{ Words By Megan Fernandes, From "Fabric In Tribeca," In Good Boys / Silas Melvin, From "Twenty," Grit

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

cursed with "do you still like me?" "are you mad at me?" "did i do something wrong?" disorder

when the knock came at her door, dacey was still awake. sleep was not easy to come by for her - likely for any stark, given the myriad of tragedies that had faced. her mind was overburdened with worry more often than not, and this was not the first night she had lain awake until the dawn.

the knock startled her. at this time, it would only be a sibling or the bearer of more bad news. her relief that it was the former was soon washed away by the look on cassana's face. the two girls were drastically different, night and day in temperament, but there existed an unspoken bond that only sisters can possess. and so, without words, dacey threw back the covers and invited her into the bed.

as soon as cassana took her place next to dacey, she was covering them both again, her hand pressed gently into the small of her sister's back. the northern chill was unforgiving at the best of times, but worse in the dead of night when the fires were dwindling to ash.

eventually, cassana spoke, and at her words, dacey moved her hand from her back to wrap around her, pulling her as close as she could, as though that was enough to keep her safe. in reality, there was little dacey could do to protect her. she was no warrior, like so many of their blood, but it was not their comfort cassana had sought tonight. it was dacey's, and there was nothing she would not do to try and make her sister sleep a little easier.

"i'm sorry," her voice was tinged with understanding and concern. "would you like to talk about it, or would you prefer a distraction?"

location: at winterfell after the trip back home from the coronation event

@daceystvrk

as the late hours stretched on and on into the night's embrace, cassna moved the dimly lit corridors, her path illuminated by the soft glow of a candle clasped in her hand. her destination clear in her mind as she made her way to her sister's chambers.

a gentle rknock on dacey's door preceded cass's quiet entry into the room, casting her visage in a warm halo of flickering candlelight. whether her sister was still awake or roused from slumber mattered not, for in that first exchange of gazes between sisters, words were not needed. between them lay an unspoken understanding, nurtured since cass's return from the harrowing ordeal with the umbers. by day, she grappled with her turmoil through a veneer of aggression and anger. 

yet as night unfurled into darkness, a different specter haunted her—fear.

in the embrace of darkness, cass's unease found no refuge. unable to conceal her nocturnal trepidation with the same facade of anger, she harbored an unspoken dread. and so, an understanding unfolded between the sisters, a silent communion that transcended words. cass approached dacey's bedside, setting the candle upon the nightstand before extinguishing its flame, enveloping them both in the embrace of darkness. nestling beside her sister, she welcomed the comforting touch of dacey's hand upon her back.

minutes ticked by in silence before cass found the courage to speak, breaking into the silence. "i dreamt i was back there...that brandon didn't arrive in time," she confessed, her words punctuating the nocturnal stillness. it was not a prophetic vision that tormented the youngest stark, but a nightmare that held her in its unrelenting grip throughout the night.

it was rare dacey had conversations like this with others, even with those she held dearest to her. those who she called friends knew of her enjoyment of weaving, of spinning stories from thread, but she had long since suspected beyond the appreciation of her handmade gifts of wall hangings and rugs, they cared little for the technicalities, the actual art of it all. not in the way the two of them were speaking now.

her eyes traced the graceful movement of malee's hands, listening intently to her thoughts. it struck a deeper chord in her than she cared to admit - the idea that peace was so fragile. it doesn't fight to stay. time and time again, that had proven to be true. no matter how they strove for it, how many wars were fought for it, how much blood was spilled to hold it for a moment, it was shattered all to easily.

"you're right." she admitted, carefully. "it doesn't fight to stay. but i think that makes it all the more important to hold on to." but if it did not fight for itself, then who would fight to preserve it, rather than just achieve it? "i think the artist was fighting for us not to forget it's value." her hands folded loosely in front of her, thumb idly rubbing circles against her own palm.

