"Hiss! Hiss!"
Two roars echoed across the skies above King's Landing, sending a ripple of excitement through the city. Two dragons, one massive and dark blue, the other smaller but no less imposing, soared over the skyline, their shadows stretching over the Red Castle and the streets below. The colossal dark blue dragon shook its immense wings, turning gracefully toward the Reinis Hills, the dragon's lair awaiting its return. The smaller dragon, agile and swift, made its way toward the Red Keep.
The citizens of King's Landing, recognizing the dragons and understanding their significance, erupted in cheers. Their king and the royal family had returned from the hunting expedition. Along the main road leading from the Red Keep to the outskirts of the city, a grand caravan followed, carrying the spoils of the hunt. Hunters, knights, and attendants walked or rode beside the carriages, displaying the captured prey with pride.
Crowds lined the streets, waving and shouting as the procession passed.
"Long live the King!"
"Long live the Queen!"
These were the citizens who had prospered under King Jaehaerys's rule, beneficiaries of an era when wisdom and fairness in leadership were rare treasures. The sight of the Targaryen dragons flying overhead, coupled with the pageantry of the returning hunt, filled the city with an air of celebration.
Within the Red Keep, troops bearing the red dragon banners charged into the parade ground like wild horses unbridled, their hooves striking the stone with a rhythm that echoed across the walls.
"Finally back!" King Jaehaerys exclaimed, stepping from the first carriage and stretching his arms. Despite the journey, a spark of youthful energy remained in him.
Queen Alysanne smiled, her laughter soft but warm.
"Oh, if I had known, I would have joined Gaimon and ridden Vermithor myself."
The king grinned sheepishly.
"As a father, I wasn't even as bold as my son. And yet, I asked you to scold the boy."
Their playful banter was effortless, a testament to the deep bond shared between them. But as their children disembarked from the carriages, the king and queen shared a tacit understanding, the laughter fading into gentle observation. Family always came first.
Despite fatigue from the hunt, King Jaehaerys's spirits remained undimmed. After the return to the Red Keep, he announced a banquet that evening, a tradition in Westeros whenever royals returned from expeditions. In this kingdom, celebrations were plentiful, and banquets were an essential thread in the fabric of court life.
That night, while the castle prepared for the feast, young Gaimon ate quietly and retired to his chambers. As a child, he required rest to grow strong, and his early bedtime contrasted sharply with the ongoing revelry. By morning, the celebration of the naming day had melted back into the routine of castle life, and the corridors once alive with laughter were now filled with the steady hum of daily activity.
Yet, even amidst the daily rhythm of the Red Keep, King Jaehaerys felt a lingering concern. His son, Gaimon, had been pestering him relentlessly for a piece of the Royal Forest. Though the land was not vast, the request was unprecedented. Historically, the Targaryens had never granted territory to second sons. Even Maegon Targaryen, second son of Aegon the Conqueror, had no fiefdom and was compelled to cross the Narrow Sea in search of fortune, returning only to seize the Iron Throne by force.
"Father," Gaimon began, "surely you don't want me to be without a place to call my own someday?"
Jaehaerys's brow furrowed in thought.
"There's plenty of room here in the Red Keep for you. You could stay comfortably."
"But, Father," Gaimon pressed, "the Red Keep belongs to the King. Today it is yours, tomorrow it will belong to someone else. I may be your son, but if circumstances change, I could end up like my aunt, Queen Rhaenya—wandering, seeking a home, and never finding peace. She asked for Dragonstone, yet fate denied her, leaving her to die alone in Harrenhal."
The mention of his sister struck a chord deep within Jaehaerys. Memories of Rhaena's solitary life came flooding back—the compromises, the thwarted hopes, the loneliness that had marred her final years. Though he had promised her Dragonstone, circumstances had prevented her from ever truly settling there.
"I understand, Gaimon," Jaehaerys said quietly, interrupting his son before he could apologize. "What you are asking is reasonable. The tragedies of the past should not repeat themselves."
Relief washed over Gaimon, who nodded silently, sensing the gravity in his father's words.
"The Targaryen legacy is unique," Jaehaerys continued, his gaze distant. "The more dragons we have, the stronger the family becomes, yet the more complicated it is to maintain unity. One Iron Throne, but countless heirs—if we do not prepare, history will repeat itself. Conflicts arise when young princes have nowhere to call their own."
Jaehaerys considered the delicate balance: too few dragons created vulnerability, too many bred chaos. He needed a system that preserved the royal family's power while providing stability and opportunity for his descendants.
"Gaimon," he said decisively, "you shall have your own land. A castle where you may live, train, and lead. You will not be at the mercy of future circumstances."
This decision was not made lightly. The Targaryens, with their vast realm and singular dragons, required careful planning to prevent internal strife. The kingdom's expanse could accommodate the family's needs, yet only if managed with foresight. The Red Keep would remain central to the monarchy, Dragonstone would continue as the heir's stronghold, and other lands could be apportioned to maintain order and prevent disputes.
By evening, the royal family convened. Discussions centered on dividing territory among the Targaryens, ensuring every member had a secure place, while upholding the primacy of the Iron Throne. While Dragonstone remained non-negotiable, other lands could be granted strategically, allowing the family to flourish without sowing discord.
King Jaehaerys spoke of history, cautioning against repeating mistakes of the past. He envisioned a system where each royal could have a base of power, yet always recognize the overarching authority of the throne. This careful distribution of land would strengthen the family, prevent infighting, and secure the legacy of the dragons for generations to come.
Gaimon, listening intently, felt a sense of pride and relief. The king's wisdom ensured that he would have not just a place to live, but a stake in the kingdom's future. The Targaryen line would endure, guided by foresight and tempered by lessons of history.
Thus, the seeds of a new chapter in Westeros were planted. With dragons overhead, lands to be granted, and wisdom guiding the line of succession, the Targaryens stood poised to grow stronger than ever. And in the quiet of his chambers, Gaimon dreamed of the day he would take flight on his dragon, not just as the king's son, but as a prince with a realm of his own.
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