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LADY JEYNE
a song of ice and fire — AU ✧
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⋆ ii. The Heir Of Winterfell ⋆
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— the scent of mulberry was the first thing she was met with when she made her anticipated entrance into the banquet hall. hearty chuckles of two old friends reuniting reverberated off the walls as the sweet smelling fragrance of iced blueberries and lemon cakes clung to her nostrils as the stuffed goose sauced with the mulberries fought to dominate her sense of smell. the cooks had prepared a generous assortment of foods for their arrival but as she edged closer to where her mother had beckoned for them to sit, jeyne could not help but frown subtly as her efforts of scouring the tables were in vain— there was no cheese.
jeyne had always born a strange partiality for the savoury so much so that when she was of six years, it was all she ever ate. her father had eventually limited her to three portions a week by feeding her tales of little girls who turned into mice. this was per insistence from his wife of course who had whined she would rather not have a child who died from malnourishment.
having been so engrossed with her observation of the delicacies, the girl with honey-hued hair was oblivious to the curious eyes that followed her every move right up until she found herself seated back to back with him, not even having realised it.
With the abundance of euphuistic flowers all but embroided into her labyrinth of a hairstyle, jeyne stuck out like a sore thumb amongst the Northeners. Piling her plate up with food she would never finish, Jeyne was not sure if she would even want to live in this cold place, without any friends or Maegelle or Denys to make her laugh or smile. sitting by herself, glancing to Maegelle and Sansa and some other giggling little girls beside them to her mother and father seated beside Lord and Lady Stark in their seats mounted above all the little people, it was like Jeyne was seeing a glimpse into her future life.
"You should sheep shift her bed, I do it to my sister all the time."
A voice piped up beside her and whilst she could not place the accent, she recognised the endearing face of the little girl as the younger of the Stark girls who she had seen earlier squabbling with Sansa.
"You must be Arya." Jeyne said with a smile so soft, the little wolf thought her to be enchanting. Her hair was in two simple braids that dangled unevenly as a few untameable strands escaped the elaborate twists and she nodded eagerly with a spoonful of goose shoved in her mouth. "What exactly is sheep-shifting?"
Jeyne looked wearily at the child but inquisitive all the same as she poked her cutlery into the meat on her plate.
Arya sighed as she began to explain. "Cut holes into her mattress, stuff sheep dung inside and then sew it all back up again."
Green irises swelled up in shock as pearly white teeth sucked the remnants of goose off the fork before Jeyne cleared her throat. "I'll keep that in mind." She said in a hushed whisper, her voice twinged with a slight amusement at what the girl was suggesting as she followed her gaze to Maegelle and Sansa chatting away a few seats away and ahead of them.
"What are you filling her head with?"
Jeyne turned to the source of the question to find Robb Stark sporting a beguiled twinkle in his eye, his teeth all on display as he grinned boyishly. His tone was playful and from the way he slid across from his array of seats to sit beside her with a complete ease, Jeyne could see that—much unlike her— company of the opposite gender did not have his stomach in knots. Jeyne wasn't sure if she liked what that suggested.
A boy as charming and handsome as him, what good would I do as his wife when he could have a beautiful rose like Margery Tyrell or even the Baratheon kings daughter?
"She deserves it." Arya shrugged.
Robb raised a chastising eyebrow as he turned his attention to the Redwyne girl. "Forgive my sister, she has a habit of taunting Sansa relentlessly, and it seems she wishes to pollute your ears with her tricks."
He spoke with an eloquence Jeyne envied as she found her breath hitched in her throat whilst she was drowning in the blue of his eyes. All he was doing was looking at her, he wasn't looking at her in lust and he wasn't even looking at her as if he wanted her but still he had the charm of the knights and lords her septa's had warned her to stay away from.
"She is no bother. I find her rather sweet actually." Jeyne smiled as she met eyes with the child again.
"See Robb, she likes me." Arya said smugly before she returned to playing about with her food.
"And it is me that should be asking for forgiveness," Jeyne began and much to her pleasure, had found she was not stammering, "...for the commotion me and Maegelle caused the very first time you had become acquainted with us."
She elaborated further when Robb looked to her in confusion, her cheeks flushing a crimson red as she averted her gaze to anywhere but him.
"It was quite the first impression," He laughed, and Jeyne found she quite liked the sound. "But I assure you Lady Jeyne, you need not feel embarrassed, I have seen Arya and Sansa do much worse." She smiled at him shyly as she glanced at him through her long wispy eyelashes, doe green eyes shimmering with a humble goodness.
