anya-snow

[anya-snow]

For some time now, Anya had been polishing her manners to behave as a Northern lady should. But as soon as she descended from the ship, she rushed to her friend with the same unaffected manner she would have when she was just Anya Snow, the blacksmith. “Gods, Sora, I've missed you too,” she easily admitted, lingering in the hug longer than she might have with anyone else. With Sora there was no need to perform or act any differently than she did when they first befriended one another.

“It’s so good to be here,” she said softly as she let go of her friend. A small smile touched her lips, feeling a sort of ease that was particular to Tarth. The salt air, the sound of waves, and Sora’s steady presence which grounded Anya in a way she hadn’t known she’d missed until it was right in front of her again.

The lady's compliment managed to bring a little scoff out of Anya. “Well, they've not tempered me fully,” the woman raised as a blacksmith stated in a light-hearted manner. She was grateful for what opportunities had been presented before her, for the access and comforts of her new status, of course. But there was also a part of her that she knew needed to be diluted in order to be respectable in the eyes of the North and others now that she was called a lady. “And you look well, Sora. Happy,” she added, for she knew gladness was not something that was always present in her friend's life. It was a beautiful treasure to see someone so dear appear so vivid and radiant today.

Anya had been following the Four Winds route, a newer spinal chord across Westeros that connected the Northern kingdom with specific trade posts going south, and eventually to Yi Ti in the east. Tarth was initially planned to be only a brief pause, but after letters exchanged with Tarth lady, the Northerner's stay was to be extended for a few days. “From here I'll sail to Driftmark, and then I will begin the trip back home,” she replied. “There’s still more work to be done, arrangements to be made. But today, I’d rather just talk with you. Catch up. Just breathe for a while,” she cast a sidelong glance toward her friend, warmth in her expression.

setting: evenfall hall, sora's longtime friend, anya, stops by to make a visit ; starter for @anya-snow

the lady of evenfall stood at the edge of the dock, watching the ship slowly inch closer to the shores of tarth. the familiar scent of saltwater and seaweed carried on the breeze, mingling with the crisp air of the island. but it wasn’t the sea breeze that brought a rare warmth to sora’s chest. it was the thought of seeing anya again, a friend who had been a constant in her life for years.

though she often wore her armor of discipline and duty, with anya, sora could let some of that weight slip away. their bond, forged over years of quiet conversations, shared laughter, and moments of understanding, made sora feel something she rarely allowed herself to feel: ease. and as the ship came to a halt, that ease settled into something deeper.

without a word, sora moved forward, her usually controlled movements giving way to the impulse of the moment. she wrapped her arms around her friend in a warm embrace, pulling her close.

"anya," sora murmured, her voice softer than usual, the sound of her name feeling almost like a breath of relief. "you’re here. i didn’t realize how much i missed you until now."

when she pulled away, sora’s hands lingered for a moment on anya’s shoulders, her fingers gently brushing the fabric of her friend’s cloak as if grounding herself in the connection. a feeling in her chest stirred, something soft and unguarded that she didn't often allow herself to feel. she had missed this, missed anya's presence more than she realized.

“i’m so happy to see you,” sora said, her voice a little lighter than usual, almost breathless with the relief of having her close again. her eyes softened, the guarded composure she normally wore slipping for just a moment. she couldn’t help the smile that spread across her face, warm and genuine. “you look... wonderful," she added, her voice turning softer still, almost like a quiet compliment shared between close friends. "still the same bright soul, even after all this time."

with a playful tilt of her head, sora gently nudged her friend’s arm. “always the adventurer, aren’t you?” she teased. "where are you off to after this stop?"

[anya-snow]

It was never easy to ask for help. Everything in her life had taught her that she needed to solve everything on her own, otherwise, she'd be admitting she was useless or weak. A bastard couldn't afford to be seen as neither. Now, as a lady, Anya still carried much of that way of operating within her. Brandon Karstark was the obvious choice when it came to turning to someone for guidance, for assistance, or even for reassurance, perhaps. But it wasn't easy.

The lady awaited for the Lord of Karhold to be summoned, and when he walked in to meet her, Anya offered a polite nod and a smile. She studied him quietly in the dim light of Karhold's hall, her sharp gaze quick to catch details that others might overlook. There were lines of exhaustion etched into his face, despite the obvious signs that he had just woken up, despite the odd hour to be sleeping. His tunic wrapped against his frame with wrinkles here and there. It was the way he spoke, the way he looked at her what gave her a sense of unease, though. He was measured as ever, but there was something heavier in him, something worn. “I hope you don't me coming unannounced,” Anya stated, not fully apologizing for her unexpected appearance in his halls.

“You’re right. I wouldn’t have come all this way if I thought I could settle the matter myself,” she said plainly, stepping further into the hall, the furs at her shoulders shifting with her movement. “I hate to drag you into this, Brandon,” the raven-haired woman said in a low tone, her words laced with a sigh. She hated having to ask for someone to handle the matter with her rather than solving it on her own. And she hated feeling like a nuisance that might push him to get into a political affair he might not want to tangle himself with, not with the state of the North as it was.

“We can say it as it is. Halder Ryswell doesn’t take me seriously. He sees a former bastard, a woman with no land, no men, and no legacy worth bending to. He resents what I bring because it does not come from his fields or his forges. I have argued my case, and he will not listen, because it's only YiTish goods —luxuries, as you say, coming along the trade route”. At this point, they were fortunate enough to have linked the extensive trade route to other regions as well, like the Vale and Riverlands, connecting a good portion of the continent to that flowing vein of supplies. “He will not listen to me. But you...” Her nearly black eyes settled on him, lit into warm brown shades by the firelight in the hall. “You, he will listen to”.

