[The bustling docks of King's Landing are alive with the sounds of sailors, merchants, and the distant calls of gulls. The salty breeze carries the scent of the sea as ships sway gently in the harbor. Prince Jaehaerys stands solemnly at the edge of the pier, his second son, Prince Aegon of Summerhall—now Dragonstone—beside him, cradling his newborn daughter, Princess Alyssa. The weight of recent tragedies hangs heavy in the air as they await the return of Princess Shaera and Princess Rhaella from Storm's End.]
Jaehaerys II: (glancing at the horizon) They should have been here by now. The winds were favorable.
Aegon VI: (softly, adjusting the blanket around Alyssa) They will come, Father. The gods would not be so cruel as to delay them further.
[The distant silhouette of a ship emerges from the mist, its sails bearing the three-headed dragon of House Targaryen. As it docks, Princess Shaera steps onto the pier first, her expression weary but relieved. Behind her, Princess Rhaella follows, clutching a bundled infant—Prince Rhaegar—close to her chest. Her eyes are hollow, her movements slow, as if every step is a struggle.]
Shaera: (embracing Jaehaerys) We are home.
Jaehaerys II: (kissing her forehead) Thank the gods.
[Rhaella's gaze drifts to Aegon, her twin, and for a moment, the ghost of a smile flickers across her face before vanishing again. Aegon steps forward, careful not to disturb Alyssa in his arms.]
Aegon VI: (softly) Rhaella…
Rhaella: (voice barely above a whisper) Aegon…
[She sways slightly, exhaustion overtaking her. Aegon quickly shifts Alyssa to one arm and steadies Rhaella with the other.]
Aegon VI: Easy, sister. You're safe now.
Rhaella: (looking down at Rhaegar) He… he has his father's eyes.
[A heavy silence falls. Aegon's grip tightens slightly, his own grief raw. He had lost Jocelyn mere days before Summerhall burned, and now Rhaella had lost Aerys in the same fire. Neither had truly had time to mourn.]
Shaera: (gently) Come. The Red Keep awaits. You both need rest.
Jaehaerys II: (nodding) Yes. The Small Council will need to convene soon, but… family comes first.
[As they turn to leave, Rhaella's eyes linger on Alyssa, nestled in Aegon's arms.]
Rhaella: (softly) She's beautiful.
Aegon VI: (smiling faintly) She has her mother's smile.
[Rhaella hesitates, then reaches out, brushing a finger against Alyssa's tiny hand. The infant stirs, grasping her aunt's finger weakly.]
Rhaella: (voice breaking) I'm so sorry, Aegon. About Jocelyn. I… I didn't even ask.
Aegon VI: (shaking his head) There's nothing to apologize for. We've all lost too much.
Shaera: (placing a hand on Rhaella's shoulder) Let's go inside, my love. You need to rest.
[Rhaella nods numbly, allowing herself to be guided away. Aegon watches them go, his expression unreadable. Jaehaerys exhales heavily, rubbing his temples.]
Jaehaerys II: Gods be good… what happens now?
Aegon VI: (quietly) We endure. For them.
[The wind howls through the docks, carrying with it the echoes of a fractured dynasty trying to piece itself back together.]
[Setting: The Red Keep's grand dining hall is adorned with flickering candles and the banners of House Targaryen. The long table is set with roasted meats, fresh bread, and Dornish wine, though the mood is somber rather than celebratory. At the head of the table sits Prince Jaehaerys II, his face lined with exhaustion. Beside him, Princess Shaera picks at her food, her usual warmth dimmed by grief. To their right, Prince Aegon of Summerhall (now Dragonstone) cradles his newborn daughter, Princess Alyssa, while across from him, Princess Rhaella holds Prince Rhaegar, her movements slow, her gaze distant. The air is thick with unspoken sorrow—the weight of lost parents, siblings, and spouses pressing down on them all.]
Jaehaerys II: (sighs, swirling his wine) The Small Council expects my coronation within the fortnight. The realm cannot linger without a king… not after what happened.
Shaera: (softly) They could afford us a moon's turn to mourn.
Jaehaerys II: (grim) The realm doesn't mourn. It demands stability. And with Aerys gone… (glances at Aegon) the succession must be settled.
Aegon VI: (Aegon tenses, his grip tightening slightly around Alyssa. Rhaella's eyes flicker up, sensing the shift) I never wanted Dragonstone.
Jaehaerys II: (firm) It doesn't matter what we want. Duty is duty. You are my heir now.
Shaera: (placing a hand on Jaehaerys' arm) Husband…
Jaehaerys II: (softer) I know. But we must speak of it. The council will press the matter of Rhaegar's status as well.
Rhaella: (voice hollow) What of my son?
Jaehaerys II: (hesitates) By rights… he is Aerys' heir. But tradition favors Aegon's line now.
Aegon VI: (sharply) I will not disinherit Rhaegar. He is my blood as much as Aerys was.
