The battle had been fierce and quick, the walls of the Crag trembling under the weight of the Stark's assault. House Westerling had surrendered, their ancestral home now occupied by the Young Wolf and his army. The battle had claimed many lives, and though Lord Gawen Westerling's lands were lost, Robb had been injured during the skirmish—an arrow lodged deep in his side.

Jeyne's mother, Sybell, and her uncle, Ser Rolph Spicer, saw the opportunity for Jeyne to serve as a healer. Despite the tension, the desperate circumstances made it clear: Jeyne must attend to his wound. She was encouraged to nurse him back to health, her presence a way to ease his pain and ensure his survival, even if he was the very enemy who had come to conquer her family’s home.

With a nervous breath, Jeyne entered the room where Robb lay, his face pale, his breaths shallow. She paused at the door, glancing once more at her mother’s encouraging nod. The young king’s body was bruised and battered, his once-proud countenance now showing the vulnerability of a man at the mercy of others.

Her heart thudded in her chest as she crossed the room, setting aside her own feelings of conflict. The enemy, now a wounded king, lay before her, needing help. Jeyne gently moved to his bedside, her hands trembling slightly as she prepared to nurse him, despite the strangeness of it all. He was the son of a house that had claimed her home, yet in that moment, she was a healer, and he was her charge.

“Your wound... It needs attention,” she whispered, her voice soft but steady, focusing only on her task, despite the weight of the situation. She went to his side and took off the bandage.