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LADY JEYNE
a song of ice and fire — AU ✧
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⋆ iv. Jenny Of Oldstones ⋆
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— MOST GIRLS HER AGE DREAMED OF being princesses, marrying princes, wearing the finest gossamer gowns, being crowned with diadems made of gold or growing to be queen. Jeyne didn't want any of that. Not because she thought she was better than anyone else no; it was more the fright that filled her at all the tales of scorned queens. Fate had never been kind to Targeryan women and theirs were the longest reign— Rhaella Targeryan was maltreated by her husband or rather her brother and sentenced to death by childbirth as was Aemma Targeryan, mother of Rhaenyra Targeryan or rather the half-year queen who saw her sons die like flies and was eaten by the dragon of her half-brother who stole the throne from her to begin with only to be remembered as 'Maegor With Tits' in the end. Alas, Jeyne was no secret Targeryan.
Jeyne dreamed of singing. She could play the high harp and the bells and if she didn't shrink into herself at the thought of broadcasting her talents, Jeyne would dance to her hearts content at the feasts her father hosted and balls kings and queens and lords and ladies threw. Every verse that fell from her lips seemed to be bathed in a melodious sweetness, even now when she sang with her voice barely above a whisper Ned Stark seem enthralled as if her euphonious harmony was spell binding.
"High in the halls of the King who are gone Jenny would dance with her ghosts..."
Grey eyes fixed on the graven image that did not do his deceased sister justice, a newly formed lump aching in his throat, Eddard fell short in alerting his timorous company of his presence. The delicacy in her voice was intangible but still it was softer than anything he had ever touched.
"The ones she had lost and the ones she had found... and the ones who had loved her the most."
Jeyne rose to her feet, the tune on her tongues still pleasant to the ears of a man she did not even know stood a few steps behind her, brushing the sculpted features of the statue in front of her in a sort of wondrous pity with her head tilted dazedly.
"The ones who'd been gone for so very long She couldn't remember their names..."
She had paused briefly, plucking a feather from the ruffled top of her dress, gentle placing it into a hand of stone.
"They spun her around around on the damp old stones, Spun away all her sorrow and pain."
At that moment, Jeyne twirled around lost in a pretend world, the skirt of her gown lined with threads fashioned in the image of the colourless moonbloom flower that grew in the gardens of Oldtown. Jeyne also dreamed of flowers. Jeyne remembered when her father had taken her to properly tour the town, home to the Citadel where the maesters were trained and given their changes and the second largest city of Westeros and all she had cared about was the garden. The dress was a gift from her mothers sister— Lady Alerie Neè Hightower— Tyrell now— during her stay with her family and when she wore it, it was closest she felt to being beautiful.
Gasping loudly, Jeyne's mouth was left agape in horror while she stared Lord Stark wide— eyes; equally as stunned by his presence as she was desperate for her ground to swallow her whole. "My apologies, I did not mean to startle you."
"L— lord Stark, the fault is mine, I sh—should not even be here." Jeyne apologised shamefaced, bowing her head in a deep respect. "One never need apologise for paying their respects." Eddard replied, pacifying her guilty consciousness, though truly she was not guilty of any wrongdoing. "Winterfell could very well be your home one day, I think it good you seek out a place of comfort."
"They would have been your family too." The Lord said wistfully as his sullen eyes flitted between his brother and father.
As if she was tongue-tied, Jeyne remained silent for a few seconds struggling to find the right words. They spoke so openly of her living her in the years to come, him and Lady Stark and she did not know what to make off it. Truth be told, Robb Stark did not strike her as the type of boy to marry out of duty and that was what Jeyne would he to him. Duty.
"My Lord, may I ask you something?" She mustered up the courage to say, him nodding in response. "It was your brother Brandon Lady Catelyn was meant to wed." Jeyne spoke, her voice as light as a feather as she treated her words carefully as not to cause offence. "Was it duty then that brought about your marriage?"
These were things Ned did not speak off but given the faint-hearted and innocent way of the girl who asked, his dismissal of the topic would only frighten her away entirely. "Yes," he spoke plainly as he chose his words carefully, "For the alliance of Hoster Tully in King Roberts Rebellion, I agreed to marry his daughter when Brandon could no longer do so."
Jeyne's green eyes shon with concern as she stared up at him, brows furrowed. "But we grew to love each other over time." Ned added, his understanding of why it piqued her interest so growing. "Perhaps not as exciting as young love or secret passion." He mused, a mirthful smile on his face as he watched Jeyne's expression relax slightly. It was strange for him, to speak so freely to a daughter that was not his own but with the quirk of Jeyne's lips and the unclenching of her tight cheekbones, Eddard was glad he did.
