A Crown for Aegon (ChatGPT)

[Setting: The Red Keep's courtyard in King's Landing, half a year into the conflict between Prince Rhaegar's forces and Robert Baratheon's faction. King Aegon VI walks alongside his Master of Whisperers, Varys, as they discuss the ongoing tensions.]

Aegon VI: (sighs) Half a year, Varys. Half a year since my nephew was declared independent to face Robert's wrath, and still, the realm bleeds.

Varys: (softly) A difficult situation, Your Grace. Prince Rhaegar fights for atonement, Robert for honor—neither side willing to yield.

Aegon VI: (grim) Honor and atonement are noble causes, but they do not feed the smallfolk or shield them from war's cruelty. And yet, I cannot intervene directly without risking greater chaos.

Varys: (nodding) The Crown's neutrality has kept the conflict contained, though tensions simmer. Dorne's secret support for Rhaegar is an open secret, and Robert's allies grow restless.

Aegon VI: (frowning) Restless enough to cross the line?

Varys: (hesitant) Not yet, but whispers suggest Robert's patience wears thin. He believes Lyanna Stark remains a captive, despite Rhaegar's claims otherwise.

Aegon VI: (rubbing his temple) And with no sign of Lyanna, the truth remains buried. If only Rhaegar had been clearer before riding off to war.

Varys: (carefully) Perhaps clarity was never his intention, Your Grace. Some actions are born of impulse, not reason.

Aegon VI: (dryly) A lesson my nephew learned too late. And now, my wife and good-daughter near their time on Dragonstone, while the realm teeters on a knife's edge.

Varys: (glancing at the sky) A storm brews, Your Grace. But there is another matter—the dragon eggs.

Aegon VI: (perking up) They've warmed?

Varys: (smiling faintly) Indeed. The servants report heat radiating from them, as if sensing the turmoil in the realm.

Aegon VI: (thoughtful) Dragons returning in times of strife… an omen, or a blessing?

Varys: (shrugging) That depends on who wields them, Your Grace.

Aegon VI: (grimacing) A fair point. If Robert or his allies learn of this, they may see it as provocation.

Varys: (nodding) Which is why discretion remains paramount. Though, if I may…

Aegon VI: (raising a brow) Yes?

Varys: (lowering his voice) The eggs are not the only things stirring. The smallfolk whisper of a shadow war—spies moving, secrets traded. Someone seeks to exploit this conflict for their own gain.

Aegon VI: (frowning) House Tyrell? The Lannisters?

Varys: (shaking his head) Unclear. But whoever they are, they play a dangerous game.

Aegon VI: (sighing) Of course they do. Because one war was never enough.

[Pause. The distant sound of city life echoes around them—merchants shouting, children laughing, the clang of steel from the training yard.]

Aegon VI: (softly) Do you think Rhaegar and Robert would have come to blows if not for that damned tourney?

Varys: (considering) Perhaps. Pride and love are volatile things, Your Grace. A spark was all that was needed.

Aegon VI: (bitterly) And now the realm burns for it.

Varys: (quietly) Fire purifies as much as it destroys.

Aegon VI: (glancing at him) Spoken like a man who has seen too much of both.

Varys: (smiling faintly) A hazard of the profession, I fear.

[A messenger approaches, bowing hastily.]

Messenger: Your Grace, word from Dragonstone!

Aegon VI: (tense) Speak.

Messenger: Queen Rhaella has gone into labor. The maesters believe the babe will come before nightfall.

Aegon VI: (exhaling) At last. Send word to the rookery—I want updates hourly.

Messenger: (bowing) At once, Your Grace!

[The messenger hurries off. Aegon turns back to Varys, weariness in his eyes.]

Aegon VI: (muttering) Another child born into a realm at war.

Varys: (softly) Or perhaps the one who brings its end.

Aegon VI: (raising a brow) You've grown poetic, Varys.

Varys: (smiling) A rare indulgence, Your Grace.

Aegon VI: (chuckling dryly) Let us hope the gods share your optimism.

[They resume their walk, the weight of the realm heavy between them as the sun sets over King's Landing.]

