✯

"i did think so." his response in reaction to her words about never having visited the reach, nor the westerlands; there was no denying the fact that of all the courtly beating hearts within the continent, it was the kingdom of thorns and roses that seemed the most culturally developed. a variety of differences between them, and yet their lands were filled with both the necessary for survival, and so much more.

whilst many northerners turned their noses up at the frequent trips the manderlys of white harbour took further south, there was no denying the fact that it had given them something many others did not have - perspective. "we were all there only some months ago, for the coronation of king cedric, following the end to their civil war."

it had been the height of discussion and gossip at the time, how brother had turned against brother; and it had resulted in one root of house tyrell being pulled from the dirt, the body of the eldest son left hanging from a window for all to see.

"perhaps you may have liked it." and suddenly, nasir began to wonder whether he were speaking too much; this princess was one he did not often find himself speaking with, for he did not speak much to any of the stark princesses. there was no denying the fact that dacey was now being forced to be present, because of the troubling issues which had arisen. that left much silences to either allow to grow between them, or fill.

"...do you want me to tell you of the westerlands?" the hand of the king asked, half hoping she would honestly say no, and the conversation could come to an end. why did it feel so strange each time they crossed paths with one another? why did he always find himself wondering whether he had been mistakenly rude? he knew he could do that at times, yet he were always quick to pull back and clarify.

but then she asked another question, one which there was no shortening the conversation of. "the king has been waiting for the right time to approach the lion king with some offer. there is no better time than when the man is of higher spirits - when his son has been born." there was only so much the north could do; search parties were out, but he began to wonder whether both stark princesses had involved themselves in the ritualistic practices of hags of the woods.

in that case, the only person responsible for what happened to them, was them. "there is little use in letting the opportunity slip."

the starks were plenty in number - or at least, they had been, once. that had allowed dacey to slip by unnoticed, to pander to her nerves and her shyness and her desire to avoid the perception of others who may look at her with unkind thoughts. but then jon had died, and so had the queen, and alysanne had vanished without a trace, and so had saoirse , and all of a sudden, there was far less family to hide behind. it had forced dacey out of the comfort of solitude. there was gaping holes in the northern court that they had once filled, that dacey was trying her best to make less pronounced, and it felt like her failure to do so was exceptionally obvious today under nasir's gaze.

he had seen and voiced that weakness in her long ago. it would not surprise him to know that it still existed within her. and now he was hand, there was far less opportunity to stay out of his way. it was an unfortunate reality that they were both needed far more than they ever had been, that their paths would need cross far more often. she bit back the urge to apologise for that, but could not stop herself from scratching at the loose skin around her thumbnail.

"i've never been to the reach, either." she was thinking out loud, and immediately regretted it. it was no secret that she had rarely left the north, where she felt safest, even when it did not seem like the safest place to be. such was the comfort of home, she supposed. but despite that, it felt like another admission of her failures.

"why?" her brows furrowed. was he trying to catch her out, to make her feel a bigger fool than she already did? did he simply wish to see her squirm, to further drive home his point? if he wished to prove her a mouse, he was certainly succeeding. perhaps it was her mistake. she had simply sought to grasp at a topic of conversation, something to fill the awkwardness of the silence between them, and was now faced with trying to justify that.

"i've never seen the westerlands." she confessed. "i know little of what to expect there." there was something else on her mind, but she did not know if nasir was the best person to mention it to. but then, after all, was he not now the hand? if not him, then who else was there to voice her concerns to?

"do you think it wise to be leaving the north at such a time?" there was a different tone to her question, less guarded and more genuine. the kingdom was moving forward, knitting over the void left by her sisters, but dacey had not. with alys, at least, she had some semblance of an answer, thanks to brandon karstark, even if she would never fully know the truth. but saoirse was a different matter entirely, one that kept her up at night.

✯

only the land of the lions would have a festival in celebration of a man who slid into the halls of casterly rock as naked as the day he came into existence, only covered in butter, and obtained the fortress that was casterly rock through trickery and foolishness. nasir's own mood was slightly more grumpy than his usual self, no doubt because of the warmer temperature of the westerlands; and yet still, he did not look an inch out of place.

nasir manderly could discard of the furs and slip into tunics and vestments easily, and none would suspect he were out of place; because the manderlys had maintained their southern nature, despite their very essence being northern. masks were supposed to be worn, and yet, his own had been taken by a woman who was excitedly proclaiming a name that belonged to house manderly, only, it was not his own - he merely frowned at this strange woman calling his brother's name excitedly, before she ran off in embarrassment.

