A Crown for Aegon (ChatGPT)

[The palace courtyard basked in the afternoon sun as King Aegon VI lounged beneath the weirwood tree, Fenrir curled around his shoulders like a living ruby necklace. Queen Rhaella sat nearby, delicately feeding strips of raw meat to Tiamat while the pale dragon purred like a contented cat. Between them, the midnight blue dragon egg rested on a velvet cushion, stubbornly dormant despite a month of their children's attempts to hatch it.]

KING AEGON VI: (scratching Fenrir's chin) "Well, my love, it seems our children have failed spectacularly at dragon hatching."

QUEEN RHAELLA: (wiping dragon slobber from her fingers) "To be fair, Daemon did try to hatch it by balancing the egg on a wine barrel during his nameday celebration."

FENRIR: (belching a tiny smoke ring) Paff!

[The egg gave its usual faint shudder—just enough to tease them before going still again. Aegon poked it skeptically.]

KING AEGON VI: "Perhaps it's waiting for someone... purer of blood. Our children are only half Targaryen, after all."

QUEEN RHAELLA: (raising an eyebrow) "Are you suggesting we have more children just to hatch this egg?"

KING AEGON VI: (grinning) "I'm suggesting we enjoy practicing. For the sake of the realm, of course."

[Tiamat chose that moment to sneeze, sending a tiny flame that singed the edge of Aegon's sleeve. As he batted at the smoldering fabric, Prince Daemon's voice carried across the courtyard.]

PRINCE DAEMON: (approaching with his betrothed Ashara) "Father! I've solved our dragon problem—let's toss the egg into Blackwater Bay! If it floats, it's a witch!"

ASHARA DAYNE: (smacking his arm) "Or we could, I don't know, wait patiently like civilized people?"

[Before Aegon could respond, Prince Rhaegar hurried over with Princess Elia, both clutching ancient scrolls.]

PRINCE RHAEGAR: (breathlessly) "I've found accounts from Dragonstone suggesting eggs sometimes hatch during thunderstorms! We could—"

PRINCESS ELIA: (gently taking the scroll) "What my beloved means is that perhaps we're being too impatient. Some eggs took decades to hatch."

[Prince Daeron arrived next, trailed by a visibly irritated Cersei Lannister.]

PRINCE DAERON: "I've calculated the probabilities. Given the egg's size and weight loss rate, there's a 63% chance it's—"

CERSEI LANNISTER: (cutting him off) "—Boring everyone to death. Honestly, just smash the thing open and be done with it."

[The egg gave a particularly violent wobble at that, as if offended. Everyone froze. Then it stilled again.]

QUEEN RHAELLA: (laughing) "Well. It seems our little blue mystery has opinions."

KING AEGON VI: (standing and brushing off his robes) "Let's give it to the grandchildren. Or better yet—hide it in Rhaegar's future nursery and let his children deal with it."

PRINCE RHAEGAR: (turning crimson) "Father!"

[As the family dissolved into laughter and bickering, the egg sat quietly on its cushion—waiting for a rider yet unborn, dreaming of storms and fire and wings.]

[The afternoon sun cast dappled shadows across the courtyard as the Targaryen family lounged beneath the ancient weirwood. Fenrir gnawed contentedly on Aegon's discarded glove while Tiamat preened Rhaella's silver hair with delicate nips. The stubborn blue dragon egg sat between them, occasionally wobbling as if listening to the conversation.]

PRINCE DAEMON: (stretching lazily) "You know what this family needs? More fire hazards. Let's teach the baby dragons to juggle wildfire!"

PRINCESS ALYSSA: (rolling her eyes) "And you wonder why Father won't let you near the third egg."

[King Aegon VI scratched Fenrir's chin thoughtfully as the little dragon purred like a contented cat.]

KING AEGON VI: "Jokes aside... we should discuss the Dragonpit. Can't have our growing terrors burning down the Red Keep when they hit their rebellious phase."

