Closed Starter For @lucius-rivers Setting: On Her Way Back To The North From King's Landing, Dacey Stops

dacey let out a breath she had not realised she was holding. she knew little of arron lannister, her nerves at being here in his domain, in the west, were already in overdrive, and she had not fully realised how much they had amplified simply by asking something of him. but it was the softening of his expression, the way his demeanour shifted just slightly, that had some of that anxieties easing.

even so, she knew not what to make of it. wherever she went, she feared the weight of scrutiny, of being weighed and measured and found to be lacking. she had felt it when he approached, whether it was true or not, but the sharpness he had approached with had dulled around the edges, and she found herself grateful for it.

"i am sure she does," she said, quietly, and there was no judgement or mockery in it, simply an acknowledgement of what could not be ignored. "but i am glad to hear that she is doing well. i have often wondered." she could not pinpoint the moment they had began to drift apart, whether it had happened when rowan arryn had died, or if it was already in motion before. it was as though dacey had looked around one day, and realised it had already happened.

she hesitated when he enquired as to their closeness, fingers tracing idle patterns on her palm. it was difficult to say - if they had been close, would they have ended up here? would that not have meant something lasting? "i don't know," she admitted, voice barely above a whisper. "not as close as i would have liked to be, i think."

she let out a cough, a small sound to clear her throat, and the small smile on her face turned rueful. "that is probably my own doing," she explained. "it is... difficult for me to get close to people." she did not expand on the point, though it should have been obvious enough, her bearing and stature that of a woman who took little pleasure in being noticed, who shrank when called upon to be social with those who she did not know.

"but guinevere was kind to me," she added, her thumb rubbing circles in the palm of her other hand. "she was... someone to speak with when i needed it. i do not know if she knows how much i appreciated her."

Arron’s sharp gaze softened, just for a moment, when Dacey spoke of his sister. The sincerity in Dacey’s eyes pulled at something buried beneath the hard exterior he wore. His emerald green eyes studied her, assessing her words with the same scrutiny he gave everything, though her request seemed to catch him off guard.

His lips curved, but it wasn’t a smile. It was something quieter, something more contemplative. He’d seen that look before—the wide eyes, the hesitant voice. His sister, for all her bravado, had never been good at letting people get close. She had too many walls, too many layers that even he couldn’t break through. But here was someone who cared.

"My sister is doing well," Arron replied, his voice a bit more measured than it had been before, betraying a softness he had not intended. He cleared his throat lightly, his posture straightening as he considered the way forward. "She has... her challenges, but she’s well. I’m sure she’ll appreciate hearing that you send your regards."

The offer of a favour lingered in his mind, and as he watched Dacey, a thought crossed his mind—an idea that could perhaps create the opportunity for the two women to reconnect. The thought of orchestrating a meeting between them, however indirect, seemed like a small chance to give his sister the companionship she needed without forcing the issue. He could easily arrange for them to meet, though neither of them would likely suspect his involvement. A quiet, gentle way of nudging both toward something that might ease the isolation that hung around his sister.

His expression softened as he spoke again, his voice quieter now, not as sharp as before. "Were you close?" he asked, though the question hung in the air with more curiosity than anything else. He didn’t ask out of a need for gossip; no, he wanted to understand.

Willow making the decision to marry Robert

dacey did her best to look put together, but she was by no means a fashionable person. what she called timeless, others would call boring, her outfit choices always perfectly fine, in a classic sort of way, but very safe. she was a creature of habit, and she very much stuck to what she knew.

it was why she was grateful for lucrezia, someone to bounce ideas off and tell her if she was too boring, or too out there, or not quite on theme. it was going to be an important night, and it was one of the rare times dacey was putting a concentrated effort into what she was going to wear.

