[The Red Keep's common room is bathed in the warm glow of the afternoon sun, its high windows casting golden light across the plush Myrish carpets and carved oak furniture. Prince Aerys Targaryen lounges on a velvet settee, his silver-gold hair loose around his shoulders, while his sister-wife Princess Rhaella sits beside him, her hands resting gently on her still-flat stomach. Across from them, Prince Aegon Targaryen of Summerhall leans forward in his chair, his dark violet eyes thoughtful, while his wife Jocelyn Stark—her own pregnancy more visible—adjusts the fur-lined cloak draped over her shoulders.]
Aerys: (grinning) So, Summerhall again. Grandfather insists it's tradition—dragons, feasts, and whatever grand spectacle he's planned this year.
Rhaella: (softly) It is lovely there. The gardens, the hot springs… (she glances at Jocelyn) Though I suppose you'll miss it this time, Jocelyn.
Jocelyn: (smirking) Aye, unless you fancy me waddling into labor halfway through the Kingswood.
Aegon: (chuckling) I'd pay good coin to see Uncle Orys' face if that happened.
Aerys: (laughing) Gods, imagine Father's reaction. He'd faint before the maester even arrived.
Rhaella: (gently scolding) Aerys.
Aerys: (waving a hand) Oh, come now. Father's always been wound tighter than a crossbow. A little excitement might do him good.
Jocelyn: (raising an eyebrow) Says the man who once set his own doublet on fire trying to light a candle.
Aegon: (grinning) That was excitement.
Aerys: (mock-offended) It was a valiant effort! Fire is our heritage—I was merely embracing it.
Rhaella: (sighing) Embracing it a little too closely, dear.
Aerys: (grinning) And yet here you are, carrying my child. Clearly, you find my recklessness charming.
Rhaella: (blushing) Or I've simply learned to tolerate it.
Aegon: (leaning back) Well, while you're all off enjoying Summerhall's hot springs—
Jocelyn: (dryly) Don't start.
Aegon: (innocently) What? I was going to say I'll be here, dutifully assisting Father with the realm's endless ledgers.
Aerys: (snorting) You say that like you don't enjoy it.
Aegon: (smirking) Someone has to keep the Crown's coffers from vanishing into Uncle Orys' tourney prizes.
Jocelyn: (teasing) My brave husband, defending gold from Baratheons. A true warrior.
Aegon: (laughing) I'll take ledgers over lances any day.
Aerys: (grinning) Spoken like a man who's never jousted.
Rhaella: (gently) Or a man who values his bones unbroken.
Aegon: (nodding) Exactly.
Aerys: (dramatic sigh) You're all so sensible. It's exhausting.
Jocelyn: (raising an eyebrow) Says the man whose idea of "planning" is "let's see what happens."
Aerys: (grinning) Life's more fun that way.
Rhaella: (softly) Until you're explaining to Grandfather why his favorite tapestry is now a pile of ashes.
Aerys: (waving a hand) That was one time.
Aegon: (smirking) One time this week.
Aerys: (laughing) Fine, fine. But you'll miss my chaos when you're buried in tax reports.
Jocelyn: (dryly) Somehow, I think we'll manage.
Rhaella: (gently touching Aerys' arm) Just promise me you won't try to outdrink Uncle Orys again.
Aerys: (mock-offended) I won that contest.
Aegon: (raising an eyebrow) You passed out in a rosebush.
Aerys: (grinning) A victorious pass-out.
Jocelyn: (shaking her head) Seven save us all.
Aegon: (smiling) At least we'll have peace and quiet here.
Aerys: (dramatic gasp) Betrayal.
Rhaella: (laughing softly) We'll bring you back a souvenir.
Aegon: (grinning) Just not another burnt tapestry.
Aerys: (clutching his chest) The slander in this room.
[The door opens, and Prince Jaehaerys II steps in, looking mildly exasperated but fond.]
Jaehaerys: (dryly) I leave you alone for an hour, and already I hear talk of fire and poor life choices.
