winter rose

Her following words caught his attention. They puzzled him, really. Nothing was ever even. Not between bastards and trueborn children. Not between men and women. Not between royals or those lower on the hierarchy. Lucius had begun to notice something subtle weighing down Dacey. She did not look haunted or wounded, but there was something he couldn't quite name that made her seem contained to the point of a quiet suffocation. The greatest weight is not always the most obvious one. Sharp blue eyes settled on her, trying to understand her. He didn't. But he was interested in doing so. “What is burdening you?” he asked plainly, his tone somewhere between sharp and kind. There was no judgment in his words, just his own unpolished way of offering to the princess to listen if she wished to speak. “If you wish to share it, I swear it by the old gods, I will not repeat a word I hear,” he added, assuring her of a sworn silence after this conversation.

The Riverlander accepted her thanks with a quick, solemn nod. If she ever wished to take him up on the offer, it was there. “Speak whenever you feel like it, or write,” he added, for those times the distance between the North and the Riverlands stood in between. “Fret not, you're not dull at all. You're a sincere person,” he added, the subtext of how rare that quality was hanging in the air. “I've seen dozens of nights like this one. Nothing ever surprises me,” the bastard added, not sounding too terribly thrilled about what the Litha festival had to offer. He'd go and have a drink, he'd eat the same traditional dishes, he'd write a note and let it burn as it drifted atop a sunwheel through the river, and he'd see some improvised acting and dances. The same things every year. With a quick glance and a nod, he quietly communicated to his cousin that she wasn't making him miss out on much.

she nodded her head. "i'd like to write to you." it did not feel like an imposition, when his words had been as good as an invitation to do so. her gaze lifted from the ground, head turning back towards the festival crowd. "the night is still young, lucius. there might be surprises in store for you yet." where dacey had been overwhelmed, lucius seemed almost bored by all he had participated in so far. that was not something she could relate to - if she attended a hundred nights like this, she thought she might still linger on what she could not predict, rather than what she would come to expect.

“a hunter’s steps are always light, aye?” she said at last, stepping forward into clearer view, her tone edged with jest but not sharp enough to wound. the grin faltered just slightly as uncertainty brushed across her features, never quite sure how her barbs would land where dacey was concerned. pale eyes moved between her sister and the direwolf, assessing as she always did. “i think the whole of winterfell could fall and you would still be brushing her coat smooth.” reluctant amusement threaded through her voice. she admired that gentleness, though she would rather choke on iron than confess it aloud. dacey wore tenderness as though it were armor, and astrid had never quite decided whether she envied it or resented how effortlessly it fit.

“the godswood,” she echoed, thoughtful, gaze shifting toward the open stable doors where cold air slipped in and stirred the straw at their feet. the invitation caught her off guard. she and dacey had walked beneath those ancient trees often as girls, though memory colored those days unevenly, dacey serene and certain, astrid restless, forever reaching for a composure that never seemed meant for her. she brushed a stray piece of hay from her sleeve, granting herself a heartbeat to smooth whatever expression threatened to betray too much.

her sister's next words drew dacey's gaze down to the brush in her hands, and she set it to the side with a small laugh, if only to let astrid know that laughter was okay, that she would not break due to a joke aimed at her expense. "possibly. but only because i would not know what else to do." she pushed open the door to the stall and stepped out, one hand closing around the fabric of her skirt and giving it a slight shake to dislodge any stray stalks of straw that clung to it. rosey followed at her heels, docile as a trained dog, though she looked to skadi with interest.

"maybe she is a better listener than you," the words might have sounded sharp, but for the gentleness with which they were spoken, and hesitant way dacey's eyes found astrid, as though imploring her not to take offence to it. "but i would like the chance to find that out for myself rather than assume it." she did not know, not truly, whether astrid had grown to be the type of person who listened or not. but now, they had time, at least, to rectify such things. "and if you are not, i would rather you spoke, anyway. listening has always been one of my stronger skills."

He didn’t elaborate on whether he meant something general for the realm or specific for the family. He didn't speak about the battles, nor Jon's death. He didn't speak about the quiet downward spiral he'd gone through due to the xiangliao substance either. How it gave him unnatural strength and agility in battle, only to start chipping away at his sanity once the war ended and he struggled to quit consuming it. Only Owen knew when he first started taking it, and only Cassana learned about the strange episodes it awoke in him as his mind began to fell the side effects. To the rest of his siblings, all of it remained hidden, secret, brushed away as Adam's solitary, gloomy nature. He felt some guilt now, seeing how Dacey carried so much weight on herself, and knowing how he played a part, even if unwillingly, in putting it there. “Like I said, I’m trying to mend that. To not let circumstance become my excuse for silence and distance,” Adam said after a moment, attempting to keep doing better going forward.

