Chapter 39:

[(King's Landing Palace Prince's Chamber, late 281 AC. The spacious solar still smells faintly of funeral incense, its heavy drapes drawn against the evening chill. Prince Daeron stands stiffly by the hearth, his dragon Drogo coiled around the mantelpiece like a living decoration. Princess Cersei paces near the window, her golden hair catching the firelight, while their sons Baelon and Maekar sit quietly at a table, pretending not to listen as their nursemaid hovers nearby.)]

Daeron: (rubbing temples) "Must you always make everything more difficult?"

Cersei: (whirling) "Difficult? I merely spoke truth. That Dornish snake was glaring at me throughout the ceremony!"

Baelon: (matter-of-fact) "Mother called Aunt Elia a 'sand viper' when she thought no one was listening."

Maekar: (nodding) "And said her baby brother looked more frog than prince."

Daeron: (groaning) "Seven hells, Cersei. In front of the children?"

Cersei: (smug) "They'll need to understand Dornish treachery sooner or later."

Drogo: (hissing smoke in Cersei's direction)

Daeron: (pointedly) "Even my dragon thinks you're being unreasonable."

Cersei: (ignoring Drogo) "Unreasonable? You're now heir to the Iron Throne, yet you let that woman parade around with Rhaegar's spawn as if they still matter!"

Daeron: (stepping closer) "They do matter. Rhaenys is betrothed to our son, or have you forgotten?"

Baelon: (brightening) "Does this mean I get to marry Rhaenys and have a dragon too?"

Cersei: (snapping) "No! You'll marry a proper—"

Daeron: (cutting in) "Enough. Boys, go with your nurse. Your mother and I need to speak privately."

[(The children scurry out, though Baelon lingers just beyond the doorway, ears straining.)]

Daeron: (lowering voice) "Father worked hard to balance the factions after this war. Your father agreed to this arrangement—"

Cersei: (laughing sharply) "My father agrees to whatever keeps Lannister gold flowing to the crown. But make no mistake—that Dornish girl will never sit beside Baelon as queen."

Daeron: (wearily) "Elia's taking the children back to Dorne. Isn't that what you wanted?"

Cersei: (eyes narrowing) "She's what?"

Daeron: (leaning against the hearth) "Leaving within the fortnight. Apparently your 'warm welcome' convinced her the Red Keep wasn't safe."

Cersei: (smug satisfaction) "Good. Though she should leave the girl—"

Daeron: (slamming a hand on the table) "No! The betrothal stands. It's the only thread holding Dorne to the crown right now."

[(A tense silence falls. Outside, the distant roar of dragons echoes across the city.)]

Cersei: (sweetly venomous) "Tell me, husband—does it bother you at all? Knowing you only wear the Dragonstone crown because Rhaegar died?"

Daeron: (stiffening) "I wear it because Father wills it. Just as I married you because Father willed it."

Cersei: (moving closer) "And if I told you I'm with child again? A proper spare to secure your... tenuous position?"

Daeron: (blinking) "You're—? Since when?"

Cersei: (smirking) "The maester confirmed it this morning. Though I'd hoped for better timing than your half-brother's funeral."

Daeron: (sighing) "Seven help us all."

Cersei: (trailing fingers along his arm) "Oh don't look so grim. This one might actually inherit Casterly Rock, if my wretched brothers continue failing to produce heirs."

[(Baelon, still eavesdropping, makes a face and tiptoes away as Drogo's tail twitches irritably above the fire.)]

Daeron: (removing her hand) "Just... try not to antagonize the Martells until after they've left the capital. Is that really too much to ask?"

Cersei: (sweetly) "For you, my prince? I'll be the very picture of courtesy."

Daeron: (muttering) "Now I know to brace for disaster."

[(Outside, the wind howls through the towers like a portent as two dragons—one gold, one green—circle each other in the moonlit sky above King's Landing.)]

[(King's Landing Palace Balcony, late 281 AC. The first light of dawn paints the Blackwater in hues of gold and crimson as King Aegon VI and Queen Rhaella stand watching the royal fleet prepare for departure below. Queen Rhaella cradles the sleeping Princess Daenerys, whose tiny fingers clutch at her mother's mourning gown. The distant shouts of sailors and creaking of ships' ropes drift upward as Elia Martell's vessel - the Dornish flagship Sand Steed - makes final preparations to sail. On deck, little Rhaenys waves enthusiastically toward the Red Keep while nursemaids settle baby Aegon VII in a sheltered cabin.)]

