Anya Could Not Know It, But Her Words Brought A Sense Of Relief To Dacey. Most Of The Time, It Felt Like

dacey nodded her head. "that's sensible, i think." there was certainly wisdom in keeping the search private. a political struggle was the last thing that the north needed, and to have it publicly known that owen was looking for a queen could certainly cause such a thing. for now, he had the luxury of time. "a weakness?" she wasn't an unintelligent woman, but perhaps a little naive in the ways of the world. she was here, though, and she was trying to understand a little better, trying to be useful in the best way she could.

for so much of her life, she had seen owen as a pillar of strength. perhaps it was unfair of her to have built such an image of him, but it had been there for almost as long as she had known how to draw breath. when she looked at him now, for the first time she could see cracks in that infallible image. she could see that he was tired, and wished that she could tell him to rest.

"i can't disagree with you." there was so much logic in what he was saying. nasir manderly made sense. she did not doubt his capabilities. on paper, he was the best person for the job. but this was not a conversation dacey ever thought she would be having - not just because she had traditionally been reticent about offering her opinion to him about matters of the kingdom, believing she had little wisdom to offer, but because she never could have foreseen a time when the kingdom would need a new hand.

when she glanced up, owen was looking at her, and their eyes met. there was something else behind his, something he was not telling her - but then, there were things she was not telling him, too. she wanted to tell him that he could speak to her of anything, but how could she without feeling like a hypocrite? "are you all right, though?" her brows raised. "i'm not... talking about the north or the hand or the queen. if there's ever anything you want to talk to me about..." she trailed off. she could not finish the sentence.

And his sister was kind, but many and more would have something to say about him looking for a new wife too soon. It would not be the queen of the Vale but perhaps the people. And the smallfolk had grown to love their queen. They loved that the queen didn't bring her seven, whispers he heard himself. They loved a queen that protected them with her own laws, giving their daughters places, places he would have to somehow maintain. It would not go over well.

"Of course, I will not advertise this search. Some will make their plans to put those women before me. And then there will be others who hope to see it as a weakness." Owen shrugged his shoulder, his fingers dragging over his dark hair. He was very tired and sleep abandoned him at every turn. Like the sister with whom he shared a womb. And now she was gone. Again.

"Nasir is the best choice. He understands the need for growth, very old friend." Fostered with the man. Their houses would one day be joined. He looked at her, there was more that was needed and he was uncertain if his sister was ready for everything. There would be marriages, conflicts, and more resistance. Owen didn't want another war. Next time he would cut the head off the snake and burn the body. Cousin branches were far more useful anyway.

closed starter for @intothewylde

the day was warm and pleasant, the sun bathing the hill of the lion's tor in light. it was one of the few places in the west dacey had been eager to see, and the first chance she had to get there. the old gods had little power in the south, and she felt that doubly so in the westerlands. even the weirwood that stood in the casterly rock godswood left her with the feeling of confinement, as though those twisting roots would wrap around her and squeeze.

but here was a place removed from the splendour of the west, its legends speaking of the children of the forest and the first men who worshipped as she did. here there was a little more ease, and for a moment, dacey almost felt at peace.

she was crouched before a patch of flowers, a book and a basket next to her. the basket she had filled with plants and herbs she had already collecting, growing wild on the hillside. the book, she lafed through, comparing each illustration to the buds before her, trying to identify them to little avail.

she was not the only one here. there was another, one dacey had given an awkward smile and bob of her head, but largely left to their own devices, as he had her. he seemed to be interested in the local flora, too. perhaps he would have answers for her? she turned to look at him, cleared her throat, and called out.

"excuse me, my lord?" dacey's voice was quiet, but it carried across the hillside. he would have heard her. "by any chance, do you happen to know what this is called?" she gestured to the plant, but did not touch it. "i don't want to pick it up until i know its name," she explained.

dacey's gaze lingered on brandon, as though she were afraid if she looked away, he might fall into the snow once more. his self-deprecating humour might have worked to ease her worries in any other moment, but not then - not when she had seen the way he had swayed so precariously, not when she could still hear the strain in his voice as he tried to brush off what had just happened. it was as though she were looking at him through fresh eyes. she had not been blind to the fact he had been touched by grief and stress, but it was only now she noted just how heavy that burden seemed to be for him.

