"a Fresh Start, Then." It Felt Odd To Offer A Fresh Start To A Man Who She Barely Knew, Who Aside From

sheltered was perhaps the best way to describe dacey stark, and that was her own doing. it did not help her now, though, for it was a struggle to recall who it was that she was speaking with in that moment. it took a minute before she recognised him from the coronation of king jaehaerys - the lord paramount of the stormlands, whose sister was mother to two of her cousins.

"catmint," she repeated, sounding somewhere between amused and satisfied by the answer. she took the flower, taking it from the very bottom of the stem in heed of his warning. "i've never seen it before. it must prefer the sun." it took a hardy plant to survive the climates of the north, though she wondered if it might survive under the dome of the glass gardens, where it was warmer.

"the smell is divine. i will look forward to the tea." the flower was placed in the basket, and she set about collecting more, now that she was assured there was no danger to come from touching them. she was not in the habit of picking unfamiliar blooms, aware of the dangers some possessed if handled without the proper care taken. "i do wonder, do you know how it got it's name?" were cats fond of it, or was it some reference to the lion of lannister that she did not understand?

"i'm sorry, my lord. i forgot to thank you for your assistance." it was not often that dacey forgot her manners, but in that moment, they had quite slipped her mind. "you seem knowledgeable on such matters." she did not think to find common ground with a man of new valyria, but a stormlander was quite different to a man of the crownlands, or so she understood.

whilst the lord paramount was swift in his duties to make nice with the court of lions, as a steadfast ally of his king, he never felt amongst friends in a place such as this. of course, he would also say he did not feel amongst friends in the court of dragons, either. though he had grown up with many of those he walked alongside in the same halls, they had, over time, become something akin to strangers. war bonded them, certainly spilling blood with those around you would do such a thing, but as time passed, and memory's faded, it seemed so did loyalties.

such was life, so he believed. the sun continued to rise and set, and he would continue on as he did every day. morgan wylde was a man of routine, and habits, so his decision to visit the lion's tor on a whim was certainly unlike him, but as he was one who often preferred the solitude of nature and the outdoors, it also wasn't entirely shocking when he said as much to his household.

the ride was not terribly long - morgan had much to ponder on the journey. he was still a bit dazed and surprised by the kindness of the dornish woman on the water's edge, how they could not be more destined to be enemies, and yet she was compassionate instead of resentful, everything he did not imagine for one of dorne.

he exited the carriage, the warm sun upon his face, and gave a quick word to those accompanying him before taking a stroll on his own. the hillside was so green, and ground firm, and drier than he were used to. he imagined his boots should sink slightly upon the earth as they did in the rain house, but the did not. the crunching of the earth was almost foreign to him, and when blue orbs looked down, he realized he stepped in a patch of flowers.

a woman's voice called to him in that moment, and he glanced over to her. he recognized her, vaguely. he believed her to be of the north, and then the connection was made that she were certainly one of the stark princesses. morgan tried to do well to recall the royals and high nobility of each court. he approached her to observe what she were referring to. a grin spread upon his face as he knelt down to pluck the plant by it's stem, careful not to touch too high - for there were small thorns amongst the lavender petals. "it is called catmint, your grace." he stated, holding it up between them so she may observe it closer. "bees are fond of it, butterflies too, perhaps it would be good in some tea." he held it for her to take, now. "careful of the small spines nearer the middle."

closed starter for @cassvstark

when there was enough courtiers in winterfell for the great hall to be full at meal times, it was always a roll of the dice whether dacey would attend or not. there were times where she would go months without showing her face in the hall.

today was one of those times. it had been two weeks since the last time she'd eaten anywhere that wasn't her own chambers. the kitchen staff were used to checking where she would prefer to take her meals by now. if they didn't, it was likely dacey would not eat at all, far too polite to make a fuss.

today was different, though. cassana had decided to join her. that alone was enough to almost completely turn dacey's mood around. socialising with most people was often draining for her - but not with her little sister. around cassana, any anxiety dacey held almost evaporated entirely. she was grateful for that - as she was grateful for her company tonight.