and so he had been unmasked by his brother's stalker, and continued to make his way through the crowded stands; all who knew him by name knew it were him, and others merely laughed as they raced by, no doubt because he had been unmasked so quickly into whatever fiendish day this was supposed to be.

his intention was to return to the apartments where the manderlys were being hosted, and that would consist of needing to escape from this crowd - as he was doing, until he felt an elbow to his side and a ribbon being pulled before his eyes, in the direction of whoever was beside him. perhaps it was the moment his patience finally slipped from him, and he turned to look toward the source of the elbow.

there was an audible sigh of annoyance that came from him, and when his gaze fixed upon the woman, he did not recognise her. and perhaps he wanted to ask if she were daft, but he held his tongue instead, simply waiting. there was only moments of silence, no doubt painfully awkward. "i did not see you, my lady."

open starter

setting : matilda tyrell is present in the audience during the king's games, watching the jousting tournament occurring down below, currently a lord from the westerlands and a lord from the vale are facing off.

the sun hung low in the sky, casting a warm golden glow over the tournament grounds, in which matilda tyrell sat as an onlooker upon the games. her eyes alight with anticipation. a light breeze blue, causing a rippling of richly embroidered banners to flutter and wave, proclaiming the colors and sigils of noble houses. green hues peered down at the grounds below, as grand as one would expect of a tournament hosted by the westerlands. a sudden clopping of hooves caused her to nearly hold her breath in anticipation of the blow to come, and ultimately the westerlander was unseated this round.

hands came together to clap along with the crowd, leaning to the lady next to her she had chatted with since the two had found themselves in each other's company. matilda had always generally been one to make quick friends, and she was glad to find someone who was equally as social, especially with the way the crowd seemed to be quite squeezed together.

eyes glanced down, catching sight of silk shimmering in the sunlight, and hand reached down to pluck it up. it was a favor, certainly, she thought, and head turned to seek who it might belong to, catching sight of a woman who seemed to also be looking around her for something. "my lady." she called, holding up the fabric, noting it delicately embroidered with white flowers. "i believe this may be yours?" she questioned, extending her arm to the woman to return the item, being careful to try and not nudge anyone in the process, despite the close quarters.

✯

nasir manderly had not been walking quietly; and even if he appeared more serious and soft-spoken than his louder younger brother, his boots were still easily audible within such a quiet chamber. the storms of winter continue to rage beyond their window, and winterfell continued to be the beating heart of the realm; though it felt fractured, ripped to shreds and to pieces - a part of him wondered if the further rise of his family would only bring more tension to the realm. not as though he cared, but rather, he measured out the risks.

"i assure you, my prince, i was not meanin' to sneak up on you." nasir spoke, as though he were pointing out the obvious; his brows furrowed ever so slightly upon noticing the appearance of the prince. his skin appeared more pale, a sheen of sweat that stuck to the hair that fell across his forehead. he appeared unwell. how was it adam stark, the giantslayer, had not heard him?

there had been a flux of madness and darkness that spread across the court: rising with noticeable disappearances of princesses, the murder of princes, and then the unsteady silence that was broken by the drunken laughter of their king. simmering with rage, before he unleashed himself upon something, or someone.

he needed to bring some order to the court once again, and yet, he knew and understood all too well that stepping into the former position of brandon karstark would be a difficult one - if not for the love the people had for the sun of winter. "but, do you need the court wisdom?" nasir asked, not hesitating to allow his obvious concern to settle upon his features. he appeared unwell, as though he had gotten the sweating sickness.

"i shall apologise for my frankness if needed, but you have had better days. what have you eaten, my prince?"

Open starter (1/3) Setting: Winterfell, The North. Princess Alysanne Stark has been declared missing. Plans for searching for and rescuing her have been discussed by the king, his council and those willing to take part in a search party.

( tw: mention of drug use )

When Cassana had been taken by the Umber bastard, Adam had begun experiencing the strange episodes. Visions of sorts, though not at all like what his sister experienced with her green sight. What he felt then, it happened... Something similar happened just a day before Alysanne went missing. A moment in time, a place, present in his mind's eye. Then it stopped. He'd not experienced anything like that another time. He even dared consume a bit more xiangliao, hoping it would awaken another episode that gave him a clue about Alys. Only silence. Only darkness.

Adam didn't say it to his siblings, but he feared that perhaps, Alysanne was no longer with them...

