it had been the shouts of laughter that had drawn her outside into the cold, hoping it might go some way to cheering her. instead of joy, lyarra had only found pity for the children born into war, and who may die only ever knowing such a life. they deserved better, as all the young ones did. they deserved a safe world to grow up in, and to live to see the adults they would become. but life, as she had learned early on, was rarely fair. the best they can do for them now, is protect them as long as possible from the darkness slowly creeping up on them all.
“someone ought to be.” lyarra steps up beside her old friend, offering a fleeting smile in greeting but her eyes do not stray long from the sight before her. as she watches the young boy try over and over again, it’s impossible not to think back to her youth. of which jeyne had been so present until they’d all gone south. the beginning of the end. “do you remember being that young? it feels like eons ago now, i feel as if i am hundreds of years old.”
Lyarra Cerwyn was a soothing balm. From the very moment that she had escaped Ramsay’s nefarious clutches, her feet could not carry her fast enough as she ran from her prison. The first face to make her smile and shatter her had been Lyarra. The weight of her experiences had exploded in her chest, and every hidden feeling and fear which she had kept locked away for months poured out. She had cried until there were no tears left when her throat was hoarse and her body was exhausted from the effort. It had been some time since then, but she was constantly reminded of her own friendship with the other Northern girl.
❛ There was surely a time when life was that simple but I cannot recall it, ❜ she lamented sadly, allowing her features to crease momentarily into an expression of longing. Very quickly she regained her composure, a hardy Northern girl, and not so much a delicate flower. ❛ I cannot say that I ever picked up a bow. I did not like to get dirty. ❜ Days were spent in Septa Mordane’s charge, sat beside Sansa as they practised their sewing and their harmonies.
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No time away could help Jeyne to forget how difficult & stressful her life in the South had been. Despite the long and arduous journey North to her home, it felt as though she had barely left - a feeling which only made more prominent by the familiar faces which scattered the hallways. It may have been a different castle, but there was no mistaking the fact that she was right back in the viper's nest. She had been made different by her experiences in the South and then by her imprisonment in the Dreadfort.
The sable-haired woman looked out of the window, observing the activities which were taking place in the chill. One boy was practising his archery, and it reminded her of when the Stark boys used to practice with Ser Rodrick.
❛ He appears to be enjoying himself, ❜ she commented to the person beside her, eyes never leaving the young boy who appeared to be growing more confident with every attempt. He had yet to fully hit the target, but that did not seem to deter him. ❛ The innocence of children, ❜ Jeyne added with an almost melancholic sigh. She remembered when she was that innocent, back when she believed that nothing could hurt her so long as she had the protection of her father’s sword and the friendship of Lady Sansa.
it was time to unite. no matter how much some doubted it , jaime was no fool . there had always been a magic about westeros , something dormant , waiting for it’s day — peculiar as the skulls of old dragons beneath the keep . no matter how robert had chosen to do away with them , jaime had seen them in all their glory before , present as he had taken the life of the last dragon KING so he could no longer terrorize the smallfolk . he knew little of the man’s daughter aside from her name & the woman who bore her , unlike the wolf pretender who had once held him captive . if they were required to work together , his cautious eye would remain affixed .
for now he played the part , HANDLESS but dutiful , loyal to his own . tommen was young and cersei needed protecting , her preference for barbs never keeping her far from trouble . with sword on his hip , jaime welcomed himself to the outdoors & the setting sun , stealing a moment of peace in between guard shifts . when he realized he was not alone , a greeting came easily . “ good evening . “
// open starter !
For a moment her breath was stolen away from her. Jeyne never considered herself to be meek, but she was not beyond fear. Her time in King’s Landing had shown her that. The first time she had witnessed a joust, she had been overcome with emotion and had to be soothed by Septa Mordane, as though she were an inconsolable infant, upset with the world. It’s something which she had blushed about the next day. But the next time she saw death, Jeyne waited until she was in her chambers before she cried into her pillow.
The appearance of a Lannister lion was enough to cause a chill to slide down her spine. She had heard the rumours of what Ser Jaime had done to Lord Stark, it was enough for her to hold contempt in her dark irises. ❛ Good evening, Ser, ❜ she mirrored his words, features voided of any warmth. ❛ There is no warmth left in the sun. ❜ Jeyne was used to the cold, in fact, she welcomed it most of the time. But they had been warned that with the cold came an undead army, and that was hard for her to reconcile with.
