Salvation - Aemond Targaryen / Aegon Targaryen

The Price We Pay

Alicent Hightower as a distant cousin was a remarkable thing.

Queen Alicent Hightower as a mother by law, however, was terrifying.

Jeyne sat across from her two weeks after Lord Jason's untimely demise, her fingers clasped in her lap and her eyes trained to the floor. A single slab of mahogany separated the Hightower girls, covered in parchment, ink, candles and a half hundred small jewels littered across the desk. On the far side closest to the large, north facing windows Alicent sat with her hands clasping a book—thicker and wider than any Jeyne had seen.

She wore a simple gown with a high neck of black silk, flourishing out at her clavicle into a dress of moss green silk embroidered with shining green vines and blooming flowers to match. Her eyes were rimmed with black coal, hair pulled neatly behind her head parted in the center, with curled strands to frame her ovular face. At her waist she wore a belt of the Seven-Pointed star similar to Jeyne's, save for the emeralds that glittered when she moved.

Jeyne felt underdressed before her on the opposite side, back to the door. She wore a simple velvet dress the color of evergreen, knotted at her shoulders and elbows with green silk ribbon and a white underdress. Her hair she pulled lazily behind her head in a bun at the base of her skull with a green silk ribbon. She had no jewels on her body or in her hair, nothing adorning her body save for what she had when she was born.

Jeyne's slippered feet tapped anxiously on the stone floor, waiting for her to speak. Moons ago, the Queen treated her with all the respect and love one would give a distant relative—now, she only stared.

"Stop that." Queen Alicent commanded.

Jeyne wasn't sure what she meant, her own mind swimming with fear. She stopped tapping her foot, stopped tapping her fingers across her palm, and stopped breathing. The queen watched her eyes stress against their crevices and sighed. "The foot,Jeyne."

"I apologize, your grace." Jeyne exhaled, blush burning her cheeks.

The Queen eyed her for a moment. "Are you with child?"

She blinked. "No, your grace."

The queen's lip twitched in displeasure. "Hm." She pondered, in a way all too familiar to Jeyne. She had heard that same quirk come from her lord husband, her son, when he was intrigued with something. Jeyne felt the words she craved to release claw at the back of her skull and creep onto her tongue. Alicent looked to her desk. "When was your last blood?"

"You did not summon me to discuss my flower, your grace." Jeyne spoke lowly, as politely as she could muster. She fought the frown on her face.

Alicent made no move to change from her tired expression. "No." Her eyes searched Jeyne's face. "No, I did not."

Jeyne remembered the day she was told of her wardship—near seven moons ago at the breakfast table in her father's apartments. It seemed so far away, yet so close. Her heart could not close off from the pain that surged through her, knowing that she would never have such a feast again.

She wondered if her father arrived to the Hightower safely, if Lyonel and Lady Sam had. Would Bethany weep at the idea of never seeing her sister again? Did Garmund return to Highgarden to nurse his nose, filled with hatred for the girl whom he had claimed was his favorite sister?

"I'm sending Aemond to the Stepstones." Alicent unfolded her hands, pressing them flat against the wood. Before Jeyne could question her, Alicent rose her hand. "You and I both know that Jason Lannister did not attempt to claim my son's beast on his own."