Salvation - Aemond Targaryen / Aegon Targaryen

The Beginning of the End

Dawn broke over the horizon of Oldtown on the first day of the 128th year after Aegon's conquest. The golden rays of the sun cast an orange glow over the intricately marbled floor of her apartments and ignited the seven pointed star carved deep into the stone below her. Jeyne Hightower felt the morning sun on her face and the welcoming heat that came with it as it woke her from her slumber.

Her dreams, more oft than not, were filled with fields of flowers and babbling brooks of crystal blue waters that cascaded through the land and-by the glory of the Mother Above-provided life to the wildlife that flocked through the fields. She had, years before, thought that it was odd her dreams never contained other people. Her dreams were filled with solitude but never loneliness.

Jeyne supposed it was a reprieve from her bustling life-the castle in which she called home had, after all, been home to her four siblings, mother, father and uncle's family for most of her life. It meant there were few moments for her solitude save for when she slept or prayed. Hightower never lacked for a thousand feet to be hammering its marble and stone walkways or the many hundred steps within. Septons and Septas completed their holy missions in the many rooms whether it be to pray for the lost or, in more malicious occasions, purge a sinner of their wrongdoings and return them to the light.

Bethany loved to hear the sinners plead for the Father's mercy. Her sister-sweet as she was-was simple of mind and hardly understood what it meant for the men and women that came to their home. Jeyne knew, but Jeyne was also smart enough to know that it was the God's will. She took no joy in it, but neither did she condemn it.

As with every morning that came from Jeyne's life in her home, she placed her feet squarely on the marble floor and felt the smooth indentations of the point beneath her. The engraving had been older than old-it was old when her many greats grandfather had sat in his throne-but still it felt fresh beneath her bare feet.

The balls of her feet had long since calloused over. A thousand cuts had tore her skin open over the first fourteen years of her life but no longer, they had grown used to the feel of sharpness. It served only to remind her of the Gods' ingenuity in divine creation.

Jeyne made her way to the window where scarce rays had pierced the wicker and threw it outward to the open air. Oldtown bustled below with the sound of hymns and carts and further still, the bells and tolls of the Citadel on the far side of the Honeywine river. The air smelled sweet and clean in her nostrils.

"Lady Jeyne!" there was a sharp tapping at her chamber door, thrice knuckles raked against the Maplewood door, followed sharply by an additional four knocks. "Lady Jeyne, may I enter?"

"Not just yet, Septa!" Jeyne shouted. "I must dress and say my prayers."

Beyond the door, Jeyne heard her septa sigh painfully. "Very well. Ten minutes."

"Ten minutes." Jeyne sang back, still looking at the city below. On the small table that faced the east, Jeyne kept her consecrated copy of the Seven-Pointed Star. A half dozen candles were littered around it at varying lengths of emptiness and at their center a small white marble statue of the Maiden had made its home. It was who she and her sister prayed to for piousness and innocence. They each had one-though Bethany's veining was pink and Jeyne's was blue-gifts to them on the days of their births from the High Septon.

From six and ten years of delicate kisses each day, her maiden's flowered crown atop her curls had worn down to a mere circlet. It did not make Jeyne love her less. Her fingers brushed delicately across the draping fabric of the marble gown and she struck a match against the stone wall to light the six candles. Jeyne lifted the fabric of her chemise and knelt, knees hitting the marble. Her long fingers intertwined and clasped together and silently, she prayed.