#ft: jeyne westerling

[west1rosi]

@n0rthrnk1ng asked: ❛ my duty is to my people. ❜ - to jeyne

"i  am  aware,  robb.  i  am  your  people  too,  i  wear  your  colors  and  cloak,  do  i  not?"  she  is,  by  better  or  worst,  his  wife  now.  bound  in  name  and  in  the  eyes  of  the  old  gods.  "how  can  you  be  so  sure  the  freys  won't  seek  revenge.  .  .after  what  happened?"  after  the  betrothal  had  to  be  broken. 

jeyne  had  not  minded,  her  virtue  gone  in  a  night  of  comfort  in  the  middle  of  a  war  with  a  handsome,  charming  and  lonely  man  like  robb.  but  now  she  is  queen,  his  queen,  and  she  worries,  he  would  be  walking  into  a  trap.  "if  you  die,  who  is  going  to  protect  your  people?"

[empathetixs]

PRIVATE. INDEPENDENT. MOSTLY CANON-DIVERGENT. MULTIMUSE. ft. muses from ASOIAF, history, and maybe more in the future, as loved by Kara. ( mixed. 30+, she/her )

rules. muses. my edits. interest check. verses. memes. (be sure to specify the muse! thank you!)

blog status: active/slow

muses beneath the cut

muses

MARGAERY TYRELL. Primary, open to anyone. Formerly, herunfailingkindess.

JEYNE WESTERLING. Primary, open to anyone. Formerly, honourofwesterling.

HELAENA TARGARYEN. Primary. Open to anyone.

SANSA STARK. Primary, open to anyone.

WILLAS TYRELL. Primary, open to anyone.

ELINOR TYRELL. Secondary, open but selective.

DACEY MORMONT. Secondary, open but selective. Formerly armororadress

LEONETTE FOSSOWAY. Request only.

HENRIETTE d'ANGLETERRE (request only)

ELAENA GLENMORE (request only)

PERSEPHONE (request only)

MYRCELLA BARATHEON (request only)

JEYNE WESTERLING ( MAEGOR'S WIFE ) (request only)

[swcrnsword]

Protectiveness was woven into his very being and thus incredibly hard for the sworn sword to even fathom setting to one side. It perhaps had been kindled in him the moment that Merei had taken her first breath outside the womb to unleash a cry that had brought him running as though he was capable of helping the babe. It had only grown alongside her, then increasing twice over when Marna had entered his world and he had found himself with two sisters just as untameable as he to watch over and it was a task that he had taken up without a second thought.

Such instincts were hard to drown out when most of his moments were spent with stony eyes fixed on those around his King waiting for the slightest show of foul intent. ( after what had happened at the Frey wedding could anyone blame him for his wariness when even ‘allies’ were not to be trusted? ) They seemed to extend to almost anyone who he formed an attachment to, his fellow Northerners for one though he knew that the vast majority of them were more than capable of defending themselves. It was not a lack of faith in their abilities but rather an unwillingness to let them deal with unpleasantness that left him so quick to always intervene. 

Long strides carried him across the camp to the tent he knew he would find Jeyne in, head ducking to enter as he pushed aside fabric. The little healer was someone he had found himself unable to resist fondness developing with. Despite her lacking the Northern blood that usually ensured his friendship, he found her company reminiscent of hours spent with Marna - perhaps there was a Northerner to be made of her yet. Concern was always first and foremost from him, keen to ensure that she was being treated with the respect that was due. “I trust no one has been giving you any trouble?”

@jeyneofthewesterlings

[xfacelcss]

Of all the many masks she had worn over the years of serving the Many-Faced God, the guise she had assumed for her little stint in Westeros was by far the one that chaffed the most. Playing healer had seemed as though it would be the best choice: give her a reason to be on both sides and no one would suspect someone who supposedly dedicated her life to helping others capable of taking lives. Except it was exhausting having to keep up the pretence of being shy and demure - simpering even - and she had grown tired of having to hold her tongue when she wanted nothing more than to let all the Westerosi know exactly what she thought of them.

Supplies were needed to keep up her little act, having been cornered into helping several injured men despite doing her best to avoid such situations. Luck was ever on her side though and none of the injuries were above her skill, even if she was loathe to help them. Still, she had chosen her disguise and it was an act she needed to keep up. Prowling the corridors she eventually found where she was looking for, smoothly stepping inside but the room is not as empty as she had hoped. 

Irritation is keenly felt though it does not flicker across her features when she has years of practise turning them into an impassive mask. Wits are gathered quickly and dark eyes are downcast as she plays the meek maid once again in the name of her true intentions and purpose going unnoticed. “Forgive me, I do not mean to intrude.” Voice is crafted into something far more delicate than she could ever hope to be in reality and an explanation for her unexpected appearance is quickly given. “Only, I was told that I would be able to find healing supplies here?”

@jeyneofthewesterlings

[shcbear]

@sseashell​

Dacey wondered: if you had enough money to buy a house in heaven, was gambling even fun anymore?  For her, the thought of winning enough money in twenty minutes to pay her rent for months, or lose just the same, was thrilling, exhilarating.  Loss and gains still had some meaning for her.  But if twenty thousand was merely a drop in the bucket to you, how could gambling be anything more than a vaguely entertaining way to pass the time?  “Who do you think is gonna win?  The guy with the gold cuffs, the other guy with the gold cuffs, or the one with the platinum ones?”  She asked her neighbor sarcastically.  Did it really even matter anyways?  They were probably all billionaires anyway.

[swcrnsword]

❝ And you would be unmarriageable? ❞

In another life he supposed that the little healer’s question would be met with a chuckle and mock offence in keeping with their usual good-natured and lighthearted interactions. But in this life - the one where he deemed himself far too bloodstained and war torn to ever be worthy of holding anything delicate or pure - her question was only met with a stoic silence from the Northern warrior when the question was one that had weighed on his mind when his one mortality stared him in the face every time he followed his King into battle.

( of all the sacrifices he was prepared to make for Robb - his life included - and all of them given so freely he found himself wondering why he laboured on this one so much )

Most people would be left with a silence as stony and cold as his flint grey gaze and though his mouth still presses together in a firm line for a few moments before jaw eventually loosens to allow low words to rumble out. “I will not make a widow out of anyone.” There’s a firmness to them that echoes his usual unmovable nature. Always steady. Always strong. Unshifting in loyalty and his morals. How was it far of him to ask anyone to reduce their prospects just so he could call himself a husband for however long he had left on this earth? There were always causalities in war and it seemed only realistic to him to consider the very real possibility that there would be a fight he would not return from. “Nor will I ask someone else to shoulder the effects of my sacrifices.”