[(The Great Hall of the Red Keep is awash with flickering torchlight, the Iron Throne looming at the far end like a silent witness. The air hums with the scent of winter roses and melted beeswax as nobles in their finest silks crowd the space. At the center of the hall, Prince Aegon stands resplendent in black-and-red velvets, his silver hair tied back with a simple leather cord. Across from him, Princess Rhaella seems to glow in ivory samite embroidered with delicate silver dragons, her hands trembling slightly as she clutches a bouquet of blue winter roses. Between them, five-year-old Alyssa scatters flower petals with solemn Northern precision while Rhaegar clutches the wedding bands on a velvet pillow like they're dragon eggs.)
High Septon: (raising his crystal crown) We gather beneath the eyes of gods and men to join these two souls—
King Jaehaerys II: (suddenly coughing violently from his elevated throne, his skeletal frame shaking)
Queen Shaera: (whispering fiercely as she supports him) Breathe, my love. Just a little longer.
(The gathered nobles shift uncomfortably. Aegon's jaw tightens as he watches his father struggle, but Rhaella subtly shakes her head - a silent plea to continue.)
High Septon: (clearing throat) ...in holy matrimony. Who gives this woman?
King Jaehaerys II: (rasping with sudden strength) Her king does. And her father. (coughs) Though the gods know she gives herself freely today.
(Rhaella's eyes glisten as she meets her father's gaze. Alyssa, confused by the pause, dumps her entire basket of petals at once with a decisive nod.)
Prince Rhaegar: (stage whispering to Alyssa) You're supposed to do it slowly!
Princess Alyssa: (crossing arms) Flowers are for throwing. Like snowballs.
(A ripple of laughter eases the tension. The High Septon hurriedly continues.)
High Septon: Prince Aegon, do you take—
Prince Aegon: (interrupting) I do. Now and always. (reaches for Rhaella's hands) By choice, not command.
(The hall falls utterly silent. Even the king's labored breathing seems to still. Rhaella's tears spill over as she clutches Aegon's fingers.)
Princess Rhaella: (voice breaking) And I by love, not duty.
(Behind them, Queen Shaera presses a hand to her mouth. King Jaehaerys slumps back in his throne, his exhausted face breaking into a smile.)
High Septon: (flustered) Well then! I suppose... (fumbling with the rings) The rings! Child, the rings!
(Rhaegar startles, nearly dropping the pillow before recovering with princely dignity. He presents the bands - one Valyrian steel, the other Stark-forged iron.)
Prince Aegon: (sliding the iron ring onto Rhaella's finger) For the wife I chose. Not the one I was given.
Princess Rhaella: (placing the Valyrian steel band on Aegon's finger) For the king you'll be. Not just the prince you were.
(A collective gasp rises as the metal bands click into place. The High Septon barely has time to raise his hands in blessing before the doors burst open.)
Tywin Lannister: (striding in, golden hair gleaming) Your Grace! Urgent news from—
King Jaehaerys II: (suddenly standing, voice thunderous) Not. Now.
(The sheer force of the dying king's command sends Tywin to one knee. The hall holds its breath as Jaehaerys slowly sinks back onto the Iron Throne, spent.)
King Jaehaerys II: (softly, to Aegon) Finish it, son.
Prince Aegon: (without hesitation) With this kiss, I pledge my love. (leans in) And my protection. Always.
(Their lips meet as the assembled nobles erupt into cheers. Outside, the bells of King's Landing begin to peal - not the somber tones of mourning, but the joyous carillon of new beginnings. Scene fades on King Jaehaerys' contented sigh, his gnarled hand finding Shaera's as their children's cloaks - one black-and-red, the other grey-and-white - swirl together in the candlelit air.)