"Lord Stark, if Robb does not wish for me to be his wife after we have left Winterfell and returned home..." Jeyne voiced her cautions, maintaining her unusually bold manner, the words of the drunken blue eyed boy ringing in her mind. "Please do not make him marry me out of duty."
Ned looked at her in disconcert, surprised by her request and yet evenly just as gratified by the depth of her generosity. To give up being the Lady of Winterfell all so the boy who she was set to wed would be free to choose the course of his life in some way. "I must admit Jeyne, I find your plea curious." He said, giving voice to his queries.
Locking her hands together as she intertwined her slender fingers, Jeyne shifted her gaze to the statues she had been singing to. "Robb is good," She began, "I do not know him yet I can see he will grow to be a good man but still I do not know him."
"I would not be able to stand it if I was the reason he grew bitter." Jeyne explained earnestly, fidgeting with the loose skin of her thumbnails she felt a wave of tranquility only when Lord Eddard lowered his head and closed his eyes in a reluctant agreement. Moments void of needless chatter passed as the two kept their eyes trained on the stone momentum's.
"That song you were singing... I trust you are familiar with the history behind it." He assumed conversation, although he of course already knew the answer. The tale of Jenny and Duncan was as infamous in the history books as the story of Prince Rhaegar and Lyanna would be.
"The tragedy of summerhall is a great one, Duncan Targeryan had become besotted at first sight of the common girl. He had loved her so much, he married her against her fathers wishes, ultimately relinquishing his right to the iron throne. And so he became the prince of dragonflies." Jeyne narrated to him avidly but like she had been hungrily waiting for someone to ask her something or even to just listen to her.
"Only for them to perish in the ashes King Aegon coveted the dragons were to be born from..." Jeyne narrated, a muted melancholy looming about the air as she recalled the accounts, "...leaving Jenny to dance with her ghosts."
"If I may Jeyne, not to fluster you, I found myself fond of your voice." Ned complimented warmly, the pair of them now tearing their gaze away from the glorified remains of the dead. "You hold a very sweet sounding tune."
Lifting her head, her cheeks appearing fuller as she smiled sincerely at the man with crinkles in his own face when he returned the sentiment. "You are too kind My Lord, you must not have heard many musicians of late if you think me any good."
"You are much too modest."
"Believe me, My Lord, I am not. I have heard it sung by a many performers who chant the popular Ballard in the streets of Westeros like the chords in their throat have been blessed by the gods." Jeyne expressed resolutely, thinking in high esteem of the musicians from her home. "At least on the polished streets of Oldtown, the Arbour included of course."
"Maybe even across the narrow seas where the beggar king and daenerys stormborn live." She spoke, her eyes glazing over in thought as she reflected upon their plight. "It is after all their ancestry."
This was the most Jeyne had spoken of her own accord to anyone that wasn't her own kin, she did not even think her and Jon had shared as meaningful or profound a conversation yet. "I take it you do a lot of reading." Ned proposed, Jeyne only pursing her lips inwards sheepishly when she shook her head. "It is mostly songs I learn history from," she shared, "...there are not many melodies of the Redwyne's that I have heard but I do remember some lyrics of a King who was lost at sea."
"Sansa and you are quite alike, she sings too." Eddard replied, pleased with her answer, himself recalling the distant pages of a history book detailing how King Meryn III Gardener was able to annex the island into his domain when his cousin, the last Redwyne King of the Arbour had believed to be swallowed by the ocean. "Perhaps it will be a song of the two of yours they sing in the years to come."
Jeyne looked to him kindly, her smile fading away as a solemness cast over her features. "Maybe there will be no more sad songs to sing, if the gods— the old and the new— are kind to us."
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— for once, jeyne redwyne had wilfully foresaken the abundance of bosoms she cut off from their ripe vines stems and looped through the sleek strands rooted in her scalp. the silky walnut-shaded mop was stifled by one of the sophisticated gem-embedded nets her mother had leant to her for the night, gorgeous single wisps slinking through the meshing that framed her face generously. frilly sleeves were ruffled to covet the true nature of her arms, juniper lightened with hued tones of olive variegated with colours of ruby and tiny fine stones littered nearly over her sleeves as well as the cubic neckline of her bodice that was tailored sublimely to her petite figure.
coloured with the serum of crushed rose petals, jeyne's mouth looked like dornish red wine had spilled onto. at least that was how it looked to robb stark, he thought it funny because her lips had probably never even known the taste. he wondered what else her lips had never known the taste off. sporadic hot-blooded nights spent with the very well-trained whores of the brother outside winterfell meant he would be a hypocrite if he was bothered by the idea of the redwyne girl in the passionate embrace of another boy. he would be lying still if he claimed the promiscuity— or lack thereof— of his wife in the making did not gnaw at his mind slightly.
from the way she stuttered and how she could scarcely maintain eye contact with him when they first met, robb doubted she had much if any of an amorous past. if there was a boy, he would think jeyne to like a poet or a singer rather than a knight or even a squire instead of a lord or prince.
