A Crown for Aegon (ChatGPT)

[(Winterfell Courtyard - Morning. A light snow dusts the stones as Prince Daeron checks Drogon's saddle straps while servants load Elia's carriage. Ned Stark stands stiffly nearby, watching the preparations with his usual solemn expression. Catelyn hovers at the entrance, her lips pressed into a thin line. The Stark children peek from various windows, except Arya who stands boldly in the courtyard.]

Daeron: (adjusting his gloves) The North lives up to its reputation. I haven't been this cold since the last Small Council meeting with Tywin.

Ned: (nodding) Winter is coming, Your Grace. Though this is just autumn's kiss.

Elia: (emerging from the castle, wrapped in furs) If this is a kiss, I'd hate to experience winter's embrace.

Catelyn: (forced smile) The Riverlands will be more to your liking, Princess. My uncle Brynden keeps a warm hearth at Riverrun.

Daeron: (dryly) After eight years, I'm sure the Blackfish has... thoughts about hosting Targaryens.

Ned: (grimacing) Brynden speaks his mind. But he's loyal to the realm.

Arya: (suddenly appearing) Are you really going to fly all the way there? (pointing at Drogon) Can I come?

Catelyn: (horrified) Arya!

Elia: (laughing) I like your spirit, little wolf. But today you'll have to settle for waving goodbye.

Sansa: (appearing with perfect timing) We've prepared parting gifts! (presenting carefully wrapped parcels) Dornish silks for you, Princess, and northern furs for the prince.

Daeron: (surprised) That's... unexpectedly thoughtful.

Bran: (leaning out a window) Did you know dragons can't actually—

Ned: (cutting off) Bran.

[(The sound of hooves interrupts them as a rider arrives from the gates.)

Rider: (breathless) Message from Riverrun! Lord Brynden says to tell you he's stocked extra wine "for the inevitable political headaches."

Daeron: (snorting) At least he's honest.

Elia: (smirking) I think I'm going to like your uncle, Lady Stark.

Catelyn: (tight-lipped) He has... unique charms.

Ned: (handing Daeron a scroll) For Brynden. It explains... recent developments.

Daeron: (pocketing it) Let me guess - "Try not to mention the rebellion"?

Ned: (deadpan) More or less.

[(As Drogon stretches his wings, kicking up snow, the Stark children wave enthusiastically - except Rickon who's busy trying to climb a direwolf pup. Catelyn maintains perfect composure while Ned offers a stiff bow.)

Elia: (boarding her carriage) Until next time, Winterfell.

Daeron: (mounting Drogon) Try not to freeze while we're gone.

[(With a mighty leap, Drogon takes to the skies as the carriage rolls out the gates. Back in the courtyard, Arya immediately starts badgering Ned about dragonriding lessons while Sansa sighs dreamily. The snow continues to fall - silent witness to another awkward but successful royal visit.)]

[(Riverrun's Common Room - Evening. The fire crackles as Brynden Tully studies a map of the riverlands, his brother Hoster sulks by the window, Lysa nervously arranges flowers, and Edmure practices sword stances with a poker. The air is thick with unspoken tension.)

Brynden: (without looking up) Edmure, stop waving that about before you put someone's eye out.

Edmure: (sheepishly) Just preparing for the royal visit!

Hoster: (muttering) Preparing to grovel, more like.

Lysa: (wringing her hands) Do you think Princess Elia will... remember me from court?

Brynden: (dry) Oh yes, I'm sure she'll never forget the woman married to the man who helped start a rebellion against her husband.

Hoster: (slamming his cup down) Enough, Brynden!

[(A servant scurries in with wine, wisely retreating immediately.)

Brynden: (leaning back) Face it, brother. We're hosting the crown prince and the woman whose husband you tried to overthrow. This won't be a happy reunion.

Edmure: (brightly) But I had nothing to do with the rebellion!

Hoster: (bitter) No, you were too busy fishing while your family lost everything.

Lysa: (tearful) Jon only wanted what was best—

Brynden: (interrupting) Jon wanted to be Hand of the King. Now he's rotting in the Vale while Ronnel rules.