“Gods, you startled me,” the prince stated as a figure suddenly appeared at the corner of his eye. So deep in thought, so lost in his train of thought and what he could or couldn't envision, that he didn't even hear the other person approach him. It was unlike Adam, really. A born soldier, he was never so off guard.

✯

it should have been no great feat to notice the greatest heartbreak the north could witness was that of the disintegration of stark and karstark; the wolf and sun of winter, whom had always been far more in cohesion with one another than nasir himself. "ah." it would have been easy to develop feelings of being left out, and yet, nasir understood there were differences between him and them; took comfort and understanding of it, each knowing their own place and what they brought to the table of their friendship.

"you cannot blame yourself for what happened. every pair of hands in the story were tied." how unfortunate it was, to have such a situation where there was none truly in the wrong. even lord jin, who was the topic of much rumour and discussion in the north at this time. and now it were ashes, and nasir could have tried to lie and assure the king that his closest friend did not hate him - but nasir himself would not speak on what he would not know.

"lord karstark said unjust things in anger, which he will come to understand eventually. his fury was misdirected." the question of consequences in the court of the king of winter - it was a comment that had seemingly burned into the mind of the king. and he did not blame him. "until then, some space would do the realm well."

they knew things would be different once the crown went upon the brow of owen stark; and yet, the idea of it being different to them was something that had not crossed his mind. perhaps he were naive to think such a thing, and there was quiet concern that simmered between them as owen spoke, and spoke, and spoke. the drunken words of pain and grief coming from the mouth of a man that appeared to be inclining to his worst, natural instincts.

owen was always a handful when he were drunk - abrasive, rough around the edges, all that which a northman was supposed to be. nasir's dark orbs met briefly with those of his brother when the words truly resonated with him, and it was enough to make him turn to look at the king once again. moving into the tower of the hand meant one thing; it would be up to nasir to take up the mantle of hand of the king of winter.

and others may have argued it could prove too soon after all their family had gone through, this was a moment of opportunity to grasp. with the powers of the hand of the king, nasir manderly would ensure none would dare to question the place, the authority and the influence of white harbour again. his family would adjust. "with your grace's permission, i'll see both duties done until there is enough time to grant the position of master of laws to another. it is imperative they understand the balance of the realm."

"Karstark isn't here. He hates me. I've decided to not take the head of Lord Jin for it seems counterproductive to kill my Lord Commander for thinking he was saving the Queen in the North. Not my wife. Because I do not love my wife in the way Brandon loved his wife. Or loves. Why do people say loved when they speak of the dead? I still love my mother. My father. My brother." Owen took another drink and then looked at the man. "My brother. Brandon looked at me and he questioned when the King will have consequence. My brother delivered to me with a wolf's head sewn to his body. When will I have consequence I am asked." The King was drunk. The King was angry. The King was so very tired that he wished to sleep forever.

Owen missed Brandon. He loves him. Would always love the brother he betrayed. A betrayal that would not be undone. Meera Reed was dead. Again. Brandon would mourn. He would struggle. And they would be distant. Brandon surely hated him. And if he didn't hate him ... no there was no reality where the man did not hate him. And if the man hated him then he would not be able to maintain the position he currently held.

"You won't have time to train your replacement, my lord. It'll take us time to find one. When you move into the tower of the hand you may take the time to adjust and move in your family." Owen would have to make changes to his council. Brandon Karstark hated him. There was no place for a Hand who hated his King.

✯

for a while there came only the noise of the wagon moving through the narrowed lanes of kings landing, and the sound of the world that moved beyond the open window; almost as though the both of them needed the silence to reflect and consider what it was had just happened. he had little inclination of what it was that drove mankind to isolate people, to always be hunting for something or another; and yet, the dangers of it seemed to dance in the empty space between them.

"don't thank me, my lady." his voice came, slightly harsher than expected - though it was not wrapped in irritation, but rather, strain. "it happens."

nasir manderly moved his knees to ensure they did not brush against the skirts of the woman, an entire stranger to him, and yet he knew they both understood what it was they had slipped through. what they had escaped; there was no closing his eyes and trying to blind himself from the fact she looked different to the smallfolk of kings landing. and he would have stayed in the comfortable silence that filled the carriage in the aftermath of her quiet thanks quite happily, feeling his heart beating faster; perhaps because it had triggered some deeper memories of the smoke filling the grey skies of the north, and the increasingly empty settlements his horses tread through.

the harrowing faces of those who had survived, the mangled corpses, and those who remained with a label. missing. nasir manderly had survived war. but this was not a war. it had not just been a war. "the greenleafs are good people."