Aerys: (grinning) Father! Perfect timing—we were just discussing how much you'll miss me.
Jaehaerys: (raising an eyebrow) Like a headache misses wine.
Aegon: (laughing) Finally, someone sensible.
Jocelyn: (smirking) Welcome to the club, Your Grace.
Jaehaerys: (sighing, but smiling) Gods give me strength.
[The room fills with laughter as the sunlight fades into evening, the warmth of family lingering even as the coming separation looms.]
[Kingslanding Palace Shipyard Port – The bustling dock is alive with activity as servants load trunks onto the royal ships. The salty breeze from Blackwater Bay carries the scent of the sea, mingling with the faint aroma of burning torch oil. The Targaryen banners ripple in the wind as the royal family gathers for their farewells. Prince Aerys stands with his arm around Princess Rhaella, who rests a hand on her barely visible pregnancy bump, while Prince Aegon and Jocelyn Stark stand nearby, exchanging last-minute words with their parents, Prince Jaehaerys II and Princess Shaera. King Aegon V, the venerable patriarch, watches with a fond but weary smile as he prepares to bid his eldest son farewell before the official departure.]
Aerys: (grinning, nudging Aegon) Look at you, playing the dutiful son while the rest of us sail off to merriment and wine.
Aegon: (dryly) Someone has to keep Father from throttling the Small Council in your absence.
Jaehaerys II: (pinching the bridge of his nose) Gods, don't remind me. Lord Darklyn's latest petition about tariffs was eight scrolls long.
Shaera: (laughing softly) And yet you still read every word.
Jaehaerys II: (grumbling) Someone has to.
Jocelyn: (smirking) And here I thought the North had tedious lords.
Aegon: (mock-offended) Excuse me, my lady wife, but we southerners take our tediousness very seriously.
Rhaella: (giggling) Oh, I've missed this.
Aerys: (grinning) What, my brother's suffering?
Rhaella: (playfully swatting his arm) No, the banter. It's been too long since we were all together like this.
Shaera: (smiling warmly) Then we must make sure to do it more often.
Jaehaerys II: (dryly) Preferably without Aerys nearly burning down a wing of the Red Keep next time.
Aerys: (clutching his chest) Father! That was one mishap—
Aegon: (raising a finger) Two.
Jocelyn: (counting on her fingers) Three, if we count the incident with the candelabra.
Aerys: (grumbling) Traitors, all of you.
King Aegon V: (approaching, chuckling) Ah, my grandsons. Arguing as always. Some things never change.
Jaehaerys II: (bowing slightly) Father.
Aegon V: (waving a hand) None of that. Save the formalities for the court. (He clasps Jaehaerys' shoulder.) You'll keep things in order while we're gone?
Jaehaerys II: (nodding) Of course. Though I doubt the realm will collapse in a fortnight.
Aegon V: (grinning) You'd be surprised. The last time I left the capital unattended, Lord Tully tried to tax the fish in the Blackwater.
Shaera: (laughing) That was a fun moon's worth of petitions.
Aerys: (grinning) See, Aegon? This is why you're staying. To protect us from fish taxes.
Aegon: (deadpan) My heroism knows no bounds.
Jocelyn: (patting his arm) Such sacrifice. The bards will sing of you. "The Prince Who Stood Against the Fish."
Rhaella: (laughing) I'd listen to that song.
Aerys: (grinning) I'd commission it.
Jaehaerys II: (sighing) Gods, I'm already regretting this.
Aegon V: (chuckling) Come now, Jaehaerys. A little quiet will do you good. (He turns to Aegon and Jocelyn.) And you two—take care. The realm can wait.
Aegon: (nodding) We will.
Jocelyn: (smirking) Though if the fish start rebelling, we are sending ravens.
Aerys: (laughing) Please do. I want details.
Rhaella: (shaking her head fondly) You're impossible.
Aerys: (grinning) And yet you love me.
Rhaella: (softly) Against all sense.
