Chapter 38:

[(King's Landing Palace Iron Throne Room, late 281 AC. The cavernous hall echoes with quiet tension as King Aegon VI sits upon the Iron Throne, his newly appointed heir Prince Daeron standing at attention before him. The faint scent of torch smoke lingers in the air as courtiers whisper in the shadows, giving the royal pair space to speak privately.)]

Daeron: (straight-backed) The funeral arrangements are nearly complete, Father. Rhaegar will be honored as befits a Prince of Dragonstone.

Aegon VI: (nodding slowly) Good. And the lords? How do they receive the new order?

Daeron: (measured) The Lannisters accept the succession, though Lord Tywin's silence speaks volumes. The Stormlords grumble but follow Stannis. The North... remains distant.

Aegon VI: (rubbing temple) And Dorne?

Daeron: (grimacing) Prince Doran acknowledges the betrothal between Rhaenys and Baelon, but Oberyn's absence from court speaks clearly enough.

Aegon VI: (sighing) We cannot undo what's done. The profit splits will stand - thirty percent for Rhaegar's allies, fifty for Robert's. The realm must heal.

Daeron: (leaning forward) Yet House Stark walks away unscathed while Dorne suffers. That rankles, Father.

Aegon VI: (sharp) Lyanna Stark is confined to the North with her bastard. That is punishment enough. Would you rather we executed her and made the boy a martyr?

Daeron: (clenching jaw) No. But the disparity in treatment-

Aegon VI: (interrupting) -is necessary. The North followed Robert for honor, not ambition. Jon Arryn and Hoster Tully schemed for power - hence their replacements.

Daeron: (nodding reluctantly) As you say. Still, rebuilding trust with Dorne will take years.

Aegon VI: (gesturing to scrolls) Hence the betrothal. Hence returning Elia's choice of residence to her. Small steps, Daeron. You'll learn that ruling is often about patience.

Daeron: (glancing at throne) Speaking of ruling... have you reconsidered Rhaegar's son? Aegon is his trueborn heir by blood-

Aegon VI: (firm) And you are mine. The succession follows the king's line, not the heir's. This was always the law before Summerhall.

Daeron: (hesitant) Yet you kept Rhaegar as heir even after Viserys was born. For twenty years.

Aegon VI: (wearily) A promise made in grief. One that nearly tore the realm apart. I won't repeat that mistake.

[(A tense silence falls. Distantly, the clank of armor echoes as Gold Cloaks change shifts.)]

Daeron: (changing subject) The Merchant Guild reports are promising. With Alyssa and Daemon's management, trade revenues may offset the war losses within two years.

Aegon VI: (approving) Your brother may be reckless, but he's clever with numbers. And Alyssa has her mother's head for business.

Daeron: (smirking slightly) She's already threatening to set Meraxes on him if he slacks.

Aegon VI: (chuckling) Good. Keep them both occupied. The last thing we need is Daemon getting restless.

Daeron: (serious again) There's another matter. The smallfolk whisper of White Walkers beyond the Wall.

Aegon VI: (waving hand) Superstitions. Though... (thoughtful) I've ordered Maester Pycelle to research dragonglass, just in case.

Daeron: (raising brow) You don't actually believe-

Aegon VI: (cutting off) I believe in being thorough. After the dragons returned, who's to say what else might?

[(The great doors creak open as a steward approaches nervously.)]

Steward: (bowing) Your Grace, Prince Daeron. The Silent Sisters request final approval for Prince Rhaegar's funerary robes.

Aegon VI: (standing) We'll come. (To Daeron) Walk with me.

[(As they descend the throne's steps, Daemon bursts in, Smaug flapping excitedly around his shoulders.)]

Daemon: (grinning) There you are! Viserys is trying to convince the cooks to roast an entire ox for the funeral feast. Should I stop him?

Aegon VI: (sighing) Only if it's not properly seasoned.

Daeron: (dry) This is why you'll never sit the throne.

