116 AC, Dragonstone
It was the sound of the Cannibal slamming into the ground that woke Ophaella from her sleep. Face down in the mud and colder than she ever remembered being, it took a great deal longer than it should have to remember who she was once again. She was back in her own mind, but even that felt foreign. Like trying on another's worn in shoes or sleeping on their side of the bed.
She leaned back, wincing as her bloody hands scraped the ground.
She ignored the feeling, knowing that the task of the day was only half finished.
Granted, it had been done in a way that neither of them could have possible anticipated, but done it was, and whatever ramifications came from it – came from her apparent ability to leap into a dragons mind – would have to wait.
Ophaella scrambled to her feet and set her sights on the top of the cliffside. She would have to climb, a notion that horrified her considering the state of her hands, but she did it anyway.
And when she crested the top she was comforted by the sight of her father and his dragon on the ground, both very much alive and more or less no worse for wear.
The same could not be said for the Cannibal.
It writhed and moaned, great spouts of fire shooting out of its mouth in response to the pain. It tried to stand and fly, but it could only manage a few hard flaps before it collapsed down again.
Ophaella moved forward.
"Ophaella, don't," Her father called, catching sight of her as she slowly walked towards the downed dragon.
It stared back at her, green eyes dilated.
Perhaps it wanted to eat her.
Perhaps it wanted to fling her off the side of the cliff and let the waves do its work.
Ophaella held up her hands, the blood dripping down her wrists and onto the soggy ground.
It was like looking in the mirror – at the something feral that lived in her. She had heard the whispers at King's Landing. She knew what they said of the people who lived in the Vale. Wild things, they were, who loved their rocks and stone and superstitions almost as much as the Men of the North. She had felt wild while she lived with the Hightowers.
Every time she did not use the right fork, or curtsy to the King, or use the correct title, she felt like the wild little beast that her father had never wanted.
And that feeling stared back at her.
With green eyes – like an apple – and scales of pure obsidian, it stared back at her.
The dragon sunk into her, and her into it, and even without jumping into its mind, she knew that whatever magic had allowed her there in the first place, still crackled around them.
Something shifted in her.
Something shifted in it.
And she felt thoroughly and completely claimed by the wild thing that tried to kill her and her father.
But she claimed it right back.
And whatever wildness shifted in her, she knew something tame shifted in it, and a bond was formed between them.
The Cannibal pulled back and turned, throwing around its tail like a weapon, and crawled towards the nearest outcropping of rocks. It did not try to fly again.
The moment it was gone, she heard the sound of her father rushing towards her. She felt his arms wrap around her back before she saw him. "Ophaella." She turned around in his arms, too stunned to even speak, and threw her arms around his neck. She used to hate how much she cried in front of him after her mother died, but now she openly sobbed.
He squeezed her tighter, own body shaking just ever so slightly.
"What did you do?"
"I…" She stumbled over her own words, sobbing into the fabric of his coat. "I do not know. I was just there. In its mind. I saw it try to kill you and I couldn't let it…"
"Hush, girl. Hush" In the past, it might have been dismissive. Now, she pulled herself in even tighter for a moment before she stepped back and looked up at him. "Come. We will stay at Dragonstone tonight."
"What happened?" She asked, looking up at her father. He was favoring his shoulder and the right side of his body seemed to slump, but he still stood tall. "Why did it leave? Will it die?"
When he looked down at her, she felt for the first time in her life that it was one dragon looking at another.
"That means that you will need to feed him. You've claimed him now. It is your responsibility to keep him alive until he can do it for himself again."
Him.
It did not sound quite right.
It did not feel quite right, but she did not argue.
She did not mean to claim him.
She meant to keep her father safe – to make sure that she did not say goodbye to two parents instead of just one.
"Ophaella?" She looked up at her father. "You must promise me that you will not do that again. No matter how dangerous it might seem, no matter how much it will look like I might die, you must promise me that you will not put yourself at risk like that again."
"But-"
"Promise me, Ophaella. If not for me, then for your mother."
It was sobering.
Her trembling lip stood still and she reached a hand up to wipe away her tears with the back of her hand. "I promise."
In addition to a dragon, it seemed this trip had also turned her into a liar.
Because she knew, if the opportunity came again, she would jump into the mind of a thousand dragons just to save her father's life, just to stop herself from being so alone in the world.
Promises be damned.
117 AC, Dragonstone
It was a remarkably terrifying thing to be left alone with a dragon, especially one as large as hers, but Ophaella was determined to do it with the sort of grit her father expected of her.
