Innocence Lost - Jeyne/Robb fanfic, part 2
Rating: R (for mention of sex)
Fandom: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R.R. Martin
Setting: While Robb is at The Crag. Late A Clash of Kings/Early A Storm of Swords
Characters: Robb Stark and Jeyne Westerling
Word Count: 1364
Part 1
She was dreaming of Winterfell. Not the true Winterfell, as she had never been there, but Winterfell as Robb had described it to her. She was standing in the Godswood, before the heart tree, when she felt a hand on her shoulder. The touch was gentle, but the voice cutting through her dream carried an urgency that made her shake off the calm of her dream. She rolled toward the sound, rubbing the sleep from her eyes with one hand while holding the blankets over her naked body with the other. Even after all they had shared the prior evening, being exposed in front of another was unfamiliar to her.
Robb looked tired, as if he’d barely slept. The dark circles under his eyes she had worked so hard to heal him of had returned, and his forehead bore creases so deep they seemed etched there by a sculptor’s hand. She took his hand off her shoulder as she sat up, holding it in her lap.
“What’s wrong?” she asked, searching his eyes for a clue.
“Get up. Get dressed.” He pulled his hand from hers and opened the door to her chambers. He cursed and slammed the door shut, then stood with his back to her, silent, unmoving.
She did not question him, the tone in his voice sufficient to spur her to action. She found her shift on the floor and quickly put it on. Underneath it was his undershirt and jerkin. She picked them up and went to him.
“Here,” she said quietly. He turned only his head at the sound of her voice. She held up his clothes and he took them from her, then sighed and turned to face her.
“You’ll need to fetch your mother. Tell her to get your family cloak and meet us the sept immediately. You should have your mother there, even if I cannot have mine. We have to hurry.”
Sept. Cloak. The pieces fell into place. He meant to marry her, now, before word could spread of what they had done. Her hands dropped to her sides. This was madness. He’d told her the story of how he’d come to the Crag, his battles and sacrifices. She knew of his promise to Lord Frey. A marriage to her would shatter that promise, tarnish his honor, and perhaps cost him the entire war. She did not understand why he would risk so much. Regardless of his reasons, and regardless of the warmth she felt in her heart at the idea of being his wife, she would not be his downfall.
“You can’t...” she stopped herself. He was a king, he could do whatever he pleased. “You don’t have to do this.”
“Yes, I do. What happened last night... I shouldn’t have. I wasn’t thinking.” He turned to her, standing tall, shoulders back, jaw set. It was his king stance, as she called it, the one he used when giving orders. “I grew up hearing stories from my father’s men about the spoils of war. They made it sound so glamorous, the gold and the women. But my father taught me to be an honorable man. He never shunned my half-brother, but he never spoke of Jon’s mother either. It was the one thing in his past he truly regretted, I think. I can’t repeat his mistakes. I won’t.”
He was determined, she saw that, but his words rang empty in her ears. A potential bastard was an excellent reason to get married - but she knew him well enough to know it wasn’t the truth in his heart. She thought back to the day when he’d first been brought to her, burning with fever. She had told the men who’d helped him into her room what she told all of the wounded she treated - arrows and swords don’t care who you are, and I don’t either. She had not known the boy in her bed, and she had not needed to.
It had not taken long for her to divine his true identity. He spoke in his sleep, calling for Grey Wind, for his father, even for his mother. It had been difficult for her, knowing the truth, that the man she had taken to her own bed to treat was the king who had captured her family’s castle, imprisoned her father and killed their soldiers, but the truth did not change her resolve. She would not let war change who she was. She was a healer.
After his fever broke and lucidity returned, she had told him that outside of that bed he might be a king, a rebel, a soldier, a conqueror. But there, alone with her, he was simply a man, and she just the woman who was trying to heal him.
“I’m Jeyne,” she said as she lit the candle next to the bed. “And you are?”
He had sighed and run his fingers through his curls, so damp with sweat that they were clinging to his forehead. “Robb.”
