A Crown for Aegon (ChatGPT)

[The king's office in the Red Keep is bathed in the golden light of late afternoon. King Aegon VI sits behind his desk, reviewing ledgers, while Tywin Lannister, Hand of the King, stands near the window, his sharp eyes scanning the city below. The faint sound of dragons roaring in the distance echoes through the open balcony.]

Aegon VI: (sighs, rubbing his temples) "Another petition from the Iron Bank. They grow bolder with each passing year."

Tywin Lannister: (dryly) "Debts are like rats, Your Grace. Leave one unchecked, and soon you'll have an infestation."

Aegon VI: (smirking) "Spoken like a man who's never owed a copper in his life."

Tywin: (unchanged) "A Lannister always pays his debts. It's the rest of the realm that seems to struggle with the concept."

Aegon VI: (chuckles) "True enough. Still, we've managed well enough these past years. The Crown Merchant Guild has done its part."

Tywin: (nodding) "A sound investment. Though I still question why you placed Daeron in charge of it. The boy has a dragonrider's instincts, not a merchant's."

Aegon VI: (shrugging) "He's meticulous. And it keeps him busy while his sons fail to hatch their eggs."

Tywin: (grimacing) "A wasted effort. If the gods meant for more dragons to live, they would have hatched by now."

Aegon VI: (leaning back) "You sound like my father. He never believed in dragons either—until they returned."

Tywin: (coolly) "Belief is irrelevant. Power is what matters. And right now, we have two grown dragons—not an army."

Aegon VI: (raising an eyebrow) "You're not suggesting we try to breed more, are you?"

Tywin: "I'm suggesting we stop pretending those unhatched eggs are anything but pretty stones. Focus on what we have—Fenrir and Tiamat."

Aegon VI: (thoughtful) "Fair point. Still, I won't deny my children their attempts. Hope is a rare thing these days."

Tywin: (grunting) "Hope is what bankrupts kingdoms."

[A moment of silence. The distant roar of a dragon cuts through the air again.]

Aegon VI: (changing the subject) "Speaking of children—how is young Maekar? Cersei writes that he's already reading histories at three."

Tywin: (a flicker of pride) "He has a sharp mind. Baelon may be the heir, but Maekar… he understands things."

Aegon VI: (smiling) "Like his grandfather."

Tywin: (ignoring the compliment) "And how is Prince Viserys? Still terrorizing the servants with his 'dragon games'?"

Aegon VI: (laughing) "Gods, yes. Rhaella indulges him too much. Last week, he tried to ride one of the hounds, shouting 'Dracarys' at the poor thing."

Tywin: (almost amused) "At least he's spirited. Better than Rhaegar's brood—quiet as mice."

Aegon VI: (sobering) "Rhaenys is sweet. And Rhaegar… well, he does his duty."

Tywin: (flatly) "He spends more time in that library than in the training yard. A prince should know both."

Aegon VI: (shrugging) "He's not wrong to seek knowledge. The realm won't always need swords."

Tywin: "It always does."

[Another pause. The weight of unspoken tensions lingers.]

Aegon VI: (finally) "You think I'm too soft."

Tywin: (measured) "I think peace has made you cautious. The realm remembers the Blackfyres. The Starks remember their grievances. The Martells watch and wait. Complacency is a luxury we can't afford."

Aegon VI: (leaning forward) "And yet, here we are—twenty years of peace under my reign. No rebellions. No wars."

Tywin: (coolly) "Only because our enemies are patient. Not absent."

Aegon VI: (sighing) "Ever the optimist."

Tywin: "Ever the realist."

[The door creaks open. A servant bows deeply.]

Servant: "Your Grace, Prince Daeron has arrived from Summerhall. He requests an audience."

Aegon VI: (nodding) "Send him in."

[Tywin straightens, his expression unreadable as the servant departs.]

Tywin: "Shall I stay?"

