Dacey Was Trying Her Best, But There Were Times When That Just Wasn't Enough. It Overwhelmed Her, Crowds

truth serum: do you see yourself as a valuable addition or a burden to your house?

it was a question that had kept dacey awake for nights beyond count. "i think i've perhaps always been more of a burden than a help to my family," she admitted. she wished that it were not so, but she was not foolish enough to think otherwise, for what did she have to offer house stark? there was nothing. no talents, no skills, not even the courage of her siblings to offer. "but i am trying very hard not to be."

"i am glad to hear that fortune has smiled on you." she truly was. she could understand how it would be easy to be bitter that others may prosper when it felt like her own life was falling apart at the seams, but that was not, would never be, dacey's way. the way she saw it, seffora was overdue for the blessings that she had received since they had last been face to face, and in that, there was hope that one day, the old gods would look upon house stark and grant them a reprieve, too. until that day, though, she would content herself with knowing that at least one person she cared for was well.

dacey nodded her head. "i would like that. it's been a long journey. i think some tea with a friend would be just the right way to settle in." just for a moment, it would do her some good to pretend as though nothing was wrong, and they were simply two women enjoying one another's company. the heavy gloom of winterfell had encompassed so much of her day to day. perhaps, despite her hesitancy to come, the westerlands could be a much-needed light.

"where are you staying?" she had yet to find her way around the westerlands, a place so unfamiliar to her that she had barely been able to picture it in her mind before they had arrived here. "i haven't got my bearings here yet, so you'll have to show me the way."

The Lady of Longtable offered a respectful bow of her head before the Princess of the North once she stood before her. Seffora did consider Dacey a friend, and despite skipping over some of the appropriate formalities, she did wish to convey her respect for the Stark princess. It was so reassuring to have the other woman reach towards her and offer a hug. The Merryweather held Dacey tightly, warmly, before they let go.

Dacey was not the first one to remark on her appearance as of late, whether to note her demeanor, whatever confidence or brightness she might be showing more outwardly than before. “Well, I've been blessed with great fortune,” was all she could say, for the gods had truly smiled upon her house and people after all the hardships they endured collectively as the civil war in the Reach raged on. Seffora knew her friend could be thinking of what she got to witness firsthand in Winterfell, though. House Merryweather had lost much back then. Seffora had lost the sister who had been her lifelong companion in the most harrowing way. The scar of such a loss remained, but as she stood here today, it didn't feel like a constantly bleeding wound.

“We must,” Seffora grinned, eager to hear whatever Dacey wished to tell her. She was also most willing to lend a shoulder to cry on too, if necessary, for news of the misfortunes of the Starks had reached the court of King Cedric. The Lady of Longtable would never forget the way the Stark princess had been there for her when she needed it. It was something she would never be able to fully repay. She wished to give it a try, however, and be there for Dacey. “Could you spare a moment now? Perhaps we can ask to have some tea or refreshments brought to the guest quarters my house has been granted”.

apologetically myself

there was truth to owen's words. anything was possible, and if there was any proof of that, the starks were it. for good and for ill. it was the ill that worried her. the fear of the unknown sent a shudder down dacey's spine that she struggled to suppress. "plenty of things have come to pass that neither of us could have seen coming." she chose her words slowly and deliberately, with a warning laced between them. there would be plenty more that she wouldn't see.

there was a faith in her abilities owen seemed to possess that dacey herself did not. she had never seen herself as smart and capable, but if owen needed her to be so, she would try to be. for a brief second, her mind flicked back to childhood, to little-girl-dacey who was all to eager to lend a helping hand to anybody in need. that thirst to be useful had never quite gone away, even if it had dulled somewhat as the years drew by.

her melancholy was washed away by owen's proclamation. it was enough to draw a small laugh from her. "of course, your grace," she addressed him playfully. "though the crown lends it a little more weight, no? regardless, whatever you need of me, it will be done."

The King smiled at her joke, chuckling a bit as he continued to eat and drink the black beer, strong and hearty, exactly what a man in the North needed. It was nice to take a moment to feel light when he was with his family. Their life was a heavy one, so many would talk about the joys of royalty and everlasting existence in the written text of the Wisdoms who now tracked their history.