"it is care freely given," her voice remained as quiet as it had been, but with a resoluteness that was not common in dacey. she did not know if her persistence would be accepted, or if he would bristle at it. it was no small thing for a man who was the very picture of strength and stability to be caught in a moment of weakness. "even the strongest of trees can be toppled by a storm."

he seemed to be returning to himself, and that was a relief, and yet, she still moved to crouch slightly before him, until her gaze was level with his. she did not need to bend far. even seated, the height of him was obvious. "you're far from an old nan. there's life in you yet, lord karstark." the faintest semblance of a smile crossed her face, something that was both reassuring and that brushed away any lingering traces of her concern.

it was not the true north, but the mention of alysanne that had her finally pulling her gaze from him, eyes turning downward to look at the snow on the ground. it was rare to hear her name anymore, as though their lives had knitted over the space she had left, but she could still see where the threads didn't quite fit with the rest of the tapestry. she felt it - her absence, and what brandon had told her that she had done, even if she had still spoken it to nobody else.

"it's too much for any to carry alone. just one of those things would be enough." she hesitated, before perching on the spare space on the mounting block beside him. "if you do feel yourself faltering again, though, try and warn me first? i'm not sure my reflexes will be quick enough a second time. the first was pure luck." there was enough levity to her voice to make it sound like a joke, but under it all, she had no desire to see brandon karstark fall.

♞

brandon karstark felt the world tilt beneath him, a momentary dizziness that threatened to sweep his legs out from under him like the harsh winds of the wolfswood. his large, rough hand gripped the rough stone of the wall as though it might anchor him against the sudden betrayal of his body. the cold bit at his fingers through his gloves, but the sharp sting was grounding. he wasn’t sure what had come over him—a rush of blood, the cold, or the weight of all the whispers they’d spoken of. he’d been a fortress his whole life, and now, his knees trembled like a green boy’s after his first fight.

trembled the way they had the night his knees submitted to the snow, and he watched as the skies danced green above him.

then he felt her hand—small compared to his, steady and firm despite its lightness. dacey stark had moved to his side, her touch grounding him in a way his pride refused to acknowledge. her other hand hovered close, ready to catch him should he falter further. he cast her a sidelong glance, his lips opening into a faint, self-deprecating sigh. “princess, ye shouldn’t be wasting your care on me,” he rumbled, knowing that there would be nothing he could do to stop her. regardless of how brash he may have sounded, not in this moment. the warmth of her concern made him pause; for the briefest of moments.

“you’ve a steady hand, princess,” he murmured, his gruff voice softening just a touch. “might’ve toppled like a blasted pine without you.”

“bloody hell,” he muttered under his breath, his voice low and rasping, an edge of frustration creeping into his tone. he swayed again, and his hand pressed harder against the wall, fingers curling against the icy stone for purchase. there was a nervous, dismissive chuckle that came from his lips, as though he were trying to move passed what had just occurred. “damned frailed body, i’ve stood through worse and now i'm out 'ere shakin' like an old nan in robes.”

his hand remained braced on his knee, the other gripping the edge of the block as though he still didn’t trust himself to stay upright. he chuckled then, a rough, bark-like laugh that seemed more to dismiss his embarrassment than to find true humor. “what a sight, eh? a karstark felled by nothin’ more than a spin of the head. gods be good.” still, the worry in her eyes lingered, and something about her steady presence made him relent. "maybe it’s all this talk of the true north," he admitted, his voice heavy. "or alysanne. what she was dabblin’ in… it’s the kind o’ thing that turns men’s stomachs and sets their thoughts adrift."

"oh," a disapproving frown found it's way onto dacey's face. "that was rude. for what it's worth, i don't think you needed it. you still look great."

hugo had been one of the people she'd been hoping to catch up with while she was here. she didn't have very many friends during her school years, but she'd had him. even though life had pulled them apart, she would always think of him fondly, and be endlessly grateful for the time they spent together.

"i think i missed the mark a little bit," she smiled, gesturing at her own outfit. she'd gone for a sienna miller-inspired boho look that she remembered being popular back then, but it seemed she was the only one to go for that particular style.