There was no doubt in her voice, no hesitation in her request. It was a simple truth, that Brandon Karstark steadily carried the weight of his name, his blood, and the old Northern ways that men like Ryswell respected, even if begrudgingly. And so Anya hoped that for all that had passed between them, Brandon wouldn't let her be cast aside like a minor inconvenience. Even less when the North as a whole could benefit from the fruit of her hard labor.

I'll handle it, he said, and Anya felt that familiar tug in her chest. The familiarity of being held, of having a hand stretched out and having someone else take it. It was a rare feeling in her life, one that she recognized clearly because of how scarce it had been. The Yuan lady bowed her head subtly, a gesture of gratitude that didn't compare to the look of appreciation in her eyes. “Thank you”. Her gaze stayed steadily on him, this time with something a bit more tender beneath her initial observation of him. “You look like you’ve been sleeping much,” she remarked, not cruelly, but with the same direct honesty she had always given him. It was a mere prompt to see how he responded, see if he allowed her a look into what lay beneath the surface. Anya couldn't simply ignore what she saw, least of all in him.

who: @anya-snow when and where: karhold, the merchant guild's represenative makes an expected visit to karhold where the sun of winter is found most of these days. context: lord halder ryswell has stalled anya's trade route, claiming that increased bandit activity makes the roads unsafe. in truth, he resents the growing influence of foreign goods and wants higher tariffs. anya, frustrated, asks brandon to step in.

brandon karstark rubbed a hand over his face as he walked into the intimate crackling hall of karhold, the dim light of the evening stretching long shadows over the stone floor as his dark grey hues remained heavy with sleep. he hadn't expected company, not tonight, but there anya stood, back straight as a spear, dressed in those fine yitish silks that always looked out of place in the north, even with the furs she wrapped around herself - though a part of him wondered if she felt as though she tried to fit in with the north anymore. did she owe it anything, considering the yearsof mistreatment? still, she always found a way to make her attire fit her - and he pretended not to notice her dark eyes flicked over him, sharp as they ever were, catching every detail—how he hadn’t shaved, how his tunic was wrinkled like he'd just rolled out of bed, which wasn’t far from the truth.

he sighed, running a hand through his unkempt hair that had grew far longer than it had ever been before, strings falling from the bun he wore to keep it out of his face. "didn’t expect ye this late," he said, voice rough from a day spent saying little. "but i reckon it’s important, else ye wouldn’t have come all this way yerself." he eyed her, noting the stiffness in her posture. she was never one to waste time on pleasantries, not with him, and yet he knew not why he felt a strange sense of shame at the notion of her looking upon him in this way. he were doing nothing out of the ordinary, not taking to drinks or women to aid the growing hole that seemed to spread from the pit of his stomach, but he slept. and he slept, and he slept; it were as though he could sleep the entire day away and emerge from his chambers when the winter sun had begun to set.

she cut straight to it, as he knew she would. ryswell. tariffs. her goods rotting on the road while some stubborn old bastard played gatekeeper. he exhaled sharply, shaking his head, hearing the rhetoric - hearing of foreign taxes, foreign goods flooding the market where his beer could instead have been brewed. and somewhere, he heard the voice of edrick bolton in the back of his mind, going on and on about the true north. did it root from that? as much as he'd hate to admit it, the lord had a point - the way he went about it was something else though. "aye, i heard some news of issue on the roads." he moved toward the table, dragging a chair back before lowering himself into it, feeling the weight of the day settle in his bones. "halder ryswell's always been a petty cunt though anya, you don't need to be worryin' that this is somethin' bigger than it is. most the lords still think o’ yer trade as a luxury, not a need."

he looked at her then, properly, his grey eyes steady, but there remained the bags that seemed to have imprinted onto his face, which appeared darker and more hollow. "and i know ye well enough to guess ye ain’t askin’ me just to have a chat about it." his lips twitched in something that wasn’t quite a smile, but close enough as he let out a low exhale, his hand resting on the back of his neck the way it always did when he let out a low scoff. "so what is it, anya? ye want me to ride out there meself, make him see sense? or is this the part where ye ask me to remind him what happens when a ryswell picks a fight they can’t win?"

her silence stretched for a beat too long, and he knew then that she’d been counting on him to help before she ever set foot in karhold. it was a strange thing, that unspoken trust between them, even after everything. maybe because of everything. maybe because once upon a time, a young brandon karstark had dreamed of some possibility where she could be his wife. it was nothing but a dream, a foolish one, and even if such feelings had waned it still meant he cared. a great deal. he sighed again, heavier this time. "i’ll handle it," he said, rubbing at his tired eyes before reaching for the cup of ale left from earlier. it was warm now, but he drank anyway. "reckon he needs remindin’ that the north don’t stand still just ‘cause he don’t like the direction it’s goin’." he set the cup down with a dull thud.

[anya-snow]

A faint, knowing smile flickered across Anya’s lips, barely there before it vanished in the cold air. She studied Morgan Wylde in the dim light, beginning to gauge this man she did not yet know. His words were measured, his presence quiet but firm. Stormlanders and Northerners could be somewhat alike, some said, with a tendency to be stern and silent. The raven-haired lady happened to appreciate those qualities, eased by those who did not rush to fill the silences, those who let the weight of a moment settle before speaking. She glanced to the treeline ahead, a calm expression as she simply said “Not yet. I'm still searching”. What she kept seeking wasn't something she would openly admit to a man she didn't know.

The wind stirred again, a sharp murmur against the stones of Winterfell, but Anya did not move to brace against it. The North had hardened her bones long before she ever wore the YiTish silks of her family, or exchanged her humble blacksmith clothing for finer garments. He was right about his observation about her not quite favoring a crowded space like the king's great hall, with all those guests filling it. “I grew up very far away from such halls, I can't say I've grown accustomed to them yet, my lord,” was her simple and sincere reply.

