they all said i was pretty

indie private & semi-selective JEYNE POOLE from grrm's a song of ice and fire. 21+ written by alex.

[dracharcnae]

[jcyne]

dracharenae​:

✹ — RHAENYS HAD NEVER SEEN SUCH BLOOD SPURT from a person like that before. with ramsay upon his knees and jon snow wielding longclaw, rhaenys had stood in eerie calm beside jeyne. her fingers had grazed jeyne’s, in assurance that she was there if she required a touch, a sense of gravity to hold her down amidst the whole affair. in the moments before ramsay’s death, rhaenys had been grateful that his mouth had been gagged, for she cannot imagine the foul words that would have spewed from him on those final moments, particularly if he had seen jeyne in the crowd. it is better he died like a dog, worse than a dog, frankly. it was fitting, even as blood pooled from the stump that was his neck, and stained the stone beneath their feet; glistening and red, body still twitching. and when the ordeal was done, jeyne had parted from it. rhaenys had not followed immediately, allowing a passing of time for jeyne to process what she had seen, what she had released or clung to, before rhaenys could wait no more and sought her out. 

       rhaenys expected tears, but she is surprised by how alive jeyne’s eyes are, and how her smile is the brightest she has ever seen. “ yes. yes, sweet jeyne. it’s over. ” rhaenys approaches her, pressing a hand to jeyne’s tearstained cheek devotedly. “ how do you feel ? ? ? ”

jeyne leans into rhaenys’ touch, holding the princess’s hand to her tearstained cheek.  the weight of ramsay bolton has weight heavily over her from the moment she had arrived at winterfell as arya stark, to the moment that theon had helped her escape, once more, as JEYNE POOLE.  she is herself again, although not quite who she had been so many years ago, but jeyne knows that now she has the freedom to try to be ( even if she never shall be, not fully ).

but she smiles.  perhaps it is cruel to smile over the death of a man, but ramsay had not been man -- he had been a MONSTER.  “i feel as if i may fly, rhaenys,” she says, for she had flown once, with theon, and the giddiness of losing ramsay once more in finality likens back to such a moment.  “and i feel as if i may be sick, all at once.  i know it is unkind to revel in this way, but he will not be cruel to anyone every again.”  he will not hurt theon.  he will not hurt ME.

[jcyne]

she’s in the brothel when she hears the news that robb stark, king in the north, married a woman named jeyne. she thinks to the beautiful boy she watched play at swords in the training yards at winterfell, who smiled like the sun and laughed like a god.  she thinks of a crown atop his head, of him taller and older, though not by much, and when she tries to picture his new bride, she can only see herself.

it had been a fantasy she had indulged in many times when she was just a girl, before circumstances forced her to grow older than she should have in such a short amount of time; before the world showed her that the stories she and sansa had loved were nothing but stories.  sometimes she pretends her father swoops in and saves her, but he is dead.  sometimes it’s lord eddard, but he is dead too.  other times it is robb, the young wolf, scooping her onto a valiant steed and bringing her back north; home.

she thinks of their wedding night to get her through the next horror.  he would be gentle, she thinks; tender and kingly.  and she – she would be treated kindly as his queenly bride.

queen jeyne.

when she cries herself to sleep, the thought forces a small smile onto her lips.  it’s a small dream amidst an unending nightmare. a glimmer of hope to keep herself together.

[oraicsosta]

[jcyne]

oraiososta​:

Ƹ̵̡Ӝ̵̨̄Ʒ — THE HOUR IS LATE. JON HAS RETREATED from the demanding trials found in the council chambers, where he had finished attending to several matters, meetings, and otherwise; a lengthy day, to put simply, though sansa was grateful for his company. his wrist cramps from the countless letters he has tended to, and he rubs it as he travels through the torchlit corridors. but as weary as he might be, jon has little intention of resigning himself to sleep. first, he looks for jeyne, but when he cannot find her in their chambers or her favored spots, he goes to the most obvious location. it is in their son’s room he finds her, leaning over his cradle; just slightly outlined by a lone candle resting upon a table. jon watches her for a moment, taking in the sight, before he ventures inside. her words are soft, lips quivering, and jon’s arms are quick to wrap around her from behind; tugging her to his body gently. “ he’s a perfect babe, jeyne, ” he says, mindful to keep his voice low. “ and he’s real. we made him together  -  he’s as real as you, as me … and nothing can take him from us. ”

@jcyne​

jeyne stiffens slightly at the touch, still growing used to being a person again and not merely a thing.  jon’s touch is not harsh, never rough, and it is only that small moment of hesitation before she turns into his hold and presses her face to his shoulder.  “i know you are right,” she says, and there is a small smile in her voice.  after all the terrible things she had witnessed, all the terrible things that had been done to her, jon reminded her that there is good still left -- that there is still room for love like that in the stories, for they found each other once more.  “sometimes i -- i need to be reminded.” she lifts her head to look back up at him, to brush her fingertips against his cheek.  he is real, they are real.  ramsay is dead.

