And after that, they will be gone. Unless they are hiding more eggs in Asshai.

[Daenerys smiles ruefully as Jon recounts the stories of her ancestors. Each of them, their light snuffed out like a dying candle. How many Targaryens had lived to an old age, to see their children grow healthy before some tragedy befell them?

Enough, and not enough. She would certainly leave no legacy. After her, the Targaryen line would die for good. A true pity.

She has to think for a moment, of which ancestor Jon speaks of last. It had been so long since she'd recited the family tree. Viserys had abandoned the practice long before she became of age herself, and so her memory was spottier than she would have liked.

But she traces the name from "the last Aegon" after a few long moments.]

Aemon.

[She notices how he uses past tense. But then, she had long operated under the assumption that she was the last living Targaryen, so the news does not wound her. She had not even known that he was alive, so what was there to mourn?]

I never knew him. I knew very little of my family. I was but a babe when we were forced to flee Dragonstone into exile.

[It occurs to her suddenly that it is unlikely much of Westeros knew how she had survived, or what exactly had happened in the wake of the Rebellion. Or that they even cared.

Now is the time to drink the ale, to hide the bitter smile that comes to her lips.]