Winging over King’s Landing in my true form was… certainly an experience, though not a particularly new one for me. Of course, before I’d had to fly up high enough that no one could see me, to avoid being shot through the damn heart by a Scorpion or the like. I’d flown above the cloud cover, marked out my target, and then swooped down to wreak havoc and steal a ‘maiden’ before anyone had time to react.
 
Did it first at the Purple Wedding, and then second at the Execution Block. Now though… there was no need for avoiding Westerosi Ballista. Not that I wasn’t keeping an eye out, but the flags over the Red Keep were a stark white, and at this point, everyone in the Realm knew that King Tommen Baratheon, First of His Name, had graciously accepted the offer to surrender and abdicate to Daenerys that had come via letter.
 
The fleet in the harbor was Daenerys’ fleet, and my two brothers winged out over the city as well, flying this way and that as Unsullied marched through the streets of King’s Landing for the first time in known history, led by a Targaryen Queen. That was probably also a big first. Heh, it’d taken quite a bit to influence Dany into accepting the idea of poor little Tommen getting to abdicate, rather than simply removing his head. Though, not as much as one would have expected.
 
I figured constant exposure to Myrcella, and my telling her that the boy-king was more boy than king had softened her heart to the idea. Which truth be told; I was grateful for. I had a bit of a soft spot for Myrcella and Tommen, at the end of the day. They had not deserved their fates, and in a place like Westeros during this age, that in and of itself was a rarity. Practically everyone brought their own demise upon themselves in some way, even the so-called ‘good guys’.
 
Every dead Stark had played a part in their own gruesome deaths, at the end of the day. From Eddard Stark taking half of his family south in the first place to try and play a game he was ill-accustomed to, to Catelyn Stark selling her son, the King in the North to a rat without consulting him, and even Robb not sucking it up and marrying the Frey girl, thinking with his loins instead of what had been, up until that point, a sharp tactical mind.
 
And that was just the examples from the ‘good guy’ family of Westeros. Many of the other deaths across the continent had been entirely deserved. Though I supposed I disrupted a few of those deaths in favor of ending their lives early. Stannis, Tywin, Mace… I’d made a habit of eating lordly men since arriving in Westeros. I wondered if any more would cleanse my palate before the day was done.
 
Ah, but it was starting. Down below, out in the open, Daenerys and her party were meeting with Tommen and his party. There was a reason this encounter was not taking place within the Red Keep, and that reason was me. Though it offered no end of amusement to me that they’d had to use the spot where the Purple Wedding took place in order to accommodate Daenerys.
 
Though it was all cleaned up now, it was the same plaza where Joffrey had choked to death on poison, and where I’d swallowed Tywin Lannister whole, and made off with Margaery Tyrell. I could only imagine how it felt to be back there for the opposing side of this equation, especially with not just me, but all three of Daenerys’ dragons flying overhead.
 
Still, it was one thing for us to be overhead. It was another entirely to get a nice, long look at us. Grinning wickedly, showing off rows upon rows of massive dragon teeth, I prepare to swoop down. It was time to join my mother and see where this little meeting went.
 
-x-X-x-
 
Just as Tommen Baratheon is reaching up to remove the quaint little crown with it’s equally tiny antlers from atop his head, Drogon finally makes his appearance. Everyone on both sides startles badly when the massive black-scaled dragon comes in for an impromptu landing. Everyone save for Daenerys, of course. Her son and lover was always at the back of her mind, and in this, his intentions had already been made clear to her.
 
As such, when the would-be boy-king ducks back and his Kingsguard step forward with weapons drawn in defense of their liege, Daenerys just smiles and reaches out to pet a small portion of Drogon’s massive, magnificent jaw as he stretches his head to the side of her, his long sinuous neck moving in an inhuman manner.
 
And he IS inhuman. She must remember that. Even if he can now transform into that new form of his, one that lets him walk on two legs and talk in both high Valyrian and the common tongue, he is still a dragon. A massive, hulking dragon. HER massive, hulking dragon. Said dragon snorts in the face of the Baratheon Kingsguard’s futile efforts.
 
