115 AC, King's Landing

Ophaella immediately stripped the bed the moment Florian left her alone in the large room. Her rune knife was blunt at the side and sharp at the tip, but it would do well enough to cut through sheets and the thick, flowered quilt. She cut them into strips and tied them together, making sure to use all the knots her mother had taught her.

Bowline, around the railing.

Double Fishwive's, around her waist.

Enough sheets and she would be free.

How she possibly hoped to make it back to Runestone all by herself, she didn't know. But she couldn't stand the thought of not trying and she couldn't stand the thought of leaving her mother alone for any longer than she already had.

She pulled her hair back into a tight bun at the nape of her neck and tightened all the straps on her clothes.

Ophaella prepared herself for the leap, moving back to get a running start.

She started to sprint fixing her eyes on the lightening sky in front of her.

The same sky that would take her back to Runestone.

The same sky she had lived under all her life.

She bent her legs.

"There are not enough linens in the Keep to make that jump possible."

Ophaella skidded to a halt just before she reached the railing, slamming into the stone at her collarbones at full speed. She cried out, more out of frustration and embarrassment than pain. She stayed sitting, allowing a brief wallow, before she pulled herself to her feet and turned to face the boy who spoke.

He hoped up onto his own railing and swung a leg over, entirely unbothered by the long drop beneath his feet.

With white-blond hair, just like her, and covered in a mess of freckles, she assumed he was a relative of hers somehow.

A strange notion, to be sure, after five years spent with just her mother.

And he father, of course, but he was little more than a dream for most of her life. It was only now that he was real once again and the only person she truly had, did she realize just how little that left her with. Perhaps a cousin or an uncle or a brother could mean that she wasn't quite so alone.

But that thought was not enough to get her to want to stay.

She would just have to find another way to leave.

The boy watched her as she untied her sheet rope and threw it to the side.

"Who are you?" He asked, pulling an apple out of his jacket. He looked down at it for a moment before he tossed it in her direction. She caught it, narrowly avoiding the embarrassment of watching it sail to the ground and out of sight.

"Ophaella Targaryen."

"Daughter of who?"

"Daemon," She said, mirroring his position on her own railing. "Who are you?"

"Aemond Targaryen."

"Son of who?"

"King Viserys," He said, although he did not sound particularly proud of that fact. Instead, he said it with an almost bored expression, like it was nothing more than a simple notion – a duty. Nothing more, nothing less. Strange, strange, strange. These people down here were so far so very strange, with their clothes brighter than their emotions. "You will want to clean up before breakfast. Mother never likes it when we come covered with outside mess."

Ophaella looked down at the apple in her hand, only just now realizing that it was so red, it was nearly purple. So like the strange boy's – Aemond- eyes. She lifted it to her mouth and took a bite.

She knew if she made a noise, the boy would hear, but she just couldn't help it.

He hopped back off the railing and disappeared back into his room, leaving her openly gaping.

Strange, strange, strange.

Ophaella hid herself in her room before he could return, clutching the apple in her hand.

How much her life had change in mere hours, she could hard even begin fathom. Strange tidings and turned into strange feelings and all she wanted to do was run away from them and escape back into the safety and familiarity of Runestone. Even if she mother wasn't there, it was all she knew and all she wanted to know.

But suddenly, with the toss of an apple, so red – nearly purple – just like his eyes, she found herself hesitating in thought and action.

What other sort of strangeness could she find, if she stayed long enough to look?

Would they think her strange?

Ophaella took another bite of the apple.

What a strange boy.

"Daemon, what a pleasant and unexpected surprise. What is the occasion?" Viserys asked without preamble the moment Daemon and Alicent walked into his chambers. He was still dressed for sleep, but had thrown on a thick red robe over his shoulders. He sat down in front of the fire, turning his back to Daemon. Alicent and her father, skulking bastard that he was, slipped in behind him before he could close the door.

"Does a man need an occasion to visit his beloved brother?" Daemon stepped around the side table and dropped into the other seat, leaving Alicent and Otto to hover awkwardly behind her husband.

Daemon smirked at her as he crossed one leg over the other.

"Yes, when his beloved brother banished him from court less than four years past."

"Banishment is so final," Daemon said, raising his eyebrows when Viserys did not immediately lob something heavy and sharp at his head. He would not be himself if he did not push his luck, however. "And I would imagine court is so very dull without me."