"it's almost finished," she spoke of the tapestry, still hanging from the loom in the corner of the room, a complex pattern of silvers and forest greens, the lastest in a never ending series of works woven by dacey's own hand to steady herself when it was all too much. "it would have been by now, but i lost a few nights of work when owen held his ball. you can have it, if you want it."

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?”

dacey did not answer the question immediately. it wasn't that she bristled at the question, did not take offence to the fact it had been asked. no, when the quiet stretched between them, it was because she was considering the answer she would give. the north had always been her home, a place she was sure she would never leave, she still felt that way. when she closed her eyes, she could not picture herself anywhere but winterfell, but she knew that would not always be so. once the matter of his own marriage was settled, owen would likely want to see her wed, too, and there was no telling where her groom to be would be from, and where that would see her living. the matter of leaving the north or not was not in her own hands.

"i don't know," she admitted at last, her voice quiet enough that it didn't carry beyond lillith. "the north is as much a part of me as the marrow in my bones. i shouldn't like to leave it, but none of us know what the future will bring."

and yet. her lips pressed together with the thoughts she would not speak aloud. for a long time, she had thought of winterfell as her sanctuary. as a sickly young girl, it was a place where the ills of the world could not touch her, and she had carried that thought process into her adulthood. now, though, she could not help but wonder if it was less a sanctuary, and more a cage she had constructed around herself. she took a breath to dispel the thought. there was little to be gained from dwelling upon it.

"ironoaks," she spoke softly, latching on to the offered distraction. there was something in the offer that tempted her, to her own surprise. she had always been more comfortable in what was familiar, but even in winterfell's halls, little felt familiar now. there was too much being whispered in the shadows, and the sinking anticipation of impending disaster she could not shake. the idea of an escape, however brief, was not unwelcome. "i would like to visit." she confirmed. "though we should both pray that i don't bring the cold with me when i do."

lillith stood beside dacey, her hands clasped loosely before her to keep them from fidgeting. the warmth of the hearth barely reached her, and she shifted slightly closer, her dark skirts brushing against the stone floor. the heat was a welcome reprieve from the biting chill of the north, though her mismatched eyes flickered toward dacey, noting the way her friend still seemed cold despite the fire’s proximity.

“the north doesn’t make it easy for visitors, does it?” she murmured, her voice light with an undertone of amusement. “i thought the cold might have mellowed since the last time i came here, but it appears as unyielding as ever. you must tell me, dacey—if you had the choice, would you ever leave it? or has it bound you too tightly, like frost creeping into stone?”

she glanced toward the bustling hall beyond, voices and laughter spilling into the quieter space they occupied. the firelight painted the edges of dacey’s gown in golden hues, and lillith’s gaze lingered there a moment before returning to her friend’s face. “you should come to the vale. ironoaks would welcome you, and it would do you good to escape this chaos, even for a little while. there are no hot springs to warm the walls, true, but the hearths burn just as brightly—and," as the thought formed a drunken clatter arose from a particularly rowdy group in the corner of the hall. "the company might be more agreeable.”

a faint smile tugged at her lips, softening her typically reserved expression. “though perhaps you’ll tell me you’re just as stubborn as your winters and wouldn’t leave even if the chance arose.”

House Stark

of Winterfell

Winter Is Coming

credits: divider created by @zaldritzosrose

house stark won the poll. the next one is house velaryon!

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

cursed with "do you still like me?" "are you mad at me?" "did i do something wrong?" disorder

hyper specific 5am collection about freshman year of college (so far) and the pit it leaves inside your chest !!!!!!

Constantin Émile Meunier, Ophelie / D.H. Lawrence / Sung Hwa Kim, Untitled / pinterest user wuxianspeare / Albert Camus / pinterest user raiiiisha / Ramón Casas, Tired

Virginia Woolf, from a diary entry written in October 1920, featured in The Diary of Virginia Woolf: Vol.2, 1920-1924

Le Comte de Monte Cristo | The Count of Monte Cristo (2024) dir. Matthieu Delaporte & Alexandre de La Patellière