♔ → westeros presents JEYNE POOLE, the LADY of HOUSE POOLE . a raven sent word that she bears the resemblance to LILY JAMES. the 25 year old CIS-FEMALE was HUMOUROUS & POISED before the dawn of war, but have now become SPITEFUL & INTEMPERATE. when songs are sung, their verses speak of THE SOUND OF FISTS HAMMERING ON A THICK OAK DOOR, THE RIPPLE OF DARK HAIR IN A FIERCE WIND, TATTERS OF A ONCE BEAUTIFUL SOUTHRON GOWN whispers throughout the seven kingdoms claim that their allegiance lies with HOUSE STARK, but fealty means little when you play the game of thrones. ( charlotte, 24, gmt, she. )
FULL NAME: jeyne poole
ALLEGIANCE: house stark
TITLE/OCCUPATION: lady of house poole
MARITAL STATUS: single
AGE: twenty-five ( 25 )
“ she would make herself a reckoning. she would rise ”
CHARACTER ALIGNMENT: chaotic good
RELIGION: the old gods
VICES: blunt, intemperate, secretive
VIRTUES: intelligent, witty, brave
It was often said that gentle things did not survive the winter, that the frosts were too harsh and bitter, but young Jeyne Poole was gentle for a time. She was a mere slip of a girl, young and fragile, not at all built for Winter. But within the halls of Winterfell, the young girl flourished. Her father’s loyalty to the Starks meant that she had grown up with the Ladies and was treated with the same respect and there wasn’t a day when she was not by Sansa. They always said that she was pretty, but her friend was always beautiful.
Due to Lady Catelyn’s Southron influence, Jeyne learned the customs of both realms and was just as excited as Sansa, when the royal party came to Winterfell. It was true that while the North was her home, it did feel rather unexciting. She had dreams of elevation, which once started with her girlhood crush on Robb Stark. She was the daughter of a steward and her dreams were filled with the hopes of being a great lady, far beyond the position which she held and for a time, Sansa’s older brother fit that mould in her mind, although she was always careful to keep her infatuation to herself.
When she was informed that some of the Starks would be travelling south, including Sansa, she felt dread in her stomach. She feared that she would be left behind. But Lord Stark had need of his Steward and she was, therefore, able to join the wolves when they went to King’s Landing. In her life, she had never felt so much joy or excitement. She was reluctant to admit that she would miss Lady Catelyn’s motherly presence since her own had been lost bringing her into the world.
King’s Landing was bright and warm, it was more than she could have imagined! She was in love with the idea of it, giggling at Sansa’s side as they passed dashing Lords. Her best friend was betrothed to a Prince, surely she could charm the hand of a wealthy Lord. Jeyne soon realised that she had underestimated the South, and behind its charm was something sinister. It made her want to run back to Winterfell. But she refused to buckle, and instead put on the snarky face which she often wore around others.
Her fears were proven right when Lord Stark’s household was cut down and she came across her father’s lifeless body. Jeyne had howled in horror, his blood seeping into her fine Southron dress. She barely registered the men escorting her away, or Petyr Baelish’s smirk as she boarded the ship with him. It was all a blur, and in that wave of motion, she had not realised that she’d left Sansa behind.
Petyr said that she would be safe when he left her in an Inn at the neck, to be accompanied home by unknown men. She wondered what benefit he got out of helping her. But when of the strangers turned to her and spoke the name ‘Arya’, she knew she was in trouble. The men wore armour with the flayed man sigil, a northern house. Almost immediately she proclaimed that she was not Arya Stark, but they didn't’ seem to hear her.
Instead of being escorted back to Winterfell like she was promised, even if they seemed determined to keep calling her Arya, she was taken to the Dreadfort. A man she had never seen before smirked dangerously at her, and it made her blood curdle. She was locked in a room before she could even open her mouth. Her hands curled into fists and banged against the door, her throat hoarse as she demanded to be set free. Later, her captor gripped her by the arm and said that her name did not matter, so long as other’s believed she was Arya Stark.
Jeyne was locked in the small room for what seemed like a lifetime and instead of charming Lords, she dreamt of an escape. Ramsay had not made his true intentions known, he seemed to be waiting for something, but she knew from the screams which she heard in the courtyard that he was an evil man.
Eventually, she was allowed to leave her rooms and was both surprised and horrified to come across Theon Greyjoy, who was also a prisoner in the Dreadfort. The first time, she was not permitted to speak with him, and she was guided away by Ramsay’s forceful grip. Out in the snow, he whispered that they would be married one day, and the world would think that she was the missing Arya Stark. Jeyne felt nauseous at that revelation.
Her escape was a blessing which she had long prayed for. Jeyne ran, ran like Ramsay’s dogs were chasing after her. It was only when she reached Winterfell that her knees collapsed into the mud and she sobbed in the courtyard, relieved to finally be home. She may not have been a Stark, but Winterfell had always been her home.
In the months which followed her escape, Jeyne was plagued with nightmares of Ramsay Snow and all the dreadful things he threatened to do to her. She knew that she would rather have died than suffer any of it.
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