The Sense Of Unease That Had Been Dacey's Constant Companion In Recent Days Was Multiplied Tenfold In

apologetically myself

closed starter for @ulises-tarth location: at the fair

"i think i had my eyes closed for that last one," dacey admitted, leaning against the outside of the photobooth as she waited for the little strip of pictures they had just taken to develop. it had seemed like a fun, cute idea at the time, but almost immediately as she had stepped into the cramped booth, she had been unsure how to pose, what to do with her face, where to put her arms, and she was sure that they'd just taken nearly four identical photos.

the strip finally printed, and she picked it up, gingerly, careful not to smudge it before it dried. "yep. see? eyes closed." she sighed a little, before a smile came over her face. "i like the first picture, though." in it, ulises was facing the camera, but dacey wasn't, her chin upturned to instead look at him. she looked happy. "do you want this, or can i keep it?"

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.

closed starter for @maisiemormont

the rooms that dacey had been staying in during her time in the west were a flurry of movement, maids and ladies rushing to help the princess pack so that she might leave the west along with the king. she should not have left it until the last minute to ensure everything was ready to go. even her direwolf was helping, neatly collecting her belongings at dacey's command for her to place in her trunks.

when yet another body entered the room, she gave them a cursory glance and a nod of hello, only to double take when she recognised it not as a member of her household or a servant of the west, but a ruling lady of the north. maisie mormont.

"lady mormont," she rose to her feet, granting a grateful smile to the maid who stepped in to take over her spot kneeling at the trunk, ensuring everything fit. "i apologise for the state of disarray. will you be travelling with us, or do you intend to stay longer in the rock?"

"never mind treason. accusing me of lying is the mark of a poor friend, and that's much more serious," for somebody who had to practically force herself to travel to the west, dacey was noticeably more relaxed than she had been since the northerners had originally left for king's landing, the festivals jovial mood rubbing off on her. the decorated mask was quickly whipped from her face, handed to the karstark with little hesitation, and replaced with the plainer alternative. "that's better," she looked far less ostentatious, and that suited her well. "how are you with a bow?" she queried. "i saw an archery game back there. perhaps you cabn win a prize to take back to greywater watch."

"We can swap," Aleksander readily agreed. It was just the slightest bit comical, the way he realized this could be a scheme of unmasking at the same time the Princess assured him it was not. "Hm," he muttered, jovially narrowing his eyes at Dacey. "I will have to believe you, I suppose. I heard somewhere it's considered treason to accuse royalty of lying." As he quickly took off his mask, he offered her a good natured wink while waiting for her to hand hers over in exchange.

dacey smiled at the girl who came to deliver their refreshments, then again at seffora, murmuring a quiet "thank you" of her own as seffora poured her a drink. it was moments like this that she missed when she was in the north, and made leaving it all the more worthwhile. though winterfell was her home, it could often be a lonely place for someone with dacey's disposition. there weren't many dacey called a friend, but the northeners who did count amongst them were not much for sitting down for tea.

but with seffora, things were different. as much as there was a lightness around her, a sense of putting away the weight on her shoulders and just being, there was also a sort of trust. with seffora, it felt as though she could say anything, and trust that it would remain private, just for the two of them to know.

and so, when seffora mentioned the brother and sister who were gone, buried in the crypts below winterfell or vanished without a trace, dacey resolved to speak of the things she had said to none other. "thank you," she shuffled, her eyes coming to rest on the hands clasped together on the table. she had tried her best, in the past, to help seffora through her grief, so she did not carry it alone, but when it came to her own, she had clutched it so tightly to her chest, keeping it so private that she had not let it go. "i dream of jon sometimes," she admitted, though dream was perhaps too tame a word. "and alysanne... i am angry with her." she wasn't sure if she was ready to share exactly why, but there was a sort of ease in admitting the feeling existed nonetheless.

she picked up a pastry then, pulling it into small pieces, more for something to do with her hands. as seffora spoke, she nodded her head, understanding all too well when she meant. it was not simply empathy - the sentiment of feeling the imposter, as though they were standing in someone else's shoes was something dacey herself often felt. "that is good," she nodded, in response to the fact seffora was already attempting to remind herself of her own success. "and you should acknowledge the people who helped you, so long as it does not get in the way of acknowledging your own hard work." in that, she had no doubt. there were many lands in westeros that would benefit from having seffora merryweather as a ruling lady. "i am glad that you have so many people to count upon. very few can succeed alone."

