Willow Making The Decision To Marry Robert

anya could not know it, but her words brought a sense of relief to dacey. most of the time, it felt like she were fighting a losing battle, play-acting at a role that she didn't belong in and the entirety of the northern court could see through. to know there was at least one person she had convinced was a reassurance - perhaps the rest of the world could be fooled, too. "people never really see you how you see yourself, i suppose," she mused. "for good or for ill."

it was something the two had in common. dacey had always been the quiet sort, reserved in her ways and anxious in conversation. it did not easily lend itself to making friends. "i haven't either," she agreed. "it makes me appreciate those i do have all the more." the people she let her guard down for were few and far between, and yet, she did not regret doing so for any of them. a beat of silence fell over dacey then. nobody could stand alone - it was something she applied to others, she realised, always trying to lessen the burden they shouldered, but rarely to herself. when she struggled, she did so in silence. she didn't say that out loud, instead shaking her head in response. "no. and you don't need to, either." the words were subtle, but in them, a quiet hand of friendship was offered.

she let out a breath. the judgement of the west was nothing she could offer comfort for. she could not assure anya that it would not occur, because it would be an outright lie. "they would always have found something to judge you for, though." she did not try to pretend that she could not think why the west may have a harsh view of anya, that her background would be of no consequence here. "i think just being northern would be enough. we can only trust that they need this to go well, and so will choose to keep their thoughts in their head rather than making our time here more unpleasant than it need be."

“You mask it well, then,” Anya mentioned. Dacey had an admirable quality to appear composed, graceful, confident regardless of where she was. By the princess' own admission that wasn't always the case, just the image the lady had of the other woman. “And yes, we endure what we must,” the raven-haired lady replied. It was something she agreed with entirely. Her life had been built on enduring and overcoming.

There were not many friends in Anya's life. There had never been many she counted as close to her, and the situation continued to be the same. Her circumstances were entirely different at present, and yet there remained the underlying feeling that she needed to protect herself, to be cautious, to keep others at arm's length out of a sense of self-preservation. Noble courts were different grounds from those she's known as a lowborn bastard, but dangerous all the same. “I've never been very good at making friends, I'll admit,” she mused in a lower tone. “Silly of me. No one can stand alone, after all”. She did not have the sort of charming, gentle or enticing personalities that drew in others to her. For most of her life, she'd been challenging, jaded, and much too prickly to let others get too close. Those she'd let in, she'd lost in one way or another.

At least we are here together, the princess said. Anya did find some comfort in that, finding herself in this place with fellow Northerners, It brought a sense of safety, in a way. A home away from home, indeed. “I will remain vigilant. I generally find it difficult to let down my guard,” she shrugged. Another consequence of the way she grew up, she supposed. “I will try to enjoy the trip. However, I am wary of the social events and some of the gatherings that will surely take place. I don't usually care much for the judgment— I try not to care for it, that is. But I know I will be judged more harshly here,” she dared to say, for it felt safe to admit this before Dacey.

it did not take more than a cursory glance in dacey's direction to see that something was very, very wrong. her dark eyes were darting around the room frantically, and her hands, which were never still at the best of times, were moving a mile a minute. if she stopped to still them, to look down, she would notice that her fingers were bleeding.

it wasn't until she had been informed of saoirse's disappearance that she realised, with a sinking heart, that she did not know when she had last seen her sister. and now she was missing, just like alys, and dacey could not help but shoulder the guilt for it. she did not want to be a selfish person - but she had been, so concerned with what was happening in her own head that she did not see past her nose at what was happening to those she claimed to love. the guilt chewed at her, and it hurt.

there was enough movement that she did not immediately notice the karstark's appearance - not until brandon was close enough to her that she could meet his gaze. dacey looked up, silent for a moment. the facts as she knew them were this: alysanne was gone, and thanks to the last talk she had with the lord of karhold, she had her suspicions as to exactly what had happened, and knew somewhere deep in her stomach that she would never again see her elder sister alive. the second truth was that saoirse, too, found herself lost - but this time, dacey did not have the slightest inkling what might have occurred. was it another casualty of alysanne's folly, or something else entirely?

