Dusk settled over the city. The setting sun sank beneath the horizon, casting a brilliant wash of burnt orange across the evening sky.
As twilight deepened, the usually bustling Red Keep descended into a state of feverish activity. King Jaehaerys had announced a grand nameday celebration for Prince Valerion, and nobles lucky enough to receive a royal invitation had been pouring into King's Landing from across their domains.
High above the chaos, on the rooftop of Maegor's Holdfast—the tallest structure in the Red Keep—Gaemon was busy helping baby Valerion practice his newly acquired walking skills.
"Come on! You can do it, Valerion," Gaemon urged with a warm smile, standing a few paces away as the toddler stumbled clumsily toward him.
It had become their daily routine. Gaemon believed that getting out into open, fresh air was essential for a child's healthy development. After scouting the castle, he had claimed this rooftop. The vantage point was unparalleled: an endless expanse of the narrow sea on one side, and the sprawling, vibrant cityscape on the other. It was a breathtaking view, rarely appreciated in this era.
Gaemon personally loved the spot. Whenever he had a free moment, he would bring Valerion up here to relax and escape the suffocating pressures of the court below.
Their quiet playtime was interrupted when a servant emerged from the rooftop stairwell. Clearly accustomed to finding the young prince up here, the man walked over and bowed respectfully.
"My Prince," the servant said. "The Queen requests that you bring the young prince to her chambers. It is time to change into your formal attire for tonight's feast."
"Understood. Tell my mother we'll be down shortly," Gaemon replied.
"Right away, my Prince. By your leave."
The servant maintained his respectful posture, stepping backward toward the stairwell before finally turning to descend.
"Alright, little monster," Gaemon chuckled, turning back to his brother. "Mother's looking for us. Let's go."
"Bwa... bwa... go," Valerion babbled.
"Haha, brilliant," Gaemon laughed. He scooped up the stumbling toddler into a secure hug and headed back into the depths of the Red Keep.
---
### The Queen's Bedchamber
"Mother, we're here!" Gaemon announced the moment he crossed the threshold into the Queen's chambers. "Our little prince was incredible today. He's practically walking on his own."
"Truly? The Mother be praised!" Queen Alysanne exclaimed, her face lighting up with absolute delight. She immediately reached out, eager to take Valerion. "Come here, sweetling. Let Mother look at you."
Hearing her voice, the baby began to squirm enthusiastically in Gaemon's arms. "Ma! Ma!" he babbled, reaching out for the Queen.
"Alright, alright, go to your mother," Gaemon grumbled in mock annoyance, eagerly depositing the squirming child into Alysanne's waiting arms.
"Oh? Is our valiant dragonrider actually jealous?" Alysanne teased, her eyes sparkling with amusement as she settled Valerion on her hip. "That's hardly fitting for a conqueror of the skies."
"Please, are you mocking your own flesh and blood?" Gaemon shot back smoothly, refusing to concede an inch. "I'm not nearly as magnanimous as you think. I am still just a child, after all."
Alysanne was entirely accustomed to her youngest son's precocious and incredibly casual way of speaking. In fact, she had come to appreciate it. His blunt, informal banter stripped away the stifling royal protocols and pulled the family closer together. In private, she often found herself adopting his tone, playfully sparring with him just to watch him work.
Gaemon's very existence had fundamentally altered the internal dynamics of House Targaryen. Not only had the family grown larger, but the suffocating tension that often plagued the royal household had significantly thawed.
In the original timeline of history, while King Jaehaerys and Queen Alysanne were renowned for their deep love, their conflicting views on parenting and family politics had led to bitter, devastating rifts, causing estrangements that lasted for years.
But Gaemon acted as the vital glue that filled those familial cracks. Under his subtle influence, the life trajectories of his siblings—whether it was the abrasive Vaegon or the incredibly timid Daella—were already experiencing drastic, positive shifts.
Yes, Vaegon had still departed for the Citadel in Oldtown. But Gaemon knew the truth: Vaegon hadn't fled his family out of spite. He went to arm himself with knowledge, specifically to support Gaemon's grand ambitions. Once he had honed himself, Vaegon would return. He wouldn't suffer the tragic fate of his previous life—renouncing his bloodline and dying a lonely, forgotten archmaester in the dark halls of the Citadel.
Similarly, the notoriously fearful and fragile Daella was slowly finding her spine. Her daily interactions with Gaemon were steadily replacing her paralyzing timidity with quiet resilience.
Jaehaerys and Alysanne saw these internal shifts clearly, and it brought them an immeasurable, quiet joy.
"Gaemon," Alysanne said, her tone turning slightly hesitant as she gestured to a set of garments laid out on a nearby table. "These are the clothes you designed and asked me to have tailored. Are you absolutely certain you want to wear this to the feast tonight?"
"I'm entirely certain, Mother," Gaemon replied firmly, clearly unbothered by her doubt. "Don't you think it looks sharp? It projects authority."
"It certainly looks... striking," Alysanne admitted diplomatically. "It's just that it is a radical departure from traditional Westerosi court fashion."
"Relax, Mother. Let me put it on first," Gaemon offered. "If you still think it's inappropriate after seeing it properly worn, I'll switch to whatever traditional silk tunic you've prepared for me." With that, Gaemon grabbed the garments and began to dress.
The outfits Gaemon designed always prioritized utility and ease of wear over the convoluted layers of medieval fashion. This one was no exception.
When he finally finished and stepped back into the light, Alysanne and the attending handmaids were genuinely stunned.
The bespoke tailoring hugged his frame perfectly, creating an incredibly sleek and commanding silhouette.
The uniform consisted of two main pieces. The top was a jet-black, high-collared tunic worn over a crisp white undershirt. The bottom was a pair of matching black, slim-fit trousers that tapered sharply down to the ankles.
Two gold dragon crests were pinned to either side of the high collar, instantly elevating the entire ensemble with an air of absolute, regal authority.
Twin rows of intricate, silver dragon-head buttons ran from the ribcage down to the waist. Across his right shoulder hung a braided silver aiguillette, the metallic cords contrasting against the stark black fabric like frozen lightning.
To cinch the uniform and highlight the wearer's posture, a thick, multi-layered calfskin corset-belt wrapped tightly around his waist. At the dead center of the belt sat a massive, silver dragon-head buckle, projecting a fierce, aggressive dominance.
He wore a pair of polished, knee-high riding boots, which completely streamlined his form and visually elongated his otherwise short, child-like stature.
Finally, a beautifully ornate dragon-hilt dagger hung from his hip. It was the perfect finishing touch, adding an edge of lethal danger to the striking, martial elegance of the uniform.
"By the Gods, he looks magnificent!"
"The Prince looks so incredibly handsome..."
The handmaids couldn't contain their hushed, awestruck whispers as they took in the young prince's commanding new look.
Even Queen Alysanne, who had been openly skeptical of the design moments ago, instinctively brought a hand to her mouth in genuine shock. She never imagined that such a severe, unorthodox style could look so incredibly sharp and heavily masculine.
"Well, Mother? How does it look?" Gaemon asked, cocking an arrogant eyebrow at her stunned silence. "I trust it does justice to the excellent looks you and Father gave me?"