#dacey 001

[devotionturns]

who: @daceystvrk where: at winterfell when cyrene arrives home for the first time in years

There were notches in the outer walls. Always had been, always would be. Cyrene found at least some comfort that things in Winterfell would never change. The people who lived within the walls would. Death haunted the halls, but the years did as well. She'd already seen many who had survived the wars that lay in the past, but they had not come out of it unchanged.

Neither had she.

"Don't climb that," she spoke, voice pragmatic and clipped, "That cannot end well."

[naelysvelaryon]

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."

[nasirofmanderlys]

✯

he was all too aware of the fact there was a quietness that settled between them, and whilst nasir usually could appreciate moments of silence and stretches of quiet, whenever it settled in the space between them he found himself wondering if he had somehow misstepped. whether his words had been too direct and forward, and had resulted in him somehow offending her.

she had always been the quietest of her siblings, seemingly softer than the rest of them - he was sure she had muttered something under her breath, and he had not heard it. if he were not overthinking, he would simply have ignored it - and yet, nasir did not want her to think he was ignoring her to her very face. why could she not just speak louder?

"…did you say something, your highness?" nasir asked, looking over at her again; and again, his expression always came across far more serious than he could ever truly intend.

perhaps he had only put her off their upcoming journey, and yet it was imperative that the woman in the most amount of power in this northern court understood the reality of where they were going - if not for her to coach the rest of the northern ladies in the court. they could not be too casual with their tongue, they could not find false friends in those who were more foe.

"perhaps that was the reason." or perhaps manal would have found the princess entirely dull and unbecoming; they were striking different, manal able to command the centre of attention - whilst, well, the difference was obvious enough. again, he sounded almost borderline dismissive of dacey's idea of her perhaps getting along with his sister - though not because he actually thought that, but rather because he'd rather not discuss his sister at great length. too sensitive a subject, no doubt.

"i think it would best if you did…i know my limits, princess." he knew what he was good at. gift giving, had never been one of those subjects.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[clawsbcared-a]

though her family is loyal to house stark and her father had made many trips to visit winterfell - both for pleasure and business - dacey had been only a handful of times, the last of which saw her ridiculed by strangers for muttering beyond her comprehension. each time lead her to the same dark place, the CRYPTS.

her bare feet had carried her from her guest chambers, through the snow covered courtyard and down to the holding place of starks long past - it would have been a scandal for anyone to find the eldest mormont daughter in nothing but her night shift, but fate had it that she ghosted over winterfell unnoticed. "the wolf passes in the night, the pup's cry is heard by the moon . . . " her voice mumbles the phrase over and over and over softly until the shuffling of @northsrose brings her back to reality. "oh dear . . . my feet are cold."

[scfeerah]

event starter: @daceystvrk setting: hollywood glamour night. context: dacey and saf dated in the past. they have not seen each other since they said goodbye in the airport.

most of safeerah's life had been lived wherever she pleased and with whomever she pleased. she went where opportunity was, or wherever the last person to capture her heart was. it was her favourite thing about her line of work. the freedom it gave her. most of her life fit inside two suitcases. it had been during her travels that her path crossed with dacey, and they had spent half a year together until life happened, and they had to say goodbye. it was one of the few times that she felt bound by to take certain opportunities. the two women had parted as friends, but it had been one of the relationships that she had mourned the most. now it seemed their paths had crossed again.

she spotted the woman from across the hall, instantly recognising her, and excused herself from the little group. she got a hold of two glasses of champagne before making her way over to dacey. she stepped out of the crowd with a carefree smile. “i had a feeling you might be here. it's so lovely to see you again.” for others, it was awkward running into an ex, but she had always prioritised ending as friends. well, with almost everyone. she had dropped the ball with deimos. safeerah gave her a careful hug, afraid to mess with her dress or hair in any way. she took a step back to admire her. “you look absolutely beautiful, dacey. it's like you stepped out of one of those old hollywood movies.”

