╔════════════╗ LADY JEYNE a song of ice and fire — AU ✧ ⋆⋆⋆⋆⋆⋆⋆⋆⋆⋆⋆⋆⋆⋆⋆⋆⋆⋆⋆⋆⋆⋆⋆⋆⋆⋆⋆⋆⋆⋆⋆⋆
ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ *ೃ༄ GOSSAMER gowns, x
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OLENNA'S WORDS LEFT A bitter taste in Jeyne's mouth the entire weekend, from the orchestrated rouse of a teatime to the gown fittings for the tourney tomorrow. Why wither away in the snow when you could blossom in the bask of the sun? But what had left a sourer residue was the noon after when Willas had boldly offered Jeyne to join him for a stroll in front of Robb's sisters. His sisters! Well, if that wasn't a daring move where Jeyne had seen one. The sight of Sansa's lips parting in stupor and Arya's head swishing back in forth between looking at the pair had tore at Jeyne's heart, wracking her with guilt all the way til' now.
She never should have agreed to a private conversation with him, especially when she knew the Tyrell's intentions, let alone indulging, with a giddy acceptance, in his apparent confession. Willas had temporarily borrowed Jeyne— stealing her away from the pieces of cloth they stitched away at, Arya rather unhappily— and taken her for a stroll at the other end of the gardens she had been with Robb and then Olenna.
"I love the spring." Willas mused from beside her, a slight limp in his left leg while they trotted along. Jeyne raised her eyebrows at him in amusement, lips pinching into a questioning pout as she sucked the insides of her cheeks, as if not quite believing what he had to say. "What?" He frowned when he noticed Jeyne's expression, "I do, truly."
Jeyne held her hands up in defence, the ringlets from the patterned bun atop her head falling around her face when she shook her head mirthfully. "I believe you." She said, "But I do wonder why a dream of spring is more precious to you than the promise of summer."
Brown eyes shone with admiration, at her or the vision of sun Jeyne didn't know, when he smiled at her like she was still that naive little child that would chase after him. He was dressed in a soft green tunic, embroidered with gold threads that glittered in the daylight— clearly a homage to his House— with cream white sleeves that complimented his mop of honeyed curls. "Spring is the promise of summer, little Jenny."
Willas had taunted her relentlessly with that nickname, him and Denys shouting 'Maege and Little Jenny!' in the fields endlessly when they were young. She narrowed her eyes at him, a coy display of displeasure. "I've never liked it when you call me that."
"What a shame," He quipped, returning to his soliloquy of the seasons. Ever the poet Willas was. "Spring is kind. Spring brings hope that even after the most miserable winters, beautiful things will grow. Flower is nature's reminder that when the gloom of Winter has faded away, daffodils will bloom and the god's will smile down on us in the form of the sun again."