dacey opened her mouth to greet him, but what came out was not a polite hello. "have you seen my sister?" she paused. "saoirse," she added. it was ridiculous that she even needed to clarify exactly which sister they were looking for. if she wasn't so close to the epicentre of it all, she would almost look upon the situation with disbelief. "we can't find saoirse." her voice had grown thicker, the lump in her throat growing painfully large as she attempted to choke out the words. her lashes moved rapidly to blink back the tears she'd been too worried to shed, until that moment. it was all too much, too quickly.

who: @daceystvrk when and where: kings landing, brandon karstark enters the main gathering hall allocated for the northern court to find a tense, stressed atmosphere. within the middle of the hall is princess dacey stark.

the king's road would be a long journey, venturing through the length of the continent; and yet, the northern court within kings landing had been busying itself. there was a constant bustle of movement in the preparation to depart, for the hour of the wolf had come to an end - northmen did not belong in the south, and each time they did venture south, it was made abundantly clear why they were not supposed to be here.

loyally dedicated men who fought black now looked upon the green dragons, and there was noticeable tension in the air.

"something's off." brandon walked into the room alongside his brother, surrounded by the squires and other men of houses karstark and reed alike: at first glance it appeared as though the hall was just bustling and busy, and yet a second glance revealed more about the situation at hand. there was an issue, it was apparent in the faces of the servants, the way nasir manderly was giving orders to multiple men that surrounded him, and close to him stood the princess dacey stark; he thought of their last interaction and hoped she had not dabbled in what it was he had advised her against.

his brother stepped forward into the crowds, pushing through to enquire from the manderlys about what was happening; there were multiple people lined up giving their statements, as though they were being questioned. the king in the north was nowhere to be seen: though something told him that matter was only more pressing. more of a concern.

brandon himself did not step forward to speak, silently watching his brother instead: and yet, when a familiar gaze turned and looked upon him, he only lowered his head in a show of respect.

it took a moment of hesitation, a moment of wondering whether he ought to even wonder about such a thing: but he followed in the footsteps of his younger brother, parting through the crowds as he approached the princess of the north. the closer he got, the more obvious it was that she was greatly concerned about something. his mind immediately jumped to alysanne, and he felt his stomach twist. "highness." he greeted, his tone weary. trying to read between the lines.

brandon was never good at reading between the lines. had they found alysanne?

dacey did not relish in being perceived, the idea of someone seeing her for what she was filling her with a sort of anxiety she couldn't truly voice. she was more comfortable when she could slip into the quiet places between conversations, existing in the periphery while others took to the centre. with lucius, though, she did not mind so much. perhaps it was the fact that she knew that any judgement he had of her would be spoken aloud. there was an honesty to him that she appreciated, even when he laid what she saw as her own failings bare before her in that simple, straightforward way of his.

"it is," she admitted, a sheepish sort of smile crossing her face. "it's not... it isn't that i don't like people. i do, very much. but like this," she gestured first at herself, then at him, wordlessly indicating that it was the smaller, more personal interactions that she enjoyed. "there's something about being part of a crowd that makes me feel like i'm out of place." her eyes fell on the river, water surging gently forward. "it's like everyone is watching me trying to hold water with my hands, and laughing that it keeps slipping through. does that make sense at all?" there was a flush upon her face as she looked at him, and she could not recall the last time she had tried to put those thoughts into words, nor if anybody had ever asked.

lucius had already offered his own thoughts on the matter ; but even if he had not, dacey was not clueless enough not to be able to guess at why he might not enjoy crowds of people, even if it did not come from the same place that her own need for quieter spaces did. his mention of performance, though, surprised her, for it was at odds with the vision that she held of him. "and yes. the performance of it," she paused for a moment, as though weighing up whether to say more. "i wouldn't have expected that to be the same for you." it was not a question, but phrased lightly enough for him to elaborate if he wished to, or ignore if he did not.

