121 AC, Braavos
"You also told them you would be in the gardens?" Ophaella asked, smiling at Aemond as he glanced over at her. His expression was guilty in the perfunctory sort of way that let her know he did not really feel all that guilty at all. Still, he made the attempt, and when he saw the same look reflected on her face, they both let a few nervous laughs and looked away from each other once again.
It felt unfamiliar, she realized, to be so ill at ease with him and under the scrutiny of the gaze that she had gotten used to living without.
"We should have discussed it first," Aemond said, something to his voice that gave her even greater pause. They had not discussed much of anything, as of late. Their fights had been frequent and petty, a mess of meaningless angry words that left them both feeling a little empty inside. At least, she assumed they both felt that way. She hoped they both felt that way, a little selfishly, so that she would not have been so alone. So that her anger from the last several months might have been meant for something more than her own satisfaction.
But so much had changed so quickly.
So much had changed with her father and Laena and her father and Laena that she had no one to talk about with that she had all but forgotten why she was so mad at him to begin with. She even caught them close to what looked distinctly to her like an almost kiss and she had been halfway through turning around to gossip with Aemond about it when she remembered that he was gone once again. The adults noticed his absence just as she did and they pulled her all the tighter for it. Like she was a solid and he was a liquid, they endeavored to clench them in their closed fists and succeeded in only her regard.
"Yes," Ophaella agreed after a prolonged moment, looking at him long enough that she knew it would make him uncomfortable. "We should have."
His dark eyebrows knit together as he stared back at her.
"I would worry about it, but I think we will not be here long enough for it to matter much."
"You saw Dor."
It was a stupid thing to say. Of course he saw Dor. She might worry about the state of his eyesight – more than she had before – if he had missed the giant black lizard flying dangerously close to their heads. As it were, he simply nodded at her and turned to glance back in the general director of her dragon. She knew she was going to be waiting for her in the morning. She did not need to rush back to see her. The mere fact that she came back at all was enough.
Aemond was all she wanted to pay attention to right then.
Aemond and what happened to him.
Aemond and all the things she had ignored about him in the last few months through her irrational anger.
Aemond and his intensely, perfectly, purple eyes.
So deep they reminded her vividly of an apple.
"What did you have to do to get your eyes back?" She asked, unable to keep from asking the question any longer. Gods, she had missed them.
She had restrained herself well enough, she thought, all things considered, and the pair of them had made it all the way back to their favorite market before she finally blurted it out. Her words were a jumbled mess, the ends and the beginnings running into each other. He understood. And for a moment it looked like he might not respond to her, but then he dipped his head down and let out a long sigh.
"I do not know, truthfully," He said.
She stepped just a touch closer to him, feeling her stomach flip as he looked down at her. It had been so long since she felt that look, since she had seen the way his eyes reflected his often stormy and turbulent thoughts, that she had almost forgotten how much she needed it.
"There must have been something. That man doesn't seem the sort to just give them back after nothing."
"Just because I do not know exactly what it was does not mean it was nothing."
"What happened today?" She asked, stepping back from him as a merchant split them apart. He was over burned with woven baskets dyed in bright colors and Ophaella found her gaze drawn to them for a moment before she forced it back to look at Aemond.
"Have you ever met a witch?"
"Apart from the possibility of myself, you mean?"
"You are not a witch," Aemon scoffed, rolling his eyes at the possibility. "At least not of this sort."
"What sort is that?"
"I do not know," Aemond said, stepping closer to her again when the merchant had fully passed them by. He was one of the stragglers as the market started to close down for the night, forcing her to realize just how much trouble the pair of them would be in when they finally made it back to the Sealord's palace. "Forget I said anything."
"Well, I cannot."
"Perhaps, as a favor to me then, you might endeavor to try." He reached down to grab her hand and gave it a little squeeze.
"For now," She said, only agreeing to avoid throwing them right back into another conflict. She squeezed his hand back. She knew her face had turned an embarrassing pink, bordering on red, but she found she did not mind. It was only Aemond, after all. "Do you feel any pain from it?"
Before she thought better of it, she reached her free hand up to touch the side of his face, fingers dancing delicately across the soft next to his right eye. The bright purple color of most of her family still caught her off guard, but it was Aemond's that thoroughly disarmed her and left her wanting for words. He leaned towards her hand, his other squeezing just a touch tighter.
"I missed you, Aella. I know we saw each other, bu-"
"I was being awful."
