Red Keep Parade Ground
The royal invitation had been sent, and the Red Keep was suddenly alive with motion. From the battlements to the inner courtyards, every corridor and hall buzzed with activity. If someone were to look down from the sky, they would see a sprawling fortress teeming with servants, each moving with purpose, preparing for the grand banquet soon to be held within the Red Keep.
Yet, despite the overall busyness, the intensity of activity varied from place to place. Some servants scurried tirelessly, while others carried out their duties with measured calm. Amid this orchestrated chaos, one figure on the training grounds stood out—not for the grandeur of his actions, but for their singular personal importance. That was Gaimon, deeply immersed in a task that seemed trivial at first glance: skinning a sheep.
To anyone unfamiliar with dragons, it might seem strange that a prince would concern himself with such a task. However, Gaimon's knowledge of dragons went beyond mere fascination. Dragons were voracious carnivores, and their feeding habits were, by necessity, destructive. When a dragon caught its prey, it rarely relied on subtlety: a burst of dragonfire would roast the animal alive, consuming fur, flesh, and bone alike.
Observing this process repeatedly, Gaimon had noted the inefficiency. Dragons did not care whether their meals were alive or dead; they simply consumed what was presented to them. During the Great Conquest, the first Targaryens had even used the bodies of fallen soldiers as sustenance for their dragons. This insight sparked a practical thought in Gaimon's mind: why waste valuable resources when the outcome—dragon satisfaction—remained unchanged?
Thus, Gaimon devised a more efficient system. From now on, livestock destined for dragon meals would be skinned before cooking, ensuring that no part of the animal went to waste. The meat and bones would feed the dragons, while the pelts would be collected. In Westeros, where papermaking technology lagged behind, parchment was a precious commodity. Books made from sheepskin were considered priceless; even a seven-star Bible made from parchment could buy a respectable house in King's Landing. By saving the skins, Gaimon could transform a simple act of feeding dragons into a source of considerable wealth for his family.
Excited by the prospect, Gaimon approached King Jaehaerys with his plan. The king, intrigued by the practicality, granted permission. As long as the feeding of dragons was not disrupted, the pelts could be claimed and used as Gaimon saw fit. With the king's blessing, Gaimon wasted no time. He organized a specialized team of ten servants tasked exclusively with skinning the animals.
These ten were not chosen at random. Gaimon had been quietly observing potential candidates for years during his training sessions. They were all second sons from noble families—children with limited inheritance prospects, sent to the Red Keep in hopes of making their own way in life. Some sought court positions, others hoped for military appointments; all shared a hunger for recognition. Among those under Gaimon's careful eye, he selected the most promising, those who displayed intelligence, diligence, and resilience.
The young men, upon hearing of their selection, were overjoyed. Serving Gaimon directly might seem a menial task—skinning sheep—but the opportunity to prove themselves in the prince's presence was invaluable. Favor from a prince could open doors far beyond the Red Keep, from military appointments to knighthood or even political influence.
Gaimon, ever mindful of symbolism and legacy, gave his new team a name that carried both prestige and aspiration: The Order of the Golden Fleece. Though the title had no real recognition in Westeros, it was steeped in legend in Gaimon's previous life—a knightly order associated with noble ideals, bravery, and honor. His hope was ambitious: that this fledgling order might one day rise to a similar stature.
To instill a sense of discipline and meritocracy, Gaimon divided the ten men into two teams, allowing them to select their own leaders. He did not intervene in the process; whether the leaders emerged through strength, strategy, or internal voting mattered little. The goal was to encourage leadership and competition, qualities essential for any knightly order.
Eventually, two leaders were chosen: Jon Clinton from Griffin's Roost in the royal domain and Amber Karstark from the North. Both were second sons, both ambitious, and both already tall for their age. Amber had reached an impressive 1.8 meters, her height matched by her commanding presence. Jon, slightly shorter at 1.7 meters, compensated with strategic thinking and exceptional organizational skills. Together, they would lead the teams in a series of daily competitions—measures of skill, efficiency, and endurance designed to foster camaraderie and excellence.