The following weeks had passed quickly. Hours upon hours of conversation. Meals taken together, just the two of them. She had grown familiar with him, the boy trying to be a man - the way his shoulders slumped forward slightly, the spot under his chin where his beard refused to grow. She could not pinpoint the moment she’d fallen in love with him. She’d simply looked at him as he studied a map and known it to be true.
At first she had hated herself for falling for him. She shared her feeling with no one, not even her sister, who she trusted more than anyone. How could she be in love with he who had taken everything from her family? She could only imagine how betrayed her parents would feel if they knew. She couldn’t make herself stop, though, no matter how hard she tried.
When the news had arrived about his brothers, she had given him her body without hesitation, for though he did not know it, he already had her heart. The pain when he had entered her had been easy to ignore, overshadowed by the anguish she saw in his eyes that she was desperate to take away. After it was over she had held him, his tears mingling with her own. If she had possessed anything more to give him she would have, if only to take away his sorrow.
She returned to the bed and sat, hands worrying a stray thread in her shift. She looked up at him, and said what no one dared say to their king.
“No.”
His face did not register surprise, for as well as she knew him, he knew her as well. She had a kind heart, but she was willful, and valued honor nearly as much as he.
“Jeyne, I need you to do this. I need...” He shook his head and exhaled. His shoulders sank with the breath he expelled. He sat next to her on the bed. “I need you.”
Looking at him in the light of day, she realized his sadness, though now hidden, still burdened him. She was his healer. She could not abandon him simply because his physical wounds were healed. The spiritual ones ran deeper and were harder to recover from. “Who are you?” she asked softly.
He looked into her eyes, and knew exactly what she was asking. He took both of her hands in his. “I am just a man,” he replied. “You took in a broken boy and made him a man, whole. You are a part of me now, Jeyne.”
These words, unlike the ones before, echoed from his heart, and made her eyes fill with tears of happiness. She knew what his men would say. They had chosen love over victory. Given the chance to go back, she would make that choice every time. Even if every single one of his men abandoned them, they would still have each other. She would not leave him. She could not. She lifted his hands to her lips and kissed them, then touched her forehead to his.
“You are just a man. And I will be your wife.”
Fandom: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R.R. Martin
Setting: While Robb is at The Crag. Late A Clash of Kings/Early A Storm of Swords
Characters: Robb Stark and Jeyne Westerling
Word Count: 1364
Part 1
She was dreaming of Winterfell. Not the true Winterfell, as she had never been there, but Winterfell as Robb had described it to her. She was standing in the Godswood, before the heart tree, when she felt a hand on her shoulder. The touch was gentle, but the voice cutting through her dream carried an urgency that made her shake off the calm of her dream. She rolled toward the sound, rubbing the sleep from her eyes with one hand while holding the blankets over her naked body with the other. Even after all they had shared the prior evening, being exposed in front of another was unfamiliar to her.
Robb looked tired, as if he’d barely slept. The dark circles under his eyes she had worked so hard to heal him of had returned, and his forehead bore creases so deep they seemed etched there by a sculptor’s hand. She took his hand off her shoulder as she sat up, holding it in her lap.
“What’s wrong?” she asked, searching his eyes for a clue.
“Get up. Get dressed.” He pulled his hand from hers and opened the door to her chambers. He cursed and slammed the door shut, then stood with his back to her, silent, unmoving.
She did not question him, the tone in his voice sufficient to spur her to action. She found her shift on the floor and quickly put it on. Underneath it was his undershirt and jerkin. She picked them up and went to him.
“Here,” she said quietly. He turned only his head at the sound of her voice. She held up his clothes and he took them from her, then sighed and turned to face her.
“You’ll need to fetch your mother. Tell her to get your family cloak and meet us the sept immediately. You should have your mother there, even if I cannot have mine. We have to hurry.”
Sept. Cloak. The pieces fell into place. He meant to marry her, now, before word could spread of what they had done. Her hands dropped to her sides. This was madness. He’d told her the story of how he’d come to the Crag, his battles and sacrifices. She knew of his promise to Lord Frey. A marriage to her would shatter that promise, tarnish his honor, and perhaps cost him the entire war. She did not understand why he would risk so much. Regardless of his reasons, and regardless of the warmth she felt in her heart at the idea of being his wife, she would not be his downfall.
