Chapter 40:

[(King's Landing Small Council Chamber, 289 AC. The heavy oak table gleams under flickering torchlight as King Aegon VI surveys his council. Queen Rhaella sits to his right, meticulously reviewing ledgers, while Prince Daeron stands stiffly by the window overlooking the training yard. Tywin Lannister's golden hand pin glints as he examines a map of Westeros, and Steffon Baratheon nurses a cup of wine with a stormy expression. Commander Gwyneth Hightower's armor creaks as she shifts, while Varys' slippered feet make no sound on the stone floor.)]

Aegon VI: (tapping the table) "Eight years since the Trident. Yet Dorne still treats our envoys like pox-ridden beggars."

Rhaella: (without looking up) "Elia took the children home for protection, not spite. The betrothal between Rhaenys and Baelon still stands."

Tywin: (dryly) "A betrothal does little good when the Princess refuses to bring the girl to court. Doran Martell plays a long game."

Steffon: (slamming his cup) "While we argue over Dornish tempers, the North remains unchecked! Lyanna Stark's bastard grows stronger every year—"

Daeron: (turning sharply) "Aegon Snow is a child of nine, uncle. Confined to Winterfell under Lord Stark's watch."

Tywin: (smirking) "And when he's nineteen? With Stark blood and a Targaryen name?"

Varys: (hands folded) "The boy shows no interest in swords, my lords. He spends his days in the library with Maester Luwin."

Gwyneth: (firmly) "Regardless, the Kingsguard maintains watch through our contacts in the North."

Aegon VI: (rubbing temples) "Enough. We have more pressing matters. The Master of Laws position remains vacant—"

Steffon: (grumbling) "Brynden Tully does well enough as interim—"

Tywin: (cutting in) "The Riverlands need firm rule, not a temporary appointment. My nephew Kevan—"

Daeron: (suddenly) "No more Lannisters in power, Lord Tywin."

[(A heavy silence falls. Tywin's fingers still on the map.)]

Tywin: (softly dangerous) "Careful, Prince Daeron. You may be heir, but—"

Aegon VI: (raising a hand) "Enough. The position will go to Lord Monford Velaryon. His family has remained neutral and loyal."

Rhaella: (nodding) "And his fleet could prove useful if the Stepstones situation worsens."

Steffon: (leaning forward) "Speaking of fleets—when will we address the Ironborn? Balon Greyjoy's ships harass our traders weekly!"

Varys: (smiling thinly) "The Crown Merchant Guild reports record profits despite this, Lord Steffon. Perhaps—"

Daeron: (interrupting) "No. Father, we have five dragons now. Let me take Drogo and remind the Iron Islands of their place."

Tywin: (raising an eyebrow) "Finally, a spark of your grandfather in you."

Aegon VI: (studying his son) "You'll go with Daemon and Viserys. All three dragons. But no burning—we need their ports, not their ashes."

Daeron: (bowing) "As you command."

[(The doors burst open as Prince Viserys, now thirteen, strides in breathlessly.)]

Viserys: "Father! The dragons—Fenrir and Tiamat have mated again! There may be more eggs soon!"

Rhaella: (sharply) "Viserys, this is a council meeting—"

Aegon VI: (laughing) "At least someone brings good news. Very well—Daeron, prepare your flight to Pyke. The rest of you—" (glancing at Tywin) "—remember who holds the dragons in this realm."

[(As the council rises, Tywin's gaze lingers on the map of Westeros, his fingers tracing the path from Casterly Rock to King's Landing. Outside, the distant roar of dragons echoes across the city.)]

[(Prince Daeron's Chambers, King's Landing - 289 AC. The morning sun streams through stained glass windows, casting crimson patterns across the floor where servants pack travel chests for the Iron Islands campaign. Prince Daeron fastens his dragonrider armor, the black steel etched with ruby dragons. The door bursts open as Cersei sweeps in, her golden hair loose and emerald eyes alight with triumph.)]

Cersei: (smug) "Leaving so soon, husband? Without saying farewell to your queen?"

Daeron: (adjusting vambrace) "You're not queen yet, Cersei. And we discussed this - the Ironborn won't wait for courtesies."

