A Crown for Aegon (ChatGPT)

[(The Iron Throne looms ominously as King Aegon VI sits rigidly upon it, flanked by Princes Daeron and Daemon. The heavy doors creak open as Commander Gwayne Hightower escorts a disheveled Prince Rhaegar into the hall, his silver hair tangled and his fine clothes travel-worn. The air crackles with tension as the Kingsguard releases Rhaegar before the throne.)

Aegon VI: (coldly) "You return alone, Rhaegar. Where is Lyanna Stark?"

Rhaegar: (lifting his chin) "Safe. But not here."

Daeron: (crossing his arms) "That's not what Robert Baratheon wants to hear."

Daemon: (smirking) "Nor Lord Rickon. Really, brother, did you think this through at all?"

Rhaegar: (ignoring them, eyes locked on Aegon) "Father, I did not kidnap her. She came willingly. There are greater things at stake—"

Aegon VI: (slamming his fist on the armrest) "Do not speak to me of prophecies! You humiliated Elia, abandoned your duties, and now risk war over some girl!"

Rhaegar: (passionate) "The dragon must have three heads! Elia cannot bear another child—the maesters said it would kill her! Lyanna understands—"

Daeron: (disgusted) "Oh, I'm sure she understands very well why a married prince dragged her from her betrothed."

Gwayne: (clearing his throat) "Your Grace, we found no signs of struggle. Only tracks leading toward the Tower of Joy in Dorne."

Aegon VI: (eyes narrowing) "So. You hide her like some stolen treasure while the realm burns?"

Rhaegar: "I act for the future of our house! The Long Night comes—"

Aegon VI: (standing abruptly) "Enough!" (The hall falls silent.) "You will return to Dragonstone. Gather whatever loyalists still follow you. But know this—House Targaryen will remain neutral in your folly."

Daemon: (raising a brow) "You're letting him go?"

Aegon VI: (grim) "Oh no. He goes to face the consequences of his choices. When Robert marches—and he will march—Rhaegar will meet him alone. No dragons. No royal banners. Let him prove his precious prophecy is worth the bloodshed."

Rhaegar: (stiffening) "And if I win?"

Aegon VI: (icy) "Then you may keep your title. But if you lose..." (He glances at Daeron) "...the succession will proceed as planned."

(The distant roar of Fenrir shakes the windows, as if sealing Rhaegar's fate. The prince bows stiffly and turns to leave, his fate now entwined with war, prophecy, and the fury of a scorned Baratheon.) ]

[(The heavy doors of the throne room boom shut behind Rhaegar, leaving King Aegon VI alone with Princes Daeron and Daemon. The Iron Throne casts jagged shadows across the stone floor as Aegon exhales deeply, the weight of his decision pressing upon him.)

Aegon VI: (rubbing his temples) "Daeron. You will send discreet aid to Rhaegar—gold, supplies, whatever he needs—but no banners. No open support."

Daeron: (frowning) "And if Robert discovers we're helping him?"

Aegon VI: "Then we deny it. Let Rhaegar fight his own war. But if he falls..."

Daemon: (grinning) "Then I become the spare heir, and Daeron gets to deal with Robert's tantrum. Lovely."

Aegon VI: (pinning Daemon with a look) "And you will share control of the Crown Merchant Guild with Alyssa."

Daemon: (mock gasp) "Father! You wound me. Don't you trust me with the royal coffers?"

Aegon VI: (dryly) "I trust you to empty them on Dornish wine and Essosi silks."

Daeron: (ignoring them, thoughtful) "What if Rhaegar wins?"

Aegon VI: (grim) "Then we welcome back a prince who's just proven he's more trouble than he's worth."

(A long silence. Somewhere in the distance, a dragon screams—whether in challenge or agreement, none can say.)

Daemon: (stretching) "Well. This has been delightful. Should I start drafting the 'Congratulations on Your Impending War' ravens, or—?"

Aegon VI: (pointing to the door) "Out."

(Daemon saunters away, whistling. Daeron lingers, his face troubled.)

Daeron: "Father... are we doing the right thing?"

Aegon VI: (softly, wearily) "No. But it's the least wrong option we have."

(The throne room feels colder as the weight of the coming storm settles over them both.) ]

[(The hearth crackles in Dragonstone's common room, casting flickering shadows across the stone walls. Queen Rhaella sits by the fire with Princess Rhaenys curled in her lap, while Elia Martell rubs her swollen belly absently. Oberyn leans against the window ledge, watching the stormy seas with a brooding expression. A nervous servant enters, clutching a sealed scroll.)

Servant: (bowing) "Your Graces... a raven from King's Landing."

(Rhaella takes the letter, breaking the seal with careful fingers. As she reads, her expression tightens. Elia watches, her dark eyes sharpening.)

Elia: "What is it?"

Rhaella: (exhaling slowly) "Aegon has given Rhaegar a choice: gather his own forces and face Robert alone... or lose everything."

Oberyn: (snorting) "Ah, so the king washes his hands of his heir's mess. How... pragmatic."

Elia: (voice low) "If Rhaegar loses..."

Rhaella: (soft but firm) "He will be stripped of Dragonstone. His children removed from succession."

(Rhaenys, sensing the tension, clutches Rhaella's sleeve. Elia's hand drifts to her belly—where Rhaegar's unborn child stirs.)

Elia: (suddenly decisive) "Oberyn. Ride for Dorne. Tell Doran we must support Rhaegar."

Oberyn: (raising a brow) "After what he's done to you?"

Elia: (sharp) "He is still my husband. The father of my children. And if he falls, they fall with him."

(Oberyn studies his sister, then smirks.)

Oberyn: "Very well. But when this is over, I will punch your silver prince in the face."

Rhaella: (dryly) "Stand in line."

(Outside, the waves crash against Dragonstone's cliffs—a relentless echo of the storm to come.) ]

[(The Iron Throne looms ominously in the empty throne room as King Aegon VI stands before it, his fingers tracing the jagged edges of a twisted blade. The distant echo of footsteps announces Varys' approach, his soft slippers whispering across the stone floor.)

Varys: (bowing slightly) "Your Grace, the pieces are in motion."

Aegon VI: (not turning) "Tell me."

Varys: "Robert Baratheon's forces swell. The North marches under Lord Rickon Stark—his fury over Lyanna outweighing even his ties to your house. Jon Arryn has called the Vale's banners, treating Robert as a son in all but blood."

Aegon VI: (grimacing) "And Steffon?"

Varys: "Neutral, for now. A father torn between his king and his son. A... delicate position."

(Aegon exhales sharply, finally turning to face Varys.)

Aegon VI: "And Rhaegar?"

Varys: (smiling faintly) "Gathering his own forces, as you commanded. Prince Daeron has funneled gold and supplies through back channels. Prince Daemon has... persuaded certain mercenary companies to be sympathetic. And Dorne..."

Aegon VI: (raising a brow) "Let me guess. Oberyn is already sharpening his spear."

Varys: "Oh, he's done more than that. The Martells move quietly, but their support is undeniable. For Princess Elia's sake, if not Rhaegar's."

(A long silence stretches between them, broken only by the distant roar of a dragon.)

Aegon VI: (quietly) "And if Rhaegar loses?"

Varys: (softly) "Then you will have a difficult choice to make. But for now... the game continues."

(Aegon turns back to the throne, his reflection fractured in its blades—a king, a father, and a man caught between duty and blood.) ]