they all said i was pretty

dracharenae​:

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.

oraiososta​:

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.

oraiososta​:

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.

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.

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.”

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.”

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.”

;_;

dracharenae​:

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.

“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.