Chapter 37:

[(Dragonstone Palace Courtyard, late 281 AC. The salty breeze carries the scent of the sea as Prince Daemon Targaryen steps onto the stone pathway, his newly hatched dragon, Smaug, perched on his shoulder. Queen Rhaella, holding the infant Princess Daenerys, stands beside Prince Viserys, while Princess Elia Martell watches with Princess Rhaenys and newborn Prince Aegon VII. The air is thick with unspoken tension.)]

Daemon: (grinning) Mother! Viserys! Little Dany's grown since I last saw her. And Elia—Rhaenys, you've gotten taller.

Rhaella: (softly) Daemon. You've been gone too long.

Viserys: (excited) Is that your dragon? Can I hold him?

Daemon: (laughs) Careful, Viserys. Smaug's still learning manners.

Elia: (quietly) You didn't come just to show off your dragon, did you?

Daemon: (sobers) No. Father sent me. There's news.

Rhaella: (tense) About Rhaegar?

Daemon: (nods) And Robert. They're both dead.

Elia: (stiffens) I knew. I felt it. But hearing it...

Rhaenys: (confused) Mama? Where's Papa?

Elia: (gently) He's gone, sweetling.

Rhaella: (eyes wet) And the war?

Daemon: (firm) Over. Father's settled it. Robert's allies keep half their profits—except the Starks. Jon Arryn and Hoster Tully lost their titles. Their brothers rule now.

Viserys: (frowning) Why not the Starks?

Daemon: (shrugs) Father said they had just cause.

Elia: (bitter) And Rhaegar's supporters?

Daemon: (hesitates) A thirty-fifty split.

Elia: (sharp) Punishment for following their prince.

Daemon: (sighs) It's done, Elia. Father's trying to keep the realm together.

Rhaella: (soft) What else?

Daemon: (straightens) Daeron's been named Prince of Dragonstone. Heir to the throne.

Elia: (stunned) What? Aegon is Rhaegar's trueborn son—

Daemon: (cuts in) Father's decision. Rhaegar was heir because of Summerhall. Now it goes by blood.

Rhaella: (quiet) And you?

Daemon: (smirks) Prince of Summerhall. Shared rights over the Merchant Guild with Alyssa.

Viserys: (grinning) Does that mean you're rich now?

Daemon: (laughs) Richer.

Elia: (cold) And my children? What future do they have?

Daemon: (gentler) Father wants to mend ties with Dorne. He's proposed a betrothal—Rhaenys to Baelon.

Elia: (shocked) My daughter? To Daeron's son?

Daemon: (nods) An alliance. To heal the rift.

Rhaella: (careful) It's a good match, Elia.

Elia: (bitter) Is it? Or just another move in the game?

Daemon: (firm) Father also asked me to give you a choice. You and the children can stay with House Targaryen... or return to Dorne.

Elia: (quiet) He's giving me a choice?

Daemon: (nods) He is.

Rhaella: (pleading) Stay, Elia. The children are Targaryens. This is their home.

Elia: (looks at Rhaenys and Aegon) ...I need time.

Daemon: (soft) Take it.

Viserys: (suddenly) Does this mean we get more dragons?

Daemon: (grinning) Maybe. If you behave.

Rhaella: (exhales) Come inside. All of you. We have much to discuss.

[(The group moves toward the palace, the weight of the future heavy in the air, while Smaug chirps curiously from Daemon's shoulder.)]

[(King's Landing Palace Courtyard, late 281 AC. The morning sun casts long shadows as King Aegon VI stands beside his daughter, Princess Alyssa Targaryen. Their dragons, Fenrir and the young Meraxes, circle each other playfully in the sky above. Nearby, servants carefully prepare Robert Baratheon's body for its final journey to Storm's End. The mood is somber, yet laced with unspoken tension.)]

Aegon VI: (watching the dragons) They grow stronger every day.

Alyssa: (smirking) Meraxes already tries to steal Fenrir's meals.

Aegon VI: (chuckles) Just like her rider.

Alyssa: (sobering) Father… about Storm's End.

Aegon VI: (sighs) Yes. Robert's death changes things.

Alyssa: (crossing arms) Stannis is now heir. And by law, I'd become Lady of Storm's End if he inherits.

Aegon VI: (nodding) A position you never expected.

Alyssa: (dry) Neither did Stannis. He spent his life preparing to be the spare. Now he'll have to rule.

Aegon VI: (thoughtful) And you?

Alyssa: (shrugs) I've managed the CMG for years. A castle full of stormlords won't scare me.

Aegon VI: (raising a brow) Even if they resent you for being a Targaryen?

Alyssa: (grinning) Let them try. I've dealt with merchants, pirates, and Daemon's ego. A few grumbling lords won't break me.

Aegon VI: (smirking) Fair point.

