When I was a child, an uncle asked what gift I wanted for my name day. I begged him for one of you. “It wouldn’t even have to be a big dragon,” I told him. “It could be little like me.” Everyone laughed like it was the funniest thing they had ever heard. Then my father told me the last dragon had died a century ago. I cried myself to sleep that night. But here you are.
And when the bleak dawn broke over an empty horizon, Dany knew that he was truly lost to her. “When the sun rises in the west and sets in the east,” she said sadly. “When the seas go dry and mountains blow in the wind like leaves. When my womb quickens again, and I bear a living child. Then you will return, my sun-and-stars, and not before.”
Never, the darkness cried, never never never.
Inside the tent Dany found a cushion, soft silk stuffed with feathers. She clutched it to her breasts as she walked back out to Drogo, to her sun-and-stars. If I look back I am lost. It hurt even to walk, and she wanted to sleep, to sleep and not to dream.
She knelt, kissed Drogo on the lips, and pressed the cushion down across his face.
“Three things shine before the world and cannot be hidden. They are the sun, the moon and the truth…”
”The dragon has three heads.” - A Clash of Kings
or, my favourite ideal scenario; Queen Daenerys, Queen Sansa and King Jon, Rulers of the Andals, the Rhoynar, and the First Men, Lord and Ladies Regnant of the Seven Kingdoms, the Protectors of the Realm.