[Setting: The king's private chambers in the Red Keep, King's Landing. King Aegon VI sits at a heavy oak table covered in ledgers and maps, his son Prince Daeron of Summerhall standing across from him. The air is thick with the scent of parchment and ink as they discuss the Crown Merchant Guild's operations during the war.]

Aegon VI: (tapping a ledger) The CMG's profits from the Stepstones trade routes have dipped, but not as severely as I feared. Your stewardship has kept the guild stable despite the war.

Daeron: (nodding) The neutrality of House Targaryen has allowed our merchants to move freely where others cannot. But if Robert's faction blockades the Blackwater again—

Aegon VI: (grimacing) Then we reroute through Dorne. Doran Martell won't refuse us, not with Elia and the children on Dragonstone.

Daeron: (crossing arms) Father, we can't rely on Dorne's patience forever. If Rhaegar falls—

Aegon VI: (sharp) He won't.

[Silence lingers. Daeron exhales, choosing his next words carefully.]

Daeron: You can't know that. And if the worst happens, we must be ready. The CMG's gold could mean the difference between survival and collapse.

Aegon VI: (rubbing his temple) You sound like your grandfather. Always preparing for the next disaster.

Daeron: (smirking) Someone in this family has to.

[A knock at the door interrupts them. A servant enters, bowing deeply.]

Servant: (breathless) Your Grace—forgive the intrusion, but word has just arrived from Dragonstone!

Aegon VI: (standing abruptly) Rhaella—?

Servant: (beaming) The queen has safely delivered a princess! Both mother and babe are in excellent health.

Daeron: (grinning) Another sister. Congratulations, Father.

Aegon VI: (visibly relieved, then pensive) And Elia?

Servant: (hesitant) The princess's time has not yet come, but the maesters believe it will be soon.

[Aegon paces, mind racing. After a moment, he stops and turns to Daeron with sudden resolve.]

Aegon VI: I'm going to Dragonstone.

Daeron: (blinking) Now?

Aegon VI: (firm) Now. Rhaella needs me, and if Elia's child arrives while tensions are this high… (trails off) I won't risk another misunderstanding sparking worse bloodshed.

Daeron: (frowning) And the capital?

Aegon VI: (meeting his gaze) Will be in your hands. As regent.

Daeron: (stiffening) Father—

Aegon VI: (raising a hand) You've managed the CMG under wartime pressures. The realm will survive a fortnight under your rule.

Daeron: (dryly) You say that as if the Small Council won't riot.

Aegon VI: (smirking) Then consider it practice for when you're king.

[Daeron exhales, but nods. Aegon turns to the servant.]

Aegon VI: Have the Dragonkeepers prepare Fenrir for flight. And bring me two of the remaining dragon eggs—the ones with the deepest gold and silver veining.

Servant: (bowing) At once, Your Grace!

[The servant hurries out. Daeron arches a brow.]

Daeron: Only two? You have five eggs left and six children.

Aegon VI: (softly) One for the babe. One for Viserys. The others must wait.

Daeron: (studying him) You're certain about this?

Aegon VI: (quietly) The eggs are warming, Daeron. The dragons are returning. If I must choose who bears that legacy first, let it be the ones who'll need it most.

[Daeron says nothing, but his jaw tightens in understanding. Aegon clasps his shoulder.]

Aegon VI: Keep Tywin in check. And if Robert's forces so much as glance at the Crownlands—

Daeron: (smirking) I'll remind them why we have dragons.

Aegon VI: (grinning) That's my boy.

[With that, the king strides out, leaving Daeron standing amidst the scattered ledgers—the weight of the realm settling onto his shoulders as the first echoes of Fenrir's wings beat against the Red Keep's towers.]

[Setting: The windswept courtyard of Dragonstone, the ancient Targaryen stronghold. The massive dragon Fenrir lands with a thunderous beat of his wings, sending up gusts of ash and ember from the volcanic stone below. King Aegon VI dismounts, his riding leathers dusted with soot, as Queen Rhaella—pale but radiant—steps forward, cradling their newborn daughter in her arms. A servant hovers close, ready to support her if needed. Nearby, Prince Viserys, barely seven years old, bounces on his heels, barely containing his excitement.]

