In Westeros, a knight is far more than just a warrior in heavy armor. Knighthood is an institution—a defining force that shapes the continent's social structure, moral compass, wartime tactics, and balance of power.
At the core of this institution is Chivalry. A man who only knows how to kill is nothing but a brute; a true knight must possess a noble soul.
Chivalry is sung about and idealized across the Seven Kingdoms. It stands for honor, courage, justice, mercy, loyalty, and the sacred duty to protect the weak and innocent.
The ideal knight flawlessly blends martial prowess with cultural refinement:
On the Battlefield: He is an elite warrior, mastering the "Seven Skills" (riding, swimming, archery, swordsmanship, hunting, strategy games, and poetry).
In the Court: He is a gentleman—polite, eloquent, and respectful to women.
In Spirit: He is a loyal, brave, and unwavering guardian.
The grueling journey to knighthood is generally divided into three distinct stages: Page, Squire, and the Dubbing.
Stage One: The Page
Age: Begins around 7 years old.
Background: Typically born to noble houses (sons of knights, lords, or higher nobility).
Placement: The boy is sent to another lord's castle—often a liege lord or a relative. This serves a dual purpose: it provides an education and acts as a soft hostage situation to guarantee his family's loyalty.
Education: Etiquette & Culture: Pages learn courtly manners, how to sing, play instruments, and play strategy games. Some learn to read and write. The goal is to cultivate a refined, aristocratic temperament.
Faith: They study the teachings of the Seven-Pointed Star, building the religious foundation of their chivalric oaths.
Physical Conditioning: Built through games like wrestling, running, swimming, and climbing.
Weapons: Basic introductions using wooden practice swords.
Service: They wait upon the ladies of the castle, learning humility, respect, and duty by running errands, delivering messages, and serving at the table.
Stage Two: The Squire
Age: Begins around 14 years old.
Role: The boy transitions from a servant to a personal assistant and military apprentice assigned to a specific knight.
Duties & Training:
Master of Arms: Squires must master a lethal arsenal. They drill relentlessly with longswords while wearing increasingly heavy armor. They practice the lance using a quintain (a spinning target that strikes back if hit off-center). They also master the highest-difficulty skill: riding a warhorse in full plate armor.
Maintenance: A squire's most crucial job is maintaining his knight's gear—polishing armor, sharpening blades, and tending to the horses. This breeds an intimate understanding of the equipment.
Battlefield Shadow: Squires follow their knights into war but don't fight in the vanguard. They dress the knight, carry spare weapons, rescue them if they fall, and guard prisoners.
Tournaments: They compete in squire-level events like the melee.
Internalizing Chivalry: By shadowing their mentor, they learn exactly what honor and mercy look like in practice.
Stage Three: The Dubbing
Age: Usually around 21, though extreme battlefield bravery can earn an early promotion.
The Ritual: After a night of fasting and prayer in a sept to cleanse the soul, the squire faces his lord.
The Accolade: The lord taps the flat of a blade against the squire's shoulders. Sometimes, this is accompanied by a sharp slap to the face—symbolizing "the last insult you will ever take without answering it."
The Vows: The new knight swears to defend the Faith, protect the weak, and uphold justice. He is then presented with his spurs and sword.
This fourteen-year crucible ensures a knight is physically, technically, and spiritually forged for war. Because of the immense cost and time, it is a path almost exclusively reserved for the nobility.
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As a royal prince, Gaemon was obviously exempt from menial tasks like serving tables or polishing armor. However, the physical conditioning, weapon drills, and cultural education were absolutely non-negotiable if he wanted to earn his spurs.
Ever since Gaemon asked Prince Baelon to train him, his older brother had treated him strictly by the book.
Given Gaemon's young age and previously frail health, Baelon started him off with foundational physical conditioning. Gaemon took these basics and structured them into a modern routine: a running warm-up, sword drills, and basic horsemanship.
To keep himself from getting bored, Gaemon dragged his older brother, Vaegon, into the miserable morning routine.
Gaemon and Vaegon had always shared a tight bond. Before Gaemon learned to read, he would constantly pester the bookish Vaegon to read him Westerosi histories.
Vaegon had always felt like an outcast. In a family of silver-haired dragonlords who worshipped martial strength and fire, Vaegon's obsession with the library made him a glaring anomaly. He genuinely believed that knowledge was the ultimate truth of the world, far surpassing the brute force of dragons.
