[(The Great Hall of the Red Keep is filled to capacity, every noble house in Westeros represented beneath the towering stained glass windows. The Iron Throne stands empty, waiting, as Prince Aegon approaches down the center aisle, dressed in black and red velvet trimmed with ermine. Princess Rhaella walks slightly behind him, her silver hair cascading over a gown of ivory silk embroidered with tiny rubies. Queen Shaera sits in the front row with Princess Alyssa and Prince Rhaegar, the children unusually solemn in their court finery.)
High Septon: (raising his crystal crown) Who comes before the Seven this day?
Lord Commander Gwayne Hightower: (booming) Prince Aegon of House Targaryen, son of Jaehaerys the Second of His Name, comes to claim his birthright!
(The crowd murmurs as Aegon kneels at the base of the throne. The High Septon lifts the ancient crown of Aegon the Conqueror - a simple band of Valyrian steel set with rubies.)
Princess Alyssa: (whispering loudly to Rhaegar) Why does Father look like he ate bad fish?
Prince Rhaegar: (whispering back) Because now he has to sit on the pokey chair.
(Queen Shaera stifles a laugh behind her hand as the High Septon glares at the interruption.)
High Septon: (placing the crown) By the grace of the Seven, I proclaim you Aegon of House Targaryen, Sixth of His Name, King of the Andals—
King Aegon VI: (suddenly standing) Wait.
(The entire hall gasps. Rhaella's eyes widen. The High Septon nearly drops the crown.)
High Septon: (flustered) Your Grace?
(Aegon turns to face the assembled lords, his voice carrying clearly.)
King Aegon VI: Before I take this crown, there's something all of Westeros must hear. (gestures to Rhaegar) My nephew will remain Prince of Dragonstone and heir to the Iron Throne. This is not negotiable.
(A shocked silence falls. Then murmurs erupt through the hall like wildfire.)
Lord Tyrell: (muttering) Madness! The boy isn't even his trueborn son!
Prince Rhaegar: (suddenly piping up) I can hear you, you know!
(Queen Shaera pulls Rhaegar back as Aegon continues, his voice hardening.)
King Aegon VI: The throne should have been Aerys'. By rights, it passes to his son. Any lord who disputes this may take it up with my sword.
(The implied threat hangs in the air. After a tense moment, Tywin Lannister steps forward and kneels.)
Tywin Lannister: The West stands with you, Your Grace. And your chosen heir.
(One by one, the other lords follow suit. The High Septon, seeing the tide has turned, hurriedly finishes the ceremony.)
High Septon: (placing the crown at last) ...King of the Andals, the Rhoynar, and the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms and Protector of the Realm!
(The trumpets blast as Aegon - now Aegon VI - turns to ascend the Iron Throne. He pauses at the first step, looking back at Rhaella with a silent question. She gives him the barest nod, her eyes shining. Scene fades on the new king taking his seat, the rubies in his crown catching the light like dragon's eyes, while Rhaegar watches with solemn understanding - the weight of generations settling onto small shoulders.]
[(The Small Council chamber is bathed in the pale morning light filtering through the leaded windows. King Aegon VI sits at the head of the long table, his new crown resting beside an untouched goblet of wine. Queen Rhaella stands at his right shoulder, her fingers lightly brushing his arm, while Dowager Queen Shaera occupies a chair to his left, her sharp eyes missing nothing. Before them, the old council members stand in varying states of apprehension - Grand Maester Pycelle clutching his chain, Lord Commander Gwayne Hightower standing stiffly at attention, and the soon-to-be-replaced Hand Edgar Sloane looking like he's swallowed something sour.)
King Aegon VI: (tapping the table) Let's make this quick. I appreciate your service to my father, but the realm needs fresh perspectives. (nods to Tywin Lannister, who stands near the door) Lord Tywin will serve as my Hand.
Edgar Sloane: (spluttering) Your Grace, with all due respect, the position of Hand has never—
Queen Rhaella: (sweetly) Been held by someone competent? We're correcting that.
(Tywin's lips twitch. Shaera hides a smile behind her wine cup.)
