Salvation - Aemond Targaryen / Aegon Targaryen

The Song of Exile

She found Aegon sitting outside the Sept, hair disheveled and eyes rimmed red with tears.

He smelled of deep red wine sweet with honey and berries, and faintly of brimstone and smoke. His eyes were closed, head leaned back against the ornate golden door that was shut in the early morning hours. He wore a tunic of simple dark green, dirty black tights and shining black boots caked with mud.

The early morning mist made his clothes damp, dew sprouted on the toes of his boots.

If he had been conscious, Jeyne would have feared him. The boy had said little to her since her matrimony, since the Maiden's day ball when he had assaulted her beyond her old chambers. That boy had been a drunken, pathetic mess with an eagerness to bed and breed her.

This drunken, pathetic mess was a harm to no one but himself. He whimpered and sniffled like an injured pup, hands smacking a rhythm Jeyne could not place against his thigh. On his lap, Jeyne saw a book with frayed leather carvings on its cover, small enough to fit in her single hand opened halfway through to a bookmarked page.

Her steps faltered, hands wringing at her waist. Don't, she told herself. You remember the last time you were alone.

Her feet moved without her permission, carrying her stand before him beneath the stone awning. Closer to him, Jeyne could see the passages of the Father, the god's second book of three dedicated to him. The passage's writings were hand-written, ink smeared with clear droplets of tears and red of wine.

Jeyne strained to read it.

And on the seventh day of the seventh moon, the Father Above came to the earth. And to his most devout he gave lands of riches: fertile fields for sowing and fertile women for breeding. Those whom he declared unworthy were cast to the Seven Hells for—

Aegon's throat filled with vomit, his breath disturbed by the foreign substance. Jeyne lurched back, eyes wide with fear as he emptied his stomach onto the stone. Jeyne could see the chunks of food, the red of the wine and the green of his stomach acid as he gagged, eyes wide and bloodshot.

She covered her mouth, wincing.

"Gods." Aegon groaned, hand over his belly as the book tumbled from his lap—dangerously close to the vomit. Spit pulled from his lips in strings. "Fuck me."

"Are you alright?" Jeyne frowned, pressing her hand into her belly.

The drunken man blinked slowly, his eyes struggling to focus on her form. He groaned loudly. "Oh, fuck." He pushed himself up on his arm, using his free hand to wipe his mouth. "It's you. My brother's bride."

"Yes," Jeyne rolled her eyes. "Forgive me for showing you a bit of compassion."

The young prince blinked. She saw the wheels turn inside his brain and felt her skin pale. He is not Aemond, she reminded herself. You can not talk to him in such a way.

Prince Aegon smiled. "Did you just talk back to me?"

Jeyne winced. "Forgive me, your grace—"

"No, no, no." Aegon moved to stand, but thought better of it as his hand smacked into the slick of his vomit. Jeyne winced again, taking a step further back. The prince shook the digested chunks from his hand. "I much prefer you this way. Suppose my brother fucked some sense into you."

She bristled. "Perhaps I him," Jeyne watched as Aegon barked a laugh again, hand slapping against his knee.

Aegon wiped a tear from his eye. "Gods be good," he chuckled again. "Here I was hoping to get some religious guidance. Instead I get my lovely sister by law."