She was seven now.
And she was a dragonrider.
Fear was a common emotion, meant for common people with common problems, as he father saw it. And she was no longer as common as she had once been in his eyes and she could not allow herself to slip back. Not when she could see pride brimming in his eyes when he looked at her for the first time in her life.
Ophaella yanked the three goats behind her, already mourning their death. Two months of this and it still wasn't any easier than it had been the first day she brought food to the Cannibal. But they were nearing the end now, and she would soon be able to ride her dragon for the first time. A change which her father would surely welcome. It was a chore, to say the least, to load her and her three goats onto Caraxes every three days and fly to the other side of Dragonstone, and the burden of it was starting to make him irritable and disagreeable.
To anyone else, her father might have look borderline neglectful – abusive, even – for setting her off on her own with nothing but her rune knife and three goats to face one of the largest dragons alive. But Daemon Targaryen had never been one for the opinion of everyone else, she had come to learn, and the last two months had been the closest they had ever been.
Her mother carved marks into her skin before her first full moon.
Her father nearly fed her to a dragon.
And she loved them both for it more than words could ever say.
She yanked the goats harder as she approached the lair, excited and nervous all at once.
It smelled of blood and burned flesh – a smell she was shocked she was now used to – and the goats fought her harder. They knew what was coming. The smell was enough to give it away on its own, but the sudden rumbling of the ground, confirmed the inevitable.
"Good morning!" She called, ashamed that she still did not know enough Old Valyrian to speak to her dragon in anything but the Common tongue.
But she thought the Cannibal understood.
They shared a mind for a brief moment, after all.
The great and terrible creature might be the living thing that knew her the best now, even if such understanding was not communicated.
The Cannibal rumbled forward, green eyes visible first before the inky black of the cave started to form into the shape of a dragon.
Ophaella dropped the lead and sprinted to the side, throwing herself behind a large boulder just in time to avoid being cooked alive. She was used to the routine by now, although it never got any easier to hear the goats cry just before the Cannibal ate them whole. She waited a few moments, cringing at the crunching of bone and squish of uncooked flesh, before she stood back up.
"Can I look at your wing?" She asked, stepping out from behind the boulder with her hands raised. "I promise I will be quick."
The Cannibal raised up to its full height, leaning most of its weight on its back legs and left wing.
They stared at each other, each sizing the other up, before the Cannibal flopped to the side and promptly ignored her once again.
Ophaella smiled and walked forward, alive for another day.
If her skipping would not alarm the Cannibal, she might have bounced her way to the damaged limb. She kept her composure, just barely, and picked her away around all the bones and dried blood, until she was safely tucked beneath the beast that she thought she could now call companion.
Ophaella could not truly be sure until she was able to ride.
But for now, the Cannibal trusted her enough to check its wing and to bring it food.
And she was still not dead.
Stronger friendships had been formed from less and that was to say nothing of the time they shared a mind.
A fact which she was still struggling to come to terms with. Her mother had said nothing of it, mentioned only the idea of skinchanging in passing as beyond the limits of their God Gifts. Old Blood and New, First Men and Men of Valyria, perhaps it was through the brief moment that her parents had been able to hold each other in a light other than contempt, that she was able to jump into the mind of dragons and back out again.
Or perhaps it was simply a fluke.
Either or both, she was not sure she would ever know.
All that mattered now was that with each passing day, with each time she cut a rune into her palm and touched the earth, she was able to see farther and father and she was not sure when it would stop.
She looked up at the great expanse of wing - at the scales that reminded her so much of stone and the marks she had carved there just as soon as her dragon trusted her enough.
"There is going to be a tourney next month," She said, talking more to herself as she looked up at the damaged wing. "For Lady Laena. Apparently, her father is unhappy that she is still unmarried. Silly, if you ask me."
She ran her hand along the scales, happy with the progress. It wouldn't be long now. The Cannibal would be able to fly again and she would be able to truly know if she was a dragonrider in full. She had allowed herself to wonder what it might be like over the last two months, to think on the idea of being alone in the skin with just her dragon- nothing above them but the Gods Eye.
But she did not want to get ahead of herself.
First, was making sure the Cannibal fully recovered.
Second, she needed to be sure that said Cannibal was not going to eat her the moment her usefulness was over.
And third, most importantly of all, was apologizing profusely to Aemond for leaving him all alone without a dragon.