The impression that she was at ease was something that looked to be only when she was Jon and Arya, or maybe it was anyone that wasn't him. Envy would be too bitter an emotion to describe how he felt when his closest brother waltzed into the the Great Hall with Jeyne in suite as his wilder sister trodded behind them gleefully. It was more like he was intrigued.
"Looks like Lady Jeyne has at last ditched the dead roses in her hair." Theon mocked, picking apart the illusion of the decorous femininity she created around her and flaunted to everyone.
"The fixation you have with everything she does, wears and says gives reason for suspicion Theon." Sansa pointed out in defence of Jeyne, curling out her lip in distaste as she glowered at the spiteful boy who seemed hate-filled at the Redwyne girls very existence. He had a great big chip on his shoulder, a chip the same weight and height as Jeyne. "I just so happen to find the flowers in her hair charming, as does Robb."
The Tully-red haired girl sent her brother an authoritative look, forcing him to comply with her as he swilled down the sliver of wine that remained in his mouth. "Mmmh, yes Sansa." Robb hummed, dismissively agreeing with his sister as Theon only shook his head in a cruel amusement, laughing as he munched on a piece of freshly-baked bread.
The lord in question seemed more preoccupied in the happenstances of the meal courses being brought out than he was in the prettifying of a girls hair. Robb had been admittedly focused on Jeyne's materialisation since the moment she had been lingering just by the doorway but the aroma of beef and bacon pies was enough to make him stray from focus.
Beside, beyond the factor that Jeyne would be Jeyne Stark in the near future, Robb was not too fazed by what she put in her hair or how she dressed. They were more like distant friends that shared a few kind words here and there than two children full of youth pining and lusting for each other. His father had always known Robb wanted to marry for love and as Ned Stark watched his bastard son smile and dottingly converse with beside the daughter of a man he gave his word to, his own eyes trailed to Desmond's staring at the pair with a look in his eye he couldn't quite decipher.
"I did not know you could play the harp." Jon said, his bottom lip pouted out in the spirit of inquiry.
"There are lots of things you do not know about me Jon Snow." Jeyne replied cheekily, well as cheeky as she could be, the frost from the lemon frosted cakes she had been eating still sat upon her lip.
"You have a little..." Jon pointed to the remnants of her favourite desert around her mouth, a mirthful twinkle in his eye as he looked at her. Jeyne giggled lightly before she licked the frost off, popping an iced blueberry from the bowl full of them into her mouth.
"I know that you love flowers." Jon declared confidently.
"Jon, I think even Rickon knows I love flowers and he has not even celebrated his first name day yet."
"Tell me something that would surprise me." Jeyne hummed softly, entertained by the prospect of her own suggestion.
Raising his eyebrows, his dark curls falling elegantly yet messily still past his face, Jon looked to her in an incredulous amusement. "You want me to tell you something that would surprise you...about yourself?"
She nodded happily, her sweet smile compelling him to mull over in thought.
"Hmmm," Jon pondered, "I think you wish you had been born in Highgarden, amongst all the roses and pretty things—"
Jeyne shook her head in disagreement. "I loved growing up in the arbour. It is my home." She informed him amiably. "Although water terrifies me."
With a waggle of his eyebrows, Jon pretended to throw the water that was remaining in his cup to her causing Jeyne to look at him pointedly before she snatched the chalice away from him as they laughed. "I do not mean the type you drink, I mean the kind you can drown in." She elaborated further when he looked to her strangely. "Funny I know, that I grew up in the the arbour— home of the ocean you could say—and am afraid the water would swallow me whole. I cannot swim."
Corners of her lips quirking up, Jeyne swished the contents of the cup in her hand as she reminisced over the oddly fond memory. "Denys tried to teach me one him and one of the servants sons but I screamed and wept when Denys let go of me."
"It was a mistake for you to tell me that." Jon said, Jeyne squinting her soft green eyes promoting him to explain. "Now if you ever upset me I will simply throw you into the closest sea I can find."
Her smile so large, all the muscles in her face hurt, she shook her head at him as she looked up at him through the gaps of her eyelashes. "Then I will make sure I never upset you." She said.
"One thing I am certain I know then," Jon reverted back to the first discussion at hand, "you pray, you pray a lot-"
"That does not surprise me—"
"You pray to the faith of the seven yes, much different to me but there must be a face you value over the others." Jon said brazenly, impressed with himself for the realisation. "I think it is The Mother." He said.
