Dacey Stark - A Future Au

"easy enough, yes," there was a glimpse of a smile, tired and heavy and devoid of any real amusement. "but not right." brandon had been a guiding light for the starks for a long time ; so long that it was difficult to think of him as anything but infallible, someone who held answers where they were needed. he was not that anymore, nor did she imagine he wanted to be, but old habits died hard.

"i'm sure there are." finding answers would not be the issue, she expected, but finding answers from people she trusted was another matter entirely. it wasn't that she was cynical. if anything, she was naïve, offering more goodwill than was deserved at times, but the list of people she could trust dwindled by the day. she was certain brandon would understand that. you could not go through something like what he had faced and not lose some of your ability to trust.

the facts as dacey understood them were this: alysanne, whether with the best of intentions or not, had dabbled in things best left untouched. alysanne was gone, and there were no clues to unravel, no leads to follow, and no indication she would ever return. alysanne had left behind her remnants of what, in dacey's eyes, was a dire mistake, and the only thing she could do was ensure nobody else had to pay the price for it.

"then i suppose i know where i should start," there was a resigned sort of acceptance in her voice, as though she'd rather be doing anything else but that, and that was because she would. "assuming her associates will make themselves known to me." she had no idea how to circumnavigate that particular snag, but she would cross that bridge when it came to it.

at the mention of jon, something in her seemed to shift. her back stiffened, an anger uncharacteristic to dacey crossing her face. "we were all desperate." what had happened had broke something in dacey, perhaps beyond repair. she understood desperation, but this she could not condone. "there are still lines that should not be crossed. are not meant to be crossed." she understood her view of the world wasn't the norm, too idealistic, to unrealistic, especially for the north, but if this was the depths they were willing to stoop to, did that make them any better than those they would call enemies?

there was logic in what he was saying, but something tugged at the back of dacey's mind anyway. perhaps it was simply the fact she was born with all the caution other starks lacked, too much of it. she'd never been one for kicking a hornet's nest - and the situation at winterfell had never felt so complex. "was," she repeated, more of a musing than anything else.

"yes," she had to concede that, if nothing else, owen would want to know. "and yet you know all you have told me, and don't know if he does. which means you haven't told him, either." it was not an accusation, her words as gentle as they had been since the moment she entered the room. "and i understand our reasons may be different," she added. "but what good would it do? he can't stop her. she isn't here to stop."

♞

there was a level of self consciousness that became clear in the minor details of how she stood before him, and yet there had never been a time where he could not recall her in such a way. "easy to assume." he spoke, referencing the culture of karhold: they were further north than many, with their own dialect. the sun tongue. and dacey before him, had always remained the quiet princess, the soft princess, caught in the middle of the pack: who would ever hear the gnawing of paws upon the dirt of the earth when the others howled over each of her attempts?

"there are many who would be able to provide you with the real answers you seek." the north was rooted in ancient practices, a place so strange he almost forgot - that was until he was beyond the wall, visiting his uncle who remained the current lord commander of the night's watch. the desolate emptiness and the creeping knowledge of what remained beyond the wall, the strange practices that caused a chill to run down the back of his spine.

he could delve further into the information regarding what it was she sought that night, reveal the conversations they had within the wagon or atop horseback through all weathers as they passed through the neck. he was not knowledgeable enough about such practices, though he had gotten her message all too clearly: there was ample risk in what it was she was planning to do. he cleared his throat slightly as the memories of the night flooded back to him, the churning sound of the wind and the leaves beneath his feet as he witnessed her stood by a fire; and when she looked up at him, there was blood running from her nose. with eyes that remained black.

and perhaps he would have backed away rather than forward, if he had not been confronted with what it was the old gods could force upon mortals merely some weeks earlier. he'll never forget the way in which meera reed's body had remained warm, for the days they spent travelling for her to be entombed within karhold. the sight of her eyes as they opened, and she drew in a large amount of breath that sounded like her last all the while.