[(The Small Council chamber is thick with tension, the morning light filtering through narrow windows to illuminate swirling dust motes above the war table. King Jaehaerys II sits propped in his high-backed chair, his breathing labored but his gaze sharp. To his right, Prince Aegon stands with both hands planted on the table, studying the map of the Stepstones. Around them, the council members shift uneasily—Hand of the King Edgar Sloane with his perpetual frown, Commander of the Kingsguard Gwayne Hightower's white cloak pristine, and Grand Maester Pycelle clutching a scroll like a lifeline. The door bursts open, and Ser Barristan Selmy strides in, still in his riding leathers.)
King Jaehaerys II: (rasping) Report.
Ser Barristan: (bowing) Your Grace, the rumors are true. Maelys Blackfyre has taken Bloodstone. He's rallied sellswords, pirates, and exiles—near five thousand strong.
Edgar Sloane: (grimacing) The Band of Nine backs him. That's no ragtag rebellion—it's a damned invasion force.
Prince Aegon: (tracing the map) And if they secure the Stepstones, they'll choke our trade routes and raid the Stormlands within months.
Gwayne Hightower: (hand on sword) We should strike now. Before they dig in.
Grand Maester Pycelle: (clearing throat) Your Grace, the treasury cannot sustain another prolonged campaign so soon after rebuilding Summerhall—
King Jaehaerys II: (cutting him off with a raised hand) The Blackfyres don't negotiate. They don't retreat. (coughs wetly) My father crushed the last of them at Whitewalls. I'll not leave this snake to my son.
(All eyes turn to Prince Aegon, who meets his father's gaze steadily.)
Prince Aegon: Then let me lead the host.
King Jaehaerys II: (shaking head) You're Regent. Your place is here. (nods to Barristan) Ser Barristan will command the royal army.
Ser Barristan: (bowing) I'll need two thousand men. Knights of the Reach, Dornish spears, and archers from the Stormlands.
Edgar Sloane: (scoffing) The Dornish won't march under a Reachman's banner.
Prince Aegon: (coolly) Then they'll march under mine. (to Barristan) Take my personal standard. The Blackfyres want Targaryen blood? Let them see a dragon's wrath.
(A heavy silence falls. King Jaehaerys exhales slowly, leaning back in his chair.)
King Jaehaerys II: (to Barristan) Crush him. No parley. No prisoners. Let the Ninepenny Kings learn what happens when they wake the dragon.
Ser Barristan: (hand over heart) By your command.
(As the council disperses, Prince Aegon lingers, staring at the map. His father's voice, weaker now, rasps behind him.)
King Jaehaerys II: This is the last one, Aegon. End their line.
Prince Aegon: (without turning) Fire and blood.
[Scene fades on the war table, where a single black dragon piece—discarded years ago—lies toppled near the Stepstones, its shadow stretching long across the map of Westeros.]
[(The Small Council chamber is quiet now, the war plans for the Stepstones campaign neatly rolled and sealed. King Jaehaerys II remains seated at the head of the table, his frail frame slumped in exhaustion. Prince Aegon stands by the window, watching the first stars appear over Blackwater Bay. The door creaks open, revealing Queen Shaera and Princess Rhaella, their faces illuminated by the flickering candlelight. Shaera carries a tray of steaming tea, while Rhaella holds a folded blanket.)
Queen Shaera: (softly) You missed supper. Again.
King Jaehaerys II: (smiling weakly) My love, I've been busy ensuring our dynasty doesn't collapse.
Princess Rhaella: (draping the blanket over her father's shoulders) And you'll collapse first if you keep this up.
(Aegon turns from the window, his expression softening at the sight of Rhaella. She meets his gaze briefly before fussing with the blanket's edges.)
King Jaehaerys II: (sighing) The council is gone. We can speak plainly. (eyes darting between Aegon and Rhaella) The realm needs heirs.
Prince Aegon: (firm) The realm has an heir. Rhaegar.
Queen Shaera: (gently) Aegon…
Prince Aegon: (shaking his head) No. I won't pressure Rhaella. Not after everything.