Shaera: (pleading) Jaehaerys, must we decide this now?
Jaehaerys II: (rubbing his temples) No. But soon. And there is… another matter. (Exhales.) The bloodline.
[A heavy silence falls. Rhaella's breath catches—she knows what's coming.]
Rhaella: (whispering) No.
Jaehaerys II: (grim) The council will insist. With so few of us left…
Aegon VI: (jaw tightening) You cannot ask this of her. Not after what she's endured.
Shaera: (gently) Aegon…
Aegon VI: (firm) No. She has lost her husband, her grandparents—she should not be forced into another marriage before she's even buried her grief.
Rhaella: (voice breaking) I can't. Not again.
Jaehaerys II: (softening) Rhaella…
Shaera: (intervening) Perhaps… perhaps there is another way. Steffon Baratheon is of our blood. If we—
Jaehaerys II: (shaking his head) He is a cousin, not a sibling. The purity of the line—
Aegon VI: (bitter) The purity of the line nearly burned us all to ash at Summerhall.
[A tense pause. Jaehaerys looks away, guilt flashing across his face. Shaera reaches for Rhaella's hand, squeezing it gently.]
Shaera: (whispering) We will find another way.
Rhaella: (tears in her eyes) There is no other way. Not for us.
[Silence stretches. Aegon looks down at Alyssa, then at Rhaegar in Rhaella's arms. Something hardens in his gaze.]
Aegon VI: (quiet, resolute) Then we make our own way.
Jaehaerys II: (raising an eyebrow) What do you mean?
Aegon VI: (meeting his father's eyes) If the bloodline must continue… then let it be by choice. Not force. Not while she still grieves.
Shaera: (hopeful) You mean…?
Aegon VI: (nodding) When—if—she is ready. Not before.
Rhaella: (Rhaella stares at him, her expression unreadable. Then, slowly, she nods once) Thank you.
Jaehaerys II: (Jaehaerys exhales, conflicted, but Shaera gives him a pointed look. Reluctantly, he nods) Very well. The council will rage, but… we are still dragons. Let them remember that.
[The tension eases slightly. Alyssa stirs in Aegon's arms, letting out a tiny yawn. Rhaegar, as if sensing the shift, coos softly. Shaera smiles faintly. For the first time since Summerhall, something like hope flickers in the room.]
[Setting: The palace courtyard is alive with servants rushing to prepare for Prince Jaehaerys' coronation—banners being hung, tables arranged for the feast, and guards standing watch. The air is thick with the scent of freshly baked bread and the distant sound of hammering as decorations are secured. Amidst the controlled chaos, Prince Aegon of Dragonstone and Princess Rhaella stand near a secluded marble bench beneath the shade of a flowering tree, their conversation hushed and heavy. Their newborns, Prince Rhaegar and Princess Alyssa, are safely tended to by trusted maids inside the nursery. The weight of duty, grief, and an uncertain future lingers between them.]
Aegon VI: (leaning against the tree, arms crossed) They'll announce it at the coronation, you know.
Rhaella: (staring at her hands) I know.
Aegon VI: (softly) We could refuse.
Rhaella: (bitter laugh) Could we?
[A pause. Aegon exhales, rubbing his temple.]
Aegon VI: No. Not truly.
Rhaella: (whispering) I don't think I can do this again.
Aegon VI: (turning to her) Then we don't. Not yet. Not until you're ready.
Rhaella: (shaking her head) It doesn't matter when. The council won't wait. The realm won't wait.
Aegon VI: (firm) Let them rage. I won't let them force you.
[She looks at him, really looks at him—his jaw set, his violet eyes burning with quiet defiance. For the first time since Summerhall, something in her chest loosens.]
Rhaella: (softly) You've changed.
Aegon VI: (raising an eyebrow) Have I?
Rhaella: (nodding) Before… you would've bowed your head and done as you were told.
Aegon VI: (dry chuckle) Losing a wife and a brother in the same week tends to rearrange one's priorities.
[She flinches. He immediately regrets his words.]
Aegon VI: (grimacing) Rhaella, I—
Rhaella: (shaking her head) No. You're right. We've both lost too much to let others dictate what comes next.
[Silence stretches between them. The distant shouts of servants and the rustling of leaves fill the air. Finally, Aegon speaks again, quieter now.]
Aegon VI: If we do this… if we marry… I want you to know something.
Rhaella: (wary) What?
Aegon VI: (meeting her gaze) Rhaegar will be my heir. Always.
[She freezes.]
Rhaella: (stunned) What?
Aegon VI: (steady) Even if we have sons of our own. Even if the council protests. He is Aerys' son. He should inherit.
Rhaella: (voice trembling) Aegon… you can't promise that.
Aegon VI: (firm) I can. And I will.
Rhaella: (shaking her head) The realm will never accept it.
Aegon VI: (smirking faintly) Since when have Targaryens ever cared what the realm accepts?