“You can’t...” she stopped herself. He was a king, he could do whatever he pleased. “You don’t have to do this.”
“Yes, I do. What happened last night... I shouldn’t have. I wasn’t thinking.” He turned to her, standing tall, shoulders back, jaw set. It was his king stance, as she called it, the one he used when giving orders. “I grew up hearing stories from my father’s men about the spoils of war. They made it sound so glamorous, the gold and the women. But my father taught me to be an honorable man. He never shunned my half-brother, but he never spoke of Jon’s mother either. It was the one thing in his past he truly regretted, I think. I can’t repeat his mistakes. I won’t.”
He was determined, she saw that, but his words rang empty in her ears. A potential bastard was an excellent reason to get married - but she knew him well enough to know it wasn’t the truth in his heart. She thought back to the day when he’d first been brought to her, burning with fever. She had told the men who’d helped him into her room what she told all of the wounded she treated - arrows and swords don’t care who you are, and I don’t either. She had not known the boy in her bed, and she had not needed to.
It had not taken long for her to divine his true identity. He spoke in his sleep, calling for Grey Wind, for his father, even for his mother. It had been difficult for her, knowing the truth, that the man she had taken to her own bed to treat was the king who had captured her family’s castle, imprisoned her father and killed their soldiers, but the truth did not change her resolve. She would not let war change who she was. She was a healer.
After his fever broke and lucidity returned, she had told him that outside of that bed he might be a king, a rebel, a soldier, a conqueror. But there, alone with her, he was simply a man, and she just the woman who was trying to heal him.
“I’m Jeyne,” she said as she lit the candle next to the bed. “And you are?”
He had sighed and run his fingers through his curls, so damp with sweat that they were clinging to his forehead. “Robb.”
The following weeks had passed quickly. Hours upon hours of conversation. Meals taken together, just the two of them. She had grown familiar with him, the boy trying to be a man - the way his shoulders slumped forward slightly, the spot under his chin where his beard refused to grow. She could not pinpoint the moment she’d fallen in love with him. She’d simply looked at him as he studied a map and known it to be true.
At first she had hated herself for falling for him. She shared her feeling with no one, not even her sister, who she trusted more than anyone. How could she be in love with he who had taken everything from her family? She could only imagine how betrayed her parents would feel if they knew. She couldn’t make herself stop, though, no matter how hard she tried.
When the news had arrived about his brothers, she had given him her body without hesitation, for though he did not know it, he already had her heart. The pain when he had entered her had been easy to ignore, overshadowed by the anguish she saw in his eyes that she was desperate to take away. After it was over she had held him, his tears mingling with her own. If she had possessed anything more to give him she would have, if only to take away his sorrow.
She returned to the bed and sat, hands worrying a stray thread in her shift. She looked up at him, and said what no one dared say to their king.
“No.”
His face did not register surprise, for as well as she knew him, he knew her as well. She had a kind heart, but she was willful, and valued honor nearly as much as he.
“Jeyne, I need you to do this. I need...” He shook his head and exhaled. His shoulders sank with the breath he expelled. He sat next to her on the bed. “I need you.”
Looking at him in the light of day, she realized his sadness, though now hidden, still burdened him. She was his healer. She could not abandon him simply because his physical wounds were healed. The spiritual ones ran deeper and were harder to recover from. “Who are you?” she asked softly.
He looked into her eyes, and knew exactly what she was asking. He took both of her hands in his. “I am just a man,” he replied. “You took in a broken boy and made him a man, whole. You are a part of me now, Jeyne.”
These words, unlike the ones before, echoed from his heart, and made her eyes fill with tears of happiness. She knew what his men would say. They had chosen love over victory. Given the chance to go back, she would make that choice every time. Even if every single one of his men abandoned them, they would still have each other. She would not leave him. She could not. She lifted his hands to her lips and kissed them, then touched her forehead to his.
“You are just a man. And I will be your wife.”