Aegon VI: (waving a hand) "Unless you're eager to hear another report on failed egg-hatching attempts, you're dismissed."

Tywin: (bowing slightly) "Then I'll take my leave. The Westerlands won't govern themselves."

[He strides out just as Prince Daeron enters—tall, stern, every inch his father's son. The two exchange a brief, respectful nod before Tywin departs.]

Daeron: (kneeling) "Father."

Aegon VI: (gesturing for him to rise) "No need for that. How was the journey?"

Daeron: (rising) "Long. Cersei sends her regards."

Aegon VI: (smirking) "Does she? Or did she just tell you to say that?"

Daeron: (almost smiling) "The latter."

[They share a quiet laugh. The dragons roar again, distant but ever-present.]

Aegon VI: (softly) "We've built something here, Daeron. I hope you see that."

Daeron: (nodding) "I do. But Grandfather Tywin isn't entirely wrong. Peace is fragile."

Aegon VI: (gazing out the window) "All the more reason to enjoy it while it lasts."

[The sun dips lower, casting long shadows across the room. The realm, for now, remains at ease—unaware of the storms gathering beyond the horizon.]

[The king's office remains bathed in the golden hues of dusk, the faint roars of dragons still echoing in the distance. Prince Daeron stands near the desk, arms crossed, as King Aegon VI leans back in his chair, fingers steepled in thought. The door bursts open without warning, and Queen Rhaella sweeps in, her silver-gold hair loose around her shoulders, her violet eyes alight with an emotion neither man can immediately place—joy, disbelief, or perhaps both.]

Rhaella: (breathless, a hand resting on her stomach) "Aegon."

Aegon VI: (blinking, sitting up straighter) "Rhaella? Is everything—?"

Rhaella: (cutting him off with a rare, radiant smile) "I'm with child."

[Silence. Daeron's eyebrows shoot up. Aegon's mouth opens, then closes.]

Aegon VI: (finally, voice strained) "...Again?"

Rhaella: (laughing, though there's a sharp edge to it) "Yes, again. The maesters have confirmed it."

Daeron: (clearing his throat, diplomatic) "That's… unexpected."

Rhaella: (dryly) "A polite way to say 'impossible,' given my age."

Aegon VI: (rubbing his temples) "Gods be good. After Viserys, I thought—"

Rhaella: (arching a brow) "You thought the gods were done testing us?"

Aegon VI: (groaning) "I thought I was done being tested."

[Daeron, ever the dutiful son, steps forward.]

Daeron: "This is a blessing, surely. Another prince or princess for the realm."

Rhaella: (softening slightly) "That's what I told myself when I nearly fainted in the gardens."

Aegon VI: (alarmed) "You fainted?"

Rhaella: (waving a hand) "Only for a moment. The heat, the shock—it was all rather dramatic."

Aegon VI: (muttering) "Seven hells. You're going to send me to an early grave."

Rhaella: (smirking) "You survived Summerhall. You'll survive this."

Daeron: (tactfully changing the subject) "When is the child due?"

Rhaella: "Early next year, if the maesters are right."

Aegon VI: (counting under his breath) "That would make Viserys nearly five by then. A significant gap."

Rhaella: (gently mocking) "Yes, Aegon, I'm aware. I was there for the first four."

Aegon VI: (grumbling) "I'm just saying, at this rate, our children will span generations."

Daeron: (diplomatic as ever) "A large family is a strong one."

Rhaella: (smiling at him) "Spoken like a man with three children of his own."

Daeron: (grimacing) "And Cersei already speaks of another."

Aegon VI: (groaning again) "Gods save us all."

[Rhaella moves to sit beside Aegon, her expression shifting to something more serious.]

Rhaella: "The court will talk. They already whisper about Viserys being a 'miracle.' Now this?"

Aegon VI: (sighing) "Let them whisper. They've called me 'the Conciliator' for years—let them add 'the Prolific' to my titles."

Daeron: (snorting) "A bold strategy."

