Chapter 42:

[(King's Landing Palace Courtyard, 289 AC. King Aegon VI and Queen Rhaella stand near the fountain, watching the skies for their sons' return. The afternoon sun casts long shadows across the red stone as servants scurry about preparing for the princes' arrival.)

Rhaella: (tapping her fingers against the fountain's edge) "They should have been back by now. Even with dragons, the journey from Pyke isn't this long."

Aegon VI: (squinting at the horizon) "Daeron's never been one for unnecessary haste. He'll want every report properly documented before presenting it."

Rhaella: (smirking) "And Daemon's never been one for proper documentation. I give it three days before we find his official war report scribbled on a tavern receipt."

(A distant roar echoes across the sky. Both monarchs turn sharply toward the sound.)

Aegon VI: (grumbling) "About time. I've had enough of Tywin's 'subtle' hints about reassigning the Iron Islands to House Lannister."

Rhaella: (raising an eyebrow) "He actually suggested that? To your face?"

Aegon VI: "In that special Tywin way where he says 'Your Grace knows best' while his tone says 'You're being an idiot.'"

(The dragons appear first - Drogon's black scales glinting crimson in the sunset, Smaug's bronze hide shimmering, and Viserion's pale gold wings catching the light. They circle downward as the courtyard erupts in activity.)

Rhaella: (noticing something) "Viserion's favoring his left wing. Viserys better not have been—"

Aegon VI: (sighing) "Let me guess. Dragon jousting again?"

Rhaella: "I swear, that boy treats his dragon like a tourney horse."

(The dragons land with ground-shaking thuds. Daeron dismounts first, his ISTJ precision evident in every movement. Daemon slides off Smaug with his usual ESTP flair, while Viserys nearly trips in his ESFP enthusiasm.)

Daeron: (bowing stiffly) "Father. Mother. The Iron Islands are secured."

Daemon: (grinning) "And by 'secured' my dear brother means we burned half their fleet, took Balon's last son hostage, and made the Drowned God reconsider his career choices."

Viserys: (brushing soot off his doublet) "You should have seen it! Smaug dove straight through—"

Aegon VI: (holding up a hand) "Reports first. Celebratory boasting after." (glances at Daeron's bandaged forearm) "You're injured."

Daeron: (dismissive) "A minor graze from a lucky crossbow shot. More embarrassing than serious."

Rhaella: (moving to inspect it) "Let me see—"

Daeron: (sidestepping) "Mother, please. I'm twenty-five, not five."

Daemon: (snorting) "Tell that to the nurse still putting sweetmilk in your evening tea."

(As Daeron glares at his brother, servants arrive with refreshments. Aegon VI studies his sons - Daeron's rigid posture, Daemon's restless energy, Viserys' barely-contained excitement.)

Aegon VI: "And Theon Greyjoy?"

Daeron: "Sent to Winterfell as we discussed. Ned Stark will—"

Daemon: (interrupting) "Turn him into the most boring Ironborn in history. Honestly, sending the boy to Ned? That's crueler than anything we could have done."

Rhaella: (ignoring Daemon) "And Balon?"

Viserys: (grinning) "Currently residing in the dungeons! Though he keeps demanding we give him 'a proper death at sea like his ancestors.'"

Daemon: "So naturally, we're having him executed in the dryest field we can find. Maybe a nice wheat farm."

(Aegon VI pinches the bridge of his nose.)

Aegon VI: "Enough. Daeron, full report in my solar after you've rested. Daemon, try not to antagonize Tywin before dinner. Viserys—"

Viserys: (already backing away) "Yes, yes, no flying over the city, no betting on kitchen fights, no teaching the dragons to fetch—"

Rhaella: "Wait." (all three princes freeze) "Before you go... the dragons. Any signs of...?"

(The brothers exchange glances. Daeron shakes his head slightly.)

Daeron: "No new eggs. Drogon shows no interest in mating. Neither does Smaug."

Daemon: (grinning) "My dragon's too busy being magnificent to bother with romance."

Viserys: (kicking a pebble) "Viserion keeps trying to court Rhaegal, but she keeps setting his tail feathers on fire."

Rhaella: (sighing) "Seven dragons, and not one viable egg in eight years. At this rate, our grandchildren will be fighting over who gets to ride the oldest."

Aegon VI: (thoughtful) "Perhaps it's for the best. Too many dragons last time nearly tore the realm apart."

(Daeron clears his throat awkwardly.)

Daeron: "Speaking of... heirs. Cersei's condition..."

Rhaella: (softening) "The maester says the pregnancy progresses well. Though at five moons, it's still early."

Daemon: (muttering) "Fifth time's the charm?"

Aegon VI: (sharply) "Enough. Go clean up. We'll expect you at the victory feast tonight."

(As the princes depart, Rhaella watches them go, her expression unreadable.)

Rhaella: "They've grown so much since... since Rhaegar."

Aegon VI: (quiet) "Daeron will make a fine king. When the time comes."

Rhaella: (studying her husband) "You still regret it, don't you? Passing over him for Rhaegar all those years."

