Charles Bukowski, "no Title," From What Matters Most Is How Well You Walk Through The Fire

it was a rare thing for dacey to speak without feeling like she had said too much. it was the by product of viewing her thoughts as a burden that they were rarely vocalised, especially not in the presence of strangers. but rather than scoff at them, malee offered her own gentle reassurance. it wasn't until she did that dacey realised she had not been expecting it, but she was grateful for it all the same.

it meant something, to be understood, even if only about something as simple as tapestries handing upon a wall.

her fingers brushed absently over the fabric of her sleeve, the feel of the soft fabric grounding her a little, stopping her thoughts from spiralling entirely into something else. "you aren't rambling," she said, her smile shy. "if anything, i was worried i was. it is rare to speak to someone about these things, for me." she did not add that it was rare for her to speak to anybody about much beyond formalities and polite exchanges. it did not seem necessary to share that much.

"should you ever find yourself in winterfell, i would love to show you the tapestries." those from the north were not the same, thicker, less vibrant, but made to endure. in a way, it was an apt reflection of the people. for a brief moment, she felt strangely protective of it, then, as though it would not measure up in the eyes of one used to the court of the west.

malee stood still, her gaze following the delicate threads of the tapestry as though each one had its own story to tell. she let dacey’s words settle, a quiet smile touching her lips at the thought of how weaving could both be an art and a refuge. "no, not at all," she said gently, shaking her head. "i understand completely. it's the same for me. the process, the rhythm—each thread, each choice, it holds meaning, doesn’t it?" her eyes softened, glancing at the patterns before them. "i think that’s why i’ve come to love it. it’s not just about creating something beautiful; it’s about preserving something deeper, something that feels worth holding onto."

she moved a little closer to dacey, her voice warming as she spoke. "and you’re right about yi ti," malee agreed, her fingers unconsciously tracing a pattern in the air, mirroring the delicate weaving of her thoughts. "there’s something timeless in their work. you can feel the history, the legends they’re passing down with every stitch. it’s more than fabric—it's like they’ve captured the essence of an entire culture, their lives woven into the cloth."

her eyes softened with appreciation. "i can see how it must have become a way to anchor you, how it fills the hours when there was little else to hold onto. for me, that is how the true passion began. my first tapestry, one that i felt compelled to create not out of obligation, but because it struck me, was a distraction from a world that felt too big, too loud." her shoulders fell just slightly, as if relaxing from some invisible weight. "but i think, like you, i started to understand that it’s more than just the end result." malee smiled, a hint of vulnerability in her expression. "it’s the journey, isn’t it? the peace that comes with knowing every single thread matters."

she paused, then gave a small, knowing laugh. "i hope i’m not rambling on too much. i do tend to get caught up in the meaning of it all." looking back to dacey, she offered a quiet smile. "but thank you for listening. it’s rare to find someone who truly understands what weaving can be, and should i ever find myself in winterfell again, i would love to see the tapestries you have there."

"you don't sound silly," dacey's voice was firm as she spoke. she did not believe otherwise, either. perhaps idealistic, but if anybody was going to take the hope from her, it would not be dacey. "and you are no bother. not while there is still packing to be done," she half-joked, gesturing to the disarray of her room and the swirl of activity. "i hope you know you can speak with me whenever you'd like. i am not so difficult to find in winterfell." when she was not isolating herself away from those she did not wish to find her.

we have to convince ourselves that we are something. perhaps maisie would not recognise the effect the words had on dacey. it was a lovely sentiment, but not one she was sure she could live up to. what was there that she could convince herself that she was? the voice in the back of her head said only words of discouragement, all the horrible things it convinced her everyone else was thinking. she wasn't sure what else there was to her. but rather than dwell on it, she merely nodded.

"we sound like philosophers," she offered a wry smile, finally securing her trunk and rising to her feet. "as ready as i can be, i suppose. i don't much enjoy travelling. let's hope the road is clear and safe, for the both of us."

