118 AC, Braavos
"Look at his face," Aemond hissed, pointing at the large man that stepped into the banquet hall. The room was already full to the gills – packed with Lords and Sons of Lords and Free Men from every corner of Essos. It was awash with colors of all sorts, of people of all sorts the likes of whom Aemond and Ophaella had never seen before.
"Is he Dothraki?" Ophaella asked, whispering in his ear.
Her breath was hot against his neck, causing him to blush as she pressed in even closer.
They were both dressed for snooping, or what they assumed was appropriate for snooping, in the dullest of browns and muted greens. They were meant to blend into the background – unseen, unnoticed, and entirely over looked – and to be free to look at the parade of people come to see the Sealord and his Dragons. They found refuge behind a large collection of exotic potted plants, shielded from most of the room by the canopy of waxy leaves and the fact that no one seemed to have much interest in paying attention to a pair of children with their most distinctive characteristics covered. In the middle of the room, perched on a heavily cushioned chair and plied with an ever increasing supply of wine, Daemon and Laena held court, white hair and purple eyes on full display.
"Surely not," Aemond said, pulling back from Ophaella just a bit. He risked a glance at her, surprised to find her doing the same. They held eye contact for a moment before they each smiled and turned back to their observations. "I thought they never left the Dothraki Sea."
"I read a Maester's journal last week that said they come to trade in the Free Cities. At least, I think that's what it said. He had horrible penmanship and half of it was in High Valyrian."
"I thought Laena was tutoring you?"
"She is."
"But not in High Valyrian?"
"Father has attempted, on the rare occasions he can be pried away from you," She paused, elbowing him in the side. "I don't think I have the ear for it that you do."
She was exaggerating, of course, but he could not help but feel a touch guilty. He could hardly deny that he cherished all the time Daemon spent with him. He had wondered if she had noticed, or if she really cared, for she herself had been the sole focus of Laena for the last three months.
"Aella, I –"
"Look!"
Aemond clapped his hand over her mouth before she could continue to shout, pulling her back ever so slightly and back into the dark as the men nearest to them turned to look at the outburst. She licked his palm, causing him to pull back.
"Gross."
"Be quiet, Aemond. Someone might hear."
They shared eye contact again, mocking glares on both their faces, before they descended into a fit of giggles. They wheezed with the attempt to hide them, clamping their hands over their mouths as more and more people turned to look in their general direction. It was only after the men nearest to them – a collection of brightly bearded soldiers with a taste for crab legs – turned their backs once again, did they pull their hands back and settle down for their watching once again.
"-id you hear about the children?" A man asked, taking a long sip of his wine.
"A boy and a girl, I've been told."
"Truly? Now that would be a fine bounty."
Aemond and Ophaella pulled back further, amusement slipping way into disgust as they realized who they were talking about.
"The girl is comely, if the rumors are to be believed. You could not want for a better bride."
"What does he mean?" Ophaella asked, looking at him in the hopes he might tell her the answer.
Which he wouldn't.
Because he hardly thought he understood it himself.
Aegon was always far more colorful in his descriptions, though Aemond still only comprehended a fraction of what he meant. How or why a woman was supposed to be wet eluded Aemond and he still had not mustered to courage to ask Daemon or, Seven forbid, Laena what that meant.
But he knew more than Ophaella and he intended to keep it that way.
If not for any other reason than the wrath he might incur from Daemon if it were to change.
"No idea."
"But they are talking about me, aren't they?"
"Probably not."
"You're a terrible liar," Ophaella said, lips pursed.
"No I'm not!" Aemond protested, a little too loud and a little too firmly to be truly believable. He blushed under her scrutiny. "I thought Targaryens were considered bad here, why would they be talking about you?" Aemond said, desperate to change the subject before she asked him anything else. It wasn't like he had any real experience with that sort of talk anyway. It was hearsay, spread to him from Aegon who was in the habit of lying just as easily as he breathed. Aemond let out a long breath when he saw the new group of men approach Daemon and Laena.
