A Crown for Aegon (ChatGPT)

[(Riverrun Courtyard - Morning. The sun glints off the Red Fork as Prince Daeron checks Drogon's saddle straps one last time. Elia's ship bobs in the water, already loaded with supplies. The Tully family stands in formation - Brynden at the front with his arms crossed, Hoster scowling behind him, and Edmure bouncing on his heels like an overexcited puppy.)

Brynden: (gruff) So. The Vale next?

Daeron: (nodding) Ronnel's been expecting us.

Hoster: (muttering) That weak-spined—

Brynden: (cutting him off with a look) Safe travels, then.

Edmure: (grinning) You'll love the Vale! The mountains are spectacular! And the falconry! And—

Hoster: (grabbing his arm) Gods, boy, let them leave in peace.

Elia: (smirking) It's quite all right, Lord Hoster. Enthusiasm is refreshing.

Brynden: (dry) You won't be saying that after a week with Lysa.

[(A beat of awkward silence. The rushing river fills the gap.)

Daeron: (mounting Drogon) Tell Lysa we'll... try not to mention her husband's demotion.

Hoster: (scoffing) As if Ronnel has the stones to bring it up.

Brynden: (ignoring him) And Daeron?

Daeron: (raising a brow) Yes?

Brynden: (deadpan) Try not to start another war on your way out.

Daeron: (snorting) No promises.

[(With a mighty leap, Drogon takes to the skies as Elia's ship pulls away. Below, Edmure waves enthusiastically while Hoster mutters about "damn flying lizards." Brynden just shakes his head, already turning back to the business of ruling - some things never change.)]

[(The Eyrie's Moon Gate Courtyard - Afternoon. A crisp mountain wind whips through the courtyard as Drogon lands with a thunderous thud. Prince Daeron dismounts just as Elia's carriage arrives through the narrow mountain pass. The Arryn family stands in formal welcome - Ronnel wringing his hands nervously, Jon standing stiffly beside him, Lysa clutching young Robert to her chest, and Elbert watching with sharp eyes.)

Ronnel: (bowing deeply) Prince Daeron! Princess Elia! The Eyrie welcomes you!

Jon: (through gritted teeth) Your Graces.

Lysa: (curtsying awkwardly while holding Robert) Such an honor!

Elbert: (observant) You made good time. The mountain passes are treacherous this season.

Daeron: (dusting off his riding gloves) Dragons tend to ignore inconvenient things like cliffs.

Elia: (gracefully accepting Ronnel's hand) Lord Ronnel, your home is as breathtaking as they say.

Ronnel: (flustered) Oh! Well! The, uh, the stonemasons did excellent work—

Jon: (cutting in) Why are you really here?

[(A heavy silence falls. Somewhere above, a falcon cries.)

Daeron: (raising a brow) Same reason we visited every other kingdom. Royal tour. Tradition.

Jon: (cold) And to remind us who holds the power now, no?

Lysa: (hissing) Jon!

Ronnel: (nervously laughing) What my brother means is—

Elbert: (calmly) He means eight years is a long time to wait for an inspection.

Elia: (smooth) Not an inspection. A reconciliation.

Robert Arryn: (suddenly wailing) I don't like dragons!

[(The adults blink at the outburst. Lysa shushes him frantically.)

Daeron: (dry) Neither did your namesake.

Jon: (glaring) That's enough.

Ronnel: (clapping hands) Right! Well! We've prepared the Moon Chambers for you! And, uh, supper in the High Hall!

Elia: (diplomatic) How lovely.

[(As they move inside, Jon lingers behind, watching Daeron with barely concealed resentment. Elbert falls into step beside Elia, his voice low.)

Elbert: You'll forgive my uncle. Being stripped of his lordship still... rankles.

Elia: (quiet) And you?

Elbert: (shrugging) The Eyrie needs stability. Ronnel provides that.

Jon: (suddenly beside them) At what cost?

[(The question hangs in the thin mountain air as they enter the castle - the past and present colliding once more beneath the shadow of the Giant's Lance.)]

[(Moonlit Courtyard of the Eyrie - The cold mountain wind whistles through the stone pillars as Prince Daeron and Lord Ronnel Arryn stand near the Moon Door, steaming cups of mulled wine in hand. The faint sound of a crying babe echoes from the nursery above.)

Ronnel: (nervously sipping) The, uh, the view is quite spectacular at night, isn't it?