QUEEN RHAELLA: (gently extracting Tiamat from her hair) "It's been crumbling since the Dance. The dome alone would cost a fortune to repair."

PRINCE DAERON: (immediately pulling out a ledger) "Actually, the Crown Merchant Guild could fund it if we redirect 15% of the—"

CERSEI LANNISTER: (cutting in sharply) "Or my father could finance it in exchange for Lannister banners beside the Targaryen ones at the entrance."

[An awkward silence fell. Fenrir took the opportunity to sneeze, setting a nearby cushion smoldering.]

PRINCE RHAEGAR: (diplomatic as ever) "The Dragonpit is a symbol of our heritage. Shouldn't the restoration be a purely royal undertaking?"

PRINCESS ELIA: (leaning against Rhaegar) "Besides, imagine the possibilities. If Fenrir and Tiamat mate someday, we'll need proper nesting grounds."

PRINCE DAEMON: (grinning wickedly) "Oh ho! So the bookish prince does think about such things!"

[Rhaegar turned scarlet as Elia swatted Daemon with a rolled-up scroll. The blue dragon egg gave a sudden, violent roll toward the commotion before settling again.]

KING AEGON VI: (chuckling) "Well, that decides it. We'll begin renovations next moon. Daeron, work up estimates. Daemon—"

PRINCE DAEMON: (perking up) "Yes? Can I name the construction project? I'm thinking 'The Really Big Lizard House'!"

QUEEN RHAELLA: (deadpan) "Daemon, you're banned from naming anything. Forever."

[As the family laughed, Tiamat suddenly spread her wings and took her first wobbly flight—straight into the lemon cake tray. The ensuing chaos of screeching dragon, flying pastries, and Cersei's outraged shriek made the unhatched egg tremble with what might have been dragon laughter.]

[The massive ruins of the Dragonpit loomed before them, its collapsed dome allowing shafts of sunlight to pierce the dusty interior. King Aegon VI stood with Queen Rhaella at the center of the ancient structure, their dragons Fenrir and Tiamat perched on their shoulders, while Tywin Lannister studied the crumbling masonry with a critical eye. Prince Rhaegar ran his fingers along a blackened pillar, while Prince Daeron scribbled notes in his ledger.]

KING AEGON VI: (voice echoing) "This will be a purely royal undertaking. Rhaegar, you'll oversee the architectural restoration—study the original Valyrian designs."

PRINCE RHAEGAR: (eyes alight) "The archives mention ventilation shafts for smoke, and nesting chambers lined with—"

LORD TYWIN: (dryly) "Expensive. The gold required could fund three wars."

QUEEN RHAELLA: (stroking Tiamat) "Good thing we aren't fighting any, then."

KING AEGON VI: "Daeron, the Crown Merchant Guild will handle procurement. But only our approved traders—no Lannister miners, no Tyrell stonemasons."

[Tywin's jaw tightened almost imperceptibly. Daeron hesitated, glancing between his father and future good-father.]

PRINCE DAERON: "The guild can source Dragonglass from the Vale, timber from the Rainwood... but the black marble—"

PRINCE RHAEGAR: (excited) "Must come from Dragonstone! The same quarries that built the original pit!"

[Fenrir chose that moment to launch from Aegon's shoulder, swooping drunkenly around the cavernous space before crash-landing in a pile of ancient dragon bones. The resulting cloud of dust made everyone cough.]

KING AEGON VI: (sighing) "Case in point. We need proper facilities before these two start flying properly."

LORD TYWIN: (brushing dust from his sleeves) "A question, Your Grace. When my daughter becomes Princess of Summerhall, shall her chambers be fireproofed as well?"

QUEEN RHAELLA: (sweetly) "Only if she plans to breathe fire, my lord."

[An awkward silence fell. Somewhere above, a loose stone clattered down from the broken dome.]