Alicent made her disgust know. She looked down at Viserys, hoping to see her feelings mirrored, only to come up disappointed. When Viserys laughed – openly and without care, in the way he used to during his marriage to Aemma – Daemon knew whatever issues they had in the past were forgotten.

At least, for now.

Daemon was absolutely certain he would find a way to anger his brother once again.

It was one of his most enduring traits.

"Tell me true, what brought you home?"

"He has a daughter," Otto said, intention to steal the moment abundantly clear. And she might have, if Daemon were a sentimental sort.

"I assumed that is not a new occurrence. You're fondness for the Street of Silk has been…"

"With Rhea Royce."

Viserys laughed again.

When no one else joined in, he looked around at the other three.

"No." Viserys stared at Daemon, more older brother than King. "Surely not. You spoke more favorably of horses than of her."

"And yet, the truth is unchanged."

"This is a poor joke, Daemon, even for you."

"Your Majesty, if I may," Otto started, moving around from behind the King to stand by the fire. It illuminated him from the back, obscuring his face save for what was revealed by the pale light streaming in through the windows. Viserys had never been much of a morning person, so he still had his curtains drawn. If not for Daemon's sudden and unannounced arrival, he had very little doubt Viserys would still be in bed. "Perhaps we should send a raven to the girls supposed mother…"

"You are more than welcome to do so, Hightower, but I would not hope to find and answer."

"Why?" Viserys asked, clearly more interested in this bit a palace intrigue than he had been in anything for quite some time.

Ten years dear Aemma had been dead – a fact that still grieved Daemon as well, though he would never say so – and Viserys still bore the scars of grief like they were opens wounds. Daemon doubted he would ever really be himself again. But if there were two things that endured about Viserys it was his unwavering love for Rhaenyra and his overwhelming fondness for courtly gossip that did not involve him.

"She passed ten days ago."

"From what?" Alicent asked, covering her mouth with her hand as she feigned shock.

"She fell from her horse while hunting with her daughter," Daemon said, watching the way each of them reacted.

"And you know this how?" Otto pressed, doubt oozing from his very being.

"Because I was there."

"Surely you cannot expect…"

"Otto, enough," Viserys cut him off before he could really get going. "Daemon, what happened?"

Daemon looked at Viserys, hoping to connect with him in the way they used to. Time had pulled them apart. Daemon's actions had done their fair share as well. But he hoped that there was still enough trust between them that Viserys would see through the look on his face and into the meaning behind his eyes.

"Leave us," Viserys commanded after a moment.

"What?"

"Your Maje…"

"Out. Now," Viserys said again, forced to pull out his kingly voice. Otto look at Alicent above the King's head, neither of them moving at first. Viserys moved to stand up, the action clearly enough to get the Hightowers to actually listen. Daemon watched them as they left, finding an unnatural amount of joy at the way their faces scrunched up.

Like a steaming pile of shite had been placed right under their noses.

"Do not look so smug, Daemon," Viserys said, sighing the moment the door clicked behind the Hightowers. "I only dismissed them in the hopes that you might speak more plainly. I do not know why you hate them so much."

"Because they are cunts."

"Daemon."

"Forgive me, brother," Daemon said, although they both knew he did not mean it.

"There is nothing to forgive. Now, out with it."

"It is true that Rhea fell from horseback," Daemon started, relieved that he had someone to tell about what he saw.

Or what he saw.

Perhaps he had conjured it up in his mind.

He could never be sure.

But he would tell his brother all the same and hope that he was not met with the same doubt he had created for himself.

"I cannot explain what led me to decide to visit Rhea and Ophaella-"

"What a wonderful name!" Viserys enthused before Daemon could really even get started. At the look Daemon threw at him, he smiled. "Apologies, continue."

"Something told me that I had been away too long. You know how little I cared for her and the Runestone. But I still went. They were out hunting when I arrived. Rhea spoke of Hill Tribesman, but I paid her little mind. The Royces have always been a superstitious lot, and I have very little patience for all their runes. But, I think I should not have dismissed them."

Daemon paused, trying to collect his thoughts to explain what happened in a way that Viserys would understand.

He changed tactics.

"Do remember our old Maester?" Daemon asked.

"We have had several."

"The one with seven Valyrian links instead of one."

"Ah, Wyburn, yes. Strange man. Delightful baker."