[oraicsosta]

[jcyne]

oraiososta​:

Ƹ̵̡Ӝ̵̨̄Ʒ —  THE ENTIRETY OF REEK’S BODY TREMBLES, FINGERS twitching relentlessly as he reaches for the door  -  almost stopping himself, breath catching as if he were in open water, drowning  -  snow freezing him in place.  countless times he goes to turn around, but stops  …  but why ? ? ?  if he finds out about this, then reek shall surely die  … reek, it rhymes with meek, and weak.  his eyes raise to the door.  jeyne, it rhymes with pain.  when the door does open, jeyne is in the corner, sobbing.  he almost loses his resolve, yet he grips the doorframe and holds himself in place.

       “ w-we  …  we need to go  …  now, ”  he breathes, walking across the room and outstretching a twisted hand to her.  his palm is clammy and trembling, and he thinks about turning on his heel and fleeing  -  disappearing into the shadows with the rats.  but he stands in place.  holds his ground.

@jcyne​

jeyne does not fear theon, though he is not the theon that she once knew; just as she is not the jeyne he had known when they were children.  the realm had had their hands upon them both, they were children no longer.  she flinches when his hand outstretches to her, an instinct that she has with all men now, but when her life is not overcome by her own misery, she has noticed the twisted creature life had changed him into too.

he had been handsome, swarthy, but she -- she had been beautiful, once, too.

“please -- i will be good.  i -- i will do what he asks of me.” her eyes brim with tears as she lifts her hand to take his, body trembling with what she can only imagine is in store for her now.

[jcyne]

neithergodsnormen​:

satin does his best to not look too directly at her, not wishing to make the girl uncomfortable. from what jon had told him, the girl had just went through a living hell. he dared not ask what had caused the tears that he had seen before, when the princess had asked to play. “i am quite lucky, mi’lady. not many of the men here are too keen on me… jon gave me a chance.” he listened to her words about her father, and he wondered if the man had died like jon had said most who went south with lord stark had. he doesn’t move too swiftly as he brings the hot meal towards where she sat, not wishing to startle or upset her. “you grew up around jon, then?”

“jon is good,” jeyne says gently, though she had not been particularly kind to him when they were children.  he was sansa’s bastard brother, and now he was so much more than that.  jeyne had been a foolish girl, but a child; she thinks of all the base-born women at the brothel in king’s landing who had oft tended her hurts; she thinks of jon’s kindness in allowing her to stay, even if he had hoped that she was who she had pretended to be.  she watches the boy walk over, set her meal down for her.  “yes, i -- we have known each other all of my life.”  though, that is not true.  he had not known her these past years -- but she did not know herself these past years either: a stranger’s life which had somehow become her living nightmare.

[vickredfield]

[aforgottenpride]

Starter for @jcyne

“I don’t want to be a lord,” the little boy scowled, tugging at his wolf’s dark fur as he often did when he was agitated. Shaggydog was far too tough mind the attentions of such small fingers. “I want to go back home to Skagos, and Shaggy does too.” They’d been allowed to run around there to their hearts content, chasing after unicorns, splashing in the streams... The closest they could get to that here was disappearing into the wolfswood, and Rickon had quickly discovered that was not how lords were supposed to spend most of their time. King Stannis had tried to explain the concept of duty to the five year old many times, but he still wasn’t grasping it.

[jcyne]

JEYNE WISHED FOR SANSA, as she often did, but the familiarity of baby rickon had been a small respite when the little lord was brought back home.  he was all that was left of her dearest friend’s family, besides jon snow.  but jon snow was not quite the boy who had left winterfell so long ago ( just as jeyne poole was not quite the girl she had been either ).  she watches rickon, her fingers curled towards her palm as she eyes his wolf carefully -- she had been as fond as she could be of lady, but the direwolves had frightened her some; only more now that shaggydog is so grown.  “but winterfell is your home,” she says.  “it is yours by right now, rickon, and one day you shall be as noble a lord as your father had been.”

