not brooding."

"You should look at yourself." Dany quirked her head at Rhaenys. "Fine, you're smiling… but otherwise you brood."

She giggled. "You like my smile, don't lie." Rhaenys only smirked back, which led to more giggles. "Perhaps I am brooding, but nothing serious."

Rhaenys draped a hand around her shoulder, half as a sister would and half… something more than that. "What's troubling you, wife?" A kiss to her temple. "Better to tell I than Aegon. I shan't cluck over you like an old woman."

No, you won't. Rhaenys was always the most self-sufficient of all of them, yet no longer in the way of shutting all out. The fiery, bitter foe had changed into a sensitive, loving soul through the course of their marriage - pretty early in it, turned out. "You're definitely not an old woman."

Only the hint of wrinkles on her pretty face, Rhaenys nodded. "Charmer." She laughed.

Dany smiled. "Just thinking… of when I was six and ten. How I was dreaming of this, what I have now, though I never would've dreamed something this wonderful."

Rhaenys looked away. "Didn't dream of anything but surviving." That earned her a kiss on the cheek of her own, Daenerys pressing her head into the crook of her niece's neck. "Sometimes I feel it is a dream."

A nod. "Aye, though it isn't." She sighed. "If it was, Missandei would be here, and Viserys… the way he used to be."

"And Egg, my other brother… and our parents and Aegon's cousins, all of them." Rhaenys looked behind her just as Rhaegal flew above, followed by Caraxes. Mounts to Jon and Daeron, father and son. Daenerys traced the dragons to back over the city, circling around it before finally descending to the rebuilt Dragonpit - magnificently mixed between limestone and sandstone blocks. All across the city founded by their ancestors, everything was rebuilt. Aqueducts bringing in fresh water from the Rainwood to the south, banishing the smell. New series of public buildings on Visenya's Hill, the great Queen likely glad that a sept didn't mar the hill that bore her name. The High Septon and Most Devout were not bothered, since a gleaming new sept commissioned by Baelor Hightower and Edmure Tully graced the waterfront. A whole series of new walls ringed the city, four great forts spaced throughout in which dwelled a legion of Unsullied.

No one would threaten King's Landing, and those within would enjoy living there.

As did the royal family. "As Aegon always says. Found a city of brick and bones, and made it one of marble and dragons."

"I think he said 'shit and bones,' aunt."

Dany grinned. "My version is better… can't have that in the histories." The two of them smiling, they made their way back inside to the bedchamber.

Toeing off his boots, Jon was there, waiting for them. "My loves." His expression lit up as they entered.

"My King." Daenerys embraced him, kissing him hard. Melting in his embrace.

"My King." Rhaenys followed her, the kiss that followed nearly sucking the air from his lungs.

"King? So formal…" He murmured as they came to him. "I should be insulted… Here I thought I was this great pillar of love! And now I see I'm just the figurehead!" He laughed. They both smiled, resting against him as they sat beside him on the bed.

"We ought to discuss Aeryssa and Daeron's ascension, you know." Dany murmured softly, making Rhae and Jon grimace. "Aye, we should. She'll do well, we all know that, but she's so lost now. Maybe a little 'fatherly advice' might do her some good?"

Jon looked from one wife to the other, eyeing them distrustfully. "Uh huh… And next you're going to tell me you've both decided to give Daeron 'motherly advice'?"

Rhae grinned, "Oh my, haven't we told you? As a matter of fact, we have!"

He grinned and shook his head, loving his wives for their understanding and sarcastic comments. "Poor child, it'll be worse than that intimacy talk you both subjected him to…" The Queens glared, to which they sought to retort by hitting him with their pillows. "Seriously though, the poor child could use a confidence boost. Daeron will be her pillar of course, but she's so worried she'll muck it up she can't see the good she'll bring the people. She'll be a perfect Queen, truly. She's kind, honest, and never minces her words while also not one to insult," Rhae said thoughtfully.

It prompted Dany to add jovially "Oh yes, imagine the nipped heels she'll give the prissy, arrogant lords!"

"Nipped heels? That's all you think she could do? I'd bet she could make that old Mountain of a man from Cersei's circle into a molehill by the time she was through with him!"

Jon listened to his wives with a smile. "Aeryssa is the best of her munas, thank the gods."

Both Rhaenys and Daenerys gave him a tender look. "Don't forget her kepa." Both curled up close to him, eager to show Jon that they never would.

"Now if only she'd stop talking to the roses…"

Rhae smirked, "She says they listen better than everyone else does, which is only half-true." Dany shot her a look, "I listen perfectly well thank you!"

Mischief danced in Jon's eyes - his brides always brought out his most joyous moods. "Oh yes, like when you told Daeron we wanted him to practice his swordplay with Grey Worm when we said Arya. That was wonderful listening!"

Dany just pouted.