The loss of Jon was not one he prepared himself for though he should have seen it coming. Truthfully he'd expected it to be him or Adam to die in some fight before any of the rest, even Alys on some level. He believed too strong in Cass' speed for her to ever die before him or get captured. Jon, he always thought Jon too smart and to witty to get captured or die. He would know how to get out of anything and perhaps he did in the hands of one more reasonble.

Alas, ransoming was a game of southron lords. In the North you were taken and rarely were your bones even returned. Given to the old Gods, the most pious of them secretly filling their trees with the entrails of their enemies as they did on Skagos. Owen took another drink, clearing his mind and focusing on his sister as she started to speak again. "You may find yourself even more capable than Jon, anything is possible sister. In fact, I never thought there would be another warg king and yet." He gestured, "one sits before you, Stark and all." He smiled at her.

"You're smart and you're capable. We all have our own strengths. You will see things Jon could have never seen and think them as well. Don't aim to be Jon, be yourself, sister, and all will be well. I believe in you. And I'm your big brother which makes my world law with or without the crown."

dacey shook her head. "she's a westerner, i think," she offered, knowing that this was not helpful information. they were in the west. of course there would be westerners here. it did not help to narrow down her identity. she pressed her hand to her mouth to conceal her own laughter. though aleksander was otherwise occupied, not there to see dacey's amusement at her own expense, it still felt unkind to laugh at brandon's teasing of him. "i don't know. he has his moments, and he's wearing my mask. maybe that's what she finds so funny," she pointed out. he had swapped with her without complaint, despite looking a little ridiculous as a result.

from polite distance to the heavier tone of their last meeting, there was a levity to the conversation that had not formerly existed between dacey and brandon. and perhaps it had with owen, with cassana, but it was a side to him she had never known, and a side to her she rarely showed, save to those who knew her best. she was comfortable in a way that she was with the few she called friends - were they friends?

"i won't look quite so out of place, then." here was humour she was more comfortable with, jabs at her own expense rather than at the expense of aleksander karstark. though she was no great dancer, she still bore a small semblance of hope, however, that she had a little more grace than to look like a flopping fish.

he led her to the centre of the floor, and she let him, appreciated him for that, even. in the middle of the crowd, it was easier for the pair of them to be lost in it. one hand in his, the other on his shoulder, she was not sure if she was dancing as much as moving, allowing brandon and the natural jostling of the crowd to guide her. and for a moment, dacey forgot everything that she was attempting to carry on her shoulders, forgot the troubles waiting for her on her return to the north.

until he mentioned the true north. a small frown appeared on her face, and she tensed a little, but she nodded. "i have heard of it," her speech was more intentional, now, laced with a sort of weariness. brandon had become a rallying point for those who called themselves the true north, but dacey did not know how closely affiliated he truly was with them and what they believed in. "but i don't know what to make of it." she looked at him then, but said nothing more, a silent invitation for him to add his own perspective, if he wished to.

♞

"any idea who the redhead lass is?" brandon asked, his voice rougher around the edges - there was nothing that genuinely worried him regarding the sight, as at the end of the day, it was not something serious. "gods know why she's laughin' so much, he ain't that funny." his words were taunting, a keen glimpse into the reality of the nature of the brotherly relationship. if any were the centre of brandon's world, it was aleksander - none other.

what brandon saw was a man having some fun, with what appeared to be a lass from the riverlands down south to them; so long as he was careful and did not leave his bastards in her, he cared not for what or who aleksander spent his time with. such was the reality of being a man; or being men, with no sister whose honour they would need to defend themselves.

intentions that remained as pure as the winter sun itself seemed to lead and guide brandon karstark through his decisions this night within the land of the west, and whilst he felt a great deal of concern and issue and even guilt for the laughter that rung through the halls, he also found himself on high alert - no doubt because of the tensions that grew between northmen and westermen during the dance. they were too different, on opposites sides of two different worlds: they had not needed to share the same space, and yet, here they were.

