While Lord Boremund was securing his royal audience inside the Great Hall, Gaemon was soaring through the clouds. After taking the time to temper his initial rush of adrenaline, he banked Bahamut around and guided the platinum dragon back toward the Red Keep.
With a thunderous flap of wings that kicked up a localized dust storm, Bahamut touched down perfectly in the center of the training yard.
Gaemon unhooked his chains and vaulted smoothly from the saddle, landing gracefully on the packed earth.
"Good boy," Gaemon murmured, stepping up to the dragon. He reached out and affectionately patted the beast's long, serpentine neck. "You did brilliantly. Go have a good meal, then get some rest."
Understanding its rider's intent, the massive dragon let out a low rumble and slithered gracefully toward the far side of the yard, where the flayed carcass of a full-grown sheep lay waiting on the ground.
Bahamut opened its jaws and unleashed a torrent of blinding, white-gold fire, instantly flash-roasting the sheep. With its meal perfectly prepared after a strenuous workout, the dragon twisted its flexible neck and began to eat.
Gaemon stood a short distance away, watching his companion tear into the meat with a profound sense of satisfaction settling over him.
"Gaemon!"
The sudden call from behind broke Gaemon's quiet reverie.
He turned around and spotted his older brother, Prince Baelon, walking toward him across the yard.
"Baelon! Were you looking for me?" Gaemon asked, slightly surprised.
Baelon grinned broadly. "Good man. You did well up there. Truly worthy of the blood of the dragon."
"Haha! I'm pretty incredible, aren't I?" Gaemon boasted playfully.
Hearing Gaemon's arrogant tone, Baelon's fond expression instantly morphed into a competitive smirk. He wasn't about to let the boy get a big head.
"Don't get too full of yourself, little brother," Baelon scoffed good-naturedly. "You only managed it this early because Bahamut hatched in your cradle. If you had to claim a wild dragon, you'd be waiting years before you ever saw the sky."
Baelon puffed out his chest. "Aemon and I ride fully grown beasts. I fly Vhagar, the oldest and largest living dragon since Balerion passed."
The underlying message was clear: I'm still the bigger, stronger dragonrider. Stay humble.
"Yes, yes, of course," Gaemon nodded, playing along with a wave of his hand. "My older brothers are the most valiant and terrifying dragonriders in the world. I have much to learn from you both so I can actually be useful to the family."
Baelon laughed, throwing an arm around Gaemon's shoulder. "Stop brown-nosing, you little brat. Your swordplay is already keeping pace with half the seasoned knights in the Keep. Give it a few more years for you to put on some real height and muscle, and there won't be a man in Westeros who can stand against you."
"Well, that's only because I had such an excellent teacher," Gaemon countered smoothly. "I never would have progressed this fast without you beating it into me."
Baelon beamed at the flattery. Over the last two years of training, Baelon had occasionally "put Gaemon in his place" during sparring sessions. He told himself he only fought aggressively to ensure Gaemon didn't grow arrogant because of his terrifyingly fast progress. It definitely wasn't because he was secretly jealous of the boy's monstrous learning curve. Definitely not.
As the banter settled, Gaemon shifted to a more serious topic. "Baelon, that matter I brought up with Father earlier... did he finally agree to it?"
Baelon frowned slightly, shaking his head. "I'm not entirely sure. If you're that anxious, you should ask Father or Aemon directly. You know how it is—it's not my place to pry into something like that."
Baelon was well aware of what Gaemon was asking about. However, since the matter involved the formal granting of royal lands, it was highly political, and Baelon knew better than to stick his nose where it didn't belong.
Gaemon let out an annoyed sigh. "Fine. I'll just corner him tonight. Honestly, I only asked for a patch of useless wasteland. Why is he being so stingy about it?"
"Stingy?" Baelon raised an eyebrow in disbelief. "You've got some nerve. You're asking for the permanent rights to a lordship. I don't even have my own lands yet, and I'm grown!"
"But I swore to Father I wouldn't ask the treasury for a single copper to build it!" Gaemon argued defensively. "All I want is the dirt! There's nothing on it right now. Who knows what I could turn it into?"
Gaemon genuinely felt he was entirely justified; in his mind, he was offering to solve a massive headache for the Crown for free.
As the absolute political and economic center of Westeros, King's Landing attracted a ceaseless tide of refugees, opportunists, and merchants. While exact censuses were impossible, estimates placed the city's population well over half a million.
And the numbers were only climbing. It was by far the largest, most densely packed city on the continent.
But this explosive growth had completely overwhelmed the city's infrastructure. The suffocating stench of excrement permanently hanging over the streets was just the most obvious symptom of a city buckling under its own weight. Beneath the surface, King's Landing was facing critical food shortages and rampant sanitation crises.
To alleviate the pressure, Gaemon had recently formally petitioned King Jaehaerys for a tract of land within the Kingswood. His plan was to siphon off a significant portion of King's Landing's excess peasant population, relocating them to this new territory to build a settlement from the ground up.
Crucially, Gaemon had explicitly stated he would not rely on the royal treasury to fund the endeavor. He only needed the deed to the land; he would secure the financing and manage the logistics himself.
Despite the generous terms, Jaehaerys hadn't given him a straight answer. The King had simply said he needed time to consider the proposal.
This ambiguous, non-committal stance had been driving Gaemon crazy for weeks. His decision to publicly ride Bahamut today wasn't just a joyride; it was a calculated move to demonstrate his maturity and power, laying the groundwork to press his claim for the land.
Unable to contain his impatience any longer, Gaemon had finally snapped and asked Baelon about it.
Truthfully, Baelon thought the entire scheme was a terrible idea. Developing raw, untamed wilderness was an agonizingly slow, unimaginably expensive process that required a massive labor force.
It wasn't that House Targaryen lacked the land. Westeros was vast and sparsely populated, and the Kingswood alone covered over eleven thousand square miles. Carving out a sizable chunk for Gaemon would be geographically trivial.
But politically, partitioning royal territory was never a small matter. It set precedents and shifted the balance of power. More importantly, Gaemon was still just a child. Even knowing his youngest son possessed mysterious magical abilities, Jaehaerys was deeply hesitant to hand a six-year-old the monumental responsibility of governing a new territory.
The King's true intention was to wait. If Gaemon still harbored this ambition in a few years when he was older and more mature, Jaehaerys fully intended to grant him the land.
But Gaemon didn't have the luxury of time. By the standards of this era, constructing a functional castle and town took years, often decades. If he waited until he was a grown man to even start digging the foundations, he'd be graying by the time it was finished.
In Gaemon's grand design for the future, this plot of land was the absolute bedrock of his entire empire. He needed it now.