Salvation - Aemond Targaryen / Aegon Targaryen

What is Owed

Jeyne sat with Aemond in the dark, dusted hallway beyond his father's chambers. Her cheeks ached with pain, from the slaps his mother had delivered. Aemond said nothing to her when Ser Arryk and Erryk led them from her chambers, he merely held her hand in his left, his sword hilt in his right and stared across the hallway.

Jeyne stared at the ground, counting the grooves in the stone. That is how she determined there were exactly sixty-three stone pavers from the queen's chambers to the kings. Sixty three chambers between her and Jason Lannister, the gilded lion who sat seething with his arms and legs crossed. It was Jason Lannister who held her lord husband's attentions, his grip on her hand becoming tighter with every second.

"Let me do it," she heard him whisper. Jeyne turned to see that Aemond's face was stone, eye trained squarely on the Lannister lord with no hint of retreating first. "Let's be done with all this bother."

"Aemond," She whispered in reply, shaking his hand so that he would look at her. This was the man who protected her, who saved her thrice from desolation despite the peril it placed him in. He swung his head, hatred turned to sadness. "It's alright."

His eye wandered her face, resting on her cheeks that were bright red from his mother's slaps. She could see the regret that plastered his face. "I am..." he started, removing his hand from his blade to rest on her cheek. "I should have stopped her."

"It's okay," she said, but knew the words were of no comfort. Their behavior was sinful, and the queen was... well, she was the queen. All she could do was pray. The difficulty came that she did not know who to pray to. The Seven had never kept their promises, the northern gods were strangers to her. The Drowned God of the Iron Islands? Jeyne shivered at the idea of a god who condoned such violent reaving and raping.

She resigned herself to pray openly, to anyone who would listen to her in hopes that they would help her, help Aemond. They waited for the king to rouse, for him to sober from the opioids they shoved down his throat. It was a matter too important for the Hand, for the Queen.

The treasons of his own sons.

She could smell the milk as it wafted from the room, overwhelming her senses until she was light headed and calm, hand sweating beneath the weight of Aemond's. "He'll support us." Aemond inhaled deeply, "He has to."

"You said your mother would," Jeyne whispered. She felt his body stiffen. "You said she was like a Tully."

"That's different," Aemond said. "My father's forgiven far worse atrocities."

She saw the way his face contorted with rage again, his brow turned downward and his forehead wrinkled. "What do you mean?" She asked, frowning.

The prince looked to the ceiling, letting the crown of his head lean against the wall. She studied his jaw, sharp and pointed. The curve of his large nose, lips that had kissed her in places she never thought possible. She saw the hard ball of saliva as he swallowed it dissolve into his throat. When he didn't answer, Jeyne nudged him.

"What?"

"What did he forgive?"

His cheeks grew red. "My eye." His voice wavered, low enough to where only she could hear him. Her heart panged with sympathy. She had heard of the incident in Oldtown; heard of the horror he had endured at such a young age and rememberd praying for seven days at the alter in the Starry Sept for his health and recovery. She remembered it was the Velaryons, the Princess Rhaenyra's sons who had massacred him so. Jeyne reached her free hand up to him, brushing her thumb across the soft leather eye patch. Beneath it, she knew, his sapphire eye glistened in his socket. She threaded her hand at the base of his neck and forced his head to touch hers.