╔════════════╗ LADY JEYNE a song of ice and fire — AU ✧ ⋆⋆⋆⋆⋆⋆⋆⋆⋆⋆⋆⋆⋆⋆⋆⋆⋆⋆⋆⋆⋆⋆⋆⋆⋆⋆⋆⋆⋆⋆⋆⋆
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⋆ iv. Jenny Of Oldstones ⋆ ⋆⋆⋆⋆⋆⋆⋆⋆⋆⋆⋆⋆⋆⋆⋆⋆⋆⋆⋆⋆⋆⋆⋆⋆⋆⋆⋆⋆⋆⋆⋆⋆
— MOST GIRLS HER AGE DREAMED OF being princesses, marrying princes, wearing the finest gossamer gowns, being crowned with diadems made of gold or growing to be queen. Jeyne didn't want any of that. Not because she thought she was better than anyone else no; it was more the fright that filled her at all the tales of scorned queens. Fate had never been kind to Targeryan women and theirs were the longest reign— Rhaella Targeryan was maltreated by her husband or rather her brother and sentenced to death by childbirth as was Aemma Targeryan, mother of Rhaenyra Targeryan or rather the half-year queen who saw her sons die like flies and was eaten by the dragon of her half-brother who stole the throne from her to begin with only to be remembered as 'Maegor With Tits' in the end. Alas, Jeyne was no secret Targeryan.
Jeyne dreamed of singing. She could play the high harp and the bells and if she didn't shrink into herself at the thought of broadcasting her talents, Jeyne would dance to her hearts content at the feasts her father hosted and balls kings and queens and lords and ladies threw. Every verse that fell from her lips seemed to be bathed in a melodious sweetness, even now when she sang with her voice barely above a whisper Ned Stark seem enthralled as if her euphonious harmony was spell binding.
"High in the halls of the King who are gone Jenny would dance with her ghosts..."
Grey eyes fixed on the graven image that did not do his deceased sister justice, a newly formed lump aching in his throat, Eddard fell short in alerting his timorous company of his presence. The delicacy in her voice was intangible but still it was softer than anything he had ever touched.