The men trailed off, falling into silence just as the rest of the symphony of conversations quieted into a dull murmur.
"My friends!" The Sealord boomed, drawing the rest of the attentions towards him. He crossed to the middle of the room and came to stand next to Daemon, raising his glass. "If I had known so many of you would attend, I would have ordered more wine." There was a smattering of laughter, though Aemond judged none of it to be genuine after years spent listening to the same sounds in King's Landing, before the room quieted down again.
There was something wicked about the Sealord's expression.
Something that struck Aemond down to his very bones.
"Rumors of Targaryens in Essos once again cannot be ignored, pitiful wine stores be damned."
The man who spoke stepped forward, hands empty and expression cold. He was not as ornately dressed as his fellows, save for a singular golden band that wrapped all the way around his hips. It was long enough to drag the ground behind him and tipped with diamonds and rubies. Such finery was of the quiet sort and spoke of a wealth that was unmatched even in a room full of the richest men in Essos.
The man held the Sealord's gaze, dark eyes assessing him with a quiet confidence that had Aemond leaning forward to watch him closer.
"Had I known it was the King's brother, I would have dressed for the occasion."
"No need," Daemon said, standing to his feet. "I would call you friend, if I knew your name?"
"Friend will do, for now, if you will allow me that indulgence."
Daemon's eyes narrowed, but he inclined his head and raised his glass, a lord's courtesy present on his face. Laena stood, lacing her arm through his, and both Aemond and Ophaella shared another look. It was quite a show – a loving husband and his equally loving wife – but they knew differently and had witnessed one too many fights in the privacy of their quarters to ever believe such a farce.
"So, tell me, friend, what brings you here?"
"To see the truth of this for myself."
"And have you seen it?"
"Not quite."
Murmurs spread through the room as those gathered shifted as the tension sprung forth.
"He's lying," Ophaella hissed, voice so quiet Aemond struggled to hear it.
"Of course he's lying. They're all liars."
"No, he's different. Look at his hands."
Aemond followed the line of her pale fingers sticking out from her sleeves, distracted for a moment by the ink that stained her nail beds and the way they had been chewed down to the nub – a sign of something bothering her, he had learned – and looked at what she was pointing at. Her other hand remained rooted to the ground, fingers expected to see a Lord's hands – smooth and delicate and made for statecraft. Instead they were pocked and riddled with burns. These were rough men, he understood, but the sight of the injuries still raised the hairs on the back of his neck.
"You just called me a liar. Maybe your sense of these things is off."
"Or maybe you are a liar and don't want to admit I'm right," She said, elbowing him again. It was hard this time and dug right between his ribs.
"Watch it," Aemond said. "We are supposed to be in bed. What do you think your father will do to me if he finds I've dragged you out and into this?"
"My family still bears the scars of the last time Targaryens came so far east." The man said. He reached into his cloak and pulled out a large bottle of dark wine. "A toast, for a friend, and to new beginnings. The Sealord has shown you a Lord's hospitality. Allow me the pleasure of showing you a Lord's welcome."
"Push me."
"What?"
"Aemond, push me."
"N-"
He yelped as her hands connected with his back. He slammed face first into the ground before he knew what was happening, sending pots and plants crashing to the ground all around him.
"Ophaella!"
"Father!" Ophaella called, face streaming with tears that had not been there even a moment before.
She ran forward, oblivious to the way the room parted to allow her to pass.
She made a big show of covered her eyes – an overly affected wail spluttering out of her. Aemond rolled over and popped up, fully aware of the crowds of people now watching him like he had grown a second head.
"What is the meaning of this?" The Sealord bellowed, face purple with rage.
"Children's indiscretion, I assure you," Laena said, stepping forward in an attempt to soothe his growing anger. "We will take them to bed and return to your company sho-"
Ophaella wailed harder.
"What happened?" Daemon asked ignoring everyone else entirely as Ophaella made the rest of the way to him. Just before she reached him she tripped over her own feet. She flew sideways, arms and legs flailing, and slammed into the man with the dark red wine.
The bottle shattered to the ground, sizzling as it made contact with the stone.
