A Crown for Aegon (ChatGPT)

[(The royal chambers are bathed in golden afternoon light as King Aegon VI adjusts his crown while Queen Rhaella examines herself in a polished silver mirror. Outside the window, the distant roars of dragons Fenrir and Tiamat can be heard circling the Dragonpit. A half-eaten plate of lemon cakes sits forgotten on a side table.)

Aegon VI: (fussing with his collar) "We should have told them all together. Now Daeron knows but the others don't, and you know how he is with secrets."

Rhaella: (rubbing her still-flat stomach absently) "He's your most discreet child. Unlike Viserys, who would announce it to the entire Red Keep before breakfast."

Aegon VI: (grumbling) "Four years since the last one. The court will think I've gone mad."

Rhaella: (smirking) "Oh, they've thought that since you married your sister."

(A loud crash echoes from the hallway, followed by the sound of small feet running.)

Viserys: (bursting in, breathless) "Father! Mother! Rhaenys spilled ink all over my dragon drawings!"

Rhaella: (smoothly stepping between them) "Viserys, darling, where are your guards?"

Viserys: (pouting) "I outran them! I'm fast like Fenrir!"

Aegon VI: (pinching the bridge of his nose) "Gods give me strength."

(The door opens again to reveal Prince Rhaegar, holding a squirming two-year-old Rhaenys covered in ink stains.)

Rhaegar: (weary) "She escaped the nursery again."

Rhaenys: (giggling) "Uncle Viserys' drawings were boring! No colors!"

Viserys: (outraged) "They were battle plans!"

Aegon VI: (noticing Rhaegar's tired eyes) "You look like you haven't slept in a fortnight."

Rhaegar: (ignoring the comment) "Elia is resting. The maesters say..." (he trails off, glancing at the children)

Rhaella: (quickly) "Viserys, take Rhaenys to the kitchens for some honey cakes."

Viserys: (suspicious) "Why? What are you talking about that I can't hear?"

Aegon VI: (deadpan) "Tax reforms. Dreadfully dull."

(As the children leave, a shadow passes the window - Fenrir's massive wings momentarily blocking the sun.)

Rhaegar: (quietly) "She may not be able to give me another child."

Aegon VI: (gently) "The dragon must have three heads, Rhaegar."

Rhaegar: (bitterly) "Spare me the prophecies. Daeron has his two sons. The lords already whisper that the succession should pass to his line."

Rhaella: (placing a hand on her stomach) "The gods give when they choose to give."

(Rhaegar's eyes widen in sudden understanding.)

Rhaegar: (astonished) "Again? At your age?"

Aegon VI: (grinning) "Apparently the Stranger hasn't finished laughing at me yet."

(Outside, the distant sound of Cersei Lannister's voice carries as she chastises someone about proper dragon egg incubation techniques. The Red Keep hums with life, unaware of the storms gathering beyond the horizon.)

[(The solar of Prince Daeron's apartments in the Red Keep is bathed in golden morning light. Two-year-old Prince Maekar sits on a plush Myrish rug, intently poking at the large dragon egg resting on a velvet cushion, while four-year-old Prince Baelon stands guard with a wooden sword. Cersei Lannister adjusts her emerald-green gown, watching her sons with a mix of pride and calculation. Prince Daeron enters, buckling a dragon-engraved belt over his tunic.)

Cersei: (without looking up) "You're late. Again."

Daeron: (kissing her cheek) "Father needed me to review the Crown Merchant Guild reports. Again."

(Young Baelon suddenly whacks the egg with his wooden sword.)

Baelon: "Dracarys! Wake up!"

Maekar: (giggling) "Baelon boom!"

Cersei: (snatching the sword) "We do not beat potential dragons, Baelon. What have I told you?"

Baelon: (pouting) "But Uncle Tyrion says sometimes you have to—"

Daeron: (cutting in) "Uncle Tyrion says many things we ignore." (He kneels beside the egg) "See these gold swirls? That means this dragon will be the color of Lannister gold when it hatches."