Rhaella: (rocking Daenerys) "She waves as if they're only going on holiday. Does she not understand?"

Aegon VI: (leaning on the balcony) "Better this way. Let her remember the Red Keep with joy, not as a place of loss."

Rhaella: (watching sailors load chests) "How long before we see them again? Years? A decade?"

Aegon VI: (grimacing) "Until Baelon is old enough to foster in Sunspear, most like. Twelve years, at least."

[(Daenerys stirs in her sleep, her tiny brow furrowing as if sensing her parents' distress. Rhaella hums a soft lullaby.)]

Rhaella: (suddenly) "You knew this would happen. When you married Daeron to that lioness."

Aegon VI: (nodding) "I'd hoped Cersei might... mature. But yes. The Lannister ambition was always a sword with two edges."

Rhaella: (bitter laugh) "And now our heir is half-Lannister, our Dornish grandchildren exiled, and Rhaegar's legacy reduced to ashes and betrothals."

Aegon VI: (pointing downward) "Not just betrothals. Look."

[(Below, a flash of green scales appears as Rhaegal - Daenerys' dragon - circles Elia's ship before landing gracefully on the forecastle. The crew scrambles back in awe.)]

Rhaella: (startled) "Rhaegal? But he's never left the Dragonpit without Daenerys!"

Aegon VI: (watching the dragon curl protectively near Rhaenys) "It seems some bonds transcend even our political failures."

[(A comfortable silence falls, broken only by the distant cry of gulls. Fenrir and Tiamat, their own dragons, stir on the palace rooftops above them.)]

Rhaella: (stroking Daenerys' silver hair) "We'll need to strengthen Daeron. That boy has too much of your soft heart."

Aegon VI: (smirking) "Says the woman who wept when Viserys skinned his knee."

Rhaella: (swatting his arm) "I mean it. Tywin will mold him if we don't. And Cersei..."

Aegon VI: (sighing) "I'll assign Daemon to shadow him. Nothing hardens a man faster than daily exposure to your second son."

Rhaella: (snorting) "Gods help us all. Between Daemon's recklessness and Alyssa's temper..."

[(The Sand Steed's sails unfurl dramatically, catching the morning wind. Rhaenys waves one last time before Elia gently guides her below decks. Rhaegal's mournful cry echoes across the water as the ship begins moving.)]

Aegon VI: (quietly) "We'll see them again. When the realm is steadier. When Dorne's wounds have scarred over."

Rhaella: (watching the ship shrink in distance) "You always see spring coming before the rest of us."

[(Daenerys wakes with a sudden sneeze, her violet eyes blinking up at them. Somewhere in the bay, Rhaegal answers with a puff of emerald flame as the Targaryen fleet escorts Elia's ship toward the horizon.)]

[(King's Landing Throne Room, late 281 AC. The towering Iron Throne casts jagged shadows across the empty hall as King Aegon VI sits wearily upon the twisted blades. The last rays of sunset bleed through the high windows, painting the throne in crimson light. The massive doors creak open as Prince Daeron enters, his footsteps echoing ominously on the stone floor. His dragon Drogo perches on the rafters above, golden eyes watching.)]

Daeron: (bowing) "You summoned me, Father?"

Aegon VI: (tapping throne arm) "Come closer. We need to speak of lions and their... growing ambitions."

[(Daeron approaches, his face carefully neutral as he steps around a particularly sharp sword protruding from the throne's base.)]

Daeron: "If this is about Cersei's behavior at the funeral—"

Aegon VI: (interrupting) "It's about Tywin's smirks in small council. About the way Lannister guards suddenly outnumber our own in the Red Keep. About how your goodfather 'suggests' policies as if they're already decided."

Daeron: (stiffening) "I've noticed."

Aegon VI: (leaning forward) "Tell me, son—when you become king, will you rule? Or will you be a golden puppet dancing to Casterly Rock's tune?"

[(Drogo shifts uneasily above them, scattering loose feathers from the rafters.)]

Daeron: (clenching jaw) "I am no puppet."

Aegon VI: "Prove it. When Tywin next 'suggests' replacing Brynden Tully with a Lannister cousin, what will you say?"