"You w-"
"I was. Father said so. I say so." She pulled her wandering hand back after a prolonged moment. "And I promise I will not do it again. You have been supportive of me, through everything, and I could not do the same for you."
"In your defense, it is all rather suspect."
"It is. But so is carving marks into my skin and expecting something to come from it."
"Well, I would say a little more suspect." Aemond did not smile at her, but there was something in his expression that told her that whatever nastiness had passed between them – whatever bitterness or resentment or anger – was well and truly over. "Yours, at the very least, as some sort of history in Westeros."
"Dubious though that history may be."
On that, they both seemed to be in agreement. On that, they had always seemed to be in agreement. From the very beginning, he had never cast nearly as much doubt on her gifts as the history books and the world around them always seemed to. He questioned it for only a moment and then he trusted the truth of it all from then forward. It was courtesy she had not given to him. And the regret made her feel like a worm.
But he refused to look at her like that.
The absolutely horrendously idiotic and intrusive thought that she would not mind so much if he pressed even closer occurred to her before she could stop it. Worse still, he did not look at her like he minded so much.
She wanted to kiss him.
She wanted to know where that desire came from.
She wanted to not question it.
"I told you it was 'em," A voice shouted, a laugh trailing after the words. It cut through the loud market, forcing Ophaella and Aemond apart as they both turned to try and find the source of the voice. Aemond wrapped his arm around her shoulders and shoved her back, placing himself in front of her without saying a word. "The freak finally left him alone."
It was the boy.
The pimply unfortunate looking boy from the very first day they arrived in Braavos.
But he was less of a boy now and closer to a man, but no less unfortunately looking for that fact, and he had filled out in all the ways that men tended to do. But there was an undeniable awkwardness to him that never seemed to abate and when he gestured to the group of kids on either side of him, his movements were stilted and out of place.
A lifetime ago, she had been so scared of what he might do to them, even from so far below them against the rocks. Now she was simply angry. Everything seemed to make her angry, as of late. Aemond and his misadventure with Jaqen, her father and his newfound commitment to keeping her within eyesight at all times, Laena and her increasingly difficult lessons, Lord Corlys and his quiet judgement, the Sealord and his constant lingering stares.
The maid from Westeros and the way she seemed to appear every time Ophaella tried to find solace in the gardens.
Most of all, she was angry that the great promise of something new that Braavos had once promised them seemed to have withered up and died in the beating sun.
"Gile, we shouldn't."
"Fuck off."
Ophaella peeked out from behind Aemond, fingers wrapping around the back of his shirt. It was damp, like he had been sweating or spent time on his back on a wet floor.
"You should listen to your friend," Aemond called, reaching one hand back to wrap around her wrist. He pried her fingers off his clothes but he did not release her and instead pulled her even closer. "We do not want any trouble." It was an oddly conciliatory, considering the same courtesy would not be paid to them in return and Gile seemed to see right through the brief moment of niceties.
Aemond's hand tightened and she was certain he could feel her racing pulse.
"Leave."
"I tried for years to get that Lorathi to take me into that white and black house."
"Black and White," Ophaella corrected before she really thought about it. Aemond glanced back at her, eyebrows raised. She raised he eyebrows and shrugged, smiling at the way he his eyes swept over her face before he looked back at the boys gathering in front of them. It was a stupid time for her to try and charm him with her acceptance of the proper order of the silly colors of that place. But she still felt butterflies settle in her stomach at the look he gave her all the same.
Or maybe that was the nerves.
For the group of boys seemed determined to move closer to them.
And they were so utterly alone.
"And he takes this little cunt first thing." Gile stepped away from the other boys, folding his dirty arms across his chest. "And then he protects you every time he sent you into the city. He killed three of my friends just to protect you."
"You speak to Jaqen about that. I am sure he will reconsider training you when he sees what passion you have." It was only for having known him for so long that she knew he was being sarcastic. She tried to subtly yank him backwards, but he kept his footing.
"Grab her," Gile yelled, advancing on Aemond with lumbering steps that send them both moving backwards in tandem.
"You lay a single finger on her and I will kill you."
Gile stopped for only a moment, laughing.
He supposed it did seem silly. Aemond was certainly taller than her, but they were still both so slight compared to the teenage boys in front of them. Keeping one hand firmly grasped on the back of Aemond's shirt, she tried to be subtle about bending down to grab her rune knife.
Just in case.
A hand wrapped around her neck and yanked her backwards, forcing her knees to the ground with a painful crack. Aemond shouted, turning around to look at her, only to find himself being thrown to the ground by Gile. His face skidded against the ground.
