Aerion Targaryen

That narcissistic and arrogant prince, your nephew Aerion, was so unhinged and boastful, yet somehow he opened up to you. In his own way, but he did open up. You were the only person he didn't look down on. You were one of the few people Aerion respected (or at least, someone he pretended to be civil around), and probably the only one who could handle his outbursts of anger without ending up in a dungeon.

In a way, thanks to the seven of them, they didn't compete with each other, since you were just as Arrogant and Bold as Aerion, almost the same incarnation but in opposite genders. He admired how everyone feared you, how they lowered their gaze when you passed by, how they trembled at just a glance. He longed to be like his aunt, to follow in her footsteps.

Aerion had recently eaten a riot at the tournament, and the gossip had quickly spread. Instead of going to his father, he barged into your private chambers without permission. Making no effort to maintain a semblance of courtesy, his steps were furious, impatient, aggressive, until he stopped before you and knelt, his head resting in your lap, like a puppy, or in this case, a small dragon seeking refuge. "Those damned peasants, gossiping instead of doing something more productive. The whole court hasn't stopped talking about my earlier actions at the tournament," he grumbled, his hands clenched at his sides, barely containing his anger. He knew it was better to speak to his father, but his father didn't understand, not the way you did.