Dacey Nodded Her Gratitude, Remaining Standing Though Seffora Sat. There Was A Temptation To Pace The

dacey nodded her head, though she said little in response. there was an anxiety gnawing in her at the notion that adam and glorie were soon to leave, one that she always felt when her siblings left the halls of winterfell, but one that had become more pronounced of late, since jon and cassana and the two missing princesses. even if it was the dreadfort, even if it was glorie's home, the knot of fear still took root. she wondered if she would ever truly be rid of it.

but when her eyes turned to glorie, it was not fear of the unknown, but concern for her good-sister that knitted itself into her expression. "i understand," it was commendable, glorie's commitment to her duty, even when it was clear that what she needed was a good sleep rather than extra candles and something warm to drink. "but i would not see you neglect yourself, if i can help it. a loose end is more easily grasp with rested hands and a clear mind."

caring for those close to her came as naturally as breathing to dacey, but being cared for in return was a little harder to grasp. it was not that she didn't feel as though her family loved her - that was not in doubt, but neither did she like the feeling of burdening them with her own concerns. they were for dacey to carry, and dacey alone. and yet, when glorie stretched out her hand, dacey took it, her red-raw fingers curling around glorie's aching ones. and with that, her lips loosened, and her worries poured out. "two of my sisters never came home from king's landing. the queen is dead. and i fear that will not be the last difficulties my family might face." she looked away from glorie then, her eyes settling on the window, though outside was veiled by the pitch black of night. "i fear for my brothers, but especially for owen. and for you and cassana. for the north. i even fear for the karstarks and the manderlys." perhaps it was unfair to rest all of this at glorie's door, but once the words were out, it was too late to return them.

retort earns a genuine chuckle from the brunette. she mutters a quick, 'good thinking' towards her sister-in-law, but in truth, she needn't bring a thing but herself. the company is coveted above anything else she provided. this time of year has her homesick and she missed the blooms of strange flora that her people had managed to keep growing strong each year since they settled there. thinking about it between scribbled reports did little good for her mental state, so having dacey to chat with seems a good way to quell the burning desire to load up a carriage at that very moment.

"unfortunately, dear sister, this will likely be where i sleep for the night. i've a lot to settle before your brother and i depart for the dreadfort. i wish to leave as little loose ends tied as possible." there's a certain exhaustion tainting each word. shes still finding balance between each duty that falls under her belt, and its more difficult when she feels the heaviness that weighs in her eyes. "but you've given me all i need to survive the night, and for that i'm thankful."

it didnt take the sharpest mind to interpret the body language of the princess before she has the chance to answer. the shift in demeanor is akin to the change shes seen in her sweet husband, though his is much more physically visible to glorie. "that is where you're wrong," doesnt mean for it to come out as stern as it does so she softens her tone when she continues, "not that i wish to see you grieve, but i do hope you know that i am here. i've lost plenty, and the starks pain will be my own until my last breath. we are family, and i am very sorry for any chance i've missed to provide comfort." her own sore hand extends, as if asking permission to take that of her newest kin; a show of familial solidarity that she thought passed with her own bloodsister. "if you've anything to get off of your chest, you have my word that it stays within these walls."

sheltered was perhaps the best way to describe dacey stark, and that was her own doing. it did not help her now, though, for it was a struggle to recall who it was that she was speaking with in that moment. it took a minute before she recognised him from the coronation of king jaehaerys - the lord paramount of the stormlands, whose sister was mother to two of her cousins.

"catmint," she repeated, sounding somewhere between amused and satisfied by the answer. she took the flower, taking it from the very bottom of the stem in heed of his warning. "i've never seen it before. it must prefer the sun." it took a hardy plant to survive the climates of the north, though she wondered if it might survive under the dome of the glass gardens, where it was warmer.

"the smell is divine. i will look forward to the tea." the flower was placed in the basket, and she set about collecting more, now that she was assured there was no danger to come from touching them. she was not in the habit of picking unfamiliar blooms, aware of the dangers some possessed if handled without the proper care taken. "i do wonder, do you know how it got it's name?" were cats fond of it, or was it some reference to the lion of lannister that she did not understand?

