[(The Great Hall of the Red Keep is filled with the assembled nobility of Westeros, their murmurs creating a low hum that echoes off the stone walls. The Iron Throne looms at the far end, its jagged blades catching the light from the high windows. Prince Aegon of Dragonstone stands near the base of the throne, his sister-wife Princess Rhaella at his side, their newborn children safely tended elsewhere. Nearby, their cousin Steffon Baratheon, newly orphaned and now Lord of Storm's End, shifts uncomfortably in his formal attire. The air is thick with grief barely masked by ceremony as the High Septon prepares to crown Prince Jaehaerys II.)]
Steffon Baratheon: (leaning toward Aegon, voice low) I still can't believe they're all gone. Father, mother, your brother... (trails off, jaw tightening)
Aegon VI: (placing a hand on Steffon's shoulder) I know, cousin. But we must be strong now. For them.
Rhaella: (eyes fixed on the approaching procession) They wouldn't want us to fall apart. Not when the realm needs us most.
(The herald's voice booms through the hall as Jaehaerys and Shaera approach the throne. The crowd falls silent.)
Herald: All hail His Grace, Jaehaerys of the House Targaryen, Second of His Name, King of the Andals, the Rhoynar, and the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms and Protector of the Realm!
(The High Septon lifts the crown - the same simple gold circlet worn by Aegon V - and begins the coronation rites. Aegon watches his father's face, seeing the weight of grief and responsibility etched in every line.)
Steffon: (whispering) Do you think he wanted this? The crown, I mean.
Aegon VI: (shaking head slightly) No more than I wanted Dragonstone. But we don't get to choose, do we?
Rhaella: (reaching subtly for Aegon's hand) We choose how we bear it. That's all we can do.
(The High Septon places the crown on Jaehaerys' head. The assembled lords kneel as one. Aegon meets his father's eyes across the hall and sees not triumph, but grim determination.)
Jaehaerys II: (voice carrying through the silent hall) The realm has suffered grievous losses. But House Targaryen endures. (pauses, looking at Aegon and Rhaella) The blood of the dragon runs strong in my children, and through them, our line will continue.
(A murmur runs through the crowd. Aegon feels Rhaella's fingers tighten around his.)
Steffon: (under his breath) Here it comes.
Jaehaerys II: In this time of mourning, we will observe proper respect for the dead. But when the time comes, the future of our house must be secured.
(Aegon stands straighter, ready to intervene, but the king continues.)
Jaehaerys II: However, the gods have been cruel enough. We will not compound tragedy with haste. (looks directly at Rhaella) The court will observe a full year of mourning before any... arrangements are made.
(Rhaella sags slightly in relief. Aegon exhales slowly. The tension in the room shifts perceptibly.)
Steffon: (quietly to Aegon) That was... surprisingly reasonable.
Aegon VI: (nodding) Father knows the limits of even Targaryen endurance.
(The ceremony continues, but the three young nobles remain in their own quiet conversation at the edge of the hall.)
Rhaella: (to Steffon) You'll be returning to Storm's End soon, then?
Steffon: (grimacing) Aye. A fourteen-year-old lord with no parents to guide him. The storm lords must be trembling with anticipation.
Aegon VI: (smirking) They'll learn quickly not to underestimate you. You've got more of your father in you than you think.
Steffon: (grinning despite himself) And which father would that be? The one who challenged a grown man to a duel at twelve, or the one who once drank a Dornishman under the table and stole his horse?
Rhaella: (laughing softly) Both, I'd wager.
(The moment of levity fades as the new king approaches them, the crowd parting respectfully.)
Jaehaerys II: (to Steffon) Lord Baratheon. You have my condolences, and my support. Storm's End will not stand alone in its grief.
Steffon: (bowing) Your Grace is most kind.
Jaehaerys II: (turning to Aegon and Rhaella) Walk with me.
(They move to a quieter corner of the hall, the noise of the gathering fading slightly.)
Jaehaerys II: (quietly) I meant what I said. No one will force anything before you're ready. But you must understand - the dragons may be gone, but the dreams remain. The blood must stay pure.
Rhaella: (voice barely above a whisper) I know, Father.
Aegon VI: (firm) And we'll do our duty. When the time comes.
