[(The King's Landing common room is bathed in the warm glow of the afternoon sun as servants bustle about, preparing for the return of Prince Daeron and Princess Elia. King Aegon VI sits by the hearth, absently stroking the head of his aging dragon, Fenrir, while Queen Rhaella reviews a letter from Storm's End, her expression softening as she reads.)]
Queen Rhaella: (smiling) "Alyssa writes again. Little Shirleen has her father's frown but her mother's stubbornness. She says the babe already glares at the maester when he checks her."
King Aegon VI: (chuckling) "A true Baratheon, then. Though I suppose we should be grateful she didn't inherit Stannis' charm along with his scowl."
Rhaella: (shaking her head) "Nine grandchildren now, and not a single one with a dragon. You'd think the gods were playing a jape on us."
Aegon: (raising a brow) "You say that as if it's a bad thing. The last thing we need is another generation of children setting fire to the Red Keep before they can walk."
Rhaella: (dryly) "Says the man who let our children hatch dragons before they could ride horses."
(Aegon opens his mouth to retort when the door swings open, revealing a harried-looking steward.)
Steward: (bowing) "Your Graces, Prince Daeron's dragon has been sighted approaching the city. They should land within the hour."
Rhaella: (standing smoothly) "Good. Let's hope they've returned with fewer headaches than they left with."
Aegon: (grunting as he rises) "Unlikely. Between Lyanna Stark in the Iron Islands, Hoster Tully's endless sulking, and whatever Olenna Tyrell whispered in Elia's ear, I'd wager they've brought back a whole new set of problems."
Rhaella: (smoothing her skirts) "At least they didn't start a war. That's an improvement over the last royal tour."
Aegon: (deadpan) "Give them time. Daeron hasn't even dismounted yet."
(Rhaella shoots him a look, but there's fondness in it. She picks up a small wooden toy—a carved stag—from the table, turning it over in her hands.)
Rhaella: "Do you think Alyssa will bring Shirleen to court soon? It's been too long since we've had a babe in these halls."
Aegon: (softening) "If Stannis can tear himself away from his ledgers long enough, perhaps. Though knowing him, he'll send the child with a dozen guards and a strictly itemized list of her naptimes."
Rhaella: (laughing) "Better than Cersei's approach. I still remember her handing Baelon to a wet nurse with instructions to 'not dull his wits with too much coddling.'"
Aegon: (snorting) "And now the boy reads histories for fun. Clearly, her plan failed spectacularly."
(A distant roar echoes through the open window—Drogon's arrival. The servants freeze mid-step, glancing nervously at the king.)
Aegon: (sighing) "Right on time. Let's go greet our prodigal son before he sets the Dragonpit aflame again."
Rhaella: (linking her arm with his) "Oh, come now. That was one time. And it was technically Daemon's fault."
Aegon: (muttering as they walk) "Somehow, all our children's disasters are 'technically' someone else's fault."
(As they step out into the courtyard, the shadow of Drogon's wings darkens the sky, and the distant cheers of the smallfolk rise like a wave. Rhaella squeezes Aegon's arm, her voice teasing.)
Rhaella: "Cheer up. At least this time, they're coming home with good news."
Aegon: (wry) "That would be a first."
[Scene fades as Drogon's landing sends a gust of wind through the courtyard, scattering petals and sending the royal banners snapping in the air.]
[(The Red Keep's courtyard bustles with activity as Drogon's massive form descends, scattering servants and sending a flurry of ash across the pristine stones. King Aegon VI and Queen Rhaella stand at the base of the steps, watching as Prince Daeron dismounts and helps Elia down from the carriage that followed the dragon's flight path. The royal couple looks weary but satisfied, their traveling cloaks dusted with the grime of half a year on the road.)]
King Aegon VI: (dryly) "Welcome back. I trust you didn't leave too many regions in flames?"
Prince Daeron: (brushing soot off his sleeve) "Only a few symbolic ones, Father. Mostly Hoster Tully's pride."
Queen Rhaella: (smirking) "So, business as usual then."
Elia Martell: (kissing Rhaella's cheek) "You'll be pleased to know the Riverlands are still standing. Though Jon Arryn's glares could melt stone."
Aegon: (grunting) "Good. The last thing we need is another rebellion because someone's feelings got hurt."
(A servant rushes forward with wine, which Daeron accepts gratefully.)
Daeron: (after a long sip) "Speaking of Arryns—Robert Arryn is on his way to Dragonstone. He'll squire for Ser Barristan, under the condition that his cousin Elbert remains unharmed in the Vale."
Rhaella: (raising a brow) "And Jon agreed to that?"
Daeron: (shrugging) "Not happily. But he knows it's the only way to ensure his line isn't completely cut out of power."
Aegon: (nodding) "Smart. Keep the boy close, but not too close. Let Jon stew in his own regrets for a while."
(Rhaella loops her arm through Elia's, steering her toward the palace as the men follow.)
Rhaella: (quietly) "And Aegon? How is he settling into Drawncrest?"
Elia: (softening) "Better than expected. Arthur writes that he's taken to lordship like a duck to water—though he's already arguing about irrigation rights with the Rosby farmers."
Rhaella: (laughing) "Gods help us, he does take after his father."
Daeron: (overhearing, deadpan) "Let's hope that's the only trait he inherited."
Aegon: (ignoring that) "And Daemon? Has he stopped sulking about losing Stokeworth yet?"
