A Crown for Aegon (ChatGPT)

[(King's Landing, the royal bedchamber. King Aegon VI stands by the window, gazing at the city below, while Queen Rhaella adjusts her gown before a mirror. The morning sun casts a golden hue over the room, and the distant sounds of the bustling capital drift through the open balcony.)]

Aegon VI: (sighs) Eight years. Has it truly been so long since the Trident?

Rhaella: (softly) It feels both like yesterday and a lifetime ago. The realm has changed… and so have we.

Aegon VI: (turning to her) And yet, some things remain the same. The weight of the crown, the whispers of the court, the endless balancing of favors and grudges.

Rhaella: (smiling faintly) You make it sound so grim. We have peace now, at least. The Greyjoys subdued, the Iron Islands secured under Aegon Snow, the Stokeworth lands granted to little Aegon VII…

Aegon VI: (grimacing) A necessary concession, though I doubt Tywin was pleased. He wanted those lands for his own.

Rhaella: (raising an eyebrow) Tywin Lannister is never pleased unless he's the one dictating terms. But he'll abide by it—for now.

Aegon VI: (crossing his arms) And now Daeron is to marry Elia. A match meant to soothe Dorne, yet I wonder if it will only stir old wounds.

Rhaella: (sighing) Elia is strong. She endured Rhaegar's… indiscretions. She'll endure this too, for the sake of her children.

Aegon VI: (frowning) It's not just Dorne I worry about. Cersei's death left a void in Daeron's household. Myrcella will need a mother's care, and Baelon and Maekar…

Rhaella: (gently) Elia is a good woman. She'll care for them as her own. And it binds Dorne closer to us, after the rebellion.

Aegon VI: (nodding slowly) True. But I fear Tywin will see it as a slight—his daughter replaced so soon.

Rhaella: (dryly) Tywin's pride is his own burden to bear. He'll survive.

Aegon VI: (chuckling) You've grown ruthless in your counsel, my queen.

Rhaella: (smirking) A necessity, when one shares a bed with a king who overthinks every decision.

Aegon VI: (grinning) And yet, you love me anyway.

Rhaella: (rolling her eyes) Someone must.

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

Servant: Your Graces, Princess Elia and the children have been sighted approaching the Red Keep. They will arrive within the hour.

Aegon VI: (nodding) Thank you. See that the court is prepared to receive them.

[(The servant bows and exits. Aegon exhales, rubbing his temples.)]

Aegon VI: (muttering) Another delicate dance of politics and propriety.

Rhaella: (placing a hand on his arm) It will be fine. Elia understands the game as well as any of us.

Aegon VI: (softly) I hope so. For all our sakes.

[(They share a quiet moment before Rhaella straightens, smoothing her gown.)]

Rhaella: Come. Let us greet our family.

Aegon VI: (offering his arm) As my queen commands.

[(They exit the chamber, the weight of the past and the uncertainty of the future lingering between them as they step into the halls of the Red Keep.)]

[(King's Landing Palace Courtyard, midday. The sun hangs high over the Red Keep, casting dappled shadows through the leaves of the courtyard's ancient weirwood. Servants bustle about, arranging seating and refreshments for the impending arrival of Princess Elia and her children. King Aegon VI and Queen Rhaella stand near the fountain, watching as their children and grandchildren mingle. Prince Daeron of Dragonstone, ever the serious heir, stands stiffly beside his sons, Prince Baelon (10, ENFJ) and Prince Maekar (8, ISTJ), while Prince Daemon of Summerhall lounges on a bench with his usual roguish charm. Nearby, Princess Daenerys (6, INFJ/ENFJ) chases a butterfly, her laughter ringing through the air.)]

Aegon VI: (glancing at Daeron) You look as though you're preparing for battle, not a family gathering.

Daeron: (flatly) Given the circumstances, Father, it might as well be one.

Rhaella: (sighing) Daeron, must you be so grim? Elia is family.

Daeron: (grimacing) She was Rhaegar's wife. Now she's to be mine. The court will whisper.

Daemon: (grinning) Oh, let them whisper. It's not like you're stealing her from him. He's dead.

Baelon: (tilting his head) Does that mean Princess Rhaenys and Prince Aegon will be our siblings now?

Maekar: (matter-of-factly) Half-siblings. They're from Uncle Rhaegar. We're from Mother.

Daeron: (pinching the bridge of his nose) Seven hells.

Rhaella: (chuckling) At least the children understand the situation better than you do, Daeron.

