"Handsome! Truly the most handsome tonight. Wait—I'll make a set for your father and brothers later. I doubt anyone will be able to resist when you step out in this outfit," Queen Alysanne said, a playful glint in her eyes as she looked at Gaimon.
Gaimon, winking at her, replied without altering his calm expression, "That's fine. Otherwise, all the days I spent designing this attire would have been wasted. Tonight, I'll let everyone witness what true handsomeness looks like."
Queen Alysanne's eyes curved upward as she watched her son. A warm, doting smile spread across her face, and for a fleeting moment, her heart brimmed with happiness. Watching Gaimon stand there—confident, poised, and striking—was a joy only a mother could feel.
By now, the Red Castle had begun to come alive.
At the main gate, a continuous stream of carriages rolled into the courtyard, eventually stopping in orderly fashion. Each carriage opened to reveal women in resplendent dresses, accompanied by men in fine attire. Together, they made their way inside, their presence filling the castle with anticipation and elegance. The sheer number of guests promised a gathering that would stretch into the hundreds. The steward had estimated that the nobles alone, along with their entourages, would require a hall grand enough to hold them comfortably.
After reporting to His Majesty, it was decided that the banquet would be held in the throne room's grand hall—the largest space in the Red Castle. Normally, the royal family held intimate dinners in the small hall of Maegor's Holdfast, but tonight demanded grandeur.
The hall had been transformed by the castle's servants into a shimmering palace of light. Chandeliers hung from the ceiling, complementing the wall-mounted lamps that lined the room, casting a warm glow over every corner. The walls were adorned with banners of various noble houses, each displaying intricate designs and heraldic symbols that added to the hall's majesty.
At the far end of the hall, facing the main entrance, stood a three-tiered podium. On it rested a long, nearly ten-meter table, behind which sat ornately carved chairs arranged for the royal family. Below the rostrum, a wide central aisle led from the doors to the podium. Tables flanked the aisle on both sides, adorned with golden plates, goblets, and lit candlesticks that glimmered like stars.
Guests had begun to settle into their designated tables, grouped according to familiarity or alliance. Conversations filled the air, laughter spilling between clinking glasses, and the hall vibrated with a growing sense of excitement. Yet all chatter ceased abruptly with a loud, commanding announcement:
"Here comes King Jaehaerys I of House Targaryen, King of the Andals, the Rhoynar, and the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms, and Protector of the Realm!"
Two white-clad knights flanked the entrance. One recited the king's titles with a voice that echoed through the hall. Instantly, the guests straightened, stepping aside to clear the aisle, lowering their heads in respect.
King Jaehaerys I entered with measured grace, clad in a black robe and wearing the "Arbiter" crown upon his head. Behind him followed Queen Alysanne, her regal presence enhanced by a stunning purple gown—a creation of her son Gaimon. In her arms rested the young Valerion Targaryen, unable yet to walk steadily, held tenderly as they entered the bustling hall.
Next came the heir to the Iron Throne, Prince Aemon Targaryen, accompanied by his wife, Joleena Baratheon. Their daughter, five-year-old Rhaenys Targaryen, clutched her mother's hand as she walked beside them. Slowly, the rest of the Targaryen family followed, organized by age and rank, each member adding to the procession's grandeur.
Due to his age, Gaimon entered last. Dressed in a meticulously tailored German-style military uniform with polished leather boots, he carried himself with a posture that commanded attention—straight-backed, head held high, every step deliberate. Though his face retained the faint softness of youth, there was a subtle maturity in his gaze that made his presence undeniable.
The nobles' eyes widened. Whispers spread across the hall: "So handsome… if only he were taller…" Among them, Prince Belon, who had arrived with his wife Alessa, gritted his teeth as he watched Gaimon's elegant walk.
"This boy only wants to show off, completely ignoring his elder brother," Prince Baeron muttered through clenched teeth. Princess Alessa, holding back a laugh, nudged him gently.