[clawsbcared-a]

perhaps if she were wylla then dacey would have lashed out, screamed until her throat was cut and her lungs were empty, but she wasn't wylla, nor was she a woman of rage and privacy. she was dacey, the bear maiden, the dancing ghost of bear island, the mother of cubs and babes alike. soft-spoken, the eldest daughter of gawen mormont gracefully pulls her underdress back up her body before reaching for a robe hanging limply on the end of her mother's bed. pulling it tight over her shoulders, she turns. scars hidden, and a wistful set of features, some may say she resembles something ethereal under the candlelight of the room, others may curse her to be a ghoul of cruel intentions. both were neither false nor true these days.

"my mother believed it so, she would scold me for venturing out too close and away from the hunting parties, but . . . she found joy in my stories, wonder and magic in tales of mothers catching fish upstream and feeding them to her cubs." joining jeyne by the fire, a gentle smile forms along rosy lips as she watches the flames - her mother was no bear through blood, so of course she had been wary, but her mother was a curious woman. always had been. "do not leave, i fear now i have company the voices will come back once you leave . . . i may bathe later." the smile never falls from her lips.

Would she ever feel comfortable in the North? Once upon a time Jeyne had naively thought so: everything had seemed so easy, those first few weeks with Robb, the long winding ride back to Riverrun; frightening, yes, of course, and the guilt had been crushing watching the Freys gather their men and ride out of the great gates, kicking up furious dust - but Robb had reassured her. My mother came up from the South, he said, and now she is beloved by all the North. Catelyn had warned her that it would not be easy, but it could be done: with hard work, and respect, and grace, they could be won over, these fierce Northerners who scared her so deeply.

But that was months ago, before all the battles and death, before Robb had had to fight his way up through Moat Calin, before they had reached the burned out remains of Winterfell and she had watched him kneel in the ashes, white faced, tight lipped. It was not her fault they had lost the North, no more than it was Robb's fault that it had taken so many men to win it back, but she felt the very land beneath her reject her footfall all the same. And here, so far North that it felt like a different world, on Bear Island, it was only too apparent how different she was. Are you their Queen? Jeyne asked herself, as she dressed in boiled leather, an iron studded jerkin, comfortable riding breeches, and almost didn't recognise herself in the mirror. She fastened the wolf's head clasp about her neck to keep her cloak in place and touched the thick dark braid that fell down one shoulder. Your mother would not recognise you.

She had known many of the Mormonts through the long winter of the war, but she was distant from them still. They were a different species to her. She tried to imagine Dacey at the crumbling Crag, underneath the tattered seashell banner, and found she could not. She tried to imagine her grandmother, Maggy, tasting the blood of the bears, and could not do that either. Bear Island did not want her here; it whispered to her at night, brought goosebumps prickling over her arms until even Robb, caught up as he was in the rounds of feasting and drinking and oath swearing, noticed her discomfort. You are not of the North, it whispered to her. Go back to Essos, Maegi.

The maid led her to Dacey's chambers without a word, though her dark eyes scanned Jeyne curiously. Royalty did not travel this close to the Wall often. It was to escape those curious eyes that Jeyne opened the door without waiting for an answer to her knock, and she immediately flushed with embarrassment, cursing herself. "My Lady - I am so sorry, I should have waited, I -"

She stopped, words dying in her throat at the sight of Dacey's back, the smooth skin marred by stripes of long-healed wounds. Instinctively Jeyne's hand flew to her own side, the only place the thin reed cane her mother had used on them as children had ever scarred, imagining she could feel the raised ridges through her layers of clothes; she knew that was impossible, but they tingled nonetheless. She relaxed a little at Dacey's reassurance, and closed the door behind her, then turned her back, facing the fire to give Dacey a little privacy. Claw marks. That made her think of Robb. "A dangerous hobby," she said, "though I am glad to hear no one deliberately hurt you." She hestiated; it was clear that the Lady was distant, distracted. "Forgive me. I only came to see if you wished to accompany me to dinner. I can leave you in peace."

