{Words By Anaïs Nin, From The Diary Of Anais Nin, Vol. 4 (1944-1947) / Cynthia Cruz }

dacey's thumb brushed faintly over the back of naelys' hands, tracing soft circles in a touch light as fallen leaves. it was the sort of calm she could not recall feeling in such a long time that settled now, the feeling that it was safe to breathe, and to be, was one that was entirely unfamiliar to her, something she could not remember ever carrying in her heart, but it was here now, as comforting as slipping into your own bed, warm and inviting, at the end of a trying day. there was the feeling that the two of them could remain here forever, undisturbed by time or pressure, and it would all be all right.

"i know what you mean," she agreed after a pause, her voice hushed as though fearing to disturb the peace, for she had long since learned such things were fragile. "new and familiar all at once." she had thought she knew what it was to know naelys, had built such a picture of her in her mind, constructed from words upon a page, but it paled in comparison to the real woman who had wrote them. it was different, but not worse - different in a way that was a welcome surprise.

"i think," she began, gaze drifting upwards to the boughs of the weirwood. "i have always found it easier to keep people at a distance. and our letters... that was a sort of distance, even as i told you all that was in my heart. i am not used to being known in person." she could not look at naelys as she spoke, but the entire time she did, the fingers that laced themselves with hers did not waver, holding on in a way that was steadfast. "i don't think i mind it," she said, after a pause. "not with you."

naelys' next words brought her eyes down from the trees, flicking to naelys' violet hues as though looking for the jest in her words. you have such a sweet face. "oh." her lips parted in a breath of surprise, and it was not that she was uncomfortable with the compliment, but that she could not recall anybody ever saying such things to her before. her cheeks had grown warm, and the hand that was not nestled in naelys' was pressed against dacey's own face, an attempt to conceal the flush that bloomed there even as a smile grew on her lips. "i - well, thank you." she let out a self-deprecating laugh. there was something disarming in the simplicity of the moment. it was not flattery for flattery's sake. it just was.

her gaze flickered for a breath too long, tracing the the subtle furrow in naelys' brow. how many letters had been exchanged between them now? too many to count, enough to line the distance between winterfell and king's landing and back again with the confidences they had swapped between them that had never been shared with another. it was enough to make something stir within her, a softness and certainty at once. "i am honoured to see you, naelys." she spoke the words with an utter sincerity. "and even when you don't see yourself what a gift that is to me, i see you still."

the smile was back upon her face, gentle and warm. "i don't doubt that," she said, and she didn't. "with our letters, we found each other even when we knew nothing more than the other's name. the gods willed this, mine and yours. they wanted us to find one another in this place. to stand here together." it was not often dacey spoke of her faith. in the religion of the old gods, prayers were done in silence. she held that close to her heart, a private, personal thing that was hers alone, but she did not mind sharing it with naelys now.

for a moment, she said nothing. an oath in the godswood was not a vow to be broken, not to a woman of the north, and naelys spoke hers with such conviction that it were obvious that she knew it, intent in every syllable. words carried power, but in that moment, dacey felt it immediately, as though the gods themselves had deigned to visit and bind them together in a way that could never be severed. she nodded, hand tightening around naelys' just a little.

"and i will never be lost to you," she murmured in return. "as the gods are my witness." her eyes searched naelys' face, memorising the way she looked under the canopy of the trees and dappled sunlight. it was almost cruel, that after this, they would go back to their letters, parted once more and left with only words, but it made the the importance of their promise matter all the more. "i swear it now, and the godswood will remember."

it was not until she felt the wetness on her cheeks that dacey realised she had began to shed tears. she was not a woman easily provoked to crying, had never once allowed herself to weep before another person, but she did here. "look at me," she let out a sigh that was half a laugh, before turning away, as though to hide her face from naelys, wiping at her face with her sleeve. "happy tears." she explained. "i'm just happy."

¿

the moment the princess of house stark had asked for naelys velaryon's hand, a quiet jingle of amethyst bracelets filled the air as her hand moved to slip into that of the princess. the agreement was wordless, said without a moment of hesitation; and yet, she did not even speak on it. the godswood stretched around them, vast and ancient, its leaves a sea of red and gold, rustling softly with a breeze that carried the faintest trace of the city beyond. “it is strange, isn’t it?” naelys began, her voice quiet, nearly swallowed by the rustle of leaves.

