╔════════════╗ LADY JEYNE a song of ice and fire — AU ✧ ⋆⋆⋆⋆⋆⋆⋆⋆⋆⋆⋆⋆⋆⋆⋆⋆⋆⋆⋆⋆⋆⋆⋆⋆⋆⋆⋆⋆⋆⋆⋆⋆
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ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ *ೃ༄ THE NORTH is in the reach, xiv.
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JEYNE had heard whispers that the Stark's had arrived at Highgarden.
It had been just a little under a day's travel, a week gone by since the ravens had arrived at Kings Landing. Her father had travelled to collect her and Jeyne could've burst from the excitement she felt from seeing his wrinkled face and the twinkle in his eyes she had missed. For the purpose of courtesy, she refrained from leaping into his embrace at first sight but as soon as formalities were met and they were out of the castle, there was nothing from stopping from throwing her arms around his neck. Desmond Redwyne had chuckled at his youngest daughters fondness for him, pressing a kiss to her forehead before they headed for the carriage that would send them on their way.
It had been a pleasant ride, Jeyne filling her father in on the tales of Kings Landing— albeit the part where she consumed wine of course— and all the gallantry and royalty she had encountered in her time at court. Regardless, lethargy clung to her eyelids and Jeyne was ecstatic that twilight was painting the currently starless night over the land of flowers.
Still, it wasn't late enough for Jeyne to silently retreat to bed without making an appearance as an esteemed guest of the Tyrell's in the ball. That would be rude and Jeyne wasn't rude. And the girl from the arbour would be shying from the truth if she didn't confess she was dying to see the great hall of Highgarden. It would be much bigger than the Great Hall of Winterfell but, of course, minute in comparison to the one of Kings Landing— home to the iron throne— and Jeyne presumed it would be garnished with the prettiest and ripest of flowers and roses ooo, Jeyne did wonder if there would be golden roses, real golden roses.