[shcbear]

&& TASK 001

STATISTICS.

full name: Dacey Jeora Mormont

moniker / nickname: Dace, Corporal, She Bear

gender && pronouns: cis female, she/her

dob && age:  april 23rd, 1990 && 30 years old

zodiac sign: taurus

ethnicity: Red River Métis-Cree, Chinese, White

sexual orientation: pansexual

romantic orientation: panromantic

mafia affiliation: The Wolf Kings && Stark

occupation owner and teacher at Bear & Claw Martial Arts Gym

financial status: while the mormont family doesn’t come from wealth per say, they do come from status, having been respected members of their community for centuries, giving them a certain amount of privilege in their area.  their old connections to the starks, earning them the title of ‘old friends’ did as well.

PHYSICAL APPEARANCE.

face claim: Jessica Matten

height: 5′9

physical build: tall and slender, almost willowy

eye colour and shape: brown and almond 

hair colour and style: black and generally straight, parted slightly to the left side and usually tucked behind ears (naturally somewhat wavy)

usual expression:  massive case of RBF

accent and speech style:  sharp and sarcastic toned, barely noticeably accented

clothing style:  almost uniform like, always wearing some form of jeans, boots, t-shirt and if the weather necessitates, a leather jacket.  there are some variations, but not many.

jewelry and accessories:  some jewelry that pays homage to her routes, but nothing that could get in the way (such as earrings, which is a big no-no in any form of hand-to-hand combat), Smith & Wesson 6 inch blade tucked in her boot

FAMILY:

father: UNKNOWN

mother: Maege Mormont (alive)

siblings, if any: Alysane, Lyra, Jorelle, Lyanna (all alive)

extended relations: Jorah Mormont (uncle, status unknown)

significant other(s): N/A

children: N/A

household pet(s): a cane corso/pitbull rescue mix named Bear, that accompanies Dacey almost everywhere she goes, and is absolutely the gym’s mascot.  but don’t let it’s friendly nature fool you, it’s a fiercely loyal guard dog at heart, and you’ll get no warning barks or growls, only teeth if you step into Dacey’s space uninvited.

FAVOURITES.

colour: forest green and earthy brown

weather: rainy (especially in the fall)

food item: she is a human garbage disposal and will literally eat anything you put in front of her (other than shellfish), but always prefer fresh foods over anything else

beverage: dr pepper

time of day: twilight

television genre: anything vaguely cheesy/small town/without high stakes.  she has enough of those in her daily life and wants to wind down with something the opposite of her life.  

PERSONALITY.

hobbies: martial arts, boxing, hiking, camping, fishing

pet peeves:  phone ringers (honestly, who still has their phone volume on?), unnecessary waste (of any kind really; life, food, water, energy, etc)

phobias: thalassophobia (which was...unfortunate considering she grew up surrounded by water)

allergies: cats and shellfish

mbti type: ISTP-A

enneagram type: 98% the skeptic, 87% the challenger,  62% the investigator

positive traits: loyal, versatile, determined

negative traits: brash, blunt, head strong

morning routine: fairly regimented; wakes up at five, goes for a 5 mile run with Bear, feeds Bear, takes a shower, eats something fresh, goes and opens the gym at 8.

beauty routine: tends to stick to more holistic products, and is more likely to use ‘raw materials’ than she is to buy something off the counter, but overall keeps it fairly simple, she’s a simple girl.

sleeping habits:  Dacey used to sleep like a rock, always spent from an active day that she would fall into bed and remain unmoving until the morning, but with her new position as corporal, there are a lot of long nights, or nights interrupted by important calls of important (and violent) tasks needing to be dealt with.  so she tries to hit the hay as earlier as she can, knowing it could be interrupted at any moment.

living space && home: neither clean nor messy, but obviously lived in.  she always prefers to buy second hand or hand made, always hating the look of brand new furniture and couldn’t stand to have an ikea retrofitted apartment.  lots of earthy tones, objects from back home.

