bakerstreet | First Relationship

It isn't something to be rushed into, but it's also something with a rather unpleasant time pressure settled very squarely on its very nature. The party from Westeros had planned to spend barely a week in Narnia, and the rest of the court was only holding its breath that long before it would dive back into turning over every stone possible to seek out another candidate for Queen of Narnia.

The ships will sail again in the morning if he doesn't give a proper answer. He feels the knowledge dampening the end of the festivities, even the stretch of time to himself which he ought to be properly enjoying after so much time surrounded by well-meaning but often overbearing courtiers.

He ought to be letting Jeyne rest as well. He ought to be allowing her a moment out of the public eye and away from the question of their prospective match. He can't quite stop himself from finding his way to the door of the visitors' quarters, rapping lightly and waiting with obvious nerves for the young lady to answer it.

"Might-- I speak with you?"

The thread of Jeyne's hope is wearing thin. There is less than a day left before she must return to Westeros, and her time in Narnia has made that a very sad prospect for her.

Normally she would aid in the packing of her trunks, but today her heart is not in it. She sits in the window seat, looking out at the sea and the Dawn Treader tugging at its moorings alongside the ship that will take her home. The earlier festivities had come and gone without an announcement or a request for an extension of her visit or, dare she hope, a proposal. She doesn't understand how she could have been wrong in thinking he would choose her. She brushes a lone tear from her cheek as a knock sounds at the door. Seeming to know something she does not, her ladies disappear into the bedchamber and close the door, leaving her alone in the sitting room.

She opens the door to find an anxious looking Caspian, alone. Perhaps she has been hasty in her disappointment. A spark of hope springs to life within her.

"Of course, your highness. Please come in." She opens the door wider to allow room for him to enter. She closes the door behind him and remains there, one hand on the latch behind her back, waiting to see if he sits or chooses to stand. Somehow taking a seat seems a better sign of his intentions.

"Please pardon the chaos; packing does not lend itself to order."

It's good to find her alone, although there's evidence all about that her maids are only likely recently departed--possibly still lingering near at hand on their Lady's behalf. He can't help that the thought brings even more nerves to the pit of his stomach.

The smile he has for her is just a little thin as he enters the room, pacing to the window without actually seeming to see much of the mess around him.

"That's-- why I wished to speak with you, Lady Jeyne." He can see the masts far below as he glances out the window, tightness still furrowing his brow. "I very much wished to seek your-- opinion on it."

Not packing specifically, no, but the act associated with the packing.

She finds it ironic that he immediately goes to the spot she had occupied not a minute earlier. If he felt the cushion it would likely still be warm. She walks slowly to his side, moving without thinking, and slips her hand into his.

"I promised you that I would give you my honest opinion whenever you asked for it," she says as she laces her fingers through his. If he is there to say goodbye to her, at least she will get to feel his touch one last time.

"Caspian... is packing truly what you'd like my opinion on?"

Edited 2015-05-13 00:26 (UTC)

There's a subconscious ease to lacing his fingers with hers, a quiet comfort in having her close beside him like this. He can't help imagining that this is exactly what the young guards had been speaking of while teasing him about the smitten expression he seemed already to wear constantly around the visiting Lady.

His attempt at a laugh is very faint as his thumb smooths thoughtlessly over her knuckles, attention still lingering on the ships far below the Cair in the harbour.

"Somewhat. I wished-- to hear your opinion on-- not packing, more than anything."

It takes effort to turn his attention toward her. He can't quite meet her eyes, gaze stuck on her chin with obvious nervousness.

"I think I'm-- not mistaken that it would not displease you to be-- courted here in Narnia. I only wished to know if-- it should hurt you terribly, if I asked you to stay and then-- found I could not ask for your hand."

"You are not mistaken." She is unaware of his inability to look her in the eye because she is similarly afflicted. Her eyes flit down to their hands, then to his shoulder and then back again.

Not be able to ask for her hand? He is acting as if the decision is not his alone and she doesn't understand that. She can't deny that it would hurt her, and hurt even more than it will hurt to leave tomorrow. That is part of being a lady, and something she'd known could happen when she agreed to come to Narnia in the first place.

"If your aim is to avoid my feelings being hurt... that time has passed, Caspian. I would have had to board that ship days ago." She is suddenly overwhelmed by her feelings, as confusing as they are, and she has to blink back tears that spring to her eyes.

"What I told you in that tower is still true. I want to stay. I want to know you better. And if that only ends in my heart being broken, then that's a risk I'm willing to take." She means every word, and she prays that he can hear it in her voice, since neither can seem to look the other in the eyes.

Edited 2015-05-13 01:42 (UTC)

It makes his heart stammer painfully to hear affirmed. It sets him a little breathless as his gaze drops to their joined hands as well. At least she understands. At least she's approaching this with both the joy of young affection and the thoughtfulness of a mind trained toward politics.

It takes a moment to breathe deeply enough to ask the next question swirling through his mind. "And-- your parents? Will they allow it, if-- I cannot promise you the kingdom? Or will they take you to find another match?"