Amusingly enough though, it’s the dwarf that steps in, his hands raised.
 
“Hold! Hold! What are you lot going to do with those things against a dragon as large as that? He’ll barely even feel them! Stand down! If the Dragon Queen wanted us dead, we’d already be dead!”
 
Daenerys’ eyes flicker up and down the short figure that is Tyrion Lannister. He’d already been introduced as Hand of the King, and the symbol of office stood out on his left breast, visible to all. It was somewhat amusing, all things considered. After all, she’d been told all about Tyrion Lannister’s recent escapades. The man had been accused of killing Joffrey Baratheon by poison after Drogon’s first visit to King’s Landing. And then, at what was to be his execution, he’d survived his ‘trial by combat’ mostly thanks to Drogon’s intervention, according to Sansa.
 
And now here he was, the last voice of reason in all of King’s Landing. Or perhaps he was simply the last noble lord that Tommen had lying around to name Hand of the King. Regardless, while none of the boy king’s Kingsguard look all that happy about it, they do stand down on Tyrion’s orders. And to his credit, after a moment more of hesitation, Tommen himself creeps out from amongst them, his crown off of his head and in his hands.
 
He’s soft. That’s Daenerys’ first impression of Tommen Baratheon. His face is young, and his features are soft. She has no doubt that his hands would be soft too, if she were to take them in her own. Not unlike herself, back before all this had begun, before she’d become Khaleesi, before she’d become Mother of Dragons.
 
That was what he reminded her of. The weak little Daenerys that had existed under her deceased brother, the Daenerys who had lived in constant fear of ‘waking the Dragon’. It brings a slight smile to her face, even as the boy-king continues to make his way forward, closing the distance between them until Drogon lets out a plume of smoke in the form of a snort, bringing Tommen Baratheon to a halt.
 
Standing in the middle of the plaza, the boy hesitates… and then kneels, bowing his head and holding up his crown to her. Daenerys’ fingers trace along Drogon’s scales as the massive black dragon extends his head a few feet further past her, only to snatch the tiny crown from Tommen’s hands, his proximity causing the would-be king to fall back on his ass with a yelp, eyes wide in surprise, fear… but also awe and wonder.
 
This is just a boy. Drogon was right in that. Tommen Baratheon is nothing more than a child, for all that he has the height of a man. Not the face of one though, no. His face is that of an infant. Regardless, Drogon draws back again… and then whips his head upwards, tossing the antlered crown into the air, where he melts it down to molten gold with a plume of dragon fire, before letting said gold slop down his throat as if it were honey.
 
Daenerys does not worry for him though. He is, in the end, a dragon. And dragon’s do not fear heat. With that display out of the way, the beautiful Targaryen Queen steps forward, smiling benevolently as she extends her hands down to Tommen Baratheon.
 
“Rise, Tommen Baratheon. By bending the knee, as your ancestor did to mine so long ago, you have reaffirmed the loyalty of House Baratheon, and earned your seat as Lord Paramount of the Stormlands.”
 
It wouldn’t have been Daenerys’ first choice. Truth be told, the idea hadn’t even crossed her mind until Drogon had suggested it. Daenerys would have just killed them all, most likely. Baratheons… the Usurper had caused everything bad that had ever happened in her life, as far as she was concerned. But Drogon had let her in on a few choice secrets.
 
How delicious would it be, to have House Baratheon continued by a bastard of Lannister blood? How delicious would it be, knowing that there would never be another Baratheon with actual stag blood sat upon the seat in the Stormlands? Yes, that alone made it worth it to be magnanimous in forgiving Tommen his not-father’s trespasses and giving the would-be boy-king the position of Lord Paramount.
 
Of course, Tommen Baratheon was not the only one she had to deal with today. Even as the boy takes her hands, his face filled with shock and awe at her generosity, Daenerys is looking past him, all while pulling him to his feet with a strength that she hoped one day he would find it in himself to possess as well.
 
“Tyrion Lannister. Loras Tyrell. Step forward.”
 