"i honestly don't think so," she mused, looking up from the ipad she was using to scroll pinterest and see what outfits other had put together. none felt quite right for her, though many were lovely. "she might hint at it, but there's a pattern. whenever she puts an album out, she does two re-records the year after. so i think reputation will be next year, at the earliest. it would be too soon to announce it."

her mouth opened in a small 'o' shape, and she nodded her head. "oh, i love the august dress. it's so dreamy." she moved back to the search bar, typing in 'taylor swift august dress' and scrolling through the various colour options until she found one she thought would work with her complexion. "what colour were you thinking? we should all wear a different one, i think. just so we look a little different to one another."

who: @daceystvrk

there was serious business afoot within the hotel room of dacey stark; various sketches on a table, and a few ipads with different pinterest pictures and links being pulled up. the girls had a special night to plan for having obtained tickets for closing night in london; and it was agreed they would wear folklore inspired outfits.

"do you think she'll announce reputation? we've been wrong multiple times now. what is it, like four?" lucrezia asked, a glow of genuine excitement coming over her face as she peered over the pinterest screen, scrolling down almost mindlessly, trying to find something.

"the vault tracks will be so good too." she looked up at dacey, a third chair vacant for when feray would be able to join them. she checked her phone for any texts from their third missing member, wanting to ensure she did not ghost on feray. "are you thinking a dress? you'd look lovely in the august dress."

dacey's gaze seemed to catch on the tapestry. it were undoubtedly a work of art - careful stitching and vibrant colours speaking of a master of the craft, one she could recognise due to her own skill with a loom. and yet, the subject of the piece, the story it was trying to tell, made her stomach twist. it were bold, speaking of victory and glory, and yet, she found its depiction of battle and war distasteful, bordering on grotesque. the crimson threads could not fully capture the horror of spilled blood.

lips pressed into a thin line as she took in the details, the embroidered waves and flames. she were a stark, she knew the necessity of battle, and yet, she was also a girl who longed for a world without it, one where loss did not seem an inevitability. the tale being told did not fill her with any sort of admiration to the glory of the west - it just left her feeling colder than winterfell ever could.

she tore her gaze away. another stood before the second tapestry, and the feeling it evoked was softer, gentler. better. there was a quiet peace to it, hues of blue and gold that contrasted with the other one, and yet she preferred it. she caught the gaze of it's other admirer, recognising her as malee westerling, and offered a faint smile.

"lady westerling," dacey greeted, tentatively stepping forward and coming to stand beside malee. "they are... certainly a work of art." it was not a lie, though she could not bring herself to offer more glowing praise for the first tapestry. "though i prefer the ones that speak of quieter days." it was a curious decision to hand two such differing pieces beside one another. perhaps the blue sky and peaceful fields was supposed to serve as a reminder of what they were battling for.

"this one," she gestured to the harvest scene before them. "it feels truer to me. it's about life, i suppose. the beauty in what we see around us every day. the heart is in the details, rather than the story."

setting: flashback to the westerlands event, malee finds a moment of peace in a room of tapestries, and is joined by a northern companion ; starter for @daceystvrk

the lady of the crag stood before a tapestry, her fingers lightly brushing the edge of the fabric. The scene depicted a fierce battle at sea—ships ablaze, warriors clashing beneath storm-darkened skies. the intricate details of the waves, the glint of swords, and the defiant stance of her ancestors seemed almost alive. she traced the embroidered figure of a ser westerling, his sword raised high against a towering greyjoy raider. her lips tightened. they always show the glory, never the cost.

the faint murmur of celebration drifted up from the great hall below: laughter, the clink of goblets, the steady rhythm of a drum. The birth of a prince. a new chapter in the story of the realm. yet, malee found herself here, away from the noise, seeking solace in the quiet narratives of thread and cloth.

she shifted her gaze to the next tapestry, this one softer in tone—a peaceful scene of harvest in the westerlands. golden fields, proud castles, and a sky so blue it seemed to stretch beyond the bounds of the fabric. malee exhaled slowly. how many years of blood and toil had it taken to weave such peace?

her thoughts were interrupted by a faint creak of the floorboards behind her. She turned to see the visage of dacey stark some paces away. she had briefly met the princess of the north on a few occassions, and was admittedly surprised to see her here, now. "your grace." she offered a small bow of her head, looking to the tapestry behind her, then back to the other. "they're lovely, aren't they?" she asked, a delicate finger pointing to the corner of the one she stood before. "i find the technique used for this one particularly interesting."

