Chapter 49:

[(Stokeworth Palace Courtyard, Crownlands - Morning. The green dragon Smaug lands with a thunderous crash, sending chickens scattering and servants diving for cover. Prince Daemon Targaryen dismounts with theatrical flair, adjusting his riding gloves as Lady Tanda Stokeworth and her daughters Falyse and Lollys rush out in various states of alarm.)]

Tanda Stokeworth: (clutching pearls) Seven save us! Prince Daemon, what brings you to our humble home unannounced? And with a dragon no less!

Daemon: (grinning) Why, good news, my lady! The sort that requires... dramatic presentation.

Falyse: (narrowing eyes) Since when does good news arrive on dragonback?

Lollys: (whispering) Maybe he's come to announce a tourney? Oh! Or a royal wedding!

Daemon: (clapping hands) Close, dear Lollys! It's about property ownership. Specifically... (gestures around) this property.

Tanda: (beaming) Oh! Has His Grace finally granted us those additional lands we petitioned for? After eight years of loyal service since... (trails off nervously) since the unfortunate rebellion business?

Daemon: (laughs) Not quite. You see, His Grace has decided to reward my nephew Prince Aegon with lands of his own. And what better place than lovely Stokeworth? Fertile soil, excellent roads, just a stone's throw from King's Landing...

Falyse: (growing pale) You cannot be serious.

Tanda: (laughing nervously) Oh, you jape! After all, where would we go? This castle has been in our family for centuries!

Daemon: (pulling out a scroll) Which is why you're being granted a handsome pension and a comfortable manse in... (squints at document) ah yes, the delightful hamlet of Sow's Horn.

Lollys: (gasping) The pig village?!

Falyse: (slamming fist on table) This is an outrage! We sided with Robert Baratheon eight years ago - as was our right! And now you come to steal our home?

Daemon: (mock serious) "Steal" is such an ugly word. We prefer "royal reassignment of assets following treasonous allegiances."

Tanda: (fanning herself) I feel faint...

Daemon: (patting her shoulder) Now now, it's not all bad. You'll keep your family name! My nephew is establishing House Dawncrest, so you won't even suffer the indignity of seeing "Stokeworth" carved above someone else's hearth.

Falyse: (seething) And if we refuse?

(Smaug chooses this moment to yawn, revealing rows of gleaming teeth as long as daggers. A nearby sheep bursts into flames.)

Daemon: (cheerfully) Then I'm afraid my scaly friend here might develop a sudden craving for... what's that delightful local dish? Ah yes - roasted Stokeworth.

Lollys: (whimpering) I don't want to be roasted...

Tanda: (weakly) How... how long do we have?

Daemon: (consulting scroll) Let's see... the official decree says "immediately," but as I'm feeling generous - would a fortnight suffice? Smaug does so enjoy watching peasants pack.

Falyse: (through gritted teeth) You Targaryens will pay for this.

Daemon: (mounting Smaug) Oh, we already did! Fifty percent of the war profits, if you recall. (Winks) Do send my regards to the pig farmers of Sow's Horn!

(With a mighty leap, Smaug carries Daemon skyward, leaving behind three stunned Stokeworths and the distinct smell of burned mutton.)

Tanda: (wailing) What will the neighbors say?!

Falyse: (storming inside) I'm writing to the Hand! Tywin Lannister won't stand for this!

Lollys: (sniffling) At least the pigs are nice...

(The castle bells begin ringing in alarm as servants start frantically packing tapestries. High above, Daemon's laughter echoes across the Crownlands.)

[(Casterly Rock – Tywin Lannister's private office. The Lord of Casterly Rock and Hand of the King sits at his desk, fingers steepled, staring at a ledger when the door bursts open. Jaime strides in, tossing an apple in the air, followed by Tyrion, who waves a scroll like a battle standard.)

Jaime: (grinning) Father! You'll never guess what just fluttered into our lap.

Tyrion: (dryly) A desperate plea from Lady Tanda Stokeworth, delivered at speed by a rider who smelled distinctly of pig manure.

Tywin: (without looking up) And you felt this couldn't wait?

Tyrion: (dropping the scroll onto the desk) Oh, I think you'll want to read this. It's not every day one of your bannermen gets evicted by a dragon-riding princeling.

Tywin: (finally glancing at the scroll, then pinching the bridge of his nose) Daemon Targaryen. Of course.

Jaime: (leaning against the desk) The man does have style, I'll give him that. "Roasted Stokeworth" as a threat? Inspired.

