Chapter 43:

[(King's Landing Palace Courtyard, 289 AC – The morning sun glints off Viserion's golden scales as Prince Viserys (ESFP) fusses with his dragon's saddle straps. King Aegon VI (INFJ) and Queen Rhaella (ISFJ) watch with mixed amusement and concern as servants scramble to load the last supplies.)

Viserys: (adjusting his riding gloves dramatically) "I still don't see why I have to babysit a wolf and a squid. I'm a prince, not a wet nurse!"

Rhaella: (smoothing his collar) "You're thirteen, darling. Until last week you still needed a nursemaid to remind you not to sleep with your boots on."

Aegon VI: (deadpan) "And yet we're entrusting him with a dragon and foreign policy."

Viserys: (grinning) "Exactly! Finally someone recognizes my genius!"

(Prince Daemon (ESTP) saunters up, tossing an apple between his hands, his dragon Smaug lounging nearby.)

Daemon: "Don't worry, little brother. If the ironborn give you trouble, just have Viserion eat one. Works wonders for diplomacy."

Viserys: (considering) "Do I start with the ugliest or the most talkative?"

Rhaella: (pinching the bridge of her nose) "Seven save us all."

(Prince Daeron (ISTJ) approaches, his ever-present ledger in hand, looking thoroughly unamused.)

Daeron: "Your itinerary is set. First Winterfell to collect the Starks and Theon Greyjoy, then Pyke for the betrothal ceremony. Try not to—"

Viserys: (interrupting) "—set anything important on fire? You're no fun."

Aegon VI: (placing a hand on Viserys' shoulder) "This is your first real duty, son. The North remembers, and the ironborn never forget. How you handle this will—"

Viserys: (groaning) "—define my future, yes yes. Can we skip the speech? I've heard it from Daeron at least twenty times."

(Princess Daenerys (INFJ), barely six years old, comes running up clutching her tiny dragon Rhaegal.)

Daenerys: (pouting) "Why does Vis get to go on adventures while I'm stuck here with septas?"

Rhaella: (scooping her up) "Because your brother needs a head start before you inevitably outshine him at everything."

Viserys: (mock-offended) "I resent that!" (Pauses) "Though probably accurate."

(A horn sounds as Viserion stretches his wings, eager to fly. Viserys takes a deep breath, suddenly looking younger than his years.)

Viserys: (quietly) "What if I muck it all up?"

Aegon VI: (smiling) "Then we'll send Daemon to set something on fire as a distraction. Targaryen tradition."

Daemon: (grinning) "My specialty."

(Viserys laughs, then turns to mount his dragon. As Viserion's wings send dust swirling through the courtyard, Rhaella clutches Aegon's arm.)

Rhaella: (whispering) "We're really sending our boy to civilize the ironborn with nothing but a dragon and his wits?"

Aegon VI: (watching the rising dragon) "Well. Mostly the dragon."

(Above them, Viserys whoops with joy as Viserion banks toward the north, his laughter fading into the morning sky.)

Daenerys: (sighing dreamily) "I can't wait for my first rebellion to crush."

Daeron: (already making a note) "We'll need to schedule that around her arithmetic lessons..."

(The royal family stands together, watching until the golden speck disappears over the horizon - some praying, some scheming, all wondering what fresh chaos their youngest dragonrider might unleash upon the realm.)

[(Winterfell Courtyard, 289 AC – The afternoon sun glints off fresh snowfall as Viserion's shadow passes overhead. Ned Stark stands stiffly beside Catelyn, while Lyanna bounces on her heels with restless energy. Aegon Snow peers up at the descending dragon with wide eyes, clutching a hastily-packed satchel.)

Viserion: (landing with a ground-shaking thud, scattering snow in all directions)

Catelyn: (brushing snow from her cloak with distaste) "Must they always make an entrance?"

Lyanna: (grinning) "Where's the fun in subtlety?"

(Prince Viserys (ESFP) slides off Viserion's back with theatrical flair, his gold-and-black riding leathers impeccably tailored despite the journey.)

Viserys: (spreading his arms) "Behold, the North! Cold, grim, and... is that a direwolf pup chewing on my dragon's tail?"

Ned: (stern) "Bran. Release the dragon."

(Bran Stark sheepishly retrieves his pup from where it was gnawing on Viserion's scales. The dragon huffs smoke in annoyance.)

Viserys: (noticing Aegon Snow) "Ah! You must be my infamous nephew-by-mistake."

