115 AC, Runestone
"Now, what do you see?" Her mother leaned down and whispered in her ear, placing a soft hand on her shoulder. They were rabbiting today and Ophaella, freshly five and brimming with the confidence of a child thrice her age, had been gifted with a brand new boy and arrows for the occasion.
"I don't see anything," Ophaella said, turning up to look at her for confirmation. The Runestone sat in expansive country, nestled between a Summer-warmed sea and a warren of sharp, rocky cliffs. It was the Gods country, her mother said, given and entrusted to them for safe keeping. For everything they took, they needed to give something back.
For every rabbit they found, something would need to be returned.
Or so she had been told.
Ophaella didn't understand a word of what it meant and was instead focused solely on the brand new bow in her hand. She had long admired the one her mother carried and spent countless nights lying awake, imagining herself wielding it with the same skill. She fancied herself some sort of rabbit killing assassin. She imagined returning to the keep with enough rabbits to get them through winter and instead all she had so far was a few rocks that she found that she liked the look of and a new bruise on her knee.
"Look again."
Rhea Royce was a fierce woman. With dark, cropped hair more suited for a man and amber eyes set beneath heavy eyebrows, she cut an intimidating figure that silenced all save for those who knew her best. But even to them, she rarely smiled. She offered them up like precious gems, sold and bought like a currency when she needed to act the part of the Lady of Runestone. Out on the moors, however, in the time she reserved for just her daughter and her, she gave them freely. Ophaella look up at her mother and mirrored her posture, rolling her shoulders back just a little bit as she reveled in the small smile given to her.
She turned back to face the craggy rocks, narrowing her eyes until they ached.
"Nothing."
"Hush. Do not look with your eyes," Her mother said, bending down next to her and setting her hand on the ground. She spread out her palm and pressed her fingers into the earth hard enough to turn the tips white. With her other hand she pulled out her carving knife and made quick, well-practiced cuts into stone. When she was finished, she grabbed Ophaella's hand and made her do the same.
"What do you see?" Rhea urged again, keeping her hand on top of Opahella's so that it stayed firmly pressed against the ground. They had tried this half a dozen times and Ophaella was no closer to figuring out what her mother was meant to be showing her. "There is more to see than what just your eyes can show you."
"We've tried this before," Ophaella whined, tossing her bow down as she practically threw herself to the ground. "Every time you tell me to see something that isn't there and every time I can't do it."
"You can and you will." Her mother was fierce at the best of times, but Ophaella was neared bowled over by the strength in her words.
Ophaella pressed her hand into the ground even harder, desperate to see what she was meant to. The Gods had given them a gift and it seemed like Ophaella was well and truly on her way to squandering just as she squandered the great promise of her dragon egg. Her mother told her the First Men could see clear from Westeros to Essos just by touching the right rock. They could smell a fresh flower leagues away just by trusting the wind and heal their wounds with the right rune carved into the skin.
They could see the future by just allowing the future to see them.
Person to person, it had been passed down. Even after the people stopped worshipping the Old Gods, they still gave them something. Until people stopped giving something back in return.
"Concentrate."
She squeezed her eyes shut and focused so hard she thought she might hurt herself.
And just when she was about to give up entirely and fling herself on the ground and cry, she felt her sight slipping backwards, down her spine, and into the earth. It was exhilarating and terrifying all at once and Ophaella was only able to concentrate long enough to not scream before she lost control. She felt seven little heartbeats fluttering through the ground. They traveled up her arms and settled deep in her stomach.
She collapsed forward, gasping.
Her mother wrapped her arms around her shoulders and pulled her back, pressing kisses all over her forehead.
"You did it," She said, entire body shaking with excitement. Ophaella wouldn't consider it doing much of anything, but it seemed to be enough to send her mother into near full-body convulsions.
"Not really."
"It was a first step!" Her mother said, mouth pressed against her white hair.
"But I di…"
"Hush! You did wonderful!" Her mother enthused. "Which direction?"
Whatever argument Ophaella had, died on her tongue and she pointed forward.
There was still time.
They would give something in return to the Gods, Ophaella was absolutely certain.
They walked back towards Runestone side by side, holding hands.
They hunted rabbits the traditional way after Ophaella's minor success. Her mother did not want to push it and so they turned to the other task of the day. Ophaella was proud to say that her arrow managed to land within ten feet of the nearest rabbit. Her mother promised to let her pretend she was the one to actually catch them.
They made good time, even by foot, and only stopped when her mother stepped in front of her and blocked her path.
She dropped Ophaella's hand and reached for her bow.
"Do not take another step."
"Such a cold greeting for your Lord Husband. One might think you did not want to see me, Rhea."
"You could send a raven, Daemon," Rhea said, turning her back to the man. Ophaella was not so nonplussed and immediately leaned to the side to get a better look at him. "Showing up unannounced and skulking about. Someone might mistake you for a Hill Tribesman."
"I can only image your regret at that." Her father looked at her mother only long enough to give her a smirk before he turned his full attention on Ophaella.
He had her hair and nothing else.
She leaned back and tried to hide herself behind her mother, butterflies building up in her stomach.
What was she even meant to say?
Was she meant to say anything? She was a daughter, after all, and one that he so clearly did not care to know. Perhaps he was here for something else and only came to see her as a courtesy.
Continuing to breathe might be enough to send him on his way.
Her mother certainly hoped so.
Ophaella knew she should hope for the same. Her mother had raised her on her own, cared for her, kissed every cut and calmed every night terror. It was her mother who had her first armor ordered, and taught her to read the stones, and who never once reduced her worth to that of a future wife. Her mother should be all she needed.
And yet she yearned to know the man all the same.
She leaned to the side again and attempted to smile at her father.
"Hello, Ophaella," He said, shooting a look at her mother that could almost be considered smug. "Did you catch all these rabbits?"