Tywin: (coldly) This is not a jest. The Crown is stripping lands from loyal houses—

Tyrion: (raising a finger) Formerly loyal. They did side with Robert.

Tywin: (ignoring him) —and handing them to Rhaegar's son. Aegon VII, now "Lord of Dawncrest." A deliberate slight.

Jaime: (shrugging) Or just politics. The boy needed lands, Stokeworth betrayed the Crown, and Daemon loves making people squirm.

Tyrion: (grinning) And squirm they did. Lady Tanda is demanding your intervention, by the way. She seems to think you'll storm King's Landing in righteous fury.

Tywin: (flatly) I will do no such thing.

Jaime: (mock gasp) Tywin Lannister, backing down from a fight?

Tywin: (glaring) This is not backing down. This is recognizing that the Crown's decision is final—and that we have larger concerns.

Tyrion: (raising his cup) Ah yes. The ever-pressing issue of Lannister heirs.

Jaime: (rolling his eyes) Here we go.

Tywin: (steely) You find this amusing? Your brother's "bastards" are rumors, not heirs. Your daughters cannot inherit Casterly Rock. That leaves—

Tyrion: (counting on fingers) Uncle Kevan's brood, Cousin Daven… or, oh yes, your grandsons—Baelon and Maekar Targaryen.

Jaime: (dryly) How proud you must be. Your legacy rests on Daeron's children.

Tywin: (cold) It rests on Lannister blood. Baelon is Daeron's heir, yes—but Maekar is mine. He will take the Lannister name when he inherits.

Tyrion: (raising eyebrows) And Daeron agreed to this?

Tywin: (smirking faintly) He will. The Crown needs the Rock's gold as much as we need their dragons.

Jaime: (grinning) So that's why you've been so patient. You're playing the long game—waiting for Maekar to grow up and take his rightful place.

Tywin: (ignoring him, turning back to the Stokeworth scroll) As for this… we do nothing. Let the Stokeworths wail. The Crown's message is clear: betray them, and you lose everything.

Tyrion: (muttering) Unless you're a Stark, apparently.

Tywin: (sharp look) What was that?

Tyrion: (innocently) Nothing, Father. Just admiring your flawless political instincts.

Jaime: (clapping hands) Well! Since we're not mounting a heroic defense of House Stokeworth, I'm off to train.

Tyrion: (raising his cup) And I'm off to drink. Toasts all around! To lost causes and future Lannister-Targaryen dynasties!

Tywin: (dryly) Get out.

[(Jaime saunters out, laughing, while Tyrion takes a dramatic bow before following. Tywin stares at the scroll a moment longer, then tosses it into the fire. The flames consume Lady Tanda's plea as he turns to gaze out the window—toward King's Landing, and the future.)]

[(King's Landing Palace Courtyard - Late Afternoon. The sun casts long shadows as Prince Daemon dismounts Smaug, his boots hitting the cobblestones with a flourish. His nephews Baelon, Maekar, and Aegon VII stand waiting, while Rhaenys lingers nearby, arms crossed. The dragon Smaug huffs smoke impatiently before lumbering off to the royal dragonpit.)

Daemon: (grinning) Well, well! If it isn't my favorite royal brats.

Baelon: (rolling eyes) You saw us yesterday, Uncle.

Maekar: (deadpan) And you left manure on our training yard.

Daemon: (clutching chest) That was Smaug's gift to you! And you should be honored—dragon dung makes excellent fertilizer.

Aegon VII: (shifting nervously) Did you... did you really tell Lady Tanda she'd be roasted?

Daemon: (winking) Only a little! But don't worry—your new castle is now officially Stokeworth-free. Well, in a fortnight. Unless they dawdle. Then maybe lightly roasted.

Rhaenys: (muttering) You're insufferable.

Daemon: (grinning wider) And yet, you love me.

Baelon: (ignoring them, to Aegon) You are ready for this, right? Lordship, smallfolk, all that?

Aegon VII: (unsure) I... suppose? Grandfather says I'll have stewards to help.

Maekar: (nodding) Good. Because if you mess up, we'll never hear the end of it from Father.

Daemon: (ruffling Aegon's hair) Relax, nephew. Rule like a Targaryen—when in doubt, smile and let them wonder if you'll burn them.

Rhaenys: (dryly) Terrible advice.

Daemon: (gasping) Rhaenys! Are you worried for him?

Rhaenys: (glaring) Shut up.