“What I am very accustomed to is this; the chilly Northern air,” she added, stretching her hand out to feel the bite of the cold air on her palm. Her lips tugged up softly, and she glanced up for a moment. It would start snowing again soon. It didn't take much to know Anya was someone who very clearly was in her element out here. “What about you, ser? Most Southerners prefer a crowded hall, even if it's overwhelming, simply because it's warm. A desire for peace and quiet can easily be set aside in such circumstances”.

Her dark eyes settled on him once more. “So what brings you here?” she asked, her tone steady but not quite as stern as it tended to be. Some of the tranquility she had found out here had seeped into her voice. And Anya observed him in the quiet that followed, curious to see whether his answer would be as measured as his previous words.

morgan’s gaze lingered on the faint tree line visible from the courtyard, his breath forming soft clouds in the cold air. her question hung between them for a moment, her wry humor not lost on him. his fingers flexed idly at his sides, brushing the rough fabric of his cloak.

“the market?” he repeated, as if the notion amused him. he exhaled softly through his nose, a sound that might have passed for a chuckle if not for its restraint. “i’ve no interest in bartering for what i don’t need.” his tone was calm, thoughtful, as though he weighed each word carefully before offering it.

morgan glanced at her, his dark eyes steady but not unkind. “and you?” he asked, his voice low and deliberate. “found what you were looking for?”

he shifted slightly, leaning a hand against the cold stone of the courtyard wall, his other resting on the hilt of his belt. he still didn’t know who she was, but her presence here, alone in the biting northern air, felt deliberate. intentional. it made him wonder.

the wind picked up, tugging lightly at the edge of his cloak, and he adjusted it absently, his gaze flicking back to her. there was something in her stance, in the way she carried herself, that struck him as familiar. not in recognition, but in nature. grounded, solid, unbothered by the fraying edges of courtly pretenses.

“you don’t strike me as someone who favors crowded halls,” he said after a moment, his voice thoughtful. “not many venture out into the cold unless they’re looking for something—or looking to avoid something.” his words carried no judgment, just quiet observation. “whichever it is, the air out here’s better company than most inside.”

[anya-snow]

Given who had granted Anya her title and her position in the Northern court, it wasn't rare that when the realm broke apart, she remained steadfast in her fealty to House Stark. It had not been mere convenience that kept the blacksmith-turned-lady loyal. It was her genuine faith in the vision for the North that King Owen had that made her keep her oath. And so when the king's ball was hosted in Winterfell, she was one of the guests who did attend to show her continued support.

Large gatherings were still not something she was fully accustomed to, however. The raven-haired woman still appreciated being on her own, perhaps more out of habit than any true desire for solitude. And she was certain she was alone until she heard the man's voice, her dark eyes narrowing ever so slightly as she studied the figure that joined her by the edge of the courtyard. His face was not entirely unfamiliar, she half-remembered the man from fleeting introductions in King's Landing when Jaehaerys II' crowning gathered them all in that place.

His attire marked him as a Stormlander, his presence grounded and his tone measured. She gave him a polite nod. “Aye, something like that,” she replied without more explanation, her voice calm. “And you, my lord? The market disappoints?” she asked, her words edged with the faintest touch of wry humor. The Northern king was supposed to find a new bride, and it was well-known other attendees were looking to potentially establish betrothals as well. All of that involved as much trading as what Anya witnessed at the marketplaces that occupied her time. She looked at the Stormlander with subtle curiosity, gauging whether his calm demeanor masked ambition or if he was simply another lord doing what he could to navigate the frayed tensions between their realms. Or perhaps, just like her, he simply needed a moment outside to breathe.

setting: the winter ball, morgan brings some of his sisters to see if the king, or any fitting lord, would wish to marry them. he has a lot of siblings under his watch ; starter for @anya-snow

morgan wylde stepped outside the warmth of winterfell’s castle, seeking a break from the bustling winter ball. the night air was biting, the snow crunching beneath his boots as he walked through the quiet grounds. he needed a moment to himself, away from the constant chatter and the constant pressure to find suitable matches for his many sisters. his mind wandered back to the task at hand, wondering which lords or kings would see fit to marry one of them.

as he rounded a corner, he spotted a woman standing alone, looking out over the snow-covered courtyard. her posture was relaxed but purposeful, as if she had been in this moment for some time. she was dressed in the fine, formal attire of the ball, though there was an edge to her presence—a certain sturdiness in her stance, the way she held herself, that suggested she was no stranger to hard work.

morgan’s gaze lingered on her for a moment longer than was polite. Her striking features were hard to ignore, and there was something about her that piqued his curiosity. it wasn’t often that he encountered someone who seemed both out of place and completely at ease with it.

he cleared his throat and approached, taking care not to startle her. “a bit of air to escape the festivities?” he asked, his tone casual but observant.

[anya-snow]

Anya listened intently, letting Dacey's words settle over her. They carried a quiet wisdom that reminded her of why she admired the Stark princess so. Though the paths they walked were different, there was a shared understanding between them, a recognition of the burdens that came with forging their places in the world. Dacey’s observation struck a chord. People never really see you how you see yourself. It was a truth Anya had long grappled with, given her origins, given how she had grown up. The raven-haired woman thought that sometimes she saw more worth in herself than others did, and sometimes it was the other way around. It was a strange sort of cycle in which she moved.

“I suppose that’s true,” she agreed with a nod, a faint smile touching her lips. “Perhaps it’s for the best, in some ways. We can be harder on ourselves than anyone else could ever be”. Perhaps the worst kind of thoughts about her, were the ones she'd conjured herself. Anya’s dark eyes searched Dacey’s face, noticing the princess’s quiet strength, the subtle resilience in her words. And then there was an offer in the princess' words, something that felt like she was extending friendship. “For so long I thought there was pride, there was strength, in standing alone,” Anya admitted. “But I don't always want to be strong... I don't always wish to stand alone”. It felt like both immense weakness and great strength to confess such a thing. “I’m grateful for your company, for your understanding. It’s… rarer than I’d like to admit”.