"does it hold a memory for you?" she asked. fields of gold were not a common sight in the north, but perhaps here, in the west, gold could be found above the ground rather than simply in the mines. she liked the idea that this might be so.

her gaze return to malee at her question, smile tugging at her lips. "it is," she confirmed. "I find peace in it. the weaving." there were nights where the creation of something became something close to prayer for dacey, peace to be found in every stitch. she was not a woman who found her words easily. it was in thread that she truly found her voice. "there is something special about seeing something come together that you created, with your own hand. do you weave yourself?"

the lady of the crag stood with a quiet grace, her posture poised yet natural, as though effortlessly balanced between decorum and ease. one hand rested lightly at her side, the other brushing the folds of her gown with deliberate care. “you put it beautifully,” she said, her voice low and melodic, carrying the weight of genuine understanding.

her free hand rose in a fluid motion, fingers tracing the air delicately as if painting the sentiment she sought to express. “peace doesn’t shout. it doesn’t demand. it’s quieter, subtler—much like this.” she turned slightly, her gesture extending toward the harvest scene, the golden threads shimmering faintly in the soft light.

a faint, thoughtful smile touched her lips as she studied the tapestry. “perhaps that’s why we forget it so easily,” she continued, her voice taking on a wistful tone. “it doesn’t fight to stay.” she let her hand drop slowly, her fingers brushing the edge of the display as though grounding herself in the moment.

“it’s strange, isn’t it?” she mused, her voice carrying a note of wistfulness. “how a thread can hold a story. a memory. sometimes i think we’re drawn to these because they don’t change. because they stay when so much else slips away.”

she turned her attention back to dacey, a thoughtful expression settling on her face as a flicker of genuine curiosity warmed her eyes. the conversation had settled into a more relaxed rhythm, the formal edge of her posture softening slightly as she allowed herself to settle into the moment. "you're quite knowledgeable of tapestries, your grace. is it a hobby you've taken up yourself?"

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

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

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

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

who: @daceystvrk

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

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

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

dacey nodded her head. "that's sensible, i think." there was certainly wisdom in keeping the search private. a political struggle was the last thing that the north needed, and to have it publicly known that owen was looking for a queen could certainly cause such a thing. for now, he had the luxury of time. "a weakness?" she wasn't an unintelligent woman, but perhaps a little naive in the ways of the world. she was here, though, and she was trying to understand a little better, trying to be useful in the best way she could.

for so much of her life, she had seen owen as a pillar of strength. perhaps it was unfair of her to have built such an image of him, but it had been there for almost as long as she had known how to draw breath. when she looked at him now, for the first time she could see cracks in that infallible image. she could see that he was tired, and wished that she could tell him to rest.

"i can't disagree with you." there was so much logic in what he was saying. nasir manderly made sense. she did not doubt his capabilities. on paper, he was the best person for the job. but this was not a conversation dacey ever thought she would be having - not just because she had traditionally been reticent about offering her opinion to him about matters of the kingdom, believing she had little wisdom to offer, but because she never could have foreseen a time when the kingdom would need a new hand.

when she glanced up, owen was looking at her, and their eyes met. there was something else behind his, something he was not telling her - but then, there were things she was not telling him, too. she wanted to tell him that he could speak to her of anything, but how could she without feeling like a hypocrite? "are you all right, though?" her brows raised. "i'm not... talking about the north or the hand or the queen. if there's ever anything you want to talk to me about..." she trailed off. she could not finish the sentence.

And his sister was kind, but many and more would have something to say about him looking for a new wife too soon. It would not be the queen of the Vale but perhaps the people. And the smallfolk had grown to love their queen. They loved that the queen didn't bring her seven, whispers he heard himself. They loved a queen that protected them with her own laws, giving their daughters places, places he would have to somehow maintain. It would not go over well.

"Of course, I will not advertise this search. Some will make their plans to put those women before me. And then there will be others who hope to see it as a weakness." Owen shrugged his shoulder, his fingers dragging over his dark hair. He was very tired and sleep abandoned him at every turn. Like the sister with whom he shared a womb. And now she was gone. Again.