[mymelancholiesblues]

001 ASoIaF

– Favourite character: Robb Stark! But honestly, Sansa is very close to the top together with him so I’d be lying if I didn’t say it’s both;

– Least favorite character: It’d be too obvious to say Ramsay Snow, Roose Bolton or Littlefinger because they’re written in such a way that you can’t possibly sympathize with them, so I’ll go with Daenerys Targaryen for this one. Her messiah complex coupled with the boring way Martin has been writing her POVs just deeply irritates me;

– 5 favourite ships (canon or non-canon): Ned/Ashara, Jaime/Brienne, Tywin/Joanna, Oberyn/Ellaria and Jon/Ygritte;

– Character I find most attractive: Robb Stark – my forever king in the north;

– Character I would marry: Jon Snow. Even though he comes off as cold and rather distant with his exterior demeanour, he’s so soft and caring and kind, he’d make the perfect mate in that sense;

– Character I would be best friends with: I would be the mom type of friend to the Stark children since I love them so much and always hoped for their best;

– A random thought: I’m not very interested in Jon’s parentage. I think the books are very clear on that matter (R + L = J) from the get-go so I really couldn’t care less about that mystery? Therefore, I hope Martin keeps that “reveal” subtext only since it’s an overdue plot-point;

– An unpopular opinion: Well, Game of Thrones is a misogynist crappy excuse of a TV adaptation and I profusely hate it;

– My canon OTP: Probably Ned/Ashara? There’s something in the way Martin flashes them in the subtext that only subtly feeds our imagination for what their brief romance was that it’s just… gorgeous. I find it to be very appealing because their personalities contrast reminds me a bit of my other OTPs’ dynamics that I dearly care about;

– My non-canon OTP: All my Stark kids alive and safe and happy;

– Most badass character: Catelyn Stark. I mean, the way that woman fought for her family till the very end and even after, goddamn! Little Cat is the most powerful direwolf in this book series;

– Most epic villain: Littlefinger. The guy was capable of setting the whole Westeros against itself and is in the root of all of the conflicts that ensued in the plot. Literally the Devil in Plain Sight;

– Pairing I am not a fan of: I dislike most pairings in ASoIaF, bt all the ones with Sansa tend to bother me the most;

– Character I feel the writers screwed up (in one way or another): I think Martin has no idea to what he’s doing and going for with that Dorne plot, so I’d say the Martells;

– Favourite friendship: Davos and Stannis – that absolute loyalty that verges into devotion breaks my heart. Oh, and a special mention to Dacey Mormont and Robb: she is his last dance, she gloats about fighting every battle by his side – I’m just very emotional about them, okay?;

– Character I most identify with: I just can’t relate in that level to any of ASoIaF’s characters. Maybe Sansa, but I never went through anything that even remotely evokes the experience of being forced to go under the “Rose to Jade-Colored Glasses” process to see life;

– Character I wish I could be: Asha Greyjoy – be a BAMF pirate in Westeros? Really dig that.

[clawsbcared-a]

"stability, perhaps. mind? never." her voice is wistful as she leans back against the plush fabric of the chair, head falling back and tilting to face the redhead, "whispers of my mind have been around since the day i could first speak, my lady." though she seems to dodge around the idea of melancholy, admitting one to be full of melancholy and almost on the verge of overflowing felt too much for new company.

sitting straighter, the mormont daughter peers down into the cup, as if reading each ripple and speck of colour within the tea cup - though before her mind could waver and the voices pull her from the moment at hand, abrogail broaches one of her most favourite subjects. her bears. rosy lips curl into a soft smile as she looks to the red haired woman, "i speak of them as if i own them, but we do not. they are family, old friends from centuries past. you see it in their eyes . . . the history of the island, the first men, the andals . . . all of it. they have seen it all and are aware of where we will step and what we will say." a hand releases her cup to press against her shoulder, hidden scars lying beneath the fabric of her dress, "they attack when threatened or scared, when unsure or confused. the younger are impulsive, like wylla . . . much like wylla."

A slight frown pulls at her features as she takes that in. "Do you feel unwell of mind and stability?" she asked curiously. "As in, do you feel overwhelmed and overcome? Melancholic?" She struggles with trying to find the words for the feelings she was intimately familiar with. "As if a great sadness would consume you whole into the ground?"

She pours the ginger mint tea into the thick cup and presses it into Dacey's hands with a warm smile. "I'm sorry you feel such a way. I understand. The Keep can be quite lonely, especially when you are so incredibly far from home, my dear." She cocks her head. Bear Island, she assumes, surely has a large bear population. "Tell me about them. Your bears."