Aegon VI: (watching Drogon curl up in the dragonpit) "I made a vow after Summerhall. But vows shouldn't chain the future to the past."

(Before Rhaella can respond, a servant approaches hesitantly.)

Servant: "Your Graces... Lord Tywin requests an urgent audience regarding the Greyjoy prisoner."

Aegon VI: (dryly) "Of course he does."

(As they turn toward the keep, the setting sun paints the towers blood red, and high above, the dragons call to each other across the darkening sky.)

[(Small Council Chamber, Red Keep – Morning, 289 AC. The circular table gleams under flickering torchlight as King Aegon VI and Queen Rhaella take their seats. Tywin Lannister's fingers drum a silent war march against the table, while Varys' perfume cloys the air. Steffon Baratheon's storm-blue eyes track the monarchs' entrance with rare alertness.)

Aegon VI: (sitting) "Let's be brief. The Iron Islands are leaderless. Balon rots in our dungeons. His last son Theon is Ned Stark's ward. That leaves…?"

Monford Velaryon: (newly appointed, eager) "Asha Greyjoy. A girl of, what, ten?"

Tywin: (cold smile) "Eleven. And already sharp as a kraken's beak, if the reports are true."

Rhaella: (leaning forward) "Which brings us to the solution. A marriage."

(Steffon Baratheon chokes on his wine. Pycelle's chain rattles as he startles.)

Steffon: "You can't mean—"

Aegon VI: "Aegon Snow. Rhaegar's bastard by Lyanna Stark."

(A beat of stunned silence. Varys' eyebrows vanish into his shaved scalp.)

Varys: (delicate) "An… unconventional choice, Your Grace."

Tywin: (flat) "A disastrous one. You'd make a baseborn half-Stark Lord of the Iron Islands?"

Aegon VI: (calm) "I'd make a boy with Targaryen blood the figurehead, while his mother—a woman who knows the cost of rebellion—rules as regent. With Viserys overseeing them."

Gwyneth Hightower: (frowning) "Lyanna Stark is confined to the North by your own decree."

Rhaella: (smiling sweetly) "And Pyke is just a short sail from Bear Island. Close enough for supervision, far enough for plausible deniability."

Monford: (blinking) "You're suggesting we hand the Iron Islands to the woman who started a war, her bastard, and the prince who once bet his dragon in a dice game?"

(Viserys, lurking near the door with a plate of honeycakes, grins.)

Viserys: "I won that bet!"

Tywin: (ignoring him) "This is a mistake. The ironborn will never accept—"

Aegon VI: (cutting in) "They'll accept fire and blood. Daemon left enough of both at Pyke to make my point clear."

(Steffon rubs his temples, muttering about "mad Targaryen schemes." Varys steeples his fingers.)

Varys: "And Princess Asha? Will she happily wed her father's conqueror?"

Rhaella: (dry) "She'll be thrilled. We'll tell her it's that or the Silent Sisters."

Tywin: (standing abruptly) "If you're determined to plant a wolf in squid's clothing, at least legitimize the boy first. Aegon Targaryen sounds far better than Aegon Snow when announcing this… farce."

Aegon VI: (icy) "No."

(The single word cracks like a whip. Even Tywin stills.)

Aegon VI: "Rhaegar's trueborn son is Aegon Targaryen in Dorne. This boy remains Aegon Snow. Let the ironborn chew on that insult."

Pycelle: (nervous) "And if Balon's remaining captains rebel?"

Aegon VI: (smiling faintly) "Then Viserys gets to practice his dragon commands. 'Dracarys' makes for an excellent wedding toast."

(As the council erupts in protests, Viserys grins and mimes a dragon breathing fire. Rhaella meets Aegon's eyes—a silent understanding passing between them. Somewhere in the North, Lyanna Stark is about to receive the raven of her lifetime.)

[(Winterfell Courtyard, 289 AC - A crisp northern morning. Ned Stark observes Theon Greyjoy (ESFP) teaching Bran and Arya how to properly throw axes at a target, while Lyanna leans against a wooden post and Catelyn stands stiffly nearby. Theon's boisterous laughter rings out as Arya's axe hilts the target sideways.)

Theon: (grinning) "Seven hells, Arya! At this rate you'll take someone's eye out before you ever hit the bullseye!"

Arya: (glaring) "Shut up, squid! At least I'm trying!"

Bran: (giggling) "Maybe we should stick to swords..."

(A Stark servant suddenly rushes into the courtyard, clutching a sealed scroll with the Targaryen sigil.)

Servant: (bowing) "My lords, my ladies—urgent raven from King's Landing."

(Ned takes the scroll, breaking the seal as Lyanna moves closer. Catelyn watches with narrowed eyes.)

Ned: (reading silently, then stiffening) "...Gods."

Lyanna: (snatching the letter) "Let me see that—" (Her eyes scan the parchment, then widen.) "He can't be serious."

Catelyn: (coldly) "What is it?"

Ned: (grim) "The King has decided the future of the Iron Islands. Aegon Snow is to wed Asha Greyjoy. He will rule as Lord, with Lyanna as regent."