he had not even begun to realise his chest was tightening until it was already happening, and the exhale that came from him reminded him that he needed to breathe; and when his arm rested upon the carriage door, it was anything but casual - despite how casual it may have looked. there was a brief moment where colour seemed to drain from his features, and he felt like he could not feel himself sitting in the carriage. only inwardly reminding himself that there was safety in these four walls, even with this yuna lady sat across from him.

they could sit in silence.

he knew why he had stopped for her ; what reshuffling of fate he was trying to bestow, what he was trying to show and ask the gods. why him and his own? what reason did they have to burden his soul with such matters, despite how much they assured they never burdened a soul with more than it could take? "is there anyone i can send for to be awaiting you when we return?" he'd ask one of the guards to ride forward and pass the message along.

the lady of witch isle could feel the unstoppable wave of foolish hope flood over her as she noticed the sounds of a carriage stopping and feet landing on gravel. she was never among the smallfolk for a long period of time. nobody in her family ever was. perhaps she understood why, now. there was little safety in the unknown. fate was a fickle thing, prone to change in an instant. the wide-eyed group of people could have turned into a violent mob, leaving her as nothing more than a shell. but they were stopped in time, by an arrival of a noble unfamiliar to her.

as the lord exited his carriage, yuna observed the sigil belonging to a man who would become her saviour. a white merman with green hair. yuna recognized it, having ties to the north herself. it was the sigil of house manderly, and if she recalled correctly, the house suffered a tragedy of their own, not too long ago. she wondered if that had anything to do with his intervention. if this was his way of rearranging the cards of faith. she muttered a small "thank you" and entered the carriage, wishing to be in the safety of her four walls.

she waited until he was inside to speak. but words eluded her, so she waited until the carriage started to move. she did not know what to say, except express her thanks once again. she knew nothing about lord manderly. only the fact he would stop in the middle of a road to help a stranger. "i must thank you once more, lord manderly," she started, her voice still shaky from the shock. "my name is yuna upcliff, as i presume you heard already. royce, now." he must be the ruling lord, yuna thought. his age matched. lord nasir? she could not be sure.

she was comfortable with silence, but she did not know what the lord's opinion of it was. so she tried to make a connection, to keep the conversation going. "my mother is from the north. a greenleaf, of fir hold."

✯

if someone were to ask what it was nasir manderly thought of the princess dacey stark, he would only pause with furrowed brows as though this were some trick of a question; what was their to think personally of the princess who was above his station? he had not come across an inability in performing her duty, and whilst she remained unmarried, it were not as though the north was without alliances in itself.

she was on the quieter side, but so was he generally; often the quietest of men in his surroundings, drowned out by the thunderous laughter of karstark and stark alike - judging by the ways in which the king was drowning himself in drink, those days would not come again.

there as a strangeness in the air, a sense of urgency that seemed to dance behind dormant eyes: all in the northern court knew that something had happened to the stark princesses, and yet, it were as though it were a chapter they were moving on from. because they all looked to their king for guidance, for inspiration: and there was nothing. nothing major, no major blow of emotion - damn, it appeared as though he was more pained by the fracture of his bond with brandon karstark.

he had not noticed the princess in the room until she was somehow leaving it, just as he was passing over the threshold in the presence of his younger brother; the two discussing updates to the naval fleet, considering owen's discussion with the master of ships. back to skagos, and it could be happening sooner than expected. then he remembered that it was she who was trying to follow up on leads.

"princess." nasir greeted, turning slightly on his heel as she passed to greet him. that was all he was expecting. he watched as she paused. she had thought he had called out for her. he never noticed how skittish she was around him. not once - for over a decade. he still did not. "once or twice, your highness." nasir responded, referencing the times in which the manderlys and the marbrands had met together; there was a time where the younger sons were incredibly close.

"similar to the reach, without the excessive chivalry." he did not think so - he could not recall. "go ahead, i'll join you soon." he spoke to amir, who merely nodded and moved further into the great hall.