"Leave him alone!" Ophaella tried to squirm out from the grasp. The hands pushed her harder into the ground and she felt her muscles and bones and everything else start to give way. "Stop!"
"They'll call the city guards," One of the boys above her said, sounding like he was struggling to keep her down. Something so simple shouldn't make her feel so proud, but it did, and it caused her to fight against him even harder. She couldn't see it for herself, but she knew Aemond was doing the same.
If they both did enough, they could slip out.
Then they could run.
And she could find her father and he would make sure this never happened again.
"So shut her up." Gile sounded winded and halfway through his words, something hard smacked against his mouth. "Gods damned little prick won't sto-"Another smack interrupted Gile's words enough to cut him off.
The boys flipped her around on her back and her head bounced off the hard stone, causing her to cry out.
"Leave her alone!"
A pair of hands reached down and wrapped around her collar, pulling it down. Something flared in her mind, something so much worse than panic, and she couldn't help but scream. Her hand scrambled to find her knife, nails clawing at the ground before she finally claw at her own skin in her desperation to find it. Nails scrapped down her skin as the boy above her struggled to keep her still, but she fought even harder.
She cried out in relief when her palm felt the cold handle of her rune knife.
But his hands moved further down.
And then they began to tighten.
"Aemond," She gasped.
"Wait!" Aemond spoke, voice sounding muffled and strained and desperate. "Please. Leave her alone. The offense is mine. Leave her and I will take you to Jaqen myself. Leave her alone and do what you will to me. Please. Please."
Ophaella felt her grip on her knife loosening as the hands pressed down. She had not even bothered to look at the boy's face. Not bothered to notice as he had moved around behind them and grabbed her before she could respond. Now she did not even bother. For she had her sights set on no one but Aemond.
And she had her thoughts on nothing but her desire for him to lose his eyes again, just so he would not have to see it.
What he said seemed to work and the boy finally let go of her enough to breathe. Gile looked at her for a moment, seeming to consider Aemond's offer for the briefest of moments. He stared at her face, at the hands that were still wrapped around her neck – the purpling of her skin and the way her mouth was popped open to try and get just enough air to not pass out. But it was becoming increasingly difficult and every time she took one breath, it felt like it was immediately choked out of her.
Gile smirked at her.
"I tried for the eye last time. Is this better?"
He slammed the knife into Aemond's eye before Ophaella could even process its presence in his hand.
Aemond crumpled to the ground, hands clawing at the knife now sticking out of the bloody mess of his eye. The hands holding her lessened their hold for just a moment, shock giving her just enough of an opening to throw herself forward and out of his grasp. Her hand tightened around her knife, but all she could feel was the way her entire body felt cold as ice.
All she could hear was the pounding of her heart.
All she could taste was burning rage.
The hand not holding her knife dropped to the stone and her fingers spread out, checking for Aemond's pulse through the mess of noise. It was there and it was faint. But it was there.
He was alive.
She crawled towards him, tears streaming down her face.
Her hand gripped her knife tighter as she finally pulled herself up next to him.
"Aemond," She said, speaking her name for her own benefit. She knew he could not hear her. Not while the pain coursed through him and not while Gile laughed above him.
Ophaella yanked the knife out of Aemond's eye, grimacing at the blood that rushed out with it and the moan of agony that followed. She threw the knife to the ground and
"Not so nice to kiss now, is he?" Gile mocked, earning a few laughs from the other boys. "You could always try me instead. It has to better than kissing your brother."
But Ophaella ignored him.
And she continued to ignore him as she lined her knife up with her palm and made quick purposeful slices, cutting through the existing scar tissue and down to the thick of the muscle.
She continued to ignore him as he started to question what she was doing and when she placed the sharp tip of her knife right above Aemond's mangled eye and when carefully made three quick cuts in the blood and viscera that remained.
She continued to ignore him and he continued to laugh.
But he finally stopped after a moment.
And she only bothered to tear her gaze away from Aemond long enough to watch as Gile stumbled backwards mouth open in shock, and collapsed to the ground. Blood dripped down his face from the two sockets that had once held his eyes and Ophaella turned back to look at Aemond, refusing to give him the benefit of her attention for even a moment longer.
He wanted Aemond's eyes.
So took his and then killed him for the insult of it all.
And she would not mourn for him in the slightest. For he was not her mother, who she still missed so desperately, or the Hightower, who she regretted so thoroughly. She would forget him soon enough. He was no one.
