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I.
Before, Jeyne Westerling had loved the songs of maidens mourning their lost loves. To her, the singers wove their grief and longing in a way that was almost like a dance; so achingly beautiful she would weep despite Reynald’s snickers.
The truth is like biting into a piece of sour apple. The last thing Jeyne would ever describe her feelings as is beautiful. Instead, she feels as there is a heavy feeling of hopelessness weighing her down. Drowning her. Oh, Robb…
When they received word at Riverrun of the Young Wolf’s demise, Jeyne had collapsed on the floor; her whole body shaking with sobs. No, she had wanted to scream. No, no, no. This has to be a lie. Robb promised her that it would not be long until they saw each other again, the day he departed for his uncle’s wedding. The wedding which was happening because of her. Robb promised her, just like how he vowed when he took her to wife that he would be good to her. And he had been. With his men Robb smiled little and was fierce; with Jeyne he was gentle and smiled plenty. Even though it had been mainly for her sake that they had gotten wed, he had never blamed her for it as lesser men would have.
Upon receiving the news, Jeyne spent four days in her bedchamber. She refused to eat the meals the servants brought her, leaving the food to spoil. As a little girl she’d been afraid of the dark, but now it was the darkness she sought. In the darkness, she found comfort. In the darkness, she could almost forget.
Her mother would not leave her be. On the fourth day, Lady Sybell entered her bedchambers. “Stop this at once,” Lady Sybell admonished. “You shame yourself with such behaviour.” “Shame myself?” Jeyne’s voice cracks from its lack of use. But for the first time in several days, she feels a different emotion. Anger swells inside her, and it feels almost good.
“If to grieve for my husband is to shame myself, then I will do so gladly.” Fresh tears begin to stream down her face, and she feels as if there is a dagger burying itself in her stomach. “I loved him.”
“As gladly as you did when you shared his bed after he took our castle?” Sybell countered, causing Jeyne to shrink and wrap her arms around herself. Then her mother's voice softens. “Child, you did not love Robb Stark any more than he loved you. He felt obligated to you, and you were still half a girl. What could you know about love beyond your songs? Even if you speak truthfully about how you feel- he was never meant to be yours, and he learned that to his sorrow.”
Jeyne is not a violent person- but at that moment she wants to slap her mother. She turns away. “Get out.” “Do not tell -” “GET OUT!” Something in her eyes must have unnerved her mother, as Sybell slams the door shut.
II.
It is not until later that her mother will take her crown.
Jeyne kicks and struggles and scratches her mother’s face, but it is futile. Jeyne is left with bruises in place of the crown that Lady Sybell disposes of. It’s not the fact that her crown shows she is a queen (was, a nasty voice inside her whispers. Robb is slain, his kingdom nothing now but ghosts and ruins. What is left is given to the Boltons and Frey’s, those who defied the laws of gods and betrayed their king. May the Father judge them, Jeyne thinks bitterly. And damn them to all seven hells.) that matters to her.
Jeyne had never expected she’d be a queen. That was for ladies of higher birth, not for daughters of houses that came from a line of up-jumped merchants. What matters is that Robb had it made for her. And she wants to hold onto everything that reminds her of Robb, including the possibility….
She hasn't had her moonblood yet. Since she had been one-and-ten, Jeyne’s moonblood had been regular. There have been no other signs to suggest she is with child, but Jeyne knows enough to understand that it doesn’t necessarily matter. The last time Robb and Jeyne had been intimate was the night before Robb had left for Riverrun.
If Robb’s seed had quickened, then a part of him still lived on. That all was not lost.
It would imperil her, but if those still loyal learned she carried their king’s heir… Jeyne’s hand brushed against her flat stomach, trying to imagine what a son of her and Robb would look like.
III.
That night, Jeyne dreamed. She is in her bedchambers still, having survived a birthing. A woman places her son on Jeyne’s chest. Jeyne weeps, kisses her baby boy.
In her dream, Robb still lives, and he is with them both, the way he should have been. She turns to him now, to ask if he is happy. But Robb curls his lip and flinches, turning away. Jeyne’s brow burrows, and she looks down again at her babe. Suddenly, she sees- the babe she is holding is a monster; a deformed little thing with rotting flesh.
A terror of which Jeyne has never known seizes her entire being. It is then she sees what the woman who assisted her looks like for the first time. It is her mother.
A handful of berries falls from her palm, its juices red as blood. A snake slithers from her mother’s open mouth, and Jeyne screams.
She awakens to find blood between her thighs. Still half-asleep, she does not understand what she is seeing.
But it is only a single, sweet moment before realization hits. The blood on her flesh feels as though Robb has died a second time. She had thought she could not cry anymore, but the tears spill down her cheeks anyway.
In the daylight, her dreams and hopes have turned to dust.
In the daylight, she can see the betrayal.
IV.