Viserys: (bursting forward) Father! You came!

Aegon VI: (grinning, kneeling to catch him in a hug) Viserys! Gods, you've grown half a foot since I last saw you.

Viserys: (pulling back, eyes wide) Did you bring it? The egg?

Aegon VI: (laughing) Ever the impatient one. (He reaches into a saddlebag and withdraws a gleaming dragon egg, its scales shimmering like molten silver.) Here. Yours to care for now.

Viserys: (gasping, clutching it reverently) It's warm!

Rhaella: (smiling softly) He's been asking every hour since the eggs started heating.

Aegon VI: (standing, stepping toward her) And you? How are you, my love?

Rhaella: (exhaling, shifting the swaddled babe) Tired. But she is strong. (She tilts the bundle slightly, revealing the newborn's delicate features, a dusting of silver-gold hair already visible.)

Aegon VI: (voice thick) She's perfect.

Rhaella: (teasing) You say that about all of them.

Aegon VI: (grinning) Because it's always true.

[He leans in, pressing a kiss to Rhaella's brow before gently stroking the babe's cheek. The infant stirs but doesn't wake.]

Aegon VI: And her egg?

Rhaella: (nodding toward the crib nearby) The one with the gold swirls. It's been humming since dawn.

Aegon VI: (moving to the crib, placing the second egg—this one streaked with deep crimson—beside the first) Then let's hope they hatch before the war does.

Viserys: (still marveling at his egg) Can I take it to the cliffs? The Dragonkeepers say heat helps!

Aegon VI: (raising a brow) Only if you swear not to jump off said cliffs trying to bond with it mid-air.

Viserys: (sheepish) …I might have considered it.

Rhaella: (groaning) Seven save me.

Aegon VI: (laughing) A true Targaryen. (To Viserys) Go—but take two guards with you. And no climbing.

Viserys: (already darting off) Yes! Thank you!

[He races away, nearly tripping over his own feet in his haste. The servant hesitates, then scurries after him, calling for the guards. Aegon watches them go, shaking his head fondly before turning back to Rhaella.]

Aegon VI: (sobering) And Elia?

Rhaella: (sighing) Resting. The babe is restless, but the maesters say all is well. (Pausing) She asks after Rhaegar.

Aegon VI: (jaw tightening) I know.

Rhaella: (quiet) Will you tell her the truth?

Aegon VI: (staring at the distant sea) That her husband rides to war for a woman who may not even want to be found? That this conflict could have been avoided if he'd just spoken instead of disappearing like a thief in the night? (He exhales.) No. Not while she carries his child.

[Silence falls, broken only by the distant cries of gulls and the ever-present rumble of Dragonstone's volcanic heart.]

Rhaella: (softly) You should see her. She needs to know the Crown hasn't abandoned her.

Aegon VI: (nodding) I will. But first—(he reaches for the babe)—let me hold my daughter.

[Rhaella passes the infant into his arms. The baby fusses briefly before settling against his chest. Aegon smiles down at her, the weight of the realm momentarily forgotten.]

Aegon VI: (murmuring) What shall we name you, little dragon?

Rhaella: (leaning into his side) I was thinking… Daenerys.

Aegon VI: (softly) Daenerys… (He brushes a finger over the babe's cheek.) Fitting. A name for peace, in a world determined to deny her one.

[Above them, Fenrir lets out a low rumble, his golden eyes fixed on the horizon—where, unseen but felt, the storm of war gathers. Scene fades to the sound of waves crashing against Dragonstone's shores.]

[Setting: The cozy common room of Dragonstone Palace, warmed by a crackling hearth. King Aegon VI sits in a plush armchair, cradling newborn Princess Daenerys as she sleeps soundly against his chest. Queen Rhaella reclines nearby on a chaise, wrapped in furs, her exhaustion softened by contentment. Prince Viserys kneels by the fireplace, whispering to his dragon egg as its golden veins pulse faintly with warmth. The peaceful scene is interrupted as Princess Elia Martell enters, her pregnant belly prominent, guiding her young daughter Princess Rhaenys by the hand.]