“I sound silly, don't I?” She jokes, knowing that his ideas were a little too idealistic, belonging more to the plane of dreams than reality. As if she were inside a cave and decided to stare at the shadows outside as she pleased, ignoring the truth of the matter “I think I'm delaying your party, I'm sorry” She recalled, Mormont couldn't wait to be inside the icy plains of the North, her true home “Thank you, it's nice to have someone to talk to”

“Don't assume, be sure” she encouraged. Perhaps it was Maisie's way of dealing with things, but she didn't like anyone doubting her own ability or courage, unless, of course, it was the enemy side ‘I don't want to sound conceited or invasive, princess, but we have to convince ourselves that we are something” She frowns thoughtfully “A king truly becomes a king when he recognises himself as one, not just by his title” She sighs, pushing everything out of his mind.

“It's like a fine line, one foot walks in the shadows and the other in the light. I'd like to spend more time in the light, to be honest, but even so, what's light to me may not be to you” Completing Dacey's thought, “Ready for the long journey?” She asks, putting her hands behind her back, a habit she possesses, preparing to leave Princess Stark's presence.

they began to dance, and dacey found herself lapsing into silence, focusing on the movement as much as she could. she didn't want to make a mistake - perhaps in the north, it would have been different, but there were too many eyes waiting for another court to make a misstep. she didn't want it to be her to do that for the north.

somehow, she seemed to be managing that. while her movements by no means came naturally too her, she was not as awkward or clumsy as she knew she could be. she even found herself enjoying it, and in her enjoyment, she relaxed a little.

"i think you've misled me, lord vance," she broke the silence, corners of her mouth twisting upwards in a half-smile. "you're a finer dancer than your words suggested." the compliment was utterly sincere. "thank you again for asking me."

"We shall." Hugo felt this was going well. While he would never presume to add a princess to his list of possible names for marriage prospects, it could only bode well for the Lord to have a reputation of carrying himself with a gentlemanly natures. Something for Ladies and Princesses to speak about in their sewing and tea circles, whatever it was the ladies of Westeros chose to occupy themselves with.

Dancing was something the Lord of Wayfarer enjoyed, as a boy he hated it. He hated being out there and having people watching him, making their comments or worse, snickering. Hugo learned it was better to become good at something, somewhere between good and great and leave them with nothing to laugh at.

The swell of the piano, the careful placement of his hands he danced with a Princess of the North and found himself worrying that he would trip over his feet, or that he would embarrass the Riverlands. And if whispers were to be believed, Hugo did not think the Riverlands could continue to survive embarrassments.

THE HOLIDAY (2006) dir. Nancy Meyers

dacey inclined her head in a nod at baelon's words. the black targaryens of dragonstone were old friends to the starks. it was rare that she questioned the king in the north's judgement, but she was wary of the idea of inviting the realms to their home again, unsure who was truly a friend, and who was a foe. a ball to find a queen in the north was certain to draw the ambitious, those who sought to make a name for themselves in the history books, and all she could do was hope he chose wisely. "are you escorting princess aemma?" friends were few and far between for the quiet princess of the north, but she liked aemma targaryen enough that if she did not already consider her a friend, they were close to it.

she shook her head a little. "in truth, i think i'd like a moment of peace and quiet. if not the winter gardens, i would probably take myself to the godswood to find it. if you would not mind the company, i'd gladly accompany you." she tired quicker than usual these days, in her attempts to be visible, to do her duty to support her brother. "i am certain my brother will be glad that you've arrived." the wounds between owen and the king of new valyria ran deep, but that did not extend to the blacks.

Baelon had found solace and comfort in Dragonstone. The place reminded him of his family, the one he had lost during the war. Although, the trauma and the grief replaced every good and positive memory that he had of his childhood. He knew that completely isolating himself from the world would not be good for him, and the last thing he wanted was to lose his mind. There was still a lot to be done, he could not let himself fall into that darkness. It was during that time that Baelon would leave the castle more, go to the village under the dragonmount and speak with the common folk. Still, that was as far as he would go, Baelon would not leave the island of Dragonstone. That was until the invitation from the King in the North came and Baelon could not refuse an old friend.