Later, Jeyne seeks her mother out. “I had my moonblood.” She says simply. She wants to see if a hint of guilt will flash in her mother’s eyes, but Sybell’s face remains impassive. The only hint at her emotions was pursed lips and a head tilt.
“Well, that’s a mercy. It’s hard enough being a mother, let alone a mother to a child of a dead traitor.”
How will I know what being a mother is like, when you took that away from me?
“Do you love us?” Sybell’s eyes narrow. “What – “ Jeyne’s voice cuts her off. “I mean us. Me, Raynald, Rollam and Elenya.”
“What sort of question is that? I gave birth to you and raised you. I knew you before you were even flesh.” Sybell crosses her arms. “Yes, I love you.”
Jeyne clenches her fists, her mouth twisting. “I ask you that, because even though I will never have Robb’s child- I feel as though I’ve still lost a child anyway. A child that I would’ve loved. And I just want to understand how a mother who loves her children like you claim you do, would cause such pain for another woman.”
Sybell’s face pales as she realizes what Jeyne is getting at. “You do not know what you’re saying- “
“I know exactly what I’m saying. You’re the reason why Robb doesn’t have an heir, aren’t you? All those special potions, you said it would help….” Jeyne’s laugh is a mockery of her usual sweet giggle, it is instead loud and harsh.
"I did what was best for you.” Sybell hisses. “That is what being a mother is, Jeyne. It involves making hard decisions for the sake of your children, to protect them. I could see what was coming Jeyne, even if you could not. Your husband’s home had been sacked, the Karstarks had abandoned him. He no longer had the Kingslayer, not after his wretched fool of a mother released him.”
Jeyne wonders at Sybell’s blinding hypocrisy. Does she dare judge poor, dead Lady Catelyn? For all intents and purposes, Lady Catelyn had done the same as Lady Sybell- committed betrayal to save her children.
“She was desperate. Her sons were dead, but if she could help her girls….” Jeyne thinks of Sansa and Arya, Robb’s sisters. He had spoken of them when they were alone. His love for them bled through in his words. A love that meant guilt and shame over Sansa’s captivity, and later rage at her forced marriage. His eventual bleak acceptance over Arya.
But it is pointless to think of such things now.
Sybell sniffs. “Regardless, I had to reinforce our loyalty to Tywin Lannister somehow. And in the end, I knew it would already be bad enough with you being the widow of a dead traitor. But to leave you with his child as well?”
Sybell’s eyes are blazing, her hands on her hips. Jeyne realizes she does not care to hear her justifications. It was acknowledgement she wanted. “Perhaps you thought what you doing was right. If I had it in me, I would forgive you. But I can’t.”
Suddenly, it is too much to even be in the same room as her anymore. She turns and leaves.
V.
Weeks pass since their confrontation. They are still at Riverrun, under the guard of Bryden Tully- Robb’s great-uncle and uncle to Lady Catelyn.
He continues to hold the castle in his dead king’s name, even as the other river lords yield one by one.
She cannot pinpoint the exact moment when she decides to do it. She lies awake in her bed at night, thinking.
She is unsure if she can bring herself to do it. But she also can’t bear the idea of not doing it either.
She knows what she is contemplating is reviled in the sight of the gods. What convinces her, in the end, is when the Kingslayer finally takes Riverrun.
No blood is shed, Tywin’s word is kept, and Jeyne and Elenya will have lords to wed. Jeyne must wait two years, to avoid any whispers of it being Robb's child.
The thought of marrying someone else, having children with someone else… It will not come to that, she vows. It will not.
She waits until the hour of the wolf. Sybell’s bedchamber is in the next hallway, so she need not go far.
In her hand is a wine glass, that she’d deliberately broken. It had the Stark sigil on it, and Jeyne thought it was fitting. She clutches it, her hand slippery with sweat. A voice inside her is telling her that it is not too late, she can still turn and flee to the comfort of her bed… she can forget Robb and marry someone else like her mother wanted.
But Jeyne finds herself in the room anyway. The light from a candle on the table beside the bed flickers across Sybell’s face. She looks serene, Jeyne thinks. It does not soften Jeyne to see her mother like this. Instead, it enrages her. She herself is in so much pain, agonising over this… and her mother sleeps as though she doesn’t have a care in the world.
Sybell stirs and opens her eyes. “Jeyne?” Using one hand, Jeyne grabs a pillow and presses it down on Sybell’s face. With an animalistic strength that possessed her, she stabbed Sybell in the stomach with the jagged edges of the wine glass.
Sybell soon stopped fighting as Jeyne stabbed her again and again, in a storm of blood and rage and grief.
Jeyne stands there, covered in blood as she stared at the dead woman. Her stomach was a mess of bloody ribbons, her eyes unseeing. She looks smaller in death, the woman who had been her mother.
Jeyne raises the glass and slashes her throat in one, perfect stroke. May the Father judge me, and damn me to all seven hells.
A/N:
Poor Jeyne.