Daemon: (laughing) Thank the gods for that. Come on - Elia's waiting at the sept. And try to look mournful, brother. It is a funeral.

[(The three Targaryens walk together through the towering doors, the weight of crowns and consequences heavy upon them, as dragons circle the red towers above.)]

[(Storm's End Courtyard, late 281 AC. The crashing waves of Shipbreaker Bay provide a somber backdrop as Princess Alyssa's party arrives, Robert Baratheon's body carefully transported in a black-draped carriage. Lord Steffon Baratheon stands rigidly near the gates, his face carved from stormclouds, while Stannis waits at his side like a shadow given form. The salty wind whips at Alyssa's riding cloak as she dismounts, her dragon Meraxes circling high above.)]

Steffon: (voice gravel) "You brought him home."

Alyssa: (unbuckling her riding gloves) "Was there ever any doubt?"

Stannis: (eyeing the carriage) "We heard he died well."

Alyssa: (snorting) "If you call bashing Rhaegar's chest in before collapsing on his own warhammer 'dying well,' then yes. Very poetic."

[(Steffon's jaw tightens as stablehands take the horses. A squire nervously offers wine, which Stannis refuses with a curt wave.)]

Steffon: (to servants) "Prepare my son in the sept. Use the Baratheon cloak, not that rebel rag he died in."

Alyssa: (raising an eyebrow) "Careful, father-in-law. That 'rag' nearly won him a crown."

Stannis: (flat) "And cost him everything instead."

[(An uncomfortable silence falls. Meraxes lands on the battlements with a screech, scattering gulls.)]

Steffon: (rubbing temples) "The king's terms?"

Alyssa: (counting off fingers) "Fifty-fifty profit splits for Robert's allies—except the Starks. Jon Arryn's been replaced by his brother. Same for Hoster Tully."

Stannis: (sharp) "And us?"

Alyssa: (smirking) "You kept your titles by staying neutral. Though not stopping Robert didn't win you any favors."

Steffon: (growling) "I couldn't stop that bullheaded—" (catches himself) "He was my son."

Alyssa: (softer) "I know."

[(Stannis studies the carriage, his face unreadable.)]

Stannis: "Renly should be told."

Steffon: (waving hand) "The boy's six. What's there to tell? That his brother died for a stolen Northern girl?"

Alyssa: (dryly) "Maybe leave out that part for now."

[(A servant approaches with a sealed scroll.)]

Servant: (bowing) "My lord, raven from King's Landing. The king confirms Prince Daeron as heir."

Stannis: (taking scroll) "Bypassing Rhaegar's son. That will anger Dorne."

Alyssa: (shrugging) "Hence the betrothal—Rhaegar's daughter to Daeron's boy. Father's nothing if not thorough."

Steffon: (grunting) "Politics won't bring Robert back." (turns to leave) "Stannis—you'll oversee the vigil. As heir."

Stannis: (stiffly) "As you command."

[(Steffon stalks off toward the sept. Alyssa watches him go, then turns to her husband.)]

Alyssa: "You're taking this well."

Stannis: (deadpan) "I'm now heir to a castle I never wanted, because my brother was idiot enough to get himself killed over a woman who birthed another man's bastard. Thrilling."

Alyssa: (grinning) "Look at the bright side—you get to punish me by making me Lady of Storm's End."

Stannis: (almost smiling) "There is that." (sobers) "The smallfolk loved Robert. They won't love me."

Alyssa: (patting his arm) "Then we'll make them respect you instead. Starting with doubling port tariffs—Meraxes does love dramatic entrances during tax collections."

[(Meraxes screeches in agreement from above as they walk toward the castle, the crashing waves drowning out whatever dour reply Stannis might have made.)]