"The Mother is a loving and protective aspect among the Seven. She prays for 'Mercy' and to keep one's loved ones safe." Jeyne told him, admiration twinkling in her eyes as she recalled the generosity of her gods. "She is also often thanked by offerings when a woman becomes pregnant, to praise the Mother for giving the gift of life."
Jon smiled at her with an air of smugness, thinking he was right as she rambled on.
"But you are wrong." Jeyne said, deflating his self pride. "It is the stranger I am inclined to, death is the only thing that is certain."
"The 'gift of life' is also promised." Jon countered, quoting her own words as he studied her eyes.
"Who is to say every woman will certainly bring about a child into this world, hm?" Her hum was soft as she spoke and if she was not Jeyne, he would have felt he was being chastised. "Yet there is no denying that every woman will die."
"Valar Morghulis." Jeyne pronounced the foreign words in a a strange accent, like she was mimicking the way she had even ever heard them. Words of the free city Bravos, past the narrow sea had somehow found their way to a girl of ten and three. Still, Jeyne had been younger than that when she became acquainted with the phrase. It was when she had been bold enough to sneak out of the castle by herself into Oldtown as she scoured the plant-thriving city for flowers until night had fallen. Only six at the time, the Redwyne child did not expect for her father to worry so deeply over her whereabouts—
for him sending the reams of knights he could not afford to bring his daughter back to him. Ser Torgen Oakhart was the one who had rooted her out, looking high and low in the endless woods and gardens to return her to her family. Jeyne had always liked him, he was more courteous to her than any of the guards usually were and he did also not sneer at her in judgement like the rest did when the lords and ladies were not looking. Yet before Ser Torgen had come to her rescue, Jeyne encountered a man in the armour of the army sworn to her uncle stood over a corpse, disappearing into the dark twilight of the night right under her nose with that being all the he said. Eyes that seemed to be pigmented with every hue under the sun drilled into her green ones as the five syllables fell from his lips. No one believed Jeyne, making little off the experience — chalking it up to a trumped up story fabricated by a wildly imaginative child. "All men must die."
Jon looked to Jeyne peculiarly, her emerald eyes seeming to be illuminated by thought. "You are not who I thought you were." He mused warmly, admiration playing on his lips and twinkling behind grey eyes that did not oft give away an emotion other than a haunted dullness.
"Oh Jon look they are calling us." Jeyne said innocently enough, sending a polite smile in the direction of her mother and father and Lord and Lady Stark as they gestured for her to come to them. "I do not they think mean me also." The bastard said, mouth flat as Jeyne's face fell. "Jon I am so—"
"It is okay. They are waiting for you."
With an apologetic glance in his direction, Jeyne made her way to them resisting the urge to kick herself at her lack of sensitivity all the while Jon Snow glanced longingly at the ancestral seats that never made a place for him.
"Jeyne bled not too long ago... she should come into her woman's body soon. One I'm certain Robb will find pleasure in too." That was the first thing Jeyne had heard, Lady Redwyne informing her daughters' in laws to be as her Hightower irises smiled at her company pridefully, not thinking anything she said too forward as Desmond looked at her in a chastising embarrassment. His face scrunched up in a horror that resembled that of his daughters, only Jeyne's cheeks were flushed with the vibrant colour of hot scarlett and her eyes were bulging out of their sockets as her mouth dropped in offence. "Mother!"
"What?" She muttered nonchalantly.
It had been unfortunate that Eddard Stark had chosen moments before then to beckon for his eldest son to come over, Robb immediately choking on the wine that had been brought as complimentary of his guests as he came to stand aside Jeyne. "This wine seems to have a bit of a kick to it." The heir croaked out, the vintage beverage he had been gorging himself on betraying him as his throat burnt from his future good mothers openness.
Jeyne offered him the cup she had prepossed from Jon, the softness in her rosy face as nourishing as the water she gave him. Thanking her, Robb turned his attention to Lord Desmond after having regained his composure. "If you're enjoying this substandard quality of wine, you are deprived of the arbour gold my home is famed for." Jeyne noted her father took a lot of pride in the rich white wines they came from. The rich white wines he never lets me drink. "When it suits you, you must come and stay with us so you can savour true flavour."
"Thank you My Lord, I look forward to it." The beautiful blue-eyed boy replied gratefully, biting his lip to hold back a smirk at the words Jeyne had thought she only spoke in her mind.
"We must arrange a trip to the arbour now Desmond, you have very nearly promised my son the finest of wines." Eddard jested, hilarity in his words.
"I do have a request, however, My Lord." Robb interjected, exuding politeness still. Stretching his fingers as if in a gesture prompting him to go on, Desmond seemed intrigued.
"If I am to try this gold arbour, I wish for you to let Jeyne to drink it too when the time comes."