"Of course, it was a long and tiring journey, but I'm glad it went well. And I'm happy to be here once again, see old friends." Baelon offered her a smile, knowing how uncomfortable it could be to see so many strangers coming into your home all at once. Baelon shrugged his shoulders. "I do not wish to bother you or pull you away from any errands that you might be running." He chuckled. "Although, I would love to see the winter gardens. I cannot wait to reunite with your brother once again."

cassana's presence filled the space whenever she paid dacey a visit, and for that, dacey was grateful. she brought with her light and warmth, coaxing from dacey a different side to herself, one that was less guarded, less composed. cassana had a way of grounding her, of making her push her own doubts and anxieties to the side for a few short moments, even if only to soothe her sisters. for that was the truth of it. dacey did not much enjoy being a princess of the north, but she very much loved being cassana's older sister.

her lips curved into a smile at cassana's hidden bottle, and if anybody else had produced it, she would have refused a drink. instead, dacey uncorked it, filling both their cups, though she poured more into cassana's than to her own. "if anybody asks, i knew nothing about this," amusement threaded through her words as she set the bottle down, still half-full of northern ale. "though if you ask me, they should be grateful you didn't figure out a way to smuggle out an entire cask. that may have been more difficult to hide under your cloak, though."

her smile turned introspective, a faint flush coming over her cheeks at cassana's compliments. "it's just something to do to pass the time." it was a little more than that, a steady, comfortable rhythm she could fall into when there was little else to offer it, but she enjoyed it all the same.

"you should have it," her voice was a touch firmer now. she had not woven it with cassana in mind, guided more by what inspired her in the moment than a desire to tell a particular story, but the tapestry suited her all the same. woven into it was a small pattern that looked a little like arrows. it seemed right that she would give it to her sister. "and i'll keep the next one. i'd run out of space on the walls if i didn't give some of it away."

.

cassana settled into the familiar warmth of dacey’s chambers, the space exuding her sister’s quiet strength and grace. sharing a meal with dacey had become a comforting ritual—a way to connect amidst the chaos of winterfell, to ensure her sister didn’t quietly skip meals as she was prone to do. there were times recently when she had already eaten but took as small second dinner to eat with her sister,not telling her she’d already eaten.she wanted just to be around her.

“you know,” cass began, sliding a bottle onto the table between them with a sly grin.she'd brought along a bottle of ale from their private stores, tucked discreetly beneath her cloak like a conspirator’s prize. “i thought tonight called for something special. straight from the collection the kitchen is so protective of. they won’t notice one missing.” the sparkle in her eye hinted she was daring enough to test that assumption.

her gaze wandered briefly to the tapestry hanging from the loom, its intricate greens and silvers glinting softly in the firelight. she marveled at dacey’s skill, the delicate patterns forming a story only her sister could tell. to create was her sisters gift. “it’s beautiful,” cass said, her voice tinged with admiration. “you put us all to shame with your patience”

at the offer, cassana’s brows lifted in genuine surprise. “for me?” her smile softened, touched by dacey’s generosity. “i’d love to have it, but only if you’re sure. it belongs here, though—with you. this is your work, dace. are you sure?”

there was a peace to the godswood that dacey had not felt since they had passed the neck, and left the north, the leaves above whispered to one another, any trace of the city far removed from where the two found themselves. when she fell quiet, she thought she could still vaguely hear it - the sounds of chatter and life, carried on the wind, so faint that it may have been her imagination. and when she listened even harder, she was sure she could hear the faint, nervous thump of her own heartbeat.