[clawsbcared-a]

"i'm not sure bobby cares to speak with me right now, i believe i spoke something harshly to him the last i spoke . . . something about a useless blade and a rat's arse being sharper." a soft giggle falls from soft lips as she tilts her head slightly, allowing dark locks to tumble into the warm water of the bath. it was strange to think of anything harsher than a yell coming from dacey's lips, but a few have met the bear maiden's wrath on day's some said she channelled that of her own mother. "no bother, lia. the bear's need to test us, to mark us as their own before they can truly build their trust . . . i do not mind such scars, such wounds. it is all for the greater good."

joffrey had been born mere weeks after the birth and death of her own illegitimate child, arys, and so the visits to the woods become mroe frequent - more-so than before her birth - as in some small part of her believes the old gods brought her child back to her in the form of her family sigil. "go ahead, my dear." her tone is wistful as lips curl into a dreamy smile, her mind drifting to the image of her strong bear cub extending his claws and letting a growl rip through him. "i am used to our routine now, lia, you do as you need and i will comply as willingly as a maester to their lord."

"i do wish you would be more careful , my lady ," lia says in a concerned but non-judgemental tone ( words she often spoke to lady dacey , unable to help herself ) — "perhaps you could speak with your smith and have some mail made to wear beneath your dresses?" she doesn't really understand why dacey keeps returning and tending to the creatures that can and have hurt her so much ... but she does understand the gentleness in her heart ; lia is too timid to tend to a bear , but she has done so with birds when at home in red lake. even when they nipped at her fingers , she would smile and love the feathered creature even more. she supposes it's the same feeling lady dacey gets. she gently peels away the reddish-stained cloths from the slashes , depositing them in a wooden bowl by her as she then gently dabs a numbing salve over the ragged claw marks.

she smiles tenderly as lady dacey speaks about the growing bear cub , as if talking about a child of her own ... it's sweet despite the bloodiness that is often accompanying the interactions. "i must begin stitching now , my lady ," she warns as she gently tests the skin to ensure it isn't as tender and the numbing agent has helped. "you will have to rest tomorrow , and after your bath i'll need to wrap bandages around you before you retire to sleep ..." sometimes her night antics involved the mormont lady tossing or turning , and risking pulling open stitching or rubbing away salves. "but i am happy to hear he is growing strong , i hope he doesn't mistake you for a meal though."

[clawsbcared-a]

a flush of embarrassment dusts across pale cheeks as they are cupped, the mormont girl relishing and relaxing into the warmth of myrielle's touch - it was rare these days for dacey to feel warmth from anyone, nevermind in the red keep where she lay captive. if they had their mother growing up, dacey was sure that wylla would be that of mirrored to myrielle, soft and gentle and strong, the sister dacey could understand and aid without confusion.

"i feel as though i must thank you anyway, you have kept my mind clear and occupied whilst the war begins outside these walls." her voice is soft as lips curl into a smile, "you are my sister, myrielle, as close as sisters ones can be without blood shared."

into the woods sentence starters / accepting ! @clawsbcared requests an audience: wait a minute ,  i never thanked you .

upon her countenance, myrielle wears an expression that cannot quite be placed though her lips curl into a small smile. " silly girl, " the blonde begins with a soft tone to her voice, the gentlest of hands coming up to cup her cheeks. she has grown quite fond of dacey, and far more protective than she would ever want to openly admit. there had been a bond formed ; some sort of sisterhood that myrielle cherished as she was an only child and her only family being those who visited court.

" you do not need to thank me. i can assure you that you have done as much for me as i have for you. "

[wintervsuns]

♞

such was the reality when there was fracture between stark and karstark; those, even not present in the room or the situation to begin with, find themselves dragged into it by the startling realisation of great change. brandon did not consider himself any mightier than the other great lords of the north, his roots remaining humble regardless of the power he found himself having. there was much power in being hand of the king, but greater power still when it was a man that was trusted; beyond all reasonable measures and scope.