Rhaenys: (eyes wide, pointing at Viserys) Egg!

Elia: (smiling tiredly) Yes, darling, an egg. Just like Uncle Viserys told you.

Rhaenys: (tugging at Aegon's sleeve) Grandfather, I want one!

Aegon VI: (chuckling) So demanding! You've got your mother's fire, little sun.

Rhaella: (amused) And her father's stubbornness.

Elia: (sighing) A dangerous combination.

Viserys: (grinning without looking up) I got mine because I'm the best. Obviously.

Aegon VI: (snorting) You got yours because you nearly cried yourself sick begging.

Viserys: (gasping, affronted) Lies!

Rhaenys: (stomping her foot) I asked nicely!

Aegon VI: (softening) You did. But the eggs in King's Landing are reserved for the king's children first.

Rhaenys: (pouting) But I'm your Rhaenys!

Elia: (stroking her daughter's hair) And one day, when the dragons have more eggs, you'll have one too.

Rhaenys: (crossing arms) When?

Aegon VI: (exchanging a glance with Rhaella) When Fenrir and Tiamat decide to stop being selfish.

Rhaella: (dryly) So never.

Viserys: (patting his egg) Mine's going to hatch first. Then I'll fly to Valyria and find dozens of eggs.

Rhaenys: (brightening) And bring one for me?

Viserys: (dramatic sigh) Fine. But you have to name it after me.

Elia: (murmuring to Aegon) Should I be concerned he's already extorting her?

Aegon VI: (whispering back) Only if he starts charging interest.

Rhaella: (watching them fondly) You'll spoil her.

Aegon VI: (grinning) That's what grandfathers do.

[Princess Rhaenys, unsatisfied but momentarily pacified, plops down beside Viserys to watch his egg glow. Elia eases into a chair, rubbing her swollen belly with a wince.]

Aegon VI: (noticing) The babe's restless today?

Elia: (grimacing) Like a Dornish sand steed kicking its way out.

Rhaella: (sympathetic) Daenerys was the same. It means they'll be strong.

Elia: (quietly) Or impatient.

[A weighted pause. Aegon studies her, sensing the unspoken tension.]

Aegon VI: (gentle) Have you had word from Rhaegar?

Elia: (stiffening) Only that he lives. (Bitterly) He writes more often to Lyanna Stark than his own wife.

Viserys: (blurting) Maybe he's scared of you.

[Everyone stares at him.]

Elia: (arched brow) …Excuse me?

Viserys: (shrugging) You're scary when you're mad. Once you threw a fig at Uncle Daemon's head so hard it splattered—

Rhaella: (pinching the bridge of her nose) Viserys.

Aegon VI: (hiding a laugh in Daenerys' blanket) He's not wrong.

Elia: (lips twitching) I was aiming for his mouth.

[The tension breaks. Even Elia cracks a smile. Rhaenys giggles, and Viserys puffs up, pleased with himself.]

Aegon VI: (sobering) When the war ends, Elia, you and Rhaegar will have time to mend things.

Elia: (quiet) If he comes back.

Rhaella: (firm) When.

[Silence settles, the fire popping in the hearth. Then—]

Rhaenys: (suddenly) Can I hold the baby?

Aegon VI: (mock gasp) You'll drop her!

Rhaenys: (scandalized) I won't!

Elia: (laughing) Let her try. She'll be a sister soon enough.

[Aegon carefully shifts Daenerys into Rhaenys' tiny arms, guiding her hands. The newborn yawns, undisturbed.]

Rhaenys: (whispering) She's tiny.

Viserys: (peering over) And loud. You should hear her at night—

Rhaella: (deadpan) Says the boy who screamed when he saw his first crab.

Viserys: (flushing) IT PINCHED ME!

[Laughter fills the room, warm and bright, as outside Dragonstone's walls, the tides churn—and somewhere, far away, war rages on. Scene fades on the sound of Rhaenys giggling as Daenerys grips her finger.]