This life will be all he knows. Dacey's words about Hadrian resonated with him, lingering more than he expected. It was true that his son would only know the world he was given, not what was missing. And whether he married again or not, it was also true that having a woman at his side did not necessarily mean she would embrace Hadrian as a son. He tried not to dwell on that for now, however, instead focusing on the one thing he could act on: opening up to his sister, and doing what he could to make sure Dacey felt welcomed, embraced. “Now’s the perfect time to see him, even more so than when he was younger, I'd say,” the Commander of the Kingsguard said, a faint hint of a smile tugging at the corner of his lips. “He’s not the tiny bundle anymore. He’s curious now. He listens, he laughs, he's articulating words”. He was truly beginning to recognize the world around him, and the people in it. “So he’ll know you soon enough, Dacey. Now he can truly reach out to you and remember your face,” he added with genuine warmth in his voice.

"there was," she agreed. "but i think there will always be something happening." that was simply the way the world was. she might not have quite relinquished hope that one day, something would find her that would give her a reason to stay still and breathe, but the likelihood of it happening being slim was something even she had come to acknowledge. "i suppose what we need to get better at is ensuring that it doesn't get in the way anymore."

it was a sentiment adam echoed when he spoke of circumstances and absence, and though dacey knew nothing of adam's particular circumstances beyond that which was shared between their kin and that which was common knowledge, the death of his wife and raising his son alone. "it's a little different for me," she admitted. "i think i still would have isolated myself had we known nothing but blessings." it had begun even when they were children, her constitution frailer than was normal, and continued into adulthood in a way that felt almost cowardly until the moment she had looked around and realised she should have been doing more, and that her discomfort did not matter. "there's nothing to mend," she added. "nothing was ever broken. just paused for a little while."

something in the way adam spoke of his son brought a fondness to dacey's expression, both for the nephew she could not envision and the brother describing him to her. she was unused to spending time with children, but that did not mean she did not want to try, and by th sound of what adam was saying, now was the perfect time to make that effort. "does he look like you?" she asked him. she'd already made up her mind that she would see him for herself soon, but she'd like to build a clearer picture in her mind before she did.

The music played around the Stark siblings, and they did their best to follow the steps. They were by no means accomplished dancers, but at the very least, they did not bring shame to their name in public either. The prince's hand shifted to his sister's back, steadying her through a turn as they swayed with the pairs around them. “It’s not your fault we’ve not spoken in a while,” Adam said, giving her a pointed look. He'd noticed in her words what sounded like yet another admission of guilt. “We both have our duties, places to be, and that does not always align. Besides, I've made a habit of being solitary all my life. I'm still working on mending that”. There was no self-pity in the prince's words, more the simple acknowledgement of a lifelong habit or way of being. Over the past years, however, he had put a conscious effort into being more present with his siblings and to ensure they knew they had in him someone to talk to and rely on. Solitude might have been his nature, but he had chosen to change some of it, and he was still learning how to balance that.

At the mention of his son, the demeanor of the lone wolf of House Stark eased into something gentler. “He grows so quickly. You'll be surprised when you next see him,” he said with undeniable warmth in his voice. Hadrian was no longer just a babe who needed to be held, he already crawled and was eager to explore on his own. “He's healthy and a sweet little boy. I do what I can for him, though I'd be lying if I said I do not worry about how much he'll carry losing his mother so young”. Hadrian wasn't the first boy nor would he be the last, to lose his mother so close after childbirth. “I've started wondering if perhaps I ought to start looking to marry again,” he said with a subtle scoff, for the idea didn't particularly appeal to him. He had no intention to replace Elissa as Hadrian's mother, nor Sarra as the one who took his heart with her when she died. But he knew he had to weigh what could be best for his son, whether Hadrian ought to have a motherly figure growing up.