F•R•I•E•N•D•S (1994-2004)

dacey nodded her gratitude, remaining standing though seffora sat. there was a temptation to pace the room, but she withstood it - refusing a seat was one thing, but it felt rude to take the liberty to stroll around the room, even with someone she was as comfortable with as she was with seffora. she clasped her hands before her, neatly, and turned her full attention to the lady of longtable.

and her expression softened then, clear sympathy written on her face. sienna merryweather's treason had reached her ears, but it was not a topic she would have broached had sefford not mentioned it first. "i was sorry to hear of it," she spoke gently. "of your sister. the position she put you in. i cannot imagine how trying that would have been." trying seemed too small of a word for what seffora had been through, both before and after such an event. "you did not deserve it." but then, it seemed both the old gods and the new seemed to put them on paths that they did not deserve, did not ask for. dacey could only hope the worst of their life's challenges were behind them both.

for seffora, that certainly seemed so. she spoke of the people who had come together to help aid her in times of trouble, and that painted a smile on dacey's lips. finally, she took a seat next to seffora. "there's great wisdom in listening to the guidance of those with wisdom of their own to share, i think." it was a philosophy she lived her own life by - listen to those who knew better, follow the teachings of those who had knowledge to impart. "a skill i think many who rule keeps forget, sometimes." it was a subtle sort of compliment towards seffora. "you may not have prepared for this, but it sounds as though you are taking things in your stride. and when longtable flourishes again, don't let your gratitude towards those who helped you overshadow your pride in your own actions."

“Not at all. Make yourself comfortable in any way you like, Dacey,” the Merryweather lady offered with a friendly smile. The journey from the North was considerably longer, so she fully understood the princess' wish. Seffora, for her part, who'd ridden the last bit of the journey on horseback, did welcome the comfort of the couch that was set near one of the windows. It was lovely to get a good view of the western sea from it.

“Well, after what Sienna unleashed, anything would count as better fortune,” the Lady of Longtable admitted with a subtle scoff. To this day she remained conflicted of what her eldest sister had done, but Seffora had gradually learned it was not her burden to bear. What was hers to carry was the promise of what Longtable could become following the civil war. “I never thought I would end up being a ruling lady. None of the odds were in favor for it, and I never wished it, really,” the lady admitted. But circumstance built character, and Seffora could feel proud of herself for how she'd risen to the occasion.

“Well, my fortune has been deeply tied to those who have been guiding and aiding me in this chapter of my life. My aunt Denyse has offered her wisdom. I have little in the form of family left, and I'm so grateful for her,” she added with a subtle tug of her lips, a bittersweet smile. If one understood what it meant to lose siblings, it was Dacey. “Lord Tirius continues to be a support for me, some of his kin have moved to Longtable and been great advisors. I do have Laena, too. My cousin helped so many of my people, we arranged for her to teach her craft to many of the widows from the war, and they're slowly but surely rebuilding their lives”. Seffora's unshakable focus on the widows and the orphans had been her most important work once she became a ruling lady, wishing to support the most disenfranchised and the most vulnerable. “It's taken effort and time, but Longtable will be thriving again soon. I'm sure of it”.

lucius didn't dismiss dacey's words, nor did he tease or offer false comfort. he spoke as plainly as he always did, but with a sort of softness to his tone. dacey knew her cousin was not a man who needlessly reached for gentle words, but when he gave them, it felt earned. "i'm glad it makes sense to one of us," she gave a wry sort of laugh, shaking her head slightly as she spoke. "i'm not sure it even does to me at times. i'm not sure feelings every really do." at least, not when they were her own. she never quite seemed able to justify or rationalise that part of herself.