[(Cersei glides forward, deliberately knocking over a goblet with her sleeve. The servants scramble to clean it as she leans close.)]

Cersei: (whispering) "The maester confirmed it this morning. Your heir needs an heir, does he not?" (places his hand on her stomach) "A lion and dragon cub, growing as we speak."

Daeron: (freezing) "You're...? After the last time—"

Cersei: (lips curling) "Third time's the charm, they say. Though technically fifth, if we count your... disappointments."

[(Across the room, young Baelon (age 10) and Maekar (age 8) pause their swordplay with wooden blades.)]

Baelon: (excited) "Another brother? Can we name him Joffrey? Like in the stories!"

Maekar: (serious) "Stupid. Royal princes need Targaryen names. Like... like Aerion!"

Cersei: (sharply) "Quiet, both of you! This one will be Joanna, if she's a girl. After my mother."

Daeron: (rubbing temples) "We're not naming our child after—"

[(A thunderous roar shakes the windows as Drogo lands in the courtyard below. Through the glass, they see Prince Daemon already mounted on Smaug, tossing apples to Viserys who's struggling to control the restless Viserion.)]

Daeron: (exhaling) "This conversation will wait until I return from Pyke."

Cersei: (grabbing his arm) "Oh no, my prince. You'll announce it today. Let the court see that House Lannister's line continues strong, while Rhaegar's precious Aegon sulks in Winterfell."

[(Daeron's eyes flick to the door where two Lannister guards have subtly taken positions. He exhales through his nose, then barks a sudden laugh.)]

Daeron: "Very well. But when this babe comes out silver-haired, don't come crying to me about 'Targaryen traditions.'"

Cersei: (stiffening) "What's that supposed to—"

[(A servant interrupts, bowing deeply.)]

Servant: "Your Grace, the Master of Whisperers requests—"

Varys: (appearing suddenly) "--to remind the prince that tides wait for no man, not even expectant fathers." (eyes crinkling) "My congratulations, by the way. How... timely."

Daeron: (ignoring the jab) "Tell my brother I'll be down shortly." (turns to Cersei, lowering voice) "Try not to start a war while I'm gone."

Cersei: (sweetly venomous) "Only if you try not to drown. Do bring back some Ironborn heads for the children - they make such lovely decorations."

[(As Daeron strides out, Baelon excitedly mimics dragonfire sounds while Maekar solemnly measures the wall for hypothetical head-mounting. Cersei watches the courtyard below where Tywin stands observing the dragons, his face unreadable as Drogo snaps at a passing stableboy. The morning bells toll, their echoes mingling with distant dragon cries across King's Landing.)]

[(King's Landing Courtyard, 289 AC. The morning air buzzes with energy as three dragons stir restlessly in the training yard. Prince Daemon lounges against Smaug's emerald-scaled flank, tossing a dagger in the air while Viserys struggles to fasten Viserion's saddle straps. Daeron's larger dragon, Drogo, snaps impatiently at stableboys bringing fresh meat. The clang of swords and shouts of gold cloaks form a chaotic backdrop.)]

Daemon: (grinning) "Took you long enough, brother. Were you bidding farewell to every Lannister cousin in the Red Keep?"

Daeron: (checking Drogo's saddle) "Just ensuring Cersei doesn't burn down my chambers while I'm gone. Viserys - your strap's upside down."

Viserys: (flustered) "It keeps slipping! Viserion won't hold still—" (yelps as the pale gold dragon nips his cloak)

Daemon: (laughing) "Seven hells, little brother. If you can't handle your dragon at thirteen, maybe you should ride with the ships."

Viserys: (glaring) "I'm a better flier than you! Maekar says you nearly crashed Smaug into the Tower of the Hand last week!"

Daemon: (shrugging) "Tywin needed a wake-up call. Literally."

[(Drogo suddenly rears up, nearly knocking Daeron over as a harried steward approaches with scrolls.)]

Steward: (nervous) "My princes, final reports from the Master of Ships—"

Daeron: (grabbing reins) "Later. Are we ready?"