Daeron: (snorting) "Not even slightly. He sent Aegon a 'housewarming gift'—a crate of rotten turnips with a note that read, 'Enjoy your new lands.'"
Rhaella: (sighing) "Why must all my children have the maturity of squabbling seagulls?"
Aegon: (grinning) "Because they take after your side of the family."
(Rhaella swats his arm as they enter the throne room, where the Small Council is already waiting—minus Tywin, who's still in the West.)
Daeron: (lowering his voice) "Speaking of family—any news from Casterly Rock? I half expected Tywin to have already declared Maekar Lord Paramount in my absence."
Aegon: (shaking his head) "Not yet. Though he has started referring to him as 'the future of the West' in court. Subtlety was never his strong suit."
Elia: (muttering) "Neither was patience."
(The doors swing open, and a page announces the arrival of the Master of Whispers. The group exchanges glances—because if he's here, the real conversation is about to begin.!Scene fades as the political maneuvering resumes, the game of thrones never truly pausing—even for homecomings)
[(The King's Landing common room is dimly lit by flickering hearthlight as King Aegon VI, Queen Rhaella, Prince Daeron, and Princess Elia sit in heavy silence. Varys glides in like a shadow, his usual perfumed smile absent. The weight of his news hangs in the air before he even speaks.)]
Varys: (bowing slightly) "Your Graces, my little birds sing troubling songs from beyond the Wall. The pale folk grow bolder - entire hunting parties vanished near the Gorge, wildling villages found empty with only... frost patterns left behind."
Queen Rhaella: (tightening her shawl) "Frost patterns? You mean like-"
Prince Daeron: "Like the legends say. The markings of the Others." (he taps Drogon's hilt at his belt) "We should send dragons north now before-"
King Aegon VI: (holding up a hand) "And have every lord from Dorne to the Vale think we've gone mad? No. We move quietly." (turns to Varys) "Double the obsidian shipments to Eastwatch under guise of Night's Watch supplies. Have your agents spread rumors of wildling raids to explain the disappearances."
Elia Martell: (leaning forward) "And when these 'rumors' start leaving human-shaped ice sculptures behind?"
Varys: (softly) "By then, Princess, even Lord Tywin will see the frost gathering on his wine goblet and know it's no summer chill."
(A tense silence falls. The fire pops loudly.)
Daeron: (grinding his teeth) "Father, we have dragons. Why are we tiptoeing around-"
Aegon VI: (slamming his fist on the table) "Because last I checked, son, dragons didn't stop the Long Night the first time! The Wall did! And the Wall needs men who believe to defend it!" (composes himself) "We prepare. We watch. And when the time comes..."
Rhaella: (finishing quietly) "...we light the biggest fire the North has ever seen."
(Varys bows and slips out as silently as he entered. The royal family sits in the growing dark, listening to the wind howl outside - or perhaps it's something far colder, calling from much farther north. Scene fades on the dying firelight, shadows stretching like long winter nights across the floor)
[(The morning mist clings to the Red Keep's courtyard as servants load the last of the supplies onto the waiting ship bound for Dragonstone. King Aegon VI stands with Queen Rhaella, watching as Prince Daeron checks Drogon's saddle straps one final time. Elia Martell supervises the loading of several mysterious crates marked "Night's Watch Supplies." The mood is tense despite the clear skies.)]
Queen Rhaella: (adjusting Daeron's cloak) "You'll write weekly. And don't let Baelon neglect his Valyrian steel drills."
Prince Daeron: (smirking) "Mother, he's twelve. I think he can handle swinging a sword without cutting his own foot off."
King Aegon VI: (grunting) "Says the man who set his own sleeve on fire during his first dragon ride."
Elia Martell: (carrying a small chest) "In his defense, Drogon was barely larger than a dog then. And far less house-trained."
(The jest falls flat as Varys materializes from the shadows, making even the nearby guards jump.)
Varys: (whispering) "Another message from the Shadow Tower. Three rangers failed to return from patrol. Their torches were found... still burning. In the snow."
(A heavy silence falls. Nearby, a servant drops a crate with a loud clang, revealing dragonglass arrowheads.)
Daeron: (lowering his voice) "We should double the obsidian shipments. And maybe 'accidentally' lose a dragon near Eastwatch-"
Aegon VI: (cutting in) "No. Not yet. The realm isn't ready to believe in bedtime stories, even when they come knocking with ice swords."
Rhaella: (fretting with her rings) "Perhaps we could host a 'hunting trip' beyond the Wall? Some of the Northern lords might-"
Elia: (dryly) "Convince the Umbers that winter demons are real? They'd probably try to wrestle them for sport."
(A nervous chuckle ripples through the group before fading.)
Varys: (sighing) "The Wall has stood for eight thousand years. Let us hope it stands a while longer... at least until the Lords stop calling White Walkers 'Northern weather quirks.'"
Daeron: (mounting up) "Well, if the Others do come knocking, at least we'll finally get to say 'we told you so' before being turned into ice sculptures."
Aegon VI: (deadpan) "Comforting."
Rhaella: (suddenly pulling Daeron into a fierce hug) "Just... be careful. And burn any suspicious snowmen."
(As Drogon's wings send petals swirling through the courtyard, the royal family watches them depart - the weight of unspoken fears hanging heavier than any crown. Scene fades on the distant shadow of dragon wings, the words 'winter is coming' suddenly feeling less like a motto and more like a warning)