There’s a beat of hesitation, and Daenerys sees the tightening of an old woman’s face as she places a hand on what can only be Loras Tyrell’s shoulder. Olenna Tyrell, it has to be, even if this is Daenerys’ first time seeing the other woman in the flesh. With her granddaughter nowhere to be seen and her son burnt up and long since digested in Drogon’s belly, it’s obvious that the old woman is fearful for her last family member.
 
Cute, but Loras Tyrell IS a Knight. Daenerys isn’t surprised when the pretty boy (because he IS very pretty) pulls out of his grandmother’s grasp and strides forward, still managing to make it to his place a few feet away from her at the same time that Tyrion comes to a halt as well, despite the dwarf starting earlier. The two stand side by side, and Daenerys reflects that they couldn’t possibly BE any different. But at the end of the day, they are what she has.
 
“I will not be requiring your services as my Hand, Lord Lannister.”
 
First things first, Daenerys holds out a hand expectantly towards Tyrion. The half-man hesitates for a moment, looking around at the onlookers as if removing the symbol of his office from his chest will cause them all to fall upon him immediately, as if it offers some mystical protection that he will die without. But that only lasts for a moment at most. Reaching up, the dwarf removes the pin from his lapel and toddles forward, placing it in her outstretched palm.
 
Daenerys gives him a smile as she takes it and slips it away into her dress. It’s not necessarily a warm smile, but it’s a smile, nonetheless. Only once Tyrion is back, standing beside Loras, does she speak again, her eyes moving between the two of them.
 
“During the Usurper’s Rebellion, House Tyrell stood with House Targaryen until the death of my father. While it could be said that they should have fought to the end in an effort to avenge their slain king, I am not so selfish as to demand restitution for such things. After all… my dragon has already taken much in the way of restitution, hasn’t he? Loras Tyrell, will you bend the knee to me as your family did for generations? Will you swear loyalty to me, as Lord Paramount of the Reach?”
 
Loras hesitates, but Daenerys isn’t that surprised. Nor is she surprised when the first thing out of his mouth is not an affirmation of loyalty.
 
“I would… I would ask after my sister, if it pleases your Grace.”
 
Daenerys sees the exact moment that Tommen startles off to the side where he’d walked after she stopped paying him attention. The flush of shame that spreads across the boy’s face makes it clear that he wishes he’d thought to ask the same. Before Daenerys can reply, Drogon is there again, his head sliding up beside her.
 
Smiling, the Targaryen Queen once again reaches out to pet at his chin.
 
“Your sister is alive and well, Lord Tyrell, and your commitment to family does you justice. My Drogon here took a liking to her, as he’s taken a liking to many women, both young and mature in our travels. You may consider her part of my court, as well as Myrcella Baratheon.”
 
This, at least, the Lords of Westeros can understand. Hostage taking, after all, is a time-honored tradition between the nobility. Loras’ jaw clenches but he nods all the same even as he takes the knee. Meanwhile, Tommen looks relieved, off to the side.
 
“Then I pledge myself to you, my Queen. House Tyrell will carry out the will of House Targaryen once more in all things, as we did for hundreds of years.”
 
Daenerys just continues to smile.
 
“Then rise, my Lord Paramount of the Reach.”
 
Loras does so, and when Daenerys turns her attention onto Tyrion Lannister, he recognizes being dismissed and steps away. Meanwhile, the half-man before her raises himself up to his full diminutive height, staring back at her even with Drogon looming over him. Daenerys can’t help but feel a smidge of respect for the dwarf, though given what she’d already been told of him, it was hard not to feel something positive towards Tyrion Lannister. He was not cut from the same cloth as his family.
 
However, that doesn’t mean she’s going to be all smiles and niceties, all the time.
 
“If you intend to ask after your sister, Lord Lannister… Drogon has taken her into his care as well.”
 
Tyrion’s mouth is open when she preempts him, and it abruptly closes as those intelligent eyes of his flash with thought, processing what she’s saying. But in the end, he shakes his head.
 
“Ah, no, your grace. I did not intend to ask after Cersei. I would merely caution your grace to keep a close eye on her, for my sister does not take defeat lightly.”
 