King Aegon VI: (continuing) My wife will oversee the treasury as Master of Coin.
Grand Maester Pycelle: (shocked) A woman handling the realm's finances? The traditions—
Dowager Queen Shaera: (dryly) The same traditions that had you embezzling funds for your "medicinal" sweetsleep, Grand Maester?
(Pycelle turns an impressive shade of purple. Gwayne Hightower coughs to hide a laugh.)
King Aegon VI: (ignoring the outburst) My cousin Steffon will take Ships, Jon Arryn will handle Laws, and Gwayne— (nods to the Lord Commander) You've served well. I'd be a fool to replace you.
Gwayne Hightower: (bowing) Your Grace honors me.
King Aegon VI: (leaning forward) But make no mistake—these appointments come with one non-negotiable condition. (his voice hardens) Prince Rhaegar remains my heir. Any son born to me and Queen Rhaella will hold Summerhall as the spare. This is not up for debate.
(A heavy silence falls. The old council members exchange glances. Finally, Tywin steps forward, his golden hair gleaming in the sunlight.)
Tywin Lannister: (coolly) A prudent decision. The realm needs stability after Summerhall. (his eyes flick to the others) And any who question it will answer to Casterly Rock.
Queen Rhaella: (raising an eyebrow) And the Crown.
Dowager Queen Shaera: (sipping her wine) And a very angry grandmother.
(The tension breaks as nervous laughter ripples through the room. Aegon exhales, some of the stiffness leaving his shoulders. Outside, the bells of King's Landing begin to ring the hour - a reminder that time, like the Targaryen dynasty, marches ever onward.Scene fades on the new Small Council taking their seats around the table, the old guard bowing out, while through the window, the distant figure of Prince Rhaegar can be seen in the training yard, wooden sword in hand, blissfully unaware of the political storm swirling around his future.]
[(The Small Council chamber hums with quiet energy as King Aegon VI unfurls a detailed parchment across the table. Sunlight streams through the windows, illuminating the carefully inked plans for the Crown Merchant Guild. Queen Rhaella leans over his shoulder, pointing to a particular section, while Tywin Lannister studies the document with sharp interest. Steffon Baratheon whistles low under his breath, swirling his wine. Jon Arryn strokes his beard thoughtfully.)
King Aegon VI: (tapping the map) The Crown Merchant Guild will operate out of Duskendale, Gulltown, and Rosby—key trade hubs in the Crownlands. Taxes on guild profits will flow directly to the royal treasury, bypassing corrupt stewards.
Tywin Lannister: (raising an eyebrow) And you intend to place this under the Prince of Summerhall's control?
Queen Rhaella: (smiling) It's the perfect role for a second son. Practical governance without the… complications of Dragonstone.
Jon Arryn: (leaning forward) Your Grace, forgive me, but won't this create friction? The Prince of Dragonstone oversees naval trade routes. The Prince of Summerhall would control inland commerce. They'll be stepping on each other's boots before long.
Steffon Baratheon: (grinning) Sounds like healthy competition to me. Gods know the realm could use more of that.
King Aegon VI: (firm) There will be no rivalry. Rhaegar's authority as heir is absolute. But— (glances at Rhaella) —our future sons will need purpose beyond waiting for a throne they'll never inherit. The CMG ensures that.
Tywin Lannister: (coolly) And the sanitation reforms?
Queen Rhaella: (brightening) Public bathhouses in Flea Bottom. Proper drainage along the Street of Steel. No more dumping chamber pots into the Blackwater where the fishermen haul up turds instead of trout.
Steffon Baratheon: (choking on his wine) Seven hells, Rhaella!
Jon Arryn: (amused) A… vivid argument for civic improvement.
King Aegon VI: (smirking) She's not wrong. (serious again) The guild's profits will fund it. Cleaner streets mean fewer plagues. Fewer plagues mean more workers. More workers mean—
Tywin Lannister: (finishing) —more taxes. Efficient.
Queen Rhaella: (softly, to Aegon) And fewer children dying of fever.
(A brief silence settles over the table. Outside, the distant clatter of construction echoes—the city already stirring under its new king's vision.)
