STEEL·HEART

“my mother said it with her hair still dripping down her back,” the lady of evenfall hall added after a moment, voice low with a faint note of fondness. “my father kept shouting that she was going to catch a chill. she ignored him, of course.” her eyes drifted toward the water beyond the terrace, remembering the sun on the surface, the shock of cold, her mother’s laugh when she sputtered back to the docks. “maybe that’s what leaps are for. not just for leaving, but for being reminded you’re alive when you hit the water.” she didn’t say it like a lesson, more like a memory she was still deciphering herself.

a small hum left her as anya spoke of the maps, and sora tipped her head thoughtfully. “mm. i’ve always liked the blank spaces most. the ones marked only with little notes, uncharted or unknown waters. people pretend those places are empty, but they’re only waiting for a name.” she glanced at anya then, something sharper and softer both glinting behind her dark eyes. “you’d fill them well. not just with ink, but with meaning.”

she settled comfortably beneath the dappled light, one hand resting loosely around her teacup. “after we eat, we’ll find the maps. and if there’s nothing worth keeping, we’ll make our own instead.” her lips curved, subtle with amusement. “ani would be insufferable if he heard me say that, but perhaps that’s reason enough to do it.” she shrugged lightly, though the suggestion held more humor than intent. to leave the island for long stretches would take far more than idle whim, something far more important kept her anchored here.

The Northerner observed with care as the Tarth lady served the tea with such precision, moving in a way that felt both like a solemn ritual and like a skill polished to perfection. It was quite the contrast to see her friend perform such elegant motions while hearing the lively words about her mother's story. “She sounds like a wonderful woman,” Anya smiled, appreciative of the steadfast and wise nature the lady possessed. Or at least, that was what she could gather from Sora's words. For a moment, Anya wished she could've had the chance to make memories with her mother, or that she'd been able to hear more stories about her from her father. Since she could remember, she understood the great grief her father carried in silence. She understood he'd chosen to carry it that way. And so it was a wall she didn't dare to climb, focusing instead on the parent she did have than on the one she'd lost.

“Do you feel you're less... daring as time passes?” she mused, thinking about what Sora had just said about leaps reminding them they were alive. Anya had felt much more bold, more adventurous when she was younger. She wondered if she thought twice now because of the roles she played on a broader stage, or if it was more so that time and experience had made her a little less bold in some ways.

The raven-haired lady listened to Sora as she spoke about maps, about the blank spaces in them. It was always so interesting to hear what her friend thought about every topic they discussed, to know she viewed things, what deeper meanings she discovered. “Aye, let's do that, please,” she said, eager to see the collection of maps the Tarths had. It was the sort of thing that nurtured her own curiosity, that also proved so helpful in work, if she studied new spaces and new routes. Of course, thinking about charting new courses was a lovely illusion that Anya also participated in. She felt seen and understood by Sora in that regard. Eager to see more, yet still tethered to their land for so many reasons.

he followed her lead without question, stride unhurried, eyes already cataloguing exits out of old habit. “a burglar,” he echoed, amused. “no, but you do walk like someone who’s never planned to be trapped anywhere, though.” it wasn’t a criticism, if anything, it was said with a quiet respect. “it’s a useful skill. half the trouble at gatherings like this comes from forgetting there’s always another way out, and actually taking it.” the crowd thinned as they went, the noise softening into something more manageable, and mathis felt that familiar loosening in his shoulders that came with having space.

“If your tactics are just to ensure pure, blunt honesty, I'm happy to oblige,” she added with a wry tone to her voice and a playful gleam in her eye. In some ways, Anya did not walk around in the same way she did when she was younger, almost as if she were wrapped in barbed wire, contentious and callous to all. But she still carried herself with a Northern attitude, and certainly continued to speak that way. Mathis had been on the receiving end of her sharpness a number of times, so he wasn't at all unfamiliar with the bluntness she hinted at.

The raven-haired lady looked to the side as he spoke, taking in his words. You do walk like someone who’s never planned to be trapped anywhere, though. There was truth to that observation. It was the sort of demeanor that, despite everything, she continued to display and hinted at her past habits in more ways than one. On one hand, it was a sort of readiness that whispered when to flee, something that helped her stay one step ahead of rejection or disdain. “I suppose it's the sort of skill you learn when you don't belong in a room,” she mused, giving a nonchalant shrug. Nowadays, belonging or not, it was still useful to find ways to walk away. Nowadays, it did feel like it was because she wanted to step aside, not that she felt compelled to.

he glanced down at his empty hands then, a faint smirk tugging at his mouth before he lifted his gaze back to hers. “fair point,” he admitted, warmth flickering in his voice. “seems i came unprepared. but i’ll remedy that in a heartbeat, if clever company’s willing to share her escape route.” it was an easy give, letting her dry remark land and turning it over with the same patience he’d offer a friend he’d known all his life. mathis was no stranger to being teased, and it sat well with him, like sunlight on a summer afternoon.