Daeron: (hesitating) "I... the Riverlands need stability—"

Aegon VI: (slamming hand on throne) "Wrong answer! You say 'The Tullys have served well since Aegon's Conquest. We'll not change loyal houses like soiled smallclothes.'"

Daeron: (flushing) "And when Cersei takes to our bed in fury afterward?"

Aegon VI: (cold smile) "Then you remind her that House Targaryen has two other princes. That Viserys is of age to marry. That Daemon's dragon could melt Casterly Rock to slag."

[(A tense silence falls. Somewhere in the keep, a lion banner ripples audibly in a sudden draft.)]

Daeron: (quietly) "You think me weak."

Aegon VI: (standing abruptly) "I think you've been raised to be a spare part. But now you're the heir. Start acting like one."

[(He descends the throne steps, pausing to grip Daeron's shoulder hard enough to bruise.)]

Aegon VI: "Your grandfather Jaehaerys used to say—a king who cannot rule his own household cannot rule a kingdom. Control your wife. Check your goodfather. Or I'll name Daemon heir and let him solve our Lannister problem with dragonfire."

Daeron: (watching Drogo spread wings) "...He'd enjoy that too much."

Aegon VI: (grim chuckle) "Exactly. The threat alone may keep Tywin in line. Now go—your lioness is waiting."

[(As Daeron turns to leave, the last sunlight catches the Valyrian steel dagger at his belt—a wedding gift from Tywin. The king's eyes narrow as the doors close behind his heir. Above the throne, hidden in shadows, Prince Daemon grins and sheathes his own blade.)]

[(Hand of the King's Office, King's Landing - late 281 AC. The austere chamber is lined with ledgers and maps, the flickering candlelight reflecting off Tywin Lannister's golden hand pin as he reviews tax reports. The door swings open without ceremony as Cersei sweeps in, her emerald silk gown rustling like a lioness moving through tall grass.)]

Tywin: (without looking up) "You should be with your husband, not interrupting my work."

Cersei: (smirking) "Daeron is busy playing at being heir with his dragon. I came to congratulate you, Father."

Tywin: (setting down quill) "On what precisely?"

Cersei: (pouring wine) "Your grandson will be king. All those years you spent begging the Targaryens for this match, and now—"

Tywin: (sharp look) "Careful, girl. These walls have ears, and you've already made enough trouble at the funeral."

Cersei: (sipping wine) "Elia Martell needed reminding of her place."

[(Tywin stands abruptly, his chair scraping stone as he moves to the window overlooking the dragon yard where Drogo suns himself.)]

Tywin: "Her 'place' is now in Dorne with Rhaegar's ashes, while you've managed to look both petty and insecure in front of the entire court."

Cersei: (flushing) "I—"

Tywin: (turning) "Five dragons the Targaryens have now. Five. And how many does House Lannister control?"

Cersei: (defensive) "Daeron's dragon is—"

Tywin: "—not yours. Nor will it ever be." (leaning on desk) "You think Aegon won't replace Daeron with Daemon if you become too troublesome? That boy's dragon could reduce Casterly Rock to molten stone before our armies could blink."

[(A tense silence falls. Somewhere below, Drogo sneezes a small gout of flame, making stableboys scatter.)]

Cersei: (softly) "What would you have me do?"

Tywin: (pushing forward a ledger) "Give Daeron more sons. Secure the succession so thoroughly that even Aegon wouldn't dare change it."

Cersei: (running hand over stomach) "Already done. The maester confirmed it this morning."

Tywin: (approving nod) "Good. Now cultivate your husband. Make him dependent on your counsel. And for the love of the Seven, stop antagonizing the Martells."

Cersei: (sourly) "Even about the betrothal? Our Baelon wed to that sand snake's daughter?"

Tywin: (smiling coldly) "Let the Dornish think they've won that battle. By the time those children wed, we'll have Lannister blood on the throne from three directions." (tapping ledger) "Politics is a long game, daughter. One you'll play properly, or not at all."

[(Outside, the distant roar of Daemon's dragon Smaug echoes across the city as the sun dips below the walls. Cersei's hand drifts unconsciously to her abdomen as Tywin returns to his papers, the scratching of his quill the only sound in the suddenly chilly room.)]