Jaehaerys II: (studying them both) You've grown so much in these past weeks. (sighs) Too much, too fast. But the realm is in good hands. All of you.
(He embraces them both briefly before returning to his duties. The siblings watch him go, the weight of the future pressing down on them.)
Rhaella: (after a long silence) Do you really believe the dragons will return?
Aegon VI: (looking toward the sky beyond the windows) I believe we have to be ready if they do. But more importantly... (turns to her) I believe we'll face whatever comes together.
(She nods, and together they return to the gathering, two young dragons bearing the weight of centuries of history on their shoulders.Scene fades as the coronation feast begins, the first steps into a new era for House Targaryen.)
[(The Small Council chamber is bathed in the pale light of a winter morning, the heavy oak table scattered with maps and ledgers. Newly crowned King Jaehaerys II sits at the head, flanked by his council: Grand Maester Pycelle, Lord Commander of the Kingsguard Ser Gerold Hightower, Master of Ships Lord Lucerys Velaryon, Master of Coin Lord Lyman Beesbury, and Master of Whispers Lord Brynden Rivers. Prince Aegon stands near the window, his shadow stretching across the proposed plans for Summerhall's reconstruction. The air is thick with tension as the debate reaches its peak.)]
Lord Beesbury: (tapping the ledger) Your Grace, the treasury can bear the cost of rebuilding Summerhall, but perhaps not to its former grandeur. A modest keep would suffice as the seat for a spare heir.
Lord Velaryon: (sniffing) "Modest" for a Targaryen prince? The lords of the realm already whisper that the dragons' fire has gone out. Should we confirm their doubts with a glorified watchtower?
Ser Gerold: (leaning forward) What Summerhall was burned to ash. What it becomes... that is for the living to decide. (glances at Aegon) And for the prince who will call it home.
Aegon VI: (turning from the window) I'll take four strong walls and a roof that doesn't smell of smoke. The dragons are gone, my lords. Let's not pretend otherwise by building monuments to what we've lost.
King Jaehaerys II: (steepling fingers) Well said. But we must discuss what Summerhall represents. (pauses) Just as we must discuss the future of our bloodline.
(The room grows still. Pycelle's chain clinks as he shifts uncomfortably.)
Lord Rivers: (quietly) The princess is young. Fertile. The blood must remain pure if the dragons are to return.
Aegon VI: (sharp) My sister has barely buried her husband. Our brother.
King Jaehaerys II: (raising a hand) Peace, Aegon. No one suggests acting without care. But the question must be asked - will you honor the traditions of our house?
Aegon VI: (meeting his father's gaze) I've already made one decision about tradition. (firm) Rhaegar will be my heir. Even if Rhaella and I...
Lord Velaryon: (spluttering) You would set aside centuries of succession law? A trueborn son comes before a nephew!
Lord Rivers: (smiling thinly) Unless the king decrees otherwise. As Jaehaerys the Conciliator did for the Great Council.
King Jaehaerys II: (rubbing temples) This is why I resisted the crown. Every decision unravels another. (looks to Aegon) You would truly do this? For Aerys' son?
Aegon VI: (without hesitation) I gave my word. To Rhaella. To myself. The throne was never meant to be mine.
Pycelle: (clearing throat) Your Grace, if I may... the princess' mental state is... fragile. The birth, the fire... (trails off at Aegon's glare)
Aegon VI: (cold) Say it, Grand Maester. Call my sister broken to her father's face.
King Jaehaerys II: (slamming hand on table) Enough! (composes himself) This is a council, not a fishmonger's brawl. (to all) We will rebuild Summerhall - properly, but not extravagantly. (to Aegon) And you will have your year of mourning. But when the time comes...
Aegon VI: (soft but firm) When the time comes, I will marry Rhaella if she consents. And Rhaegar will be my heir. This is not a negotiation.
(The lords exchange glances. The king studies his son for a long moment before nodding slowly.)
King Jaehaerys II: (to council) Leave us.
Lord Rivers: (As the council files out, Lord Rivers pauses at the door) The dragons dream, my prince. Remember that.
King Jaehaerys II: (When they're alone, Jaehaerys sighs deeply) You remind me of myself at your age. Stubborn. Certain. (smiles wryly) It's infuriating.
Aegon VI: (relaxing slightly) Mother always said I took after you.