Aegon Snow: (blinking) "I... what?"

Lyanna: (rolling her eyes) "He means you're Rhaegar's bastard. Play along, he's dramatic."

Viserys: (clutching his chest) "I prefer 'theatrical'." (Inspecting Aegon) "Hmm. More Stark than Targaryen. Good. The ironborn will respect that."

Catelyn: (icy) "They'll respect nothing about this farce."

Ned: (warning tone) "Cat."

Viserys: (ignoring the tension) "Right! We've got a ship waiting at White Harbor to take you lot to Pyke. I'll be flying overhead—partly for surveillance, mostly because boats smell like fish and regret."

Aegon Snow: (nervous) "Do I... have to marry her right away?"

Viserys: (laughing) "Seven hells, no! You're what, eight? This is politics, not Dornish theater." (Leans in conspiratorially) "Though if you do end up liking her, the whole 'Lord of Pyke' thing comes with excellent perks. Mainly pillaging rights."

Lyanna: (smacking Viserys' arm) "Don't corrupt my son."

Viserys: "Too late! I'm a Targaryen, corruption's in the blood." (Notices Benjen Stark approaching) "Ah! The other Stark! You're my backup babysitter, yes?"

Benjen: (dry) "I'm here to ensure the ironborn don't toss them both into the sea."

Viserys: "Splendid! Between you, me, and a very large dragon, this should be—" (suddenly noticing Theon Greyjoy lurking nearby) "Ah. The disgruntled former heir. Try not to murder your future good-brother, hm?"

Theon: (muttering) "No promises."

Ned: (firm) "Theon."

Viserys: (clapping hands) "Right! Let's get this royal procession moving. Aegon, you ride with Uncle Benjen. Lyanna, try not to start another war. Lady Stark—" (grins at Catelyn's glare) "—lovely weather for simmering resentment, isn't it?"

Lyanna: (shoving Aegon's satchel at him) "Go on, little wolf. Time to become... whatever one calls a wolf-squid hybrid."

Aegon Snow: (deadpan) "A mistake?"

Viserys: (laughing as he mounts Viserion) "Oh, I like this one! Up we go, dragon—time to make the ironborn regret their life choices!"

(As Viserion takes off in a flurry of snow, Bran Stark yells after them:)

Bran: "Can I ride the dragon next time?!"

Arya: (punching his arm) "I called it first!"

(Catelyn sighs deeply as the Stark procession begins moving out, Ned's hand resting reassuringly on Ice's hilt. Somewhere above, Viserys' laughter echoes across the winter sky.)

[(Sunspear Courtyard, Dorne - 289 AC. The scorching Dornish sun beats down as Arthur Dayne (ISFJ) drills Prince Aegon VII (INFJ) in swordplay, Dawn glinting in the light. Princess Elia Martell (ISFJ) watches from the shaded veranda with her daughter Rhaenys (INTJ), while Doran Martell (INTJ) observes silently and Oberyn Martell (ESFP) lounges with a goblet of wine, scowling at the training session.)

Oberyn: (muttering into his wine) "Aegon Snow. Lord of Pyke. While our Aegon gets nothing but a number after his name."

Elia: (calm, but firm) "Our son is a Prince of Dorne and a Prince of House Targaryen. He needs no titles to prove his worth."

Rhaenys: (sharp, adjusting her riding gloves) "Besides, Uncle, would you truly wish Aegon to rule those miserable rocks? Let the bastard have his soggy castle."

Doran: (stroking his beard) "It's a clever move by Aegon VI. Binding the Iron Islands to the Crown through Lyanna's son, while keeping him under watch. And Viserys Targaryen playing overseer? Amusing."

Oberyn: (snorting) "Viserys is a boy with a dragon and too much arrogance. The ironborn will eat him alive."

(Arthur Dayne disarms Prince Aegon with a swift twist of Dawn, the young prince stumbling back but grinning.)

Aegon VII: (panting) "One day, Ser Arthur, I'll best you."

Arthur: (smiling faintly) "Perhaps, my prince. But not today."

(Oberyn raises his goblet in mock toast.)

Oberyn: "Ah, there's the Targaryen pride. Tell me, nephew, do you ever think about your half-brother?"

Aegon VII: (wiping sweat from his brow) "The bastard in the North? Why should I?"

Elia: (shooting Oberyn a warning look) "Aegon."

Oberyn: (undeterred) "Because he now holds a title you do not. Because his mother was the woman your father abandoned us for. Because—"

Doran: (cutting in smoothly) "Because Oberyn enjoys stirring trouble where none is needed."