Daemon: (stretching lazily) Besides, it's not like you're suffering. Elia's beautiful, kind, and politically advantageous. If you're going to remarry, you could do far worse.

Daeron: (dryly) Spoken like a man who married for love.

Daemon: (grinning wider) Exactly. And look how happy I am!

Aegon VI: (raising an eyebrow) You mean, look how much coin you spend on Ashara's whims.

Daemon: (shrugging) A small price for peace.

[(Princess Daenerys suddenly skids to a stop in front of them, clutching a flower in her tiny hands.)]

Daenerys: (excitedly) Look! I found a dragon's breath flower!

Rhaella: (smiling) So you did, sweetling.

Daenerys: (serious now) Can I give it to Princess Rhaenys when she comes?

Daeron: (blinking) Why?

Daenerys: (as if it's obvious) Because she's sad. Her father died, and now her mother is marrying you.

[(Awkward silence. Daemon snorts into his hand. Even Maekar looks mildly impressed by her bluntness.)]

Aegon VI: (clearing his throat) That's… very thoughtful of you, Daenerys.

Rhaella: (hiding a smile) Perhaps we should all take lessons in diplomacy from a six-year-old.

Daeron: (muttering) Or perhaps we should send her to treat with Tywin Lannister.

Daemon: (laughing) Oh, I'd pay to see that.

[(A horn sounds in the distance—the signal that Elia's party has entered the city gates. The family straightens, the playful mood shifting into something more formal.)]

Aegon VI: (to Daeron) Ready?

Daeron: (exhaling) No. But it doesn't matter.

Rhaella: (softly, to Aegon) He'll be fine.

Aegon VI: (wryly) He'd better be. The realm depends on it.

[(The gates of the courtyard swing open, and the royal steward steps forward to announce the arrival of Princess Elia Martell, Princess Rhaenys, and Prince Aegon VII. The family braces itself—for politics, for awkwardness, for the next chapter in their tangled, ever-shifting dynasty.)]

[(King's Landing Palace Courtyard, midday. The grand gates swing open as Princess Elia Martell enters, flanked by her children—Princess Rhaenys (9, INTJ) and Prince Aegon VII (8, INFJ). The Targaryen family stands in formal greeting, though the air is thick with unspoken tensions. Servants hover at the edges, ready with wine and sweet treats, while the dragons Drogon, Smaug, and little Rhaegal circle lazily overhead.)]

Steward: (booming) Presenting Her Grace, Princess Elia of House Martell, Princess Rhaenys, and Prince Aegon!

Aegon VI: (stepping forward, warm but measured) Elia. It has been too long.

Elia: (curtsying gracefully) Your Grace. The pleasure is mine.

Rhaella: (embracing Elia lightly) Welcome back to King's Landing, dear sister.

Rhaenys: (bowing stiffly) Your Graces.

Aegon VII: (murmuring, eyes downcast) Your Graces.

Daenerys: (immediately darting forward, thrusting out the flower) For you, Rhaenys!

Rhaenys: (startled, then softening slightly) Oh. Thank you… Daenerys.

Baelon: (stepping forward, formal but earnest) Princess Rhaenys. You look well.

Rhaenys: (eyeing him warily) Prince Baelon.

Maekar: (bluntly) Are you angry about the marriage?

[(A beat of horrified silence. Daemon chokes on his wine. Daeron looks like he wants to vanish into the ground.)]

Elia: (lips twitching) Ah. Straight to the point, I see.

Daeron: (through gritted teeth) Maekar.

Maekar: (shrugging) What? Everyone's thinking it.

Aegon VI: (rubbing his temples) Gods give me strength.

Daemon: (grinning) No, no, let the boy speak! This is the most entertaining court moment since Cersei threw a goblet at Father's head.

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

Rhaenys: (crossing arms) Fine. Yes, it's strange. My mother marrying my uncle's brother? And you—(she points at Baelon)—are supposed to be my husband one day, even though we'll be step-siblings? It's… confusing.

Baelon: (earnestly) But we don't have to be confused. We can just be us.

Rhaenys: (blinking) …That's annoyingly reasonable.

Aegon VII: (quietly) And what about me?

[(The group turns to him. He fidgets with his sleeve, avoiding their eyes.)]

Aegon VII: (mumbling) I'm to be Lord of Stokeworth's lands, but the Stokeworths don't know yet. Are they just… going to leave?

Daemon: (clapping hands) Oh, this is delicious. Aegon, you sly fox—you didn't tell the Stokeworths they're being evicted?

