"Drink!"
"Second brother, your sword-drawing speed has slowed quite a bit. Have you spent all your energy on giving birth to the child?"
Gaimon dodged Baeron's upward slash with a light step and took the opportunity to tease him.
"Huh! I haven't seen you in a few years, but now your moves resemble those of a Braavosi Water Dancer."
Bellon, hearing Gaimon's teasing, had no time to respond. The two continued exchanging a few more moves. After Gaimon executed a clever turn and slash, and Bellon dodged in a slightly awkward manner, they finally stopped.
"I learned this a while ago from a merchant guard from Braavos," Gaimon explained, a hint of pride in his voice. "He used to serve the Sea King, but got into trouble and left. I saw he was skilled in combat, so I learned a few techniques from him. Not bad, right?"
"Hoo-hoo! Just making fun of your second brother, huh? Not many knights in all of Westeros could push me this far. This time, I admit—you're better than me," Bellon said, though his words carried a trace of his usual stubborn pride.
Belron, hidden beneath his iron mask, took a few deep breaths to calm himself. Gaimon's teasing words had clearly put him in a sour mood.
Gaimon pulled his head out of the silver plate helmet, shook his slightly messy hair from the intense practice, and smiled at Baeron, who stood a short distance away. He handed his unopened iron sword to a nearby servant and relaxed. The two brothers lingered a moment before walking toward the small courtyard adjacent to the training ground.
"Bang!"
Bellon reached the courtyard first. He removed the iron gauntlets from his hands and tossed them onto the wooden table in the center. The clatter of metal on wood echoed sharply. Bellon sank into a chair and grabbed a glass of water, drinking deeply.
"Call!"
After downing the wine in a single breath, he exhaled loudly, relief written across his face.
Gaimon approached slowly and sat opposite him, picking up his own glass. With a wink, he teased, "Brother, you look a little weak. Have you been drained by Sister Alessa?"
"You kid, all you know is make fun of me. I've just been responding," Bellon replied, feigning annoyance.
"Feeling weak, huh? You look tired. The construction of the Knights' Castle has reached a critical stage, and I hear you've been up early and late every day on the site. With Alessa giving birth, you've hardly slept. And now you want to tease me? Don't worry, once I recover, we'll have another duel. I'll give you a good beating then," Bellon added, trying to preserve his pride despite having been bested by Gaimon in their practice.
Gaimon understood his brother's need to save face, so he smiled politely and nodded, giving him the satisfaction of maintaining his dignity.
Satisfied, Bellon quickly changed the subject. "My boy, how's the construction of your territory going? Let me remind you, my Knight Castle will be finished in two years. Don't let your palace be a laughingstock by comparison. I heard your city is almost as large as King's Landing. The manpower and resources required will be astronomical. Make sure you don't run out halfway."
Gaimon suppressed a laugh, controlling his expression, and replied seriously: "Don't worry, second brother. When have I ever taken on something I couldn't handle?"
"I know you have a plan in mind," Bellon continued, softening his tone. "But Big Brother asked me to remind you. He's afraid that when you face difficulties, you'll be too proud to ask for help. Remember, we're behind you. We're all your family and your strongest support. If you encounter trouble, everyone will help you as much as they can."
A warmth spread through Gaimon's chest at his brother's words. After a moment, he spoke in a hoarse, heartfelt voice: "Don't worry, second brother. You can tell everyone this: I, Gaimon, will always be a Targaryen and part of this family. Building a new territory is difficult, yes, but it's nothing I can't handle. You can trust that I will succeed."
"Yes! Second brother believes in you. Once we've built our respective castles, let's compare them and see whose is the most magnificent," Bellon said, excitement in his voice.
"Fine, second brother, we'll have a proper competition. But there must be prizes, otherwise what's the point of winning or losing?" Gaimon suggested, his eyes gleaming with playful ambition.
"Prizes, you say? Alright. My territory has the finest war horses. If I lose, I'll give you ten of my best," Bellon said with a confident grin.
Gaimon's eyes lit up. He had no doubt he would win and was pleased with the stakes. "Since you offer ten warhorses, I, your younger brother, can't admit defeat lightly. The best specialty from my territory is the snow salt we produce. If I lose, I'll give you 1,000 kilograms of the finest snow salt. Fair enough? Not stingy, right?"
Bellon laughed heartily. "I'm not stingy. But if you really lose, don't cry about it."
"Don't worry, second brother. Even if I lose, I can still give you a few consolation prizes. But you, don't let Sister Alessa scold you for losing. Your brother won't disappoint."
"You underestimate me too much. I can handle such a small loss, and Sister Alessa isn't as strict as you think," Bellon replied, his annoyance showing at Gaimon's teasing.
"Haha! As long as you're confident. It's getting late, though. Let's head back and get ready. There's a banquet at the Red Castle tonight, and I don't want to show up looking like this," Gaimon said with a smile.
"Very well! Go on, then. Your Sister Alessa is waiting for you," Bellon replied, and the two rose from the table.
As they left the courtyard, Gaimon felt a deep sense of gratitude toward his family. Despite the teasing, the rivalry, and the challenges ahead, their support was unwavering. That night, with the scent of polished wood and iron still fresh from training, Gaimon silently vowed to build a city worthy of his ambitions and the pride of the Targaryens. The competition with Bellon was more than just about castles—it was about legacy, family, and the determination to succeed against all odds.
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