Father shook his head, a dismissive scoff escaping his lips. "The Maesters speak from a place of blind ignorance. The bloodmages of Old Valyria wielded these very oaths to build an empire that reigned supreme for five thousand years. Furthermore, Emperor Hadrian uses these bonds. He is an immortal, Viserys. He possesses a mind unlike any I have ever encountered. He would never partake in a ritual if it carried the risk of harming his own soul or deteriorating his flesh."
His logic was sound. The sheer longevity of the Valyrian Freehold and the grim reality of the Roman Emperor provided irrefutable proof of the magic's stability. My anxiety regarding my own safety began to recede, yet my gaze drifted back to the withered husk lying in the dirt.
"Even so," I murmured, my throat tight. "Was taking a man's life the right thing to do? He was a monster, yes. But to use him as fodder for a spell..."
Father's expression hardened. The patient tutor vanished, replaced entirely by the battle-hardened veteran. He stepped over the chalk lines, closing the distance between us until he towered over me.
"You must understand the reality of the world we inhabit, Viserys," Father stated, his eyes boring into mine. "Undue kindness is a poison. Pacification breeds bolder enemies. If you hesitate to strike down the wicked decisively, you invite ruin upon the innocent down the road."
He gestured sharply toward the corpse. "That creature forfeited his right to draw breath the moment he took the life of another. A swift, terrible action now spares us a thousand miseries tomorrow. A king cannot afford the luxury of clean hands. You must wield the necessary cruelty to forge a lasting peace."
I nodded slowly, keeping my face a mask of compliant stone. I understood his reasoning perfectly. It was the harsh reality of rulership. Yet, a stubborn knot of doubt remained tightly coiled in my chest.
I believed in the legacy of the Old King. Grandfather had ended the Faith Militant uprising and bound the Seven Kingdoms together not through endless slaughter, but through the Doctrine of Exceptionalism and meticulous diplomacy. Conciliation and understanding achieved far more than fear. Terror could bind a man's tongue, but it could never truly win his heart. I firmly believed a ruler could maintain strength without surrendering to ruthlessness, though I knew better than to voice these thoughts aloud in the suffocating dark of the dungeons.
"I understand, Father," I lied smoothly.
Father studied my face for a long moment before his tense shoulders finally dropped. He let out a weary exhale, the exhaustion of the day catching up to him all at once.
"We are finished here," he announced, stepping back. He tapped the heavy leather manuscript still resting in my hands. "Keep that safe. Hide it securely within your chambers. I want you to make meticulous copies of the pages for your own keeping and then return the original to me."
"I will."
"Going forward, practice writing the glyphs and the script on your own," Father instructed, turning toward the heavy iron door. "Learn the strokes until you can carve them blind. Memorize the Valyrian phrasing until it is second nature. When the time comes to bind men to your service, I expect you to be flawless."
I looked down at the archaic text, feeling the immense and dangerous weight of the knowledge sitting in my palms. The Targaryen dynasty was changing, pivoting away from the light of the Seven and delving back into the dark, bloody ash of our ancestors.
"I will not fail you," I promised to the shadows.
…
The heavy oak door of my chambers clicked shut behind me, sealing away the damp chill of the dungeons. The heat of the hearth washed over my face, carrying the familiar scents of crushed lavender and burning pine, yet my skin remained entirely cold. I crossed the Myrish carpets on leaden legs, securing the heavy leather-bound manuscript inside the iron-banded chest at the foot of my bed. I turned the key with a loud, metallic snap.
Aemma sat near the fire, a piece of intricate embroidery resting in her lap. She looked up. The welcoming smile on her lips faltered the moment her lilac eyes traced the hollow lines of my face. She tossed the needlework aside.
"Viserys," she breathed, rising to her feet. She turned immediately toward the antechamber. "Elinda! Fetch hot spiced wine, a roasted fowl, and whatever fresh bread remains in the kitchens. Quickly."
I collapsed into the padded chair beside the small dining table. The maids moved with hurried efficiency. Within minutes, a heavy wooden tray sat before me, the steam rising thick in the dim light. Aemma dismissed the servants with a sharp nod, pulling the doors shut herself before taking the seat opposite mine.
I tore into the food. I did not taste the salt on the meat or the cloves in the dark wine. I ate with a frantic, craven hunger, desperate to fill the cold, gnawing void left in my chest by the dungeons. Aemma did not interrupt. She simply watched me, her gaze heavy with concern, waiting patiently for the storm to pass.
Slowly, the frantic need subsided. The silver fork clattered against the ceramic plate. I dropped my hands to the table, my fingers trembling slightly against the polished wood.
Aemma reached across the distance. She laid her warm, soft palm over my clenched knuckles, offering a firm, grounding press.
A shuddering breath tore its way up my throat. The stoic mask I had forced upon my face for my father and grandfather fractured completely.
"It is gone, Aemma," I whispered, my voice cracking in the quiet of the room. "The life we envisioned... the realm we thought we understood. It will never be the same again."
She moved her chair closer, her thumb tracing the back of my hand. "Tell me."
"Magic is real," I confessed, the words tasting like ash. "It did not die in the Doom. I stood in the fourth level of the dungeons and watched my father wield it." I looked up, meeting her eyes. The sheer panic I had suppressed finally bled into my voice. "To protect you, to protect Rhaenyra and this dynasty... I fear I will have to commit acts that revile my very soul."
Aemma's grip on my hand tightened. "What happened down there?" she asked, her voice entirely steady, urging me forward.
I told her everything. The secrets spilled from my lips like poison drained from a festering wound. I described the jagged Valyrian glyphs drawn in pale chalk across the dungeon floor. I told her of the heavy iron chains dragging the blindfolded man into the centre of the array, his bare feet scraping against the stone.
I watched Aemma's face pale as I recounted the flash of the Valyrian steel dagger.
"Father drove the blade straight through his heart," I said, my gaze dropping to our joined hands. "The blood did not pool upon the floor, Aemma. It crawled. It moved by itself as if it were alive, filling the runes and glowing like a dying sun. Father and the Elder slashed their own palms, and the magic forged a tether of light between them."
I swallowed hard, the phantom stench of copper and blood returning to my senses. "When the light faded, the prisoner was gone. The magic drained him into a withered, ashen husk to forge that oath. Father condemned a man to death and butchered him for a spell, and Grandfather watched it all with a smile."
Aemma inhaled sharply, her free hand flying to cover her mouth. Shock widened her eyes, and a visible shiver ran through her slender frame. Yet, she did not pull away. Instead, she stood, closed the distance between us, and wrapped her arms securely around my shoulders, pulling my head against her stomach.
"Shh," she murmured, pressing a kiss to the crown of my hair. "You are safe. We are safe."
I leaned into her embrace, closing my eyes and breathing in her scent of rosewater. The heat of her body was a stark contrast to the brittle cold of the corpse in the black cells.
"You have seen a terrible thing," Aemma said softly, her fingers gently stroking the nape of my neck. "The horror is fresh. It stains your eyes and clouds your judgment right now. But you are a good man, Viserys. A thoughtful man."
She pulled back slightly, forcing me to look up into her face. Her lilac eyes were fierce, cutting through the shadows of my fear.
"Once you have had time to think upon this, you will learn to navigate it. You will find a way to manage this burden in a measured manner. It may not be as catastrophic as it feels tonight. We will face this new world, and we will survive it."
The frantic hammering of my heart began to slow. Her words were a balm, soothing the treacherous fire my father's lesson had ignited. I wrapped my arms around her waist, holding her tight, and finally allowed myself to believe her.