"Enough!"
Ophaella immediately stopped crying.
She pulled herself to her feet without any assistance and wiped her face. As if it never happened. As if she meant to do it.
Aemond openly gaped.
That little snake.
He covered his mouth to keep his gape from turning into a smile.
But he needn't have tried. It would have been lost in the mess of the room anyway, as Daemon and Laena gathered Ophaella and swept her out of the room before anyone really had much time too notice. Aemond hurried after them, hardly believing his good fortune. He had only hoped for a bit of entertainment and to see a Tyroshi when they snuck out of bed that night.
And look what he got.
Pure chaos.
He loved it.
"You did well today," Daemon said, voice startling Aemond from his observations of the Black and White building. They passed it nearly everyday, but Aemond was no closer to mustering up the courage to try and visit it. Today, Daemon him had spent their boat ride back to the Sealord's house in relative silence, both exhausted from their day spent with the Water , it was a wonder they were even allowed back at all, after last night's affairs. Aemond assumed the Sealord had a purpose for opening his home and for once he was thankful that he was too young to try and understand what that might be. Instead he could focus all the attention on the ache in his muscles from a successful day of sparring, and think about the deserts he might get to have in celebration of his Nameday.
"Thank you," Aemond said, turning is head away to avoid being caught beaming so wide it made his cheeks hurt. It was so simple and so mundane and so entirely detached, but Aemond found himself craving the words again.
He could hardly remember a time when his own father had offered such praise, mild and meaningless as it was, so freely. But it was too much to leave it at that and Aemond, so used to acerbic words from his brother and painful indifference from his father, could not help but respond.
"I missed a parry."
"You did. And you will never do so again. It is how you learn."
"No sir."
They settled into silence as they walked, though Aemond did not feel any sort of discomfort.
"Was it your idea to sneak out of bed last night?"
He wished he could say no, just to save himself from the lashings he was about to get, but he could not bring himself to outright lie. Even if it hadn't been, he should have had the good sense to tell Ophaella no.
He was the elder, after all.
Only by a few months.
But still, he could now lay claim to being eight while she still clung to seven for a little while longer.
He should have been the clearer head.
"It was. I heard there would be Tyroshi warriors and I wanted to see them."
"And?"
"What?"
"What was your measure of them? Of all of them?"
Aemond wondered for a moment if Daemon was trying to trick him. It would not be the first time he misread a situation and embarrassed himself beyond repair. Still, he was tempted to answer him. His mind had been unsettled half the night and it had afforded him nothing but time to sit and think about what he had seen.
To fixate on their words.
To imagine wickedness in all they said and did.
To feel enraged by their casual discussions of Ophaella, of his best and only friend.
"I overheard some of them discussing Ophaella," Aemond finally said after a long pause.
"Hardly surprising. A child though she may be, an unmarried Targaryen woman – even one so little as her – is a prize above all else."
Aemond did not know why, but the description made his stomach squirm.
Ophaella was a good friend. What more could those men see in her than that?
It occurred to Aemond that he really might have been better served by paying attention to what Aegon said. Maybe then he would not be so confused and upset at the very notion.
"Lady Laena seemed uncomfortable with everything last night."
"Fuck off with the formalities. We are at the ass end of the world, dressed in common cotton and covered is sweat and goat shit from sparring. You would hurt the poor woman's feelings to speak of her with such cold detachment." Aemond's cheeks hurt again, the pressure to not smile like a loon becoming almost too much to bear on his own. "Now, Laena expects me to give you a gift for your Nameday. Why, I haven't the foggiest. Who gives flying dragon shite about turning eight? What's remarkable about that besides becoming less useless?"
"I…"
"Anyway, if you tell her I gave you this, I will skin you alive and feed you to Caraxes."
Aemond snapped his mouth shut.
Daemon pulled off the sword on his left side, scabbard and all, and held it out in front of him. When Aemond hesitated, Daemon rolled his eyes and shoved it into his hands without preamble.
"If you cut off your own little prick with his, I will not be held responsible."
