Salvation - Aemond Targaryen / Aegon Targaryen

The Cart Before the Horse

Aemond Targaryen never got visitors, never mind ones who knocked.

But there was a soft rapping at his door, like a person attempting to be forceful. He was sure he imagined it. He threw his legs over the bed, planting stocking clad feet onto the cold stone, and made for the oak. He opened it, hand curling around the metal.

He half expected his mother, or Helaena visiting with her children. He even thought it to be a servant, here to fetch his clothing and have it cleaned and pressed. What he did not expect was Jeyne Hightower, breathless and red face, demanding his hand in a thin white chemise that did very little to cover her cold, shivering body.

"Marry me."

Aemond blinked, filled with shock. He had tried to kill her betrothed last night. He would have, too, had his lord grandfather not interceded. He was only doing as she bid. She could never have done it herself, he didn't want her to. He saw how she spiraled into an endless oblivion of faithlessness. Jeyne being in his home, Aemond had never seen such devotion. She was the girl who trusted the gods above all else.

And here she was—trusting him with the most important thing in her life.

"Okay." He said.

Jeyne launched into her speech. "I know it's odd, I know that it is a lot to ask of you. You're a prince! I'm just this self-righteous—" He saw the way her pretty eyes glazed over, her head reeled back in shock. He liked the way she blushed, fumbling with her words. "I... what?"

"Okay." Aemond would burn the world for her. He would give up his title, give up Vhagar and his mother and everything—but not if she didn't want to.

"You said yes?" She questioned.

"You asked."

"Why?"

Jeyne blinked up at him, pretty lips parted in shock. She pushed through the door, loose red curls brushing his arm. Her scent filled his nose, and very quickly he realized—he didn't give a shit about why. She was giving herself to him, wholly and completely.

"I can't marry him." Jeyne sniffled. She pushed past him and made her way to his bed. Not there, he begged silently. Not where i— "I'd rather die."

"So pleased to see you're enthused to marry me." Aemond resisted the urge to roll his eye. He watched her as she huffed, angrily throwing herself back onto the bed. His mind could only concentrate on the fact that she was in his bed.

"It would have to be done tonight." Aemond could not see her face but heard the frown in her voice. "Before the morn, and of course we would have to..." She trailed off.

He moved closer, noting that her cheeks were burning hot. She stared up at the roof, where the posters of his bed held green satin fabric convened in the center, and clasped her fingers together at her stomach. He could see her feet bouncing anxiously, the tick of her fingers clasped where she normally kept that book held a piece of leather he was all too familiar with.

"Is that mine?" He asked softly, inching closer to her. Jeyne sat up, curls messed around her head. She looked ravishing in the fire light.

Jeyne's small fingers toyed with the strap. "It is." She whispered, holding it out. Her face was shrouded in shame. "I had a better plan, your grace. For when you opened the door."

"Better than that?" He was standing in front of her, legs pushed between her own. From this angle, he could see down her chemise. "Do tell, pet."