King Jaehaerys II: (chuckling) She's too kind. (sobers) But Aegon... the blood matters. Shaera and I broke our betrothals not just for love, but because we knew - the old ways exist for a reason.
Aegon VI: (leaning on table) Then trust that Rhaella and I will do what's right for the dynasty. But in our own time. In our own way.
King Jaehaerys II: (studying him) You truly care for her, don't you? Not just as your sister.
Aegon VI: (quietly) We've lost too much to play at politics with each other's hearts.
King Jaehaerys II: (The king stands, placing a hand on his son's shoulder) Very well. Summerhall will be rebuilt. You'll have your year. And when the time comes... (sighs) I'll support your decision about Rhaegar. But the blood must continue, Aegon. That is not negotiable.
Aegon VI: (nodding) Thank you, Father.
King Jaehaerys II: (smiling faintly) Don't thank me yet. Wait until you sit this chair and your own heir defies you. Then we'll see how grateful you feel.
(The two Targaryen men share a rare moment of understanding as the winter light fades outside, the weight of crowns and futures resting heavily on both their shoulders. Scene fades to the sound of quills scratching on parchment as the rebuilding orders are drafted, the future of House Targaryen taking shape one difficult decision at a time)
[(The royal nursery is bathed in the soft glow of candlelight, the air sweet with the scent of milk and lavender. Two ornate cribs stand side by side - one holding newborn Princess Alyssa, her pale silver curls peeking from embroidered blankets, the other cradling Prince Rhaegar, his tiny fingers clutching at the air. Prince Aegon leans against the windowsill, watching as Princess Rhaella gently adjusts Rhaegar's blanket. The distant sounds of the coronation feast still echo through the Red Keep, but in this quiet room, there is only the soft breathing of infants and the weight of unspoken futures.)]
Rhaella: (whispering as she strokes Rhaegar's cheek) He has Aerys' nose.
Aegon VI: (moving to stand beside her) And your eyes. (glances at Alyssa) She... she has Jocelyn's frown when she dreams.
(A comfortable silence settles between them, both lost in their thoughts. Rhaella reaches out without looking and takes Aegon's hand.)
Rhaella: Father told me. About your promise. (turns to face him) You would truly make Rhaegar your heir? Even if we... even when we...
Aegon VI: (squeezing her hand) I swore it before the gods. Before Aerys' memory. (smiles faintly) Though I suspect our future sons might resent me for it.
Rhaella: (choking back a laugh) Our sons. Gods, that still sounds so strange. (looks down) After everything... after the fire... I didn't think I could ever...
(Her voice breaks. Aegon turns her to face him, wiping away a tear with his thumb.)
Aegon VI: We have time, Rhaella. A full year of mourning. Longer, if you need it. (smirks) I told Father I'd rather face a Dothraki horde than rush you into anything.
Rhaella: (genuine laugh now) You didn't.
Aegon VI: (grinning) I absolutely did. (sobers) But this isn't like before. Not like when they forced you and Aerys. This will be our choice. When - if - you're ready.
(She studies his face - the same face she's known since birth, now grown stern with responsibility and grief.)
Rhaella: Do you remember when we were children? You used to steal lemon cakes from the kitchen and blame Aerys.
Aegon VI: (mock offended) I was a perfect prince. It was definitely Aerys.
(They both laugh quietly, careful not to wake the babies. Rhaella's laughter fades first.)
Rhaella: We were happy then. Before all the... (gestures vaguely) duty. Bloodlines. Tragedy.
Aegon VI: (leaning against the crib) We'll be happy again. Just differently. (nods to the infants) They'll see to that.
(Rhaegar stirs in his sleep, his tiny face scrunching. Alyssa responds with a soft coo, as if sensing her cousin's distress.)
Rhaella: (marveling) They already know each other. Like we did.
Aegon VI: (softly) Like we still do. (reaches into his doublet) I had the smiths make something.
(He produces two delicate silver chains - one with a tiny dragon charm, the other with a wolf.)
Aegon VI: For when they're older. To remember where they came from. (places the wolf pendant in Alyssa's crib) Jocelyn's blood. (the dragon in Rhaegar's) Aerys' legacy.
(Rhaella's breath catches. She picks up the dragon pendant, running her thumb over the intricate wings.)