"Viserys."

"Yes, yes. He claimed to have been the only person to study the higher mysteries of all the Seven Kingdoms. A silly claim, really. The mysteries of the West were no more difficult than the mysteries of the North or South."

"I believe it might not have been so silly," Daemon said, fully aware of how absurd he was about to sound. "Ophaella rode her own horse home after her mother and her finished hunting. I met them about a league from Runestone and Rhea greeted me with the same love she always has."

"Which is to say, none."

In spite of how serious their conversation was becoming, Daemon and Viserys still found it within themselves to share a small laugh. "Yes. I assumed it was our conversation – loud like is usually was – that drew the attention of the Hill Tribes. But, now I doubt even my own memory. An hour before we were ambushed, Ophaella began to look up at the sky. A child's distraction, I assumed. But when we were ambushed, she was still looking up."

"The sky might be preferable to her parents fighting," Viserys offered, brows creasing.

"Her mother and I tried to get her to look away for over ten minutes."

"She did not move?"

"No. I had to physically pull her off her horse. Whatever hold the sky had on her, it was not from a child's distraction or imagination. The Tribes only arrived after her eyes got stuck."

Viserys folding his hands together and leaned forward, resting his chin on his intertwined fingers. "She is a child. Surely you do not mean to suggest she has the gifts of Old Valyria?"

Daemon let his silence speak for itself.

He would never make such claims.

But he would not deny them either.

"We will tell no one of what happened on Runestone. Until we can find a Maester to assess the girl for certain, we will keep this between us." Viserys said after he realized that Daemon would not answer. "Do you intend to keep her in King's Landing?"

"I have not considered the options."

"The Vale will need to know that she is here. She is too young to take possession of the Runestone, but I am sure her…"

"I am the owner of Runestone, by right."

"Until she is of age. Do you intend to live there and see to its lands, books, and people?" Viserys asked, voice taking on a bit of an edge.

"Perhaps."

"Dragon shite. You hate that place. You hate the way it smells and the way the women look and the obsession they have with their sheep. For all our similarities, Daemon, you have never learned to appreciate the unique beauty of the Vale and its people like I do."

"You do not appreciate the Vale, you appreciate Aemma Arryn. Those are not interchangeable."

"Be that as it may. The girl is the rightful heir to Runestone. Even you are not so cynical to steal such a thing from your own child." Viserys stood up and tied his robe around his waist. "We will send twenty guards and a Steward to act in her name until she is old enough to claim the seat. That should keep the Vale sufficiently appeased."

"What do you propose I do in the meantime?"

Viserys openly stared at him.

"What?"

"You are impossible, Daemon. In the meantime? What time are you waiting for? Your daughter is now motherless and in need of stability. Perhaps, when you have sufficiently grieved-

"I will not."

"-it will be time to find a new wife. Preferably one that you can tolerate for more than one night."

"You are a funny man."

"I do think so." Viserys smiled at him and leaned over, clapping him on the shoulder. "Now, leave me to get dressed. I have a niece I would very much like to meet." Daemon stood up and smoothed out his clothes, only just now realizing how covered in grime he still was. A bath would suit him well, to clear his skin and his mind.

Something akin to a sickness settled in his stomach now that he had spoken his concerns about Ophaella aloud. What was he meant to do with her? He made to leave, eyes on the ground and mind wandering back to day Rhea died, only to be stopped by Viserys. Still his brother, not yet a King. He would be once again when he left the room, but the smile he gave him when Daemon turned back to look at him reminded him of why he continued to come home. "Do cheer up, won't you. Daughters are an infinite blessing, even ones with their eyes stuck in the sky."

Ophaella had never seen such a spread before. Their breakfasts at Runestone were hearty, to be sure, but limited. All fatty meats and rough-grain breads, they are food meant to keep the warm and well-energized for a long day spent on the moors. Here, she was nearly bowled over by the fruits set in front of her.

Reds and oranges and yellows.

Colors she had never tasted.

Shapes she had never seen.

She sank into the fine chair and openly gaped, wondering how anyone did anything other than eat in King's Landing. With food so fine and plentiful, she imagined scarcely anything could compare.

