Patricia Smith, From Teahouse Of The Almighty; “Building Nicole’s Mama”

closed starter for @cassvstark

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

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

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

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

TRUTH SERUM: It's time to make the 8! What one person would you bed from all the different regions of Westeros?

dacey's face flushed a deep scarlet. "that is not a question i am comfortable answering." even if she was not so private of a person, this would still feel far too personal. "certainly nobody from the westerlands or the crownlands." there was not a single person in either court she could see herself taking to bed. "hugo vance was kind to me, so perhaps he would not be objectionable." this was proving a very difficult question for her to answer. she found herself wondering who would be kind, and who had honour. "wylliam swann. percival templeton. ravi martell. brandon karstark."

the air in highgarden was thick with the perfume of roses - climbing roses, garden roses, blossoms in soft pastels, vivid reds and the cleanest whites that spilled over trellises and peeked from stone urns. the smell wasn't bad, exactly, but cloying, amplified by the summer heat. dacey had always loved her winter roses, their scent refreshing in the crisp winds of the north, subtle and sweet. nothing like the flowers here, that seemed to be in competition with each other over who had the loveliest of fragrances, boastful blooms that left her with the beginnings of a headache forming at her temples.

but that was highgarden, wasn't it? silks and open balconies of warm stone that never cooled, all teeming with the presence of things that grew. all bright, all green, even the floor beneath her feet polished smooth with dancing feet rather than carved by frost and pressure and time. it was evident even in the way the people of the reach conducted themself, and dacey could not find her footing in it. and so, she withdrew, present in body only as she sat, a pale shape at the edge of the northern retinue, missing the cold and the weight of furs around her shoulders.

the seat to her left had only just emptied when another slipped into it. she glanced up, more to know who she had found herself beside than to attempt conversation, then stilled at the sight of brandon karstark. she had not thought to see him here - none had. since the last time they had spoken, his name had been uttered only to notice his absence, and there had been little indication that he had planned to join them here, cutting through the scent of roses with the smell of rain and road that she found she far preferred. he looked worn, the look of a man who had kept riding after he should have stopped, and the sight of him produced a strange sort of feeling in her chest she couldn't fully describe. it wasn't quite surprise, and it wasn't dread, but a sort of relief that wound around her ribcage and worry that coiled just underneath it.

he didn't look at her, but she was looking at him, making a concentrated effort to ensure her hands remained still in her lap and that she wasn't staring, an endeavour she expected she was failing. there was an odd sense of anticipation, like watching a tourney knight fall from his horse and holding your breath to see if he would sit up again. but then he spoke, with just enough humour that she let out a small breath that could have been a laugh. "don't judge me too terribly," she said, in a voice that was only just louder than a whisper, something said for his ears alone. "but i have never been able to tell one frey from the other. i do not even know which one cyrene is married to." it was said in humour, but her words still drew a pang of guilt. how distant a sister had she been, that she did not know her goodbrother?

any reassurance she had taken from talk of the freys was quickly dismissed again when he turned, and looked at her, and spoke more. the small smile that had begun to twist at her lips faded, brows creasing as she listened. it brought to mind the last time they had spoken with one another, when she had stopped him from falling in the northern snows. it would have been easy to try and offer reassurance that sometimes a dream was just a dream, but the months since alysanne had disappeared had left her wary. if it was enough to bring him to a place he hadn't wanted to be, she would not dismiss it as a figment of an overactive mind.

at no point did her gaze leave him, not judging, not appraising, simply looking. there was a heaviness to him that sat bone-deep, like a man who had not had a full night's sleep in years, and still she found herself strangely grateful for the sight of him ; she had thought of him, not too often, but on nights where sleep eluded dacey herself, and she had felt the concern that she supposed was normal given what she knew, but she hadn't realised until now how much not knowing had unsettled her.

she didn't know what to make of it, of the fact he were here chasing dreams, except that it left her uneasy in a way she could not put her finger on. "it's no wonder you look tired," was all she said in response, not unkind, but gentle. "but i am glad you did come." he didn't say alysanne's name, and neither did she, but her thoughts drifted there now. time was beginning to dull grief and anger, and when she thought of her sister now, her face was blurred at the edges, like her mind was beginning to lose its grip on her. for the first time since she had taken her seat, she reached for her wine and sipped it, even though she didn't like the taste. it felt like something to do. her fingers shook a little against the cup, and she let them, because he was the only one watching.