"it's not," a wry sort of smile came over dacey's face. "the further we came from the north, the more i wanted to turn around and run back." it was never an option, not really. even if it had have been possible, dacey never would have asked for it, never would have made such a fuss that such an arrangement would be necessary. "i don't know how you did it. in braavos." there were some who thought little of travel, who found it within themselves to fly from their home like birds migrating from winter. she did not this that was naelys. and yet, she had done it, something dacey could not say for herself. "i think you're very brave for that."

that feeling of kinship only deepened as naelys continued to explain herself. how often had dacey bit her tongue, allowing her own thoughts and feelings to go unspoken because she was afraid of asking for too much, of taking space that wasn't hers to take? how often had she felt the urge to be seen, battling with the urge to go unnoticed. her gaze dropped to naelys' hands, restless and clasped together, and it was a gesture she recognised all too intimately. for a moment, dacey said nothing, standing in the quiet of the godswood with no sound but her own breath and the steady beat of her heart.

"may i take your hand for a moment?" the question was quiet, and she made no movement with her own to do so until naelys' response was given.

"i see you," dacey said, softly. "or at least... i think i do. and i think i see myself, too, if that makes sense. or at least, someone who understands me." she hesitated, as though the right words were shrouded to her, stuck somewhere behind the trees and between the leaves. "even when i can't quite explain myself. i feel as though you might know already."

dacey was a woman who moved through the world with caution, as though her mere presence would disrupt the very balance of it. it was smaller with naelys, as though she could breathe, as though she could add a little more of her own weight to the scales before they tipped. as though it was all right.

"i see you," she repeated, a little more confidently. "the parts that are quiet. the parts that are loud. and none of it is too much. it's just... right."

and she was glad to have been a comfort to naelys. it made her feel less selfish, that she had taken comfort from naelys, too, to know that she had been able to give a little back. "and you to me," she murmured. "more than you know." a soft laugh escaped her then, a small shake of her head that sent dark hair rippling in the afternoon breeze. "i know my gods are not yours, and i did not think to find them on the steps of a sept... but perhaps they were more present than i thought they could be in the city. they brought me to you."

¿

naelys walked beside dacey, feeling the weight of the years they had spent in letters and distant words now coming alive in the space between them. the cobblestones beneath their feet grew quieter as they neared the godswood, the rustling of trees above them blending with the soft rhythm of their steps. there was a tension in naelys, a quiet discomfort she couldn’t fully shake. her hands, clasped tightly in front of her, were an admission of that, an attempt to hold herself steady in a moment that felt almost too real.

dacey, half a step behind, seemed to mirror that same restraint. there was an understanding in it—something familiar, something shared.

"i understand," naelys said quietly, her voice carrying that familiar warmth, though there was a trace of uncertainty beneath it. "it's not easy, is it? to leave behind what’s familiar." her gaze shifted briefly to the horizon, the trees in the godswood standing tall like silent sentinels, and she wondered if dacey, too, saw the same thing—if, like her, the unknown had felt daunting at times. naelys had taken much courage to remain within braavos during those unstable, fearsome days; but she had made it through to the end. "i—" naelys took a breath, not expecting the weight of that assurance to settle so deeply within her. she hadn't realized how much she had carried with her—the fear that the person in her letters might not meet the person standing in front of dacey now.

"thank you," she said quietly, but the words felt like they didn’t quite capture the weight of what she felt.

"it's just," she continued, her hands tightening, "i never knew if i was...too much." it was a simple admission, but one that felt like it had been waiting in her chest for years. the letters had been easy, safe, but now standing in front of dacey, the fear of not living up to those words felt more real than ever. she found herself looking at dacey, the way her voice had softened as she spoke, the warmth in her words that felt like sunlight breaking through clouds. "i think," naelys said after a long pause, "i've always wanted to be seen. truly seen, for who i am, not just the words i write or the persona i create." she smiled faintly, unsure if it was even the right thing to say, but trusting dacey enough to voice it anyway.

"and for some reason, i look at you and think...she sees me. do you get that too?"