As the Rowan lord mentioned an escape route, the raven-haired woman tilted her chin up. Her eyes narrowed a little as she observed him, and she let out a subtle, thoughtful hum. “You flatter me so I’ll share my plan,” she mused. There was a small pause, and then the corners of her lips tugged up into a restrained smirk. “Clever”. As she tilted her head toward the direction she'd planned to head to, her expression was calm, albeit somewhat conspiratorial. It was almost as if they were sneaking away for something forbidden, even if that wasn't the case at all. He spoke of her knack for escapes, and Anya responded with a low chuckle. “You make it sound like I’m a burglar”. But it was true that she always seemed to have an exit plan in mind. She'd made a habit of it all through her life. It was useful knowing the quiet ways out, walking through paths as unnoticed as possible.

malee drifted through the verdant concord without a fixed destination in mind, her pace unhurried, her eyes drawn more to the people than the exhibits themselves. there was something wondrous, and slightly overwhelming, about it all: minds from every corner of the world gathering to offer glimpses of their craft, their beliefs, their imaginings. it left her with a quiet ache in her chest. so much of the world she'd only brushed the surface of. and still, even in all this variety, nothing tugged at her heart the way the memory of shenlong did.

the scent of sweet smoke and blooming vines hung in the air, wrapping around her as she passed shaded pavilions and clustered crowds. a gentle swell of music led her toward a small stage where a demonstration was beginning, but it wasn’t the performance that held her. at the edge of the audience, a woman stood turned just enough for malee to catch a glint of familiar silk. her breath caught, not dramatically, but in that small way one might blink at a half-remembered dream made real. yitish silk, she knew it as intimately as her own skin.

she moved closer, the expression on her face steady, almost unreadable, save for a softness at the corner of her eyes. restraint had been taught to her early and well, but she didn’t deny herself this small moment of wonder.

The raven-haired lady turned as she heard someone address her directly. She didn't immediately recognize the other one as someone she had spoken to before. Her gaze dropped to her own sleeve, as if reminding herself of what she was wearing. One of the rolls of silk her uncle had given her during his visit had been turned into the black and gold coat she wore. “Thank you, my lady. It's YiTish,” she answered with a polite nod, her fingers absentmindedly brushing at the rim of her sleeve. “It was a gift, brought from Wan”.

“mm. hearth and fire,” sora repeated, pleased with the image. “anyone who says otherwise hasn’t had the sense to sit close enough to thaw their fingers.” she smiled as she said it, chin tilting just slightly, her voice warmer now, touched with fondness. anya wasn’t all edges, no matter how the north liked to shape her. even here, away from snow and storm, she carried the steady heat of someone who had built herself brick by brick, and had never forgotten how to offer warmth back.

at anya's remark of traveling, the lady gave a soft snort. "you may want to talk to akhirah then, he'd have lots to share." there was no bitterness in her voice, but something close, a soft resignation, perhaps. she often found herself standing in place, there on tarth, whilst he set on another adventure. he had a wanderer's heart, to be certain. "you know, that makes me think of something my mother would say. kiyomizuno butaikara tobioriru. it means…take the leap. just do it. there's never the perfect time." that was not sora's way, not really anymore. she looked out to the distance and pointed. "she taught me that jumping off the jetty into the water just over there. quite literal, my mother."

As the Tarth lady imparted ancient YiTish wisdom and spoke of her mother, Anya's expression began to soften. Kiyomizuno butaikara tobioriru. Take the leap. She had always thought of herself as someone who did just that, who was quick to adapt and shift, to take risks in order to survive and keep moving forward. “Take the leap,” she murmured, glancing toward the platform Sora had pointed out. “I like that. And I like knowing your mother said it to you. I can picture the scene there.” There was an affectionate gleam in her eyes, somewhat amused but also touched that Sora had shared that memory with her. She made a mental note to think back on that YiTish phrase the next time she hesitated between taking an uncertain step forward and holding on to what lay behind her.