[(Before Daemon can tease further, Elia Martell steps into the courtyard, her gown whispering against the stones. The boys straighten instinctively.)]

Elia: (calmly) Daemon.

Daemon: (bowing dramatically) My future good-sister! To what do I owe the pleasure?

Elia: (ignoring his antics) I need a favor.

Daemon: (grinning) Anything for you. Name it—smuggling Dornish wine? Delivering threats? Kidnapping a rival?

Elia: (unamused) I need you to bring Ashara from Summerhall. Before the wedding.

[(A beat. Daemon's smirk falters slightly.)]

Daemon: (carefully) ...Is that wise?

Elia: (firm) It's necessary.

Baelon: (whispering to Maekar) Why does that sound ominous?

Maekar: (whispering back) Because everything involving Aunt Ashara is ominous.

Daemon: (sighing) Fine. But if she stabs me again, I'm blaming you.

Elia: (smirking) She only stabbed you once. And you deserved it.

Daemon: (grinning again) True.

[(As Elia walks away, Rhaenys hesitates, then follows her mother. The boys watch them go before turning back to Daemon.)]

Aegon VII: (blinking) She... stabbed you?

Daemon: (wistful) Ah, young love.

Baelon: (groaning) You're impossible.

Daemon: (throwing arms around their shoulders) And that's why you adore me. Now! Who wants to hear how I convinced the Stokeworths that Sow's Horn has charming pig festivals?

[(The boys groan in unison as Daemon laughs, the sound echoing through the courtyard—a moment of levity before the storm of weddings, inheritances, and whatever chaos Ashara Dayne might bring.)]

[(Summerhall Palace Courtyard - Sunset. The sky burns orange as Smaug's shadow sweeps across the courtyard before the massive dragon lands with a ground-shaking thud. Ashara Dayne stands waiting, violet eyes unimpressed, while young Prince Aemon (9, INTP) peers from behind her skirts, half-hidden but curious. Daemon dismounts with his usual dramatic flair, brushing soot from his riding leathers.)]

Ashara: (dryly) You're late. Again.

Daemon: (grinning) My love! I was delayed by urgent princely duties.

Aemon: (bluntly) You mean you stopped to race Uncle Viserys over the Blackwater again.

Daemon: (gasping) Betrayed by mine own son!

Ashara: (crossing arms) Elia sent you.

Daemon: (mock surprise) How did you-?

Ashara: (deadpan) Because you only remember Summerhall exists when someone makes you come here. What does she want?

Daemon: (draping arm over her shoulders) Only your radiant presence at her wedding! Daeron's finally making an honest woman of her.

Aemon: (tilting head) But Aunt Elia was already married to Uncle Rhaegar.

Daemon: (winking) Details, my brilliant boy.

Ashara: (pushing him off) That's not why she wants me there early.

Daemon: (sighing) No. She's... gathering allies. The court's buzzing like a kicked beehive over this marriage.

Ashara: (bitter laugh) After eight years, they still whisper about Rhaegar. About Lyanna. About me.

Aemon: (suddenly) Mother stabbed you because of the whispers.

Daemon: (chuckling) That was one time-

Ashara: (cutting in) And I'll do it again if you keep joking about it.

[(A tense silence. Smaug sneezes, accidentally setting a hedge on fire. Servants scramble to put it out.)]

Daemon: (sobering) Elia needs you. The children need you. Rhaenys barely speaks to anyone, Aegon VII looks like he'll faint any moment, and Baelon...

Ashara: (softening) ...is trying too hard to be perfect.

Daemon: (nodding) And you're the only one who understands what it's like to survive that viper pit.

Aemon: (tugging Ashara's sleeve) We should go. Uncle Daeron's library has that book on Valyrian steel I wanted.

Ashara: (stroking his hair) That's your best argument?

Aemon: (shrugging) You were going to say yes anyway.

Daemon: (laughing) Gods, he's definitely yours.

Ashara: (sighing) Fine. But we take my ship. I'm not riding that overgrown lizard.

Daemon: (clutching chest) You wound Smaug's feelings!

Ashara: (walking away) He'll live.

Aemon: (following, then turning back) Father?

Daemon: (raising brow) Hmm?

Aemon: (serious) If anyone whispers about Mother at the wedding... can I set them on fire?

Daemon: (beaming with pride) That's my boy!

[(Ashara's exasperated shout echoes from the palace as Daemon grins after them, the last light of day glinting off Smaug's scales - a moment of peace before the coming storm of politics, weddings, and inevitable chaos.)]