The judgment could come from the West or from any other place, Anya knew. The princess was right once more, in saying that there could always be something to judge. The Yuan lady knew it was impossible to bend and shape herself in every way that would please others. She'd not done it a day in her life, and it was maddening that as a lady, she was no considering such outside opinions. She shrugged then, the gesture half-defiant, half-resigned. “Well, let them think what they will, I suppose,” she murmured.

“I do still have to learn how to be a better lady, though,” she added with a little chuckle despite herself. “I would hate to embarrass the king and your family because I've not been raised like others have”. Anya's tone was less doubtful, however, more light-hearted in the knowledge that there was still more for her to learn, and having the humility to admit it.

anya could not know it, but her words brought a sense of relief to dacey. most of the time, it felt like she were fighting a losing battle, play-acting at a role that she didn't belong in and the entirety of the northern court could see through. to know there was at least one person she had convinced was a reassurance - perhaps the rest of the world could be fooled, too. "people never really see you how you see yourself, i suppose," she mused. "for good or for ill."

it was something the two had in common. dacey had always been the quiet sort, reserved in her ways and anxious in conversation. it did not easily lend itself to making friends. "i haven't either," she agreed. "it makes me appreciate those i do have all the more." the people she let her guard down for were few and far between, and yet, she did not regret doing so for any of them. a beat of silence fell over dacey then. nobody could stand alone - it was something she applied to others, she realised, always trying to lessen the burden they shouldered, but rarely to herself. when she struggled, she did so in silence. she didn't say that out loud, instead shaking her head in response. "no. and you don't need to, either." the words were subtle, but in them, a quiet hand of friendship was offered.

she let out a breath. the judgement of the west was nothing she could offer comfort for. she could not assure anya that it would not occur, because it would be an outright lie. "they would always have found something to judge you for, though." she did not try to pretend that she could not think why the west may have a harsh view of anya, that her background would be of no consequence here. "i think just being northern would be enough. we can only trust that they need this to go well, and so will choose to keep their thoughts in their head rather than making our time here more unpleasant than it need be."

[anya-snow]

Anya settled into the seat Aleksander offered. She smiled and inclined her head in thanks to the servant girl as the warm food was served. It smelled wonderfully, and the mere aroma was enough to awaken her appetite. Her gaze lingered on the steaming dishes only briefly before returning to her companion at his mention of the maesters.

“If they can predict where the keep will move, that knowledge would be invaluable for trade routes and setting up a market schedule,” she said with a nod. “Aye, write to me when their reports come in. Then I can adjust the logistics and send word to the merchants who’d participate”. The lady smiled then, eager for the possibilities that this could bring for them. For the North as a whole. “This will benefit not just Greywater Watch, but the whole Northern trade network. If we make it reliable, the Kingsroad might even see more traffic heading this way”.

This was the sort of work King Owen Stark had tasked her to do, and finding such possibilities filled her with pride. She leaned forward slightly, her tone giving away some of her excitement over this new project. “Aleks, this could truly change things. Your people can grow as traders of wares unique to the Neck. You’re giving them something no lord or lady before you has”. And with that, Anya grabbed a glass and raised it before the Lord of Greywater Watch.

They reached the great hall of Greywater Watch and Aleksander steered Anya toward the table at the far end of it. He gave one gesture for her to sit and for another to a servant girl to assist them with drink and food. He contemplated his friend's word with a hum as he sat himself. "I can see it workin'," he eventually spoke, nodding slowly as plates with steaming meals and cups with ale were placed in front of them.

"We do have maesters here who can predict where Greywater will move at certain times with startlin' accuracy." While becoming acquainted with the Keep, he'd spoken to the maesters who occupied a high tower on the little island. Right at the top, there was a large, drafty open space used for analyzing the stars up ahead, and the movements of the swamps down below. "I can write to ya, whenever they report their predictions to me, if ya think that'll work?"

[anya-snow]

MASTERLIST OF WANTED CONNECTIONS

OOC Note: Below you’ll find a list of connections I’d love to have for my characters. These connections can be filled by existing characters within the rp, or new ones! Please don’t hesitate to reach out if anything interests you. Nothing here is set in stone, all is open for discussion and fun plotting.

For LADY YUAN ANYA ( Read more about her )

YUAN FAMILY: One or two relatives from the YiTish region of Wan, or potentially, people who grew up in Westeros like Anya did. If they’re cousins, Anya only has male cousins back in Wan. The WC could be other members of the extended family. Any FC filling this connection must have Chinese heritage. You’re encouraged to contact me to chat more about this.

Helpful links: Yi Ti lore | WC for YiTish people in the North

For LADY SEFFORA MERRYWEATHER ( Read more about her )

ALLIES: Longtable suffered because of the civil war within the Reach that was started by Seffora's late sister, Sienna. Since becoming a ruling lady, Seffora focused on rebuilding and aiding the widows and orphans of Longtable. Her focus now is to gain more allies and build strategic relationships that can help her address the needs of her people and her land. One particular concern is the decreased male population after the civil war. Seffora needs to build alliances that can bring in workers, soldiers and men that can become people of Longtable.

Helpful link: Merryweather background

COUSIN/LORD MERRYWEATHER: Seffora didn't grow up close to her cousin, since she spent a good portion of her life in Goldengrove as Tirius Rowan's ward. An important event in this lord's life is that he got into some trouble not long ago as he attempted to run away and elope with Harlon Tarly's sister, Talia (who is now Lord Gael Hightower's wife). I'm very open to the kind of dynamic these two have, if they have gotten closer since Seffora returned to Longtable and became ruling lady, or if they remain somewhat distant to this day.