Ophaella looked back at the seven rabbits tacked to her saddle, blushing as both her parents look at her. The weight of their gazes fell heavy on her and for the first time in her life she understood what it meant to be outnumbered by adults. Her father sidestepped her mother and walked over to her pony. He took hold of the reins.
She looked over at her mother.
"Why are you looking at her?" Her father asked, hand tightening on the reins. "Did you, or did you not?"
"No." Ophaella was proud that her voice held steady even as she longed to run and hide behind her mother once again. "But I did find them."
"Leave her be, Daemon," Her mother said, walking over to her own horse. "She is tired and the day is growing old. We do not have time for your games. Speak your purpose and let us be done with this chore."
"Chore? You think a father visiting his daughter is a chore?" As if to make a point, he walked around the side of the pony. He looked down at Ophaella for a moment, eyes dancing over her face.
She stared back.
He had a strong face – stronger than most of the men who lived in Runestone. His eyes were like molten thistle, so cold and calculating unlike her mothers. He held out his hand and Ophaella, unsure of what else she could do, held out hers as well.
He grasped her wrist and flipped it over, squeezing hard enough to cause her hand to flex open.
The runes had faded and her mother would need to take her knife to them soon enough.
"Leave her be," Her mother said again, more bite to her words.
"What is this mark supposed to be?"
Ophaella looked at her mother again, panic building.
"Protection," Her mother answered for her.
He lifted her hand and looked at the scar closer, mouth quirking into a smirk. "So you say."
"Come. The night grows close and I do not fancy spending it in the hills."
"Why? Do you doubt the strength of your little wards and spells?"
He was mocking them.
Mocking the gifts given to them and the way they lived.
Her father moved around behind Ophaella and put his hands on her waist. He lifted her up and dropped her in the saddle, lingering briefly before he moved to his own horse.
"Where is your dragon?" Ophaella blurted out, realizing for the first time that he was without it.
"Sitting on top of your keep, eating all your sheep."
"But we need the sheep!"
"So does he," He said, spurring his horse over to stand next to hers. "Where is your dragon?"
"My egg still hasn't hatched." She almost embarrassed to admit the amount of time she had spent holding her egg by the fire. It had been five years and it still remained cold as stone. Knees and elbows and shoulders covered in bruises from all the nights she spent with her beside her, she had tried all but tossing it in the stone hearth to get it to hatch. She was a Royce in all but name – perfectly content to know only her mother and father when he bothered to show up and ignore the rest of her Targaryen family in King's Landing entirely – but she couldn't deny that she had hoped something would have happened by now.
At the very least, if her egg had hatched, her father might have been inclined to visit her more often.
"I am sorry."
"For?"
"I must be doing something wrong." Ophaella looked down at her hands.
"Some eggs never hatch, Sweetling," Her mother said, eyes darting between her father and her before she turned back to look at the landscape. "Now, prepare for a hard ride. We've stayed out later than we should have."
"Do not tell me the Bronze Lady of Runestone is afraid of the dark," Daemon mocked.
"The dark? Certainly not. But it is not foolish to fear what dwells in it."
"Do you think Gaie will still be awake?"
"It is too late for honey cakes," Rhea said, pulling out an arrow from her quiver, just to be safe. "It'll be straight to bed for you when we get back."
"But…"
"No. You'll do as you're told. And there will be no more talking. It is not safe."
Her father scoffed and rolled his eyes, shooting Ophaella a look like she might be inclined to agree with him.
"Something you wish to say, Daemon?"
"What gave you…"
Ophaella ignored them both.
Gaie would still be awake, she was certain of it. Maybe if she traded a few of her – her mother's – rabbits she might get a dozen honey cakes in return.
When Gaie was finished with them, Ophaella would make sure to return the bones.
For each one she took, she would give it back.
That should be enough for the Gods to see it as a fair exchange. They were only rabbits, after all, and she thought the work her mother did protecting the land should be worth far more.
Her parents continued to fight on either side of her, words biting into each other and taking little chunks. Like it was a game – like it was the only way the two of them knew to communicate with each other that didn't involve pulling knives. Ophaella leaned down to grab a few handfuls of mane and began to braid them together, focusing all her attention in on crafting the perfect braid while they continued to shout.
Perhaps Gaie would add jam.
Why her father insisted on visiting, she would never understand. It was certainly not for her mother, whose presence her father had compared to that of a gangrenous sore that just wouldn't heal, nor could she confidently say it was for her. Sparse letters and even sparser visits had only ever served to build up five years of resentment.
A bit of crunchy sugar would be just the thing.
Anything to keep her mind off the simmering anger between her parents.
If she was better at it, she would carve a mark in the ground and slip away entirely. Maybe she could jump into a bird and fly high above. Her mother told her stories of the First Men who could. Fingers still buried in her pony's mane, she tilted her head up and look at the night sky.
"Ophaella move!"
A pair of strong arms wrapped around her middle and hauled her off her pony just as she tore her gaze away from inky black. Her father turned them around at the last minute so that he landed on his back and her on her side. Her head slammed into the ground just as her horse did, a litter of arrows buried in its neck and hindquarters.
Daemon rolled them again, throwing his arm over Ophaella's head. She squirmed, trying to get out from under him.
"Stop!" He urged, pinning her down.
Arrows peppered the ground.
Her mother's horse hit next.
All she could see was arms and legs sticking out from underneath its body.
Just arms and legs and crude hewn arrows.
Ophaella reached for her, sobbing.
For every rabbit they found, something would need to be returned.
They took seven.
Seven.
Her hand found her mothers and she grabbed it as hard as she could. She sobbed even harder when she felt nothing in return. How could they have been so stupid?
Ophaella and her mother took seven and the Gods would take seven in return.