“to know someone so well... and yet not at all.” naelys velaryon stood beside dacey stark, her hand still lingering where it had been given. she had not expected the request—certainly not from a woman so cautious, so deliberate in the weight she added to the world.

but dacey’s grasp, firm yet tentative, felt grounding, like an anchor pulling her to the present. a small part of naelys could not help but wonder as to how lucky the stark sisters were to have dacey as their sister; how much she wished she could simply put her hand within her sisters as though they were merely babes in a cradle once again. "you have such a sweet face." she gave little explanation as to what she meant by her comment; only that in their discussion, naelys had always envisioned dacey to look older, more tired. and yet, there was a beauty of life that continued to bloom in her; as though her good nature reflected on her face.

naelys turned her vivid purple eyes to dacey, a slight furrow in her brow betraying her unease. it wasn’t the godswood, or the stillness, or even the woman beside her that unsettled her—it was the realness of it all. years of ink-stained words, thoughts bared and carried across leagues, had led to this moment. for so long, dacey had existed only in letters: a voice distant and safe, her confidant in a world that felt too often fraught with expectation. and now, here she was. solid. breathing.

she looked down, her hair slipping into her eyes. she made no move to brush it back this time, letting it obscure the flush she felt creeping along her cheeks. she paused, the stillness of the godswood settling in her bones. her hand in dacey’s was warm, and that small tether steadied her. “but i think you do know me. or—” she hesitated, looking up at dacey, her gaze softening—“at least, you see me in a way i’m not sure anyone else has. you always have. even when i did not have the courage to see myself.” after all, it had been dacey who had assured her that the north would be a welcome home for her, back when there were discussions of her joining house stark.

and for a moment, whilst looking at dacey's face, she had the quiet realisation she would have been happy. that all would have been okay; even if she did need to handle a great amount of change. her lips curved into the faintest smile, the weight of her own words surprising her. “and i would have found you, no matter where you prayed. no sept or godswood could have kept me from you had i heard you were here, dacey stark.” the smile lingered, but her gaze drifted to the towering trees above them, their branches reaching toward the heavens. “you’ve been my sanctuary,” she said softly, her voice carrying only to dacey’s ears. “and if your gods brought you to me, then perhaps they’ve shown me mercy too.”

she squeezed dacey’s hand, a gesture of quiet solidarity, before falling silent once more. the godswood seemed to echo their unspoken understanding, the whispers of its leaves carrying their truths to places only they could hear. naelys velaryon did not like change; it were as though she kept peeking back at dacey through the curtained thick waves of her hair as though to verify she were here. in the flesh, and they would be able to spend some time together - until they did not. until dacey needed to return to the north. the idea caused a quiet pang to ring out within naelys, who already found herself detesting the image that formed in her head. of watching dacey get into her carriage, and not knowing when they would see one another again.

she made a mental note to ask a maester how many leagues there were between driftmark and winterfell.

"i swear upon the old gods and the new, that you will never lose me." her words were solemn, taken in style of an oath; under the shades of the godstree, whilst her hand remained linked with daceys. the words seemed to tumble naturally from her mouth; how often had she seen oaths be made. how often had she watched the consequences as oaths were broken. not this one. "not now."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"discipline can be learned," there was a softness to her gaze when she spoke of her sister, entwined with something a little stronger, protectiveness present, too. "spirit and talent are half the battle, and cassana has both in abundance." it was something she had always admired about her littlest sister, her strength and her courage something dacey felt she herself lacked.

she did not know her other cousin too well, lucius' own younger sibling. whenever they had encountered one another, talk had been awkward, the two of them never finding anything to connect with. she was not sure why it was different with lucius, but it was. "he'll be all right though, won't he?" despite her lack of a connection with ben, a hint of worry found its way on to her face. "i've heard he's a fair fighter. he'll be able to hold his own?" it was a question she phrased to lucius, as though she were waiting for him to confirm.

her gaze shifted the the opposite river bank. it was indeed a calmer place, and in that moment, dacey knew what he was doing, in directing her attention to it and making it sound as though it was to his benefit. gratitude flooded her expression, and she bobbed her head in a nod, a little too quickly. she was eager to get a little space, away from the feeling of everything pressing in on her at once.