She followed her friend’s lead as they entered the terrace, kneeling on the cushions with an ease that revealed familiarity with the Tarth's traditions. Having grown up with a certain distance from her own YiTish roots, Anya had only begun to learn in the last few years of her life some practices that originated in the Golden Empire. Many came from her uncle Jinhai when he first visited and from Anya's studying after that. Some more came thanks to her closeness to Sora. “Yes, I’d like that very much,” she agreed when Sora mentioned visiting the family's library.

it hadn’t been long since mathis rowan returned to highgarden from standfast, and yet already, the place had begun to wrap itself around him again, like the ivy curling up the old stone columns, steady and patient. at first, the gardens had felt quieter than he remembered, their greens dulled by the weight he’d carried back with him. but in the weeks since, with time to think and breathe and simply be, things had begun to shift. the green had returned to his eyes, not just around him but within him, and he knew better now than to take that clarity for granted. it was a rare gift in a world that moved too fast and asked too much.

he lingered at the edge of the crowd gathered for one of the more impassioned lectures of the day, something to do with moral obligation and mechanized plows, maybe both. it was hard to tell over the overlapping debates and half-snide responses dressed in civility. mathis had always found these kinds of talks a bit exhausting when they were too public. there was something almost indecent, he thought, about sharing your deepest ideas with a hundred strangers at once. he preferred the quieter corners, where talk could turn honest and names and publicity didn’t matter so much.

At his question, Anya let out a soft scoff. The raven-haired lady shook her head. She'd stopped paying attention gods knew how long ago, and had clearly not been enjoying the lecture. “Not in the slightest,” she replied, her voice a hushed sound so she wouldn't entirely disturb the rest of the audience. “You have a knack for finding me when I’m ready to walk away,” the Northerner said, a gleam of amusement present in her near-black eyes. Years ago, their paths intersected often and somehow the Rowan lord would find her nursing a drink alone at some small tavern or eating broth and bread at the corner of an inn, only to strike up conversation as if no time had passed at all between one encounter and the next. He always found her when she was done with the noise and the people around her, and frankly, she almost hoped she would run into the wandering Rowan when her work took her from one town to the next.

he hadn’t thought she’d come, not herself. a rider, a letter, a steward, perhaps. but not anya. not the sharp-eyed girl who’d once sat beside him by karhold’s hearth, laughing into her hand at some joke she refused to repeat. and certainly not like this—like the cold wind had shaped her into something harder than before, sleeker too, but colder. and yet, still she was beautiful in the way only something familiar could be. and it made him feel... tired. ashamed, even, to have her see him like this.

thinner, duller. like something that had been left in the snow too long and now refused to thaw.

he let her words settle as he stared down at his cup, the warmth long gone. the fire cracked in the distance and the sound of it filled the silence he didn’t rush to break. eventually, he said, his voice low and worn, "you don’t need t’ apologise for comin’ woman. truth be told, i’m... i’m glad it’s you." he didn’t meet her eyes at first. instead he rubbed at his jaw, feeling the rough patch of stubble there and wishing he’d bothered to clean himself up. but what for? he hadn’t lifted a comb to his hair in days. had barely spoken to anyone aside from the cook, and even then it was just to grunt for more bread.

"i suppose i’ve not been... much of a lord lately," he muttered with a tired, mirthless huff. "don’t know what’s come over me. the days’ve been passin’ and i can’t seem to find myself in any of ‘em. can’t sleep. or rather, i sleep too much. and none of it feels real when i wake." he gestured vaguely at the hall around them, its quiet corners and looming stone walls. "this place is like a tomb when there’s no one to fill it. and i’ve not had much mind to do any fillin’." he looked at her then, properly, and felt something tighten in his chest. her eyes hadn’t changed. still that same burning dark, the same unflinching shape of someone who’d taught herself long ago that the world wouldn’t give her anything unless she took it first.

he admired her for that. he always had. and yet he hated the thought of her seeing him now—like this. a lord in name only, wearing sleep and disinterest like armour.

"you always knew how to say things plain," he murmured, a faint smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth though it never reached his eyes. "always knew how to look right through me, too." his hand curled around the cup again, but he didn’t drink this time. instead, he let it sit in his grip, grounding him. "halder don’t see what you are. he sees what he wants to see—some bastard girl playin’ merchant, forgettin’ her place. but that’s his weakness, not yours. the cunt's spent his whole life scared of the world changin’ without him."