Lucius nodded, making a mental note to talk with Cassana, extending his offer if the younger Stark wished to take it. His eyes flickered to his cousin, a touch of amusement present in his usually stern expression. “Aye, stubbornness is in our blood,” he agreed, letting out a subtle scoff. It was certainly not a trait the bastard attributed to whatever line his mother came from, but something he was sure he'd gotten from Samwell Blackwood and his kin. Only rarely did he wonder what traits he might have gotten from her because the bastard knew him himself to be Blackwood blood through and through. And Dacey, despite the air of introverted gentleness that she carried herself with, was a determined young woman, from what he'd gleaned in their past interactions. A stubborn nature could manifest in many ways, and both Starks and Blackwoods were a testament to that.

The pair walked on the quieter side of the river and he glanced at his cousin, his eyes lingering on the soft gratitude she offered him. Hers was a gentle warmth that stood in stark contrast to the steeliness of his own demeanor. There was commonality between the cousins, as they spoke about earlier, but for the most part, Lucius Rivers and Dacey Stark were almost perfect opposites. Despite that, he found himself at ease in her company. “You don’t like crowds,” he observed. Lucius’s gaze was sharp, perceptive. A lot of people saw only a big brute in him, but he did see more than most gave him credit for. More than once he'd run into his cousin as she walked on her own. “Too many eyes, too many voices. And the endless performance. It's exhausting,” he stated, offering his own perceptions on the matter, his own reasons for wishing to oftentimes stand on the side of it all. He did wonder what was the part that caused his cousin to trail away.

{ Words by Megan Fernandes, from "Fabric in Tribeca," in Good Boys / Silas Melvin, from "Twenty," Grit }

no matter how close she stood to the hearth, dacey's hands were always cold. she had long since learned it was a pointless endeavour to try and breathe some warmth into her bones, and yet, here she stood anyway, in her gown of midnight blue. winterfell was alive tonight, bursting at the seams with visitors, and yet, she stood a little apart from it all, more content alone by the fire than at the centre of it. she had always been that way, never truly at ease in the company of the many, only ever blooming in a more private setting.

it was not sight nor sound that first alerted her to the arrival of a familiar face - it was the scent of something floral and earthy and sweet that brushed her senses and tugged at a familiarity that had her turning, recognising it in an instant, and when her gaze met lillith's, dacey felt a piece of herself thaw more efficiently than the hearth could ever achieve. "lillith," she said, a smile crossing her face as she welcomed the other's presence.

"has it only been a few moons? it feels longer." dacey was not a woman who found it easy to make friends, nor even to engage in conversation. the more reserved of the starks, and the easiest to overlook. but lillith perhaps was the oldest of the few she did count as a friend, someone she had known and trusted for many a year, well past the point of shyness. "i'm glad you came. it is always good to see you here."

have things been well? they had certainly been worse, but dacey could not shake the feeling within her, the weight she felt hanging around her shoulders. it was as though the north was on the precipice of something awful, and she was bearing the weight of that as though it were her own fault. and then there was the matter of her sister, the things she had learned she had done. if any could understand that though, perhaps lillith could.

"that's a conversation for another time," she spoke softly, knowing lillith would understand that she had something to say, but there were too many ears around to say it. "tell me of you, though. how was the journey from ironoaks?"

setting: the winter ball, lillith attends as some other ladies of the vale do, but her reason for the journey is to see an old friend ; @daceystvrk

the great hall of winterfell shimmered with icy splendor, lit by countless candles and adorned with evergreen garlands laced in silver ribbons. snowflakes dusted the stone floor, tracked in by the nobles who had braved the northern winds to attend the winter ball. lillith waynwood stood at the edge of the gathering, her fingers lightly brushing the fabric of her dark green gown, which she had trimmed with myrish lace. she watched the dancers twirl, a faint smile playing on her lips, though her mismatched eyes betrayed a touch of unease. crowds had never been her forte. the northerners had a way of making their cold halls feel alive, though she still felt like a misplaced piece in the tapestry of it all.

a sudden warmth bloomed in her chest as her gaze found dacey stark. standing near the hearth, her cheeks pink with the fire’s glow, dacey had grown into her strength. lillith felt a familiar pull, a warmth that erased the time between they last saw one another. the princess looked well—stronger, brighter, a far cry from the sickly girl lillith had spent so many hours trying to tend to with herbal teas and whispered stories in their younger years.

the lady of ironoaks approached with quiet steps, her presence announced not by sound but by the faint scent of lavender and sage. when the other turned and their eyes met, lillith couldn’t keep the small smile from curling her lips.