The competitions themselves were deceptively simple but highly rigorous. Each day, the two teams raced to skin the sheep allotted for that day's feeding. The team that completed the task faster and more skillfully earned additional rations of mutton that evening. Monthly victories brought privileges such as extra rest, making the contests both practical and fiercely motivating.
Gaimon's methods extended beyond mere sheep-skinning. He applied a full military-style training regimen to his Order, incorporating drills, goose-stepping, standing at attention, reading, writing, physical training, and even elements of knightly combat. For the young men, downtime became a prized resource. Every moment of competition was treated with seriousness and intensity; no one admitted defeat until the final pelt was prepared.
Despite the harshness, the young members embraced the system. Jon Clinton's team, in particular, displayed exceptional cohesion and strategic foresight, often outperforming Amber's team. However, Amber's sheer physical dominance and stamina made her team formidable. Each day's contest became a learning experience: strategy versus strength, precision versus speed, patience versus aggression.
Through this, Gaimon cultivated more than just a team of efficient workers; he was shaping leaders. He instilled in them the values of discipline, observation, and competition—all essential traits for future knights and nobles. By combining ambition with structured guidance, Gaimon ensured that each member's talents would be honed to their fullest potential.
The Order's existence also carried broader implications. For King Jaehaerys and the Red Keep, it provided a practical solution to resource management—skinning livestock before dragon feeding—while simultaneously nurturing a cadre of loyal and capable young men. For the boys themselves, it offered a chance to step out of obscurity and into the royal spotlight. The potential for advancement was enormous, limited only by their dedication and skill.
Gaimon observed all this with a sense of quiet satisfaction. He did not revel in authority for its own sake; instead, he saw the opportunity to create order and efficiency, to reward talent, and to cultivate a legacy. Each day, as the sun rose over the Red Keep and the parade grounds came alive with activity, the Order of the Golden Fleece became more than a team skilling sheep—it became a living experiment in leadership, ambition, and excellence.
Even the smallest victories mattered. A well-skinned pelt, a perfectly executed drill, or a strategic maneuver in the daily competitions became symbols of growth. Gaimon often walked among the teams, observing, offering guidance, and sometimes simply allowing the boys to navigate challenges on their own. Each interaction reinforced lessons in accountability, teamwork, and pride in one's work.
As the days passed, stories of the Order's efforts began to circulate quietly through the Red Keep. Servants whispered of the young men's discipline, their unusual competitions, and the prince who treated even the humblest of tasks with importance. Nobles visiting the Keep noted the efficiency of the livestock processing, the unusual precision in the training grounds, and the unexpected harmony between diligence and competition.
Gaimon's vision was beginning to take shape. What had started as a practical plan to save valuable resources had grown into a microcosm of leadership, strategy, and growth—a fledgling order whose members might one day command knights, lead armies, or hold seats of power in Westeros.
The sun set over the Red Keep, casting long shadows across the parade ground. The Order of the Golden Fleece, fatigued but exhilarated from the day's training and competitions, gathered for their evening meal. Laughter mixed with the clatter of cutlery and the murmurs of strategy for the next day. Gaimon watched from a distance, a faint smile on his lips, knowing that he had planted the seeds of something far greater than himself.
For Gaimon, the work of the Order was never merely about sheep or dragons. It was about vision, foresight, and legacy. And under his careful guidance, the Knights of the Golden Fleece would grow to embody every ideal he had once admired in stories from his previous life: loyalty, courage, intelligence, and ambition.
The first chapter of their journey had begun—not on the battlefield, not in a hall of kings, but in the simple, meticulous act of skinning a sheep. And yet, from such small beginnings, great things were destined to grow.
Ãdvåñçé çhàptêr àvàilàble óñ pàtreøn (Gk31)