"Dragons do not have to get married." The Cannibal rumbled, shifting in place and shaking the earth. How people did not feel them clear to the Wall and back, she would never understand. "Anyway, I think you will be ready to fly soon and then I won't need to feed you goats anymore. If you promise not to eat him, I would love for you to meet Aemond. He doesn't have a dragon but he should. He is coming to Driftmark for the Tourney. Maybe you will be ready to fly by then and we can go see him."
Ophaella ran her hand along the scale and she thought, briefly, that the dragon felt it and responded well.
She could find out.
She could jump back in.
But she had promised not to do it again.
Ophaella pat the underside of the wing once more before she pulled out her knife. She carved in the exact same spots, careful to be as quick as possible.
Just a few little lines and she was done.
She moved out from under the dragon and backed up, keeping the dragon in her sights.
"See you in three days."
She walked out of the little outcropping slowly, keeping her calm. It was only when she was certain she was safely away, did she start to run faster. The adrenaline left her body all at once and she let out a low whistle.
Three days and she would do it all again.
Three days and she would wonder if it was time to be eaten or if it was time for her dragon to fly again.
Perhaps that time she would come with a new name for it.
She couldn't very well call it the Cannibal forever.
But that was a problem for another time. For now she would see if her father wanted to delay their flight back just a bit and go for a walk around Dragonstone. He seemed to like her well enough now that he might just say yes.
117 AC, Driftmark
Driftmark had no right to be so humid, even for being on the sea, and Aemond was not sure how long he could endure his mother's near constant complaints. It was not her first time in the drafty keep, as he managed to glean from her rather well-informed griping on the ship here, and he was certain he had learned all there was to hate about this place before even setting foot there.
It was damp.
It was colder than a witch's tit this early in the new year – Aegon's words, not his - and the only thing worse than the smell of fish first thing in the morning, was the smell of that fish in bad company.
But Aemond did not mind it so much and the moment their ships landed just before first light, he was off. Propriety entirely forgotten – if he ever knew it in the first place – Ophaella Targaryen was the latest person in their family with a dragon and Aemond was determined to know how she did it.
He marched towards her room, eyes set on the driftwood that made up the large door. They certainly kept to a motif, these Valeryons, and made use of every scrap of ship that washed ashore. Ophaella's door was no different and when he was finally in front of it, he found he struggled to open it without great effort.
It creaked under the strain, echoing down the silent hallway.
It was still too early in the morning for much activity – save for the small party that greeted the King and showed them to their wing. It certainly wasn't enough people to notice Aemond slipping away and the King and Queen were not people that he would accuse of being particularly discerning.
At least, not when he was involved.
And really, what need did they have for him when they had Aegon and Helaena?
Dragonless, unnecessary him.
He scowled around the room, struggling to see through the dark as he tried to shake himself free of his own brewing bitterness.
He was making himself miserable first thing in the morning again. A nasty habit of his that he had had as long as he could remember, and it never failed to ruin the rest of his day. Perhaps at King's Landing – faced with nothing but an endless schedule of lessons, lessons, and more lessons, it would not have mattered so much. But here, he could not afford it.
Not when he had a friend to interrogate.
Said friend was currently buried beneath a pile of blankets, only a tuft of curly white hair sticking out over the top. Despite the loud noise from the door, she did not stir and instead continued to snore. A fact which he did not yet know about her.
He smiled and crept forward, positioning himself right next to her head. He extended a single hand forward, holding his breath just in case he might give himself away, and flicked the very center of her pale forehead. He ducked her flying fist just in time, stumbling over his own feet as she tried, and failed, to disentangle herself from her own bedding.
What a pair they made.
She pitched forward, legs still trapped, and face planted on the hard stone floor.
"Ophaella?" Aemond scrambled to his feet and rushed forward. She swatted his hands away as she twisted and turned, only making her blanket prison tighter.
"When did you arrive?" She asked, giving up on the whole ordeal entirely. She propped her chin up on her hand and looked up at him, smiling.
"Just now," Aemond said, sitting down on her side. He grabbed the tangled mess of linens and yanked as hard as he could. "Mother was too busy complaining about the trip to notice that I slipped away." With a final almighty tug, she spilled out of her blankets. Aemond immediately turned away, remembering his courtesies even if Ophaella had never held to such things.
His mother called her wild – a little beast like her father, who had no respect for the rules of court.