How different his request had been from hers, Jeyne thought and as she locked eyes with Lord Stark, he appeared to be thinking the same thing as her. Even so, Jeyne beamed silently, the lips of her corner not quirking upwards too much as she fought off the bliss that came per the attentiveness Robb stark had paid to her— even if he had become enamoured with Maegelle shortly after. If he remembered that, she must not have bored him too much that meant. Looking to the ground shyly after sharing a considerate smile with the heir, Jeyne thought it was quite nice. To have someone listen to her. Not many people did that. Also, it being the boy who was her betrothed to be did not hurt either. [ Even if he did tell her he did not want to marry her ] .
Lord Desmond chuckled at the petition he made, turning to look at Lord and Lady Stark in an impressed pleased manner. "Very well, " He said, "But just the one."
Lady Stark and Redwyne shook their heads amusedly, Denyse popping her head forward to talk to the fellow mother and Lady. "If Desmond had his way, Jeyne and Maegelle would spend their entire lives never knowing the sweet taste of wine." She hummed joyfully/dotingly so fond of her husband and his protectiveness over their daughters. "Ned lets the children have one cup of wine at the feasts," Catelyn contributed light-heartedly, "... although I think some indulge themselves a little more than that."
"I find I cannot disagree." Jeyne hummed, her green eyes brightened up in an amusement so prepossessing, Robb could feel them on the side of his face without even having to fully look.
With Catelyn's eyebrow arched at Robb knowingly, the boy laughed nervously as he decided to steer Jeyne away by first wrapping his arm around the other side of her tiny waist, finding it pleasantly snug and warm. Jeyne felt foolish to admit but there was something quite comforting in the way he touched her, fingers softly pressing into her sides as he pulled her closer to him albeit under the rouse of evasion. "I should make sure Jeyne eats something, excuse us." He said, leading her away as Desmond watched them with a tenderness, smiling as Robb whispered something to her along the lines of a promise of lemon cakes.
"She has my eyes." Desmond crooned fondly, leaving Catelyn to stare at him confusedly, Denyse otherwise preoccupied with admiring the rings slipped onto her hand. Jeyne's eyes were green, his were brown.
There was little resemblance between them if any, Lord Desmond had freckles dotted on his nose and cheeks and orangey-tinted hair which was not uncommon for Redwyne's but if it were not for the way he doted on her, it would be questionable if Jeyne was even his child.
"I mean the look in her eyes," Desmond elaborated when he noticed the puzzlement on the woman's face. "So full of wonder and curiosity in them, like she wants to know and see everything the world has to offer." He said in an awe of his daughter that Ned and Catelyn thought sweet but it came even more apparent it was Jeyne he favoured the most from his children. "She is much too shy and so... so doubtful of herself, I worry for her. I fear she will not get the things she does not even know she wants for yet." He sighed, rubbing his hand over his auburn stubble as Denyse placed a hand on his shoulder comfortingly. "As do I."
"Robb is the opposite." Ned stated coolly. "If anyone is to bring Jeyne out of her shell, I am certain it will be him." Catelyn offered kindly, sending them an assuring smile compared to her husbands lordly observation, the heedfulness of all four of them being devoted to the fair to say unmatched duo.
"I have never actually seen an..." Jeyne began divulging, leaning closer into Arya for confirmation of the word that had slipped her mind. "Imp." Arya whispered to her to which she exhaled a breath of relief. Only a few minutes had passed since Robb had taken her with him to the table where he sat with his sisters and Theon, Maegelle joining them soon after she had sauntered her way into the Great Hall late per usual. And somehow, this came to be the topic of their conversations.
"An imp yes. I have never actually seen an imp before." Jeyne announced dulcetly.
"The proper term to use would be dwarf." Sansa corrected kindly, offering the girl a sweet smile from across from her whilst she generously piled up some of her own lemon cakes— among other more filling food— onto Jeyne's otherwise empty-looking/seeming plate.
Jeyne nodded in a way that would have had Robb convinced Sansa was her Septa. "Do not worry if you have not Jeyne Grace. I've never seen a giant before." The heir said in between the morsels of meat that left him speaking with a mouthful, waving about his fork as his eyes shon with a gentle comfort.
Tilting her head to the side cutely, her astutely ample cheeks rising while she shyly smiled at him. "Hodor is a giant, Robb." She pointed out.
"Only a half giant." He grinned back at her. "It doesn't count."
"A half giant with half a brain, it makes sense." Maegelle piped up, her comment rude but not ill-intentioned. The elder of the Redwyne sisters looked a vision today, her ornately fashioned black silks accentuating her shapely figure and voluptuous assets. With her coiffure tying half her luscious tresses of her hair back and the jade black ribbon making her gorgeous features even more apparent, Jeyne could not even blame Robb Stark if he could not tear his eyes away from her this night. The paragon of everything men wanted. The girl who prettified herself with flowers and jewels found a sort of enjoyment in watching the heir, who was supposed to be seduced by her, writhe in a refrain not to leer at her in a lascivious lust. It was like Maegelle was a box of sweets, a very ravishing assortment of confectionary.