"as long as you don't mind me taking you away from the opportunity to bask in your victory," her smile was almost sheepish. "i think i would appreciate a walk. please, lead the way?"

Lucius let out a low chuckle at Dacey's comment about her sister. “Aye, your sister is talented. She lacks discipline, though,” he pointed out, having made that conclusion after seeing his other Stark cousin's skill with the bow. Though his comment could have sounded stern, there was a faint trace of something warmer in his eyes. There was a quiet pride that his Northern kin could hold their own in a skill he valued so deeply.

At the mention of his brother, Lucius’s gaze drifted for a moment to the grounds where the melee had yet to begin. “No doubt Ben will be bleeding and grinning by the end of it, as if that counts as victory,” he said in a light tease of his little brother. Bloody Ben was formidable, of course, and perhaps Dacey wasn't wrong in thinking the brothers of House Blackwood could earn more than one victory together. “If it happens, it might annoy a Bracken or two, which is always worth toasting about”.

Her confession about the crowds made him nod. Lucius didn't often spill truths about himself, but he understood what it was to feel at odds with such large gatherings. They had different reasons for it, of course. “It can be exhausting,” he agreed, taking note of the subtle discomfort in his cousin's body language. Dacey was very different to Agnes in terms of personality, but the bastard felt a similar drive to protect his kin as he did with his sister.

“Have you ever taken a walk along the other side of the Red Fork?” he asked, tilting his head in the direction he meant. There was a thin wooden bridge that connected the area they were in and the calmer plains on the opposite bank of the river. “I could use a walk,” he offered, giving Dacey the opening to step away from the loud merriment of the festival for some time.

dacey stark - a future au

quick links

style

home decor

career

vibes

school years

whilst the stark family have a long history, dacey was always quietly determined to make her own way in life. she did not have many friends in school, keeping her head down and getting on with her studies.

a straight a student, she did not involve herself in clubs or extra curricular activities, but spent a lot of free time volunteering for charities.

despite having a very small social circle, she dated hugo vance for a while in school, parting in college as they grew apart.

adult life

dacey went to medical school, and ended up becoming a doctor - specifically, a paediatrician who works in a children's hospital on a ward for long-term patients.

she still keeps to herself, living in a country cottage with her golden retriever, lily.

before starting her job at the hospital, she spent some time travelling to provide medical care for underprivileged children. it was on her travels she met safeerah jordayne, and they dated for six months before parting ways on good terms.

currently, dacey is in a relationship with ulises tarth, after being introduced by her brother, adam.

Truth serum: Would you say that you are pleased with your life as it currently is?

"no." the answer was quick, decisive. dacey was an empathetic person, she could recognise that there were others in a far worse position than she was. even that was a source of guilt, that she should feel such sadness when there were others that were dealing with just as much and worse, but still, she could not say her life was something she was pleased with, or proud of. "i miss my brother, and my sisters. i worry for the siblings left to me. i regret that i have spent so many years isolated from so much of the world. no. i am not pleased."

whilst there was undoubtedly perks to being a king, it was also a thankless job. the weight of the kingdom rested on his shoulders, and it was that of which he spoke now. a new queen, rather than a wife. a new hand, rather than the loss of a friend so treasured. to dacey, it was telling, and worrying, all in one. the north needed owen the king, but she cared for owen the man.

"i understand there's more than... well, you to think about, but i don't think anybody would blame you for taking your time to start your search for a queen." perhaps they would. dacey certainly wouldn't think less of him, but then, she held in heart more compassion than she knew what to do with. "at least until the right woman makes herself known." it might be easier said than done, but too much change at once could be dangerous, and the starks household had shifted so much, still knitting around the gaps left by those they'd lost.

the mention of alys had her shifting uncomfortably, both feet finding the ground once more as she released her grip on her legs. she knew more than she should, but owen's words only reinforced her decision to keep that to herself, to relieve him of at least one burden. and so, she said nothing, pointedly avoiding the conversation of the oldest stark sister. neither did she address brandon - for she could not find it in her to condemn him, even if he did hate owen.

"a manderly could be a good idea." her gaze fell contemplatively on the fire. "there will doubtless be people vying for that position. not necessarily for the right reasons. not for the north." she liked to believe the best in people, but it would be foolish to deny that there were people who were out for themselves, grasping for power where they could. "if you think the manderlys share in your ambitions for the kingdom, and can support you when you are right and speak plain when they think you're wrong, then you could do worse than making one of them your hand."