Rhaella: (ignoring them, thoughtful) "The children will need to be prepared. Viserys barely understands he's a prince, let alone that he'll soon have a sibling."

Aegon VI: (grinning) "He'll either be thrilled or try to set the babe on fire to assert dominance."

Rhaella: (pinching the bridge of her nose) "Why did I marry you again?"

Aegon VI: (cheerfully) "Father's orders. And my dashing charm."

Daeron: (deadpan) "I should return to Summerhall before this conversation worsens."

Rhaella: (laughing) "Oh, no, you don't. You're staying right here. If I have to endure this, so do you."

Aegon VI: (leaning toward Daeron, faux-whispering) "She gets like this when she's with child. All fire and no patience."

Rhaella: (sweetly) "And yet, you keep putting children in me."

Daeron: (abruptly standing) "I just remembered—Cersei asked me to—something urgent—"

[He practically flees. Aegon and Rhaella watch him go, amused.]

Aegon VI: "We've traumatized our son."

Rhaella: (smirking) "Good. He'll need the practice for when his children start asking questions."

[The dragons roar again, louder this time, as if in agreement. The sun dips fully below the horizon, casting the room into shadow. The realm remains at peace—for now—but in the Red Keep, the Targaryens continue to keep life interesting.]

[The king's office is now bathed in the dim glow of candlelight as dusk gives way to evening. King Aegon VI and Queen Rhaella remain seated near the hearth, the warmth of the fire casting flickering shadows across their faces. The earlier amusement has faded, replaced by a more somber tone as the weight of succession lingers in the air.]

Aegon VI: (sighing, swirling his wine) "Daeron fled faster than a Dothraki bloodrider."

Rhaella: (smirking, though her eyes are tired) "Can you blame him? Even he knows better than to linger when the topic of heirs comes up."

[A pause. The fire crackles between them.]

Aegon VI: (quietly) "It's getting worse, isn't it?"

Rhaella: (knowing exactly what he means) "The council's grumbling? Oh, absolutely. Daeron may play the dutiful son, but his boys are healthy, strong—and two of them. Meanwhile, Rhaegar..."

Aegon VI: (grimacing) "One daughter. And Elia's health..."

Rhaella: (softly) "She may yet bear another. The gods are full of surprises—as we've just proven."

Aegon VI: (giving her a wry look) "You're carrying a child at your age. Rhaegar's problem isn't fertility—it's focus. He spends more time reading prophecies than ruling Dragonstone."

Rhaella: (sighing) "He takes after his father that way. Aerys was the same before..."

[She trails off. Neither needs to mention before Summerhall.]

Aegon VI: (leaning forward) "I made a vow, Rhaella. After Aerys died, I swore Rhaegar would keep his place as heir—even if I had sons of my own."

Rhaella: (raising a brow) "And Daeron? He's your firstborn by blood. The lords whisper. They see Baelon and Maekar—boys with dragons' blood, Lannister gold, and sharp minds—and then they see Rhaegar, lost in his scrolls, with only a girl to show for his marriage."

Aegon VI: (frustrated) "Since when did the realm decide daughters were unfit to rule? Rhaenys is bright. She could—"

Rhaella: (cutting in gently) "She could. But you know as well as I do that the lords prefer swords to scrolls, sons to daughters. And Daeron has sons."

[Silence. The weight of the past presses between them—Aegon's guilt over Aerys, his promise, his own conflicted loyalty to both his stepson and his blood.]

Aegon VI: (finally) "What would you have me do? Strip Rhaegar of Dragonstone? Name Daeron heir outright?"

Rhaella: (shaking her head) "I'd have you talk to Rhaegar. Make him see that his legacy is at risk. If he doesn't act soon, the council will."

Aegon VI: (dryly) "Ah yes, because Rhaegar listens so well."

Rhaella: (smirking) "Then appeal to his sense of destiny. Tell him the realm needs more dragonriders—Targaryen dragonriders. Not just Lannister-blooded ones."