Maegelle raised an eyebrow inquisitively at the Stark boy's lack of recognition of her, almost like she was feeling neglected.
"If it isn't the prettiest girl at the feast." The deep voice of Denys broke any tension in the air as he lightly slapped his arms onto Jeyne's shoulder. He was accompanied by Jon, who stood awkwardly by the bold auburn-tinted brown haired boy a little puzzled that he had even requested him to join them.
"Brother." Jeyne smiled up at him in admiration, Maegelle pretending to gag at the sight of Denys doting over the younger of the pair.
"And where have you been?" Maegelle asked guilefully, tone dripping in a venomous longing to embarrass him.
"My whereabouts are not for a lady's ears, especially one as virtuous as you." Denys replied aimlessly, not caring much for any antics of his more shrewd of sisters but insulting her all the same, stationing himself between the pair as he sat on the bench. Taking a fancy to the bread, he munched away on the savoury before he gestured with his spare hand for Jon to take a seat, displeased that he had not already done so. "So Jon, Robb," Denys began, "Tell me what do for some entertainment around here."
"I find myself rather bored, perhaps we should take to sparring or even another hunting trip. I'm not fussed." The flamboyant boy chattered onwards as the three boys conversed between themselves, not paying much heed to Theon due to Deny's distaste of the 'treasonous whore' as he put it as well as the girls around them. In the depths of chatter and roudy laughter, Jeyne's gaze was feasted upon Robb. He was the embodiment of radiance, always in a transport of delight which became more obvious to the girl the longer she watched him in ruth. Everything from his grin to his river born eyes was dipped in joy and it was like his shoulders have never known the burden of sorrow; the unpretentious lady from the arbour peered at him in worry that a marriage to her, one void of love, would change that for him. Her own smile, worn for the sake of pleasantry, was ridden with worry the longer she watched him in his bliss.
"Your necklace Jeyne, it is beautiful." Sansa complimented, lost for much other words as she admired the graceful rivière around her neck. Precious stones in the colours of her dress were encrusted into the chain that settled on her dainty neck, Maegelle smiling fondly at her little sister then. "It looks lovelier on her than it would anyone else, does it not."
Pink creeping onto her cheeks, Jeyne smiled at Maegelle's kind words, even Arya— a renowned hater of all things ladylike and girly— was gazing up at the girl merrily as if she thought Jeyne all things pretty and kind.
"Our aunt Alerie made Jeyne the dress she is wearing now as a gift for her last name day because she knew how fond Jeyne was of this." Maegelle informed the girls, toying with the jewels around her sisters neck, warmth in her words whilst she looked to her baby sister she could not believe had grown so much.
"My father gave it to my mother as a gift," Jeyne shared with Sansa, a cordial aura around all the girls whilst they bonded. "...green for the colours of the house and red because he likes the way she looks in it."
"You mean your father gave it to his wife." Theon interjected, taking Jeyne by surprise and catching the attention of Denyse, Robb and Jon in particular at the same time. He was sat adjacent to Robb, Jon on the other side of his brother and across from Arya and until now, Jeyne had not paid him much notice. "Lady Denyse Hightower Redwyne." He continued in a matter of fact-manner.
"Theon." Robb warned, his voice deepening as his eyes clouded over.
"Yes... my mother." Jeyne laughed as agreeably as she could but the discomfort was radiating off her as she stared at him confusedly, too naive to detect the malice behind his words. Ignoring the daggers that Jon was throwing him, Theon scoffed. "No not your mother." He sneered before the poisonously spiteful revelation came from spewing from his lips like wildfire.
"Your mother..." Theon said hushedly, but still loud enough to hear as he leant in to Jeyne cruelly, "...was a whore."
There it was. The secret that wasn't really a secret, that everyone knew but didn't really speak of, was out. Jeyne was a bastard, just like Jon Snow, only she was legitimised due to her fathers arm-twisting of Eddard Stark— who had her given the last name of a good honourable house per favour of the king. Jeyne didn't say that word. Bastard. She only ever thought it in her head.
A silence fell over the whole hall, not even a gasp to fill the soundless pit of shame that had befallen the bastard child of Desmond Redwyne. Robb Stark winced at her red face as the crystalline tears pooled in her eyes so much so that they seemed they would seep out in floods. Her breath heavy and eyebrows caving in and face contorted in a pain that had new life breathed into it while her feet rushed to release her from the agonising gazes set on her. The last thing she saw was her mothers eyes following her pitifully, Maegelle's nostrils flaring in anger as she took her glass of red wine and splattered it on Theon's face and Denys grabbing the bitter ironborn by the collar of his shirt.