When his wife died he receive the news his sister his was missing as well. Owen didn't take the time to process either. They sat on shelves in his mind and he would approach them later. When life allowed him to dust off the annals of his memory and feel it all. Brandon. Alys. Rosa. Only one remained and he imagined he would never see the living one again.

Much of it was his own fault. He should have put people in different positions, he should have listened to people when they said it was time for him to slow down. Owen Stark didn't like to listen to others. At the beginning of the conflict with the Umbers he say the cobbled road, where it stopped and how much they had to do, how far they had to go. He saw the improvements of Moat Cailin and the increased taxes from new villages and trade proved him right. Again. Northmen would be more than survivors.

In a generation they would speak about their southron wolf and all he sacrificed for the Kingdom that was thrust upon him after the mess of the dancing Dragons. Out of the flames came a kingdom came a kingdom reborn. His kingdom.

"I don't look forward to looking for a new queen." Owen murmured as he raised the hand carved mug of Honeywine Whisky from the Reach. A gift from their High Commander for the rate he provided in lumber for his building in the newly named golden sea. Another venture possible because of his drive.

"Alys could be dead. Brandon hates me as well. I need a new Hand. Perhaps a Manderly. Though, I've rather bad news for him. They will thank me in the long run."

it was a rare thing for dacey to speak without feeling like she had said too much. it was the by product of viewing her thoughts as a burden that they were rarely vocalised, especially not in the presence of strangers. but rather than scoff at them, malee offered her own gentle reassurance. it wasn't until she did that dacey realised she had not been expecting it, but she was grateful for it all the same.

it meant something, to be understood, even if only about something as simple as tapestries handing upon a wall.

her fingers brushed absently over the fabric of her sleeve, the feel of the soft fabric grounding her a little, stopping her thoughts from spiralling entirely into something else. "you aren't rambling," she said, her smile shy. "if anything, i was worried i was. it is rare to speak to someone about these things, for me." she did not add that it was rare for her to speak to anybody about much beyond formalities and polite exchanges. it did not seem necessary to share that much.

"should you ever find yourself in winterfell, i would love to show you the tapestries." those from the north were not the same, thicker, less vibrant, but made to endure. in a way, it was an apt reflection of the people. for a brief moment, she felt strangely protective of it, then, as though it would not measure up in the eyes of one used to the court of the west.

malee stood still, her gaze following the delicate threads of the tapestry as though each one had its own story to tell. she let dacey’s words settle, a quiet smile touching her lips at the thought of how weaving could both be an art and a refuge. "no, not at all," she said gently, shaking her head. "i understand completely. it's the same for me. the process, the rhythm—each thread, each choice, it holds meaning, doesn’t it?" her eyes softened, glancing at the patterns before them. "i think that’s why i’ve come to love it. it’s not just about creating something beautiful; it’s about preserving something deeper, something that feels worth holding onto."

she moved a little closer to dacey, her voice warming as she spoke. "and you’re right about yi ti," malee agreed, her fingers unconsciously tracing a pattern in the air, mirroring the delicate weaving of her thoughts. "there’s something timeless in their work. you can feel the history, the legends they’re passing down with every stitch. it’s more than fabric—it's like they’ve captured the essence of an entire culture, their lives woven into the cloth."

her eyes softened with appreciation. "i can see how it must have become a way to anchor you, how it fills the hours when there was little else to hold onto. for me, that is how the true passion began. my first tapestry, one that i felt compelled to create not out of obligation, but because it struck me, was a distraction from a world that felt too big, too loud." her shoulders fell just slightly, as if relaxing from some invisible weight. "but i think, like you, i started to understand that it’s more than just the end result." malee smiled, a hint of vulnerability in her expression. "it’s the journey, isn’t it? the peace that comes with knowing every single thread matters."

she paused, then gave a small, knowing laugh. "i hope i’m not rambling on too much. i do tend to get caught up in the meaning of it all." looking back to dacey, she offered a quiet smile. "but thank you for listening. it’s rare to find someone who truly understands what weaving can be, and should i ever find myself in winterfell again, i would love to see the tapestries you have there."