as lucius had given her space to speak, she fell silent, listening to him in that quiet, attentive way she did. even when speaking of spaces that held so much uncertainty, lucius still sounded so very certain, as though he had found the things in his life that made him who he was, and clung to them even tighter. in a way, dacey envied that. there was a sort of liberation that came from not caring that she wasn't sure she'd ever achieve herself. "i suppose if that's where they choose to stop looking, it gives you a little more room to move," she spoke thoughtfully, her eyes finding the glassy surface of the river in the dark. "it's a luxury in itself." one it did not sound like lucius' siblings enjoy. dacey's brow knotted, concern blossoming on her features. she could relate to his words, in the way that they echoed the worries she held for her own brothers and sisters. "it's never easy, is it?" she wondered aloud. wherever they found themselves in life, they all had their burdens to bear.

her hands were folded before her, fingers tightly interlaced, thumbs rubbing absent-mindedly against each other. "i'm sorry," the flush on her face darkened. she never knew when she hadn't said enough, and when she had said too much, and this time, it seemed to be the latter. "i do appreciate you listening, for what it is worth." the corners of her mouth lifted, her smile self-deprecating in its nature, but when her gaze met his, it was a little steadier. "i think i like this better, too."

Lucius did not answer right away. His gaze followed hers, settling on the flowing river at their side, watching how the current curled around stones and broken branches. He understood the metaphor, even if he had never felt what she described. That kind of unease, the sense of being misplaced in a space meant for others, was foreign to him. He had always known his place, it had been irrevocably set from his birth. But he did not doubt the truth she confessed. He saw the way her voice softened, the way the flush climbed up her cheeks when she admitted what she no doubt considered a vulnerability. “It makes sense, Dacey,” he said, low and certain, with the rare gentleness he reserved for his kin. “And it sounds very tiring”.

His eyes narrowed slightly, thoughtful. “It’s different for me,” Lucius went on, not as a correction but as an offering. “I don’t feel out of place in a crowd. I just don’t care for the game of it. All the nodding and smiling. The words that mean nothing, or mean everything, and you’re meant to guess which,” he said, glancing toward his cousin. For someone as straightforward as him, those labyrinths were unnerving. “I know what people see when they look at me. A soldier, a brute, something simple. And that’s fine. I let them see that”. His tone held no bitterness. “But I’ve seen what it’s like for Ben. For Agnes. The way people, even inside our own halls, watch them. Waiting for them to fail. To lose”. He paused, then glanced at her. It was not the experience he lived in his own flesh, but he'd seen closely what it was to be measured by standards one never chose.

They walked on a few more steps before he added, “I appreciate your sincerity, but frankly, you don’t need to explain yourself to me. It's fine to want some quiet, to want to step away”. His mouth curved slightly at the corner, not quite a smile, but close. “I like this better, too. Talking with one person who actually means what they say. It’s rare”. He cast a sideways look at her, something wry and almost conspiratorial in his expression. Lucius didn’t say things he didn’t mean, and it was clear in his tone that what he’d said was no small compliment.

Charles Bukowski, "no title," from What Matters Most is How Well You Walk through the Fire

dacey nodded her head. one step each day. it was good advice in theory, if not for the fact that it felt like she was descending a steep set of stairs in the dark. if any of those one steps was on uneasy footing, she would go plummeting to the bottom. even when her feet found the ground, merely trying to find it made her stomach feel like it was trying to leap out of her throat. she had no idea if there was an end to the descent, but there had to be. seffora had similarly had to navigate her own darkened staircase, and now was starting to speak of the light at the end of it. perhaps, with time and patience, dacey could arrive there too.

she stayed quiet when seffora hugged her, her own arms coming up to hold her friend tight. she did not know if seffora knew how grateful she was for her support in that moment. though dacey had shared only a fraction of her worries, she felt lighter, unburdened in some ways. she made a mental note to send seffora a token of that appreciation before they returned to their respective lands once more.

"then you must be serious," the ghost-smile on her lips turned into something more genuine. dacey's melancholy had a permanent presence in her, but there were occasions where she could put it to the side, and this was one of them. "but you did not come all the way to the west to listen to my complaints. let's talk of happier things while we have time to spend together."