"yes, please," she nodded. she was never a big drinker, but it was a special occasion, after all. "i'm good, thank you. it's been way too long." they'd always kept in touch, but it had been a while since their last good catch up. "how are you? anything new going on?"

who: @daceystvrk where: 2000's party, costume notable deets: high school sweethearts that ended after graduation with the pair going down different paths. very good terms.

"Ryon Wyl took my bandanna which I think really tied the whole thing together."

Hugo spoke as he rested against the bar, the obvious choice was for him to choose something closer to how he actually dressed back in those days but that wasn't fun so he went for the other trend he saw sweep through suburbanites of Vermont, gang culture and he did always enjoy Malibu's Most Wanted, it was perfect. As soon as they played Wanksta he would solidify his victory if he ignored Ben Shady in the corner.

"How are you Dacey? It's been quite some time hasn't it?" The young man smiled and took a drink from his cup, paused and then finished it. "Bit watered down. You want one?" He offered as he turned to the bartender.

dark half-moons had painted themself under dacey's eyes, a sure sign that she had slept very little in the nights leading up to this - the arrival of all who would see themselves as queen in the north, and the family members that came to support that ambition. she knew the north needed a queen, but more and more was she questioning owen's decisions. throwing the door open for all of westeros, bar a few notable exceptions, to throw their hat in the ring seemed to her like a recipe for disaster, but then, she had always been quiet and introverted. winterfell was her safest place, and though she were accustomed to guests, with it being the seat of a king, the idea of it being quite so full of strangers was not a pleasant one.

yet here she stood, in the courtyard, a smile laced with tension on her face as she greeted these invaders to her home. her hands were clasped before her, twisting around one another and betraying the anxiety she felt. owen's choice would be his own, but one that played on her mind, keeping her awake until the small hours as she carefully considered who she would see joining the wolves of winter.

and she did not think to see the distinctive sight of targaryen silver here. not in the north, given relations between owen and the king of new valyria were so fraught, but she quickly realised who it was. this must be the prince baelon, the son of rhaenyra, the black dragon the starks had once raised their banners for.

"your highness?" her voice was laced with uncertainty as she stepped forward to greet him. "welcome to winterfell, your grace. i trust the journey wasn't too difficult?"

Open starter

Where: Winterfell's Courtyard

When: Before the beginning of The Winter Ball, Baelon just arrived in Winterfell

Baelon did not mind the North. Actually, the only thing about it that bothered him was the cold, but he could deal with that. When he got the invitation from the King in the North to attend the event, he did not hesitate to accompany his sister. Baelon didn't want to let her attend alone, plus it was a good chance to get drunk without much judgement, it was a celebration after all. Along with that, the Starks were loyal to his mother to the very end and Baelon does not forget that. Even now, he believes that they did not forget their vows.

The trip had been a long and tiring one and Baelon could not wait to find his chambers, where a nice bed and a warm fire would be waiting for him. Winterfell was as beautiful as ever, the whole of the North was an incredible place, even though in his opinion, nothing would ever come close to his home of Dragonstone.

Baelon climbed down from his horse once they entered the courtyard of the castle. He handed the horse's lead to one of the servants that had come to meet him and his caravan, before nodding and thanking the young boy. Baelon paused for a moment, admiring his surroundings and observing who had already arrived in Winterfell. Not a familiar face, from what he could see. Although he failed to notice the figure approaching him.

Genevieve Wilhelmina Gaunt born 13th January 1991 - Happy Birthday!

“What is your mantra? We make our habits, then our habits make us.”

apologetically myself

@wintervsuns

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

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

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

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

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

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."

nasir spoke, and dacey fell silent, though her gaze remained fixed upon his face. she was listening, taking everything he said to heart, regarding his words seriously and thoughtfully. there was a wisdom to his words, she thought, one that she should have expected, but made it clear in her mind that owen's decision to name the elder manderly as his next hand had been a correct one. and it were not that she had doubted that, as she had never doubted her brother's vision, but to say there was not uncertainty within her about the change in the north would be untrue. yet, things could not be how they were. they would all need to look to the future, in order to ensure the north was all it could be.

but his guidance did not soothe her, he spoke of hate, and that made her nervous. fearful they would hate her simply upon the sight of her, anxious that something she could do would incite that hatred further. "and so around it goes," she murmured, more to herself than to nasir. she possessed such little capacity for hate in her own heart, and she could not understand those who held it close to them. was it not exhausting? how was it that they were not so weighted down by it that they found it in them to hate even those they purported to hold as allies?

but the same could be said of the north, she supposed, though instead of hating the west or the reach, it seemed to her that they would rather hate one another, as though the war had taught them nothing. she thought of her sister, the princess saoirse, who had clung to her own grudges so hard she left claw marks behind before she had vanished.

