The banquet hall shimmered under the glow of countless candles. Towering three-armed candelabras lined the stone walls beneath stained-glass windows, their flickering light casting intricate patterns across the room. Gentle music floated through the spacious hall, weaving around the murmurs of conversation. Shadows danced across the walls, lending a warm, festive atmosphere to the evening.
Gaimon sat at his place, gripping a swan leg and gnawing at it with unrestrained enthusiasm. Beside him, his slightly older sister, Vsenrella Targaryen, watched with mild disapproval.
"Gaimon, eat more slowly. No one will snatch your food away," she chided, frowning at her brother's unceremonious manner of eating.
Sucking a morsel of meat from the bone, Gaimon shrugged. "Sister, one should eat until satisfied. Food is meant to make people happy, not to restrict them," he said casually, as if his answer were obvious.
Vsenrella's face fell in mock frustration. "Mother, look at him! I told him to pay more attention to his manners, and he just scolded me!"
The nine-year-old's complaint drew a ripple of quiet amusement among the adults. Sitting next to her, Senila, Vsenrella's elder sister, seized the opportunity to tease. "Looks like Gaimon has taught you another lesson, little sister!"
Senila had always been a bold and imposing figure. Taller and stronger than her siblings, her lively, sometimes mischievous personality made her a force to be reckoned with. She demanded attention and thrived on playfully asserting her dominance, yet she could also charm those whose favor she sought.
By contrast, Vsenrella was delicate and composed, with deep purple eyes and silver-gold hair. Her beauty and poise had earned admiration from a young age, nurturing a subtle arrogance in her personality. Despite her elegance, she had grown wary of her sister's assertive temperament, often finding herself on the losing end of their childhood skirmishes.
Vsenrella wanted Gaimon's attention, not confrontation, so she let the moment slide, leaving Senila to have the last laugh. Gaimon, sensing the little girl's motives, chose not to call her out, occasionally engaging in playful banter. Their small quarrel ended quickly, leaving the joyful ambiance of the banquet untouched.
Meanwhile, the elder attendees were beginning their own festivities. Baelon had already drawn Prince Aemon into a drinking contest, with King Jaehaerys acting as an enthusiastic referee. Nobles slowly relaxed, toasting one another in good spirits, and the hall's atmosphere swelled with mirth.
"I wish Your Majesties and your families good health and happiness," Duke Beaumond declared, leaning slightly forward as he raised his glass toward the king and queen.
"Your Excellency, I wish the same for you and your family," King Jaehaerys replied warmly, lifting his goblet in acknowledgment. Queen Alysanne mirrored his gesture, smiling politely at the duke.
After the mutual toast, Alysanne inquired, "I heard your wife gave birth to a son last year. Why did you not bring him? Qiao Lina has surely not met her little cousin yet."
The duke bowed his head respectfully. "Thank you for your concern, Your Majesty. The child is still young, and I left in haste. When he is older, I will bring him so that the King and Queen may see him."
King Jaehaerys's eyes softened. "I hear he is a strong little boy. When he is ready, it would be good for him to grow up alongside the Gaimon brothers. Children raised together form bonds that last a lifetime."
Duke Beaumond's face lit up at the king's suggestion. "It would be an honor, Your Majesty. When Borros is older, I shall gladly send him to the Red Keep to grow up with the princes."
The Targaryens were at the height of their power, commanding the allegiance of all Seven Kingdoms. The king's offer reflected the royal family's high regard for the Baratheons. While Beaumond regretted that his son was still too young—children were usually sent to other noble households around the age of seven due to high infant mortality—he accepted the honor with gratitude.
King Jaehaerys raised his glass once more, prompting Duke Beaumond to respond in kind. With this ceremonial exchange concluded, attention turned to Prince Aemon, seated to the right of the king.
"Prince Aemon," Duke Beaumond said, turning to face him, "it has been some time since we last shared a drink. I believe a few more glasses are in order tonight."
Aemon, who had been drinking with Prince Baeron, smiled modestly and lifted his glass in return. Their bond was strong, and Duke Beaumond, as Aemon's brother-in-law, naturally found himself included in the prince's convivial circle. Soon, the three men were deep in animated conversation, glasses raised, laughter echoing around the hall.
The king's presence at the head of the table encouraged other nobles to join the festivities. One by one, those of sufficient rank toasted King Jaehaerys, creating a cascade of polite and heartfelt well-wishes. Though only a few were granted the privilege of toasting the king personally, the room was filled with the warmth of camaraderie, the clinking of glasses, and the bright light of celebration.
Through all this, the children remained a lively subplot. Gaimon continued gnawing at his swan leg, Senila occasionally nudging Vsenrella, who maintained her delicate composure while harboring a small, determined desire to attract her brother's attention. Despite the intricacies of rank and protocol surrounding them, the royal children's interactions reminded everyone of the simpler joys of family: laughter, gentle rivalry, and the bonds that would one day define the Targaryen legacy.
The evening stretched on with music, feasting, and merriment. Toasts and laughter blended seamlessly, creating a symphony of social grace and celebration. Duke Beaumond and the princes' camaraderie became a centerpiece of the evening, inspiring others to join the festivity, while the young Targaryens—Gaimon, Vsenrella, and Senila—offered glimpses of the spirited personalities that would shape the next generation.
By the time the banquet approached its zenith, the hall resonated with the energy of kinship and allegiance. Noble families, united in loyalty and shared heritage, honored tradition through words, actions, and the symbolic lifting of their goblets. Even amidst the formalities, there was joy in spontaneity: the laughter of children, the playful barbs between siblings, and the warmth that permeated the candlelit hall.
It was a night that captured the essence of Targaryen rule: grandeur, tradition, and the delicate interplay of family bonds and political alliances. And within this vibrant tapestry of festivity, Gaimon sat, swan leg in hand, content in the chaos of his family's love and the grandeur of the world around him..
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