[A startled laugh escapes her, sharp and unexpected. Aegon's smirk softens into something warmer.]
Rhaella: (whispering) You mean it?
Aegon VI: (nodding) On my honor. On Jocelyn's memory. On everything.
[She exhales, shoulders slumping slightly—relief or exhaustion, he can't tell. Maybe both.]
Rhaella: (softly) Then… when the time comes… I won't fight it.
Aegon VI: (quiet) Good.
[A comfortable silence settles between them. The wind carries the scent of blooming flowers from the gardens. Somewhere nearby, a bard begins tuning his lute for the coronation feast.]
Rhaella: (suddenly) Do you think they'd hate us?
Aegon VI: (frowning) Who?
Rhaella: (gesturing vaguely) Aerys. Jocelyn.
[Aegon considers this, then shakes his head.]
Aegon VI: No. I think they'd understand.
Rhaella: (nodding slowly) Maybe.
[She looks up at the sky, where the first stars are beginning to appear. Aegon follows her gaze.]
Aegon VI: (murmuring) We'll do better for them. For Rhaegar. For Alyssa.
Rhaella: (whispering) I hope so.
[The distant call of a herald echoes through the courtyard—"Prince Jaehaerys requests your presence in the throne room!" They exchange a glance, steeling themselves for what comes next.]
Aegon VI: (offering his arm) Ready?
Rhaella: (taking it, straightening her shoulders) As I'll ever be.
[They walk toward the Red Keep together, side by side—two fractured pieces of a dynasty, bound by loss, duty, and the faint, fragile hope of something new.]
[Setting: The King's Chamber in the Red Keep is bathed in the golden light of late afternoon, the heavy velvet drapes partially drawn to let in a soft glow. Prince Jaehaerys II sits at his ornate desk, parchment and seals scattered before him—coronation preparations half-finished. The weight of the crown-to-come presses upon his brow. The door opens, and Prince Aegon of Dragonstone and Princess Rhaella enter, their steps measured. The air is thick with unspoken tension—duty, grief, and the ever-looming question of bloodline purity.]
Jaehaerys II: (without looking up) Sit.
[Aegon and Rhaella exchange a glance before taking their seats across from him. The silence stretches, heavy. Finally, Jaehaerys sets down his quill and meets their eyes.]
Jaehaerys II: The coronation is in three days. The lords will expect answers.
Aegon VI: (calm) Answers to what?
Jaehaerys II: (exhaling sharply) You know damn well. The succession. The bloodline. The future.
Rhaella: (quietly) We've barely buried our dead.
Jaehaerys II: (grim) And the realm does not stop for grief. The dragons are gone, but our blood must remain pure. The dreams—
Aegon VI: (cutting in) The dreams are just dreams, Father.
Jaehaerys II: (sharp) You think so? Daenys the Dreamer saved us from the Doom. Aegon the Conqueror saw the threat beyond the Wall. The blood matters.
Rhaella: (voice brittle) And what did the blood give Aerys? A pyre.
[A beat of silence. Jaehaerys' jaw tightens, but he doesn't rebuke her. Instead, he leans forward, hands clasped.]
Jaehaerys II: (low) I did not want this for either of you. But we are the last. If the dragons return—
Aegon VI: (dry) If.
Jaehaerys II: (ignoring him) —then our line must be strong enough to wield them. That was the vow of Aegon the Dragon. That is why we keep the blood pure.
Rhaella: (whispering) Even if it breaks us?
Jaehaerys II: (softer) Even then.
[Aegon's fingers tap against the armrest, restless. He glances at Rhaella, then back to his father.]
Aegon VI: And if we refuse?
Jaehaerys II: (leaning back) You won't.
Aegon VI: (raising an eyebrow) You're certain?
Jaehaerys II: (smirking faintly) You've already decided, haven't you?
[Aegon doesn't answer. Rhaella's hands tighten in her lap.]
Jaehaerys II: (sighing) I am not my father. I will not force you before you're ready. But the council will not wait forever.
Aegon VI: (nodding) Then we'll give them time.
Jaehaerys II: (eyeing him) And Rhaegar?
Aegon VI: (firm) My heir. As we agreed.
Jaehaerys II: (grudging) The lords will protest.
Aegon VI: (smirking) Let them.
[A faint chuckle escapes Jaehaerys, despite himself. Rhaella watches them both, something like relief flickering in her eyes.]
Jaehaerys II: (muttering) Stubborn as your mother.
Aegon VI: (grinning) High praise.
[The tension eases, if only slightly. Jaehaerys rubs his temples, the weight of the crown already pressing down.]
Jaehaerys II: (tired) Very well. We'll delay the announcement. But when the time comes—
Rhaella: (softly) We'll do our duty.
[Silence settles. Outside, the distant sounds of the city carry on—unaware, uncaring of the dragons' fragile legacy.]