Seffora continued to hold her friend's hand, both grateful and saddened by this intimate space of trust and vulnerability the two shared. She never wished to see a loved one struggling, of course, but she also understood that sometimes it were the moments of an aching heart that brought people closer together. “One step each day,” she said to the princess. Some days it would be a step forward and some days it would feel like a step backward. And it was alright that it was so. Grief and heartache were not linear processes, she'd learned.

There was undoubtedly a warm, physical nature to Seffora in how she reached to hold hands or touch shoulders. For her most dear ones she couldn't help but wish to offer an embrace, and so she moved closer to Dacey to give her a hug.

“You can disagree,” Seffora chuckled then, her expression still soft, though with some more gladness in her eyes now “But know I will stubbornly insist upon it. It's the only thing I'm willing to contradict a princess about,” she half-joked. It was the beautiful thing about friends, she supposed, that she could see something in Dacey that the princess did not see in her herself, and vice versa. She experienced this with the Northern princess, and with Laena too —the subtle and tender ways in which they lifted each other up, trying to make the other see and recognize what others might have instilled into them to be blind to. It was the way in which girls —women— could do more than just survive in this world, but actually learn to thrive.

dacey nodded her head. despite maisie's reassurance, she did not find herself much assured. but then, that was always the way with the princess. she thought too much, running through interactions again and again in her mind until she convinced herself she had made a horrible impression, that the person she was speaking with hated her guts. there was very few that she ever felt at ease with, and that was more true than ever when she found herself away from the north. whilst it was true that her home had been torn apart by war, only now beginning to rebuild, she still felt safer there than anywhere else.

"your cousin?" at that, dacey's gaze shot to maisie's face. she did not speak, much, about the divisions that were beginning to make themselves obvious. the eight, the loyallists, and the true north, the latter of which worried her the most. the whole thing made her nervous, and there was nothing she wanted more than to bury her head in the snow and pretend all was well, but that was proving more difficult by the day. had maisie herself picked a side? was that what she wanted to discuss? dacey did not know, and did not ask. neither did she offer the information that she herself had spoken to brandon karstark on the matter. that felt much too private. "of course." she said, instead. "we must all keep family close."

what was easier to answer was the question of whether she enjoyed her time in the west. to that, dacey let out a weary sigh. "i enjoyed lann's day." she admitted. "the festival. it was... more amusing than i expected. and the lion's tor was a beautiful place. peaceful." the rest of her time in the west, she had less kind words for. "but i must admit, i am not at ease here, and eager to return home. as for what happened to that poor woman..." the sight of alicent hightower being pierced with an arrow and struck by a horse lingered in her mind. "i wish i had not seen it."

Maisie Mormont was still getting used to all the excitement that was the West. In fact, many things were different from the North; especially the people and their attitudes. A little more daring, more... open. At least in his opinion, but the young woman couldn't be considered a reference either; she'd only left Bear Island a handful of times that she could be considered a baby in this world, despite her age. 

His eyes had taken in everything different there, but above all he had observed the behavior of the lords throughout the event. How the conversations looked like business, how the little activities looked like competitions. How everything was a way of imposing their names, it was funny, Maisie had to admit, at another time, she would undoubtedly enjoy the whole situation more; she would allow herself to have a bit of fun instead of all her exhibitionist posing and thoughtful interactions — she wanted to be seen, admired and also arouse any kind of interest she could. She needed to make herself known.

But at the moment, Lady Mormont's footsteps were taking her to the most relaxing place in the whole of the west: Princess Dacey's premises, someone she could call a friend, or something close to it. As she entered the room, she saw the princess in the midst of the bustle of tidying up. ❛❛Princess Dacey❜❜ a big smile appears on Maisie's face, ❛❛No need to apologize, I was in the middle of a mess myself earlier❜❜ She speaks to reassure the princess ❛❛I'll probably go with my cousins, I need to have a chat with my cousin about everything that's going on in the North❜❜ Mormont's lips twitch as he recalls the conflicts that have been going on ❛❛But what about you, are you okay? Have you managed to have some fun here?❜❜