widow_of_the_crag | [Musebox] - "I Took Her Castle"

The horrors of the siege faded in Jeyne's memory, the longer that she cared for and tended Robb Stark at his bedside. Titles yielded as his face became fixed in her mind; "The Young Wolf", "King in the North", these seemed too grand for him when he was nothing more than a boy in bed. A handsome boy, no older than she was, but still too young for such power and weight on his shoulders. He had seemed inhuman in the battle, his wolf dominating much of her fears, as she had witnessed him tearing the throat of one of her childhood friends. Even Robb was large and imposing at the time, leading his men and felling several Crag soldiers. She only had a few glimpses as she was ushered into the Sept, but it was enough to stay with her.

Her mother had been cross and severe at the time. It was unlikely she had taken them to the Sept to pray, but for some form of shame on the Northern lords, if they stormed the castle and started raping the women. That hadn't happened though, thankfully, as they were too concerned with their king being injured and securing the land. They celebrated, to be sure, but Sybell had kept her daughter away from the majority of them. Strangely, it was Robb Stark she insister her daughter care for and tend to. The decision apparently having been made between her uncle and mother, the pair huddled together as they looked to Jeyne and then towards Robb's rooms. What they hoped to get from this was unclear, but Jeyne knew how to be hospitable and doing something, anything was preferable to waiting and worrying about what was to come.

Maester Royce was kind and showed her how to dress and clean the wound, how to administer Milk of the Poppy in the right dosage, as well as how to keep his fever down. Over time, he said that she would make a fine nurse herself. She seared that onto her heart, feeling pride for that alone. If that was the brightest spot of this, then she could move forward with some achievement (as her mother felt she failed in so many other ways.)

Eventually, he began to stir and by the fifth day, he woke in the small room with the young girl at his side. She smiled at Robb gently, urging him to stay where he was. "You were injured, your grace, but the wound is much recovered now. You should keep resting, do you need me to summon anyone for you?"

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They called him the King in the North, the Young Wolf... yet Robb had never stopped feeling like he was nothing more than a boy pretending to be a man, pretending to be a warrior, pretending to be a king. He was in a game of pretend with very real stakes, very real risks, nothing at all like the games he and Jon used to play in Winterfell's courtyard, waving around wooden swords and quoting their favorite heroes.

And nothing slammed that message home more than being injured in battle. He wasn't the inhuman, ferocious beast some of his men started to say he was, but rather just a boy of flesh and blood. He'd gotten better, then he'd grown worse; the wound had been infected and he needed to be constantly looked after, he'd been told at some point, though he didn't quite remember the entirety of it.

He dreamed, though. He dreamed of his home. He dreamed of his father, of his sisters. He even dreamed of Jon; they were playacting again, and he, as usual, was the Young Dragon, King Daeron I Targaryen. But sometimes there would be someone else in their story. A girl. A beautiful young girl, with curly chestnut hair, a heart-shaped face, a shy smile, and doe-like soft brown eyes. In his dreams he would fall, but whenever he looked up she was there, telling him that it was alright, that he was safe, and she would tend to him and talk to him and her smile was blindingly bright, bringing a warmth to his chest unlike anything he'd ever felt before.

Then his fever passed, and the dream became a girl, a very real girl. He remembered speaking to her, though he wasn't entirely sure if it had simply been in his dreams. "N-No, I—" He found himself at a loss for words, just staring up at her face, into her eyes. Then he shook his head a little and tried to sit up, only for pain to blossom in his chest again. "How long have I been indisposed, my Lady?"

She was quick to urge him not to move as soon as she saw the grimace of pain. Her hand went to his forehead, looking for signs of fever, but that had passed, thankfully. There was little reason to keep him in bed, aside from the pain, but that would fade soon enough. From what Maester Royce said, he was young and healthy, this meant a quick recovery. "It's been five days since you sieged the Crag." It was strange to say that, strange to admit that her home was now in the hands of someone else.

"Here," she poured him a glass of water, helping him take a drink. "You will need to rest your left arm a bit longer, otherwise the wound will open again. The bandage is fresh, but I will need to change it again this evening." She was rambling a little, telling him what she had been repeating to herself as she looked after him. Now he wasn't simply a silent, sleeping face. He could respond, he could see her and seemed to appreciate her presence. That in itself was thanks enough, as had his company (even if he didn't intentionally offer it.)

"My name is Jeyne of House Westerling. Our Maester and I have been caring for you."

Sieged the Crag. He closed his eyes, allowing her to lead him back down on the bed. Right, that had been what happened — taking the castle of the Westerlings, who were bannermen of the Lannisters. Flashes of the battle returned, though he shook his head to clear those thoughts away for the moment. He didn't want to think about what lay beyond the room, not just yet, selfishly wanting some peace and quiet for as long as he can be allowed to have it.

He sighed softly before turning to her and accepting the glass of water he's offered. "Thank you, my Lady." He drank slowly, or at least he did at first, but then he found himself so thirsty that he finished it all fairly quickly.

At her introduction, he blinked in surprise, and it was only then that he took a really good look at her. Yes, the girl in his dreams, but this time she was real and solid before him. Suddenly he had an inexplicable urge to reach out, to make sure he was dreaming no longer, though the most he did was brush his fingers very gently against hers as he slowly handed the empty glass back to her. "You have a lovely name, Lady Jeyne." Now he looked conflicted, even a little embarrassed. "And you have my gratitude, for saving the life of the man who took your castle." He smiled sheepishly, becoming less a king and more a boy in those few breaths. And, well, what else could he say to that? "I'm Robb Stark." It was only polite, for him to give her his name too.

It didn't seem worth mentioning that when this first began, she didn't have much of a choice. What was a command from her mother had become a joy, a means to do something and offer a bit of kindness to a man that she had slowly grown to feel affection for. It was unwise to feel something for someone she barely spoke to, based largely on how she felt viewing him when he was so vulnerable and weak, but it was difficult to deny that her heart was open to him. Even as he spoke to her shyly, boyishly, she couldn't see him as anything but Robb Stark, not King in the North. She grinned, ducking her face behind her hair as she refilled the water for him, setting it aside for now to let the last glass to settle in his stomach. "My efforts were small compared to our Maester, but I am glad you are recovered."

She didn't think very much of her name, but she didn't think much of herself in general. Still, she flushed at the compliment and pretty words, placing her hands in her lap as she tried to think of what to do next. She should technically let him sleep some more, go tell his men that he was finally awake, but she lingered, not wanting to surrender this quiet moment so easily. "I know. I remember seeing you outside of the Keep." She fell silent at that, trying to force back the image of his wolf charging through the ranks of the Westerling men, tearing throats like they were parchment. "You're different than what I imagined." Why did she say that? It would likely cause offense, but it was true. She expected some giant of a man, someone closer to a wolf than a boy, but in the end, he was no different than her or Rayland.

"I shouldn't be troubling you further. If you wish to see anyone, I could fetch them for you?" He likely had a number of things on his mind. A small girl from an inconsequential family shouldn't hold his attention for long. He needed to decide what to do with her House and servants. Likely he would need to begin planning his next location of attack where there would be more girls to help tend to him and comfort him.

[Musebox] - "I Took Her Castle"

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