She was fond of whispering about Ophaella when she thought no one was around to hear her. She trusted the dark to keep her secrets, but it was not hers to and soon it would begin to betray, just as it had done for ever non-Targaryen who tried to claim it. But that was for only Aemond to know, gifted to him because he was the only one in his family bothered enough to read their histories.
"I have missed you, Aemond," She said, sounding sincere and earnest. She wrapped her arm around his middle and pulled him into a tight hug, throwing the last bit of ceremony that might have still existed between them right out the window.
Three months was not an overly long time, all things considered, but Aemond hugged her back just as tight.
"Last time we spoke, you were still dragonless," Aemond said, trying to keep the bitterness out of his voice. If it had been anyone else, he wouldn't have bothered.
Dragonless, unnecessary him.
They were together in that.
Dragonless, unnecessary them.
Outsiders in even their own family, where his brother, sisters, and little nephews each had a place of their own. Why did they deserve to have a dragon, when he still did not? Why did Jacaerys and Lucerys, each too young to walk and talk and think, let alone ride a dragon, have more of a claim to their family heritage than he did?
But not Ophaella. Whatever resentment he might have been when they first received word of her great and wonderful success had quickly burned away just as soon as he felt it.
She pulled back, large eyes just the slightest bit glassy. "Are you mad at me?"
The fact that he might be – just the tiniest bit – had not even occurred to him.
"No," He said, shaking his head. "No. Not really. You will be less annoying about it than Aegon, at least."
She visibly relaxed and surged forward to hug him again. "Father says I shouldn't talk about it, but I have to tell you. I wanted to send a raven so badly."
Ophaella pulled back again and grabbed his hands with her own.
His fingers brushed against something rough.
"What happened?" He asked, flipping her hands over to look at the cuts covering her palms.
Some fresh.
Some weeks old.
Some already turning to scar.
"You used rune magic!" Aemond cried, yanking her hands back with him. He dragged her towards the window, too caught up in getting a better look. In the pale morning light, he could see the clear patterns in the cuts, although he did not understand any of it
"Shhhh!" She hissed, pulling her hand out from his to clasp it over his mouth. "You cannot tell anyone, Aemond. Promise?" He tried to speak through her hand. He rolled his eyes when she still did not pull it back, glaring at him. "Promise."
He nodded, but she kept her hand in place.
He could feel the cuts on his lips and he was thankful that her hand kept the bulk of his blushing face covered.
"My mother trusted me to keep the secret safe. And I cannot fail her now, so you have to promise, Aemond. I mean it. I will never forgive you if you tell someone else."
Aemond reached up to grab her wrist, prying her hand from his face.
Who else would he tell, when the only person he even enjoyed talking to – apart from Helaena of course – was standing right in front of him?
"I promise."
He continued to hold her wrist, trusting that if she was bothered by the contact she would pull back. Instead, she leaned forward and lowered her voice, creating a bubble that practically engulfed just the two of them.
"Do you remember the book we found hidden behind the chamber pot in the far side of the library?"
"Of course. It smelled of-"
"Fossilized poo. Yes, yes. You can read in Old Valyrian, so you would know the words better than I, but you read something aloud. Something about how the oldest dragonriders shared the minds of their dragons. Do you remember?"
"You…" Aemond paused, struggling to put the few pieces she had given him together.
Surly not.
Surly she was not saying that.
But she continued to stare at him, offering nothing else, and he realized that there was nothing else it could be.
Ophaella Targaryen was many things.
She was quiet, when she ought not to be, and loud when she should be quiet. She cared very little for the superficial dance they all knew the steps to at court and made that quite known. She was too much like her father and at the same time not like him enough. But she was not a liar.
At least not to him.
If she was telling him that she slipped into the mind of her dragon then he would believe her.
And he would take her secret all the way with him to the grave, if need be.
"What was it like?" He asked, leaning in even closer until their noses were practically touching.
She had freckles, he noticed, and a new cut just below her hairline.
Aemond blushed again and pulled back.
"Like slipping into my own mind, like I was always meant to be there. I wish I could show you."
"Can you not?"
"No. Father has made me swear to not do it again until I am older." She pulled her wrist out from his hand and turned away. She tied her short hair up with a strip of leather and began to rummage around in a large, messy trunk. She threw her clothes around until she found what she was looking for and made quick work of ducking behind her screen. "But, I want you to meet my dragon."
"Oh, I…"
"Please, Aemond. At least until we can find one for you, we can share mine. She will not mind."
"She?"
"Oh?" Ophaella peeked her head out, grinning. "The Cannibal is female."