Alyssa: (turning serious) But Robert…

Aegon VI: (quiet) You're taking him home.

Alyssa: (nodding) He was still family. Even if he tried to tear ours apart.

Aegon VI: (soft) You don't have to do this. I could send—

Alyssa: (firm) No. It should be me. Stannis won't show the right… warmth. And Renly's too young.

Aegon VI: (studying her) You're doing this for Steffon, aren't you?

Alyssa: (sighs) He lost a son. The least I can do is bring Robert's body back with honor.

Aegon VI: (proud) You've always had your mother's heart.

Alyssa: (smirking) And your stubbornness.

Aegon VI: (laughs) True.

[(A brief silence falls as they watch the servants secure Robert's coffin onto a wheelhouse. Meraxes lands nearby, chirping at Fenrir, who huffs in response.)]

Alyssa: (suddenly) What if the stormlords refuse to accept me?

Aegon VI: (calm) Then remind them you're a dragon.

Alyssa: (raising a brow) Metaphorically?

Aegon VI: (deadpan) Or literally. Your choice.

Alyssa: (laughing) I'll keep that in mind.

Aegon VI: (serious again) And the CMG?

Alyssa: (confident) Daemon and I won't let it fall apart. Even if he's insufferable.

Aegon VI: (grinning) Good. Because if he slacks off, you have my permission to set Meraxes on him.

Alyssa: (mock gasp) Father! Encouraging sibling violence?

Aegon VI: (shrugging) It builds character.

[(They share a laugh before a servant approaches, bowing deeply.)]

Servant: (nervous) Your Grace, Princess… the preparations are complete.

Alyssa: (nodding) Then I'll leave at once.

Aegon VI: (placing a hand on her shoulder) Be safe. And remember—

Alyssa: (smirking) "I'm a Targaryen."

Aegon VI: (grinning) Exactly.

[(Alyssa mounts her horse, giving her father one last nod before riding out of the courtyard, Meraxes soaring overhead. Aegon watches her go, his expression a mix of pride and quiet worry.)]

Aegon VI: (muttering) Gods help the stormlords.

[(Fenrir lets out a low rumble, as if in agreement.)]

[(Sunspear Palace Courtyard, Dorne – late 281 AC. The scorching Dornish sun beats down as Ser Arthur Dayne, still in his battered Kingsguard armor, dismounts his horse. Prince Doran Martell sits beneath a shaded pavilion, his expression unreadable, while Prince Oberyn paces nearby like a caged sand panther. The air is thick with tension as the two Martell princes await news from the war.)]

Oberyn: (impatient) Finally. We've been waiting for word for days, Arthur.

Arthur: (exhausted) My apologies, Prince Oberyn. The roads were… complicated.

Doran: (calm but sharp) And the battle?

Arthur: (grim) Rhaegar is dead.

Oberyn: (freezing) What?

Doran: (closing his eyes briefly) And Robert?

Arthur: (flat) Also dead.

Oberyn: (snarling) So they both died, and what? The war just ends?

Arthur: (nodding) King Aegon has declared it over. Terms have been set.

Doran: (leaning forward) What terms?

Arthur: (steady) Dorne, like all of Rhaegar's allies, will receive a thirty-to-fifty split of profits with the Crown.

Oberyn: (laughing bitterly) Thirty percent? After we bled for Rhaegar?

Arthur: (firm) Robert's faction got fifty, but they lost their leaders—Jon Arryn and Hoster Tully are stripped of their titles.

Doran: (calculating) And House Stark?

Arthur: (hesitating) They were exempt. The king deemed they had "just cause."

Oberyn: (mocking) Ah, yes. Because Lyanna Stark's honor was worth more than Elia's life.

Doran: (raising a hand) Oberyn.

Arthur: (tense) Lyanna is confined to the North with her son. She'll play no further part in politics.

Oberyn: (scoffs) A comfort to Elia, I'm sure.

Doran: (ignoring him) And Aegon? Rhaenys?

Arthur: (exhaling) Prince Aegon was not named heir. The title of Prince of Dragonstone passes to Prince Daeron, King Aegon's eldest trueborn son.

Oberyn: (exploding) That's an insult!

Doran: (sharp) Oberyn.

Arthur: (quickly) The king offers an alliance to mend ties. Princess Rhaenys is to be betrothed to Prince Baelon, Daeron's eldest son.

Oberyn: (furious) So they steal Aegon's birthright and offer us a marriage as consolation?

Doran: (coldly thoughtful) It's a political move. Binding Rhaenys to the new heir's line secures her future.

Oberyn: (mocking) How generous of them.

Arthur: (firm) King Aegon also extends an invitation—Princess Elia may remain in King's Landing with her children, or return to Dorne. The choice is hers.

Doran: (quiet) She'll want to come home.

Oberyn: (bitter) After everything? Of course she will.