[(King's Landing Palace Courtyard, late 281 AC. The night air is thick with the scent of burning incense and dragon smoke as the royal family gathers around Prince Rhaegar's funeral pyre. King Aegon VI stands solemnly beside Queen Rhaella, their dragons Fenrir and Tiamat perched on opposite sides of the courtyard, their golden eyes reflecting the torchlight. The assembled Targaryens watch as the Silent Sisters finish draping Rhaegar's body in black-and-red silks. Princess Elia Martell clutches young Rhaenys to her side while holding baby Aegon VII, her face an unreadable mask. Nearby, Princess Cersei Lannister stands stiffly beside Prince Daeron, their sons Baelon and Maekar fidgeting in their formal attire. Prince Daemon bounces his infant son Aemon in his arms while Ashara Dayne watches the proceedings with solemn violet eyes. Little Viserys keeps glancing between the adults and the dragons, while newborn Daenerys sleeps peacefully in Rhaella's arms.)]

Aegon VI: (quietly to Daeron) Keep an eye on the Dornish viper and the lioness tonight.

Daeron: (murmuring back) Must I? I'd rather face another rebellion than mediate between those two.

Cersei: (noticing their whispers, sweetly venomous) Sharing secrets at a funeral, husband? How very... Targaryen of you.

Elia: (without looking up from Aegon VII) Some secrets are better left unspoken, Lady Lannister.

Cersei: (smile tightening) It's Princess Lannister now, Princess Martell.

Daemon: (loudly clearing throat) Shall we begin before the dragons decide to roast someone alive? I volunteer Viserys if we need a test subject.

Viserys: (indignant) Hey!

Rhaella: (sternly) Daemon.

Aegon VI: (raising his hand) Fenrir.

[(The massive black-and-silver dragon exhales a controlled stream of flame onto the pyre, immediately followed by Tiamat's golden fire. The combined blaze illuminates the courtyard in eerie, shifting colors as Rhaegar's body is consumed by dragonfire.)]

Rhaenys: (whispering to Elia) Will Papa fly with the dragons now?

Elia: (voice breaking slightly) Yes, sweetling. Just like his ancestors.

Cersei: (muttering to Daeron) Sentimental Dornish nonsense.

Daeron: (pinching bridge of nose) Wife. Not now.

Ashara: (softly to Daemon) Should we take Aemon inside? The smoke...

Daemon: (shaking head) He's a dragon. A little smoke won't hurt him. (grins) Might improve his temperament.

Rhaella: (rocking Daenerys) Look, little one. Your uncle becomes one with fire and blood.

[(Baby Daenerys blinks awake, her violet eyes reflecting the flames as if understanding. A sudden gust makes the fire roar higher.)]

Viserys: (excited) Did you see? The flames bowed to her!

Daeron: (skeptical) They're flames, Viserys. They don't bow.

Cersei: (smirking at Elia) Though some of us must learn to.

Elia: (coolly returning gaze) Some of us never do. Hence the need for... accommodations.

Aegon VI: (sharply) Enough.

[(An uncomfortable silence falls, broken only by the crackling flames. Baelon, Daeron's eldest, tugs at his father's sleeve.)]

Baelon: (loud whisper) Father, when you die, will I get to burn you?

Daeron: (horrified) What? No! I mean—

Daemon: (laughing) Seven hells, nephew! At least wait until the body's cold!

Maekar: (seriously) But Uncle Daemon, you told us burning is the greatest Targaryen honor!

Ashara: (giving Daemon a look) What exactly have you been teaching them?

Daemon: (innocently) Family history! With... creative interpretations.

Rhaella: (sighing) Boys.

[(The pyre begins to collapse in on itself, sending up a spiral of embers that dance with the stars. Fenrir and Tiamat let out echoing roars that shake the courtyard.)]

Aegon VI: (officially) Prince Rhaegar of House Targaryen has returned to the flames. May the Stranger guide him, and the Crone's wisdom light his—

Viserys: (interrupting) Look! Rhaegal's crying!

[(All turn to see Daenerys' tiny green dragon making distressed chirping sounds, tears like molten gold streaming from its eyes.)]