Daenerys contemplates that for a moment, memories of the former Queen with Drogon and her daughter flashing through her head. The smile that she unconsciously adopts is particularly vicious as she chuckles darkly.
 
“That will not be a problem, Lord Lannister.”
 
Whatever he sees in HER eyes has Tyrion swallowing thickly as he nods and then turns to the side, looking back at the Kingsguard… or more specifically at their current Lord Commander.
 
“While I care little for the fate of my sister, I had hoped to ask what you intended to do with my brother, Queen Daenerys.”
 
His brother. Daenerys’ eyes slide up and meet the eyes of the man who killed her father for the first time. However, she barely sees Jaime, because rather than memories, this time around, Daenerys finds herself thinking of visions. Drogon had shown her what lay underneath the city, had shown her what her father’s madness had wrought. And Aerys WAS mad, there was no doubt about that.
 
Before she’d even come here, Daenerys had come to a decision about Jaime Lannister and his Kingsguard. Nostrils flaring, the Dragon Queen raises herself up to her full height, placing her hand atop Drogon’s scaled head as she regards the seven men in silence for a brief moment.
 
“I have no use for any of you. You may consider the Kingsguard disbanded, and your oaths voided. The rest of you may return to your lands or your houses or where ever it is you come from; I care not. As for Jaime Lannister… you will take the black and join the brothers of the Night’s Watch in the North.”
 
There’s a brief pause as everyone holds their breath. Daenerys finds herself searching the face of Jaime Lannister, but it’s not anger she sees there, no, it’s surprise. After he gets over that, the man can’t unclasp his white cloak fast enough, letting it fall from his shoulders as he lays his sword down on the ground and bows his head.
 
“As your grace commands.”
 
The rest of the Kingsguard follows suit in short order, unclasping their cloaks, dissolving the Kingsguard in it’s entirety. Daenerys already has the makings of a Queensguard, to be fair… but she has no desire to place her life in the hands of any of the Knights who served Robert or Joffrey Baratheon. Even if that’s not quite true, given the fact that she as Ser Barristan at her back, even now.
 
Regardless, with his brother’s fate now known to him, Tyrion turns back to her in full and hastens to bend the knee.
 
“I pledge myself to you, Queen Daenerys Targaryen. I will serve you in whatever way you see fit.”
 
“Rise then, Lord Tyrion. Rise as my Lord Paramount of the Westerlands.”
 
Once again, Daenerys’ first instinct would have been to cut the whole house out at the root. The Lannisters may not have started the rebellion like the Baratheons and Starks did, but at the end of the day, they’d done something worse, turning on the Targaryens at the very end of the war in order to better secure their place on the winning side. That alone would have prompted Daenerys to destroy the entire family, every last one of them.
 
But this was better, as Drogon’s ideas usually were. She’d heard from plenty of people at this point just how much Tywin Lannister, the man who’d truly betrayed her family, had hated Tyrion. His youngest son, a dwarf, a half-man… it was a fitting fate for House Lannister to be led by such a man, at the end of the day. A fitting acknowledgment of Tywin’s… legacy that his children would be split in three directions. His daughter, concubine and fuck toy of a dragon for the rest of her days, his elder son, a member of the Night’s Watch. And finally, his youngest son, the hated dwarf, sat upon Casterly Rock.
 
Oh yes, Daenerys could appreciate the irony of such decisions, which was why she’d let Drogon persuade her to do the things she’d done today. Now that it was all over though… there was only one thing left to do, really.
 
-x-X-x-
 
“It doesn’t look very comfortable, does it Missandei?”
 
“No, my Queen, it does not.”
 
As Daenerys and Missandei stand there at the foot of the stairs that lead up to the Iron Throne, I snort derisively, stepping past them both and ascending said stairs two at a time easily with my long stride. My tail flicks back and forth behind me, my wings draped down along my back.
 
“Drogon?”
 
I don’t say a word until I’ve turned and sat upon my mother’s throne, which actually seems quite the fit for my two-legged form. This chair of melted swords and metal… it was not made for a human. It was made for a dragon. My tail curls around me for comfort, and my wings splay out as I rest clawed hands upon the throne’s sides. My black scales grind against sharp sword points that would no doubt cut me if I were made of mortal flesh, rather than the dragon that I am.
 