Shaera: (smiling) Safe travels, my loves. (She kisses Aerys and Rhaella's cheeks, then Aegon and Jocelyn's.) And you two—don't let Jaehaerys work too hard.
Jaehaerys II: (dryly) I'm standing right here.
Aegon: (grinning) Don't worry, Mother. I'll make sure he takes breaks.
Jaehaerys II: (raising an eyebrow) You're going to enforce my schedule?
Jocelyn: (smirking) Oh, this I have to see.
Aerys: (clapping his hands) Right! Before this turns into another debate on responsibility—time to sail! (He gestures grandly toward the ships.)
Aegon V: (laughing) Spoken like a true Targaryen. (He turns to Jaehaerys one last time.) Take care, my son.
Jaehaerys II: (nodding) You as well, Father.
[With final embraces and laughter, the royal party boards the ships, their silver hair gleaming in the sunlight as the sails unfurl. Aegon and Jocelyn stand with Jaehaerys and Shaera, watching as the fleet begins its journey toward Summerhall.]
Jocelyn: (leaning into Aegon) Think they'll make it a week without Aerys causing some kind of chaos?
Aegon: (snorting) Not a chance.
Jaehaerys II: (sighing) I'll have the City Watch on standby.
[The ship horns sound, the waves crash against the docks, and the Targaryens of Summerhall sail away—leaving King's Landing in the hands of the responsible ones… for now.]
[Kingslanding Shipyard Port – The afternoon sun glints off the Blackwater Bay as Prince Aegon Targaryen stands beside Ser Gerold Hightower, the towering Commander of the Kingsguard, overseeing the unloading of a shipment of Dornish silks and Arbor wines. Dockworkers haul crates under the watchful eyes of gold cloaks, while seagulls cry overhead. The salty breeze carries the scent of fish and tar, mingling with the rich aroma of spices from the newly arrived merchant vessels.]
Aegon: (examining a ledger) "Seven hells, Gerold, if one more of these barrels is marked 'fragile' but arrives looking like it's been kicked down the Roseroad, I'm tossing the whole lot into the bay."
Ser Gerold Hightower: (chuckling) "A bold declaration, my prince. Though I doubt the Dornish would appreciate their finest vintage becoming fish feed."
Aegon: (grinning) "Then they should pack it better. I swear, half these traders think 'handle with care' means 'juggle wildly while dancing.'"
[Suddenly, a harried servant—a young man named Willem—comes sprinting down the docks, his face flushed with panic.]
Willem: (gasping for breath) "M-My prince! P-Prince Aegon!"
Aegon: (frowning) "Willem? Breathe, man. What's wrong?"
Willem: (bent over, hands on knees) "It's—it's the Lady Jocelyn! Her—her waters broke! The maester says the babe's coming now!"
[A beat of silence. Aegon's violet eyes widen. Then—]
Aegon: (whirling toward Ser Gerold) "I need a horse. Now."
Ser Gerold: (already moving) "Jon, fetch the prince's mount! Quickly!"
[A nearby gold cloak takes off at a sprint. Aegon shoves the ledger at a bewildered dockmaster, his usual calm shattered.]
Aegon: (to Willem) "How long ago?"
Willem: "N-Not even half an hour, my prince! The Lady Jocelyn said—ah, well, she said—"
Aegon: (impatient) "What?"
Willem: (flinching) "She said, 'Tell my dramatic husband to stop panicking and get his arse home before I name the child without him.'"
[Ser Gerold coughs into his fist, hiding a laugh. Aegon stares, torn between shock, worry, and exasperation.]
Aegon: (muttering) "Gods, I love that woman.*" (Louder, to Willem) "Did the maester say anything else? Is she—is all well?"
Willem: "The maester says it's early but not dangerously so. Lady Jocelyn is… loudly displeased with the timing."
Aegon: (running a hand through his hair) "Of course she is."
[A stable boy arrives with Aegon's horse, the beast snorting and stamping in anticipation.]
Ser Gerold: (clapping Aegon's shoulder) "Go. I'll handle the docks."