There was a knock on the door, and after Seffora granted entrance to the servant girl, the tea and pastries she'd requested were delivered for the lady and the princess. “Thank you,” she said and the servant girl retired, closing the door behind her. Seffora smiled at her friend then and began to pour the warm drinks for the both of them.

Dacey's presence was a comforting one, for Seffora felt she could be herself without any pretense. She could like what she liked, she could fear what she feared, without being judged as a naive, silly young lady. Somehow, their girlhood persisted in each other's company, in a world that did its damnedest to rip that away from young women.

“Thank you,” Seffora said in response, fully aware that the princess' words were genuine, that her empathy was always true. It was relieving in a subtle and special way to know there were people like Dacey who accompanied her through her trials and tribulations, even from a distance. At a time in which Seffora ought to have felt as alone as ever, she did not. Thanks to Lucrezia, Laena, Tirius, Dacey, she did not. “I heard of the happenings in the North as well,” she said in a softer tone, “Of your brother. Of your sister”. She had written to Dacey then, but Seffora knew words on paper would never be a salve for the heart in matters of loss and uncertainty. Still, she hoped that perhaps the Stark princess did not feel so alone in those moments.

The Stark princess was a very wise woman too, and those last words she spoke really resonated with Seffora. Don't let your gratitude towards those who helped you overshadow your pride in your own actions. Her friend could read her so well, understanding that was a lingering insecurity that still existed in the Lady of Longtable's heart. “I quarrel with that thought from time to time,” she admitted, actually voicing out what Dacey's keen perception had already detected. “I do work to remind myself that I have done good, that I have set in motion positive outcomes for my people. Sometimes it does feel it was because someone else guided me, and like I might just be the imposter that dons the title of ruling lady,” she spoke in a calm tone, reaching for her cup of tea, softly blowing on the warm beverage. “I suppose it's the lingering effect of my father's vision of me. His voice comes back from time to time. But I also hold fast to the voice of others, like yours, like Sofina's, who raise me up rather than bring me down,” she said before taking a sip.

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."

dacey had been sitting at the far edge of the hall for longer than she'd meant to. she was trying, but close to giving in and retreating for the night, reasoning that she had been seen and spoken with enough people to count it as owen's birthday gift, and none was notice if she slipped away. a cup of wine sat untouched at her elbow as her gaze swept the hall, lingering nowhere for overlong, but taking it all in. she wasn't meant for crowds like this, and that was what kept her rooted to her seat rather than brave trying to battle her way through it to reach the safety of her chambers. her first instinct, upon hearing a voice addressing her, was to brace herself, but the words were not sharp or intrusive. unfamiliar, but gently spoken, and that was enough to lower her defences just slightly, enough to look at the woman who had spoken with a small smile on her face, barely there, but present all the same.

"you may, my lady," she nodded at the chair beside her, her voice quiet but sincere when she spoke. "please, join me. i'd be glad of the company." it was only a half-truth. whilst she wasn't overfond of crowds, she enjoyed one-to-one conversations perfectly well, even with those she had never met. her presence wasn't unwelcome, even though dacey hadn't sought it out.

the woman was not a northerner, no daughter of any of the houses she had grown up learning the sigils and words of. by her accent, she might have been braavosi, but dacey had never had much of an ear for that sort of thing, and so she did not ask, lest the woman be from pentos and find being accused of being braavosi a grave insult.

she let out a soft laugh, her gaze returning to the crowd. "it's quite the river, isn't it?" the metaphor amused her, because it often felt that way, like a particularly quick-moving river she could never quite keep up with without slipping under the water. "the river moves a bit too quickly for me, i'm afraid, though my brother seems to be enjoying himself." this was owen's element, wherever he had found himself.