“your grace.” she murmured the formality with a small bow of her head, mainly because it was not just the two of them, and because this was dacey’s own home. “i almost didn’t recognize you, even with only a few moons since we last saw one another” she said softly, her voice like the wind through leaves. “you look vibrant. have things been well since your return?”

something reared its head in dacey then, something both unfamiliar and uncomfortable that settled in her gut. defiance. she had always been more lapdog than direwolf, more likely to show her belly than her teeth, and that was still true now, even as indignant as she felt at cyrene's words. she bit back what was on the tip of her own tongue - that cyrene had not been there, had not witnessed the lowest of dacey's lows, and yet here she stood now, acting as though she could read dacey's mind.

the reverse was just as true. cyrene had once been the person closest to dacey, and now she was a stranger who wore the face of a sister. the woman who returned to winterfell was not the same as the one who had left.

she kept hands beneath her furs, though her cheeks were pink, the cold wind and dacey's self-consciousness painting colour into her face. you are not well. why was it that she took such umbrage to the words? was it because she had spent so much time, worked so hard, to convince everyone otherwise? or was it perhaps because the first person to notice the façade she hid behind was someone who had not set eyes upon her face in many long years?

"i am alive," she said, eventually. "that is more than many." it was more than jon, the unspoken ghost that curled around them. since his death, dacey had grown accustomed to his absence - but now cyrene was here, she needed to reconcile with it all over again. "the cold doesn't effect me much, anymore. only on the worst of days."

Dacey practically ripped her hand out of Cyrene's hold, and it felt like an old wound ripped open once more. Scabbed over, healed and forgotten. And now, it was as thought the stitches had vanished during the healing process, something fresh, something malformed left behind.

I am well.

You do not need to worry about me, Cyrene.

I am well. You do not need to worry.

She worried. Dacey had to know she did. Cyrene could imagine the reasoning behind her words. Spelled out in Cyrene's letters to Dacey, to Cassana, to Jon, to Adam and even to Owen. Distance had grown her into a worrier. Distance had left her without control over her choices, her care of those she held closest in her heart. Every single one of her siblings had denied her request of being provided safety. And now they were all left to pick up the pieces.

Bits and pieces within Cyrene still knew her sister well. Too well, perhaps. They were both changed women now, hardened by time. But Cyrene knew who Dacey was at her core. Beyond the care Dacey had for other people. Her sister's fingers had been rough in her grip. Proof of incidents Cyrene had only heard about from afar. "You are not fine," she whispered. "You are not well." Dacey held herself together admirably, but it broke Cyrene's heart when she watched anyone else like this, anyone other than herself. "I will worry, whether you tell me or not." Her voice was low, urgent. She did not try to reach out to Dacey again, did not step closer again. But her eyes. Green-brown hues pleading for her sister to let her in like she had in the past. "You know the chill does not bother me. You know I care more about what it does to you."

♛ → THE NORTH presents DACEY STARK, the PRINCESS of WINTERFELL. when the dragons danced in the sky they thought the BLACKS would still fly, but in the blink of an eye, they would all die. the TWENTY-NINE year old CIS WOMAN who was COMPASSIONATE & GENTLE before they saw the first of the flames, is now CAUTIOUS & INSECURE after seeing the last. they’re often associated with slim fingers weaving together shimmering silver fabric, plush velvets concealed by heavy furs, cheeks flushed pink from winter’s bite. ( genevieve gaunt )

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tws: mentions of premature birth, illness, anxiety/mental health and death

history.

dawn

the fourth child of house stark, dacey sybelle stark was born two moons too early and far too small. as a baby, she barely cried, but was prone to illness, particularly of the lungs.

it was not expected that she would be long for this world. infants with such weak constitution rarely do, but against the odds dacey grew. it would not be the first time she would be underestimated.