"i'm sorry, my lord. i forgot to thank you for your assistance." it was not often that dacey forgot her manners, but in that moment, they had quite slipped her mind. "you seem knowledgeable on such matters." she did not think to find common ground with a man of new valyria, but a stormlander was quite different to a man of the crownlands, or so she understood.

whilst the lord paramount was swift in his duties to make nice with the court of lions, as a steadfast ally of his king, he never felt amongst friends in a place such as this. of course, he would also say he did not feel amongst friends in the court of dragons, either. though he had grown up with many of those he walked alongside in the same halls, they had, over time, become something akin to strangers. war bonded them, certainly spilling blood with those around you would do such a thing, but as time passed, and memory's faded, it seemed so did loyalties.

such was life, so he believed. the sun continued to rise and set, and he would continue on as he did every day. morgan wylde was a man of routine, and habits, so his decision to visit the lion's tor on a whim was certainly unlike him, but as he was one who often preferred the solitude of nature and the outdoors, it also wasn't entirely shocking when he said as much to his household.

the ride was not terribly long - morgan had much to ponder on the journey. he was still a bit dazed and surprised by the kindness of the dornish woman on the water's edge, how they could not be more destined to be enemies, and yet she was compassionate instead of resentful, everything he did not imagine for one of dorne.

he exited the carriage, the warm sun upon his face, and gave a quick word to those accompanying him before taking a stroll on his own. the hillside was so green, and ground firm, and drier than he were used to. he imagined his boots should sink slightly upon the earth as they did in the rain house, but the did not. the crunching of the earth was almost foreign to him, and when blue orbs looked down, he realized he stepped in a patch of flowers.

a woman's voice called to him in that moment, and he glanced over to her. he recognized her, vaguely. he believed her to be of the north, and then the connection was made that she were certainly one of the stark princesses. morgan tried to do well to recall the royals and high nobility of each court. he approached her to observe what she were referring to. a grin spread upon his face as he knelt down to pluck the plant by it's stem, careful not to touch too high - for there were small thorns amongst the lavender petals. "it is called catmint, your grace." he stated, holding it up between them so she may observe it closer. "bees are fond of it, butterflies too, perhaps it would be good in some tea." he held it for her to take, now. "careful of the small spines nearer the middle."

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

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?"

dacey's gaze seemed to catch on the tapestry. it were undoubtedly a work of art - careful stitching and vibrant colours speaking of a master of the craft, one she could recognise due to her own skill with a loom. and yet, the subject of the piece, the story it was trying to tell, made her stomach twist. it were bold, speaking of victory and glory, and yet, she found its depiction of battle and war distasteful, bordering on grotesque. the crimson threads could not fully capture the horror of spilled blood.

lips pressed into a thin line as she took in the details, the embroidered waves and flames. she were a stark, she knew the necessity of battle, and yet, she was also a girl who longed for a world without it, one where loss did not seem an inevitability. the tale being told did not fill her with any sort of admiration to the glory of the west - it just left her feeling colder than winterfell ever could.

she tore her gaze away. another stood before the second tapestry, and the feeling it evoked was softer, gentler. better. there was a quiet peace to it, hues of blue and gold that contrasted with the other one, and yet she preferred it. she caught the gaze of it's other admirer, recognising her as malee westerling, and offered a faint smile.

"lady westerling," dacey greeted, tentatively stepping forward and coming to stand beside malee. "they are... certainly a work of art." it was not a lie, though she could not bring herself to offer more glowing praise for the first tapestry. "though i prefer the ones that speak of quieter days." it was a curious decision to hand two such differing pieces beside one another. perhaps the blue sky and peaceful fields was supposed to serve as a reminder of what they were battling for.

"this one," she gestured to the harvest scene before them. "it feels truer to me. it's about life, i suppose. the beauty in what we see around us every day. the heart is in the details, rather than the story."

setting: flashback to the westerlands event, malee finds a moment of peace in a room of tapestries, and is joined by a northern companion ; starter for @daceystvrk

the lady of the crag stood before a tapestry, her fingers lightly brushing the edge of the fabric. The scene depicted a fierce battle at sea—ships ablaze, warriors clashing beneath storm-darkened skies. the intricate details of the waves, the glint of swords, and the defiant stance of her ancestors seemed almost alive. she traced the embroidered figure of a ser westerling, his sword raised high against a towering greyjoy raider. her lips tightened. they always show the glory, never the cost.

the faint murmur of celebration drifted up from the great hall below: laughter, the clink of goblets, the steady rhythm of a drum. The birth of a prince. a new chapter in the story of the realm. yet, malee found herself here, away from the noise, seeking solace in the quiet narratives of thread and cloth.

she shifted her gaze to the next tapestry, this one softer in tone—a peaceful scene of harvest in the westerlands. golden fields, proud castles, and a sky so blue it seemed to stretch beyond the bounds of the fabric. malee exhaled slowly. how many years of blood and toil had it taken to weave such peace?

her thoughts were interrupted by a faint creak of the floorboards behind her. She turned to see the visage of dacey stark some paces away. she had briefly met the princess of the north on a few occassions, and was admittedly surprised to see her here, now. "your grace." she offered a small bow of her head, looking to the tapestry behind her, then back to the other. "they're lovely, aren't they?" she asked, a delicate finger pointing to the corner of the one she stood before. "i find the technique used for this one particularly interesting."