"probably not, princess." he responded, his harsher accent wrapping around each of his words still: the karhold accent was thicker and rougher sounding than the other parts of the country. that, added to his towering nature and his strength, painted a picture of brandon karstark that was not entirely true. he would not involve himself in matters of dark magic for the sake of the starks...not again. 'you may want to start with the court widsom." the men who replaced maesters in owen stark's north.

even in the feeling of being blindsided and betrayed, cast aside like dust to the wind, he understood entirely that it was not the responsibility of the princess that stood before him. families needed to stand side by side, and despite the ongoing conflict and tension that came in the new chapter of their family's long association, there was not a part of him that thought to somehow take it out on the woman who stood before him.

and yet, that did not mean he would find himself doing more than what was expected: it his the hope of every family that their king finds a trusted companion, one who would sacrifice his own life to save the other, one who sought for the stability of the realm rather than his own personal advancement. and still, brandon did not consider that the princess may be feeling a sense of worry or apprehension regarding the power vacuum that has been left in brandon's absence: he only continued to stand before her.

at the mention of there being something he was holding back, his dark grey gaze flickered upward to meet her own eyes. there was indeed something he was holding back, something of far greater detail; and yet, he chose to keep it firmly to himself rather than disclose any further information about what happened that night. it was unlike him to do, and yet, with the new walls that had been built up and circled him, he knew it was for the best.

he would not disclose what he had found alysanne doing one night, for the last thing he would have, is one thread of responsibility being linked to karstark and karhold alike.

there was no reaction to words of trust, apart from a nod of his head, and his hands remaining clasped together before his own furs. he did not know whether or not she should trust him - it felt as though, for the first time in a long time, he did not know what his purpose was. he did not know if he could even trust himself. "was already at the door, princess." he responded, again, his words almost brushing off the small words of sentiment that no doubt seemed to come from the princess. she was the picture of grace, of the blue rose of the north: it was only expected.

his mind remained on her reluctance to tell owen. gods knew he would be furious when finally informed, for not knowing the entirety of the facts. a part of him wished to open his mouth and remind her again, of the importance of the king knowing the full picture. but he did not. instead, his bowed his head slightly, before raising to his full height. "i'm due to be spendin' the next month at my seat." almost as though to tell her, he no longer wanted to be involved in this conversation. in this subject. not when he was home. home was sacred.

how he longed to see the green lights dance over the sky, and watch the sun do it's dance once again. how it mad everything feel as though nothing at all had changed. "may you get the answers you be seekin." he waited for her to dismiss him.

a stab of guilt twisted at dacey’s gut when she looked at him. he was already a man burdened - you did not have to possess any great level of empathy to take note of that, and here she was, bringing more struggles to his door. she should have left him alone, should have found another source for the answers she sought.

but then, would anybody else be able to grant them? who else, if not brandon karstark? not for the first time, worry sparked in her, an uncertainty of what they would do without him when his presence in the stark’s lives had been so constant for so long, but that was something to turn over later, when she was alone without the distraction of standing in front of him.

they were speaking as plainly as dacey knew how, but there was still so much that wasn’t said - by her, and certainly by brandon. they were avoiding the inevitable conversation. she wasn’t sure if that would ever be addressed between them, if it was even her place to. it was an unscalable wall, and she wasn’t mentally prepared to climb it. she would not be the one to reopen wounds that had not yet begun to heal.

“no.” she agreed. “not in the way my sister was.” but there was a fundamental difference between alysanne and dacey. where the elder of the two invited such things, dacey was seeking to put an end to it. to rid winterfell of everything dark and dangerous, and hope that was enough. she didn’t know much, but she could not rid herself of the suspicion that doing so would not be the simple task he was posing it as.

she took a breath, small, but audible, as though steeling herself to say something she didn’t want to. “but i do want to be rid of all the things she’s left behind. i don’t think that will be so simple as casting them upon the fire.” she looked at him, half a moment away from begging him to tell her that she was wrong.

it wasn’t in dacey’s nature to lead the charge when trouble presented itself. she could scarcely remember the last time she had been involved in matters of the kingdom, save for her quiet, steadfast support. but times were changing, and she was tired. too much had been lost, and the eyes of those she would normally trust to handle things like this were either turned elsewhere or gone forever. and so, it fell to her, the wolf who had never found her howl nor bite.

she heard his warning, considered it, then nodded. “there’s something you’re holding back.” it was a statement of fact, devoid of confrontation, spoken with nothing but concern. “and i understand. i don’t expect…” she trailed off, mind racing to find the right words. “i trust you.” any bad blood between stark and karstark would not find root in dacey stark. perhaps it should have been easier for her to put distance between them, when more of it existed to begin with than with owen or alys or cassana, but that wasn’t so. “and i’m sorry. for bringing this to your door.”