"i can confirm the princess spent time studying such practices. she had many associates within the woods." the witches, who too worked methods that could be used for good or for evil. brandon firmly believed it was not magic itself that was evil, but how it was to be used. "after the murder of the late prince, she was desperate." and those were all the words he was ready to say on the matter, until she spoke of perhaps not mentioning details to the king.

brandon found himself wondering how he had managed to stumble himself in such a situation - as though he had not sworn the personal matters of the starks was not his issue. and now, the princess admitted to perhaps withholding information from the king - information he knew. "we both know the fixation the king holds on knowing all the facts." brandon responded. speaking objectively about his closest friend, his closest companion: who had once been so much shorter than him. "he would want to know. she was his twin, in the end."

the last thing that dacey had expected to find when glorie had wed her brother was a sister. the best she had hoped for was a friend, but glorie had become more than that to her. now, she was as much family as her own blood siblings, and for that, dacey was endlessly grateful. it would have been easy for the mistress of coin to ignore dacey, the direwolf who had never found her howl, but she hadn't. in their sisterhood, dacey found solace, and that was what she sought now, in her own way. the tea and offer of a sympathetic ear was for glorie, because it was in the act of giving that dacey took her comfort.

"it was nothing." it truly had not caused her any trouble - if anything, it was a welcome distraction for them both. a small smile tugged at the corner of her mouth. "an excuse to come and badger you, in truth. i thought it might go over better if i didn't show up empty-handed." it was typical of dacey's sense of humour, a wry sort of self-deprecation. she moved a little further into the room, settling in an empty chair and glancing at the pile of work glorie still had to sift through, with only a small pang of guilt. "i hope you don't expect to be here too much longer?"

the question was a tricky one to answer. dacey's gaze dropped to her hands - still, for a change, but her fingers raw and painful from the toll that everything going on had taken on her over the last few weeks. "just grief and worry," she answered truthfully. "something we have seen more than enough of. nothing you'd be sorry to miss."

if ever there were time for glorie to listen to her body and take a slight reprieve, it was now. her exhausted frame begged to be released from its upright position at her workspace to lean against the comforting cushion lining her chair. she would have allowed slumber to whisk her sway right then and there if it weren't for the light suddenly cast from the firelit hallway. she half expected to see adam emerge from the other side, but he'd been distant as of late, and she was reluctant to interfere with the way grieving had seemingly overtaken him. instead she's greeted by a friendly and familiar face. one that earns a warm grin from the princess consort.

"you didn't have to do that," there's a certain appreciation in the way she spoke. she hadn't a thought of such things until they were presented to her, but the realization that she was, in fact, in dire need of both only makes her that much more grateful. "thank you, your highness." always such formalities. would she ever learn to lighten her essence when others were near? she couldn't seem to unwind no matter how comfortable her kinship with someone is.

"of course, please join me. it seems i haven't seen the spring sun rise or set as of late. is there anything special i've missed?" the company of her family and peers, perhaps.

from almost the moment she was born, dacey had been a little frailer than most. as a child, she had been struck will all sort of maladies that had kept her close to home, and even now she was a woman grown, the caution that had kept her tethered to winterfell was so ingrained in her that she simply knew little else. the north was all she knew, but even then, she knew very little of it. that was simply the way of things, a fact of her life she did not challenge or question.

there were perks to the way she lived. whilst she was a constant in winterfell, she had seen her siblings come and go, blossoming into adults all the while. sometimes, those absences were shorter, but three of their number had ridden south, and not returned for so many years that it was hard to recognise the children they once were in the people they had become. dacey could not imagine being so far from your home, your family, but there was a special ache in her heart when she thought about saoirse, for she had been completely alone. dacey had tried to maintain a bond with letters and gifts over the years, and had been overjoyed upon her return, but that did not mean they understood each other. they had missed so much of each other's lives, and that kind of distance would never be easy to overcome.

"you found me easily enough," dacey pointed out, half-smile crossing her lips. "seems i'm doing a poor job of hiding, being in the first place anybody would think to look for me." there was a sort of self-deprecation to her tone, an invitation for saoirse to laugh at her, too. "i'm not hiding, sweetling. i'm just more accustomed to my own company than i have a right to be, i think. i'm glad you're here, though." she should have sought her sooner, but as with so many things, dacey was unsure. after so much time away, it was impossible to say if saoirse would welcome the company of a sister.

who: @daceystvrk where: in winterfell, saoirse goes to visit her sister in her room since she has not seen her all morning.

the presence of the north was always dreary to many commonfolk, but not for the princess. she found that the snowy trails while frozen, very warm, and being back home was something the flame-haired woman longed for the whole duration of her stay in the south. too far away from her siblings, from what she was used to; it was a difficult change during those times to wear her hair as a southern woman, her clothing inappropriate for the warmth. saoirse always felt something missing until she arrived into those wintry gates some fortnights ago and suddenly, the clarity of being back in a space where everything made sense. a comfort.

one of many familiar faces that saoirse was drawn to see was that of her sister, dacey. despite their age difference, the princess felt protective over her as an older sister would; her sister was delicate, to say the least, and saoirse hoped at least that part stayed the same. with years between them, it was difficult to say she knew her siblings' individuality like she used to which meant getting to know them almost all over again. saoirse dreaded that but she understood it must be done; much had changed between herself and who she was now, once a kind soul now hardened and unemotional.

a soft rap of a knock echoed in the halls of winterfell as saoirse announced her presence to dacey before entering into her room. saoirse's usual blue hues made of steel softened at the sight of her sister and a tender, loving gaze settled across her features. something she was unfamiliar to these days, but her siblings managed to pull her out of that state. "dacey," saoirse spoke gently as she entered, "why are you hiding in your room?"