"why?" he asked, the question genuine.

closed starter for @nasirofmanderlys

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

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

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

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

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

@owenstark / a repost for the sake of the tracker everyone is using and i got fomo lmao

there was a notable member of the northern court missing from the attendance of these festivities within the dragon’s court; the last time the northmen had ventured this far south it had been what westeros had deemed the hour of the wolf, and now there was no denying the sense of dissatisfaction nasir manderly felt upon seeing the sight of jaehaerys targaryen upon the iron throne. to see those lords who fought green and tore the realm apart to feed hightower ambition become some of the most powerful men in the realm under the guidance and direction of the dragon king; he watched the interactions between the crownlanders and the stormlanders silently. noting how it was the dragon king planned on uniting these two groups of people, when one was believed to be socially and ethnically superior than the other.

his vivd dark orbs continued to glance over the crowds, the man’s absence being wholly obvious to those prominent members of the northern court and those who had supported queen daenaerys - for the missing figure had been trusted with venturing to kings landing to confirm positive relations between the two realms. he truly was nowhere to be seen, and the king of winter had still not yet spoken on what matters continued to exist between the pair; was there some tension between the sun of winter and the wolf of winter? the hand and the king?

his gaze then moved over to the sight of the winter king himself, dried sourleaf rolled in his hand as he smoked, momentarily alone from the rest of the northern court. as nasir approached him, he could tell everything about the winter king seemed skewered of sorts - wrong.

in the end, it were the two of them that whole heartedly believed they had not moved at too fast a pace. that the north would need to keep up with the progressive acts of the king, or be left behind in times of ancient where they starved and suffered. they seemed to be in the minority on that front, and now they stood on the other side; the men who had thought and wanted too much, too soon. “your grace.” nasir spoke, his tone familiar as he approached the man to the side; the mood was no surprise. the mood had been this way since the day meera karstark died. “where is karstark?” nasir asked, his question pointed as he glanced towards the king.

✯

there was a strange emptiness within hands, hands that should have been somehow holding onto the lady of ashemark that had since taken to the freezing winter being her own home - nasir manderly had never been an overly sentimental man, raised in accordance to the gender roles more found within the lands of the south than the blurs of the north. and yet, in this moment, he found himself looking down at his hands: wondering why they were so empty, whether there had been something he had done which had caused her to feel so strangely distant from him. it were not animosity he felt, and for a moment he wondered whether he was too far in his own head: buried beneath levels and levels of what seemed endless.

and then he looked down at his hands once again, and found himself silently confirming that there must be something wrong; only he did not have it in him in this moment to voice it. "i know you would have wished it so."

perhaps that was all it was; the ache of not knowing where they stood with one another, after barely finding it the first time. couples had to deal with being separated so often within westeros, surely it would not be any major matter? surely it could be smoothed over with some conversations and simply spending enough time in one another's company? the call for war had been issued by the king in the north, and it were true that nasir did wholly support it - even at the expense of his own private life. the north needed modernisation, it needed more than what it had found itself simply accepting: those who could not keep up would not, as was natural with breeding the strongest.

"i know." he quietly reassured, resisting the urge to reach out and bring his hands to the curve of her cheek, noting the way in which her gaze flickered from his own - as though it held to hurt.

"i would have been, if you wanted it so. in the room or beyond it." he assured, knowing it would make little difference now; it was all too late. and as he looked down at the sight of his son within the arms of his wife, he did not look upon a newborn baby. he looked upon an infant, who had begun to crawl and gurgle on his own accord: and yet, as much as he wished to keep a close hold of the young boy, khalid's demeour began to change. it was a strange feeling, to realise he was a stranger to his own son; whose first stages of socialisation had all been without his presence. the faces he saw, the voices he learned to recognise and trust; and as the boy began to feebly cry, reaching forward for his mother, nasir quietly passed him over to imane to avoid him becoming more distressed. his hands felt empty again. "i cannot abandon the men."

at her question regarding if everyone is at home, he merely shook his head. the master of ships was yet to return from the isle of skagos, and nasir did not currently find it within himself to open up and speak on his worry regarding the lack of communication he had heard from amir. three weeks it had been without anything, and none of the docks had heard of manderly vessels pulling up to restock and replenish. "amir is on his way home." and so, nasir watched as she momentarily tried to hush the baby, hearing the questions she asked. questions that felt like strange small talk. how did they fill the space? "what's happened?" he asked, unable to even contemplate developing on the small talk. something seemed to quietly be worrying her. or was something worrying him?

she was unsure why it felt like there was a distance between them, if it were the war or the time apart or something else. but the feeling was there, and it made a pit slowly inch open in imane's gut. he was there, she should be happy, they should be happy and nothing else, they have their son and all is right in their world again. but still that feeling was there. what had she missed, that he may never talk of with her? war is an ugly thing, made even the most noble do things they never intended to do in their lifetimes, things they would never speak of and would let fester in themselves. and… what if there had been someone else? there had been whispers, after she'd given birth, but there had been all sorts of whispers when it came to the cacophony and mayhem of what could happen. she never thought nasir possible of leaving their bed for another's before, but she had been gone so long.

