The candlelight bathed the Great Hall in a brilliant glow. Dozens of three-armed candelabras illuminated the heavy stone walls beneath the towering stained-glass windows.
Sweet music flowed through the cavernous space. The warm, amber light cast dancing shadows across the walls, painting a picture of absolute revelry.
Seated at his place on the dais, Gaemon was currently clutching a roasted swan leg, gnawing on the meat with brazen enthusiasm.
Beside him sat his slightly older sister, Viserra Targaryen.
"Gaemon, slow down. No one is going to steal it from you," Viserra chided, looking at her brother's messy display with mild disgust.
"Sister, when you eat, you have to let go," Gaemon replied, completely unfazed as he ripped off another piece of meat. "That's the only way to truly enjoy a meal. Good food is meant to bring happiness and satisfaction, not to restrict you."
"Mother, look at Gaemon! I told him to mind his manners, and he's talking back to me!" Seeing her advice brushed off, the nine-year-old Viserra immediately complained to Queen Alysanne.
"Viserra, did you just get schooled by Gaemon again? Haha!" Before the adults at the high table could intervene, Saera, who was sitting next to Viserra, burst into laughter and openly mocked her sister.
Being close in age, Saera and Viserra had never quite gotten along. As the older sister, Saera had always been tall, strong, and boldly extroverted. She possessed a sharp, perhaps dangerous, cunning. She threw tantrums whenever she didn't get her way, had a fiery and demanding temperament that tolerated zero slights, and knew exactly how to use her charm to manipulate people into giving her what she wanted.
Viserra, the younger of the two, possessed deep purple eyes and silver-gold hair. With her delicate features, she was universally recognized as a little beauty. Having been endlessly flattered and pursued since childhood, she had developed a rather arrogant and haughty personality.
However, in their daily clashes, Viserra usually found herself on the losing end. Over time, she had developed a deep-seated wariness of her older sister.
So, once Saera jumped into the conversation, Viserra immediately dropped her complaint to their parents. Truthfully, she only wanted to draw a little more of Gaemon's attention; she didn't actually want to get him in trouble. If she did, she would have complained to King Jaehaerys, not Queen Alysanne.
She knew full well that Queen Alysanne would never punish Gaemon over something so trivial.
Having grown up alongside Gaemon, Viserra felt a natural closeness to him. Given their proximity in age and House Targaryen's long-standing practices, it was highly likely that the two of them would eventually marry to keep the bloodline pure.
Because of this, she frequently picked at him over minor issues just to get a reaction.
Gaemon easily saw through the little girl's desperate bids for attention. He never called her out on it, choosing instead to play along and casually banter back, just as he had done today.
The brief skirmish between the siblings ended as quickly as it began, doing nothing to dampen the joyous mood of the feast.
The banquet had barely started, yet Prince Baelon was already dragging Prince Aemon into a fierce drinking contest. Surprisingly, King Jaehaerys didn't stop them; instead, he eagerly cheered them on, acting as their referee.
Down on the main floor, the guests were loosening up. Many nobles were already exchanging toasts and downing cups, pushing the atmosphere of the entire hall to a fever pitch.
"Health and prosperity to you and your family, Your Graces," Lord Boremund said, leaning forward slightly and raising his goblet toward the King and Queen.
"And the same to you and yours, Lord Boremund," King Jaehaerys replied warmly.
Seeing the Lord of Storm's End offering a toast, both the King and Queen raised their own cups in return, with Jaehaerys offering his personal blessings.
After the three shared a drink, Queen Alysanne turned to Lord Boremund. "I heard your wife gave you a son last year. Why didn't you bring him along? Jocelyn hasn't even met her nephew yet."
"Thank you for your concern, Your Grace," Boremund replied respectfully. "Our departure was rather rushed, and the boy is still too small for such a long journey. When he's a bit older, I will certainly bring him to court to present him to you and the King."
"I hear he's a remarkably strong little lad," King Jaehaerys chimed in. "Once he's of age—with your permission, of course—you should send him to live alongside Gaemon and his brothers for a time. The next generation needs to build their own bonds. Otherwise, distance and time will inevitably thin our blood ties."
"I am deeply honored by your favor, Your Grace," Lord Boremund beamed, instantly agreeing. "Once Borros is older, I will send him to foster at the Red Keep. Growing up alongside the royal princes would be the greatest privilege of his life."
House Targaryen was currently at the absolute zenith of its power, holding the Seven Kingdoms in total, undisputed submission. An offer from the King to foster his heir alongside the princes was a massive display of royal favor toward House Baratheon. There was no universe in which Lord Boremund would refuse.
Right now, Boremund only cursed the fact that his son was too young. He would have to wait at least five or six years before Borros could actually make the move to the capital.
Typically, when noble houses fostered their children out to higher-ranking families, they waited until the child reached their seventh nameday.
The infant mortality rate in this era was brutal. Sending a child away before they had built up sufficient physical strength was a massive, frequently fatal risk.
Thus, parents universally waited until their children turned seven before trusting them to another household's care.
Seeing Lord Boremund eagerly accept the offer, King Jaehaerys raised his goblet once more. Boremund hurriedly mirrored the gesture, drinking deeply in response.
After downing another cup with the King, Boremund offered a shallow bow and turned his attention toward Prince Aemon.
"Prince Aemon, it has been far too long since we shared a drink together. We'll have to make up for lost time tonight."
As the Prince of Dragonstone, Aemon was seated directly to the King's right. Boremund merely had to pivot to face him fully. Raising his goblet, the Lord of Storm's End enthusiastically toasted the Crown Prince.
Aemon, who was still locked in his drinking contest with Baelon, didn't hesitate. He smiled warmly and raised his cup to return Boremund's toast.
Not stopping there, Aemon immediately dragged Lord Boremund directly into his chaotic drinking bout with Baelon.
As the brother of Aemon's wife, Jocelyn, Lord Boremund was a natural and staunch ally of the Crown Prince. They had always shared an excellent relationship. Furthermore, while Boremund wasn't royalty, his absolute power as Lord Paramount of the Stormlands made him one of the most formidable figures in Westeros.
So, once pulled into the princely contest, Boremund seamlessly integrated into the revelry.
Lord Boremund's initial toast seemingly broke the seal on the room. Following his lead, other nobles began stepping up to offer their own toasts to the King. Of course, only a select few lords with enough status dared to directly address the throne; the vast majority of the attendees simply didn't have the standing for such a rare privilege.