"Nasir is the best choice. He understands the need for growth, very old friend." Fostered with the man. Their houses would one day be joined. He looked at her, there was more that was needed and he was uncertain if his sister was ready for everything. There would be marriages, conflicts, and more resistance. Owen didn't want another war. Next time he would cut the head off the snake and burn the body. Cousin branches were far more useful anyway.

it was a role dacey found herself falling into easily, that of the confidant, the person you could share your burdens with and trust that it would not go further. she did not voice further disagreement. believe we will survive, maisie said, and it was all dacey could do not to murmur that she wished she could in response. too much had happened, and too much had been lost, for her to believe herself untouchable, but she would not stop maisie thinking it. sometimes, you needed something to hold on to, and if that was survival, it was not for dacey to squash that from her.

"i think it is a wise choice. to believe in the best." if nothing else, it meant that maisie would not live with the crushing melancholy of grief, anxiety and despair, and dacey was glad that she might be spared that. "it means you have a vision for what the best might be. a vision is where it all starts, isn't it?" owen had vision, and for the most part, dacey trusted in it, even though she did not know of any of the north who did not pay the price for it. she hoped that whatever needed be paid for maisie's, it would not be such a steep sacrifice. "you may speak to me anytime you wish, lady mormont. when we are home." in the latter sentence, the meaning was clear - be careful in this place, where even the walls might have ears.

if her self esteem was higher, dacey might have accepted the compliment with more grace than she did. as it was, it flustered her, turning cheeks pink and causing her to shake her head in a tiny gesture, almost too small to notice. "i suppose so," she said, though she had little else to add to the discussion. to her, allowing others to decide her direction was done because the alternative was choosing for herself, and that was too monumental a thing to do.

"that would be lovely." the forest was where she felt closest to the gods, under the shade of the weirwood. she had visited the weirwood of casterly rock, a twisted, ugly thing that filled a cave, and felt suffocated. she longed once more for the godwood of winterfell, nothing above her but the canopy of leaves and the open sky.

"sometimes i think there is no difference," she admitted. "even men who do bad things often have the noblest of reasons. and men who do good can easily become the villain to another."

Maisie quickly realized what Dacey meant and a swelling weight rose in her body. Some women really couldn't stay alive. The memories of grief for each of them, even those she wasn't close to. It wasn't guilt, but perhaps it was the realization that at some point she could be one of them, a victim who didn't even have a chance to fight "But we'd better believe that we'll survive everything that can happen" Mormont's voice was as thin as a thread "If I think I might die one day for being part of all this..." She sighs and puts her hands together, controlling the urge to snap her fingers "I think I'd be held hostage by that feeling and I won't do what I need to do" She bites her lip and shakes her head, pushing it all away "Sorry for venting, I don't usually have anyone to share these things with" She cracks a small smile, trying to show that everything was fine.

"Yes, strong. You have to be strong to keep who you are kind of in the middle of these things, not just anyone could handle such a load, Princess" This was Maisie's thought, it might go against the natural river of people's minds, but allowing important issues in your life to be chosen by others, with the greater good in mind, was as honorable as fighting against the current "I don't think so, you have to be brave to do that and live your life so well, just look at history, some people have caused wars because they wouldn't accept having their lives decided by others? It's not a good example, but I think you get the idea" She frowns, realizing that he may have messed up between words.

"The forest is like a safe home, isn't it? Where we can be without barriers. Maybe, when you get married, you can be lucky enough to live near the forest and have simple little moments, take your children to the riverside" A smile settled on her face, a dreamy look on her face. Maisie knew it was a dream far removed from the reality they both had. For some, being a Lady and especially a Princess, with countless perks and freedoms, but everything had a price to pay over the years.

"I wish I could tell the difference between the good guys and the bad guys, but when I try, I get nowhere" She bit her lip, a little afraid to express her true thoughts on the matter. Maisie didn't even think she was good. "Yes, they're good for us, I wish Westeros was full of men like them, maybe all these situations wouldn't exist"

the grip on her hand was grounding, reassuring and rare. the comfort of physical touch was a rarity for dacey, who had spent too long walling herself in, isolating herself from the world, making such acts of affection difficult to come by. in the end, it was all for nothing. it hadn't stopped grief reaching her, hadn't stopped her heart feeling heavy. she gripped seffora's hands, sore fingers curling tightly around those of her friend.

