The royal dining hall glowed with the soft warmth of candlelight. As King Jaehaerys and Queen Alysanne stepped through the arched doorway together, tonight's family supper officially began.
Everyone settled around the long oak table, trading easy conversation and laughter. Just as the first plates were being passed and forks were about to dive in, Gaemon cleared his throat.
"Hold on a moment, everyone. I've brought something else for the table. You should try it first."
He reached into the satchel beside his chair and lifted out a clear glass jar.
The moment he spoke, every hand paused. Heads turned. When they saw what he was holding, puzzled frowns rippled around the table.
"Gaemon… that's just salt," Jaehaerys said, one silver brow arched in curiosity. "What makes this batch so special?"
"Taste it, Father. You'll understand."
Gaemon slid the jar across the polished wood. Jaehaerys uncorked it, pinched a few glittering crystals between thumb and forefinger, and slipped them onto his tongue.
The King's violet eyes widened.
"This… there's no bitterness at all. Only clean, pure salt."
He licked his lips again, clearly surprised.
In Westeros, salt was far more than seasoning. It was sacred. Guest right itself began with bread and salt—an unbreakable vow under the eyes of both old gods and new. Nobles usually ate well salt or pond salt, drawn from deep shafts or shallow pans where the brine already ran cleaner. Even then, a faint metallic bitterness always lingered after the simplest refining.
But this? This was flawless.
The rest of the family leaned in at once, palms outstretched like eager children. Gaemon grinned and passed out the remaining jars.
Saera was the first to taste it. Her purple eyes lit up.
"Oh! No bitterness whatsoever!" She speared a slice of raw yellowfin tuna—left over from the fish Gaemon had flown in the night before—and dipped it straight into the salt. The moment the crystals touched her tongue she let out a delighted moan.
"Gods, the fish tastes even sweeter now! It doesn't need anything else. Just the salt!"
Viserra and the others quickly followed her lead. Within seconds the table had turned into an impromptu feast of sashimi dipped in pristine white crystals. Soft gasps and happy murmurs filled the hall as the clean, bright salinity lifted every flavor.
Saera, never one to miss an advantage, snatched an unopened jar and hugged it to her chest like a treasure.
"This one's mine. Nobody touch it!"
Laughter and mock outrage exploded around the table.
"You little glutton!"
"Saera, share!"
She only squeezed the jar tighter, grinning like a cat who had stolen the cream.
Amid the playful chaos, Jaehaerys looked back at his youngest son.
"Where exactly did you get these jars?"
Gaemon's grin turned sly. "Well, Father… what if I told you I made them myself?"
Jaehaerys barked a short laugh, instantly catching on. "So that's it. You want the royal charter for salt production. Bold. Plenty of powerful men have their eyes on that particular pie. A good chunk of the realm's expenses still rides on the salt tax. Granting a charter isn't as simple as handing out sweets."
Gaemon immediately put on his most pitiful expression, eyes wide and pleading.
"Father, your poor son is suffering. You gave me a patch of land that's nothing but rocks, weeds, and thorns. I've poured every waking hour into turning that wilderness into something real. All I need is this one small favor and it would help your hardworking, long-suffering child so much. Won't you show a little mercy?"
Jaehaerys folded his arms, clearly amused. "You chose that land yourself, boy. Out of every corner of the Crownlands you picked the deepest stretch of forest and river. Don't come crying to me now."
"Hey, it's not too late!" Gaemon shot back, still grinning. "Just grant me the charter and everything can still be fixed."
The King studied his son for a long moment, then sighed with fond exasperation.
"Very well. You may have the charter. But the taxes owed to the Crown will be paid in full, same as any other lord. I won't have the other houses crying favoritism."
Gaemon's face split into a radiant smile. "Thank you, Father! You're the best king in the world. I swear I won't short you a single copper."
Jaehaerys could only shake his head, half-laughing, half-resigned, and glance at his wife.
"Where did the boy learn these strange turns of phrase? We've never had anyone quite so shameless in this family."
Alysanne, her belly once again rounded with child, simply smiled back at him with gentle warmth.
Across the table, Viserra—having lost the jar-snatching war with Saera—fixed Gaemon with huge, luminous violet eyes that could melt dragonsteel.
Gaemon, busy demolishing his own plate, finally felt the heat of that stare. He looked up, caught the silent plea, and laughed.
"Fine, fine. From now on, all the salt the family uses is on me. Everyone gets their share."
Cheers erupted around the table. To the Targaryens, the salt itself was trivial. What mattered was the warmth behind the gift—the simple, fierce loyalty of blood.
And in that moment, with laughter ringing off the stone walls and the clean taste of the future on every tongue, the royal family felt more united than it had in years.
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