"not sure if i'd call this southern jumpin' dancing." he spoke, briefly meeting her gaze with a warm smile crossing his features. "look like fishes outta water, they do."

still, he did not wish to bring the mood of the princess down. it had been made obvious that she was more publicly visible than she had ever been before, picking everything up and trying to lace it together. if any deserved respite from the worry and from the concern, it was her. when she greeted him with her usual small hello, he merely nodded his head in her direction, as though to accept her greeting before leading her onto the dance floor. it was the least he could do considering aleksander's treachery.

his instinct was go in the middle of the dance floor, so they were not on the edges and clearly watched; he did not know why he did not want to be watched. still, he maintained her gaze as he put his hand upon her waist, as though to give her a heads up he would be doing that - and then they found themselves swept into the dancing, becoming a whirling mess. perhaps they weren't doing the correct dance moves. "you've heard of it, haven't you? this true north." he spoke as they danced.

closed starter for @amirofmanderlys

"lord manderly," she wished she could say that it was good to see him, but trepidation clouded her tone, her expression, for a large part of dacey feared that he did not bring with him glad tidings. not that his return was itself full of good news. only tragedy had awaiting amir manderly on his return, and that was not much of a welcome home.

"i am glad to see you returned to us." it was the kindest thing that she could say that still remained the truth. she was glad that he was safe, despite any anxieties she held about what his lengthy absence meant for the north.

there was once a time where she never would have asked the question she was about to voice, simply because she was too afraid to do so. for so long, her way had been to bury her head in the sand and hope that pretence was enough. it had been a long time since that had worked.

"is there to be war?" as blunt as the query was, it was softened by the way she spoke it, no less gentle than when she expressed her joy that he was back. "with skagos?" the signs were there, but she could not help but hope he would tell her otherwise.

closed starter for @lucius-rivers setting: on her way back to the north from king's landing, dacey stops in the riverlands and meets with her cousin.

dacey travelled slowly, if she travelled at all. she had left the north to make it to king's landing, her first time away from the lands of her own family, and expected to arrive home after the rest. it wasn't ideal, but having never been so far from home before, she didn't want to wear herself out, but did want to ensure she was making the most of her trip.

lucius rivers was not a man she knew well, but he was blood. that was what mattered to dacey. her mother's kin was a subject of curiosity for her, but she had always cared for them from afar. it made her a little nervous to be here.

swallowing her trepidation, dacey tried to still her hands, which were twisting together in her lap, and offered a tentative, but sincere smile.

"i'm sorry i didn't get to spend time with you in king's landing," she began. "i think this is better, though. i didn't care much for the city, but the riverlands is beautiful. you are lucky to call it your home."

willow wearing tiaras (3x10 / 4x10)

dacey fell quiet as malee spoke, a small smile playing upon her face. there was something lovely in it, the way she described the way in which obligation slowly gave way to joy. her eyes fell upon malee's as they moved, recognising the pattern in the way her fingers traced through the air. it was a weaver's motion, familiar and repetitive as it was elegant.

"we have work from yi ti. in winterfell." she was always a little in awe of it, how different it was from what the north created both in style and substance, and yet there was always something so captivating about them, a beauty that spoke all on its own without any need for adaptation. "i've always admired it. i can see why it made an impression on you, when you were there."

it was the wonderful thing about tapestry. without it, the tales of yi ti would have been lost to dacey, stuck behind words she could not read or understand. "i love how they need no translation to understand. as though history and tales have been woven into a form anybody can look at and feel," she confessed, before letting out a soft laugh. "silly thought."

she shook her head. "please, don't apologise for speaking about something you're passionate about. it isn't every day i get the opportunity to talk about weaving, myself. i should be thanking you, really." there was no need for apologies - not when this was a conversation dacey was very much enjoying having.

"it was a little different for me," her lips pursed a little in thought. "it was never an obligation. never something i had to learn to love. but it started as a distraction from... well, everything, really. i was quiet the frail child, and none thought it a good idea to allow me to spend much time outdoors or away from home. it left a lot of lonely hours to fill, and weaving became something to pass the time."

it was different now. dacey was no longer the fragile child who needed sheltering, and yet, she had never broken the habit of sheltering herself, regardless. "i suppose for me it's always about the process and the rhythm of it all. there was something grounding about it to me, as though it was anchoring me to the world." it sounded silly, now she was saying it out loud, but she continued anyway. "i liked having something intentional. every colour, and every knot, it's a choice i could make when it did not feel like i had many choices."

she looked down to the ground, something akin to embarrassment in her features. "do i sound completely ridiculous?" her voice was self-deprecating in its softness.

the lady of the crag shifted her weight slightly, standing beside the tapestry, her hands clasped together in front of her. she looked down at the delicate threads and the intricate patterns, her gaze softening as she continued.