Rhaenys: (coolly) "Aegon Snow is nothing. A political tool. Our brother is the trueborn son of Rhaegar Targaryen. No amount of Greyjoy marriages will change that."

Elia: (softly, watching her son return to training) "And yet, I wonder… if Rhaegar had lived, would he have pushed for his bastard to be legitimized?"

(The courtyard falls silent, the weight of the question lingering. Oberyn's smirk fades, replaced by something darker.)

Oberyn: "If Rhaegar had lived, he would have answered to Dorne for his betrayal. And I would have enjoyed collecting that debt."

Arthur Dayne: (grimacing) "My prince, he was still your—"

Oberyn: "He was a fool. And now his bastard gets rewarded while Elia's children must navigate the vipers of courtly favor."

Doran: (leaning forward) "Which is why we ensure Rhaenys' betrothal to Prince Baelon remains unbroken. The Lannisters may have Dragonstone, but we will have the future."

Rhaenys: (raising an eyebrow) "Assuming I don't strangle the golden brat before our wedding."

Elia: (sighing) "Rhaenys."

Aegon VII: (walking over, still catching his breath) "If it makes you feel better, sister, I heard Prince Baelon is terrified of you."

Rhaenys: (smirking) "Good. He should be."

(Oberyn grins, raising his goblet again.)

Oberyn: "To Dornish vengeance—patient, subtle, and inevitable."

Doran: (dryly) "And to not starting another war before we've finished the last one."

(As the Martells share a tense but understanding silence, the distant sound of steel clashing echoes through the courtyard—a reminder that while the past may haunt them, the game is far from over.)

[(The Iron Throne Room, Red Keep – 289 AC. The hall is empty save for King Aegon VI and Queen Rhaella, their voices echoing faintly against the towering pillars. Aegon sits upon the throne, fingers tapping against a sword pommel, while Rhaella stands at the base of the steps, a ledger in hand. The weight of rulership hangs between them.)

Aegon VI: (leaning forward) "It's time to settle the Stokeworth matter."

Rhaella: (raising an eyebrow) "Ah. You mean the house that spent the entire rebellion whispering sweet nothings into Robert's ear?"

Aegon VI: (dry) "The very same. Lady Tana's loyalty was as thin as her excuses."

Rhaella: (flipping through her ledger) "And now you want to give their lands to Rhaegar's trueborn son. To balance the scales after naming his bastard half-brother Lord of Pyke."

Aegon VI: (nodding) "Aegon VII deserves more than just a name. And Dorne deserves to see their blood rewarded."

Rhaella: (smirking) "While also conveniently removing a troublesome house that sided with Robert? How very efficient of you."

Aegon VI: (shrugging) "I prefer to think of it as… poetic justice."

Rhaella: (snorting) "Poetic justice would be feeding Lady Tana to Daemon's dragon and calling it a day."

Aegon VI: (amused) "Tempting. But I'd rather not give Tywin ideas. He's already looking for reasons to redistribute more lands to Lannister loyalists."

Rhaella: (leaning against the throne's steps) "So. You strip Stokeworth from Lady Tana and her daughters, install Aegon VII as Lord, and what? Hope Dorne stops glaring at us every time we mention Lyanna's son?"

Aegon VI: (grimacing) "It's a start. And it sends a message—trueborn blood will always be favored over bastards in the eyes of the Crown."

Rhaella: (softly) "Even if the bastard in question is Rhaegar's?"

Aegon VI: (Aegon exhales, the weight of old guilt pressing down.) "Especially then."

Rhaella: (after a pause) "And what of Lady Tana? Will you execute her? Exile her?"

Aegon VI: (shaking his head) "No. Let her live in obscurity. Let her watch as Rhaegar's trueborn son takes what was hers. That will sting far worse than a quick death."

Rhaella: (smirking) "Now that is poetic."

Aegon VI: (standing from the throne) "I'll have the decree drawn up. By year's end, Aegon VII will be Lord of Stokeworth."

Rhaella: (muttering as she makes a note) "Let's just hope Oberyn doesn't decide this means we owe Dorne another royal marriage."

Aegon VI: (grim) "If he asks, I'm blaming Daeron."

Rhaella: (laughing) "Poor Daeron. First Cersei, now this."

(As they exit the throne room, the shadows of the past and future stretch long behind them—a king balancing justice and legacy, a queen tallying the costs, and the realm forever caught in the middle.)