she looked up at him then, and for a moment, did nothing, said nothing, simply allowed her dark eyes to find his. it was something the two had in common, far more likely to be found alone than in the company of others. but with dacey, it was shyness and anxiety that kept her isolated, that had stirred all that guilt and uneasiness that she could not seem to disperse no matter how she tried. she did not think it was the same for adam, that his own solitary nature was a result of any sort of internal worry, more that he just preferred it that way. "you're right," she agreed with him again, though something in her tone remained unconvinced that it was not her fault.

she thought of hadrian, but could not conjure an image of him as a crawling, curious, near-toddler, with cherubic rosy cheeks and fat little fists. when she thought of her nephew, it was still as a small bundle of blankets with a tiny, sleeping face in the middle, sleeping peacefully. "i ought to see him soon," she agreed. "i'd hate for him not to know who i am. though i suppose he wouldn't recognise me now." and yet, better to rectify that when he was still young enough, that his core memories had not yet formed and she still had time to be part of them.

they were less dancing, and more swaying in vague time with the music, a pretence that allowed them to continue their conversation uninterrupted. it gave her the opportunity to peer into his face, trying to gauge if there was any emotional weight to what he was saying under the steady way he spoke the words. her teeth came to rest on her bottom lip, brow furrowing in thought. "it would be a risk," she said, eventually. "you could marry the kindest woman in the north, and there would be no guarantees that she would consider hadrian as one of her own. especially if... well, if future children are on the cards." she said it not to plant doubts in adam's head, but because she could see the doubts were already there in the way he scoffed at the idea. it was enough to leave her unsure if such a cause of action was for the best. "hadrian will not remember what it was to have a mother," her tone was gentle, but matter-of-fact. "he may wonder at what he is missing, but this life will be all he knows. his normal. that need not be a burden for him to carry." she was not good with her words, uncertain she had phrased it the way she meant to, though she hoped adam grasped the quiet reassurances she was trying to convey.

He let her next words settle before responding. A luxury, she called it. But Lucius saw it more as some sort of leeway. “There’s a kind of freedom in being overlooked,” he admitted easily, sounding even a little pleased that such were his circumstances. No doubt some people thought he aspired to claim a Blackwood lordship, that he craved the title Ben had because that was the nature of ambition. Because that was what could be expected of a bastard brother who was also the firstborn. What a misconception of who Lucius Rivers truly was. “People think they know what to expect, or they don’t expect much from you at all. That leaves more room to move, as you said”. In many ways, he'd had it easier than Ben and Agnes. Easier than Dacey and his other Stark cousins. He didn't carry the kind of weight that was placed on people like them. Royals. Nobles. Lucius didn't pretend to know what that was like, but he saw that looming force there, around all of them.

the feeling that rose next in her was not one of contemplation, but of envy. she knew well the liberation that came with people looking past you, had sought it out in many ways by making herself smaller and quieter, easier to miss next to more dominant personalities, but that was becoming ever harder to do. lucius had found that in another way, through giving people something to expect of him, and doing as he pleased with the extra room that it afforded him. "it is the trade off, i suppose." when last they had spoken, she had decided that blood was blood, no matter the circumstances of his birth, but that did not mean she was blind to the reality of what that meant for him. her words were not born of sympathy, just a simple acknowledgement. "burdens fall unevenly, even amongst siblings, and the greatest weight is not always the most obvious one."

“as he should,” she agreed, her gaze following dacey’s to the heart of the hall. “for such a momentous day, and generous of him, to share it so freely. not just with lords and bannermen, but everyone.” she gestured lightly toward the crowd, where a servant was laughing with a knight, and no one seemed to mind. there was a current in the room, she noticed, the way people drifted and gathered, always circling back toward the king, as though owen himself was the fire in the hearth. it was a kind of warmth she hadn’t quite expected to find in the north.

her hands folded on the table in front of her, fingers interlaced. “the cold, yes, more bone-deep than i’m used to, i’ll admit,” she said with a light laugh, shaking her head. “in braavos, even the wind has a little more softness to it. but it makes the wine feel earned, i suppose.”

she made a quiet note of the name - of lady sabiha zalyne. it was a confirmation that she was in fact not westerosi-born, and dacey's initial guess of braavosi was the right one. "it is an honour to meet you, lady zalyne," small smile and polite nod followed the gesture, and her fingers, where clasped hands rested atop the table, began to twist around each other, a gesture so innate dacey had not even realised she was doing it.

her gaze drifted to the centre of the hall, to the orbit of the king of the north, where her brother was drinking and laughing in a way that seemed effortless for him. "it is his gift," she explained, in a way that was both fond and wistful. "to make others feel welcome." she did not say that much of her night-time anxieties were tied to the truth of that statement, that though she desperately wanted to see the best in her older brother, the fractured ice at the north's foundations were growing impossible to ignore, that there were some who did not feel that gift, or if they did, they were rejecting it. it was neither the time, nor the place.

