"Father... I made a grave mistake, I know. But in doing so, I have witnessed eldritch horrors the likes of which Westeros is entirely unprepared for. They could end us, and we would be none the wiser to their machinations," he breathed, his voice dropping to a ghastly whisper.
"What did you see, Daemon?" I demanded softly.
"Gods and demons dragged straight from the Fourteen Flames," he shuddered. "The Qohorik bloodmages brought forth the Black Goat to fend off the legions. But then he... he killed the god. He slaughtered it right in front of my eyes. He even felled Caraxes into a slumber with a single touch."
It was my turn to be struck dumb. I could not even comprehend the sheer scale of what my son was claiming. "Who did, Daemon?"
"The Emperor! He manifested from the sky just as the Black Goat crawled from the abyss. They fought in the clouds, and the Emperor massacred the deity while his armies crushed the city. In the end, he eradicated their god, Father," Daemon answered, trembling with unfiltered fear.
Vaegon let out a harsh scoff. "What nonsensical fables are you spouting, nephew? Have your captors been feeding you milk of the poppy or nightshade to keep you docile? There are no gods or demons. Only men."
Daemon shot the Archmaester a venomous glare. "You would not speak so boldly if you had seen what I saw, Uncle. I know what magic looks like; this was no mere mummer's farce. Did you not see the ruins of Qohor as you flew here?"
"We flew north, over Braavos and Lorath to reach Ctesiphon, Daemon. We bypassed the Qohorik forest entirely," I answered.
Daemon offered a grim, understanding nod. "The Free City of Qohor is no more. In its place stands a smoking crater so impossibly deep that all the world's dragons could not fill it. Of the two hundred thousand citizens, perhaps twelve thousand survived the crossfire. Caraxes currently lies unconscious in the ruined outskirts. I know not what the Emperor did to him."
Vaegon was left entirely speechless by the apocalyptic premise. Daemon simply stared down at his bandaged hands. I swallowed hard, my father's dire warnings echoing loudly in my skull. The King had called this Emperor the most dangerous man in the known world; now I truly understood why. We absolutely could not antagonise this being, yet we had to extricate Daemon without completely prostrating the Iron Throne before him. It would be an impossibly delicate ordeal. I firmly resolved to command Vhagar over the Qohorik ruins on our return journey to verify this madness.
"What else have you observed about him? Tell me, so that we do not cross his boundaries," I demanded, waking Daemon from his haunting reverie.
He let out a bitter, self-deprecating laugh. "If you can believe it... I am deeply enamoured with his daughter, and I believe she shares the sentiment. Yet, it earned me no favours with the Emperor."
My face completely blanched at the absurd revelation. Vaegon looked as though he had been struck with a physical blow.
"You seduced the Emperor's daughter?" Vaegon asked, his voice cracking with sheer disbelief.
"Liliana. That is her name," Daemon corrected defensively. "And yes. I met her on the march to the battlefield. She was the vanguard responsible for infiltrating Qohor and opening its gates for the legions. At the time, I knew none of this. I thought her a rogue Valyrian sellsword, and I fully planned to marry her once the siege concluded."
Before I could vehemently remind him that he was already wed, Daemon beat me to the strike.
"The Conqueror had two wives, Father. Grandfather's Doctrine of Exceptionalism allows us our Valyrian customs. The Faith must permit me to take a second bride."
"That was a century ago, Daemon! The political circumstances of the realm are entirely different now," I snapped. "Besides, what staggering arrogance makes you think he will permit his royal daughter to be wed to a man who is already bound to a Royce?"
"Being wed to her could prove highly advantageous in the long term, Baelon," Vaegon interjected, his mind rapidly pivoting to strategy. "She is, after all, an Imperial Princess. If a match can be made pleasing in the eyes of the Emperor, we could perhaps mitigate the severe diplomatic fallout caused by your son's trespassing."
"It would also mean officially handing over a dragonrider to the Imperium," I argued, my frustration mounting. "Furthermore, there are massive political hurdles in annulling Daemon's marriage to Rhea Royce. We risk entirely alienating the Vale—a problem far closer to our shores than the Imperium."
"The Vale's grievances would matter little when weighed against the monumental benefits," Vaegon countered coldly. "The Imperium is more than half the size of the Seven Kingdoms, with wealth that vastly exceeds our own. A Prince of the Realm married to the Princess of Rome could potentially lead to a Targaryen heir ruling their empire. Our informants state that Princeps Octavian has thus far refused to take a wife. If played correctly, this disaster could become our greatest geopolitical triumph."
"It does not matter, Vaegon. The Emperor is immortal; he needs no heir," I firmly reaffirmed, attempting to shut down the dangerous notion.
"Having an heir and not needing one is far better than needing an heir and not having one," Vaegon countered stubbornly.
Daemon let out a dry, derisive chuckle. "Your political manoeuvring will not save you here, Uncle. Rome does not function like the courts of Westeros. Here, whatever the Emperor decrees is absolute law. It is to be obeyed unquestioningly, unfailingly, unto death. Ana tried to protest my arrest, to defend me in the throne room... and she was rendered entirely incapable of speaking by a mere, silent stare from her father."
"Nevertheless, we must keep this diplomatic avenue open in the event it serves our house," Vaegon stated, clearly refusing to wholly accept Daemon's fatalism. This line of thought from Vaegon continued while Daemon gave intricate details of his adventure in Essos. Ultimately I grew tired of Vaegon's persuasions.
I ignored my brother, turning my full attention back to the desolate state of my youngest son. "You must find it within yourself to grow past this defeat, Daemon. If you allow this terror to permanently break your spirit, your life ahead will hold no meaning."
"What good is living when I can be crushed like an insect by powers so vastly mightier than I?" Daemon asked, his voice hollow and utterly dejected.
"Trust me, my son. Surrendering to despair is no way to live," I said softly, stepping closer. "After your mother passed away, I was much the same as you are right now. Defeated, bitter, and entirely lost in the dark. But a Dragonlord must find a way to endure the flames and live through it. There are people who still need you. Viserys needs you. Little Rhaenyra needs you."
I reached out, placing a firm, reassuring hand upon his bruised shoulder. "And I need you."
Daemon looked up at me, his pale purple eyes shimmering with unspoken grief. Before he could formulate a response, a sharp, heavy knock struck the oak doors.
They swung inward instantly, and Commander Maximus stepped over the threshold without hesitation.
"Prince Baelon," the Praetorian announced, his piercing blue eyes fixed upon me. "It is time."
Just as the words left his lips, a series of deep, resonant bells began tolling in the distance, echoing across the sprawling marble capital to announce the arrival of the midday hour.