[(The fire pops loudly in the silence.)

Hoster: (quietly) What do they want from us?

Brynden: (standing) To show the riverlands are loyal. To remind us who holds the power now. (pausing at the door) And Edmure?

Edmure: (perking up) Yes, Uncle?

Brynden: (deadpan) Wear something without fish embroidery tomorrow. We're not complete caricatures.

[(As Brynden exits, Hoster glares into his wine, Lysa sniffles into her sleeves, and Edmure—ever the optimist—practices his bow, blissfully unaware of the political storm about to crash upon Riverrun.)]

[(Riverrun's Courtyard - Afternoon. Drogon's shadow darkens the Tully banners as Prince Daeron dismounts with practiced ease. Nearby, Elia's ship docks smoothly. The Tully family stands in stiff formation - Brynden at the front, Hoster glowering behind him, Lysa wringing her hands, and Edmure bouncing on his toes like an overeager puppy.)

Brynden: (gruff) Prince Daeron. Princess Elia. Riverrun is yours.

Daeron: (nodding) Lord Brynden.

Elia: (graceful) The rivers are as beautiful as I remember.

Edmure: (bursting forward) Welcome! I've prepared a feast! And a tour! And—

Hoster: (grabbing his son's shoulder) Quiet, boy.

[(An awkward silence stretches. Somewhere, a fish jumps in the river.)

Brynden: (ignoring them) Eight years since I took these halls from my brother. The fish still bite, the rivers still flow.

Hoster: (muttering) And the crown still takes its pound of flesh.

Daeron: (raising a brow) Would you prefer the Lannisters handled your taxes instead?

Lysa: (suddenly) Jon sends his regards!

[(Everyone turns to stare. Lysa shrinks back.)

Elia: (diplomatic) How... thoughtful.

Brynden: (rubbing temples) Let's get you inside before Edmure tries to demonstrate his swimming skills.

Edmure: (brightening) I could!

Hoster: (growling) No one wants to see that.

[(As they move toward the castle, Brynden falls into step with Daeron.)

Brynden: (low) You're here to see if the trout still has teeth.

Daeron: (smirking) Do you?

Brynden: (grinning sharply) Bite me and find out.

[(Behind them, Elia watches the exchange with amusement while Hoster fumes, Lysa sniffles, and Edmure enthusiastically points out every single fish carving in the courtyard. The Red Fork flows on, indifferent to the petty dramas of men.)]

[(Moonlit Courtyard of Riverrun - The sound of the Red Fork rushing nearby fills the quiet night as Prince Daeron and Brynden Tully stand near the water's edge, cups of strong Riverland wine in hand. The torchlight flickers across Brynden's weathered face.)

Brynden: (taking a swig) So. You didn't just come for the fish stew.

Daeron: (dry) Shocking, I know.

Brynden: (grunting) Let me guess—concerned about the future of the Riverlands?

Daeron: (raising a brow) A region without a clear heir tends to make the Crown… uneasy.

Brynden: (snorting) Spare me the diplomacy. You're wondering if I'll name Edmure.

Daeron: (sipping wine) Is there another option?

Brynden: (leaning on the stone railing) There's always another option. My brother's line isn't the only Tully blood left.

Daeron: (raising a brow) You'd pass over Hoster's son?

Brynden: (grinning sharply) Depends. Is this the part where you suggest someone?

Daeron: (matching his tone) Would you listen if I did?

Brynden: (barking a laugh) Not a chance.

[(A long silence. The river rushes on.)

Daeron: (eventually) The realm needs stability, Brynden.

Brynden: (serious now) And it'll have it. But the Riverlands won't be ruled by a man who still gets excited about fishing tournaments.

Daeron: (almost smiling) So who, then?

Brynden: (finishing his wine) When the time comes, you'll know. And no, it won't be some Targaryen puppet.

Daeron: (raising his cup) To stubborn old men, then.

Brynden: (clinking his cup) May we live long enough to annoy the next generation.

[(They drink in comfortable silence. Inside the castle, Edmure's laughter echoes faintly—oblivious, as always, to the weight of lordship looming over him.)]