"i would not mind if you did." despite her personal issues with nasir manderly, he had spoken to her plainly and granted her insight and truth, and that she could appreciate. "i am grateful for your council, lord manderly. we are stronger when we know what to expect." and she said we, because in his capacity as the new hand of the king, whatever either of them did would reflect on the north.

the north had seen much grief, and house stark had not been untouched by it, but out of everything, even the loss of her own kin, perhaps it was manal manderly's death that felt the most tragic, the most horrifying. her instincts were to offer words of condolences, but what words could there be that could be enough? there wasn't any, and so though her expression softened, her tension and uneasiness giving way to something gentler.

"maybe she thought i would not have accepted?" in truth, there was a high likelihood that she would not have. it had taken her own losses to shake her out of her solitude, an isolation born in her childhood but maintained only by dacey herself. "i did not know your sister well." everything she knew about manal came from what others had told her - but she was yet to find anybody with an unkind word to say about who she was as a person, and how she treated others. "but i think i would have liked her very much."

"i don't think babies like very much," for the first time since the conversation began, a smile found its way to her lips. "and this particular baby is a prince of the west. he will want for nothing." that, at least, she was certain of. "something symbolic would be most suitable, i think. if you would like, i would not mind taking the responsibility for putting something together." it was a small gesture, but it was only in the small gestures that dacey every felt like she could be useful.

✯

"i think, knowing there is not much difference between westermen and reachmen is important." there were beats of awkward silence that seemed to sit comfortably between the conversation, not within it but between it; nasir of house manderly had never been one to attempt to fill in the cracks within a conversation, no doubt having once been the quietest of a trio of the generation that no longer existed. she had insisted he did not need to, but nasir would not have the princess of the north walk into a situation she did not know of.

the king, the truth north, and the manderly was what it had seemed to become; the realities of adulthood pulling apart strings of friendship and all but severing them rather than letting them hang loose was all but apparent. "the men of the west do in sunlight what the men in the reach do in the shadows." still, his quiet nature had turned to a certain sense of stubborn sternness that came in his beliefs; and what he could offer the kingdom of the north. "it is easy to assume the men of the west hate us. and perhaps they do. but as do the men of the reach, who are their greatest allies. then, they too hate one another."

the brothers of house manderly had swung both ways; one latching further onto the north, as though he wished to shake it into waking itself up and realising how much better it could be. the other turning away from it, all too apparent of the feelings of isolation and otherness that the stirrings had caused against their own. "i do not ever intend to inform your highness of how to behave, or how to be. only that, your kindness and your virtue is an exception within such lands."

there was no denying the fact that much bloodshed stained the pure snow of the north, but the violence targeted toward the manderlys and their people was due to a different reason - not just treason, but a feeling of being a scapegoat. the wealthy other. "manal found a great love for the reach." his late sister, the oldest kidnapped by the false king and who perished from malnutrition. he knew it the moment he looked upon her frame, her face; the death that had already sunk within her face.

"she spoke of wishing to extend you an invitation to join her, at least once. i am not sure why she never got around to it." perhaps because manal manderly had been a northern socialite, effortlessly involved in all matters - a striking difference to the princess. and suddenly, nasir found himself realising he was able to speak of his sister without feeling something blocking his throat.

now nasir wished to shake them all in their ignorance, force them to look upon what he could and what he would do; never did he think that brandon karstark would be an obstacle, a barrier to such a reality. even when he had detached himself from court, when he had pulled himself away, there continued a sense of faith, loyalty and trust in him that nasir did not have as hand. it caused a large hole in nasir's side, an apparent one any could use to target.

"…ah. i've forgotten that detail. what do babies like?"