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."

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."

{Words by José Olivarez from Citizen Illegal /@fatimaamerbilal , from even flesh eaters don't want me.}

she hesitated only for a beat, before nodding her head. "thank you, my lord." she'd never been entirely comfortable at events likes these, unsure how to act or behave for the best, and had not found it easier with age. in many ways, it only got more difficult. had percival not been there, she likely would have taken an extra second to steel herself at the door before walking through it. that was not an option with him standing there, and so, she hoped her reluctance did not show as she stepped through it.

she had expected that to be the end of it, courtesies exchanged at the door before he sought the company of his sister, or a friend, but then he spoke again. dacey turned her head, and a part of her was grateful he had initiated conversation. she was far better suited to one-to-one talks, and having this to focus on would prevent her from once again getting overwhelmed. "the honour is ours," she responded, a small smile crossing her face. "the vale are our allies. you are welcome here."

she did not know if this ball would come to anything, if owen would find a bride here or not, and whether it would be better if he did or did not. frankly, it was a trail of thought that made her head begin to ache, and so, she put it from her mind, and trusted in her brother's choices, as was often the easiest decision. things changed so quickly, and sometimes it felt like she was the only one remaining still.

"i know who you are, lord templeton," she said, then, worrying that it sounded rude or dismissive, was quick to add on to that statement. "but it is a pleasure to meet you properly, all the same." should she introduce herself? he clearly knew who she was, and yet it seemed presumptuous to not counter his introduction with one of her own. or would that just make her look a fool?

"i hope you and your sister have found yourselves comfortable."

The King in the North sought another bride after darling Rosa's untimely passing. It was anyone's guess if the Stark king would seek to pluck another fine woman of the Vale once more of if he sought something entirely different from the jewel he once had at his side. The Knight of Ninestars saw the king's ball as an opportunity for himself, as every situation tended to be translated in his mind. An opportunity for connections. An opportunity for alliances. Perhaps, an opportunity for more than just one man to find a future wife.

Used to living at heights of the continent, a Valeman's sights were usually high. Within his reach, nothing stood higher than a princess. So it was fortunate that his path led her to one of the beauties of the North as he was walking back into the great hall. “Apologies, your highness,” Percival spoke almost in unison with Princess Dacey Stark. “What sort of gentleman would I be if I walked in first? Please, princess,” he bowed, extending a hand to let her walk in before him. “I insist”.

The Knight of Ninestars didn't wish to let this incidental —and fortunate— encounter end at just that; a few words exchanged and the princess walking away. “His grace has hosted a beautiful event. I'm honored that me and my sister were considered to join your family as guests tonight,” he mentioned once the princess walked in and he did too, after her. It was usually so for the House of Ninestars, with Percival and Ginevra on the forefront, present at every social event, while Harlan and Elinor easily forgotten in the mediocrity of the cards they'd been dealt in life.

“Pardon me. Where are my manners? I'm Lord Percival Templeton, your highness. I don't believe we'd ever had the chance to be properly introduced,” the Commander of the Vale's Queensguard introduced himself with a pleasant smile, a polite gesture that easily bordered on being charming.

it was rare dacey had conversations like this with others, even with those she held dearest to her. those who she called friends knew of her enjoyment of weaving, of spinning stories from thread, but she had long since suspected beyond the appreciation of her handmade gifts of wall hangings and rugs, they cared little for the technicalities, the actual art of it all. not in the way the two of them were speaking now.

her eyes traced the graceful movement of malee's hands, listening intently to her thoughts. it struck a deeper chord in her than she cared to admit - the idea that peace was so fragile. it doesn't fight to stay. time and time again, that had proven to be true. no matter how they strove for it, how many wars were fought for it, how much blood was spilled to hold it for a moment, it was shattered all to easily.