(Rhaella's hands still, her fingers tightening around the blanket. The memory of Summerhall—the smoke, the screams, the blood—hangs unspoken between them.)
King Jaehaerys II: (leaning forward) The bloodline must continue. You know this.
Princess Rhaella: (quietly) I know.
(Aegon crosses the room in three strides, taking Rhaella's hand. She doesn't pull away, but her grip is tense.)
Prince Aegon: (to his father) It will continue. But on our terms. Not because the council demands it. Not because tradition demands it. (to Rhaella, softer) And not until you're ready.
(Rhaella exhales, some of the tension leaving her shoulders. Shaera watches them with a bittersweet smile, remembering her own youthful defiance.)
Queen Shaera: (to Jaehaerys) They sound familiar, don't they?
King Jaehaerys II: (grunting) Stubborn as dragons, the lot of you.
Princess Rhaella: (smirking) You raised us to be.
(The king sighs, defeated. He reaches for Shaera's hand, his own trembling slightly.)
King Jaehaerys II: Very well. But don't wait too long. I'd like to meet my grandchildren before the Stranger comes knocking.
Prince Aegon: (dry) That's the most optimistic thing you've said all day.
(Rhaella laughs softly, the sound like a balm to the room's lingering tension. Outside, the stars burn brighter over King's Landing—silent witnesses to a dynasty's quiet defiance. Scene fades on the four of them, bathed in candlelight, as the first night breeze carries the scent of salt and smoke through the open window.)
[(The palace courtyard is bathed in golden afternoon light, the scent of blooming roses mingling with salt from the nearby sea. Prince Aegon and Princess Rhaella sit on a marble bench beneath the shade of a great oak tree, their fingers loosely intertwined. The distant laughter of Rhaegar and Alyssa echoes from the gardens where their maids watch over them. Aegon traces idle circles on Rhaella's palm with his thumb, his expression thoughtful.)
Princess Rhaella: (softly) You've been quiet all morning.
Prince Aegon: (sighing) Just thinking about the future.
Princess Rhaella: (raising an eyebrow) Our future? Or the realm's?
Prince Aegon: (smirking) Is there a difference?
(She swats his arm lightly, but her smile fades as she follows his gaze toward the eastern horizon—where Storm's End and the rebuilt Summerhall lie.)
Princess Rhaella: You're worrying about titles again.
Prince Aegon: (leaning back) It's not just titles. It's… what comes after. When I'm king. When Rhaegar is Prince of Dragonstone. When our son—
Princess Rhaella: (gently interrupting) If we have a son.
Prince Aegon: (nodding) If. But if we do, he'll be Prince of Summerhall. The spare. (grimacing) It's not a small thing, Rhaella. I know what it's like to grow up as the second son.
(She studies him for a long moment, then squeezes his hand.)
Princess Rhaella: You turned out well enough.
Prince Aegon: (snorting) Barely.
Princess Rhaella: (sobering) Aegon… are you sure about this? About Rhaegar?
(He doesn't answer immediately. The wind rustles the oak leaves above them, casting dappled shadows across their faces.)
Prince Aegon: (finally) I made a promise. To myself. To Aerys' memory. (meeting her eyes) And to you.
Princess Rhaella: (softly) I know. But promises can be heavy.
Prince Aegon: (smiling faintly) So are crowns.
(A comfortable silence settles between them. From the gardens, Rhaegar's voice rings out—"Alyssa, no, that's not how you hold a sword!"—followed by the girl's indignant retort. Rhaella laughs, shaking her head.)
Princess Rhaella: Gods help us. Our children will either save this dynasty or burn it to the ground.
Prince Aegon: (grinning) Hopefully both.
(She rolls her eyes, but leans into his shoulder. The sun dips lower, painting the Red Keep's towers in hues of red and gold—colors of their house, colors of their future. Scene fades on the two of them, side by side, as the first evening star glimmers above King's Landing—silent witness to vows made and destinies yet unwritten.)