"May I make a request?" Jeyne asked and when she asked so sweetly, who was he to decline.
"Could you not call me Lady Jeyne?"
There were only two reasons people ever called her Lady Jeyne; one was to mock her and the other because not everyone knew it was to mock her. It was the proper thing to call her so when the lords and ladies beckoned her by the title she could not protest but if Robb Stark were to be her husband one day, she would hate for him to have ever called her that.
It was not like the heir of Winterfell would concern himself with the matters of smallfolk stories and happenstances at the arbour so she could not fault him for his blissful ignorance. It was to mock her yes but he does not know this. Arya, however, seemed to as she reached past Jeyne and hit her brothers arm to which he hissed.
Furrowing his brows in confusion at the request, he complied with a gentle nod anyways as he threw an unimpressed look to Arya. "If that would please you La— Jeyne, I am happy to comply."
"Thank you, My Lord." She smiled.
"Then I must also insist you call me Robb?" He countered, grinning at her, his teeth more polished and straight than Jeyne imagined a wolves to be— not the vicious coral she had been cautioned about in her younger years as well as the scorching breath of a dragon. She was being silly again, mother already told me that dragons are just a tale of the past now.
Robb was peering at her inexplicably once she had shook her head free of her thoughts, laughing nervously. Oh, I hope he does not think me strange.
When she did not speak, her cleared his throat nervously as if her anxious persona had passed onto him as he gestured towards her cup. "Your cup is empty, would you like me to pour you some more wine?"
"Oh, I do not drink wine," Jeyne said, her voice as light as a feather, "My father does not like us to."
Robb gave a half suppressed laugh at her words but his amusement was short lived when she turned to look at him with her brows knitted, lips curved downwards into a pout that made her look like a child yet even more sweet, she thought he was laughing at her. "What was so silly about what I said?" She murmured, her voice barely above a whisper causing Robb to clear his throat immediately and justify himself.
"I am sorry, I thought you were jesting..." he trailed off awkwardly as he looked to Arya in desperation to rescue him from the hole he had dug himself into. "I suppose I find it odd that the arbour is home to the finest wines and you, despite being a Redwyne, have never tried any."
He reasoned to which Arya gave him a sly thumbs up and he himself sighed a breath of relief internally as Jeyne's rigid demeanour relaxed a little at his explanation. "It isn't that I would not like to try it someday," she whispered to him, as she looked around to make sure no one could hear her, "I just do not want to upset my father." She was much like Sansa, naive, good, obedient and kind but could those be the makings of the girl who was to be Lady of Winterfell one day? The Northeners would tear her apart if the wolves didn't rip her to shreds first. Robb smiled to himself as he leant leant in closer to her, her heart thumping in her chest at the close proximity and the sense of his hot breath on her ear, "Jeyne, you are—"
"My fathers favourite." Maegelle perked up contentedly from her place as she smiled at the pair. "My cousins grandmother told me fathers only have their second daughter because the first will be everything you do not want and the second, well the second knows exactly what not to be." She winked at Jeyne as she emptied the contents of her goblet, first displaying her cup to Robb, revealing her drink as honey-sweetened wine.
"I do not think that is true." Sansa protested, most likely offended by the statement.
Jeyne shook her head at her sister, picking at her fingernails underneath the table, recalling one of the many wise epiphanies Olenna Tyrell had shared with them. She used to be a Redwyne, just like Jeyne. Her fathers name was forgotten now and her mothers was never hers; she was the Queen of Thorns now. So Jeyne was not surprised that most of the things she said hurt.
"And what did she have to say about first born sons?" Robb replied as he rested his elbows on the table, staring at Maegelle intently.
She smiled coyly, fluttering her eyelashes at Ned Stark's heir, replying to the boy in tones as sweet as honey. "They're spoiled cunts who have everything handed to them."
Jeyne would have gasped at her sisters crudeness if it were not for the way Robb Stark was making sheep's eyes at Maegelle. She could not blame him, or pretend she was surprised— everything about Maegelle was heavenly from her siren eyes to her plump bowlike lips and her well endowed chest pooling from her dress was the cherry on top.
Lady Jeyne scoffed to herself at the sight, glad to see at least Arya's mouth twisted up into a grimace. Smoothing the skirt of her dress, she stood up, intertwining her fingers dejectedly. "You must excuse me," Jeyne announced, "I am feeling rather tired, I shall take rest in my chambers."
Sansa looked to her pitifully as Robb Stark snapped out of his reverie studying every inch of Maegelle, fixing his gaze on his latent intended instead.
