Screech!
Roar!
Two familiar, earth-shattering dragon roars echoed over the heads of the smallfolk in King's Landing. High above the city, two dragons—one massive, one smaller—pierced through the clouds.
The colossal, dark-green leviathan banked sharply, shaking its massive frame before descending toward the Dragonpit on the Hill of Rhaenys. The smaller, platinum beast broke off, gliding smoothly toward the towering spires of the Red Keep.
Seeing the two dragons, the people of King's Landing knew instantly: the King and the royal hunting party had returned.
Marching up the main thoroughfare toward the Red Keep, the grand procession paraded through the streets, pulling carts heavily laden with game. As the royal wheelhouses rolled past, the crowds lining the streets erupted into cheers.
"Long live the King!"
"Long live the Queen!"
The smallfolk genuinely adored Jaehaerys. Under his reign, the realm had seen unprecedented peace and prosperity—a rare and precious gift in this brutal era.
Beneath the snapping red dragon banners, the royal vanguard surged through the heavy gates of the Red Keep, flooding into the outer courtyards like a rushing tide.
"Finally back," King Jaehaerys groaned as he stepped down from the lead wheelhouse, arching his back in a stiff, drawn-out stretch.
"I thought you loved the excitement of the hunt. Did you not enjoy yourself?" Queen Alysanne teased softly, watching her husband's aching movements.
"Ah, my bones aren't what they used to be," Jaehaerys sighed. "If I had known the road would be this punishing, I would have followed Gaemon's lead and flown Vermithor."
"So the father is less sensible than the son," Alysanne chuckled. "And to think, you told me to rein the boy in. Look at you now."
Their habitual, playful bickering was a testament to their deep affection. However, as their children began disembarking from the trailing carriages, the King and Queen seamlessly dropped the banter, slipping back into their regal personas.
Once the family had gathered, they marched together through the massive bronze doors of the inner keep.
Despite the grueling journey, the King's spirits remained high. The moment they were inside, Jaehaerys announced that a feast would be held in the Great Hall that very evening to celebrate a successful hunt.
It was standard procedure. In Westerosi high society, practically anything could serve as an excuse to throw a lavish feast. The royal family was certainly no exception to this deeply ingrained tradition.
---
That night, Gaemon only stayed at the feast long enough to eat his fill before excusing himself to his chambers. He was still a growing child, and he needed his rest.
In the blink of an eye, the joyous fervor of the nameday celebrations faded, and the Red Keep settled back into its usual, grinding political routine.
Over the next few days, King Jaehaerys found himself developing a massive headache. The cause?
His youngest son, Gaemon. The boy had been hounding him relentlessly, demanding the deed to a specific tract of land in the Kingswood.
In truth, the actual acreage Gaemon was asking for was negligible. The problem wasn't the land itself; it was the precedent. House Targaryen had never partitioned royal lands to grant a junior prince his own domain.
Not even Maegor the Cruel, the second son of Aegon the Conqueror, had been granted his own seat. Despite claiming his father's monstrous dragon, Balerion the Black Dread, Maegor possessed no lands of his own. His lack of a true holding had driven him into exile across the Narrow Sea, only for him to return years later, empty-handed and bitter, to violently usurp the Iron Throne.
"Father, you don't want your son to be homeless in the future, do you?" Gaemon pressed during one of their private meetings in the King's solar.
"Homeless?" Jaehaerys scoffed. "The Red Keep is massive. There will always be room for you here."
"The Red Keep belongs to the King," Gaemon countered sharply. "You are the King now, and I am your son. I live here because you permit it. But the future is long, and anything can happen. Your sister, Dowager Queen Rhaena, once believed the exact same thing. But in the end, she was reduced to squatting in the cursed, crumbling ruins of Harrenhal, dying completely alone. I refuse to let that become my future. I will not spend my life as a royal vagabond, begging for a roof over my head."
Gaemon's brutal honesty struck Jaehaerys like a physical blow, plunging the King into a heavy, suffocating silence.
The boy's words had violently torn open an old, festering wound. His older sister, Rhaena Targaryen, had spent her entire adult life fleeing from royal turmoil, desperately searching for a safe haven. She had wandered the realm as a tragic exile, ultimately meeting a lonely, miserable end within the haunted walls of Harrenhal.
She had once begged him for Dragonstone. He had agreed, but the subsequent political chaos and tragedies had made it impossible for her to remain there.
The tragic memories flashed behind Jaehaerys's eyes, as vivid and painful as if they had happened yesterday.
Seeing his father's face darken with grief and silence, Gaemon felt a sudden spike of panic. Had he pushed too hard? Had he crossed a line?
"Father, my apologies. I didn't mean to—"
"You don't need to explain yourself," Jaehaerys interrupted, his voice thick with emotion. He raised a hand, stopping Gaemon in his tracks. "You are right. The tragedies of our house must not be allowed to repeat themselves."
"If I could offer Dragonstone to your aunt back then," the King continued, his gaze hardening with resolve, "I can certainly carve out a piece of land for you now."
Just like that, the King had made his decision.
In truth, it wasn't just Gaemon's emotional appeal that swayed him. As the King, Jaehaerys had to view the dynasty's future objectively.
House Targaryen was fundamentally different from every other noble house. The more children they produced, the more dragonriders they could field, exponentially increasing the Crown's military supremacy. However, this same prolific growth simultaneously seeded internal instability.
There was only one Iron Throne, and House Targaryen possessed far too few castles to accommodate its rapidly expanding bloodline. If the Crown failed to provide its junior princes with their own lands and power bases, it was only a matter of time before resentment boiled over. Without adequate holdings to satisfy their ambitions, there was no guarantee the realm wouldn't see another bloody usurpation like Maegor's.
Thanks to Jaehaerys and Alysanne, the royal family was thriving. But with that prosperity came the terrifying logistical nightmare of where to put everyone.
Yes, Prince Aemon currently served as a unifying figurehead for his siblings, but who could truly predict the political landscape a generation from now?
Having too few dragons was a vulnerability. Having too many was a ticking time bomb.
Jaehaerys realized he needed to act now to diffuse future civil wars before they could even spark.
The Crownlands and the vast continent of Westeros offered more than enough undeveloped territory to accommodate his descendants. Granting them raw land to develop would be an arduous, grueling task, but it would effectively channel their ambitions and bind their energy to their own domains. Furthermore, constructing a new keep from scratch required massive capital; to succeed, these junior branches would be forced to remain deeply reliant on the Iron Throne's support, virtually guaranteeing their loyalty.
Should any of these cadet branches die out, the Crown could easily reclaim the developed territory and award it to the next generation of princes.
It was a perfect, self-sustaining cycle. By systematically decentralizing the family's assets across the Crownlands, the Iron Throne's overall power would only multiply, effectively neutralizing the threat of internal Targaryen conflict.
Having finalized his strategy, King Jaehaerys refused to delay. He immediately sent word, summoning the core members of the royal family for a private council that very evening to formally discuss the partition of royal lands.
Currently, House Targaryen only possessed two true strongholds: the Red Keep and Dragonstone. Beyond serving as the ancestral hatchery for their dragons, Dragonstone was the traditional seat of the Heir Apparent. It could not simply be handed out to a second son.
Gaemon had been absolutely correct. If the boy wasn't granted his own seat now, and a future King eventually forced him out of the capital, Gaemon would inevitably suffer the exact same tragic, wandering fate as Dowager Queen Rhaena.
History had already dealt House Targaryen that agonizing lesson once. Jaehaerys was determined to ensure it never happened again.