Rhaella: And what will they tell our children? When we... (can't finish the thought)
Aegon VI: (gently taking the pendant from her) They'll tell them that House Targaryen endures. That from fire and loss, we rebuilt. Together.
(Outside, the first light of dawn begins to color the sky. The sounds of the feast have faded, replaced by the stirring of the castle waking. The two stand together between the cribs, watching as the new day washes over their children - and with it, the fragile beginnings of a future they never imagined, but will face as they always have: side by side.)
[(The bustling shipyard of King's Landing is alive with activity under the crisp morning sky. Massive cranes swing crates of pale stone from Dragonstone onto waiting ships, while teams of laborers haul timber from the Kingswood. Prince Aegon of Summerhall—now Dragonstone—stands on the docks with Ser Barristan Selmy, the newly appointed Commander of the Kingsguard. The salty air carries the scent of sawdust and sea as they oversee the first shipments bound for Stormlands to rebuild the ruined Summerhall.)]
Ser Barristan: (surveying the crates) The builders say they've sourced the same white stone from the same quarries. It'll look as it did before the fire, Your Grace.
Aegon VI: (grimacing) Let's hope not too much like before. (runs a hand over a stack of blueprints) Wider staircases. More exits. And no damned underground vaults for wildfire experiments.
Ser Barristan: (nodding) A sensible change. Though I doubt the pyromancers will thank you for it.
Aegon VI: (dry) They can complain to the ashes of their predecessors. (pauses, watching a group of workers carefully load a crate marked "Glass Gardens - Fragile")
(A familiar pang strikes him—Jocelyn had designed those gardens, back when Summerhall was meant to be their home. Ser Barristan notices the shift in his demeanor.)
Ser Barristan: (gentle) You don't have to oversee every detail, my prince. The stewards can—
Aegon VI: (shaking head) No. I owe her this much. (taps the blueprint) She wanted a palace that grew its own food. Said Northerners knew better than Southerners about surviving long winters. (smirks faintly) Even if she did complain about the heat every summer.
(Ser Barristan allows a small smile. A burly ship captain approaches, bowing hastily.)
Ship Captain: Beggin' your pardon, m'prince, but the Dornish marble's arrived. Where d'you want it loaded?
Aegon VI: (consulting the manifest) Hold three. And tell the stonemasons to use it for the nursery wing. (mutters to Barristan) If I have to hear one more time how "Dornish stone stays cool in summer" from Rhaella…
(Ser Barristan chuckoms as the captain scurries off. A moment of comfortable silence falls before the knight broaches the unspoken tension.)
Ser Barristan: Have you decided who'll govern Summerhall once it's rebuilt? With you as heir to the throne now…
Aegon VI: (leaning on the dock railing) It'll go to my second son. Assuming Rhaella and I ever… (waves a hand) Well. Assuming.
Ser Barristan: (careful) A wise tradition. Keeps spare heirs close but not too close to power. (hesitates) Though some might argue Prince Rhaegar, as your heir's heir, should—
Aegon VI: (sharp) Rhaegar gets Dragonstone. That was my vow. (softens) But yes. My other sons will learn the weight of Summerhall. (wry) Gods know I did.
(A sudden commotion erupts as a crate slips from a net, shattering on the stones below. Aegon pinches the bridge of his nose.)
Aegon VI: (sighing) Seven hells. That better not have been the Myrish glass for the solar.
Ser Barristan: (watching the frantic cleanup) At this rate, we'll rebuild Summerhall faster with the gold it's costing to replace broken shipments.
Aegon VI: (snorts) Tell that to Lord Beesbury. Maybe he'll faint and we can steal his vault keys.
Messenger: (They're interrupted by a messenger rushing up, panting) Prince Aegon! Princess Rhaella requests your presence in the nursery. Prince Rhaegar won't stop crying—he only calms when they let him hold your glove.
Aegon VI: (Aegon's stern demeanor cracks into something unbearably fond) Duty calls. Try not to let them sink any ships while I'm gone.
Ser Barristan: (bowing) I'll guard the cargo with my life, my prince. (smirks) Or at least with Beesbury's ledger.
(As Aegon strides away, the morning sun catches the silver in his hair—a prince weighed down by ghosts, but stepping steadily toward a future being rebuilt, stone by stone, in both Stormlands and his own heart.)