sickly babe grew into a quiet, pensive child. more stark children came after her, and dacey loved them all with her whole heart, even as she differed from the rest in temperment. she was not built to be a fierce and fearless daughter of the north, but something else entirely, though for a long time, nobody was quite sure what that something would be. she was intelligent, sensitive and kind, but possessed nothing that would point to future greatness.

the delicacy of her infant years followed her into childhood. she can scarcely remember a time from when she was young where she wasn't sheltered to protect her fragile health, wracked with coughs that echoed through her entire body. the majority of her childhood was spent in the companionship of the two siblings who immediately preceded her, cyrene and jon.

noon

as she approached adolescence, a question lingered over what to do with dacey stark. while her siblings began to be fostered or trained for their duties as a stark, dacey remained in winterfell, sheltered and protected in order to maintain her health. there was brief talk of betrothing her to jaehaerys targaryen, but that would come to nothing as both parties decided it was a poor match.

with the dance of the dragons breaking out during her teenage years, her opportunity to explore the world outside of the north was further stripped from her.

however, as she grew older, dacey's health began to improve. she will never be of strong constitution, often picking up small illnesses that seem to hit her a little harder than others, but no longer was she plagued by a constant barrage of ill health.

with her newfound strength, dacey began to explore more of the winterfell that was denied to her as a child, and learned to love it there. she filled her days with discovering the castle's secrets, and made herself happy amongst the walls of her home.

without the illnesses that plagued her childhood and with the dance of the dragons ending as she reached adulthood, dacey was hit with a newfound confidence. she would never be comfortable being the centre of attention, but she began to find joy in conversation, and could talk for hours with whoever's company she found herself in. there's a sort of vulnerable charm to dacey, a sincerity that makes her likable.

dusk

the tragedies that have befallen house stark weighed heavily on dacey. loss brought about a great change in her. even in her younger, sickly years, she was always contented, but grief knocked that out of her. she became serious, always worried about things she had little control over - in particular, the lives of her family.

with that change came withdrawal. dacey has been a shadow of a woman, secluding herself from life in winterfell and becoming a ghost of what she was.

with her grief came anxiety and nightmares. she has not dealt with sorrow well. the lack of sleep made its mark, painting dark shadows around her eyes and hollowing her cheeks. her mental health declined sharply, though she spoke to nobody about it. the last thing dacey wants is to be a burden when so many of the people she cares for are suffering just as much as she.

midnight

the only thing that could pull dacey from her grief was her selflessness. as more troubles plagued her family, hiding away from the world was no longer a viable option for her.

there is no bigger supporter of king owen stark. dacey is unshakeably loyal to her eldest brother, and determined to be of use to the north, and to him. with all the problems faced by the starks, she does so by quietly picking up the duties of those no longer here to fulfill them, without being asked, without making a fuss, first to advise when jon stark was killed, then to help heal, as alysanne once did.

she's more present than she has ever been in her life, and feels a bit overwhelmed by it all. nevertheless, this is very much her era of coming into her own, finding herself, and figuring out her place in life.

personality.

basics

she's an incredibly anxious person. This mainly manifests in her movements, particularly her hands. they are constantly moving, even when she is at ease, her her fingers twisting around each other and her nails scratching at the skin. if she isn't able to weave for a while or is particularly stressed, her fingers become painful and red as her skin becomes raw.

to cope with her anxiety when she can't sleep at night and give herself something to do with her hands, dacey's favourite hobby is weaving, and she's rather good at it. she enjoys the consistent movements and finds it soothing, often making gifts of her creations to those she loves. her family likely have clothes, blankets, tapestries, and rugs made by her.

when her mental health is poor, she withdraws into solitude. however, on good days, dacey is an incredibly chatty person, and particularly loves talking to people very different from herself. she's thoughtful and sweet, and a very kind and considerate friend.

she's something of a pacifist. she cannot stand violence for any reason but the most necessary, and even then, she does not like it. she will always prefer mercy and justice, and believes a path of vengeance to be harmful and destructive for all involved. she accepts that there is evil in the world, and some people just don't deserve kindness, but she knows her morals and believes by seeking revenge, everyone loses.