"Jeyne Grace, don't be ridiculous, you have barely touched your food." Maegelle said disbelievingly, pointing towards the myriad of lemon cakes stacked on her dish.
"Surely you would not have filled your dinner plate this much if you were not hungry." Robb reasoned lightheartedly as he too gestured to her lemon cakes, they were so many that they were toppling off each other. The handsome lord was talking with his tongue in cheek clearly, his teasing of her so unchallenging when a few words from her sister had sent him in a daze.
"I seemed to have lost my appetite." Jeyne bit, even then so softly, leaving her company with only the sound of her footsteps as she walked towards the large doors.
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"Off sulking again, are we?"
Since her untimely departure from the feast, Jeyne had retreated to her quarters in hopes for some peace and well-needed solitude. Her brother, however, had other plans as not soon after he had seen the flower headed girl headed to leave the feast the Starks had prepared for them, he excused himself momentarily to follow her. Denys knew something must be wrong, Jeyne was much too polite and well versed with the etiquette of high lords and ladies to simply up and leave the banquet hall without so much as an acknowledgment of Lord and Lady Stark's efforts.
Jeyne groaned at the sound of the familar voice as it's owners knuckles knocked rhythmically against the rigid cold door, isolating her from the rest of the Winterfell's occupants.
"Go away!"
Denys, however, took her exclamation as an invitation as he flung the heavy door open, waltzed through her room and plopped himself comfortably beside the moping girl on her bed.
"Why are you here?" Jeyne grumbled, her voice muffled as her face remained planted into the velvety silks of her pillow.
"I followed the trail of petals and they lead me here." Denys quipped lamely as he plucked an ivory rose from her hair before propping himself up with his elbows and his palms stretching over the back of his head, his eerily long legs straightened out on the cushiony duvet.
"Stop it!" Jeyne whined as she swatted away his hands.
"Would you care to tell your only brother why you look so forlorn?"
The question came when she was tossing over, revealing her puffy pink eyes and her snotty nose. Jeyne was silent for a little bit but Denys was stubborn, at least more stubborn than her. He would not leave until he knew.
"Why me?"
Lady Jeyne spoke in a quiet voice, her green eyes boring into her brothers brown ones as he frowned back at her confusedly, prompting her to elaborate.
"Why does father want me to marry Robb Stark?"
"There is a plethora of pretty girls who fancy him, from whores to highborns to princesses," Jeyne muttered, fiddling with a loose thread on her dress. "What good would a girl from the arbour do him?"
Denys took a deep audible breath, expressing consideration for his sweet sisters sensitivity. "You think him too good for you little sister but tell me what makes Robb Stark so noteworthy that you pale in comparison." Jeyne looked at him incredulously, thinking the answer obvious.
"He is the heir of Winterfell."
"And you are Jeyne." Denys countered, "No other highborn, whore or princess could outshine you in my eyes." He grinned at his little sister, pleased to have put a smile on her face, even if it was just a small one.
"I am your sister, you have to say that." Jeyne raised her left brow, her spirits lifting as her brother comforted her.
"Maegelle is also my sister..." Denys reasoned, "...and I think her a demon sired idiot most of the time." His words laced with nonchalance, Jeyne could not help but giggle at the insult, although she felt a little guilt at mocking her sister behind her back soon enough.
"Do not be cruel." She chastised, Denys scoffing in response.
"She might've been the one to put all those fancy flowers in your hair but don't forget she was the one who pulled them out in the first place."
Jeyne threw an unimpressed look to the eldest Redwyne. "Sometimes I think you enjoy the both of us fighting."
The brown haired boy held his hands up in surrender, his malt-musing mountain eyes flooded with mischief as the notion occurred to him. "Jeyne, Jeyne, Jeyne," Denys goaded her, "There is a reason you are my favourite, there is not even a speck of evil in you."
He threw his arm around Jeyne's shoulder as he sat up, her expression exuding innocence as dazzling forest green eyes stared up at him widely. Dark eyebrows knitted in interest, Jeyne's face was scrunched up and she did not even realise it. "You are good and kind, the comely face of a woman will fade but a gentle heart like yours is what shall keep a man enamoured in the end."
"If I am to marry Robb Stark, I will have three more brothers." Jeyne mused, pretending to be deep in thought. "I cannot promise you will remain my favourite."
Denys whacked her upside her head in response whilst the pair of siblings chuckled, Jeyne resting her head on her brothers shoulder in relief that he would always be there to come to her aid. Maegelle could keep the adoration from Robb Stark. Jeyne had something far more precious.
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