Daemon: (swinging onto Smaug) "Born ready. I've been waiting eight years to finally use this beast properly."

Viserys: (finally securing his saddle) "Wait—what exactly are we doing to the Ironborn? Father said no burning..."

Daeron: (mounting Drogo) "We're making an impression. Daemon—try not to actually kill anyone."

Daemon: (mock offended) "When have I ever—"

Viserys: (counting on fingers) "The tourney at Lannisport, the 'incident' with the Dornish envoy, that brothel in—"

Daemon: (kicking Smaug into flight) "Irrelevant! To Pyke!"

[(The three dragons launch skyward in unison—Drogo's massive black form leading, Smaug's emerald scales glittering mischievously, and Viserion's pale wings flapping eagerly. Below, Tywin watches from a balcony, his face unreadable as Cersei joins him, one hand resting on her barely-showing stomach.)]

Cersei: (shouting over wingbeats) "Try not to fall into the sea, husband!"

Viserys: (clinging to Viserion) "That's actually a valid concern—"

Daemon: (laughing) "Relax! Worst case scenario, we'll fish you out before the krakens get you!"

[(As they soar over Blackwater Bay, the dragons' synchronized roar shakes the city windows, scattering seabirds and causing several gold cloaks to drop their spears. The shadow of three dragons falls across the fleet waiting below—their first true test as dragonriders begins.)]

[(King's Landing Palace Balcony, 289 AC. King Aegon VI and Queen Rhaella stand watching their sons' dragons shrink into the distance over Blackwater Bay. The morning sun glints off the departing dragon wings as Varys materializes silently beside them, his lilac robes blending with the dawn light. Below in the courtyard, eight-year-old Daenerys skips toward the palace, her silver braids bouncing, while her emerald-scaled dragon Rhaegal nips playfully at her heels.)]

Varys: (smoothly) "Your Grace, a delicate matter requires attention... It seems Princess Cersei is with child again."

Rhaella: (sighing) "Another babe? That woman breeds like a—"

Aegon VI: (cutting in) "—like a fertile noblewoman doing her duty. How far along?"

Varys: "Three moons, by the Grand Maester's estimate. She's already ordered new lion-and-dragon tapestries for the nursery."

[(A crash echoes from below as Rhaegal accidentally knocks over a suit of armor while chasing Daenerys.)]

Daenerys: (giggling) "Rhaegal! Bad dragon!" (the beast whimpers and nuzzles her)

Rhaella: (leaning over balcony) "Daenerys! No dragonplay in the armory!"

Aegon VI: (muttering) "Because the courtyard is so much safer..."

Varys: (continuing) "More concerning... Princess Cersei has been inquiring about dragon eggs. Specifically, when Tiamat and Fenrir might produce more."

Rhaella: (sharply) "That's none of her—"

[(They're interrupted as Daenerys bursts onto the balcony, her violet eyes sparkling with excitement.)]

Daenerys: "Father! Rhaegal almost caught a seagull today! Can we go flying after my lessons? Please?"

Aegon VI: (softening) "Perhaps if—"

Varys: (clearing throat) "—if the princess attends to her history lessons first. The young Prince Baelon has already completed his."

Daenerys: (sticking out tongue) "Baelon's boring. He reads all day like Maekar."

Rhaella: (raising eyebrow) "Speaking of which—where is your septa?"

Daenerys: (grinning) "Fainted. Rhaegal sneezed fire near her skirts."

Aegon VI: (pinching nose) "Gods give me strength..."

Varys: (smiling) "Perhaps the princess might visit the Dragonpit instead? I hear the keepers have exciting news about—"

Daenerys: (dashing off) "New eggs?! Rhaegal come on!" (the green dragon scrambles after her)

Rhaella: (watching them go) "That wasn't subtle, Lord Varys."

Varys: (shrugging) "Children and dragons respond best to directness. Unlike certain lionesses..."

Aegon VI: (grim) "Keep watchin Cersei. If she so much as looks at the Dragonpit—"

[(A distant roar cuts him off as the three princes' dragons become specks on the horizon. Rhaella's hand finds Aegon's, their fingers intertwining as the morning bells toll across King's Landing.)]