it's taken her longer than most to find her passion and purpose, but she's incredibly dedicated and hardworking. when she does something, it will be completed, and to a high standard. she's a perfectionist at heart, because she's deeply worried of something going wrong and it being her fault, and doesn't want to cause any trouble or harm.

she's gentle, more lapdog than direwolf, but protective of those she loves in her own quiet, comforting way.

where dacey excels is exercises of the mind. she’s rational and logical, a little too tender-hearted to be called calculated, but honeyed words dripping from her lips are leaden with promises unspoken, convincing when they need to be, flattering when such is required, and so utterly sincere. her innate kindness means that this gift is not used to its full extent, to cause harm to any, but it's there regardless.

her sense of humour is very subtle, but there. she usually cracks jokes at her own expense, but does enjoy gently teasing those she's close to.

rumours

whilst not as sickly as she once was, dacey does possess a weak immune system and is prone to picking up any illnesses that sweep through the north, particularly in the winter, causing her to withdraw for a little while to recover. since birth, there's been rumours that she's on her deathbed, and every time she takes ill, they seem to resurface.

with a quieter sort of personality, it would certainly be easy to see dacey as someone to manipulate with ease. whilst she would certainly be easy to take advantage of for personal gain, however, manipulating her is far harder than it may appear. she knows her morals and is not easily swayed from them - just because she isn't loud about her opinions doesn't mean she doesn't hold them strongly.

goals

she accepts that it's unlikely to happen in her lifetime, but dacey's biggest dream is peace for the kingdoms. she cannot stand the idea of anybody hurting, whether she knows them or not, and craves a world where nobody has to suffer as she and her family have.

most of all, she wants her family to thrive and the north to prosper. she firmly believes in owen's vision and supports every sibling in all that they do and is proud of their accomplishments.

fears

more than anything dacey fears further personal loss. too much tragedy has befallen house stark, and she's already struggling to stay afloat with it all.

she fears becoming a burden. she wants to help, rather than be help, and hates people worrying for her.

other.

her direwolf is small for its kind, the runt of its litter. she's a pale silvery-grey colour with a small white patch on her chest. dacey named her rose, and temperament wise, she's very quiet, but very observant of her surroundings.

she favours darker colours, but never black. greys, deep blues, purples, burgundy and forest greens are common colours in her attire, her jewellery simple and unobtrusive.

dacey is always cold, but it doesn't seem to bother her. her skin is cool to the touch, especially her hands. having never been too far from winterfell, she's unaccustomed to warm weather, and in the few times she has experienced it, she doesn't cope very well.

she's a fairly tolerant person, but keeps to the old gods herself. her relationship with her faith is one she holds intensely privately, but it is very dear to her, and she takes great comfort in being in the wierwoods, or indeed any forest. if you asked her to imagine a place of peace, it would be amongst the trees.

a stab of guilt twisted at dacey’s gut when she looked at him. he was already a man burdened - you did not have to possess any great level of empathy to take note of that, and here she was, bringing more struggles to his door. she should have left him alone, should have found another source for the answers she sought.

but then, would anybody else be able to grant them? who else, if not brandon karstark? not for the first time, worry sparked in her, an uncertainty of what they would do without him when his presence in the stark’s lives had been so constant for so long, but that was something to turn over later, when she was alone without the distraction of standing in front of him.

they were speaking as plainly as dacey knew how, but there was still so much that wasn’t said - by her, and certainly by brandon. they were avoiding the inevitable conversation. she wasn’t sure if that would ever be addressed between them, if it was even her place to. it was an unscalable wall, and she wasn’t mentally prepared to climb it. she would not be the one to reopen wounds that had not yet begun to heal.

