For House Targaryen, a dynasty that had ruled Westeros for decades, even the slightest internal shift was scrutinized. The great nobles, constantly circling the political whirlpool of the Red Keep, examined every detail under a magnifying glass, desperate to glean any advantage for their own houses.
The Red Keep was a place devoid of secrets. If the lords of the castle drank an extra cup of wine in the morning, by nightfall, rumors would spread through the streets of King's Landing about which house produced a vintage so intoxicating that the royal family couldn't resist it.
Consequently, after Gaemon successfully hatched his dragon and began his knightly training, his once-exclusive trio gradually attracted a crowd. Over time, more and more people began crashing their morning routine. They were boys and girls of varying ages, some in their early teens, others as young as seven or eight. Their motives were painfully obvious: they were there to curry favor with Gaemon, Vaegon, and Daella.
King Jaehaerys's reign marked the most centralized period of power in Westerosi history. This reality was clearly reflected in the identities of the squires and handmaidens currently serving within the Red Keep.
It was a longstanding Westerosi tradition for nobles to send their children to serve higher-ranking lords as a form of education and character-building. Every day, ravens arrived from all corners of the realm bearing petitions from lords begging the King for a chance to have their heirs serve at the royal court.
Their reasoning was simple: proximity is power. Only by standing close to the center of power could one hope to eventually wield it.
The noble children who earned the royal family's favor during their service would be the ones closest to the Iron Throne's influence in the future.
It was the absolute, unquestionable might of the King and the royal house that created this unified obsession with the crown among the nobility.
Faced with the relentless flattery and eagerness of these noble scions, Gaemon handled each of them with polite detachment—neither pushing them away nor letting them get too close. This left every young noble feeling as though they were on good terms with the prince, yet always just one step away from true intimacy.
At this stage, these sycophants were of little use to him.
However, Gaemon wasn't an arrogant fool who went around making enemies for no reason. If someone approached him with a smiling face, even if he didn't particularly like them, the basic courtesy of a polite smile in return was simply good manners, provided there was no actual conflict.
He didn't just ignore them entirely, either. During their training sessions, Gaemon quietly observed the crowd, scouting for genuine talent to build a roster of capable subordinates for his future plans.
Truth be told, these youths wouldn't have been recommended by their houses if they lacked merit. Some displayed impressive martial prowess, while others excelled in diplomacy and social grace. By the standards of this world, they were exceptional talents.
Gaemon focused his attention primarily on the second sons. Firstborn heirs might seem more impressive, but once their service ended, they would inevitably return home to inherit their fathers' lands and titles. Very few would remain in the capital. Second sons, however, had no lands to inherit. Once they came of age, they were forced to leave home and forge their own paths. A lucky few might secure a well-paying position within their older brother's household, but most were left adrift.
Therefore, if Gaemon wanted loyal, capable nobles to form the foundation of his future power base, these ambitious, landless second sons were the perfect targets.
But for now, they were merely potential recruits. He didn't need them yet. His absolute highest priority was to make himself stronger.
And so, Gaemon never missed a single morning of training. Rain or shine, his dedication was unbroken, and those who watched him couldn't help but marvel at his sheer willpower.
Under this rigorous routine, Gaemon's previously frail body grew noticeably sturdier. Even more thrilling was the discovery that his physical conditioning directly enhanced the effectiveness of his daily meditation. He was absorbing magical energy at a much faster rate. Consequently, Bahamut, acting as his magical conduit, reaped massive benefits.
Flooded with rich magical energy, the hatchling's growth rate exploded far beyond that of a normal dragon. Just three months after hatching, Bahamut had grown from a creature less than a foot tall to a beast over three feet long. This was a size most young dragons needed a full year to reach.
Gaemon knew exactly why this was happening—he was the one funneling magic through the dragon, after all. But to the rest of the world, it was an inexplicable phenomenon. This was especially true for the current Hand of the King, Septon Barth.
Born a blacksmith's son, Barth had been given to the Faith at a young age. Recognizing his sharp intellect, the Church sent him to the Red Keep's library to manage the royal scrolls and books. King Jaehaerys, an avid reader himself, had befriended the brilliant septon, and the two became close confidants.
When Jaehaerys ascended the Iron Throne, he elevated Barth to the office of Hand of the King.
Although many highborn lords—and even the High Septon and Most Devout—questioned Barth's low birth and qualifications, the man proved his worth with unparalleled competence, ushering in an era of prolonged peace and prosperity for the realm.
During his tenure as Hand, Septon Barth helped Jaehaerys push through vital reforms. He traveled to Oldtown to negotiate with the Faith, ultimately stripping them of their right to hold criminal trials. He also spearheaded the construction of King's Landing's wells, subterranean sewers, and drainage systems, drastically improving the capital's sanitation.
However, his most famous contribution was his seminal written work: Dragons, Wyrms, and Wyverns: Their Unnatural History. His position as Hand granted him unprecedented, close-quarters access to the dragons—creatures most men could never safely approach.
Bahamut's abnormally rapid growth had completely captured the scholar's attention. Lately, after finishing his administrative duties, Septon Barth could frequently be found leaving the Tower of the Hand to stand near the training yard, silently observing the platinum dragon circling above Gaemon's head.
Gaemon simply pretended not to notice. His magic was entirely his own secret; even if someone watched, they couldn't possibly comprehend what was actually happening.
Besides, there was a far more pressing matter demanding Gaemon's attention: Queen Alysanne was about to go into labor once again.
---