"i don't know much about dreams and omens," she said, almost apologetic as she set her cup aside. "but..." but what? anything she might have said didn't feel right, inadequate in her voice. he did not need her to tell him that what he described was worrisome. "but it's a long way to ride for ben blackwood." it wasn't about ben. he had said as much, even if she was reluctant to pick at the truth of why he was here.

who: @daceystvrk when and where: the verdant concord, an unexpected northern visitor makes an appearance within the halls of highgarden - the first one in months since he retired to karhold and ignored the summons of king owen stark.

he slid into the great hall of highgarden with all the ease of a towering man stepping into a room he weren’t sure he had a right to be in - not since ignoring the royal summons of his king. didn’t matter that his blood was old as the roots of the trees carved into the southern pillars, nor that he bore the name of karhold and the quiet menace of its winters. down here, everything smelled of roses and soft summer—he smelled of damp wool and northern road, and looked like he’d rode through the night, which he had. cloak sodden at the hem, hair flattened on one side, beard uncombed and flecked with trail dust.

even now, as gold light poured through the high arched windows and laughter echoed off marble floors, there was a weight to him. something heavy in his shoulders, something slow behind his eyes.

he said nothing when he entered. not a word. just strode in, boots clicking on stone too fine for northern feet, and made for the gathered seats near the centre of the hall, where the northern retinue had gathered beside the southerners, all warmth and courtesy and talk of trade and wine. the southern lords looked up as he passed—some with curiosity, others with that reach sort of politeness that always felt like it might curdle into mockery if left too long in the sun. his brother had only just left his seat—off chasing wine or women, likely—and brandon took the space without hesitation. cloak fell behind him like a shadow, the weight of it sodden with rain that hadn’t dried in the warmth. he leaned forward, took up the half-empty cup his brother had left behind, and drank without blinking.

none had seen him in months.

the chair beside him belonged to princess dacey stark. he didn’t look at her straight away. just stared into the firelight blazing across the far wall, thinking about how far he was from the frost. it all smelled too green here. "princesss." wet grass and honeysuckle. made his chest feel tight. then he spoke, his voice low, and lined with gravel. “worked out which one’s lordin’ over the rest o’ them freys yet?” he asked, not turning, but his mouth twitched at the corner. “they change faster than the wind, them lot. last i saw, one of ‘em was carryin’ on like he were heir to bloody casterly rock.” he paused, sipped again. this shit was too fruity.

he turned to glance at her now, proper. dacey stark. she looked more tired than the last time, and stronger for it too. he weren’t sure what that said about the time between. he hadn’t seen her since spring turned to summer and the snows back home started to melt, but never quite enough.

and yet still, he didn’t speak of her sister - despite the fact it was not rare for the voic of alysanne stark to visit him in his sleep. didn’t speak of the fire in the woods that night, or how the world had bent sideways when the wind screamed through the trees. didn’t speak of the way he still sometimes woke with his heart pounding and her name half-choked in his throat. alysanne. if she’d gone through that door, he weren’t sure she could be brought back.

but that wasn’t what he came south for. or at least, that wasn’t what he’d told himself. “weren’t plannin’ to come,” he muttered, his voice quieter now. “but the dreams’ve been wrong. sea where there shouldn’t be, blood in the snow. i saw our benny blackwood in one of ‘em, so i thought i’d ride down and see if he’s still the arse he always was.” he paused, then added, without looking at her, “maybe it weren’t about ben, though.” he let the words hang there, like something that might mean more if she wanted it to. then he drank again, and leaned back in the chair like he might disappear into it.

he didn’t smile, but the firelight caught the faintest twitch in his jaw. something like a man remembering what it felt like to want something. or someone. and there, for some reason as he looked at her face, he made the silent solemn decision he would return to the place where it all started. retreat his steps. he owed her that. he owed them all that.

closed stater for @percival-templeton location : owen's wifey search ball

if dacey had been uncertain about owen's choice to throw open the doors of their home to any unmarried lady looking to call herself a queen before, it had duplicated tenfold now that the hour had arrived. as the centre of the northern court, it was rare that winterfell wasn't housing a guest or two, but rarely was it quite as full as this. all of her favourite places to go to when she wished to look for peace were annoyingly full, and the result was this ; she stood in the hall, observing owen's ball, getting closer and closer to overwhelmed.

at some point, she had ended up outside, standing alone in the courtyard. it was not deserted here, either, but it was quieter than the hall had been, and the bite of the cold on her cheeks was enough to ground her, bring her out of her head and back to the present. that was what she had needed, a brief moment to breathe.

feeling a little more centred, dacey made to return to the ball, but came to an awkward stop at the door, her path blocked by a lord attempting to enter at the same time as she. she recognised him as percival templeton of the vale, but beyond his name and house, there was little else she knew about the man. graciously, dacey stepped back, giving him space to enter before she.