Daeron: (deadpan) Especially when contemplating political suicide.

Ronnel: (choking on his wine) I—what?

Daeron: (leaning against the railing) Let's skip the pleasantries. Your nephew Robert's birth complicates things.

Ronnel: (wringing hands) Oh dear. Well. Yes. But Elbert is my heir! Properly named!

Daeron: (raising a brow) And how many "accidents" has he narrowly avoided since the babe was born?

[(Ronnel pales. Somewhere in the castle, a door slams.)

Ronnel: (whispering) You think Lysa would... but she wouldn't... surely...

Daeron: (flatly) Her father married her to Jon to put an Arryn-Tully on the throne. Now she's stuck with a disgraced husband while her sister rules Winterfell and her uncle rules Riverrun.

Ronnel: (mopping brow) Oh sweet Mother—

Daeron: (cutting in) Here's what's going to happen. You'll assign Elbert a permanent Kingsguard escort. From my father's personal retinue.

Ronnel: (blinking) But—

Daeron: And little Robert will be fostered at Dragonstone when he's old enough.

Ronnel: (squeaking) What?

Daeron: (sipping wine) Consider it an honor. My son Baelon needs playmates.

[(The wind howls through the courtyard. Ronnel looks like he might vomit over the edge.)

Ronnel: (weakly) Jon will never agree—

Daeron: (smiling coldly) Jon lost the right to disagree when he backed the wrong stag.

[(A long silence. The torches flicker against the pale stone.)

Ronnel: (whispering) You're not at all like your father, are you?

Daeron: (finishing his wine) Thank the Seven for that. Now. Shall we rejoin the others before Lysa "accidentally" pushes someone out the Moon Door?

[(Ronnel makes a strangled noise as they walk back inside, the weight of succession - and survival - hanging heavier than the mountain air.)]

[(The High Hall of the Eyrie - Evening. The long weirwood table gleams under flickering torchlight as the Arryn family shares an uncomfortably formal meal with their royal guests. Servants move silently between courses while young Robert Arryn fusses in Lysa's lap. The mountain winds howl outside like a warning.)

Ronnel: (nervously passing the salt) The, uh, the venison is particularly good this season!

Jon: (stabbing his meat) A shame we couldn't serve stag.

[(A collective inhale. Elbert closes his eyes like he's praying for patience.)

Elia: (smoothly) How fortunate that Robert enjoys his vegetables. Such a healthy boy.

Lysa: (clutching Robert tighter) He's delicate. The mountain air doesn't agree with him.

Daeron: (setting down his fork) Then Dragonstone's sea air will do him good.

Everyone: (freezing) ...What?

Daeron: (casually) When Robert turns six, he'll be fostered at Dragonstone. My son Maekar could use a companion.

Lysa: (shrieking) Absolutely not!

Jon: (standing abruptly) Over my dead—

Elbert: (suddenly) An excellent idea.

[(All heads swivel to the quiet heir. Even Robert stops whimpering.)

Elbert: (calmly cutting his food) The boy would benefit from royal tutelage. And it would... ease tensions here.

Lysa: (turning purple) You scheming little—

Ronnel: (squeaking) Now, now! Perhaps we could—

Jon: (slamming hands on table) This is your doing! Punishing me through my son!

Daeron: (raising a brow) If I wanted to punish you, I'd have left you to Lysa's cooking.

Elia: (kicking him under the table) What my husband means is—

Robert: (wailing) I don't wanna go!

Daeron: (over the noise) And Elbert will have a permanent Kingsguard detail. Ser Barristan's squire is due for promotion.

Jon: (realizing) You think we'd...

Daeron: (holding his gaze) I think accidents happen. Especially in high places.

[(A chilling silence falls. The torches flicker. Somewhere, a servant drops a platter with a deafening clatter.)

Elbert: (standing) If you'll excuse me. I believe I'll retire before someone "falls down the mountain."

Ronnel: (weakly) Yes! Yes, perhaps we should all—

Lysa: (hysterical) You can't take my baby!

Elia: (gentle but firm) In four years, my lady. Plenty of time to... adjust.

[(As the chaotic dinner dissolves, Jon storms out, Lysa sobs uncontrollably, and Ronnel looks ready to faint. Daeron and Elia exchange glances - another royal visit, another family crisis neatly managed. Somewhere in the nursery above, a cradle rocks ominously in the drafty mountain air.)]