Helpful link: Longtable history

For QUEEN IONA TULLY ( Read more about her )

COUNCIL MEMBERS: Positions for the small council need to be filled: Lord Commander of the Queensguard (Potential Houses can be Erenford, Paege, Mudd, Vypern, Ryger of Willow Wood. Open to other house options), Master/Mistress of Laws (Potential houses can be Fisher of Misty Isle, House Hawick of Saltpans, House Justman), Master of Ships (From House Mallister) and Master/Mistress of Coin (Preferably from House Frey, but open to other house options). Some houses mentioned above are vassals to other larger houses. If you select a vassal house, you can choose to keep your muse a vassal or let them have one of the open locations that don't have a canon noble house: Bechester, Briarwhite, Fieldstone, Ramsford, Riverbend, Sweetwillow, Swynford.

YOUNGER BROTHER/PRINCE: He was away from Westeros and was presumed dead for a time, and that's why the crown went to Iona and not him. Now that he's back, we can have fun familial and political drama.

YOUNGER SISTER/PRINCESS: One of the two youngest Tully siblings, the twin sister of Mellara. I would love to include this sister in the Tully family dynamic.

For LORD DEIMOS VELARYON ( Read more about him )

YOUNGER BROTHER: This is Deimos' only remaining brother after the death of Aerion. This brother would be a Lord of Driftmark, and also the Ruling Lord of Sharp Point (approximate age would be 30 - 34). It would be great to add this brother to the Velaryon sibling dynamic, see where he stands on Valyrian exceptionalism or the politics about the Crownlands and Stormlands, the view he had of their parents, etc.

For LORD PERCIVAL TEMPLETON ( Read more about him )

PAST LOVES/BETROTHALS: Percival has had a long list of failed relationships and betrothals that never led to marriage in the end for a variety of circumstances. I'm interested in two past relationships: 1) one that took place around 134ac, 2) the other one around 139ac - 140ac. We can plot why they got together (arranged, romance, etc), why it ended, and what their dynamic looks like today.

For LUCIUS RIVERS ( Read more about him )

PLATONIC/ROMANTIC CONNECTION: Chemistry-based, if Lucius and her vibe well it can turn romantic, we'll see. And I want to emphasize that this is very unlikely to be endgame due to status differences and potential religious differences too. This woman would be someone Lucius has met recently, and he's become quite soft for her. I really want to explore a vulnerable side of him with someone, and I think this would be the person with whom he shows this side of him.

[anya-snow]

Anya detected some pride in her friend's voice, even if he remained as steady and unaffected as Northern men could be. It was the sort of work that merited that sense of pride, and she was glad to think Aleks did feel it, even if to a small degree. “Well, keep trying, then. You do well with mere attempts to try,” she mused in response.

Greywater Watch was unique amongst the settlements of the North, for as the lord said, it moved too. “The Kingsroad isn't far from here,” Anya began, for that very road meant without question the coming and going of traders in the area. “You can have your marketplace for locals of Greywater Watch, but what if we arranged for specific dates for an extended marketplace that includes those traveling merchants,” the lady spoke, her gaze turning to the direction she recalled the Kingsroad was, just a couple of miles from where they were. “We build stalls that are easy to assemble and disassemble and we take them to the Kingsroad”.

It was just an idea, but one that Anya could see working. The people of Greywater Watch could then engage more actively in a larger scope of trade, and the mudmen could cease their concerns about anchoring themselves or feeling exposed to dangers by remaining in a single spot. “It could be done. I can help with organizing and the logistics of it. I could aid with some funding for the building of these stalls”.

His friend's praise settled in his chest as something warm, chasing away the chill that always lingered in this swamp region. "I try, I try.." he said, trying to sound unaffected, even if the pride shone through in his tone. Aleksander stepped next to Anya, lifting his arm to pat her shoulder and to lead her further into the grounds of the Keep.

A hum lingered in the back of his throat as Anya spoke of the traders and their routes. He did not yet know all the specifics that went into it. The biggest concerns at the moment were how to make Greywater available to trade routes. "Greywater Watch moves, too," he interjected, allowing the slight tinge of worry to seep into his tone. "I worry traders may not be able to find it if we don't anchor the castle, and the mud men have their - understandable - qualms with that."

[anya-snow]

“You mask it well, then,” Anya mentioned. Dacey had an admirable quality to appear composed, graceful, confident regardless of where she was. By the princess' own admission that wasn't always the case, just the image the lady had of the other woman. “And yes, we endure what we must,” the raven-haired lady replied. It was something she agreed with entirely. Her life had been built on enduring and overcoming.

There were not many friends in Anya's life. There had never been many she counted as close to her, and the situation continued to be the same. Her circumstances were entirely different at present, and yet there remained the underlying feeling that she needed to protect herself, to be cautious, to keep others at arm's length out of a sense of self-preservation. Noble courts were different grounds from those she's known as a lowborn bastard, but dangerous all the same. “I've never been very good at making friends, I'll admit,” she mused in a lower tone. “Silly of me. No one can stand alone, after all”. She did not have the sort of charming, gentle or enticing personalities that drew in others to her. For most of her life, she'd been challenging, jaded, and much too prickly to let others get too close. Those she'd let in, she'd lost in one way or another.

At least we are here together, the princess said. Anya did find some comfort in that, finding herself in this place with fellow Northerners, It brought a sense of safety, in a way. A home away from home, indeed. “I will remain vigilant. I generally find it difficult to let down my guard,” she shrugged. Another consequence of the way she grew up, she supposed. “I will try to enjoy the trip. However, I am wary of the social events and some of the gatherings that will surely take place. I don't usually care much for the judgment— I try not to care for it, that is. But I know I will be judged more harshly here,” she dared to say, for it felt safe to admit this before Dacey.

anya's assumption that dacey was someone who could adapt well took the princess by surprise, for that was never how she saw herself. it was why she rarely left the confines of winterfell, where she felt most at ease. wherever she went, there was a feeling of being ill at ease, as though everyone who surrounded her was simply waiting for her to do or say something that would see her judged. at least in winterfell, she knew the places where she would not be seen.

