99 AC / 54 HA
Hermione
Sixteen. That is how old I shall be in a week's time. Yet, nobody beyond my family and the palace staff will know. There will be no grand celebration as in past years—no brilliant lights, no magical displays, no decadent feasts. Anywhere else in the known world, reaching one's sixteenth name day is recognised as passing into adulthood. Westeros observes it, Braavos observes it, and places like Volantis and Lys have gone even further, proclaiming fourteen to be the age of maturity.
Not Father, though. Things are always vastly different when father is involved.
'One is not considered an adult merely by the number of years they have walked upon this world, daughter. Maturity is not merely signified by a majority of age. It is a symptom of a wise mind,' he would often say.
Only Father possesses the absolute authority to decide the criteria for adulthood, and none are privy to the exact calculus he uses. My brother was officially declared a man grown when he turned eighteen. Lily was bestowed the same honour only upon reaching twenty-one.
Despite the seeming arbitrariness of his declarations, Father's approval is something to be desperately desired. It brings with it a mountain of responsibility and powers that mortal men would gladly trade life and limb to possess. When Octavian finally attained his approval, he was appointed Consul of the Senate, eventually rising to claim his birthright as Princeps. Lily was formally commissioned into the Legions before being dispatched on her brutal infiltration mission, and now she is officially being appointed General of the Qohorik frontier.
When I was younger, I used to eagerly dream of the day I too would stand as an equal beside my brother and sister. Yet, as the years marched on, I quickly came to understand the crushing pressure that such privilege entailed. Lily became so entirely engrossed in her martial training that by the time she returned to the palace each evening, she barely possessed the energy to speak with me, let alone play. Octavian was perpetually consumed by his statecraft. We rarely shared a leisurely moment, but when I was finally permitted to observe the Senate sessions and shadow him in his duties, I realised that the hours of the day were woefully insufficient for the sheer volume of work thrust upon his shoulders.
To think he has been doing it for over five-and-twenty years. It is both baffling and deeply admirable to see men dedicate so much of their existence to building something that will outlast them. Octavian managed all of this while watching the politicians he formed relationships with age, wither, and pass from office. Through the endless, grinding turn of generations, my brother has remained the constant of the Imperium. Never swaying. Never faltering.
I could never summon that kind of zeal. I could not tirelessly toil for the realm while constantly wading through the filth of its politics and espionage. Similarly, I quickly discovered I possessed neither the heart nor the mind for combat; my mandatory tenure with the Legions could not have ended soon enough. It deeply terrified me for a time, fearing I had found no definitive way to be of use to Father.
But then, he began to teach me.
The more I learned of the higher mysteries, the sharper I became. Soon, I was his apprentice—preparing ingredients for esoteric experiments, drawing complex ritual circles, scrubbing heavy iron cauldrons, and scribing painfully detailed notes on ancient magical theory. What I truly possessed a mind for was magic. In all its terrifying splendour and creeping darkness, I loved it. Had Father not introduced me to the mystic arts, I genuinely wonder if I would have been doomed to lead a life of mundane commonality.
The past few weeks had easily been the most tumultuous in recent memory. The Senate had been conducting frantic, day-and-night sessions, rapidly appointing magistrates and officers to oversee the restoration of the Qohorik territories. A veritable flood of Essosi emissaries had arrived at the palace gates, wailing for an audience with father. The fools harboured vain hopes of convincing him to restore Qohor as a Free City, while the more dangerously ambitious envoys offered to personally 'manage' the newly conquered gains as a hollow show of neutrality.
Amidst this geopolitical chaos lay the delicate matter of the Targaryens. They had remained within the guest wing of the palace while Father taught Prince Baelon how to forge a true Valyrian Blood Oath. Archmaester Vaegon and Prince Daemon were exceptionally keen, hawkish observers during these arcane lessons.
Daemon himself was an entirely separate conundrum I was actively attempting to decipher. For some utterly baffling reason, Lily liked him. A lot. She had even gone so far as to openly argue with Father over his fate. It was a foolish, reckless attempt, but undeniably brave. Usually, only Octavian ever dared to speak back to father, and even then, he maintained a rigidly calm and respectful demeanour. For Lily to abandon all tactical caution was a glaring signifier of just how deeply taken she was with the Valyrian rogue.
They spent entire days locked in her chambers, or else Lily escorted him openly through the marble streets of Ctesiphon. Their public coupling was met with fierce disdain from the citizenry at first, but the mood shifted remarkably fast once the Senate officially announced Daemon's punishment—cleverly spun to highlight how the dragonrider had 'ultimately' aided Rome in winning the siege. Octavian was a terrifying master of manipulation.
But now, the time had finally come for us to depart.
Father had been meticulously planning this grand excursion for decades. He had always expressed a deep desire to explore the wider world, but the world had historically proven incredibly cruel to him. So, he had patiently taken the time to arm himself, to forge an empire, and to make himself impossibly strong before ever stepping out to face it.
Now, it was time.
I slid on my ring, double-checking for all the materials I needed. I had stored almost two years' worth of rations within its expanded spatial matrix, along with heavy tomes, potion ingredients, and other esoteric trinkets I would require. Father had explicitly warned that this excursion might take years, considering the untamed nature of our destination, so I needed to be meticulously prepared.
I walked out of my bedchamber, and the two stationed Praetorians immediately fell into step behind me. Father did not tolerate tardiness.
We navigated the sprawling, vaulted corridors of the Imperial Palace. The early morning sunlight streamed through the high arched windows, casting long, gilded beams across the polished marble. Servants and minor patricians hastily pressed themselves against the walls, offering deep bows as I passed. I gave them a deep smile of my own as we moved along.