"unfair," it was the first time someone had offered her a word to explain what it was that was weighing her down. silently, she nodded her head. "yes. it does." and though she agreed with the sentiment, with the feeling that a great injustice had been done, trying to pinpoint what that injustice was had her furrowing her brow. there was a great heartlessness in wondering if the unfairness came from jon dying, and not alysanne, before she could have made a choice that was now dacey's to clean up the wreckage of. there was a great selfishness in believing that it was their fates that were the unfairness, that the death and vanishing and the fact dacey was forced to endure.

her throat cleared, ridding it of its tightness. dacey would not weep, not when others could see her do so. she did not think any had ever seen her cry, her tears reserved for when she found herself alone. as much as seffora was her friend, and she trusted her, felt more at ease here than she had done in so long, she would not break the habits of a lifetime now. "thank you," and she meant it, her appreciation shown in the slight squeeze of seffora's hand. "but i don't think there is anything that can be done, apart from finding a way to... keep going forward, i suppose." that was something seffora had done, and done well, but whilst there were similarities in their tragedies, seffora had something to focus on. longtable, and it's people. for dacey, there was no such distraction.

a glimmer of a smile crossed her face, and then, dacey let out a laugh, the very idea of smiling after the turn their conversation had taken something that was funny to her in the strangest of ways. "i'm inclined to disagree." a wise woman would have done things very differently to dacey, would know how to navigate the mess she could not seem to unravel. "though it is gratifying to know that i have you fooled." a poor jest, but perhaps that was what was needed to clear the heaviness that had enveloped them

It was instinctive for Seffora to reach out and hold Dacey's hand. There were no words that ease the feelings that came with losing a sibling, that she knew from her own experience. The princess had buried a brother in the Winterfell crypt and knew nothing of the whereabouts of one of her sisters. There really was nothing the Merryweather lady could say in such a situation, and so she only offered comfort and company in the best way she knew how: in a small gesture to show Dacey that she was not alone.

The Lady of Longtable listened in silence as the Northern princess spoke. Her friend was quiet and reserved in nature, so she deeply understood the weight of her opening up to her. Seffora held her hand a bit tighter. She wasn't sure if she should prompt the princess to speak more on the subject. Sometimes it was best to let the other person share what they felt ready to share. “It feels unfair, doesn't it?” she ended up saying, however. It was unfair to lose a loved one. It was unfair to have a sibling stir up trouble and bring forth heartache. She thought about it because it was eerie and heartbreaking how similar their circumstances were to some degree. Both of them lost a sibling who was taken before their time, as happened with Sofina and Jon. Both of them had a sibling bring unnecessary strife and conflicting emotions to them, as happened with Sienna and Alysanne.

“I know there is little I can do in a situation like this,” she began. Seffora had just thought about it mere moments ago, how being there and offering some comfort might be the only thing someone like her had to offer. But still, she felt compelled to continue. “But I don't want it to go unsaid. If there is anything I can do —anything at all, for you and your family, you need only ask, Dacey”. And for her friend, Seffora would give it.

Again, Seffora's hold of the princess' hand tightened ever so slightly. “You have so much wisdom in you, you know?” she mused with a soft smile on her lips. Dacey was without a doubt one of the most insightful and wise people she'd encountered and for that, the lady felt fortunate. You should acknowledge the people who helped you, so long as it does not get in the way of acknowledging your own hard work. It was certainly the sort of mantra to remember for the future.

the positive confirmation was all dacey needed. she closed the door behind her before taking a seat, eyes drifting over the food before him. in the end, she took only bread, never-resting hands now taking to tearing it into thin strips. "thank you," a nod of gratitude followed. "one's cheese and meat consumption is a serious matter. best to explore all possibilities before deciding the right way to do it." for a second, there was a glimpse of her old self, the lighter dacey who was quicker to smile and joke. it was easier to feel a modicom of calm around owen, a little safer.

her stomach lurched unpleasantly at the mention of jon's name. her brother's fate was never far from her mind, and she could not think of his name without the grotesque imagery of what had happened to him.