"i'm flattered, but i've never felt that was the case." she admitted. "but we endure it, don't we?" and dacey endured it because she had to, because the queen in the north was dead, her elder sister was gone, and now she found herself the oldest of the stark princesses. there was nobody to hide behind anymore. the quiet places where she most found comfort were no longer hers to occupy. "but there are friends here, i think. i hope it is the same for you."

it must be. the more anya spoke, the more dacey was reminded that she had seen far more of the continent than the princess had, that she had lived an entire life before entering the world that dacey had been born into. "at least we are here together," she pointed out. "a home from home whilst here." it was a comforting thought. she wished she had words of wisdom to offer, but she would wager that she knew even less of the west than anya did, and did not think nasir manderly's words of caution would be particularly helpful in this moment. "i think it is best to be wary," it was as close as she would get to repeating the words of the north's hand. "but we are here for a celebration. it would be good, i think, to indulge your curiosity whilst enjoying what king tyland has in store." whatever this trip would throw at them, it could not be worse than the crownlands.

[anya-snow]

“Well, it is their culture,” she replied plainly. It was the Western way, wasn't it? Showing power in everything. Then, there was some truth to the other woman's following assessment. Anya wasn't particularly enjoying the scene playing out before her but she didn't hate either. She'd not been raised and made to be squeamish in any way, and her experiences in the battle camps were perhaps the reason why she could watch these Fair Games with an almost neutral expression. “I was curious to see what these games were all about. I'm partial, of course, but I much prefer the Northern Games,” she said.

Anya's gaze returned to the open area where the fighting was taking place. She had also considered the lion would triumph when that match took place, but it had been a warrior —one of the Equites Alati knights— who prevailed. “It is safer. Do you really want to line Western pockets with more coin?” she replied as she turned to the lady at her side.

for a brief moment, a flicker of disappointment crossed halima's face, before quickly being replaced with curiosity as she noted the expression on the other woman's face. it was plain she had little taste for what was occuring before her, for the bloodshed that came with such a spectacle. and yet, here she sat, unflinching, despite the fact her lack of enjoyment was in stark contrast to those surrounding her, the lords jeering and braying for more blood, more gore. there was enough courage in that, in not looking away from something you didn't want to look at, that halima could respect it.

"a shame." and yet, halima was not inclined to offer her gold to another. her good mood, it seemed, did not quite extend that far, though it did enough to coax out of her a rare laugh. "cultural is one word for it, though it is not one i would use." what word she would use, she hadn't fully considered. dorne had culture, but the west had pomp and pageantry and ceremony, and, dismissively, she did not think the two could be equated. "if you don't mind me saying, you don't look as though you're enjoying your cultural experience all that much."

"i thought that about the lion, too," she admitted, and on that part, she had been wrong. man had been the victor - and for all it's teeth and claws, a bear might not be a match for steel and tactics. "and i was incorrect on that part. perhaps my gold is safest in my pockets."

[anya-snow]

The young woman before her did have that air of one of Valyrian descent but Anya hadn't been sure. Now she knew, as the other confirmed it. “I suppose so,” she agreed. The Northerner didn't have an inherent fear or mistrust of the heirs of Old Valyria, she generally made her judgments and built prejudices on the spot based on initial impressions from the individuals before her.

“Not here precisely,” the lady answered. “It is only experience with places like this,” Anya added as she glanced around the marketplace. Then, she looked at her companion with interest, for she had detected something unusual in her. The air about her, perhaps. The blonde did not seem like an ordinary lady. “You seem no stranger to this either,” she mused.

Aenogaia's head tipped back as she hummed in understanding. Her eyes, in the meantime, moved over the market stalls that surrounded them, eyeing the surrounding sellers with shrewd interest. "I haven't had any experiences with this particular trick, I'll be honest. I've always assumed they are a bit more wary of Valyrians. Perhaps some left over fear of dragon fire." Even if the dragons did not roam the skies like they used to. Even if Targaryen rage did not burn quite as hot as it once did. "You seem to have experience here, or am I wrong?"

[anya-snow]

Anya nearly asked if the king was to demand she limited her interactions with the Lannister lord, but knew better and held her tongue. “I trust very few people, your grace,” the raven-haired woman answered. Trust was not a currency a woman born in her situation dealt with. It was unwise, she always thought. “The only people who've earned it are those I've known for most of my life,” she added. Such a small circle was made up of Lord Karstark, the Starks, and the connections she'd made along the way, like Laena and Mathis.

“I have never discussed business with the man, my king,” she assured him. Owen Stark appeared to give much more value to her position than the born bastard did, seeing something more strategic, possibly. But Anya was no fool. “I do not casually bring up the work I do with those that I come across, I reserve those topics for your council chambers”. She knew to speak of it only before her king and council, or to discuss with those she was sent to talk to on behalf of the Northern king.

“I do not know of any trade needs the Lannister lord might have. We've never spoken of such matters and never shall,” she assured Owen. “Do you doubt me, your grace?” she dared to ask, curious to know what was it that led the Stark king to have these growing concerns about her character. Was it only her connection to Nicholas Lannister, or was there more to it? She thought it fair to ask, if only to know the ground she stood on with the king. “I can only hope my dedication to your house and your cause can soon erase any doubts you might harbor about me”.

Owen stared at her as she spoke, he felt his jaw set as she talked of them continuing to "run into each other" and he wondered if he were meant to be a fool or no. "A penchant for provoking you? A rarity?" Owen clenched his jaw and unclenched, as he leaned back in his chair. "I care not for what might disconcerting for a Westerman, Yuan Anya. I cared that the Mistress of my Merchant's Guild is casually running into a Westerman enough to know he finds her rare." A hand ran over his face, fingers moving over his beard. It worried him to have a bastard in such a position.

"You must not trust a Westerman, my lady. You are more valuable than you know and not just to me but to your people as well. And getting in to beds with lions, you might as well crawl in the beds of snakes." Owen hoped she understood. "We can not do business with them, nothing that could harm us and Lannisport could present itself to be it's own issue in the trade." That was his truest worry, what if they were planning something. Tyland Lannister was crafty.