Aemond nodded, too mesmerized by the delicate blade to argue.
"And if you use it to fight, you best make sure you win."
He held it in front of his face.
"And if you so much as think about using it to start trouble around Ophaella, you will wish you had cut your own prick off."
"What?"
"What, what? My words are quite plain, nephew," Daemon said, wandering off and expecting Aemond to follow. "Given last night's debacle, I can only assume that the two of you intend to continue sticking your noses in places they don't belong. Someone will not respond kindly if Ophaella gets hurt because of it. That someone, is of course, me. But also, others will not show you deference because of your station here. You must be prepared to use this sword if you intend to carry it."
"I will. I am."
"Good. Now put it away and go wash your face. Laena has set up a Nameday dinner for us away from the Sealord's house. We should at least pretend to give her the courtesy of caring."
The restaurant was mostly empty so late, but the occasional well-to-do man still tried to woo whatever woman he could off the street. Their dinner had been pleasant and full up until that point, each of them appearing, or at least pretending, to be happy in each other's company. That is, until now, when Daemon could not resist ruining a good thing, and felt compelled to speak. Free of any prying eyes and listening ears, he could speak his thoughts aloud.
"There was something in the wine," Daemon said, leaning back into the corner. He was relaxed, despite the content of his words, and Aemond envied his ability to remain so calm. "Which you, my little weasel, knew."
"Surely not? Not in the Sealord's own home?" Laena pushed back, setting down her fork, dinner still half unfinished.
"It sizzled when it hit the ground. I do not think our Friend was an invited guest." Daemon took a long sip of his drink, mouth twisting. "Though, it remains to be seen if his purpose was entirely separate from that of our host."
"These infernal riddles. Speak plainly, Daemon, so that we may finish our meal and return to happier affairs."
"Such as?"
"Presents."
She shot Aemond a wink.
"Yes, yes. Presents. But first, I would have you answer me, Ophaella." Daemon turned to his daughter, expression hard but not altogether unkind. "You knew."
Ophaella squirmed under his scrutiny, pushing around the roasted carrots on her plate until they had turned into utter mush. "I did not know. I just sort of felt it."
"Felt it?"
"Yes, felt it." Her voice dropped and she leaned forward, squirming worse than ever. "It was something in his heartbeat. Something dishonest."
"Which you should not have felt from across the room, skulking behind potted plants like a common castle rat."
Laena made a big show of cutting into her chicken.
"It might have been through the floor."
Daemon made a sound at the back of his throat and leaned forward, face startlingly close to Ophaella's as he stared her down. "What did I say, Ophaella? What did I make you promise me?"
"But I did-"
"Are you mad? Are you possessed by your mother's ghost and that is what makes you so compelled to be so disagreeable? To me, specifically. She is haunting me through you. These wretched powers of yours are nothing but a fucking curse. I thought you had sworn off it entirely?"
"You told him about that?"
"No, or course not!"
Her hand shot out and latched onto Aemond's nose, giving it an almighty twist.
Aemond kicked sideways, hoping to catch her delicate kneecaps before she could twist any harder and pull his poor nose clean off.
"Enough of this!" Laena practically launched herself forward, throwing her arms out to separate them before they could do more damage to each other. "Enough. This is meant to be a celebratory dinner. It is Aemond's Nameday and I will not have you heathens ruining it."
"Hardly ruined, Laena. I would say it's just getting exciting."
"Don't you start, Daemon. You are needling."
"How so? She felt a bloody heartbeat through the ground and somehow knew the man had ill intentions and I am the one needling?"
"I did not do it on purpose."
"But you still did it," Daemon said, voice getting a touch softer as he looked at Ophaella again. "And in a room full of Lords who would love nothing more than to find a Targaryen child with some sort of Greensight living in their halls and without her dragon. What do you think they would do with that knowledge? Do you think they would look at it kindly? Do you think they would ignore it after centuries of abuse at the hands of Westeros and it's Dragon Kings?"
Greensight.
Such an old way of saying things.