[devotionturns]

Sometimes being alive is all you have.

Cyrene's expression grew into something icy. Stony and hard. "I know." And that was all she would say for now, all she would lay bare of her soul in the frigid air, in front of someone her heart knew but her mind no longer did. She knew. It had been her existence for nearly six years now, even if her children had made it more tolerable. Had taken her from surviving to living for an entirely different purpose.

She was thankful, then, that Dacey readily took to her change of topic. Her head tipped and tilted, a vague gesture to the direction Cyrene had approached her sister from. "Come."

Wylla had been taken to walkway overlooking Winterfell's courtyard by one of Cyrene's ladies, a slight and uncomfortable looking one, bundled in furs to shield against the cold. Cyrene excused her with a quiet word, and the Lady was gone in a flash, likely to seek the warmth that had been leeched from her skin. Cyrene reached for her daughter to pick her up. "Say hello to your auntie, sweetling." As it always did, her voice turned soft and warm, almost uncharacteristically so. She supposed it was, in this place. It was not, with her children.

even as children, the similarities between dacey and cyrene had ended with their last name. the sister dacey remembered had burnt bright and fierce, her voice always ringing loud and certain where dacey's shook. if cyrene had been a flame, dacey was the shadow cast behind it. she had never truly minded that, content to bask in the warmth her sister offered her, but all fire had the ability to scorch, and dacey could not help but shield herself from it now, for fear of being burnt.

and she understood what cyrene meant by her comment, the difference between living and surviving. in truth, dacey could not remember a time when her existence hadn't centred around the latter, when the focus of her days hadn't been about making it through rather than living as best she could, and that was what painted the expression of hurt across her face before she could hide it. was that what cyrene thought of her now? that she were good as dead?

"sometimes being alive is all you have." came the defence, quiet and weak, as though dacey hoped she would not hear it.

a blink, and the hurt in her face gave way, first to confusion at the rapid change of tone, then understanding at what cyrene was trying to do. she nodded her head. "i would like to." there had never been a chance to meet cyrene's children before, but at least with wylla, she could now make up for lost time. "where is she?"

[naelysvelaryon]

¿

naelys' breath hitched as she exited the sept, her mind a swirling tempest of grief and confusion. the familiar sting of tears blurred her vision as she almost collided with the woman standing just outside. she hardly registered the words spoken to her, her mind too engrossed in the most hazy of memories and the overwhelming presence of king’s landing—a city that no longer felt like home. had it ever?

she still remembered the day those mighty doors swung open, and they had entered - the day rhaenyra had married.

hues of amethyst, still hazy with pools that appeared as still as a deceptively deep lake, finally focused on the concerned face before her. there was something oddly comforting about the woman’s sheepish yet empathetic expression. "oh, no, thank you. i'm... i'll be all right," naelys managed to say, her voice fragile, like glass on the verge of shattering. she wiped her eyes, though the action felt futile; for they would stain her cheeks red, and each stain felt like a hiss upon her skin.

the woman’s kindness tugged at something deep within naelys, a part of her that longed for connection amidst the overwhelming solitude of her grief. something akin to her words reminded her of the way her mother would look upon her, would try to check on her and encourage. it reminded her of what she no longer had, what her older sister would never be able to provide. “i appreciate your concern, truly,” she continued, a bit more steady now. “i was just...there were many people in that room."

naelys took a deep breath, trying to compose herself. her gaze lingered on the woman’s face, sensing an understanding there. she felt like a warm beacon, like some sort of candle; she could not help but naturally turn toward her, like a sunflower turns to the rays of the sun. “may i ask... what brings you to the sept? you don’t seem...,” she hesitated, trying to find the right words, “you don’t seem entirely at ease here. have you been standing all these hours?” she sniffed slightly, no doubt appearing pathetic.

she took a step back, giving herself and the woman a bit more space, and so she took to fiddling with the silver lace on her corset. “i’ve just returned to king’s landing and...this city is very different." naelys felt a strange mix of awkwardness and comfort in the presence of this stranger. there was an unspoken bond, a shared sense of displacement that made her feel a little less alone. “and you? are you new to the city as well?” she asked, genuinely curious about the woman who had unknowingly offered her a brief reprieve from her inner turmoil.

perhaps, in this moment of shared vulnerability, they could both find some solace. even if only for a fleeting moment.