she folded her hands in her lap, her fingers brushing idly over one another. "i hope the cold isn't bothering you too much." it was the closest she would get to asking where the other was from, if it was a place that was used to the chill or not.

setting: winterfell, the king's birthday celebration. as sabiha becomes acquainted with westeros, she travel's north before going to the reach. starter for @daceystvrk

the hall of winterfell was a fortress of warmth against the ice outside, yet even here, the air clung to sabiha’s sleeves like frost. fires crackled in grand hearths, casting long shadows over the banners above, but the cold was still threaded through the stone beneath her shoes. it reminded her of the night markets back home, when the wind blew in off the black canals and everyone pretended not to shiver.

she moved carefully through the crowd—measured steps, polite nods, eyes always observing. northern feasts were not so different from those in braavos: the food was heavier, the laughter louder, but the politics still swirled beneath the surface like undertows.

at one of the long tables, she saw dacey stark. not adorned like a southern lady might be, but unmistakable, there was something of her mother in the chin, her father in the eyes. sabiha had studied the family line, not of just the stark's, but of many prominent families of westeros, absorbing all of the information she could in preparation for her journey. it was not out of necessity, in truth, but because patterns repeated themselves, even in bloodlines, and that fascinated her.

the lady approached with a quiet grace, her dark gown trailing like a shadow of silk behind her. she had only heard the name in passing, mentioned in careful tones by those who spoke of winterfell's quietest daughter. a lady of needle and song, not steel and saga. a contrast to the wolves around her.

sabiha approached without pomp or pause, footsteps light. she stopped just beside the bench and offered a bow of her head, measured and sincere, not the sweeping kind merchants performed when hoping for favor.

“your grace,” she said softly, the formality folded into calm. “forgive me. the hall grows louder by the minute, and your corner seemed the only place still holding its breath.”

she offered a small smile one of a gentle companionship. "i thought i’d ask if you might allow another quiet soul to share your quiet.” she glanced toward the merrymaking, then back to dacey. “sometimes it’s better, i think, to watch the river from the bank than be swept into it.”

the moment cassana placed her head upon dacey's shoulder, her reaction was instinctual, one hand coming up to gently smooth across cassana's cheek, as though to check that she was all right without using words to do so, before letting her hand drop to her side again. it was unreserved in it's warmth in a way that was rare for daey for all but the youngest of her siblings.

there was no such warmth for cyrene. dacey did not miss the way cyrene's smile froze at the sight of her, and she responded by doing what she always did - by drawing back, away from what it was that was making her feel as though she did not belong here, in this place, where countless generations of starks had walked before. their reunion had been a tense one, and it seemed to have lingered.

and yet, she tried not to make it evident upon her face, tried not to spoil the peace the rest of them seemed to feel upon this reunion. cassana still stood by her side, and she allowed herself to draw strength from her presence, as she often did without the other knowing it. it was enough to paint a smile on her face, swallow down that knot of anxiety, and respond to what adam was saying, reminding herself that moment like these, when they got to be together like this, were a rare gift for them all.

"it does," she replied softly to adam, surprising even herself with the fact she were the first to speak. "i don't think i can recall the last time so many of us were here at once. it is usually quieter in the godswood, now life has taken us in our own directions." but for a moment, she could hear the shades of their childhood around them, laughter that had begun to echo long ago, and she felt a strange longing in her chest for it now. "but i have missed it. and i am glad the old gods saw fit to bring us together here again." even with those missing. even with those lost.

@owenstark

The King wanted to hunt and some times he wanted to go alone. On this day he traveled with his wolf. The great beast walking along side him as they made their way back. His horse carried a great stag on it's back and rabbits on the saddle. It would be a good meal, when the King wanted to eat well he would go out and get his own meat and have it roasted in butters and with vegetables and he would eat until he could not. Food and beer. It kept his mind at ease.