"our wind has teeth," her words were not without sympathy, but there was a wry sort of amusement in it too. "perhaps i am just too used to the winter, but i think there's a sort of comfort in it. an honesty, almost. or perhaps i am being too sentimental." northern breeze did not pretend to be anything but what it was, and it made the warm feel all the more precious when it could be found.

So he stepped in, holding out his hand and offering a believable excuse to get his sister away from the lord who'd been speaking to her. Or speaking at her, really, since the man failed to see the princess was not nearly as engaged in the conversation as he was. And so the Stark siblings began to head to the dance floor. When he felt her exhale beside him, Adam gave her hand a gentle squeeze. It was a reassuring gesture, a quiet way of saying I saw you. I'm here.

“You looked like you wanted to step away,” he replied, keeping his voice low enough so that only she could hear him. He didn't think of it as a rescue, frankly, but simply as a lone wolf stepping in for another one. The two of them had always been the quieter ones. Similar and different as they were, a special sort of understanding existed between Adam and Dacey. That sometimes, even in joyful moments, something profound called them for a moment of solitude.

Adam guided her carefully, and they positioned themselves with the other pairs as the new song began. “I hope I won't step on yours,” he added with a rare, playful smile. Adam Stark was in perfect command of his body on the battlefield, but as it turned out, that didn't fully translate to a skill like dancing. He was decent at it, steady, albeit not entirely graceful. “We hadn't shared a dance in a long time. So I’m glad I intervened, too”.

"i did," she admitted, a flash of guilt crossing his face. "it wasn't his fault, not really," she attempted to explain, though the rest of the words were lost in her throat, about how much it felt like the entire room was pressing in, and how the entire time he spoke, she could think of little else but saying the wrong thing, of upsetting him, of embarrassing her family, and that had left her unable to say anything at all. "if you hadn't have interrupted i probably would have stood there smiling like a fool until the end of the night. at least now he can find a more attentive conversation partner."

dacey was not a gifted dancer, not loose enough in her body for it to translate to anything that looked good, even if all her steps were technically in place, nor was she used to it. adam was no more skilled than she, more at ease in armour than on the dancefloor, but he seemed to handle these things better than dacey did. "i don't remember the last time she danced," she admitted. "i do remember the last time we spoke, though, and that was long enough ago that i'm a little ashamed," the smile on her face turned apologetic, though it was understandable. both had been consumed with their own duties, so if nothing else, tonight offered a chance to leave them to the wayside, just once. "how is my nephew?" she asked of his son. "i'm sure he has grown much since i saw him last." small children grew quickly, she knew, and the guilt was resurfacing again that she was not playing a bigger role in his little life.

His eyes narrowed slightly, thoughtful. “It’s different for me,” Lucius went on, not as a correction but as an offering. “I don’t feel out of place in a crowd. I just don’t care for the game of it. All the nodding and smiling. The words that mean nothing, or mean everything, and you’re meant to guess which,” he said, glancing toward his cousin. For someone as straightforward as him, those labyrinths were unnerving. “I know what people see when they look at me. A soldier, a brute, something simple. And that’s fine. I let them see that”. His tone held no bitterness. “But I’ve seen what it’s like for Ben. For Agnes. The way people, even inside our own halls, watch them. Waiting for them to fail. To lose”. He paused, then glanced at her. It was not the experience he lived in his own flesh, but he'd seen closely what it was to be measured by standards one never chose.

as lucius had given her space to speak, she fell silent, listening to him in that quiet, attentive way she did. even when speaking of spaces that held so much uncertainty, lucius still sounded so very certain, as though he had found the things in his life that made him who he was, and clung to them even tighter. in a way, dacey envied that. there was a sort of liberation that came from not caring that she wasn't sure she'd ever achieve herself. "i suppose if that's where they choose to stop looking, it gives you a little more room to move," she spoke thoughtfully, her eyes finding the glassy surface of the river in the dark. "it's a luxury in itself." one it did not sound like lucius' siblings enjoy. dacey's brow knotted, concern blossoming on her features. she could relate to his words, in the way that they echoed the worries she held for her own brothers and sisters. "it's never easy, is it?" she wondered aloud. wherever they found themselves in life, they all had their burdens to bear.