“no.” she agreed. “not in the way my sister was.” but there was a fundamental difference between alysanne and dacey. where the elder of the two invited such things, dacey was seeking to put an end to it. to rid winterfell of everything dark and dangerous, and hope that was enough. she didn’t know much, but she could not rid herself of the suspicion that doing so would not be the simple task he was posing it as.

she took a breath, small, but audible, as though steeling herself to say something she didn’t want to. “but i do want to be rid of all the things she’s left behind. i don’t think that will be so simple as casting them upon the fire.” she looked at him, half a moment away from begging him to tell her that she was wrong.

it wasn’t in dacey’s nature to lead the charge when trouble presented itself. she could scarcely remember the last time she had been involved in matters of the kingdom, save for her quiet, steadfast support. but times were changing, and she was tired. too much had been lost, and the eyes of those she would normally trust to handle things like this were either turned elsewhere or gone forever. and so, it fell to her, the wolf who had never found her howl nor bite.

she heard his warning, considered it, then nodded. “there’s something you’re holding back.” it was a statement of fact, devoid of confrontation, spoken with nothing but concern. “and i understand. i don’t expect…” she trailed off, mind racing to find the right words. “i trust you.” any bad blood between stark and karstark would not find root in dacey stark. perhaps it should have been easier for her to put distance between them, when more of it existed to begin with than with owen or alys or cassana, but that wasn’t so. “and i’m sorry. for bringing this to your door.”

♞

he found no insult in her natural assumption that brandon himself could have provided more light on the complexities of what it was they were beginning to wade through, a pool whose water had long since darkened and was far deeper than either of them could thoroughly grasp and understand. his hand moved to rest on the side of his neck with a low exhale, a movement he often did when he found himself thinking, and thinking, and then overthinking.

there would be no way the princess, or any living soul, would be able to encounter the associate that alysanne had found herself working closely with - and the reason why came not from differences within their class, title or rank. the reason why, was because that woman no longer was able to speak, or be, anything.

a part of him knew wished to address something, the obvious space in the room: the obvious matter which needed to be discussed when the names stark and karstark came together in a sentence within these months. even the lowest at court had heard the news of the king obtaining a new hand, and the sun of winter no longer sat upon the council at all: that, paired with aleksander's noticeable storminess he showed toward the majority of starks, truly set the scene before any who had any questions.

"hm." came his only response regarding what was right, and what was wrong. even after everything, he still believed entirely in the concepts - that all humans knew the difference between what was right, and what was wrong. he hoped she did not address what it was she seemed to dance around, with a tone and a poise so elegant it appeared as though she could have been some blue rose, plucked from the rolling fields of the reach or the banks of the trident, and forced to withstand the harsh snows of the far north.

he remained stood with both of his hands clasped before his furs, half expecting the conversation to come to an end, for her to offer him dismissal. and for him to be able to let out the breath he kept caged deep within his chest. and then she uttered the words which made his grey gaze go from utterly aloof, to his usual gaze. a flicker of the sun of winter, a flicker of recognition. "yer not desperate enough to engage in such matters." he responded, his tone far curter and more informal than it had been some moments previously.

the last thing he needed, was a princess of the north going poking her head in the matters of various woods witches, following a conversation with him. the last thing he needed, was more being traced back to him. no, he was no longer the hand of the king, but gods knew he would have no trouble in going to owen directly and informing him of what seeds were being planted here. "yer right. she ain't here to stop." he heard the sounds of his boots crunching beneath his feet again, the sound of an ancient tongue coming from the lips of the princess - the sight of her eyes going white, then black, and the blood seeping from her nose. he had stopped her then. was he to blame for this?

"alysanne knew her stuff, and still, she found herself…" his voice trailed, as though he were hinting at the obvious. somewhere deep within his gut, he knew she was dead: knew she was no longer breathing. he could still hear her laugher from across the table. "if the line ain't for crossin', then i advise you. do not cross it."

closed starter for @northernglorie

the hour was late, and dacey's quiet footsteps echoed against the stone walls, reverberating through the silence. there was once a time when she could count on being the only one awake when night fell over the keep, but now, it was more and more common to find that she was not alone in it.

more often then not, one who could be counted on to remain awake was glorie. and on nights where solitude was too much for her, dacey found herself here, approaching glorie's door with a warm drink and the hope that the night would end a little less lonely.

"i brought you something to drink," she placed the cup carefully on a clear spot on the table, careful not to interfere with glorie's work. there was a quiet admiration for her good-sister, and she liked to think that glorie knew it was there, that it showed in these small gestures. "and some candles. i wasn't sure if you had enough."

"and my company, if you'll have it."

― Albert Camus, A Happy Death