from almost the moment she was born, dacey had been a little frailer than most. as a child, she had been struck will all sort of maladies that had kept her close to home, and even now she was a woman grown, the caution that had kept her tethered to winterfell was so ingrained in her that she simply knew little else. the north was all she knew, but even then, she knew very little of it. that was simply the way of things, a fact of her life she did not challenge or question.

there were perks to the way she lived. whilst she was a constant in winterfell, she had seen her siblings come and go, blossoming into adults all the while. sometimes, those absences were shorter, but three of their number had ridden south, and not returned for so many years that it was hard to recognise the children they once were in the people they had become. dacey could not imagine being so far from your home, your family, but there was a special ache in her heart when she thought about saoirse, for she had been completely alone. dacey had tried to maintain a bond with letters and gifts over the years, and had been overjoyed upon her return, but that did not mean they understood each other. they had missed so much of each other's lives, and that kind of distance would never be easy to overcome.

"you found me easily enough," dacey pointed out, half-smile crossing her lips. "seems i'm doing a poor job of hiding, being in the first place anybody would think to look for me." there was a sort of self-deprecation to her tone, an invitation for saoirse to laugh at her, too. "i'm not hiding, sweetling. i'm just more accustomed to my own company than i have a right to be, i think. i'm glad you're here, though." she should have sought her sooner, but as with so many things, dacey was unsure. after so much time away, it was impossible to say if saoirse would welcome the company of a sister.

who: @daceystvrk where: in winterfell, saoirse goes to visit her sister in her room since she has not seen her all morning.

the presence of the north was always dreary to many commonfolk, but not for the princess. she found that the snowy trails while frozen, very warm, and being back home was something the flame-haired woman longed for the whole duration of her stay in the south. too far away from her siblings, from what she was used to; it was a difficult change during those times to wear her hair as a southern woman, her clothing inappropriate for the warmth. saoirse always felt something missing until she arrived into those wintry gates some fortnights ago and suddenly, the clarity of being back in a space where everything made sense. a comfort.

one of many familiar faces that saoirse was drawn to see was that of her sister, dacey. despite their age difference, the princess felt protective over her as an older sister would; her sister was delicate, to say the least, and saoirse hoped at least that part stayed the same. with years between them, it was difficult to say she knew her siblings' individuality like she used to which meant getting to know them almost all over again. saoirse dreaded that but she understood it must be done; much had changed between herself and who she was now, once a kind soul now hardened and unemotional.

a soft rap of a knock echoed in the halls of winterfell as saoirse announced her presence to dacey before entering into her room. saoirse's usual blue hues made of steel softened at the sight of her sister and a tender, loving gaze settled across her features. something she was unfamiliar to these days, but her siblings managed to pull her out of that state. "dacey," saoirse spoke gently as she entered, "why are you hiding in your room?"

closed starter for @nasirofmanderlys

dacey was not a bold person. she had little of her siblings courage. when she entered a room, it was with her head lowered, determined not to draw attention to herself. she did not covet the feeling of eyes on her, but the last few months, though fraught with the stress of loss, had had the unintended side effect of pushing her from her comfort zone. more visible and more involved than she had perhaps ever been, she held her head a little higher these days, even if only to give the impression that she actually knew what she was doing.

however, if there was anybody guaranteed to send her scuttling from the room, gazed fixed firmly on her own feet, it was nasir manderly. it wouldn't be accurate to say dacey did not like nasir - it was just that she was very, very aware that he held little regard for her. being unnoticed wasn't something that bothered dacey much. she actually preferred that, in many ways. but nasir manderley's words, so long ago, had given her the distinct impression that he plain disliked her, and that, she found harder to deal with.

and so, she responded in the only way she knew how - by completely avoiding him. if she entered a room and saw him there, she shot to the other side of it, or made her excuses and left. it wasn't a snub, on her part - simply a desire not to force her company where it. a kindness.

and so, when she noticed nasir in this room, she was quick to say her goodbyes and take her leave. that was, until she heard someone calling her name. she turned to look for who had called out to her, but failed to spot them. what she did see was nasir, standing close enough to her that she couldn't avoid him without being rude, and looking her dead in the eye.

"lord manderly," she managed to keep her voice steady. that was about all she managed, though. her mouth opened, then closed again, her brain completely devoid of all logical thought. how long had it been since she'd last spoken to him? she had to say something. "have you been to the westerlands before?" it was good enough.