Cersei: (smoothing her skirts) "If it hatches. Rhaegar's egg hasn't so much as cracked in ten years."

(A loaded silence falls. Little Maekar begins stacking rubies around the egg's base.)

Daeron: (quietly) "Careful, my love. The servants talk enough as it is."

Cersei: (arching a perfect brow) "Let them. The truth isn't treason—you've given the crown two healthy princes while Dragonstone has... what? A girl who stains everything with ink?"

Daeron: (frowning) "Rhaenys is my niece."

Cersei: (dismissively) "And Baelon is the king's firstborn grandson by blood. Even your father's stubborn sentimentality can't ignore that forever."

(Outside the window, the distant roar of Queen Rhaella's dragon Tiamat echoes across the city. Baelon runs to the balcony, wooden sword forgotten.)

Baelon: (excited) "I'll ride a dragon bigger than Grandfather's one day!"

Daeron: (sharing a look with Cersei) "That you will, son. That you will."

Cersei: (softly, to Daeron) "We need this egg to hatch before Rhaegar's does."

Daeron: (watching Maekar kiss the egg goodnight) "Dragons come when they will, Cersei. But yes... it would help."

(A knock interrupts them. A servant enters, bowing low.)

Servant: "Your Graces, the king requests your presence in the small hall. Prince Rhaegar and Princess Elia have just arrived from Dragonstone."

(As the servant leaves, Cersei's smile turns razor-sharp.)

Cersei: (adjusting Baelon's collar) "Perfect. Let's see how long before someone mentions succession today."

Daeron: (sighing) "I give it until the soup course."

(They share a dark chuckle as the children race ahead, the unhatched dragon egg gleaming in the sunlight behind them.)]

[(The Great Hall of the Red Keep buzzes with anticipation as the royal family gathers before the Iron Throne. Sunlight streams through the high windows, glinting off the twisted swords of the throne where King Aegon VI sits with Queen Rhaella at his side. Their children and spouses stand in an uneasy semicircle—Rhaegar and Elia looking weary from travel, Daeron and Cersei perfectly composed with their sons between them, Daemon whispering something that makes Ashara Dayne stifle a laugh, while Alyssa and Stannis stand stiffly in Baratheon colors. Four-year-old Viserys fidgets near the throne steps, poking at the stones with his boot.)

Aegon VI: (clapping his hands together) "Well! Now that we're all finally here—"

Alyssa: (cutting in, dry) "Yes, thank you for summoning us from Storm's End with such urgency, Father. I nearly strangled three messengers thinking it was an invasion."

Stannis: (grimacing) "The raven simply said 'family matter of great importance.'"

Daemon: (grinning) "Did you think Father finally decided to execute someone fun?"

Rhaella: (shooting him a look) "Daemon."

(Aegon VI clears his throat, glancing at Rhaegar and Daeron—both of whom remain carefully neutral. Cersei's fingers tighten almost imperceptibly on Baelon's shoulder.)

Aegon VI: "We've called you here because your mother and I have… news."

Viserys: (blurting out) "Is it about the baby?"

(A beat of stunned silence. Elia's dark eyes flicker to Rhaella's midsection. Ashara gasps. Daemon chokes on air.)

Daeron: (muttering) "Seven hells, Viserys."

Cersei: (sweetly venomous) "How… precious."

Rhaella: (smoothly) "Yes, Viserys. It's about the baby."

Alyssa: (staring) "You're pregnant? At your—"

Stannis: (elbowing her sharply) "—blessed age, Your Grace."

Daemon: (recovering, grinning) "Gods, Father. I didn't realize you still had it in you."

Aegon VI: (glowering) "Watch your tongue unless you'd like to test how sharp the Iron Throne is."

(Elia steps forward, pressing a hand to Rhaella's arm with genuine warmth—though her gaze darts briefly to Rhaegar.)

Elia: "This is joyful news. A new prince or princess for the realm."

Rhaegar: (quietly) "Indeed."

(Little Baelon tugs on Cersei's sleeve, whispering loudly.)

Baelon: "Will it be my uncle or aunt? But I'm already four!"