it wasn't until they had already started for seffora's lodgings that dacey realised, belatedly, that she should have informed somebody where she was going. it was hard enough at the best of times to keep track of her siblings, but when there were already two of their number unaccounted for, her stomach knotted at the idea of causing undue worry. she glanced over her shoulder, already a distance away from her northern countrymen, and caught the eye of a guard she knew, who gave her a brief nod. it eased her to know that somebody had seen her leaving, safely with her friend.

it was a difficult thing to come to terms to, making sure that you were noticed, when dacey had spent so long hoping for the opposite, to pass through the world with her head down, invisible.

but in the company of her friend, she could allow her heart to rest a little freer. she did not want to talk of loss or mourning, the heavy things that had hung around her ankles like shackles. seffora was a splendid tonic to that, and dacey allowed her good cheer to rub off on herself, a smile creeping across her face. "do you mind if i stay standing until the refreshments arrive? it's been a long journey." she was hesitant to explore the westerlands and stretch her legs more substantially, but she did not want to take a seat before she needed to.

"but i want to hear everything. about your good fortune." she truly did, let her be reminded that there could be something good in this world.

News of the losses suffered by House Stark had reached Longtable, so she knew she couldn't echo the sentiment of good fortune for Dacey. Instead, Seffora offered a gentle smile, reached briefly to take her friend's hand. It wasn't stated, but the empathetic gesture was clear. If the princess wished to speak, the lady would always lend her ear.

“We shall do just that, then,” the Lady of Longtable said with a bright smile. It was a nice feeling, truth be told, to connect with the softer, merrier side of herself that shone more often when she was a younger lady. Her position demanded a certain maturity, of course, and Seffora embodied it well. It was a sweet thing to be a little flower, as Rhys used to call her, every now and then.

“I've just arrived myself, I must confess, but we can figure out where I and those of my house will be staying,” she added, linking her arm with Dacey's so they could make their way through the groups of people arriving at Casterly Rock. Fortunately, it didn't take long for one of Seffora's guards to lead them to the area that had been designated for the Reach, and specifically for the people of Longtable.

“Danke sehr” Thank you, the lady said to her guards. “Bitten Sie eine die Damen, uns Tee und Feingebäck zu bringen, wenn sie können,” Please ask one of the ladies to bring us tea and pastries when they can, she requested before they left the two young women in the quarters for the Merryweather lady. “Well, here we are,” she said with a wave of her hands, grinning.

dacey let out a low hum of understanding. it was a feeling she often felt herself - that something might be about to fall apart, that the winds were warning her of great changes to come. often, it was a result of her many anxieties, the gnawing beast in her stomach that told her terrible things were about to happen. it was hard not to listen to it when terrible things were happening every day. "i still wish it were not so for you." maisie's next words had her thinking about her mother, about alysanne stark, and manal manderly, about sarra karstark and meera reed and rosalyn arryn. "i'm not sure i agree," her voice was gentle, as though maisie might take offence at the mere suggestion.

"strong?" at that, the ghost of a smile flickered across dacey's face. it was not a perspective she had ever taken. "i suppose i always thought of it as the opposite. as though i was allowing someone else to take control of my life." but with a brother who was a king, allowing him to decide what she did and did not do, and who she would and would not marry, was practically a given. but what were her dreams? it was not something she allowed herself to focus on, her fears taking up far more of her headspace. "i suppose i always thought i would be happiest if i were nobody at all. if i had nothing to worry about except where in the forest i wanted to walk when i woke up in the morning." it was simplicity she craved, far more than dreams of love or power or glory.

and maisie was right. people could be cruel, and men especially. and yet, dacey reverted to her base instincts, to believing there was still good ones, because the alternative was too bleak to bear. "there are good men amongst them." of that, she truly believed. "my brothers are good, i think. and your cousins, brandon and aleksander. they cannot be the only ones."

"Not very cruel, it felt like something inside me knew something was going to happen... like an omen that I should be prepared for something important" And it was true, for a long time an agonizing feeling took hold of Mormont's heart, preventing her from closing her eyes peacefully at night; she always ended up waking sweating from a nightmare she couldn't remember. The first few times, she thought it was her lungs failing while she slept, but as the moons passed, the opposite proved true. It really was a foreboding; this was the period when Maisie stood before the Old Gods the most, asking for instruction for what was to come "But we'll outlive her... usually women always stay alive" she joked, although there was a hint of truth in it. In a twisted way, but it was.

"We're girls who put duty before desire, it shows how strong we are. We don't hesitate if we have to suffer" A small, resigned smile appears on her face with a bit of a bitter taste, but it was better this way, knowing what she needed to do rather than deluding herself with silly thoughts "Even though, as a princess, you have to sacrifice more" Complete, Dacey was above her station and even if she tried, she couldn't imagine the huge sacrifices she would one day have to make "Perhaps, but I don't think about it too much, I just let it happen, but what about you, princess, don't you have dreams?" She asks hopefully, causing Stark to open up a little.