Aegon: (swinging onto the saddle) "Tell my father where I've gone. And someone send a raven to Summerhall—Aerys will never let me hear the end of it if I don't inform him he's an uncle again."
Ser Gerold: (smirking) "Aye, he'll likely declare a feast in your absence."
Aegon: (kicking his horse into motion) "Just go, Gerold!"
[With that, Prince Aegon spurs his horse into a gallop, tearing through the streets of King's Landing toward the Red Keep, scattering startled merchants and smallfolk in his wake. Behind him, Ser Gerold shakes his head, amused, as Willem wheezes, still trying to catch his breath.]
Ser Gerold: (dryly) "You'd think the man had never had a child before."
Willem: (weakly) "To be fair, ser… I don't think any man is truly ready for Lady Jocelyn in a temper."
[Ser Gerold barks out a laugh as the sound of Aegon's frantic hoofbeats fade into the distance.]
[Kingslanding Palace Hallway – Outside the Prince's Chamber, the air is thick with tension. The flickering torchlight casts long shadows against the stone walls as Prince Aegon, still breathless from his frantic ride, skids to a halt in front of his parents, Prince Jaehaerys II and Princess Shaera, who stand guard outside the chamber doors. The muffled sounds of Jocelyn's labor pains echo from within, sharp and urgent.]
Aegon: (panting, already moving toward the door) "Where is she? I need to—"
Jaehaerys II: (firm, stepping in his path) "Aegon, wait."
Aegon: (blinking, bewildered) "What? No—Father, I have to be with her!"
Shaera: (soothing but strained) "The midwives are doing everything they can. You must let them work."
Aegon: (voice rising) "I don't care—that's my wife in there! I won't just stand out here like some—"
[Before he can finish, the chamber door swings open, and Midwife Marna, a stern-faced woman with her sleeves rolled up, steps out, wiping her hands on a bloodied cloth. The grim set of her mouth sends a chill through the hallway.]
Midwife Marna: (grave) "My prince… I must speak with you."
Aegon: (stiffening) "What's happened?"
Marna: (exhaling slowly) "The babe is coming, but Lady Jocelyn… she's lost too much blood. The labor has overtaxed her. We may not be able to save them both."
Aegon: (a terrible silence falls. Aegon's face drains of color) "No. No, that's not—you're telling me I have to choose?"
Marna: (nodding reluctantly) "If it comes to it… yes."
Aegon: (shaking his head violently) "I won't. I can't. Save them both."
Jaehaerys II: (gripping his son's shoulder) "Aegon—"
Aegon: (fierce, cutting him off) "No! You don't understand—I refuse! Do you hear me? Both of them!"
[Marna studies him for a long moment, then nods sharply and turns back into the chamber, the door shutting firmly behind her. Aegon sags against the wall, his breathing ragged. Shaera reaches for him, but he doesn't move, his eyes locked on the door as if sheer will alone could change fate. Minutes crawl by in agonizing silence. Then—a sound cuts through the tension. A baby's cry, sharp and alive. The door opens again, and Marna steps out, her expression unreadable.]
Marna: (quietly) "The child lives. A girl."
Aegon: (staggering forward) "And Jocelyn?"
[Marna's silence is answer enough. Aegon's knees nearly buckle. Jaehaerys catches him before he falls.]
Aegon: (whispering, shattered) "No…"
Shaera: (tears in her eyes) "Oh, my son…"
Marna: (soft) "She held on just long enough to see her daughter born. She named her with her last breath."
Aegon: (voice breaking) "What… what name?"
Marna: "Alyssa."
Aegon: (he closes his eyes, a single tear slipping free. Then, with a shuddering breath, he straightens, his grief hardening into resolve) "Then she shall be Princess Alyssa Targaryen. And I will never let her forget the mother who gave her life for hers."
[The weight of the moment settles over them all—a life begun, a life lost, and a prince left standing in the wreckage of his joy. The babe's cries continue from within, a piercing reminder of what remains… and what is gone.]