“Drogon, what do you think you’re doing?”
 
Ah, now my mother acts. Daenerys strides up the stairs to the Iron Throne and me with a look of outrage on her beautiful face, her cheeks puffed out rather cutely as she curls her hands into fists and stomps one foot. I just grin in the face of her anger, and reach down between my legs, sliding a clawed hand along my segmented, draconic member. It grows thicker by the moment, and Daenerys’ eyes are drawn down to it, the Targaryen Queen’s lips parting slightly and her tongue tracing out in unconscious anticipation.
 
“You wished for a more comfortable seat, mother. Did you not?”
 
Her face goes red, though with arousal or embarrassment, I know not. Likely both, even if it’s just the three of us in the hall, the throne room quite empty save for myself, my mother, and Missandei. Missandei, who even now is craning her neck to look around Daenerys and get a glimpse of my new form, her eyes as fixed on my large, thick member as her mistress’ are.
 
The dark-skinned former slave longs to ride me again, I can tell. And perhaps she will get the chance, before the day is out. Or perhaps I will mount her after I finish with my mother. Either way, Daenerys is not one to remain idle for long. The outrage fades, and the longing that I have conditioned her to feel, that I have instilled in the beautiful young Targaryen, takes its place.
 
Her dress is hitched up in moments, and the Queen turns and presents her pale, naked buttocks to me as she prepares to climb backwards up into my lap. I take hold of her hips and help her, lodging the arrow-head tip of my draconic shaft up inside of her juicy wet cunt. Daenerys moans, and mewls, and then she groans as I slowly pull her back along my ridged, purple length, filling her inch by inch, until eventually, I’m bulging out her belly slightly, every last bit of my massive schlong buried in her drooling quim.
 
Even in my new form, it’s only the fact that she’s received copious amounts of my cum already that keep her from tearing easily. Even smaller as I am, this draconic cock of mine would make ruin of any woman not properly prepared for it. It would rip and tear up the insides of a human like no one’s business. Ah, but that’s alright. I’m very careful with my toys. Very careful indeed.
 
I bounce Daenerys on my cock once, and grin wickedly as she immediately squeals in orgasm. The violet-eyed Queen of the Seven Kingdoms, acting as my cock sleeve as I sit upon the Iron Throne. There’s something to be said about that, and all of it is good. Delicious, even, to be here now, to be filling Daenerys with my member, to have made her effectively MINE in every possible way.
 
But she is still Queen, something she reminds me of through her resilience. Even as I begin to fuck her, Daenerys collects herself and grabs onto my hands for support, holding herself as a queen might, head held high and voice ALMOST calm as she speaks clearly to the only other person in the throne room.
 
“Missandei. A-Attend your Queen.”
 
Besides that one slip up, she sounds completely in control. Whether Missandei believes that or not doesn’t matter, because the dark-skinned young woman has been eager to join in from the very beginning. I watch as she practically tears off her own dress, something not even Daenerys has done. The former slave strips herself naked, likely for both mine and her Queen’s pleasure, and then CRAWLS her way up the stairs to the dais upon which the Iron Throne sits, eyes fixed on one point and one point in particular.
 
The place where my big, fat dragon cock is currently splitting Daenerys Targaryen in half. Missandei kneels before the Iron Throne, finding her right and proper place between my spread legs, and leans in close to begin slurping and sucking at our genitals. One moment, she’ll be lapping at my cock length, the next, she’ll be nipping at Daenerys’ clit. It really just depends where I’m at in bouncing my mother up and down my dick.
 
Regardless, Missandei knows her place, knows her purpose, and she carries out Daenerys’ orders quite well. It’s not long before the Queen of the Seven Kingdoms is squirting her orgasm all over Missandei’s face like a two-bit whore. Not long before Daenerys’ cries of ecstasy fill the hall to the brim as she lays her head back on my shoulder, turning my head towards hers to kiss me on my draconic features.
 