"you're right." she admitted, carefully. "it doesn't fight to stay. but i think that makes it all the more important to hold on to." but if it did not fight for itself, then who would fight to preserve it, rather than just achieve it? "i think the artist was fighting for us not to forget it's value." her hands folded loosely in front of her, thumb idly rubbing circles against her own palm.

"does it hold a memory for you?" she asked. fields of gold were not a common sight in the north, but perhaps here, in the west, gold could be found above the ground rather than simply in the mines. she liked the idea that this might be so.

her gaze return to malee at her question, smile tugging at her lips. "it is," she confirmed. "I find peace in it. the weaving." there were nights where the creation of something became something close to prayer for dacey, peace to be found in every stitch. she was not a woman who found her words easily. it was in thread that she truly found her voice. "there is something special about seeing something come together that you created, with your own hand. do you weave yourself?"

the lady of the crag stood with a quiet grace, her posture poised yet natural, as though effortlessly balanced between decorum and ease. one hand rested lightly at her side, the other brushing the folds of her gown with deliberate care. “you put it beautifully,” she said, her voice low and melodic, carrying the weight of genuine understanding.

her free hand rose in a fluid motion, fingers tracing the air delicately as if painting the sentiment she sought to express. “peace doesn’t shout. it doesn’t demand. it’s quieter, subtler—much like this.” she turned slightly, her gesture extending toward the harvest scene, the golden threads shimmering faintly in the soft light.

a faint, thoughtful smile touched her lips as she studied the tapestry. “perhaps that’s why we forget it so easily,” she continued, her voice taking on a wistful tone. “it doesn’t fight to stay.” she let her hand drop slowly, her fingers brushing the edge of the display as though grounding herself in the moment.

“it’s strange, isn’t it?” she mused, her voice carrying a note of wistfulness. “how a thread can hold a story. a memory. sometimes i think we’re drawn to these because they don’t change. because they stay when so much else slips away.”

she turned her attention back to dacey, a thoughtful expression settling on her face as a flicker of genuine curiosity warmed her eyes. the conversation had settled into a more relaxed rhythm, the formal edge of her posture softening slightly as she allowed herself to settle into the moment. "you're quite knowledgeable of tapestries, your grace. is it a hobby you've taken up yourself?"

the positive confirmation was all dacey needed. she closed the door behind her before taking a seat, eyes drifting over the food before him. in the end, she took only bread, never-resting hands now taking to tearing it into thin strips. "thank you," a nod of gratitude followed. "one's cheese and meat consumption is a serious matter. best to explore all possibilities before deciding the right way to do it." for a second, there was a glimpse of her old self, the lighter dacey who was quicker to smile and joke. it was easier to feel a modicom of calm around owen, a little safer.

her stomach lurched unpleasantly at the mention of jon's name. her brother's fate was never far from her mind, and she could not think of his name without the grotesque imagery of what had happened to him.

"i do." dacey had lived her life within the walls of winterfell, and though she had seen little of the word beyond the north, it had its benefits. chief among them being that there was little that happened in the castle that she did not catch wind of. dacey saw everything, and understood more than most would give her credit for. if there was any offence in his query, she did not feel it, nor did she seek it out.

there was no denying that owen had a vision for the north. the ramifications of that were sweeping, but a vision without the proper guidance was doomed to remain just that. jon was that guidance, taking even the most complex of ideas and bringing it to life. it was an influence she was sure was sorely missed.

"i can't say i could be as capable as jon," she began, "but if there's anything you'd like me to look at, i can at least help you talk it through. sometimes a second pair of eyes does the trick."

Without Jon, Owen sat in the solar alone, such a strange feeling. Jon wasn't suppose to die. He was a man of the mind, a man who could look at the drawings of Owen's plans and bring them to life through builders and workmen. The changes happening all around them were because Jon knew how convey his ideas. Owen knew they would continue on with their dreams, continue on with their needs. The North would prosper and they would do more than be the region that survives.

"Come in, sister. You're never disrupting here. You're my sister and Princess of the North. Sit down. There's bread and cheese and hard meats. There's even black beer a gift from our visitors from the wall." He raised the mug and took a drink, sitting it down to the side then he picked up a heel of bread piling cheese, and dried meat on top. "Seen the sailors eating this way. Think I'm doing it wrong." He took a bite.

Owen loved his siblings, calling them all home the first chance he got when words of the Dance starting was reaching them. Some arrived before, during, and after but they came home. Their brother crowned King and them crowned as princes and princesses. The weight of it wouldn't crush them as long as he has his way.

"I would love to have more help...take no offense in my next question. Do you know what Jon did?"

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?"