My father levelled his stare at me. At five-and-sixty, the heavy burden of the crown and the crushing grief of outliving so many of his children had heavily aged him. His once-golden hair was snow-white, and his long, braided beard rested upon his chest. His frame was noticeably thinner, yet his pale purple eyes remained as sharp and unyielding as the fanged steel of the throne he sat upon.
"It is not as simple as a ransom, Baelon," he stated flatly. "I have received missives of my own from trusted informants stationed beyond the Narrow Sea. They reported a red dragon, suspiciously similar to Caraxes, spotted over the Norvoshi Hills, heading directly toward Qohor. Tell me, what is the one thing Daemon pursues more fervently than anything else?"
I felt the blood drain from my face. "No. He would not..."
Father merely let out a heavy, tired sigh, forcing me to reckon with the grim reality. "Unfortunately, the Gods are rarely kind to us. Your foolhardy son has chosen to participate in a brutal war that has nothing to do with him, all in a vain attempt to win glory."
This was not the kind of travesty I had foreseen when I broke my fast this morning. "The marriage," I muttered bitterly. "That is the only slight that would drive him to flee across the sea. We should have listened to his grievances and let him remain in the Red Keep. Insisting that he return to Runestone only added oil to his flames."
"No," Father stated sternly, his voice echoing on the high pillars. "Bending to the boy's endless flights of whimsy would not have aided in reining him in. Daemon has always been dragon-blooded in his pursuits—rash, volatile, and hungry for conflict. This is simply another, more catastrophic example of his nature surfacing. We will bring him back, and I have no doubt that a steep price will be exacted for his return. But it is a price that must be paid for our kin."
Before I could offer a rebuttal, the heavy sound of footsteps echoed from the antechamber.
I turned to see my eldest son, Viserys, hurrying into the Great Hall. At two-and-twenty, Viserys was already growing comfortably plump, his amiable, rounded features currently pinched with deep anxiety as he nervously smoothed the rich velvet of his doublet.
Following closely behind him, escorted by two white-cloaked knights of the Kingsguard, was my mother.
Queen Alysanne Targaryen looked every bit her three-and-sixty years. The tragic loss of so many of her daughters had left her frail and perpetually sorrowful. She leaned heavily upon a carved wooden cane as she walked, her silver hair entirely white. Yet, beneath the grief, her intelligent blue eyes darted immediately to the crumpled missive in my hand, sensing the peril before a single word was even spoken.
"Father, Grandfather, what is the matter of urgency? Has Daemon been found?" Viserys asked immediately, his voice echoing slightly in the vastness of the hall.
Mother continued to stare up at Father upon the high seat. I moved past Viserys, handing the heavy parchment directly to her.
"Yes, Viserys. Your brother has been found. But it shall be a monumental task to return him to the safety of the Red Keep," I answered.
Viserys looked at me, utterly confused.
"That fool," Mother whispered, just as Viserys opened his mouth to ask for clarity. She thrust the letter into the boy's hands.
I watched Viserys cycle through the exact same cascade of emotions I had suffered moments earlier. It warmed my heart to see him care so deeply for his brother, but it simultaneously boiled my blood at Daemon's sheer recklessness.
"We can be assured he will not ride Caraxes into battle, even if he chooses to participate in the conflict—which I am certain he will," Father clarified from the high platform.
"Your Grace, if I may," Grand Maester Allar interjected nervously, his chains clinking. "It would be prudent not to entirely alienate the Imperium in order to restore Prince Daemon's freedom. Much of our trade with Eastern Essos flows through their ports. More importantly, their smiths provide nearly a third of our imported weaponry and armour. Between the trade of spices, cloth, and steel, the Imperium is undoubtedly our premier trading partner, rivalled only by the Free Cities."
"Are you suggesting we simply bow to the whims of the Imperium?" I snapped, my anger flaring visibly. "My son is worth more than any trade agreement. The realm survived for years without the Imperium, and it can do so again."
I understood the political reality Allar was implying, but the father in me cared nothing for coin or commerce at this moment.
Mother stepped toward me, placing a frail but reassuring hand upon my shoulder. Viserys drew closer as well, genuine worry etching his rounded features.
"That is so, Allar," Father agreed, his voice steady. "We must accomplish both: we must see Daemon safely returned to us, whilst ensuring we do not concede so much that we become beholden to Rome. I thank you for your counsel, Grand Maester, but I must deliberate with my kin in private. I shall summon you when we are ready."
The command was unquestionable. Allar bowed deeply and hurried from the Great Hall.
Father stood up from the treacherous iron seat, carefully navigating the fanged steel as he descended the steep steps. He reached the floor and smoothly plucked the missive from Viserys's hands. He inspected the parchment in silence for a long moment before offering a curt nod.
"Follow me."
When the white-cloaked Kingsguard moved to follow, the King simply held up a hand, halting them in their tracks. The knights bowed and remained at their stations by the towering doors.
We followed the King through the heavy exit located directly behind the Iron Throne. The air grew significantly quieter as we left the cavernous expanse of the Great Hall behind, ascending a winding stone staircase that led to the floor above. The only sounds were the heavy thud of our boots and the rhythmic, hollow tapping of Mother's wooden cane against the stone.