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?"

[clawsbcared-a]

"unwell? i suppose some may whisper i am unwell of mind and stability, dorren would always make such comments." though reminded of a harsh past with her elder brother, the young woman does nothing but laugh softly as if it were one of her fondest - swaying gently, the eldest mormont daughter gracefully drops into one of her chairs as the soft smile never leaves her lips.

it was hard to say she was captive in such a state.

"no maester will heal the troubles of my mind, father and mother tried when i was young," there's a distance to her voice as her gaze flutters away absently from abrogail, following a particularly interesting speck of dust towards the stone floor. "perhaps i am not unwell but . . . lonely. yes, that must be it. i am away from my bears, you know?"

"I came to inquire as to how you were doing, Lady Dacey," Abby says, giving a smile to the maid and moved out of her way as she left. She did not quite understand the full story of what had gone on with the Mormonts, for those things she was not privy to. "I've been told you've been unwell? I thought you might like some company, or perhaps you'd like to go for a walk in the gardens? To the Godswood, perhaps?"

She does not take the offered seat yet, looking around the room and making note of things she thought she might need. "Shall I fetch the Maester for you?"

[clawsbcared-a]

pale fingers press against the wooden bannisters to offer support as she leans forward ever-so-slightly, ignoring the creak of old wood in favour of the childhood memory making taking place down in the courtyard. at some point in time that had been herself and dorren at bear island, however that seemed the last time laughter of purity and innocence had been heard along the long house seat of house mormont. it softens her features to see such comradery among family, something that reminds her of warrick and wylla - two peas in a pod, those two.

"i'm not so sure what is fitting . . . husband, lord, branden . . ."her voice trails away as one of the boys smacks the other with the wooden edge on the knuckles and stops the battle to ensure his brother was okay - how sweet. "i've never been married, not courted, nor treated so kindly. i have been naively swept off my feet, however, that caused too many troubles for my father . . ." her thoughts mingle with her words as untold truths follow the line of conversation, her mind mixing with present day and memories of old loves. her brain was a muddled mess recently.

the warmth of his hands draws her attention away from the laughing children, trailing along the length of his arm until she begins to study his features - strong, northern features. no doubt a stark through and through. "you are kind, branden. much kinder than many men i have heard of and seen . . . my own father has shown little respect to women since my mother . . . since she . . ." eyes glaze and she drifts her focus back to the children, now sat against the sword rack pointing to the clouds above and nejoying a rest. a distraction. "i have always loved winterfell, it is a mighty fortress and home and is filled with many stories . . . i am sure i will be happy here."

branden had joined his new wife after watching her for a few moments , it was strange to be married again ... after so many years , but there were many things strange in his life.   the match between house stark and mormont was a good one , and she is a good woman — strong and wild like the north they were both born from.     “if you feel it fitting ,” he smiles a little at her query , the lords murky green eyes also following the movement below them in the snowy-muddy courtyard ; a fond sight but a familiar one to him.  “or simply branden would also suit ... i will leave it up to you — but i know it will take me some time to train myself out of calling you lady dacey.”

after a moment of quiet branden turned his body towards her , both standing proudly swathed in furs against the slice and bitterness of the wind , and gently lays his hand over hers on the railing to catch her attention —     “i plan to be a good husband to you , as i promised the night we were wed ... and i want you to know that i do not wish to make you uncomfortable , or for you to believe you cannot speak your mind ...”  branden allows his hand to slide away then , giving a slight squeeze before he did so.    “winterfell is your home ; you are its lady ... and mine.  i hope you can be happy here , even if you did not expect it ... nor choose it eagerly.”