I kiss her back, my elongated, serpent-like tongue slipping into her mouth and intertwining with her own mortal tongue. I kiss her… and I feel the power racing through me. I’m growing stronger, even now. The acknowledgment of Daenerys Targaryen as their Queen has given me even more strength, because in the end, my mother belongs to me as much as any of my other women. She is a part of my hoard, even if I give her much more freedom than most.
 
That was why I’d strived to have her spare most of them. Tommen, Tyrion, Loras… arguments could be made for the death or exile or each, but having them all in their seats, loyalty sworn to MY Queen gave me power untold. I didn’t pretend to understand how it worked, but it certainly seemed that it was my duty to unite the Seven Kingdoms once more, because once I did that, I would be stronger.
 
Perhaps if I made them worship me as a god… ah, but then, that brought to mind the thought of the Faith Militant. I’d technically stopped Cersei from ever giving them power, but it was entirely possible that that High Sparrow of theirs would still find a way to make trouble without her. Would he make the same moves as he had before with dragons overhead though? Or would he try something else? I think perhaps it was up to me to take care of him, long before anything untoward could come to past. King’s Landing was already a wretched, filthy place filled with plenty of scum that might want to do my mother harm. No point in leaving enemies at our back…
 
My release arrives, and I fill Daenerys with my seed without a word of warning. The surprise sensation takes the Queen off guard and leaves her with her eyes rolling back in her head and her tongue lolling out of her mouth in a fucked silly stupor. I stand up then, and Missandei scrambles back, watching me from the side of the throne as I take Daenerys and pull her off my cock, laying her to rest on the Iron Throne in such a way that she will hopefully not cut herself on any of the blades.
 
Then, I look to Missandei. I don’t have to say anything. A simple glance is enough to see the dark-skinned woman turning away from me, prostrating herself on the ground before me, lifting her hips and her sizable, heart-shaped derriere into the air as an offering. It reminded me of our first encounter together, back in Essos.
 
Chuckling, I bring clawed hands upon her derriere as I mount her, spreading her wide first with my grip and then with my cock as I penetrate her. Missandei is as tight and wet and slick as ever, and I sink into her depths the same as I did when I impaled my mother on my cock. Much like Daenerys, I have no fear of hurting Missandei. The way has been prepared for me, and the dark-skinned former slave moans wantonly in pleasure, not pain, as I stretch her out on my shaft and fuck her right beside the Iron Throne.
 
The sound of flesh slapping against flesh soon fills the room, and because of this, I don’t initially notice another set of moans coming from the throne behind me. When I do though, turning and seeing that my mother has recovered and is now molesting herself to the sight of me railing her favorite servant, I make sure to turn Missandei around to face her, taking a fistful of the dark-skinned woman’s hair and dragging her head up off the ground so that her Queen can watch her face contort with pleasure, and so that Missandei can take in the sight of Daenerys with her dress pulled down so she can grope a breast, and hiked up so she can piston two digits in and out of her cunt all the while.
 
Though, it’s not long before Missandei is trying to pull away from me, and towards her moaning mistress. I understand why easily enough though, and allow it to happen, moving WITH the former slave, even as Missandei crawls forward, jolting with every thrust of my draconic cock, until finally she can bury her face in the Queen’s muff, beginning to eat out Daenerys Targaryen of the dragon cum I’d just creampied her with.
 
The sight of my gorgeous mother creaming herself on her servant’s tongue and the feel of said servant’s tight insides clenching and squeezing around my cock, even as I use her womb as some sort of meat condom are what finally set me off. I cum inside of Missandei as I did Daenerys, and I fill the dark-skinned ex-slave with a nice, thick load of dragon seed.
 
Then, I pull back and just watch for a moment. Daenerys isn’t letting Missandei stop, even though I’m no longer involved. The Dragon Queen has her legs wrapped around her servant’s head, and her hands on her breasts now. For a moment, she opens her eyes, and I make eye contact with her, sending a simple but focused message to her and her alone, telling her I must go take care of some things.
 
She nods and moans throatily, waving me off as I take my leave. Chuckling, I depart from the throne room, intent on dealing with some of the threats to my mother that plague King’s landing.

-x-X-x-

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