Aegon VI: (dryly) I was waiting for the right moment.

Rhaella: (muttering) Which, knowing you, would be never.

Elia: (sighing) So. To summarize: my daughter is betrothed to her future stepbrother, my son is inheriting a castle from a family who doesn't know they're losing it, and I'm to marry a man whose wife died barely a year ago.

Daeron: (defensive) It's politics.

Elia: (deadpan) It's a farce.

Daenerys: (tugging Rhaenys' sleeve) Do you like lemon cakes? They have lemon cakes.

Rhaenys: (after a pause) …I do like lemon cakes.

Daenerys: (triumphant) Then come on!

[(She drags Rhaenys toward the refreshments, the tension momentarily broken. Baelon hesitates, then follows. Aegon VII trails after them, still uneasy.)]

Daemon: (watching them go) Well. That went better than expected.

Aegon VI: (grimacing) The day is young.

Elia: (to Daeron, low and wry) Are you sure you want to do this?

Daeron: (quietly) No. But we don't have a choice, do we?

Elia: (softly) No. We never do.

[(The adults share a weighted look—resigned, weary, but resolved. Nearby, the children bicker over lemon cakes, blissfully unaware of the tangled web they're trapped in. The dragons circle above, their shadows flickering over the courtyard like omens.)]

Maekar: (munching a pastry) Can I be the one to tell the Stokeworths they're being replaced?

Rhaella: (exasperated) No.

Daemon: (laughing) Oh, let him! It'll be hilarious!

Aegon VI: (groaning) I need wine.

[(The scene dissolves into semi-controlled chaos as servants scramble to refill cups, children squabble, and the realm's future hangs precariously in the balance—all under the watchful eyes of dragons and scheming lords alike.)]

[(King's Landing Palace Dining Hall - Evening. The long oak table gleams under candlelight as the Targaryen family and their guests enjoy roasted swan and honeyed figs. Servants move silently between courses while dragons occasionally cast shadows past the high windows. King Aegon VI taps his wine goblet thoughtfully, eyeing his grandson across the table.)]

Aegon VI: Aegon, have you given thought to your new holdings? The Stokeworth lands will need a proper name when you take possession.

Aegon VII: (nearly choking on his peas) I-I thought they were just being called Whitefyre, Grandfather?

Daemon: (grinning) Oh come now, nephew! You can't just slap a coat of paint on a sheep and call it a dragon. What's your vision? "House Aegon's Really Nice Land"?

Rhaella: (kicking Daemon under the table) What your uncle means is this is an opportunity to establish your legacy.

Rhaenys: (muttering) Legacy of stealing castles from oblivious lords.

Elia: (sharp look) Rhaenys.

Aegon VI: (ignoring the comment) You could honor your father's memory. Or perhaps something representing unity between Dorne and the Crownlands.

Baelon: (excited) What about House Sunfyre? Since you're half Martell!

Maekar: (deadpan) That's the name of a dragon that got torn in half. Bad omen.

Daenerys: (mouth full of cake) House Cake!

Daeron: (pinching nose bridge) Seven help us.

Aegon VII: (suddenly standing) House... Dawncrest. For my father's love of poetry and Mother's Dornish heritage. (quieter) If that's acceptable.

(Brief silence)

Daemon: (clapping) Well struck, nephew! Far better than my suggestion of House Oust-the-Stokeworths.

Aegon VI: (nodding approvingly) Dawncrest it shall be. Which brings us to the delicate matter of... informing the current occupants.

(All eyes turn to Daemon)

Daemon: (fork freezing mid-air) Oh no. No no no. Tywin's the Hand, make him do it.

Aegon VI: (smiling) But you're so gifted with... persuasive conversation.

Rhaella: (sweetly) And you did volunteer earlier in the courtyard.

Daemon: (muttering) That was before the third course of wine.

Elia: (dryly) Shall we prepare the maesters for Lady Tanda's inevitable swoon?

Daeron: (to Daemon) Just take Smaug. Nobody argues with a dragon at their gates.

Maekar: Can I go? Please? I'll be quiet! (at everyone's looks) ...Mostly quiet.

Aegon VI: (standing) Then it's settled. Daemon will depart tomorrow to... transition the Stokeworths. Aegon, you'll prepare your household for the move. (raising glass) To House Dawncrest.

[(Glasses clink awkwardly. Rhaenys eyes Baelon suspiciously as he smiles at her. Daemon dramatically flops back in his chair. The candles flicker as distant dragon wings beat against the night sky.)]