[thekingstrueheir]

Starter for @jcyne

Shireen had only just arrived in Winterfell, having been summoned there from the Wall soon after her father’s victory over Roose Bolton. It had seemed a good idea to get the princess away from the chaos that had broken out among the Night’s Watch after Lord Commander Snow’s assassination and with winter coming, the Starks’ family seat had seemed the safest place for her. Not to mention it had the bonus of her being there to offer comfort and companionship to the girl, only a little older than herself, who had been found stumbling through the snow near the castle with Theon Greyjoy and a frostbitten nose.

“You’re safe now, you know. No one’s going to hurt you anymore, Father will make sure of it. And he’s going to have Ramsay Snow executed very soon, you’ll never have to see him again.”

[jcyne]

JEYNE THINKS THE PRINCESS WOULD BE PRETTY if not for the greyscale upon her cheek.  jeyne had been pretty once too, and perhaps would be now, if not for the horrors that have befell her.  winterfell does not feel like home should upon her return, not even with the impending execution of the monster who had been her groom.  she is found staring, curled up in a cloak with her cheeks stained in tears, and she nods upon the princess’s comfort; she wants to believe her very much.

“KING STANNIS HAS BEEN MOST KIND, princess,” she says, her words watery still; her future is not as clear as the girl makes it seem.  she does not know what will become of her now.  but she offers the princess a smile, one that does not quite touch her eyes.  “i am so very grateful for the protection.”

[shebsart]

;_;

[jcyne]

BIG BROWN EYES LOOK UP when the door is opened.  her body tenses out of instinct, pleas upon her lips ready to spill like the tears which already threaten the corners of her eyes.  jeyne is wrapped in a blanket on the floor in the corner of the room, lip trembling -- body trembling: hands, shoulders, legs -- it is fear which freezes her briefly, and subsides when her husband does not enter at theon’s side.

“i-i shall be good,” she says, her voice already watery.  “please tell him, theon, please tell him i shall be good.”

@vivitanima​​​ liked this for a starter !!

[jcyne]

THE INN IS FILLED WITH CHILDREN, orphans and unwanteds such as she now is, but she is different all the same.  she is defiled and incomplete, her back laden with scars from the brothel; her body laden with scars that aren’t visible upon her skin.  she had been headed north to wed a lord as arya stark, and yet she finds herself at this place instead.  the way she speaks has branded her a lady, though she tries to keep her words few; she tries to keep to herself -- big brown eyes full of sadness; wary.  she needs to step outside the crowded place to breathe.

and that leads her to the smith.  he cannot be much older than she, and she does not mean to intrude, finding herself in the entryway to his workspace; her eyes downcast as she is caught.  “i did not mean to intrude,” she says, bracing herself for what rebuke may follow -- she has always been a good girl, but the brothel did leave scars.

@vivitanima​​​ liked this for a starter !!

[jcyne]

SHE LEANS OVER THE CRADLE, the babe asleep in warm furs; his dark hair in soft tufts atop his head.  jeyne brushes her knuckle against vayard’s soft cheek, not disturbing the peace of her son in the slightest, but needing to feel him; to know.  when she notices the form in the doorway, jeyne’s eyes lift to look at jon and she straightens just so.  “i needed to see him... that he is real, i just --” her lip quivers slightly and her big, brown eyes fall back to the sleeping babe -- their babe -- and she smiles and nods her head a little.  “he is a pure thing, jon.”

@oraiososta​​​ liked this for a starter !!

[jcyne]

SHE HAD WATCHED RAMSEY’S HEAD taken from his shoulders herself.  jeyne had wanted to look away -- horrors of any sort have never been easy for her weak heart to handle, but she has been through so many now that this is just another on the list -- but she did not, and this is the last image that she shall associate with him; this is her freedom.  though she had cried, there is a weight in her chest that does not feel so heavy.  when she hears the soft footsteps approach her, jeyne lifts her teary eyes, her tearstained cheeks; looks at rhaenys and smiles with her perfect teeth, the closest echo of whom she had once been.  “it is over.”

@dracharenae​ liked this for a starter !!

[dracharcnae]

[jcyne]

dracharenae​:

✹ — RHAENYS HOLDS JEYNE FOR A TIME, SCARCELY a gap between them as her lips brush against jeyne’s hair, and her arms encircling her body. the embrace is warm like a deep and pure hearth, in contrast with how very naturally cold jeyne was. idly, rhaenys wonders if this is due to her being northern, or if this is because of sadder means; as if her inner fire has been staunched. well, rhaenys holds her all the tighter, and offers her own warmth until both are enveloped by it. and when all feels content, rhaenys pulls away to smile.