There's no insignificant chance that he would promise more than he ought to, if it meant keeping her here longer.

Another match? So he has not been told about her family's history or standing in Westeros. She feels he deserves to know, as embarrassing as it may be.

"The House of Westerling is a lesser one in Westeros, made even lower when my father married my mother, the daughter of a wealthy merchant from across the sea, thus diluting his noble blood. Because of that I am not considered a desirable match by the majority of families there. The best I could hope for would be to marry a second or third son of a lower family, one set to inherit nothing but his father's name." Speaking of facts instead of feelings makes it a bit easier for her to look at him, and she manages to look at his face though his gaze is still cast downwards.

"Even the slightest possibility of me becoming a queen in this land is an opportunity that my parents would not dismiss, regardless of my feelings on the matter." She squeezed his hand, wondering if that is his racing heart that she feels or her own.

"Are you saying that you want me to stay?"

It's likely a detail Trumpkin and the other chancellors had known and felt unnecessary to cloud the King's mind with. There were enough nerves and considerations flying through the young man's head, after all, without his concerning himself completely about the match's implication in international politics. He had been nervous enough for the idea of marrying a woman from beyond Narnia's borders, after all, if equally miserable at the prospect of being matched with any of the courtiers he had grown up among as companions.

The thought of a 'lesser' bloodline certainly doesn't seem to bother him now. The levelness of Telmarine hierarchy had stuck with him, clearly. Much more weight was given to the knowledge her parents would be pleased to see her stay--and that she herself wished to.

His fingers squeeze gently at hers, attention still lowered to the space between them. "I do. I should-- not delay your parents, if they-- feel pressed to return home, but-- if you wish it as well, Lady Jeyne, I would-- have you extend your visit. I would-- court you properly."

Not over the space of a few days.

She exhales with relief and her shoulders relax, releasing tension that she'd not realized she was holding. She had braced herself for the worst, both emotionally and physically, both needlessly.

As she'd done in the tower, Jeyne lifted her fingertips to Caspian's jawline, tilting his head up slightly so as to catch his eyes. In them she sees the same anxiousness that has had its grip on her heart, and she wishes nothing more than to ease that for him.

"That's settled, then." She will send word to her parents and let them decide whether to stay or to go. "As long as you wish for me to remain here with you, then this is where I shall be." The seedlings of feelings in her heart - affection, admiration, perhaps even love - grow wildly in his presence, as if he were the sun and rain to feed them. For a moment she hates not being familiar with courting customs, because she would like nothing more than to embrace him in this moment. He has made her so very, very happy.

Her touch is becoming familiar now. He knows the weight of her fingers in his; the gentle warmth of her fingers against his jaw. It makes his heart skip to know he'll be able to learn it more properly--know her touch rather than simply recognize it.

His eyes can't help staying just a bit guarded as she lifts his chin. His brow can't quite unfurrow as he studies her gentle expression.

"I would-- ask for your hand once we know each other, Jeyne. If there's a chance staying here would only-- make you miserable, I should rather we know it before making such a serious commitment."

He is such a sweet, dear, kind man. She's standing with him, struggling to read his feelings and failing because he's thinking not of his own heart but of hers.

"How could I ever be miserable here?" Her feelings well up again, making tears sting at her eyes. It is the thought of leaving that breaks her heart; the thought of having to spend the rest of her life without ever seeing his face again.

"Narnia is magical. It is bright and colorful and welcoming. I have often been told that I am too kind, too sweet, too trusting for Westeros. But here those qualities are an asset, not a hindrance. From the moment I set foot on its shores Narnia has felt like home." Warm and inviting in a way their decrepit Crag never had. In Narnia she had value - in Westeros she was only a burden to her parents.

"Never again being with you, alone like this... that would be misery."

Actually looking at her is wonderful until he notes the tears pricking the corners of her eyes. His fingers untangle from hers so both hands can be lifted to her cheeks. They're rough with callouses, but his motion is gentle in trying to preempt the tears from actually falling with careful brushes.

"Then you'll stay here. Even-- if you decide not to join me on the throne, there are scores of lords here I'm certain would be-- incredibly pleased to ask for your hand."

Just in case things didn't quite work. Just in case getting to know each other revealed that their first brush of affection was a passing symptom, that they weren't suited to be husband and wife.

"If this is where you choose to make your life, Narnia will be blessed to have you. And... and if you'll be patient, Jeyne, I would-- test properly whether we might make our-- lives together."

The roughness of his hands contrasts with the gentleness of his touch, in a way that seems very demonstrative of him in general. Her palms rest lightly overtop of his hands as she smiles and nods.

"I can hardly contain how happy you've made me. I will need you to walk me through what courtship entails." She places a light kiss to his palm before pulling his hands down and taking a seat in the window, urging him to join her.

"In Westeros, my marriage would have been arranged by my parents. I likely would not have met my husband until the wedding, and in all likelihood he would be at least twice my age if not more. My most desirable asset there is my potential ability to produce heirs." It was a sad state of affairs, yet it was the fate that all ladies faced.