King Aegon VI: (clasping his hands) Then we're agreed? The CMG begins within the fortnight. Summerhall's reconstruction is nearly complete—our future spare heir will have his seat ready when the time comes.
Jon Arryn: (nodding) And if the lords grumble about the Prince of Summerhall's growing influence?
King Aegon VI: (dry) Tell them to take it up with the dragons. Oh wait— (mock realization) —we don't have any. They'll have to settle for dealing with me.
(The council chuckles, the tension easing. As the meeting adjourns, Tywin lingers, studying the plans with a calculating gaze.)
Tywin Lannister: (quietly) You're creating a second power base within the royal family. Bold.
King Aegon VI: (meeting his eyes) Balance, Lord Tywin. Not competition.
Tywin Lannister: (almost smiling) We'll see.
[Scene fades on the guild schematics, the inked lines of bathhouses and trade routes gleaming in the sunlight—a blueprint for a new era, where even spare heirs have dragons to tame.]
[(The Small Council chamber is quiet now, the afternoon sun casting long shadows across the table strewn with parchment and half-empty wine cups. King Aegon VI leans back in his chair, rubbing his temples, while Queen Rhaella and Dowager Queen Shaera discuss the guild plans in hushed tones. The peace is shattered when the doors burst open, revealing a red-faced Prince Rhaegar, still in his training leathers, with Princess Alyssa trailing behind him, her usual Stark-like stoicism replaced by concern.)
Prince Rhaegar: (storming in) It's not fair!
Queen Rhaella: (startled) Rhaegar? What's wrong?
Princess Alyssa: (crossing her arms) The Bracken and Frey brats were being stupid again.
King Aegon VI: (raising an eyebrow) That's not exactly breaking news.
Prince Rhaegar: (fuming) They said I'm only heir because you feel guilty! That Uncle Aerys was supposed to be king, and I'm just… just a placeholder until you have a real son!
(A heavy silence falls. Shaera's grip tightens on her wine cup. Rhaella's face pales. Aegon, however, exhales slowly and stands, crouching to meet Rhaegar at eye level.)
King Aegon VI: (calmly) Do you think that's true?
Prince Rhaegar: (kicking the floor) I don't know. Maybe?
Princess Alyssa: (rolling her eyes) Don't be dumb. Father doesn't do things out of guilt. He does them out of spite.
Queen Rhaella: (hiding a laugh behind her hand) Alyssa!
King Aegon VI: (ignoring the jab) Rhaegar, look at me. (waits until the boy meets his gaze) You're not heir because of guilt. You're heir because you're Aerys' son—because the throne should have been his, and now it's yours. (firm) And when the time comes, you'll be a better king than I could ever be.
Prince Rhaegar: (blinking) Really?
Dowager Queen Shaera: (smirking) Gods help us, he'd better be. Your father's already terrible at feasts.
King Aegon VI: (dry) Thank you, Mother.
Queen Rhaella: (stroking Rhaegar's hair) And if those little lordlings bother you again, remind them that your dragon blood goes back to Aegon the Conqueror. Theirs goes back to, what… sheep thieves and toll collectors?
Princess Alyssa: (grinning) And if that doesn't work, I'll punch them. Northern-style.
King Aegon VI: (sighing) No punching, Alyssa.
Princess Alyssa: (muttering) Fine. I'll just threaten to punch them.
(Rhaegar giggles, some of the tension leaving his small frame. Aegon ruffles his hair before standing, his expression turning serious.)
King Aegon VI: (to Rhaegar) Tomorrow, you'll sit in on the Small Council. Let them see their future king. (smirking) And if the Bracken boy opens his mouth, you have my permission to politely remind him of his place.
Prince Rhaegar: (perking up) Can I use the phrase "ill-bred fool"?
Queen Rhaella: (horrified) Rhaegar!
Dowager Queen Shaera: (sipping her wine) Oh, let him. It's accurate.
[Scene fades on Alyssa dragging Rhaegar out to plan his "diplomatic strategies," while Aegon and Rhaella exchange a look—part exasperation, part quiet pride—as the sun sets over King's Landing.]