Theon: (choking) "WHAT?!" (He stumbles back, face twisting.) "My sister? Married to that—that Stark bastard?! And you're to rule over my people?!"

Catelyn: (lips thin with fury) "This is an insult. A bastard inheriting a lordship? Over trueborn heirs?"

Lyanna: (smirking) "Oh, relax, Cat. It's not like he's taking Riverrun from your precious nephews."

Catelyn: (sharp) "This isn't a joke! You and your bastard have already caused enough—"

Ned: (firm) "Enough." (He turns to Theon.) "The King's word is law. Your father's rebellion cost him his freedom. This is mercy."

Theon: (laughing bitterly) "Mercy? Making my sister kneel to a dragon's bastard is mercy?"

Lyanna: (raising an eyebrow) "Better than the alternative. Or would you prefer Viserys Targaryen roasting Pyke to rubble?"

Catelyn: (to Ned) "And you're just going to accept this? Let her go?"

Ned: (steadfast) "Aye. But Benjen will accompany them. The Night's Watch can spare him for this."

Lyanna: (grinning) "Oh good, I could use the company. Maybe I'll finally teach him how to smile."

Theon: (muttering) "This is a nightmare..."

Arya: (excited) "Does this mean I can visit the Iron Islands? I want to see a kraken!"

Bran: (equally excited) "And a dragon! Prince Viserys is coming too, right?"

Catelyn: (pinching the bridge of her nose) "This family will be the death of me..."

(Lyanna claps Theon on the shoulder, ignoring his flinch.)

Lyanna: "Cheer up, squid. Maybe your sister will like my boy. Stranger things have happened."

Theon: (muttering) "Like the day the Starks became our overlords? Aye, stranger indeed..."

(As the group disperses—Theon storming off, Catelyn stiffly retreating inside, and the children chattering excitedly—Ned and Lyanna exchange a long look.)

Ned: (quietly) "You'll keep him safe?"

Lyanna: (softening) "Always. He's all I have left of Rhaegar."

(High above, a raven cries out, as if heralding the storm to come.)

[(Winterfell's Common Room, 289 AC – A fire crackles in the hearth as Ned Stark and Lyanna sit across from Aegon Snow, the boy's grey eyes wide with curiosity. The weight of the impending conversation hangs thick in the air.)

Aegon Snow: (fidgeting) "You're both staring at me like I'm about to be sent to the Night's Watch."

Lyanna: (smirking) "Close. But with significantly less freezing and slightly more... political responsibility."

Ned: (rubbing his temples) "Aegon, there are things you need to know. About who you are. And where you're going."

Aegon Snow: (blinking) "Alright...? Did I finally do something bad enough to get shipped off?"

Lyanna: (laughing) "Oh, my sweet summer child, no. This is much worse." (She sobers, leaning forward.) "You're to be married."

Aegon Snow: (choking) "WHAT?!"

Ned: (grimacing) "To Asha Greyjoy. Balon's daughter. The King has decreed it."

Aegon Snow: (horrified) "I'm EIGHT!"

Lyanna: (waving a hand) "Betrothed, not married. You won't actually have to kiss her until you're at least twelve."

Aegon Snow: (panicked) "That's not better!"

Ned: (firm) "You'll be Lord of the Iron Islands in name. Your mother will rule as regent until you come of age."

Aegon Snow: (processing) "...Wait. Why me? I'm a Snow. Bastards don't get—"

Lyanna: (cutting in) "Ah. That's the other thing." (She exhales, exchanging a glance with Ned.) "Your father... wasn't just some man. He was Prince Rhaegar Targaryen."

(A beat. The fire pops. Aegon stares.)

Aegon Snow: (flat) "You're joking."

Lyanna: "Wish I was."

Aegon Snow: (standing abruptly) "So what—I'm some secret prince? Is this a mummer's farce?!"

Ned: (calm) "No. You're still a Snow. But your blood makes you valuable to the Crown."

Lyanna: (grinning) "And now you get to go make the Iron Islands regret ever rebelling. Think of it as revenge by paperwork."

Aegon Snow: (running hands through his hair) "This is insane. I'm supposed to just—what, sail to Pyke and start ordering around ironborn? They'll throw me into the sea!"

Lyanna: (shrugging) "Hence why your Uncle Benjen is coming. And Prince Viserys will be there with his dragon to... encourage cooperation."

Aegon Snow: (muttering) "Oh wonderful. A dragon babysitter."

Ned: (placing a hand on his shoulder) "You're a Stark in spirit, Aegon. The North will stand behind you."

Aegon Snow: (quietly) "But I'm not a Stark. And I'm not a Targaryen. So what am I?"

Lyanna: (softly) "Mine. And that's enough."

(The boy exhales shakily, staring into the fire. Outside, the wind howls—a harbinger of the storm to come.)

Aegon Snow: (finally) "...Do I at least get a cool sword out of this?"

Lyanna: (laughing) "Gods, I hope so."

Ned: (sighing) "I'll see about finding you a dagger."

Aegon Snow: (grinning weakly) "Well. At least I won't be bored."

(And with that, the boy who was neither wolf nor dragon—but something new entirely—turned to face his future.)