KING AEGON VI: (clapping hands) "Right! Rhaegar—designs by fortnight's end. Daeron—budget projections. Tywin... try not to look so offended."

LORD TYWIN: (bowing stiffly) "As His Grace commands."

[As they turned to leave, Tiamat suddenly perked up and let out a tiny shriek toward the shadows. The blue dragon egg—which Daeron had been carrying—gave an answering thrum. Everyone froze.]

PRINCE RHAEGAR: (whispering) "Did... did the pit just speak to it?"

QUEEN RHAELLA: (stroking Tiamat's ruffled scales) "Or perhaps some ghosts prefer staying buried."

[The moment passed. The egg went still. But as they exited into the sunlight, even Tywin cast one last thoughtful look at the ancient stones—as if calculating how to turn dragon dreams into Lannister advantage.]

[The partially reconstructed Dragonpit echoed with the sounds of chisels and workmen as Prince Rhaegar and Prince Daeron stood atop a scaffold, reviewing progress. Below them, stonemasons carefully fitted blocks of black Dragonstone marble into place, while carpenters reinforced the massive beams that would support the new dome. The air smelled of fresh-cut stone and the faint, lingering scent of ancient smoke.]

PRINCE DAERON: (leaning on the scaffold railing) "You know, it's ironic. You get Dragonstone—an entire island with its own castle and incomes. I get Summerhall—a glorified country estate still haunted by ghosts."

PRINCE RHAEGAR: (adjusting the architectural scroll in his hands) "And yet, you control the Crown Merchant Guild. Half the realm's trade flows through your ledgers, brother."

[Below them, a workman cursed as a block slipped, nearly crushing his foot. Daeron winced, making a note in his ledger.]

PRINCE DAERON: "For now. Father's decree is clear—the title 'Prince of Summerhall' and its privileges end with me. My children won't inherit it. It'll revert to the Crown, likely pass to your second son."

PRINCE RHAEGAR: (frowning) "That's not fair."

PRINCE DAERON: (shrugging) "It's politics. Father's still trying to make amends for Summerhall, for... well. You know."

[A tense silence settled between them, broken only by the rhythmic tapping of masons' tools. In the center of the pit, the newly constructed nesting chambers stood empty, waiting for dragons yet to come.]

PRINCE RHAEGAR: (softly) "Do you resent me for it?"

PRINCE DAERON: (surprised) "What? No. Seven hells, Rhaegar, I don't want the throne. I'd rather balance ledgers than court sycophants."

[He gestured to the bustling work below—the careful reconstruction of a symbol long thought dead.]

PRINCE DAERON: "This? This is what matters. Rebuilding what was lost. Even if my children won't inherit Summerhall's title, maybe... maybe they'll inherit a realm where dragons fly again."

PRINCE RHAEGAR: (smiling) "Spoken like a true accountant. You do realize that means you'll be funding my future dragon's appetite, yes?"

PRINCE DAERON: (groaning) "Gods save me. I'll have to start a 'Royal Livestock Procurement Guild' just to keep Fenrir and Tiamat fed."

[They shared a laugh, the tension easing. Above them, the first of the great iron-and-glass panels was being hoisted into place for the new dome, casting prismatic light across the ancient stones.]

PRINCE RHAEGAR: (sobering) "For what it's worth... if it were my choice, your line would keep Summerhall. Traditions shouldn't be chains."

PRINCE DAERON: (grinning) "Careful, brother. That almost sounded like you're plotting against Father's wishes."

PRINCE RHAEGAR: (mock horror) "Never. I'm far too busy composing ballads about masonry techniques. Speaking of which—"

[He unfurled the architectural scroll with a flourish, revealing meticulous sketches of the Dragonpit's original Valyrian ventilation systems. Daeron groaned as Rhaegar launched into an enthusiastic explanation of ancient smoke-dispersal methods, their earlier conversation forgotten—for now.]