King Jaehaerys, already seated at the raised platform, leaned toward Queen Alysanne, whispering, "Who designed this boy's attire? I want one too. It looks excellent."
Queen Alysanne smiled softly, responding under her breath, "Your son is pretending, yes, but he's still just a child, in the most delightful way."
Gaimon, however, remained unaffected. His gaze was steady, his composure unshakable. He walked through the central aisle with grace, climbing the podium and taking his seat as though it were his natural place. The guests, who had lined the hall's edges, returned to their tables as whispers and scattered laughter filled the air once again.
The royal family settled on their respective chairs, King Jaehaerys and Queen Alysanne occupying seats on a crimson-gilded platform. The oak armrests gleamed, polished to a perfect amber, catching the glow of the chandeliers above.
Once the guests were seated, King Jaehaerys raised his glass, his voice resonant with authority and warmth:
"Thank you all for traveling such distances to attend the naming ceremony of my son, Valerion. Your presence honors us greatly. Tonight, enjoy yourselves fully—eat, drink, and celebrate. I wish everyone here the very best!"
A chorus of responses followed:
"Your Majesty! May all be well!"
"Your Majesty the Queen! May you be well!"
"Targaryen! Wan'an!"
Glasses were raised in unison, and the final "Wan'an" signaled the official start of the banquet. The musicians began to play, filling the hall with gentle, enchanting melodies. The atmosphere shifted from anticipation to celebration—laughter and music dancing together in the candlelit hall. For a moment, it felt as if the entire kingdom itself had paused to share in this prosperous, joyous scene.
Gaimon observed quietly from his seat, noting the expressions of the nobles and the subtle glances exchanged across tables. Though young, he already understood the power of appearances and the importance of the image he projected. The careful tailoring, the polished boots, and the composure he maintained were more than just aesthetics—they were a statement. One that declared, without words, that he was not merely a boy of the Targaryen line, but a force whose presence commanded attention.
Across the hall, Queen Alysanne watched him with motherly pride. She knew that Gaimon's charisma and poise were natural, but even she could not deny the role of her own guidance, the long hours spent advising, encouraging, and subtly shaping his sense of self. Seeing him now, fully confident and radiating elegance, filled her with a happiness that words could scarcely capture.
As the banquet progressed, the initial formality gave way to more relaxed conversation. Nobles mingled, exchanging stories, gossip, and praise. Servants brought courses of delicacies, each more intricate than the last. The aroma of roasted meats, baked pastries, and sweet wines mingled in the air, creating an intoxicating tapestry of scents that complemented the visual grandeur of the hall.
Even the children present—Rhaenys, Valerion, and others—were included in the celebration. They moved carefully between tables, sometimes held by attendants, sometimes encouraged to join the adults in small dances or games suited to their age. Laughter from these moments blended with the music, creating a symphony of life that seemed to echo the prosperity of the realm.
Prince Baeron, still begrudgingly observing Gaimon, finally shook his head with a grudging smile. "He may be young, but he carries himself like a prince born to rule," he admitted quietly, more to himself than anyone else.
And so, the banquet continued into the evening, a perfect blend of pomp, celebration, and quiet pride. Every detail, from the shimmering gowns to the polished silverware, spoke of the wealth, power, and meticulous attention to tradition that defined the Targaryen reign. In that hall, surrounded by family, allies, and even rivals, the future of the kingdom—embodied in the young Gaimon and Valerion—stood visible for all to see.
The night was not just a naming ceremony or a feast. It was a testament to legacy, ambition, and the delicate balance of childhood innocence and royal responsibility. And in the heart of it all, Gaimon sat, poised and handsome, the center of attention, as his mother's gentle eyes never left him..
The music swelled, glasses clinked, and laughter echoed under the vaulted ceilings. In that single evening, the Red Castle seemed to shine brighter than it had in decades—a beacon of hope, prosperity, and the promise of a new generation.
The banquet had officially begun, and the story of the Targaryens' next chapter was just unfolding.
Øóffer going on for diamond tier
pàtreøn (Gk31)
Grab the offer soon it's going to end