"Jeyne!"
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vii. Jenny Of Oldstones
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BACK IN THE CRYPTS, KNEELING at the foot of the sculptures, Jeyne felt like she had never left or rather she wished she had never left. If she had stayed here singing in silvery dulcet tone, the rest of her evening would have remained harmonious even if it was spent in the company of ghosts. How strange it was that I should find more comfort in the silence of carvings of stones than a few words from a Greyjoy, Jeyne thought.
Her thumbs were sore from how much she had rubbed them against either each other or the beaded fabric decorating the hem of her dress. Hours had passed since she had fled the scene of execution with many witnesses to the occasion of her mortification, so many of them calling her name. No one sounded desperate enough for her to turn around for though.
Jeyne had known three names in just thirteen years of life, or four if you counted one of the many alliances the folk of Oldtown used to mock her. From Jeyne Flowers to Jeyne Grace to Jeyne Redwyne.
"Jeyne Grace."
The voice that usually would have startled her barely gauged a reaction from her as her eyes stayed trained on her bleeding fingernails, gaze slowly casting to look up at the statue built of Lyanna Stark before softly drifting to her nephew. It was a fleeting glance but still long enough for Robb to see pear green irises reduced to a sad sage as if all the tears she had shed drained the vibrant hue from her eyes. Dark plum purple circles rested beneath them like it was seams of wine she had been crying.
Jeyne Grace, she found it funny he called her that, her father loved her so much so he never let anyone call her by a bastards name.
"Everyone has been looking for you."
A dry chuckle, void of all humour and amusement, escaped her mouth as a sound of tiredness breathed through her nose. "That is not actually the name they gave me when I was born." Jeyne said, dazing at the statues again now. The fancy gem-netted ornament holding up the higher portion of her hair was all Robb could see now but unlike at the feast it was drooping now, so were her shoulders as her head remained bowed, picking at loose threads on her dress like always. "As I grew older, my father could not stand for me to be recognised by Flowers, though fitting seeing as I am always wearing them in my hair, so before my legitimisation could be approved by King Robert, that is what he addressed me by. I suppose it stuck."
Robb swallowed thickly, loitering far behind her dressed in his proper attire because he had not changed since the feast even though ungodly hours had gone by. "I didn't know."
"I would not have expected you to."
"I can stop calling you that, if you would like."
"I do not mind it." Jeyne said softly, "You say it sweeter than most."
The heir gingerly took a few more steps towards her, maintaining a respectful distance still not wanting to intrude too much on Jeyne's pity party. Well, anymore then he already had seen as he was the one to find her after a man hunt of scouring of the castles and towers and Great Keep for her. "Theon is an idiot." Robb said scornfully after a few more minutes of silence had lagged along.
"An idiot who told no lies." Jeyne hummed, sadness heavy in her voice. It was so gentle still, and it had Robb in a reverence of awe of how her kindness and soft nature remained intact. He had knelt down to her level now, blue eyes shining with compassion as his face expressed solemness, muscle jaws tensed as she finally looked to him properly, teary-eyed and puffy.
"A lie or not, it was not his place to speak to you in such a way." Robb said sharply, setting his hands against the cold dirt-ridden ground of the crypt. It made him wonder how cold Jeyne must be having forcing herself to rot away in here.
"Then whose place is it, hmm?" Jeyne asked, "Someone else somewhere else would have gathered the courage to say it to me. Something I lack." I am glass, fragile and so easily broken, that is why they treat me so.
"I will not pretend I know you very well," Robb sighed, disappointed with himself, "...Or even that I know you at all— the fault of which is mostly mine— but I have seen enough to know you are kind." There was a certain earnest in his voice that comforted Jeyne and that tugged at the corner of her lips as she offered him a weak smile, eyes still brimming with freshly risen tears ready to drop at any moment. "And kindness is not something very much people have."
"You are kind." Jeyne affirmed surely. "You would not be here with me now if you were not." Robb was looking at her now, with a newly formed admiration in his eyes like they had been rubbed clean to see how valuable Jeyne was.
"How did you know to find me here?"
Robb grimaced deeply at that, averting his gaze so he could avoid facing events that nagged at his mind to creep their way back into the limelight. "I know that you lied about what happened the other night." He confessed, sucking in his teeth at how impolite and discourteous he had been. "It is okay." He assured her quickly when he saw her eyes widen in alarm, mouth rushing to move to puke up some more omissions to make him feel better about himself. "I never took you to the crypts, did I?"
In a reluctance, Jeyne pressed her lips into a thin line guiltily and shook her head. "That is how I knew you would be here."
