King's Landing
While Gaemon soared through the sky, a procession bearing colorful banners marched slowly through the streets of King's Landing toward the Red Keep. This was the Baratheon host, arriving for the royal feast, led by Lord Boremund Baratheon himself.
Dressed in exquisite finery, Lord Boremund tilted his head back, his eyes locked on the distant silhouette in the sky. He watched in silence for a long time, unable to hide the raw envy in his gaze.
"My Lord, do you know which royal prince is flying up there? He looks rather young," a richly dressed noble riding up beside Boremund asked, his voice thick with curiosity.
"It must be Prince Gaemon," Boremund murmured, sounding as if he were answering himself as much as the noble. "And that platinum dragon would be his mount, Bahamut."
As the son of the Dowager Queen Alyssa and Lord Rogar Baratheon, Boremund was the maternal half-brother to King Jaehaerys. Despite already holding the immense power of the Lord of Storm's End, the sheer majesty of a dragon still filled him with an irresistible longing.
He watched until the winged shadow faded into the distance before finally turning his attention back to the road, spurring his horse toward the Red Keep. Seeing their lord move, the rest of the procession immediately followed suit.
They soon reached the gates of the Red Keep. After a routine inspection, the Baratheon knights raised their banners high and proudly led the vanguard into the castle courtyards.
Having received word of their arrival, Prince Aemon and Princess Jocelyn were already waiting near the inner gates to welcome Lord Boremund.
Resplendent in his ornate armor, Lord Boremund rode right up to the inner keep. Spotting Prince Aemon and his sister, he quickly dismounted and strode forward to greet them.
Aemon and Jocelyn stepped forward to meet him. "Lord Boremund, you must be exhausted from the journey," Prince Aemon called out warmly before they had even fully closed the distance. "We'll have to make sure you drink your fill at the feast to make up for it."
Boremund beamed. Hearing such warm and welcoming words from the future king was a distinct honor. Still, he didn't let the familiarity make him negligent. He quickly bowed his head and replied, "I appreciate your concern, my Prince, but the road was no hardship. An invitation from His Grace is the highest honor House Baratheon could ask for. How could we ever call it a burden?"
Despite his massive, muscular frame and warrior's bearing, Boremund was no fool when it came to courtly politics. His response was flawless—it gracefully acknowledged the Prince's kindness while perfectly elevating the majesty of the Crown. It was exactly what royalty liked to hear.
As soon as the pleasantries finished, Princess Jocelyn stepped up. "Brother. It's been too long," she smiled. "Welcome to King's Landing."
Looking at his sister standing elegantly beside the Prince, Boremund felt a sudden pang of nostalgia. It truly had been a long time. When Jocelyn was just six years old, their father, Lord Rogar, had sent her to the royal court to be fostered. The siblings had been separated ever since. The last time Boremund had seen her was at her wedding to Prince Aemon, almost a decade ago.
As the daughter of Dowager Queen Alyssa and Lord Rogar, Jocelyn possessed the signature traits of House Baratheon: a mane of raven-black hair, deep, mesmerizing eyes, and a strikingly tall figure. She was widely considered one of the most beautiful women in the Seven Kingdoms.
Aemon and Jocelyn had grown up together in the Red Keep, forming a tight childhood bond that eventually blossomed into deep affection. Recognizing their closeness, King Jaehaerys and Queen Alysanne consulted Aemon and officially announced their betrothal in 68 AC.
Two years later, they were married. To the realm, they were the perfect golden couple, and their union was seen as a shining beacon for the future of the dynasty.
Overjoyed to see her again, Boremund laughed. "Little sister! It really has been far too long. I've brought plenty of specialties from the Stormlands with me. I'll have my men send them up to your chambers shortly."
"Thank you, Brother," she replied warmly. "But we shouldn't stand out here catching up. Come, His Grace is waiting for you in the Throne Room."
Hearing that the King was waiting, Boremund immediately snapped to attention. He and his core retainers followed the royal couple into the keep, leaving the castle stewards to quarter the rest of the Stormlander host.
Guided by Prince Aemon, Boremund soon arrived at the Great Hall. The cavernous Throne Room was eerily quiet. Brilliant shafts of sunlight pierced through the high glass windows, illuminating the dust motes dancing in the air and casting a heavy, solemn atmosphere over the hall.
As Boremund stepped through the towering bronze doors, a herald's booming voice shattered the silence. "Lord Boremund of House Baratheon, Lord of Storm's End and Lord Paramount of the Stormlands!"
Announced by the herald, Boremund and his bannermen adopted expressions of absolute gravity. They walked down the long carpet running through the center of the hall, marching steadily toward the far end of the room.
At the end of the hall sat the most terrifying and awe-inspiring symbol of power in the known world: the Iron Throne. Forged during Aegon's Conquest from a thousand surrendered swords, the blades had been heated by the black fire of Balerion the Dread and brutally hammered together by blacksmiths.
The throne was a massive, asymmetric monstrosity of jagged steel that had taken fifty-nine days to construct. Because the blades were never fully blunted, it was notoriously easy for a king to cut himself upon the seat. This was by design; Aegon the Conqueror believed that a king should never sit easily on a throne, demanding constant vigilance and responsibility from anyone who ruled.
King Jaehaerys sat high upon the jagged iron steps. He wore a gleaming golden crown set with seven different colored gemstones and rested his hands on the hilt of the Valyrian steel greatsword, Blackfyre. From his elevated perch, he looked down upon his vassals with absolute, unquestionable authority.
Standing at the foot of the Iron Throne and looking up at the monarch, every lord in the realm was forced to feel as small and insignificant as an ant. It was an architecture designed to inspire absolute terror and awe.
Reaching the base of the throne, Lord Boremund dropped to one knee and bowed his head deeply in a formal gesture of fealty. Looking down at the kneeling Stormlanders, King Jaehaerys's voice rang out across the hall.
"Rise, Lord Boremund. Rise, my lords," the King commanded warmly. "You have my gratitude for traveling so far to celebrate my son's nameday. I trust the Red Keep's cellars will make your journey worthwhile."
Given permission, Boremund stood up, his bannermen rising with him. "An invitation from Your Grace is our highest honor," he replied firmly. "To celebrate the young Prince's nameday is a privilege the entire Stormlands will boast of."
The entire audience proceeded smoothly and flawlessly. To conclude the formalities, Lord Boremund presented the King with extravagant gifts from the Stormlands, offering his formal congratulations and concluding his royal audience.
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