"I hope it's not another war, Westeros has already lost too much, we've already lost too much" She swallows dryly and sighs, Maisie really didn't want a war, even though she knew how fragile any veil of stability was "But it only depends on the men and part of me can't trust them completely" She whispers the last part, like a secret and forbidden confession.

dacey did her best to look put together, but she was by no means a fashionable person. what she called timeless, others would call boring, her outfit choices always perfectly fine, in a classic sort of way, but very safe. she was a creature of habit, and she very much stuck to what she knew.

it was why she was grateful for lucrezia, someone to bounce ideas off and tell her if she was too boring, or too out there, or not quite on theme. it was going to be an important night, and it was one of the rare times dacey was putting a concentrated effort into what she was going to wear.

"i honestly don't think so," she mused, looking up from the ipad she was using to scroll pinterest and see what outfits other had put together. none felt quite right for her, though many were lovely. "she might hint at it, but there's a pattern. whenever she puts an album out, she does two re-records the year after. so i think reputation will be next year, at the earliest. it would be too soon to announce it."

her mouth opened in a small 'o' shape, and she nodded her head. "oh, i love the august dress. it's so dreamy." she moved back to the search bar, typing in 'taylor swift august dress' and scrolling through the various colour options until she found one she thought would work with her complexion. "what colour were you thinking? we should all wear a different one, i think. just so we look a little different to one another."

who: @daceystvrk

there was serious business afoot within the hotel room of dacey stark; various sketches on a table, and a few ipads with different pinterest pictures and links being pulled up. the girls had a special night to plan for having obtained tickets for closing night in london; and it was agreed they would wear folklore inspired outfits.

"do you think she'll announce reputation? we've been wrong multiple times now. what is it, like four?" lucrezia asked, a glow of genuine excitement coming over her face as she peered over the pinterest screen, scrolling down almost mindlessly, trying to find something.

"the vault tracks will be so good too." she looked up at dacey, a third chair vacant for when feray would be able to join them. she checked her phone for any texts from their third missing member, wanting to ensure she did not ghost on feray. "are you thinking a dress? you'd look lovely in the august dress."

the offer of tea should not have come as a surprise to dacey. for as long as she had known lillith, she had known her to brew her tinctures. and yet, something in it caught dacey off guard, anyway. she couldn't quite put her finger on the reason for it, why the offer, given so simply, set her ill at ease, but she tried not to dwell on it.

instead, she gave a small nod of her head, glancing towards lillith, then the fire, and then back again. "that sounds lovely," she said, and she meant it. tea did sound lovely. she was being ridiculous, as usual. "i've never been one for the strong stuff. tea will be enough, thank you."

her gaze returned to the hearth, watching the flames flicker. she was always one more comfortable in the quiet, something lillith knew well, but there were times when it felt awkward to dacey, as though she should be offering words, but she just couldn't reach them. it took an enormous amount of effort to bring herself to speak, though when she did manage it, there was relief in hearing her own voice sound even and steady.

"i imagine it tastes of the woods, your blend. birch and honey." there was a thoughtfulness to her voice, inviting lillith to fill the spaces between it. "of ironoaks?" she looked to her then for confirmation. "it would be nice to share something from your home."

even when dacey had briefly found herself in the vale in the past, she had never seen ironoaks, though its name alone conjured a picture - tall trees, straight and strong, standing guard upon the mountain. would the vision in her mind compare to the real thing? or was she entirely wrong? "i hope when i visit, i don't bring enough of the snow to be cruel. just enough to make everything quiet for a little while."

lillith gave a quiet hum of acknowledgment, the corners of her mouth twitching in something like amusement—small, fleeting, but there all the same.

“if you did, i suppose it would serve the vale right,” she mused, mismatched eyes flickering toward the hearth as if measuring its warmth. “perhaps then they’d stop pretending the mountain winds are anything but frigid.”

she was silent for a moment, letting the fire crackle between them, the weight of dacey’s words settling in the space they occupied. the north is as much a part of me as the marrow in my bones. a sentiment she understood, though her own bonds had been forged differently. she had never felt trapped in ironoaks, precisely, but there was an expectation to remain, to endure. it was not always an unwelcome thing. but there was something about the way dacey spoke that made her wonder if the cold in her bones was comforting, or suffocating.

without much preamble, she said, “i could make you some tea.”

it was not quite a question, nor was it particularly warm, but there was a quiet sincerity in the offer. lillith was not one to fuss, not one to coddle, but she knew the value of small comforts. and, if nothing else, she had a fair hand at brewing something strong enough to warm through the bones.

“i brought a blend with me from ironoaks,” she continued, shifting slightly as if already preparing to follow through. “black tea, with birch and a bit of honey. it’s good for the cold. unless you’d rather something stronger?” a wry note entered her voice, though her expression remained unreadable.

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?"