"Do you know if this Lannister of Lannisport is ... in need of something? Does he play a game or does he seek trade because there is a mark up for lions."

[anya-snow]

Modern AU — Yuan Anya

GENERAL INFORMATION

NAME: Yuan Anya

AGE: Twenty-eight (Born December 16th, 1996)

BORN IN: Brighton, England

CURRENT RESIDENCE: London, England

OCCUPATION: Props master and Stage Fight coordinator

ETHNICITY: Mixed race (Chinese and English)

BACKGROUND

Anya was raised only by Alden, her father, since her mother passed away very little after her birth due to complications.

Alden struggled economically for the majority of Anya's upbringing. Anya began taking little odd jobs when she was in her teens, trying to help her dad as much as she could.

She worked hard to keep good grades at school, and she ended up getting a scholarship to attend the boarding school in Vermont. Anya was known as a hardworking student and didn't have that big of a social presence. The only extracurricular she took was fencing, and competed around the state in the high school category. Other than that, Anya was always focused on keeping her grades up to keep her scholarship. She was the valedictorian of her class in her graduation year.

Anya returned to England after graduation and went to Rose Bruford College for Scenic Arts. During this time, one of her professors began taking her as an assistant to the National Theatre so she could gain more exposure to the theater world.

She has been steadily working since before graduation, earning a name for herself as a props master and stage fight coordinator both in theater, film, and TV. One of her most renowned works in recent years was her role choreographing the production of "Coriolanus", which has had stars like Tom Hiddleston and David Oyelowo in the titular role.

RELATIONSHIP HISTORY

Currently dating Owen Stark. They met after one of Owen's matches and began a fling recently.

She dated Nicholas Lannister for a time. Initially, their relationship was kept a secret, as Nicky was preparing her for the scrutiny that dating a royal would entail. Their relationship came out and Anya was subject to harassment by the press and paparazzi. The two of them decided to break up after a while despite still being very much in love with each other.

Little after graduating from school, Anya dated Brandon Karstark. Their paths in life drifted and they split amicably.

[anya-snow]

“Every day,” the raven-haired lady admitted easily. It was the sort of confession she only felt comfortable giving before a good friend. It was true she'd only gone into the craft of a blacksmith because it was what her father had done before her, and it was what Alden could teach his daughter to sustain herself in life. But Anya loved it. She grew to cherish the craft since her teenage years. She enjoyed her current work, but her true talent and passion might always lay in what she'd done all her life prior to serving the North as she did today. “I do welcome, and cherish, the great privileges that come with being a Head of the Merchants Guild,” she added, not wishing to sound ungrateful for what she had gained.

The vision of King Owen's North was truly taking shape in many ways. Greywater Watch and the work the Karstark lord was putting into it was one of the many ways that new vision continued to manifest in these wintery lands. “It does look nice. You've done a good job here, Aleks,” the lady praised with a gentle smile, offering a nod to the Storm of Winter. In some ways, the two of them were not so dissimilar— not much had been expected of them before, and now they were in a position to play meaningful roles.

Anya's attention stayed on the area where the new marketplace of Greywater Watch was to grow. There was progress, for sure, but it wasn't close to being done just yet. “There will be caravans going along the trade routes, you shouldn't need to have every single stall manned. The travelling merchants can do that too,” she said, to quell that concern. “Be here for a time, move on to the next point on the map”. Some merchants would travel shorter trips, remain in specific areas. Others, like her grandfather had done, travelled as they sold and gained new goods across full regions, even continents.

Aleksander wagged his index finger in her direction once, quiet way of agreeing with her point. The clang of a blacksmiths hammer in a forge was surely a lot louder than the repair works going on around Greywater Watch's courtyard. "Do you miss the noise? Or are you glad for some peace?" he asked, curious. Anya had made him his sword, exquisite craftsmanship in every inch of steel. She seemed busy with other things now but Aleksander would dare to assume that she did miss it.

A wide grin spread over his lips as she complimented the repairs that were in full swing. When he'd gotten here, Greywater Watch had been in the beginning stages of decay. Brandon's words lingered in his mind. About duty, and taking care of what belonged to their family now. Aleks might have been a walking disappointment on most days, but this was about honoring the dead as much as the living. "It is startin' to look nice, isn't it?" He nodded towards the entrance of the Keep and began to approach.

"Workin' on it," he admitted. The market had been a bit of a difficult thing to manage, considering Greywater Watch was constantly on the move. But they'd found and formed the semblance of a plan, and now they were just trying to expand the market place itself. "The square is bein' expanded and new stalls are built to house more traders. All we need now is some more time and the people to man the stalls."

[anya-snow]

Gambling wasn’t a recurring habit of Anya’s, but it was an activity she had sporadically participated in when she had a few extra coin and a hunch of being able to multiply it. She’d wished to attend the Fair Games more so to continue to expose herself to the culture of the Westernlands and its people, people who appeared to be nearly a polar opposite of the Northern folk. For her, there was little enjoyment to be had in witnessing men fight lions, but she could see why the people under King Tyland Lannister might enjoy something like it. A test of strength and valor. She did wonder if Nicholas was the sort of warrior who found it appealing to compete in these affairs or attend them often.

The woman at her side spoke then, and the raven-haired lady looked at her with furrowed brows. It was then that Anya realized that was the expression she’d been wearing for a while now, seeing the brutality of this utmost Western display of courage. “I do not gamble often,” she replied, “And I wasn't inclined to gamble this time, frankly”. Others around her were chatting in a lively manner, arguing and cheering, people who clearly had gambled. So why was she here? “We could call this a cultural experience for me,” she said with a shift in her tone at those last words, partly serious and partly sarcastic.