Aemond had only seen it in books that he wasn't meant to read, hidden in the back of the grand library in King's Landing.
"Daemon, stop."
"No. You made a promise to me and I expect you to honor it. Gods, Ophaella, I can hardly hope to keep the Sealord off my back as it is." Daemon finally looked away from Ophaella and turned towards Laena, jaw set in a grim line. "She comes with me tomorrow. If you're going to insist on pouring your bile into her ear, then the very least I can do is ensure she has more means of protecting herself than these damnable powers."
"Are you so damn prideful that you have missed that her gifts were used, once again, to protect you?" Laena continued to cut her food, less a distraction now and more to make a point. "Perhaps she will do us all a favor next time and the let the Lords of Westeros and Essos and their wicked hands do their wicked work on you and be done with it."
"You abomin-"
"I am sorry," Ophaella said, cutting them both off before they could start screaming at each other, which was more than likely. "I have tried not to use them. I really have, father, I promise. I just cannot help it."
"They are part of you." Laena finally set aside her food, appetite fully lost just as Daemon poured himself another hearty glass of wine. "You can no sooner cut off your head than you can cut off your gifts."
"I wish I could."
Daemon's scowl deepened.
"Then see to it that is done. You have a dragon and the name Targaryen. What more could you need?"
For a moment Aemond thought he might reach out a comforting hand to his daughter, to offer her the support she so clearly desperately needed. Instead, he drained the rest of his glass and poured himself another, perhaps content with how he had handled this whole affair. Aemond looked around the table, taking in each of their expressions one by one. Daemon looked murderous, though he almost always did, and Aemond feared for what that meant for him when they resumed his training on the morrow. Laena chewed on the inside of her lip, her youthful face suddenly looking decades older than it should. Ophaella simply looked like she wanted to cry, for real this time and not as a great big show for a room full of foreign lords.
Aemond was at a loss. Desperate for something to break the tension, he leaned forward.
"You mentioned something about presents?"
Aemond and Ophaella snuck out again that night. Perhaps they were playing with fire, given just how angry Daemon had been for the last day and half, but he could hardly say no when Ophaella showed up at his bedside, a moldy piece of parchment clutched tightly in one hand and package of stolen sweets in the other.
"You didn't mean it, did you?" Aemond asked, daring to be the first to break the comfortable silence that had stretched between them while they munched on their spice cakes.
"What?"
"About your powers? You wouldn't really wish to be done with them entirely?"
It bothered him more than he cared to admit. The thought of her turning away from them so wholly and completely caused something quite sick to settle in his stomach. To throw away such a gift – to deny such a thing left to her by her mother – he could scarcely even comprehend it.
It made him angry.
It made him bitter.
It made him want to hate that she had been blessed with so much and cherished so little, but he just could not muster the needed acid.
"I don't know. Father hates them. Almost as much as he hates my mother. I worry he will start to hate me as well the longer I toy with them."
"And yet, Laena is right. You've saved his life with them."
"Do we have to talk about it?" She asked, wiping her hands of crumbs as she turned to face him in full. "I had rather hoped I could give you my gift."
She held the parchment under his nose, hand shaking with anticipation.
"What is it?"
"Open it," She said, reaching to do it herself before he swatted her away.
"Come off it, it's my present. Let me do it."
"You're taking too long."
"You know, it is a little disturbing how much like your father you are at times."
She grabbed the parchment from him and unfolded it, unwilling to wait any longer. "Look!"
Aemond indulged her enthusiasm, bending what he could now see was a map as she smoothed it out on top of the balcony railing. "Is that Valyria?"
"It is! More specifically, it's a map of the fields where the dragons used to lay their clutches of eggs. I bet there are some still there."
"And?"
"And? What do you mean and?" She pulled the map back and rolled it up. "And, when Dor returns I'll fly you there myself. We're going to get you a dragon's egg if it's the last thing we do. I promise Aemond."
It was an empty promise.
Even Aemond could see that.
But he still could not fight the way his lip quivered at the conviction in her voice.
He could not find it in himself to argue and instead dared to hope.
If only for a moment.