Gaemon's arrival changed everything for him. Gaemon loved history, absorbed knowledge like a sponge, and actively validated Vaegon's worldview.
During Gaemon's earliest years, when his sickness nearly took his life on several occasions, Vaegon had felt utterly powerless. Despite never caring for religion, the teenage prince had snuck into the Red Keep's sept in the dead of night, bowing before the altar of the Mother to beg for his little brother's life.
It wasn't until the dragon egg began filtering magic into Gaemon's body that the sickly boy finally grew strong. That shared trauma forged an unbreakable loyalty between them. It was exactly why Vaegon—who usually couldn't care less about dragons—had insisted on sharing a room with Gaemon the night the egg hatched.
With his past-life memories, Gaemon fully understood the value of a brilliant mind. He frequently dropped modern concepts and theories during their discussions, inadvertently turning Vaegon into his greatest intellectual ally. Gaemon knew he would need a scholar like Vaegon to help execute his future grand designs, so he meticulously maintained their relationship.
Initially, Vaegon would have rather died than join the training yard. Gaemon had to resort to bribery—promising to share the results of a secret "research project"—just to get him to agree.
Vaegon's hatred of the yard was well-earned. Years prior, King Jaehaerys had ordered Baelon to train the bookish prince. Vaegon hated every second of it and made everyone around him miserable in retaliation. Out of patience, Baelon had asked their sister, Alyssa, to put on chainmail and spar with him. She had effortlessly danced around Vaegon's sloppy attacks, laughing and mocking him the entire time. Humiliated, Vaegon had thrown down his sword, fled the yard, and sworn never to return.
Gaemon knew the story, but he didn't care. He believed everyone had flaws; the only way to grow was to face them head-on. If you constantly hid from your weaknesses, they would remain weaknesses forever.
He used their deep friendship and a little bribery to pull Vaegon back into the light. Even if Vaegon never became a legendary warrior, he still needed basic survival skills.
And so, every dawn, two bizarrely dressed figures could be seen jogging laps around the Red Keep's training yard. Standing off to the side, cheering them on with an impossibly quiet voice, was the delicate Princess Daella.
The "bizarre clothes" drawing stares from the guards were actually Gaemon's custom-designed sportswear.
Both boys wore short-sleeved wool shirts and matching shorts. More importantly, they were wearing running shoes—a completely alien concept in Westeros, and the only reason Vaegon had agreed to run in the first place.
Gaemon had meticulously designed the footwear. They featured thick leather outsoles for durability, felt midsoles for shock absorption, and a breathable, double-layered upper made of supple deerskin lined with incredibly soft Yi Ti silk. They laced up tightly with leather cords for ankle support, and crucially, they featured built-in arch support to make running far less agonizing.
"Huff... huff... slow... slow down, Gaemon! I need a minute... I can't breathe..."
After three grueling laps around the yard, fourteen-year-old Vaegon was practically dying. Sweat poured down his face like rain, and his words were chopped to pieces by his violently heaving chest.
Gaemon, who was jogging comfortably ahead, immediately doubled back. He grabbed Vaegon by the arm and kept him moving forward.
"Don't stop!" Gaemon ordered lightly. "You can't just sit down after a hard sprint. We only have one lap left. We'll take it slow to cool down, and then you can sit."
Dragged along by his four-year-old brother, Vaegon had no choice but to keep his legs moving. He was completely baffled. How was it possible that a toddler who used to be perpetually bedridden had more stamina than a near-grown teenager? His pride was taking a severe beating.
The Red Keep's yard wasn't massive; a single lap was roughly one kilometer. Prince Baelon had assigned them a modest three-kilometer run. But after his first day, Gaemon realized three kilometers barely warmed him up, so he quietly bumped his own routine to four. Honestly, he would have aimed for six if he wasn't trying to accommodate Vaegon's terrible stamina.
Soaring directly above the two jogging princes was a creature roughly the size of a large owl. It was Bahamut, Gaemon's platinum dragon.
Now past the fragile newborn stage, the little dragon was capable of sustained flight. To build up the hatchling's wing strength, Gaemon had incorporated Bahamut into his morning cardio.
The little dragon adored it. It treated the run like a game with its rider, eagerly waking Gaemon up every morning with chirps and demanding to be taken to the yard.
As the morning sun breached the walls of the Red Keep, its golden rays spilled across the training grounds, washing over the running boys and the flying dragon like a fiery blessing of strength.
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