Her attention went to the bear the other woman spoke about. “I’d have bet on it too, if I’d put coin on this”. How could it not be the victor, after all? Testing nature against humanity, beasts against man, oftentimes became a lesson in humility for people. “You've good odds of winning back that gold and then some, I'd say”.

closed starter for @anya-snow setting: the fair games

"do you gamble?"

it was a rare thing for halima to loosen up and relax enough in a public setting to engage in something like gambling, but the brutality of the fair games seemed to have awakened a sort of joy inside her. she had been practically leaning forward in her seat, eyes fixed on the fighter before her as he fought the lion. in the end, it was the fighter who emerged victorious, the proud beast finally breathing its last to an eruption of cheers from the crowd. the winning warrior gave a half-hearted wave before departing, the next fight being set up - this time between a younger competitor, fighting a monstrous brown bear.

she lifted her head, turning her gaze to the woman sitting next to her. halima wasn't sure where she was from, nor did she care. she was not valyrian, and didn't look to be reach or stormland-born, either, and so halima was willing to tentatively offer her the privilege of conversation.

"because my gold is on the bear."

[anya-snow]

A foot in one world, a foot in another. Anya still felt that way; a lady by title and having a place in King Owen’s court while remaining a bastard by birth in the eyes of many, someone who still maintained a certain link to her life before. She couldn’t fully cut it, admittedly. In the North, that sense of being what she was, who she was, did not bother her at all. She was surrounded by people who had known her for a long time, people who knew what she stood for and the value she brought. In other realms, it was different, perhaps in none more than in the West.

It was somewhat of a relief to hear the Northern princess admit she felt out of place as well. If someone like Dacey felt that way, it almost was a sort of permission to feel it too. She was justified in her thoughts if the princess doubted as well. “Really? I always saw you as someone who adapts quite well to foreign places,” Anya confessed that thought, for she always saw the princess carry herself with confidence and grace.

The princess’ second admission managed to bring a little smile to Anya’s lips. “It’s not awful. I may have been thinking the same,” the raven-haired lady chuckled softly, raising a hand to cover that little laugh that escaped her. It felt as though the walls had ears and she wanted no one but the princess to hear her own confessions. “I know so little of the West in comparison to other places. I never travelled much here in the past,” she said, for her trips for blade commissions generally took her to the Vale, the Riverlands, or the Reach. The West was as rare a destination as was Dorne, one for the distance and the other for their reliance on their own master blacksmiths, she supposed. “I’m a little curious about this place. But I'll admit I am more intimidated than I am curious,” Anya added with a little shrug. She'd been crossing paths with some people who piqued her interest in a land and a culture so different from her own, but there was something in the court of lions that did make her uneasy, for they seemed like statues of ivory and gold; unapproachable in their elegance, saintly or heroic, but always untouchable.

long had dacey been on friendly terms with anya, but as with most of the people she knew, there was a distance between the two, put there by dacey herself. long had she struggled with concepts like friends, even as she observed others making them so easily. her circle had always been small, and lonely. but the northern court had been shrunken by loss. it had pulled dacey from her self-imposed isolation, but what had it done to anya, when two of those losses had been people dacey knew she had held close? she could do nothing about that, except offer herself as a meagre replacement. trying to step into the shoes of the dead seemed to be all she did, these days.

and she nodded her head, for she understood what anya meant. she felt it, too. the feeling of not belonging was not uncommon for dacey, though lessened much when she was in the north. though the kingdom had been fractured and split, though many of the houses had bled for her family or against them, it was still her home. outside, the title of princess was just that - a title. the mystery of the princess alysanne attested to how little protection it afforded her. and yet, any anxieties must be felt two-fold by anya, and she could understand why that would be so.

"i don't think i will ever get past that feeling," she confessed. "of feeling out of sorts here, i mean. this place is not for me." there was a grandeur to the west directly at odds with dacey's simpler, more unassuming way of being, and she liked it not, as though in trying to be inconspicuous, it only made her stand out like a sore thumb amongst the splendour. a beggar at a ball. nasir manderly's warning echoed in her ears, and her expression grew weary. "is it an awful thing to say that i already want to go home?"

[anya-snow]

Markets appeared to be her study now, more than the fine crafting of a blade once was. The marketplace in Winter Town had been home to her for so long and it was interesting to compare and contrast it against trading and selling hubs in other regions, see how each of these new places could or would not fit nicely into the extensive trading route she had been delineating for King Owen and his realm for the past year or so.

A fair-haired woman at her side spoke and Anya found herself smiling subtly, a reminiscing half-smile over the life she once lived in places like this one. “I'm well aware of the tricks,” she replied, “Sometimes two sellers will ally too, so when you pass the first stall you get an inflated price. Then you pass the second and get a lower price, and convinced it's a bargain, you're swayed to buy the item”. And the money would then be split between the two members of such a little ruse. The raven-haired lady turned to look at her companion and nodded in gratitude all the same, appreciating the head's up despite it being unnecessary in someone like the former blacksmith.

who: @anya-snow where: an encounter in the mount market

If she was honest, the markets in Lannisport weren't awfully different from the ones in King's Landing. Different banners flapped in the warm breeze, but the tactics were the same. Finely made scarfs brushed over her skin so she could feel the fabrics, jewelry held up to her throat and attempts to usher her to a mirror so she could see how well it suited her. Shouts from merchants praising their wares, switching up their descriptions to fit many of those out and about, passing by.

Aenogaia had circled around the market once already, when she came back upon a stall that sold the scarfs. She quickened her steps and matched the walking speed of another attendee, clearly being approached by a merchant with a scarf at the ready. "Careful," she muttered. "Sometimes they get desperate. I hear sometimes they hand them to people and demand they pay for something they obviously just attempted to steal. So," she trailed off, sparing the merchant a glance with narrowed eyes while her jeweled hands were crossed in front of her chest. "Unless you want to end up in the Justice Gallery or paying more than you might like, I would steer clear."