"All of this - Narnia, and you especially - feels like a dream come true, only it's a dream I never even dared to hope for. You will never know how grateful I am that you consider my feelings-- my desires, important. Whether to ask for my hand will be your decision, and I cannot imagine many kings stop to consider whether the lady wants to give it."

Following her gentle tug is easy. He won't actually join her on the seat, but he'll move to hover close beside her, fingers wrapping in tight with hers. At the moment, it feels impossible to be anywhere but close by her side.

"I wouldn't-- wish to speak ill of Westeros." It never helped, after all; the Telmarine dynasty had been firm proof of that. "But I do-- hope you'll appreciate the process here."

The actual getting to know each other. The mutuality of agreement. The sort of important precedents set forth by strong queens like Helen.

"You'll stay here, in these quarters. We'll have-- proper time together. Like this. No one watching so-- intently."

She re-laces her fingers through his and looks up at him as he settles but does not sit. He seems fond of looking downward, and so her perch at the window suits her just fine.

"That sounds wonderful. How much time will we have?" She has no idea if courting lasts for a prescribed amount of time, though to her putting a limit on how long one would need before knowing for certain if marriage was what one wanted seems counter-intuitive. She knows little about matters of the heart, save that they are unpredictable.

"More than a few days," he manages to chuckle, fingers giving hers a slight squeeze. "But we'll be able to-- speak together. We can ride out without the whole court coming with us. You can come with me on the Dawn Treader to see the islands. You can spend time in the library and-- ask about what's confusing in the kingdom which will be your home."

It would help to see her more settled so he could believe she would be happy in Narnia as his wife.

Those all sound like wonderful things. With a widening grin she retakes her feet so as to better look into his eyes.

"So as much time as we need, then." Time to learn one another, likes and dislikes, quirks and habits. To do all of that before marriage feels strange but smart.

"I know this is improper but-- may I embrace you? It feels like we've agreed to embark on a journey together and- I'm not sure how to express myself. Seven hells... Caspian I just really want to hug you." She laughs as she gives up on the ladylike pretense. If they are to spend time together, he will see the relaxed Jeyne soon enough.

There's so much sweetness in her. There's so much lightness and ease in the way she falls in with the plan--the way she asks with a laugh for a hug to mark the start of their more proper time together.

How can he do anything but laugh in return, soft and startled? How can he do anything but take a half-step back, opening his arms hesitantly toward her.

"If-- it should please you."

Jeyne is an affectionate person by nature. Her warm heart doesn't have the capacity to hold all of the love she has for nearly everyone she meets, and it overflows into her actions. At his invitation she leans forward into his arms, lifting her own to embrace him around his shoulders. She is careful to keep separation between their bodies, especially the lower halves, while keeping the hug warm. Her ability to forego propriety only reaches so far.

She presses her cheek to his and closes her eyes, exhaling a happy breath.

"You will tell me if I'm being overly affectionate, won't you?" she asks quietly, her fingertips brushing past his hair at the back of his neck incidentally.

The pull of his arms around her middle is gentle, just a little uncertain of himself, fingers curled in on themselves rather than catching at the fabric of her garment. He hadn't known much affection apart from what he had had foisted on him by the Pevensies; it feels a little stiff and odd now with a woman who might well be his wife someday.

Pressing his cheek to hers feels comfortable, at least. There's something just shy of intimate to the sensation, warm and affectionate without being confusing.

His breath comes a little shallow at the ghosting of her fingers along the back of his neck, although he doesn't pull away. On the contrary, his head ducks slightly, forehead bumping carefully against her shoulder as he nods. "I hope you'll-- do the same, Jeyne. Particularly if our customs are-- strange or uncomfortable to you."

She gently cradles the back of his head for a moment before she releases him and steps back - not because she wants to let go, but because she senses his discomfort and does not want to push him too far. They will have time to grow more accustomed to gestures of affection in the coming time- in their courting.

"Agreed." With a deep breath and an audible exhale she releases the remainder of her anxiety.

"I suppose I should send word to my parents regarding the change in plans. Do you have obligations to attend to now, or is your time free to begin this courting now?"

The brush of her fingers is strange, but he finds himself missing the contact once she takes a step back. His own fingers shift entirely unconsciously to catch at hers again, holding with a little more certainty than he had previously been able to muster.

"Speak with your parents. I'll come find you again before supper, and-- we'll begin properly. If that's all right."

There's going to have to be balance here. There's going to have to be something deep and properly open between them to make this run smoothly.

The unexpected grasp of his fingers makes a smile spring to her lips. It would seem she had not pushed him too far after all, and it warms her heart to think he may be as loathe to be without her touch as she is for his.

"That will work perfectly. It will likely take me that long to clean up this mess!" Now that she knew she would be staying, and she was overflowing with joy, she would have more energy than cleaning up would burn.

"Need I wear anything special for supper?" She is unsure if courting involves standards of formal wear.

First Relationship

Jeyne Westerling | ASOIAF | m/f

after the riding out thread, naturally o/

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