"you’ve been a comfort to me, dacey," she continued, her words becoming more certain now, "even when you didn’t have to be. and i don’t think i’ll ever forget that." the truth of it felt like a weight lifted from her chest, something she had been carrying without even realising how much it meant to her. they were almost to the godswood now, the trees ahead standing like quiet sentinels, their leaves rustling gently in the wind. "i suppose," naelys said, her voice quieter now, "it’s strange, isn’t it? how we’ve come this far. from letters to here." she felt a warmth spread in her chest. "but i’m glad ever you went to the wrong place of prayer."

dacey knew that she should mourn the death of her cousin - but she also knew she had little more grief to give. watching her family dwindle one by one had all but made sure of that. whilst she did not have enough space in her heart to grieve for merindah blackwood, she could offer some comfort to maggie, or at least, try to. she wasn't sure how much of that she could offer, if her cousin felt the same as she did ; that they were united in grief, even if they were not mourning the same loss.

but maggie's voice was tired, in a way dacey could not remember hearing it be before, and the tidings from raventree hall were predictably not ones of joy and cheer. "how old are your youngest brothers, now?" the query was gentle. she knew the boys were both still young, and could not honestly say when the best age to understand death and loss could possibly be. in an ideal world, not until your hair turned grey, but that was not the way of the world they lived in. "what of lucius? and you?" she spoke of her younger brothers, but said little of herself.

she swallowed thickly, giving a quick nod of her head. it was easier to manage how she felt about her sisters if she did not think about it, did not talk about it. maggie did not need to know that every moment spent alone, they were the only thing on her mind. that even when she dreamed, it was of her sisters riding through the gates of winterfell, wolves heads instead of their own, the same as jon.

"i almost didn't want to come," she confessed, dropping her voice to a whisper, as though if anybody heard her, she would be cast out. "i still think perhaps i shouldn't have. though i am glad it means i can spend some time with you."

her cousins hand giving hers a reassuring squeeze made maggie feel a sense of compassion she hadn't encountered in some time. she knew the stark's, as well, were dealing with immense losses, not just with the war that ravaged over heir lands, but with the disappearance of two siblings, the former death of another, it surely put perspective onto her own circumstances. regardless, she knew there was not comparing of grief, only enduring. and she hoped that they might be a comfortable presence to one another while they simply endured.

maggie returned the squeeze of the others hand, a ghost of a smile coming upon her lips as she rose to her normal height now. her hands came to clasp in front of her now, and it seemed for a moment there wasn't quite anything to say - where would one start? normally the lady of raventree hall could maintain conversation well, but she felt at a loss of words, and had for some time.

a nod, she responded with, wisps of scarlet tresses falling over her face, and a hand rose to push them back as she tried to surmise just had to answer such a thing. "thank you, cousin." she responded, voice weary and tired, a show of her true feelings for the first time she their arrival to the west. "we are all doing as well as expected, i think." which wasn't all that well, in reality. "benadict seems to have immersed himself into the duties of his new position." another blow, but maggie understood it, almost relieved by it, strangely. "hugo and little sam seem to struggle with comprehending it." they were young, and not young. she realized she hadn't had opportunity to really discuss such things with them, but figured their mother had taken that upon herself.

"and i am sorry for you all, as well." maggie swallowed, taking a deep inhale. "my ear is always yours should you need it." there was a small beat of silence as she looked about the hall. "this place does not make dealing with such circumstances much easier, do they?"

Genevieve Gaunt in Knightfall (s2) as Princess Isabella

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@wintervsuns

in the face of past loss, dacey had crumbled. it had made her weaker, crumbling in on herself until all that remained was a ghost of a girl. this time, though, there was something different about it. perhaps she was just tired of being weak, or perhaps she had been dulled to what it means to lose someone, but her sister’s disappearance hadn’t cowed her. not this time.

instead of retreating further into herself, dacey had rolled her sleeves up and made herself useful. that began with clearing alysanne’s things, deciding what could be of use, what exactly dacey needed to step into her shoes. in the process of doing so, she had come across some things she didn’t quite understand, but looked important enough that she did not want to keep the discovery to herself.

that was what brought her to brandon karstark. if anybody could help her understand, he seemed a sensible first bet.

“lord karstark,” there was a tentativeness to her voice, a caution that made it clear she was very unsure of herself in the moment. “thank you for seeing me.” there was much she could say to him, but the words died in her throat.

“i was wondering if you could help me with something?”