Salvation - Aemond Targaryen / Aegon Targaryen

Faltering Faith

Sleep did not come for Jeyne that night.

There was no reprieve to the mess of thoughts in her head, the mixture of self-loathing and questioning.

Helaena lost my babe, Aegon had said, standing from his spot on the floor. I did everything you said, everything the gods want. She lost my child.

Prince Aegon, She had tried to be kind, but had made no move to approach him. I am so sorry. Perhaps in the morning we can go to the sept—

It isn't me. Aegon's eyes were wild. It must be Helaena. The gods have cursed her and her stupidity.

I'm sure that's not true. Her retreat from him meant nothing. Prince Aegon still confronted her, still accosted her, and pinned her to the wall.

Let me put a babe in you, much to her chagrin she found no alcohol on his breath. She remembered his hand wandering up her skirts. I'll wed you like King Aegon did, I'll make you my wife when you've grown swollen with my child.

Her handmaids had returned later, when the sun was up in the sky and Jeyne's dark circles rivaled her attackers. They made note of the blood on her face and of the lack thereof elsewhere on her persons or sheets. They helped her strip and wash and dress for the day in a muted gown of dull grey, devoid of embellishments in any way.

When Alys grazed her neck, her body shivered. Remembering him.

Prince Aemond, the man who had inserted himself in near all her prospective suitor's interactions, had come at the right time. Before Aegon's fingers had wandered dangerously close to her ruin. He then proceeded to accost her, to suck on her skin and cause ungodly thoughts to spring to her head.

Shame subdued any residual pleasure in her body. You defaced yourself, she told herself silently as Alys pulled her hair behind her head and secured the curls with a silver ribbon. You acted like a common harlot.

It felt...

It felt amazing.

Despite his cold aggression, Prince Aemond was gentle. He gave her room to leave, to fight back. But she didn't. She liked the feel of him suckling on her skin, of his fingers brushing her chest and his knee—

Gods be good, Jeyne hissed to herself. You are to be betrothed by the end of the week. Pull yourself together.

-

Jeyne avoided the royal family at all cost.

Days after the disaster of Maiden's day, neither prince had made an effort to speak to her. Jeyne greatly appreciated it. She had spent the full three days in the sept, praying until her voice was hoarse and her knees were raw and bruised from kneeling.

She prayed to the Maiden for forgiveness. For partaking in indecent activities and damaging her everlasting soul. She begged for the goddess's mercy, for her to bless her dreams with the fields and meadows she had grown to love over the decades of her life. She begged for anything—any sign—that Aemond lied.

The gods did care about her. They had do. If they didn't... Jeyne's whole life had been a lie.

But Prince Aemond was right. She had given her entire life to the gods, to their will and word. But it wasn't the gods who struck Prince Aegon down. It was him.

Avoiding the royal family, it seemed, had been for naught.

She was summoned to the Queen's chambers on the first day of the third moon of the year by a young page dressed in rough spun brown wool with a dark brown cap covering oily red hair. He led her wordlessly across the keep in a path that had become familiar to Jeyne, passing by a dozen bedchambers, solars, libraries and miscellaneous rooms she had no interest in until they finally came to the large oak door she had faced days ago.