Cersei: (tight-lipped) "Yes, darling. How… remarkable."

Daeron: (diplomatic) "The succession remains unchanged, of course."

(A heavy pause. Aegon VI's jaw tightens. Rhaella places a calming hand on his arm.)

Alyssa: (snorting) "Oh, here we go."

Stannis: (muttering) "Not now, wife."

Daemon: (clapping his hands) "I say we celebrate! Ashara, love, fetch the Dornish wine before Father starts another awkward speech about duty."

Ashara: (laughing) "At once, my prince."

(As the family dissolves into murmurs—some congratulatory, some tense—Rhaegar lingers near the throne, watching his half-siblings with an inscrutable expression. Outside, the distant roar of dragons seems to shake the very stones of the Red Keep.)

Rhaella: (softly, to Aegon) "Well. That went better than the last time we announced a pregnancy."

Aegon VI: (grumbling) "At least no one fainted this time."

(Viserys, now bored, starts poking Maekar with a stolen fork. The realm, for now, remains blissfully unaware of how this new "miracle" will ripple through the game of thrones.)]

[(The Great Hall remains abuzz with reactions to the royal pregnancy announcement. Sunlight glints off the Iron Throne as King Aegon VI raises a hand for silence. The family gradually settles, though young Viserys continues poking Maekar with the fork until Cersei snatches it away with a venomous glare.)

Aegon VI: (clapping once) "Now that we've shared our... joyous news, there's another matter. House Whent is hosting a grand tourney at Harrenhal to celebrate the birth of their daughter."

Daemon: (grinning) "Finally! Some proper entertainment."

Stannis: (grimacing) "A frivolous expense."

Alyssa: (elbowing him) "Oh, loosen up, husband. Even you can appreciate a good joust."

Rhaella: (smoothing her skirts) "We shall all be attending—"

Cersei: (interrupting sharply) "All?"

Aegon VI: (ignoring her tone) "Yes, Cersei. The entire royal family. It's been too long since the realm saw us united in public."

(Prince Rhaegar and Princess Elia exchange a quiet look. Daeron's jaw tightens almost imperceptibly.)

Tywin Lannister: (stepping forward from the shadows) "And who, pray tell, will oversee the capital in Your Grace's absence?"

Aegon VI: (smiling thinly) "Why, you, my Lord Hand. Unless you'd prefer to join us watching hedge knights tumble in the mud?"

(Tywin's expression could freeze the Blackwater. Cersei's eyes gleam with sudden interest.)

Cersei: (sweetly) "What a privilege for you, Father."

Tywin: (coldly) "Indeed."

Daeron: (diplomatic) "The Small Council will remain to assist you, of course."

Viserys: (tugging on Rhaella's sleeve) "Can I ride in the tourney?!"

Rhaella: (laughing) "Not unless you plan to joust with your dinner fork, sweetling."

Ashara Dayne: (leaning toward Daemon) "I'll wager fifty gold dragons you unseat at least three knights."

Daemon: (grinning) "Make it a hundred, and you've got yourself a bet, my lady."

Elia: (quietly to Rhaegar) "Perhaps this will be good for us. Some time away from the Red Keep..."

Rhaegar: (distracted) "Hmm? Yes. Though Harrenhal's ruins always whisper of... never mind."

Alyssa: (loudly to Stannis) "You are competing, aren't you?"

Stannis: (grinding teeth) "I am a lord, not some—"

Aegon VI: (booming over them) "We depart in a fortnight! Let the realm see House Targaryen strong and united."

(The dragons outside roar as if in agreement. Cersei's fingers flex around her goblet, her gaze calculating. Tywin stands like a statue of disapproval. And in the shadows, a certain wolf-blooded girl from the North remains blissfully unaware of how this tourney will change everything.)

Daemon: (raising his cup) "To Harrenhal! May the best Targaryen win!"

Viserys: (copying him with a juice cup) "And may I get a real sword this time!"

(Rhaella sighs as the family dissolves into chatter again, her hand resting unconsciously on her stomach. The game of thrones continues—onward to Harrenhal.)]