Her father cleared his throat as he sat down next to her, shaking his head. She clamped her mouth shut and sank down in her seat, blushing as she looked around the large table and realized everyone was staring at her. The silence seemed to stretch into eternity and each moment that passed felt like a thousand contained in one. Rhaenyra to Alicent, Alicent to Daemon, Daemon to Rhaenyra – round and round they all went, each and every one of them making assessments and crushing each other under their gaze. It was only Helaena, who smiled at her from across the table and lifted her hand to give her a little wave, who made Ophaella feel comfortable.

But then, blessedly, Aemond pulled out his chair and the scraping of wooden legs on stone broke everyone away from their open staring.

She wanted to say thank you, just as she should have thanked him earlier, but she could not form the words.

"What a wonderful thing this is, to have us all together once again," The King said, entirely oblivious to all the looks being thrown back and forth.

"Indeed," Alicent said, although it was quite clear from her tone that she did not agree. "We did not expect to have you return to court so soon, Daemon."

"Expectations be damned," Rhaenyra said, the side of her mouth twisting into a smile at the way Alicent immediately tensed. "I am happy to see you again, Uncle. I am even happier to welcome your daughter."

Everyone turned to look at her again.

"Yes!" The King agreed, enthusiasm as sincere as Ophaella could imagine. "And we grieve with you, Ophaella, at the sudden and tragic loss of your Lady mother."

"Thank you," She said, folding her hands in her lap. It was only the prolonged silence that followed that made her realize she had missed something. "Your Grace," She hurriedly added, blushing crimson once again.

"How do you find King's Landing, Ophaella?" Ser Laenor asked, turning towards her. He placed his hand on the back of Rhaenyra's chair, smiling at his wife when he caught her eye.

She had seen so little of the city save for from the back of Caraxes. She had smelled it though- smelled the putrid mix of feces, urine, dead bodies, and filth – and she could not imagine what nice things she could say. It was nothing like Runestone, where the smell of the sea mixed with fresh earth and stone. It was unreasonably warm and the wind blew wet from the south, making the air feel more akin to soup.

But, just as she had seen from so high in the sky, her view from the Keep was remarkable. She had never seen so many buildings in her life and the sheer volume of life beneath her feet overwhelmed her.

"The view from my room is pretty," She said.

Aemond snorted.

He covered it before anyone could notice by scooting his chair forward again.

"We will have to take you on a tour. The city has so many wonderful sights to see," Laenor enthused. She decided she liked him, whatever he was to her. His wife too, if such assessments were not premature. Rhaenyra smiled and leaned forward, placing a pale hand on her large stomach.

"She is far too young," Alicent said.

"Nonsense. With armed guard, there is no reason we cannot show her the wonders of the King's city," Rhaenyra said and Ophaella got the distinct impression that it really had nothing to do with her at all.

"A fine idea. We will make a day of it," The King said, smiling down the table at his daughter. "It has been far too long since I walked the streets."

"Indeed. Now can we dispense with all this prattle and eat?" Daemon reached forward and grabbed a large chunk of bread.

His actions broke whatever spell had fallen over the table and everyone immediately began to fill their plates, the chatter and stares – finally – moving away from her. She waited stared at the fruit, unsure of which she wanted to try first. Her father made the decision for her and plucked up a bright red fruit with the texture of a rock. He cracked it open with his fingers.

It bled, unlike every fruit she had ever seen.

He dropped it on her plate and turned to face the King, leaving her staring.

She leaned forward and sniffed, pleased to find that it was sweet.

Ophaella clutched the back of it and pulled it forward, hesitating when she realized that she wasn't sure what she was meant to do.

"You suck on the seeds," Aemond said, speaking to her softly so that no one else would hear him. To make his point clear, he grabbed a fruit for himself and stabbed it open with a knife. He pulled out the seeds with his fingers and popped a few in his mouth. He spit them out after a few moments and dropped them on his plate, wiping with the back of his other hand.

Ophaella did the same.

First the apple and now this. If everything in King's Landing was as sweet, she might never want to leave again.

Might.

Aemond turned back to his own food, shaking his head at her as she began to dig the rest of the seeds out with enthusiasm. He glanced back at her after a few moments, perhaps hoping to look at her without her looking back. She looked forward, determined to not ruin what she hoped was the start of a new friend.

Her first friend.

Her only friend.

Something brushed against her side.

She looked down, biting her lip when she saw his pale hand subtly handing her a bright red- nearly purple – apple.

So very much like his eyes.

What a strange boy indeed.