he slid into the great hall of highgarden with all the ease of a towering man stepping into a room he weren’t sure he had a right to be in - not since ignoring the royal summons of his king. didn’t matter that his blood was old as the roots of the trees carved into the southern pillars, nor that he bore the name of karhold and the quiet menace of its winters. down here, everything smelled of roses and soft summer—he smelled of damp wool and northern road, and looked like he’d rode through the night, which he had. cloak sodden at the hem, hair flattened on one side, beard uncombed and flecked with trail dust.

even now, as gold light poured through the high arched windows and laughter echoed off marble floors, there was a weight to him. something heavy in his shoulders, something slow behind his eyes.

he said nothing when he entered. not a word. just strode in, boots clicking on stone too fine for northern feet, and made for the gathered seats near the centre of the hall, where the northern retinue had gathered beside the southerners, all warmth and courtesy and talk of trade and wine. the southern lords looked up as he passed—some with curiosity, others with that reach sort of politeness that always felt like it might curdle into mockery if left too long in the sun. his brother had only just left his seat—off chasing wine or women, likely—and brandon took the space without hesitation. cloak fell behind him like a shadow, the weight of it sodden with rain that hadn’t dried in the warmth. he leaned forward, took up the half-empty cup his brother had left behind, and drank without blinking.

none had seen him in months.

the chair beside him belonged to princess dacey stark. he didn’t look at her straight away. just stared into the firelight blazing across the far wall, thinking about how far he was from the frost. it all smelled too green here. "princesss." wet grass and honeysuckle. made his chest feel tight. then he spoke, his voice low, and lined with gravel. “worked out which one’s lordin’ over the rest o’ them freys yet?” he asked, not turning, but his mouth twitched at the corner. “they change faster than the wind, them lot. last i saw, one of ‘em was carryin’ on like he were heir to bloody casterly rock.” he paused, sipped again. this shit was too fruity.

he turned to glance at her now, proper. dacey stark. she looked more tired than the last time, and stronger for it too. he weren’t sure what that said about the time between. he hadn’t seen her since spring turned to summer and the snows back home started to melt, but never quite enough.

and yet still, he didn’t speak of her sister - despite the fact it was not rare for the voic of alysanne stark to visit him in his sleep. didn’t speak of the fire in the woods that night, or how the world had bent sideways when the wind screamed through the trees. didn’t speak of the way he still sometimes woke with his heart pounding and her name half-choked in his throat. alysanne. if she’d gone through that door, he weren’t sure she could be brought back.

but that wasn’t what he came south for. or at least, that wasn’t what he’d told himself. “weren’t plannin’ to come,” he muttered, his voice quieter now. “but the dreams’ve been wrong. sea where there shouldn’t be, blood in the snow. i saw our benny blackwood in one of ‘em, so i thought i’d ride down and see if he’s still the arse he always was.” he paused, then added, without looking at her, “maybe it weren’t about ben, though.” he let the words hang there, like something that might mean more if she wanted it to. then he drank again, and leaned back in the chair like he might disappear into it.

but that was highgarden, wasn't it? silks and open balconies of warm stone that never cooled, all teeming with the presence of things that grew. all bright, all green, even the floor beneath her feet polished smooth with dancing feet rather than carved by frost and pressure and time. it was evident even in the way the people of the reach conducted themself, and dacey could not find her footing in it. and so, she withdrew, present in body only as she sat, a pale shape at the edge of the northern retinue, missing the cold and the weight of furs around her shoulders.

the seat to her left had only just emptied when another slipped into it. she glanced up, more to know who she had found herself beside than to attempt conversation, then stilled at the sight of brandon karstark. she had not thought to see him here - none had. since the last time they had spoken, his name had been uttered only to notice his absence, and there had been little indication that he had planned to join them here, cutting through the scent of roses with the smell of rain and road that she found she far preferred. he looked worn, the look of a man who had kept riding after he should have stopped, and the sight of him produced a strange sort of feeling in her chest she couldn't fully describe. it wasn't quite surprise, and it wasn't dread, but a sort of relief that wound around her ribcage and worry that coiled just underneath it.

