Aerion Targaryen. 8

-Dad.

-Yeah.

—Who is your favorite?

The room fell silent.

Aerion slowly looked up from the documents he was reading.

His two sons stood before him.

That was already a bad sign.

Because when they worked as a team, something always happened.

—I don't have favorites.

He answered.

-Lie.

His son said immediately.

-Lie.

Her daughter repeated.

Aerion sighed.

—I don't have favorites.

—Then choose it.

-No.

-Because?

—Because I'm smarter than you.

The two children looked at each other.

As if they were preparing a strategy.

It was never a good sign.

The girl was the first to act.

She ran towards Aerion and climbed onto his lap.

-And now?

Asked.

Aerion smiled.

—I still don't have any favorites.

The boy rolled his eyes.

Then he went to his father as well.

—Move it.

-No.

—It's my turn.

-No.

-Dad.

-Yeah?

—Tell him to move.

-No.

-Dad!

Aerion tried not to laugh.

Without success.

—Both of them fit.

After several minutes of discussion, they both ended up sitting next to him.

The girl leaning against one arm.

The child against the other.

-So…

The little boy said.

—Who is your favorite?

Aerion looked at one.

Then to the other one.

And she smiled.

—His mother.

-Dad!

-That?

—That doesn't count!

—Of course it counts.

From the doorway you burst out laughing.

And Aerion winked at you.

Because after all…

If he was going to get into trouble, he'd rather do it with you than anyone else.