Anya watched him closely as he spoke, picking up every small detail not only of what he said but how he said it. I was unlike him to speak as if every word was heavy, as if every syllable had to wade through thick fog to get to her. It was a peculiar thing, how he spoke of his lordship of late. He spoke as if it were a garment that didn't quite fit anymore, or he didn't fully fit it in turn. But it wasn't something he could slip out and hang on the hall, even if for a time. Maybe for someone born in it it felt that way, but that wasn't something the former blacksmith could truly understand. To her, noble titles had never been about feeling like a lord or lady. Having seen it from the outside most of her life, titles like that never hinged on behavior or personality, they were a given. “You are the Lord of Karhold whether you feel it or not, Bran,” she stated plainly. Burden or blessing, it was his to bear.

“Are you ill?” Her voice softened slightly. She didn’t think it was sickness, though. Not the sort that could be cured by a maester or made better by a warm broth. No, something else had taken root in him. A man could only lose so much, have pieces of his heart taken away bit by bit, before the shape of him changed entirely. Brandon had to put his younger sister in a crypt, had to experience the loss of his wife twice, and had seen the ancient bonds of brotherhood with House Stark deteriorate. No one could blame the Sun of Winter for gleaming with less light these days. Frankly, Anya didn’t hope for Brandon to be who he once was. She just wanted him to be well. She had always wanted him to be well. And wondered if there was anything she could do to help him be so, though she hadn't quite found the words to express that.

“they’ll never fully tame you,” she said, glancing sideways with a small, knowing smirk. “no court, no title, no embroidery hoop can do that.” her tone was light, teasing, but there was something proud in it, too—like she cherished that spark in anya, that refusal to be reshaped. “and if they try again, send word. i’ll come north with a sword and a lecture.”

the compliment caught her off guard, though, and for a moment, sora looked down at her hands, smoothing the fabric of her sleeve like she needed something to do. “i think… i’m at peace,” sora admitted after a beat, her voice softer. “not always. not perfectly. but here, with the people i trust, i feel like i can breathe. and maybe that’s enough for now.”

she reached over and hooked her arm loosely through anya’s, as the entered the stony grounds of the terrace. “besides, you bring half the sunshine with you when you visit. it’s only fair i reflect a little of it.”

the lady of evenfall hall shot her friend a sideways smile, light dancing in her eyes. “you’ve been everywhere lately,” she said with a playful lilt, her tone lifting a little as she glanced sidelong. “i swear, one day i’ll find out you’ve sailed past the edge of the map and charmed some pirate lord into giving you his ship.” she grinned, tucking a windswept strand of hair behind her ear. “though i’m selfishly glad you anchored here, even if just for a little while.”

as they reached the path that wound up toward the keep, sora nodded toward the hillside. “i had rooms readied for you, not too far from mine, so you can sneak in and scold me when i forget to sleep.” her voice was light, teasing. “and i didn’t plan a grand feast or anything…some grilled seabass and honey cakes. no fanfare. just you and me catching up.”

She glanced toward Sora, meeting her friend's gaze with a kind of quiet sincerity, the unspoken understanding that often passed between them. “But it means more than I can say to know you’d still travel North for me, with both a sword and lecture”. Sora’s steadiness and warm friendship were some of the greatest gifts the raven-haired woman had ever been given. Even more so because she understood Anya as more than a bastard, a blacksmith, a lady, or as someone who was still figuring out the in-between spaces she inhabited.

When Sora spoke of feeling at peace, Anya gave a slow nod, thoughtful. “I understand the wish for peace more and more. I do crave it for myself,” she said. “Share your secrets, please,” the Northern lady added with a soft chuckle. Perhaps she's always been too restless to grasp for peace, built by a world that so often needed swords and being the one to craft them. These days, she thought more and more about simply wishing for people around her to be safe. Anya's gaze remained thoughtful, but her eyes did soften a little at her friend's tender remark about sunshine. “You’re the first to call me that. Most would say I'm more winter than warmth, I'm sure”. Snow by name and by everything else.

“As much as I do feel comforted by being in Winter Town and Winterfell, I have always enjoyed going to other places,” she easily admitted. Once, it had been out of sheer necessity, but nowadays she could afford herself the luxury of making a stop like this one, someplace she wished to be. The warm smile that crossed her lips was an unspoken affirmation that she was pleased to have come to Tarth, even more so, to be able to stay for a bit to see her friend. “I don't know if I could charm a pirate, or anyone else, but I do wish to see more of the map”. Westeros was all she knew, after all. “I’ve yet to cross the Narrow Sea. Yi Ti has been on my mind for years. I wish to see my father again, see the land our family came from. But always stops me every time. A duty. A storm. A tie I can’t cut”.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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