Aegon VI: (snorting) "Low blow."

Rhaella: (shrugging) "I love Daeron. I love his boys. But if Rhaegar doesn't secure his line, the realm will tear itself apart choosing between them."

[The fire pops loudly, as if in agreement. Aegon exhales, rubbing his temples.]

Aegon VI: (grumbling) "I should've abdicated years ago. Let them sort it out."

Rhaella: (laughing) "And miss all this fun?"

Aegon VI: (pointing at her stomach) "You call this fun?"

Rhaella: (sweetly) "I call it duty. Something you're so fond of preaching."

[He groans, but there's no real heat in it. Outside, the distant sound of Fenrir's wings beating the air rumbles like thunder.]

Aegon VI: (resigned) "Fine. I'll speak to Rhaegar. But if he starts rambling about 'the prince that was promised,' I'm blaming you."

Rhaella: (grinning) "Duly noted."

[They sit in comfortable silence, the fire between them, the future uncertain—but for now, still theirs to shape.]

[The sun-drenched courtyard of the Red Keep bustles with servants and guards going about their duties. Prince Rhaegar sits on a stone bench beneath a flowering tree, his silver hair gleaming as he pores over an ancient scroll. The distant roar of dragons occasionally interrupts the peaceful scene. King Aegon VI approaches, his expression a mix of fondness and exasperation.]

Aegon VI: (dryly) "Ah, there he is—the Prince of Dragonstone, hiding from his duties in the shade."

Rhaegar: (looking up, unbothered) "Uncle. I was just studying an interesting Valyrian text about—"

Aegon VI: (holding up a hand) "Spare me the lecture, Rhaegar. I didn't come here to discuss dusty scrolls."

Rhaegar: (closing the scroll with a sigh) "Then what did you come to discuss?"

Aegon VI: (sitting beside him) "Your future. Specifically, the part where you need more heirs than just Rhaenys."

Rhaegar: (frowning) "Elia's health is fragile. The maesters warned that another pregnancy could—"

Aegon VI: (interrupting gently) "I know. But the realm doesn't run on coulds, Rhaegar. Right now, Daeron has two sons, and you have one daughter. The lords are already whispering."

Rhaegar: (coolly) "Let them whisper. The succession is clear—I am your heir, and Rhaenys comes after me."

Aegon VI: (leaning in) "And if something happens to you? If something happens to her? Daeron's boys are next in line, and half the realm would see that as a victory for the Lannisters."

Rhaegar: (eyes flashing) "So this is about politics, not family."

Aegon VI: (snorting) "When has it ever not been about politics? You're a Targaryen, Rhaegar. Start acting like one."

[A tense silence falls. A dragon's cry echoes overhead—Fenrir, circling lazily in the sky.]

Rhaegar: (finally) "What would you have me do? Risk Elia's life for a son?"

Aegon VI: (softening) "No. But there are other ways. Spend less time in the library and more time ruling. Let the lords see you as their future king. And for the gods' sake, try to hatch one of those dragon eggs we gave you. A dragonrider heir would silence half your critics."

Rhaegar: (muttering) "The eggs are stone. They won't hatch."

Aegon VI: (pointing upward) "Fenrir and Tiamat hatched. So will others—if the right person tries."

Rhaegar: (skeptical) "And if they don't?"

Aegon VI: (shrugging) "Then you'll have to outsmart Daeron's boys the old-fashioned way—with better allies, better plans, and better attention to your duties."

[A servant approaches hesitantly, bowing low.]

Servant: "Your Grace, Prince Daeron requests your presence in the Small Council chamber."

Aegon VI: (standing with a groan) "Duty calls. Think on what I've said, Rhaegar. The realm needs more from you than prophecies and poetry."

[As Aegon walks away, Rhaegar stares at the scroll in his hands, then at the sky where dragons soar. The weight of expectation hangs heavy, but for the first time, something like determination flickers in his violet eyes.]