       “ i have a confession … when i claim the throne, i don’t want to rule from king’s landing. i know there’s no choice there, but … i thought about having the keep altered for a time, and perhaps residing in the north for a while to help jon repair it, while dealing with the south. if i do, will you show me your world ? ? ? would you let me help you restore it and its memories ? ? ? ”

       rhaenys kisses jeyne’s knuckles just as jeyne had kissed hers, and proceeds to nuzzle her face into her hands. jeyne smells so distinctly winter; it is a cool aroma, yet it is so comforting. and, what better, she smells no longer of blood. in fact, rhaenys dares to say she smells of blue roses.

THERE IS A CHILL that might never leave jeyne’s bones, but, for the moment, she does feel a warmth.  leaned into rhaenys’ hold, jeyne does not feel what has been lost to the frost, nor the inescapable chill of the wall; she feels more.  at the words that are spoken, jeyne lifts her head to look at rhaenys, she feels her lips turning upwards.  

“ -- do you mean it?” she asks, as if the horrors that have touched her cannot touch her in this instant; as if she is a hopeful little girl again rather than a broken thing stripped of her youth far before her time.  :”truly?  rhaenys,” she squeezes her hands delicately, watching the princess grace her knuckles with such reverence as if she were not soiled by what the world has done to her.

little nods touch her head.  it is a rare comfort in knowing that their time together can last.

[jcyne]

like for a starter (specify for which muse if you’re a multi) !!

[moffnat]

“Lady Arya, will you take this man?”

She raised her eyes to his. Brown eyes, not grey. Are all of them so blind? For a long moment she did not speak, but those eyes were begging. This is your chance, [Theon] thought. Tell them. Tell them now. Shout out your name before them all, tell them that you are not Arya Stark, let all the north hear how you were made to play this part. It would mean her death, of course, and his own as well, but Ramsay in his wroth might kill them quickly. The old gods of the north might grant them that small boon.

“I take this man,” the bride said in a whisper.

[jcyne]

saltxwolf​:

He hates to see her cry. He closes his own eyes so that he doesn’t have to see and is surprised to feel hot tears slipping down his own twisted face. They trail through the scabs and the scars and dirt and gather at his trembling chin. 

She is trying to dry her eyes with the heels of her palms, but to no avail. He reaches out and gently- so gently- wipes the tears from her face with his ruined hand. Just as gently, she takes his hand into hers. Her fingers are cold but Theon doesn’t think he has ever felt something so fine against his skin. Jeyne doesn’t mind about his missing fingers, his filthy, broken body. Jeyne doesn’t care about the fact he was a vile accomplice to Ramsay or a traitor to the north. That he was… that he’s done other things that were just as bad or worse. After seeing just how wretched he has become, she still treats him as if he is a person. And that helps. Because he is trying to figure out whether or not he still is one. 

She smiles as she promises not to leave him. She smiles and it is like the sun just came out in this frigid, northern wasteland. Yet in spite of her smile, there are still  tears standing in her huge brown eyes, threatening to spill. He reaches out and draws her into him, letting her tears soak into his rags. He held her during their escape, but out of necessity only. This is the first time he’s embraced anyone in years. The last person was probably Robb. That realization settles like a stone inside his heart.

He rubs her shoulder, trying to offer some comfort, trying to be of some use. He can still be useful, even if he cannot make amends, even if he is to die. These last hours or minutes, he can still be of use to her.

“Thank you,” he murmurs into her hair. 

JEYNE latches onto him as she is pulled and buries her face against his shoulder.  a small, shaky sob escapes her lips.  he had been the first glimpse of safety she has seen in so very long a time, and, even though she had endured being the wife of ramsay for a time, in the end theon did so save her.  her frozen fingers clutch at his back and she holds him near.  how terrified he must be, she wonders, but what will she do once he is gone ??

“BUT i have done nothing,” she says, shaking her head.  he saved her, and yet she has no power to save him.  they are free, and yet what a cruel jape it is that their freedom has led them to just another horror.  though she might stand a chance at jon snow’s mercy, stannis baratheon owes her nothing.

SHE lifts her head to look at him, to hold his cheek; her thumb brushing away his own tears -- as if she had left enough water in the world for others to cry too.  all jeyne can do now is sit with him.  “we can run,” she says, she feels desperate now as the moments drag on -- she does not know how much longer they have.  “we have made it here, we can go... we can find a village and start anew.  we -- we can be safe together.”