The sound of voices caught this attention. He dragged his fingers over his beard and took wrapped an arrow around his finger and lined it up as he walked closer. Calm washed over him as the voices were suddenly familiar and strange to him. Cyrene sounded different to his ears but he knew he all same. Adam was Adam, if his voice changed Owen would think another wore his face. And of course, Dacey, she carried a weight he always put on her shoulders. "Smoke get off her." Owen called out, putting the arrow away as Smoke ran up to Cyrene and put muddy paws on her front.

"And what do we have here?" A smiled graced his features briefly. "Starks in the Godswood. Have I stumbled upon the secret club house or has the old Gods brought us here?" Owen remember his secret cave with Alys and Jon, and it pained him to think of them so he pushed it away. "It's been too long since we've been a pack. We just need Cass." Those who were home at least. Life pulled them apart and together. Even as he tried, Owen did not feel like a brother. He felt like a King and he did not know how to turn it off.

@cassvstark

she shouldn't have come here. for the first time, dacey was struck by the selfishness of what she had done in facing brandon. after everything, the way that things had gone so south, it felt almost like inflicting another cruelty on him by making him sit with a stark. she had thought only of herself, seen him as a path to her answers. she should have found a better way, but it was too late for that. there was a stilted edge to the conversation, both deliberately ignoring all that they could say. if she was a bolder person, more like cassana maybe, perhaps she could find the words that she currently couldn't grasp. but that wasn't her way, and so the barrier remained.

his response was both vague, and yet completely plain to her. dacey stilled for a moment, mind racing as she tried to rationalise what he was telling her, her heart sinking as she realised it made complete sense. the silence stretched for a moment, and she squeezed her eyes shut, raising a hand to pinch the bridge of her nose.

"well," she began, and was even surprised herself by the annoyance that tinged her voice. "that explains a lot, doesn't it?"

she couldn't pinpoint exactly why she was annoyed, but there was an anger towards alys that was rising within her that she hadn't anticipated. perhaps it was annoyance at herself, that she had locked herself away, turned a blind eye for so long that this was where they had ended up.

she thought of old stories, told to her in her childhood, racking her brains for what she knew. there was one thing that stuck out to her - a warning that such ancient practices had their price. was alys' disappearance the cost paid? or did it lie in jon's death? rosalyn's? meera's? she didn't know if the blame was at alys' feet, or if this was a completely irrational line of thought, but it was one that gnawed at her all the same.

"who knows?" she didn't know why that mattered to her, only that it did. then, there was the issue of removal, which presented just as many problems as solutions. "you said it was to aid the war," her hands had fallen into her lap, her right thumb scratching lightly at the skin of her left hand. "can i be sure that won't do more harm than good?"

♞

it were a peculiar and obvious change, to see the emergence of another stark princess when one had gone missing. there had been no leads as to her vanishing, no traces to follow in what could have happened; only an open window during a stormy night, in a tower that was too high to scale, with no ways in which she could have escaped from it. there was a small voice at the back of his head, which only asked him why he bothered in such things.

was it not the responsibility of adam stark that his own sister was dead? was it not the responsibility of king owen stark that his own wife was now a lifeless, cold corpse? his gaze looked upon the princess of winter, and there was a level of distance within them that was different to what he usually showed toward the children of winterfell that he once would have considered his own siblings.

now, though, his distance was obvious. as though they had both drawn a line in all that had happened, and there was no changing it. no blurring it. no going above, or beyond it. "yer highness." brandon's voice remained wrapped in his usual karhold accent, his hands clasped before his heavy furs: making no other response to her words of gratitude. let them see what it was they needed to discuss, so the distance between stark and karstark could once again be put firmly in place.

be useful, were the words she uttered. he heard something she did not necessarily say, though made no reaction to it. again, his blankness was unusual: it was all wrong. but it felt as though this was how things would be, and they would grow into the mighty change. his gaze flickered her direction as she pulled out items. he knew what they were. the last he had seen them was the night he had ruined what it was she was trying to do. stopping her.

"her highness turned to ancient practices, to aid in the war for winterfell." ancient practices. woods witches. magic, which took both forms. "yer'll be wantin' to remove such things from yer household."