"apologies, my lord." her expression was serious, but not unfriendly. "please, after you."

@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?”

outside the sept, dacey lingered, internally cursing herself for even ending up here in the first place. it could all have been avoided had she just opened her mouth, had not feared embarrassing her attendant and said nothing, instead meekly exiting the carriage when they had brought her here. they had been all too eager to help when she had mentioned wanting to pray that morning, assuring her they would take her where she needed to go, but instead of the godswood, they had brought her here, to a sept she had no place stepping foot in. hers were the nameless gods of the trees and wind and water, but such a thought did not seem to cross the mind of those native to king's landing.

there was nothing for it but to wait for the carriage to return. it would surely do so when the service had finished, only, dacey had no idea exactly how long these sermons could be. how long did septons speak for? what was there even to speak about? it seemed such a complicated way to worship, convoluted by song and scripture when compared to the silent, simple way of prayer she was used to. she were far too timid to use this time to explore the city, and so remaining awkwardly hovering on the steps was her only option.

the door opened, and dacey's head turned, relief flooding her that it was finally over - only it wasn't. it was not a crowd of worshippers who flooded through them, but a single woman. dacey knew that she should look away, but as was always the case when there was something you knew you should not look at, she could not stop her gaze drifting back to the woman.

and the woman noticed. when she spoke, dacey turned her attention to her fully, her expression part-sheepish, and part-apologetic. "oh, no, no, that's very kind..." she began, promptly breaking off when she got a proper look at her face. her heart immediately softened. even if there were not shining tracks on her cheeks where she had failed to completely swipe them away, dacey would have recognised the expression on her face immediately, the look of someone desperately trying to hold it together when the walls were caving in.

"i'm sorry, i know it is not my business," and it wasn't. she had clearly exited the sept to find solace in the solitary, did not need dacey prying into matters that had clearly stirred something emotional within her, and yet, dacey could not help herself. empathy stirred within her. she did not know this woman, but neither would she leave her to suffer, alone and in silence. "but are you all right? silly question," she immediately chastised herself. "but can i get anything for you? some water?"

who: @daceystvrk when and where: semi-flashback to the gathering in kings landing, naelys finally meets her years long penpal...all by chance. context: despite once being betrothed to adam, nellie and dacey never had the opportunity to meet. until now.

there were far more seven pointed stars adorned across the majestic, rebuilt halls of the red keep; though what surprised her more was the fact that influence had also spread beyond the halls of the keep and into the streets of the capital. she had been perched upon the velvet recliner beside the stained glass within the velaryon apartments; and when she saw a procession in the distance she was surprised to find it a collection of followers of the faith, adorned in robes of white and with chains and maces in their hands.

they seemed to be whipping themselves, and it was all she could think of as she clutched her hands together in this grand sept, standing side by side with members of her family and her court. why would these people do such harm to themselves, and for what purpose?

the septon seemed to continue to hurl down word after word, and for a while she was managing to ignore it and focus on the vividness of the colours on the glass. that was until the nature of the words thrown from the pulpit began to change, and it were words referring to the sins of lust and fornication that caught her attention. not like a hook, but rather like the feeling of a hand gripping her neck and forcing her to look. and suddenly she found herself listening, half aware that most of the sept would believe the septon was alluding to the oldest of the velaryon sisters - and even that naelys found inherently cruel. it felt as though they were standing, and there was a flame directly over them.

and he felt like he could see right through her, and see the memories of her braavosi perfume and her purple bedsheets. and his eyes, or the sound of her laugh mixing with his own.

she quietly muttered something about excusing herself and finding there were too many people, all but pushing by vhaenessa and deimos as she kept her hands clasped together as she walked; the doors seemed as though they were moving further and further away, and the walls were collapsing in. people knew naelys struggled with packed places and loud noises, or at least she prayed they did. she picked up her pace and let the door slam behind her, not knowing if any saw the slight tears that were sprung to her amethyst eyes.

they were not subtle, they were pools that swum, and threatened to finally fall. and fall they did as she let it in a short inhale of air, wiping her cheeks with the back of her sleeve.

it was not until she turned around and saw another dark haired figure standing outside did she realise she was not alone in standing outside of the sept doors. she momentarily froze, wiping her cheeks one more time in defeat. the lady had seen her. "are you waiting for somebody?" naelys asked, still feeling some wetness on her cheeks as she remained fixed in place. she did not know what to say. "i can go back in and get them for you."

