King's Landing
High above the streets of King's Landing, Gaimon soared through the sky on his platinum dragon, Bahamut. Below, a procession moved slowly toward the Red Castle, banners of many colors fluttering in the morning sun. This was the Baratheon delegation, preparing to attend the grand banquet, led by none other than Duke Beaumond of the Baratheon family.
Beaumond, clad in exquisite garments that highlighted his noble bearing, tilted his head upward, eyes following the distant figure in the sky. A spark of envy passed over his expression. He remained quiet for a long moment, admiring the dragon and its young rider.
"Your Excellency, do you know which prince that is?" a nobleman beside him asked, curiosity lacing his tone. "He looks rather young."
Duke Beaumond's gaze lingered on the sky. "That must be Prince Gaimon," he replied, almost to himself. "And the platinum dragon… that should be Bahamut, his companion."
Though his answer was audible to those nearby, it was also a private acknowledgment of the longing that stirred within him. As the son of Queen Mother Alyssa and Duke of the Luo family, Beaumond was King Jaehaerys' half-brother. Already a duke in his own right, the allure of the dragon ignited a quiet yearning deep within him.
As Bahamut disappeared over the horizon, Beaumond turned his attention back to the path before him, motioning for his team to resume their march. Soon, the Baratheon knights approached the Red Castle gates. After the guards inspected them, the knights proudly raised their banners and entered the castle grounds, their formation orderly and dignified.
At the gate, Prince Aemon and Princess Jolina awaited the arrival of Duke Beaumond. As the Duke rode up on his horse, gleaming armor catching the sunlight, he dismounted promptly and approached them.
"Your Excellency, you have had a tiring journey. We must ensure plenty of wine awaits you at the banquet," Prince Aemon said politely, stepping forward.
Beaumond's face lit up at the courtesy. To be treated with such honor by the future king was both flattering and humbling. With measured poise, he responded:
"Your Highness, the journey was nothing. The honor of His Majesty's invitation makes any effort worthwhile. How could it be considered hardship?"
The reply was perfect—a balance of humility and respect, yet subtly emphasizing the stature of the royal family. It elicited nods of approval from the prince and his retinue.
Princess Jolina, stepping forward, greeted him warmly. "Brother, it's been far too long. Welcome to King's Landing."
Beaumond paused, caught off guard by a wave of nostalgia. It had been nearly ten years since they last met, the memory of their separation vivid in his mind. Jolina, daughter of Queen Mother Alysanne and Duke Rogar, had been sent to the palace at age six for her education, leaving her brother behind. Now, she stood before him, her raven-black hair and enchanting dark eyes as striking as ever. Her tall, elegant figure marked her as one of the kingdom's most admired women.
"I've brought you many local specialties," Beaumond said with a smile. "I'll have them delivered shortly."
"Thank you, brother. But let's not linger here. His Majesty awaits us in the throne room," Jolina urged.
Without further delay, Beaumond gathered his men and followed the prince and princess through the castle. The remainder of his entourage could rely on the castle staff for guidance, freeing him from concern.
The throne room was awash with sunlight streaming through the high glass windows, illuminating the majestic hall in golden hues. The room's vastness and grandeur were awe-inspiring.
As Beaumond reached the entrance, a herald's voice rang out, resonant and commanding:
"Lord of Storm's End, Lord Governor of the Stormlands, House Baratheon, Beaumond Baratheon!"
Accompanied by his vassals, the Duke walked down the central carpet with measured steps, approaching the Iron Throne at the far end of the hall. The throne, forged from a thousand swords melted by Balerion's dragon fire and reshaped by master smiths, loomed high and intimidating. Its jagged, asymmetrical form was a deliberate reminder that kings must never grow complacent.
King Jaehaerys sat upon the throne, a golden crown adorned with seven gems upon his head, his Valyrian two-handed sword, Blackfyre, resting across his lap. He surveyed the assembled lords with an air of commanding majesty, every subject feeling small and humbled in his presence.
Beaumond knelt before the king, bowing low in the traditional audience ceremony. Once all had knelt, the king's voice rang out, rich and authoritative:
"Duke and lords, rise. Your presence here to celebrate my son's name day is most welcome. I trust the Red Castle's wine will make your journey worthwhile."
Heartened by the king's gracious words, Beaumond rose first, responding with reverence:
"His Majesty's invitation honors us greatly. The Stormlands are privileged to attend His Royal Highness's naming day."
With the formalities complete, Beaumond presented the gifts he had brought, each item chosen to convey respect and loyalty. The smooth exchange of words, gestures, and ceremonial protocol marked the beginning of the celebration, setting a tone of dignity, reverence, and royal splendor..
As Beaumond stepped back, he allowed himself a brief glance at the throne, remembering the years of ambition and loyalty that had led him here. The Iron Throne, awe-inspiring as it was, symbolized not only power but the weight of duty. And today, the Baratheon delegation stood in its shadow, united in celebration, yet aware that ambition, envy, and loyalty were ever-present in the courts of King's Landing.
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