Salvation - Aemond Targaryen / Aegon Targaryen

Sacrilegious Stargazing

True to his word, Martyn's letter sat waiting for them at Highgarden. He had made it to the Reach two days before their arrival and had sent word on the leg of his new lord's raven. The sigil inscribed in green wax was that of their home, of the Hightower, pressed deep into the wax but moved before the sigil had settled—surely from the motion of the sea surrounding him.

Garmund grew more anxious with every tree they crossed further on the Kingsroad, with every golden rose that bloomed on a field of green. He had spent the ride near bursting with anger at his post. Jeyne could not possibly see what upset him so. The lord of Highgarden—Lord Garth—was a well off man of two and thirty. His wife, Lady Macie, was just shy of twenty and pregnant with their first child. Their house was a relatively quiet one, by all accounts, and Garmund went only to serve as the young lord's apprentice.

If Jeyne felt any pity for her dear brother, it was gone when the castle came into view. Over the hill of the Kingsroad, Jeyne could see the broad verdant hill sported a large castle with three large rings of white stone, crenellated curtains that increased in height the further toward the castle they got. The gates of the third, smallest gates was made of a large golden tree Jeyne could not name. Between it and the second wall, a briar labyrinth sprouted a thousand thorns and brightly colored roses in fresh bloom colored of white, pink, and yellow

Between the second and third rings, a half hundred pointed trees were freshly groomed into fine points toward the sky. Between each tree the ground had been littered with windflowers that sprouted in a dozen mystical colors, broken apart only by white stone benches, canopied with yellow and green fabric with yellow tassels that hung to the ground below. Through the whicker of the wheelhouse's windows, Jeyne spotted the many men and women who milled about. Small dogs chased their tails, little babies sat lounging in white bassinets as they baked in the sun.

It was truly a gift to the world—Highgarden—picturesque. Even the air smelled of flowers, wafting into her nose and overwhelming her with every breath. Garmund, in his self-pity, released a loud groan Jeyne was sure could be heard through the wood.

"Seven hells," Garmund's head fell to his hands. "I'm to be a fucking wetnurse."

Jeyne's mouth fell open. "Garmund!" She shouted, wrapping her fingers around a silk pillow and tossing it toward him. "Mother save you, watch your tongue."

"Shove off, Jey." He groaned. "You're to go to the Red Keep. There are loads of things to do there, what am I to do here? Take up gardening?"

She rolled her eyes. "Brother, you are but a stone's throw to home. Perhaps gardening could make you closer to the gods, make you mind your tongue in the presence of a lady."

Garmund watched the doors to the third and final gate open with a grimace on his features. Jeyne spotted her brother's welcoming party, a group thirty strong in various colors of dress. It was Lady Macie who caught Jeyne's eye from afar.

Long blonde hair had been oiled and curled in perfect ringlets that cascaded loosely over her shoulders. Her arms were bare to the world of gods and men in a sleeveless gown of light blue with a golden brocade on the bodice and skirts. Her belly was great and round with child, her golden tanned hand rested at the bottom side of her belly, another on her back to soothe the pain that came with it.

She was a very pretty girl, a small button nose that was covered in a litter of freckles that seemed to splash down her neck and chest. It's what Jeyne focused on as she exited the wheelhouse holding her brother's hand, rather so that she could not see her distant cousin—Lord Otto Hightower—as he stood, oiled beard twitching with annoyance.