"i do." dacey had lived her life within the walls of winterfell, and though she had seen little of the word beyond the north, it had its benefits. chief among them being that there was little that happened in the castle that she did not catch wind of. dacey saw everything, and understood more than most would give her credit for. if there was any offence in his query, she did not feel it, nor did she seek it out.

there was no denying that owen had a vision for the north. the ramifications of that were sweeping, but a vision without the proper guidance was doomed to remain just that. jon was that guidance, taking even the most complex of ideas and bringing it to life. it was an influence she was sure was sorely missed.

"i can't say i could be as capable as jon," she began, "but if there's anything you'd like me to look at, i can at least help you talk it through. sometimes a second pair of eyes does the trick."

Without Jon, Owen sat in the solar alone, such a strange feeling. Jon wasn't suppose to die. He was a man of the mind, a man who could look at the drawings of Owen's plans and bring them to life through builders and workmen. The changes happening all around them were because Jon knew how convey his ideas. Owen knew they would continue on with their dreams, continue on with their needs. The North would prosper and they would do more than be the region that survives.

"Come in, sister. You're never disrupting here. You're my sister and Princess of the North. Sit down. There's bread and cheese and hard meats. There's even black beer a gift from our visitors from the wall." He raised the mug and took a drink, sitting it down to the side then he picked up a heel of bread piling cheese, and dried meat on top. "Seen the sailors eating this way. Think I'm doing it wrong." He took a bite.

Owen loved his siblings, calling them all home the first chance he got when words of the Dance starting was reaching them. Some arrived before, during, and after but they came home. Their brother crowned King and them crowned as princes and princesses. The weight of it wouldn't crush them as long as he has his way.

"I would love to have more help...take no offense in my next question. Do you know what Jon did?"

there was something disconcerting about being in the westerlands. that gnawing feeling of unease had been blooming in the pit of dacey's stomach since the starks had left the crownlands, notably absent two sisters. she had thought of little else in the days since, spending her nights obsessing over their fates, wondering if there was more she could have done. she hadn't wanted to come, but she could also not deny that she would feel the same anywhere. it didn't matter if she was in winterfell, or the west.

still, she was on edge, but the sight of one familiar face offered relief. margaret blackwood looked like dacey felt, and she could not blame her for that. house stark was suffering, but so too were her cousins. she had heard the news of merindah's death, and was so intimately familiar with loss herself that she knew exactly how the other woman must be feeling.

the greeting was unusual for margaret, but dacey caught on quickly. she nodded her head, returning it with one equally formal. "lady blackwood," despite the rigidity of her tone, she reached out one hand, fingers briefly making contact with maggie's own and squeezing in a way she hoped communicated all they were not saying aloud. she wished this was a more joyous reunion.

she struggled for a moment to think of the right words to say, but there were none. instead, dacey elected to throw caution to the wind. she could not pretend. "i am very sorry. to hear of your sister. if there is anything i can do..." she trailed off. what could she do? what support could she offer? "how are you holding up? and your brothers?"

setting: the kingdom of the westerlands, when the other kingdoms begin arriving, margaret runs into her cousin ; starter for @daceystvrk

steps that once felt so confident and airy felt entirely too weighty for the lady of raventree, who could not help but be hyper aware of her surroundings in the westerlands. she could not tell if it was this kingdom in particularly that unsettled her, or being, once again, in foreign lands after her sister’s passing. even now it felt too quiet without the younger blackwood chittering in her ear. she recalled praying for a more silent journey to her next destination, but now the silence haunted her.

the great hall was bustling with guests, she recognized some faces from the other kingdoms, but not the names. she catapulted back to their time in king’s landing, but she knew it were important to either impress, or go by unnoticed, for their own soon to be queen was a princess of these very lands.

margaret found some reprieve in one of the many corridors, intriguing artwork lining the walls, and she placed herself in front of one of the paintings in an attempt to look as if she were doing…*something*. hazel hues turned at the sound of footsteps, and she found relief in the sight of her cousin. “d-your grace.” she greeted the other, offering a bow of her head in respect of the woman. she would normally resort to more informal greetings, but maggie felt she could not be too careful, here. “i hope the journey was well, for you.”