the sense of unease that had been dacey's constant companion in recent days was multiplied tenfold in the west. at least in the north, there were only her own people to face, and all the comforts at home that allowed her to do what she did best and retreat into herself when things were overwhelming, despite the attempts she was making to break the habits of a lifetime.

but here, there was nowhere to hide, and so she was forced to face the seven kingdoms and dorne with her head held as high as her neck would allow, and hope the sense of propriety that seemed to permeate the very foundations of casterly rock had some influence in stilling the tongues of those who would ask about her sisters' whereabouts, for she did not think her own courtly mask would remain fixed if they should.

anya's appearance had an unmistakeable relief flood through her features. she would not claim to know her well, but she knew her and liked her, and more than that, here she was something familiar. had they been in winterfell, she might have made a subtle step towards removing the barriers of formality between them, as she so often did. it felt like the walls had ears. "lady yuan," despite her unease, her smile was genuine, though it soon faded, replaced with something akin to concern. "are you alright? how are you settling in?" it sounded like small talk, but there was an undercurrent to her words. here, they carried more weight.

Closed starter for @daceystvrk Setting: Casterly Rock, the Westerlands. Little after the Northern court arrived in the West.

Anya had become accustomed to not display her doubts or her insecurities. As she grew up, remaining steady, appearing unfazed, untouchable, was almost a way of continuing to survive. Her unshakable demeanor was the only shield a lowborn bastard could hold. It remained second nature to her, even if her circumstances had drastically changed. And so here, in the court of the West, she could not find the words or who to confide in about the utter sense of being ill-fitting with every other noble around.

It was different than it was in the North. The court of the West appeared to have a heightened sense of elegance and propriety that Anya had not seen elsewhere. In the North, she'd earned her place. Here, she felt she was being seen as someone merely wearing the costume of a lady. She didn't even know if others thought that or not. She should not care, but she did. The raven-haired lady did not wish to embarrass the king or the North as a whole for any missteps, for failing to know what others at court knew from birth.

The Yuan lady walked next to the Northern retinue when they arrived at Casterly Rock, and was later led to the area of the keep where they would be hosted. Anya noted that her chambers were only a few doors away from where Dacey and Cassana would be, which was somewhat of a relief. In fact, after settling in and unpacking, she ran into the middle Stark princess as she was leaving her room. “Your highness,” she greeted with a polite nod.

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.”

willow wearing tiaras (3x10 / 4x10)

dacey offered a quiet laugh, soft but genuine. "there are always some eager to prove themselves." on his comments on the brackens, she said nothing. the age-old rivalry was well known, but not hers to fan the flames of. it may have been blackwood blood in her veins, but dacey was every inch a stark, and even if she was not, it was uncommon for unkind words to escape her lips.

"cassana may have given you a run for your money in the archery, i think," there was a hint of pride that tinged her voice. "but i fear i've lost track of them since i arrived here." perhaps they were visiting with their sister, the one who had become the lady frey and lived apart from them in the north - the one dacey was avoiding, because after years of not seeing one another, it felt far too monumental to change that. "i did see your brother had his name down for the melee. perhaps we will see a double victory for your house."

she hesitated before answering his question, as though trying to decide how truthful to be. normally, she would not speak of her own discomfort with crowds and people, but in lucius, she had found an unexpected kinship. they could not have been more different, and yet, she thought he might understand, not ridicule, where she was coming from. "crowds have never been my favourite," she confessed. "sometimes it's all a little much to take in. but it's joyful, tonight. i don't dislike it. and i am glad i did not miss your moment of triumph."

Dacey Stark was one of the few people whose company Lucius did not simply tolerate but actually happened to enjoy. Beyond her appearance of frailty and quietness, the bastard had found someone earnest with a kind of subtle steadiness, a sort of subdued strength. The calm wolf before being provoked to bite.

Lucius gave a simple nod in response to her good wishes for Litha and then went ahead to let out a slight scoff with her next comment. “Well, you never know. There's always a proud upstart looking to claim new titles, or a thickhead Bracken looking to embarrass himself,” he said, his tone casually disdainful.

“I did not see your siblings compete,” he mentioned, not having seen a Stark on the lists earlier. Lucius had yet to form a close enough relationship with his Northern cousins, and asking was more a formality than a real inkling to know about them or what they were up to here in Riverrrun. He looked at the princess then. “How is the Litha festival suiting you?”.