Doran: (to Arthur) And you? Will you return to the Kingsguard?

Arthur: (weary) My oath remains. But if Elia returns to Dorne… I would ask leave to escort her.

Oberyn: (grudgingly) At least someone remembers their loyalty.

Doran: (nodding) You have our thanks, Ser Arthur.

[(A tense silence falls. The distant sound of the Water Gardens' fountains fills the air as Doran's fingers tap slowly against his chair.)]

Oberyn: (muttering) This isn't over.

Doran: (soft but firm) No. But for now, we adapt.

Arthur: (hesitant) There's one more thing.

Oberyn: (dry) Of course there is.

Arthur: (ignoring him) The king… he knows this is unjust. He asks for time.

Doran: (icy smile) Time changes little, Ser Arthur. But we are nothing if not patient.

[(Oberyn storms off, his cloak whipping behind him, while Doran's gaze lingers on the horizon—calculating, silent. Arthur exhales, knowing the game is far from over.)]

[(King's Landing Palace Common Room, late 281 AC. The hearth crackles warmly as Prince Daemon lounges on a cushioned seat, his dragon Smaug curled around his shoulders like a scaly scarf. Queen Rhaella rocks baby Daenerys gently, while Viserys eagerly watches the dragons—Smaug, Viserion, and little Rhaegal—chirp and nudge each other near the fireplace. Princess Elia sits quietly with Rhaenys in her lap, her newborn son Aegon VII sleeping in a nearby cradle. The mood is somber but softened by the presence of the dragons.)]

Viserys: (excited) Look! Viserion likes Smaug!

Daemon: (grinning) Of course he does. Who wouldn't?

Smaug: (puffs smoke smugly)

Rhaenys: (giggling) Rhaegal's shy!

Elia: (soft smile) Just like his namesake.

Rhaella: (gently) They'll grow bolder in time.

Daemon: (stretching) They'd better. Dragons shouldn't be timid.

Viserys: (pouting) Viserion isn't timid! He's strategic.

Daemon: (laughs) Is that what we're calling it now?

Elia: (quietly) Daemon… about Rhaegar.

[The room sobers instantly. Even the dragons seem to hush.]

Daemon: (sighs) His body arrived this morning. The Silent Sisters have prepared him. The funeral will be in two days.

Rhaella: (closing her eyes briefly) He should rest beside his father.

Daemon: (nodding) Father's already arranged it. The pyre will be lit at dusk.

Rhaenys: (tugging Elia's sleeve) Mama… will Papa be with Grandpapa Aerys now?

Elia: (voice tight) Yes, sweetling.

Viserys: (frowning) Will there be dragons at the funeral?

Daemon: (smirking) Obviously. What's a Targaryen funeral without a few flames?

Rhaella: (chiding) Daemon.

Daemon: (holding up hands) Too soon?

Elia: (dry) Just a bit.

Daemon: (sheepish) Right. Sorry.

[(A brief silence falls. Rhaegal, Daenerys' dragon, flutters over to the cradle, peering curiously at baby Aegon VII.)]

Rhaenys: (whispering) He likes Egg!

Daemon: (grinning) Smart dragon. Knows future royalty when he sees it.

Elia: (raising a brow) Future royalty?

Daemon: (realizing his slip) Uh. I mean—

Rhaella: (smoothly) He means Aegon will always have a place in this family.

Daemon: (quickly) Right. That.

Elia: (studying him) Mhm.

[(Viserion suddenly sneezes a tiny flame, startling everyone. Viserys bursts into laughter.)]

Viserys: (delighted) Did you see that?!

Daemon: (grinning) Now that's a proper dragon.

Rhaella: (fondly exasperated) Boys.

Elia: (shaking her head) I see Daeron isn't the only one inheriting chaos.

Daemon: (mock-offended) Excuse me. I am refined chaos.

Rhaenys: (giggling) You're silly, Uncle Daemon.

Daemon: (gasps) Betrayed by my own niece!

[(The mood lightens slightly, laughter pushing back the grief—if only for a moment.)]

Daemon: (sobering) Elia… Father said your decision can wait until after the funeral. No one will rush you.

Elia: (softly) Thank you.

Rhaella: (gentle) We're family. Whatever you choose, we'll respect it.

Elia: (nodding) I know.

[(Smaug, sensing the shift, crawls onto Daemon's head, making Rhaenys giggle again. Even Elia smiles slightly as the dragons' antics fill the silence. Outside, the sun begins to set, casting long shadows—but for now, in this room, there is warmth.)]

Viserys: (suddenly) Can I ride Viserion at the funeral?

Daemon: (snorts) Absolutely not.

Rhaella: (simultaneously) No.

Viserys: (grumbling) Worth a try.

[(The dragons chirp in agreement as the family settles into a rare, fleeting moment of peace.)]