Elia: (softly) He knows.

Cersei: (muttering) Ridiculous sentimentality.

Daeron: (elbowing her) Wife.

Aegon VI: (watching the dragon tears hit the stones with tiny hisses) Perhaps... perhaps some bonds transcend even death.

[(The family stands in silence as the fire burns lower, the dragons' mournful calls blending with the distant crash of Blackwater Bay's waves. The stars seem to pulse overhead, as if bearing witness to this passing of an age.)]

[(King's Landing Palace Courtyard, late 281 AC. The embers of Rhaegar's funeral pyre still glow faintly in the night, casting flickering shadows across the silent courtyard. King Aegon VI stands near the ashes, his hands clasped behind his back, watching as Princess Elia Martell kneels to gather a handful of her late husband's remains into a silver urn. Princess Rhaenys clings to her mother's skirts, while newborn Prince Aegon VII sleeps peacefully in a sling across Elia's chest. The distant sounds of the castle fade into the background, leaving only the whisper of wind through the Red Keep's towers.)]

Aegon VI: (softly) "You don't have to do that yourself, Elia. The Silent Sisters—"

Elia: (not looking up) "No. It should be me."

[(She carefully sifts the ashes through her fingers before letting them trickle into the urn. Rhaenys watches with wide, solemn eyes.)]

Rhaenys: (whispering) "Is Papa really all gone?"

Elia: (pausing to stroke her daughter's hair) "Not all gone, sweetling. We'll take him home to Dorne. The wind there will carry him everywhere."

Aegon VI: (shifting uncomfortably) "Then... you've decided."

[(Elia finally rises, dusting her hands on her black mourning gown. When she meets the king's gaze, her dark eyes are resolute.)]

Elia: "I have. We're leaving for Sunspear within the fortnight."

Aegon VI: (sighing) "I'd hoped... but I understand."

Elia: (firm) "Do you? Cersei Lannister is now Princess of Dragonstone. Tywin will see my children as threats to his daughter's position. To his grandchildren's inheritance."

Aegon VI: (frustrated) "I would never allow—"

Elia: (cutting him off) "You won't always be here to stop it. And Daeron..." (shakes her head) "He's a good man. But he's not strong enough to stand against both his wife and his goodfather."

[(A tense silence falls. Rhaenys, sensing the gravity of the moment, presses closer to her mother.)]

Aegon VI: (quietly) "And the betrothal? Rhaenys to Baelon?"

Elia: (tightening her hold on the urn) "It stands. But she'll be raised in Dorne until they come of age."

Aegon VI: (nodding slowly) "That's... acceptable."

Elia: (suddenly fierce) "But know this, Your Grace—if any harm comes to my children, if so much as a whisper reaches me of Lannister plots... Dorne will remember. And we do not forget."

[(The king meets her gaze evenly, the unspoken threat hanging between them. After a long moment, he inclines his head.)]

Aegon VI: "Nor do we. You have my word—they will be safe."

Elia: (softening slightly) "I believe you mean that. But words are wind, and gold buys knives in the dark."

[(She turns to leave, Rhaenys's small hand in hers, the urn of ashes clutched to her chest. Aegon watches them go, his shoulders sagging slightly. From the shadows, Prince Daemon emerges, Smaug coiled around his shoulders.)]

Daemon: (quietly) "Well. That went about as well as could be expected."

Aegon VI: (grimacing) "I should have exiled Cersei to Casterly Rock instead."

Daemon: (snorting) "And miss the entertainment? I give it six months before she tries to poison someone. My gold's on Uncle Tywin being first."

Aegon VI: (giving him a look) "You're not helping."

Daemon: (grinning) "I never do."

[(Above them, Rhaegal—Daenerys's green dragon—lets out a mournful cry, circling the tower where Elia and her children have disappeared. The wind carries the last traces of Rhaegar's ashes into the night, scattering them over Blackwater Bay.)]