“yes, but, i didn’t love weaving at first,” she confessed, the words quiet and almost introspective. “it was just something I was taught to do, something expected of me. my mother insisted on it when I was young, as something a westerling woman should know. but in those early days, it was just another task—like learning to play the harp or proper table manners.”

she over to dacey, her expression gentle but thoughtful. “but when we stayed in shenlong, yi ti, during the dance, something shifted. the people there, they wove stories into their work, legends, histories, even prayers. they weren’t just weaving to create beautiful cloth or tapestries; it was a way to preserve something deeper. something that might be forgotten otherwise.”

malee paused, her hands subtly moving as if she could feel the weave in her mind, the rhythm of it, the care it took, tracing over the tapestry in front of her. “at first, i didn’t understand it. but with time, i began to see how the technique itself was an art—how the pattern and the thread told a story beyond the surface. and that’s when I began to love it, when i saw how much meaning could be woven into something so simple.”

hand fell back to its place in front of her, fingers interlacing once again. “now, every piece feels like a small act of creation—something i can control, something i can pour a part of myself into. i don’t think i could ever stop weaving now.”

she gave a soft, almost apologetic smile, her hands unconsciously smoothing the fabric of her gown. “i’m sorry,” she said, her voice a little softer now, tinged with a slight self-consciousness. “i didn’t mean to speak so freely about it. i suppose weaving has become more personal to me than I expected." she met the other's gaze, offering a small, apologetic smile before continuing. “and it is rare to find someone who appreciates the technique as much as the final product. so, thank you for listening.”

she took a half step closer, her tone gentle but eager. “when did you begin weaving, your grace? was it something you’ve always enjoyed, or did you find the joy later on, as i did?”

feray's forgiveness was a relief, but dacey still stood ill at ease, so sure she had said the wrong thing, and so unsure she entirely deserved the grace. there was a grace to the way she carried herself that dacey could never truly hope to emulate. so rarely did she speak of jon, and never without a tightness in her chest, an intensity she wished not to speak of. grief, to dacey, was an exposed nerve, to be concealed and protected from poking and prodding, and yet to feray, it seemed to be something quite different.

"you have more strength than most," she added, after a pause. "more than me." it was a strength that came from faith. that much was plain to any who knew feray locke. it was not that dacey did not have faith of her own, just that it was different. the afterlife feray spoke of was nothing like the teachings dacey had grown up with. "it is a lovely thought." it might have sounded patronising, if not for the utter sincerity in dacey's voice. "it might not be what my gods teach, but there is much peace in the thought." and children who had already faced hardship so young deserved nothing more than peace.

"it is never quiet in winterfell," she managed a smile. "there is too much life in the walls." and that was the way it should be, even if she often felt like a ghost, a relic of the past watching life continue around her. "it is funny, sometimes life seems too loud to bear, and at other times the quiet is crushing. there's never an in-between." it was more of a musing than something she expected feray to provide a solution to, if she could even understand it. "i'm sorry. a silly thought."

her head tilted a little at mentions of the ravens, expression softening. "i think i'd like that." her mother had been of house blackwood. the sight and sounds of ravens always reminded dacey of her. "clever birds."

she had become used to people not sure what to say, or apologising for accidentally saying something that might hurt her. but the truth was that anything rarely did. she had grown stronger in these last couple of moons. “do not fret, dacey.” she finally used her real name. there was a kind smile on her lips, but it was not wide or particularly joyous. there was always a tint of sadness to it now. except for a few moments where she felt like herself again, how she had been before the war, before she had to rely on poppy milk.

feray had never found it too difficult speaking of her brothers. she believed it helped her to be able to talk about them. then it was not all in her head and heart. “i do not mind speaking of grief and loss. i do mourn my brothers, and i wish every day they were here, but i also know we will see each other again.” without her faith, she did not believe she would have lived through the loss. she would not have been able to deal with her mother's sudden silence, or her father's pain that was so great he never left oldcastle any more, which meant she had to take on certain responsibilities as ruling lady in his stead. the war has done its damage, they all had to find a way to move on in peace. “i hope the children will find comfort in it as i have.”

she had no ambition to spend much time in winterfell, happy to stay home and at white harbor with amir. “thank you. winterfell is the heart of the north, so let us hope that it never grows quiet.” it should never become as quiet as oldcastle has become. “if you come visit, we can go see the ravens. i cannot claim that they are quiet, but luckily they are kept some distance away from the keep.”