"Jeyne Grace, I do not mean to appease my own stricken conscious when I say this..." Robb uttered with remorse etched all over his face as well as in his words. "I am deeply ashamed that I came to you in such a way that you had to heave me to my chambers whilst I was neglecting my duties in caring for you." Jeyne was not angry about it. She had never been angry.
With furrowed brows and sleepy eyes, lips pulled into a dismayed frown, Jeyne shuffled closer to Robb, still not looking to him. "I do not want to be your duty." She said, holding back another storm of tears at the same time Theon's cruelness rang in her head like the bells common-folk would ring to yield. "I know you don't want to marry me."
"I did not mean what I said. I was rambling like a madman." Robb protested but Jeyne was drained and tired and tonight she felt no further need to appease anyone else or mould herself into someone they needed her to be.
"There are ladies more deserving of your hand than I am, prettier than I am, of more nobility and wealth than me. This is something I have always known." Jeyne told him truthfully, relieved to be able to speak to him directly instead of skirting around the topic of their impending betrothal. "I hold no ill feelings against you for wishing you could be free of me."
Regret was written all over Robb's face, a lump in his throat as she spoke and he struggled to find the things to say back to her, to assuage her of things he himself had made her feel, that he had been stupid and intoxicated enough to say aloud to her. "I do not wish to be free off you."
"I do not see you as some curse on me like how you think yourself to be to me." Robb rasped defensively as he gawped at her. Her face fell, not in sadness but the confusion and ache in her constrained muscles seemed to fall away as she turned to him to peer at him confusedly.
"Robb, you told me yourself with that you had no wish to marry me." Jeyne said calmly, like she was as unfazed by what he had said as much as she was by as the cold air of the night that was yet to dawn on her bronze skin. Analysing her now, it was clear the Redwyne girl was of some foreign descent with her Lys like features and dusky complexion with undertones of gold and olive.
"I did not even remember saying that until a bit ago!" The boy exclaimed, mouth agape as he scrambled for an explanation, one that he did not even seem sure he had. "Things can change okay, I can learn to l—
"That is just it though Robb," Jeyne sighed. "I do not expect or want for you to do anything for my benefit."
"Why must you assume it would be so difficult?" Robb said tiredly in response.
"I am the daughter of a whore being forced upon you, the heir of Winterfell." Jeyne stated, a humourless laugh falling from her lips at their plight. "I cannot accept that myself and so I carry the falsified title of a legitimate Redwyne, how can I expect you to accept me?"
Burying her into the nook of the knees she hugged to her chest, Jeyne avoided his gaze as she felt hot scalding tears stream down her cheeks and drip off of the edge of her chin. Even if loud sobs were trying to fight there way to the surface, Jeyne would maintain some humility still and so she choked them back.
Robb had filled the absence of touch as he took her hands gently but with an urgency of his own. He brushed away the traces of blood that grazed her fingernails softly. "It does not change who you are Jeyne Grace." Robb appeased her, speaking her tenderly way he would Sansa after one of her fights with Arya. He felt like it was his little sister Sansa he was comforting. "You are a reputable lady of House Redwyne who is virtuous and good too. Your father speaks of you like you are the greatest thing he has ever achieved."
"I must seem so ungrateful to you. I have the love of a woman who spared her husbands infidelity for the sake of a child, a noble namesake and still I complain." Jeyne uttered quietly, offering him a weak smile while she rubbed away the snot leaking from her nose and wiped the tears warming her face that had her feeling like a stupid little girl.
"If you think yourself ungrateful, I hate to know what you think of me." Robb commented, earning a sweet sounding laugh to fall from her lips as if a guttural ache in her heart had been released. He nudged her jokingly, their eyes meeting as she smiled. "Do not presume I regard you as anything wicked."
In the midst of tears and revelations, time seemed to move slowly with Jeyne's head now resting on Robb's shoulder. Nothing suggestive too it, the gesture was nothing more than an amiable nudge to a budding friendship. Like his mother and father, maybe the two of them could build something piece by piece too.
"I would like for us to be friends."
"I would like that too Jeyne Grace."
authors note: did you guys expect jeyne to be a bastard? 👀— i tried implanting subtle clues to it throughout, if you ever go back and read the other chapters i feel like you would maybe notice them. i am really proud of this chapter with my whole heart and i wrote it before i wrote the last chapter so writing that one to fill in the gaps was so difficult lol. jeyne being a flowers originally explains her closeness with jon a lot i feel like also because she has more of this sensation she can be her true self with this one. and finally we are seeing a genuine interaction between robb and jeyne! hardly any of that normal duty like drib drab they have going on. still, i feel like they are in the process of developing a friendship at the very least and there's nothing quite romantic there quite yet. please let me know your thoughts on this chapter, hope you enjoyed :)
unedited.