he didn't look at her, but she was looking at him, making a concentrated effort to ensure her hands remained still in her lap and that she wasn't staring, an endeavour she expected she was failing. there was an odd sense of anticipation, like watching a tourney knight fall from his horse and holding your breath to see if he would sit up again. but then he spoke, with just enough humour that she let out a small breath that could have been a laugh. "don't judge me too terribly," she said, in a voice that was only just louder than a whisper, something said for his ears alone. "but i have never been able to tell one frey from the other. i do not even know which one cyrene is married to." it was said in humour, but her words still drew a pang of guilt. how distant a sister had she been, that she did not know her goodbrother?

any reassurance she had taken from talk of the freys was quickly dismissed again when he turned, and looked at her, and spoke more. the small smile that had begun to twist at her lips faded, brows creasing as she listened. it brought to mind the last time they had spoken with one another, when she had stopped him from falling in the northern snows. it would have been easy to try and offer reassurance that sometimes a dream was just a dream, but the months since alysanne had disappeared had left her wary. if it was enough to bring him to a place he hadn't wanted to be, she would not dismiss it as a figment of an overactive mind.

at no point did her gaze leave him, not judging, not appraising, simply looking. there was a heaviness to him that sat bone-deep, like a man who had not had a full night's sleep in years, and still she found herself strangely grateful for the sight of him ; she had thought of him, not too often, but on nights where sleep eluded dacey herself, and she had felt the concern that she supposed was normal given what she knew, but she hadn't realised until now how much not knowing had unsettled her.

she didn't know what to make of it, of the fact he were here chasing dreams, except that it left her uneasy in a way she could not put her finger on. "it's no wonder you look tired," was all she said in response, not unkind, but gentle. "but i am glad you did come." he didn't say alysanne's name, and neither did she, but her thoughts drifted there now. time was beginning to dull grief and anger, and when she thought of her sister now, her face was blurred at the edges, like her mind was beginning to lose its grip on her. for the first time since she had taken her seat, she reached for her wine and sipped it, even though she didn't like the taste. it felt like something to do. her fingers shook a little against the cup, and she let them, because he was the only one watching.

the hall of winterfell was a fortress of warmth against the ice outside, yet even here, the air clung to sabiha’s sleeves like frost. fires crackled in grand hearths, casting long shadows over the banners above, but the cold was still threaded through the stone beneath her shoes. it reminded her of the night markets back home, when the wind blew in off the black canals and everyone pretended not to shiver.

she moved carefully through the crowd—measured steps, polite nods, eyes always observing. northern feasts were not so different from those in braavos: the food was heavier, the laughter louder, but the politics still swirled beneath the surface like undertows.

at one of the long tables, she saw dacey stark. not adorned like a southern lady might be, but unmistakable, there was something of her mother in the chin, her father in the eyes. sabiha had studied the family line, not of just the stark's, but of many prominent families of westeros, absorbing all of the information she could in preparation for her journey. it was not out of necessity, in truth, but because patterns repeated themselves, even in bloodlines, and that fascinated her.

the lady approached with a quiet grace, her dark gown trailing like a shadow of silk behind her. she had only heard the name in passing, mentioned in careful tones by those who spoke of winterfell's quietest daughter. a lady of needle and song, not steel and saga. a contrast to the wolves around her.

sabiha approached without pomp or pause, footsteps light. she stopped just beside the bench and offered a bow of her head, measured and sincere, not the sweeping kind merchants performed when hoping for favor.

“your grace,” she said softly, the formality folded into calm. “forgive me. the hall grows louder by the minute, and your corner seemed the only place still holding its breath.”

"you may, my lady," she nodded at the chair beside her, her voice quiet but sincere when she spoke. "please, join me. i'd be glad of the company." it was only a half-truth. whilst she wasn't overfond of crowds, she enjoyed one-to-one conversations perfectly well, even with those she had never met. her presence wasn't unwelcome, even though dacey hadn't sought it out.

the woman was not a northerner, no daughter of any of the houses she had grown up learning the sigils and words of. by her accent, she might have been braavosi, but dacey had never had much of an ear for that sort of thing, and so she did not ask, lest the woman be from pentos and find being accused of being braavosi a grave insult.

she let out a soft laugh, her gaze returning to the crowd. "it's quite the river, isn't it?" the metaphor amused her, because it often felt that way, like a particularly quick-moving river she could never quite keep up with without slipping under the water. "the river moves a bit too quickly for me, i'm afraid, though my brother seems to be enjoying himself." this was owen's element, wherever he had found himself.