doe brown eyes watched him hold their son, their little darling khalid who had been the part of nasir she held onto when she was her most lonely, and did her best not to show the ache and worry in her heart. now was not the time for it, now was a happy reunion of their family, to find their footing again. “it's not your fault.” imane's voice was soft in the quiet of the room, as if afraid to break this tender moment they were in with anything louder. they both knew it was not nasir who issued the call of war, that was squarely on the king's shoulders. but he did support it, and support her being away from white harbor. some part of her wished she had argued that, as ruling lady, she should have gone back to the city. been with zaida and her goodmother instead of with the mallisters. perhaps she would have been less safe, maybe, but it would have lessened this ache that had settled over her now. the ache of not knowing where they stood with one another, after barely finding it the first time.

“i… i will admit, i wish you'd been there. maybe not in the room, it wasn't exactly the most lovely of times for everyone involved, but… there.” close enough to come see her afterwards, when they were cleaned and changed and khalid was fresh and new. there to see him turn over on his belly after a few months, after he learned to push himself up on his knees and start to crawl. he'd started going backwards first, to imane's surprise. she'd thought someone was wrong before the maester explained some babies prefer backwards before forwards. and now he was almost sitting up on his own. it felt like nasir had missed so much already. “how have you been? how is everyone? we're all back home, right?” her, manal, amir. she could not wait to show everyone the newest manderly, to have them coo over her boy, their nephew and grandson. to prove that she had done what they all wanted of her, that she earned her place in these halls as many lady manderlys had done before her.

✯

there was a notable member of the northern court missing from the attendance of these festivities within the dragon's court; the last time the northmen had ventured this far south it had been what westeros had deemed the hour of the wolf, and now there was no denying the sense of dissatisfaction nasir manderly felt upon seeing the sight of jaehaerys targaryen upon the iron throne. to see those lords who fought green and tore the realm apart to feed hightower ambition become some of the most powerful men in the realm under the guidance and direction of the dragon king; he watched the interactions between the crownlanders and the stormlanders silently. noting how it was the dragon king planned on uniting these two groups of people, when one was believed to be socially and ethnically superior than the other.

his vivd dark orbs continued to glance over the crowds, the man's absence being wholly obvious to those prominent members of the northern court and those who had supported queen daenaerys - for the missing figure had been trusted with venturing to kings landing to confirm positive relations between the two realms. he truly was nowhere to be seen, and the king of winter had still not yet spoken on what matters continued to exist between the pair; was there some tension between the sun of winter and the wolf of winter? the hand and the king?

his gaze then moved over to the sight of the winter king himself, dried sourleaf rolled in his hand as he smoked, momentarily alone from the rest of the northern court. as nasir approached him, he could tell everything about the winter king seemed skewered of sorts - wrong.

in the end, it were the two of them that whole heartedly believed they had not moved at too fast a pace. that the north would need to keep up with the progressive acts of the king, or be left behind in times of ancient where they starved and suffered. they seemed to be in the minority on that front, and now they stood on the other side; the men who had thought and wanted too much, too soon. "your grace." nasir spoke, his tone familiar as he approached the man to the side; the mood was no surprise. the mood had been this way since the day meera karstark died. "where is karstark?" nasir asked, his question pointed as he glanced towards the king.

| open starter | | setting :: during the coronation in the feast hall of king's landing | | summary :: during a night of feasting, as the evening drags on the king in the north is still in the great hall watching the drunken crowds, listening to the southron music |

The King didn't sleep much, it was his greatest issue it would seem. An inability to get rest, to feel a relaxation that allowed him to settle. He didn't want to sleep. Owen Stark always hated having nightmares and something about having them in another realm unsettled him. He would drink his dreamless drought, if a man had access to such thinks he would be a fool to not drink them. Still, the taste was awful and the drink was potent. Some nights he preferred to down black beer or the spiced rum that overflowed around the reddish keep. With an empty cup and dried sourleaf, rolled and sparked added the same feeling one got from chewing it.

He watched her, nameless face across the crowd of those who lingered in this great "celebration" and he wondered who she was, if he knew her or if he could. No, no, he was a married man. A King. A Stark. Why his father went on constantly about their bastard uncle, some dead Snow. Still, he is a King. King in the North. A hero of Winter, a man with a wolf's appetite.

"What is it?" He didn't look to his right, he didn't know who stood there and sought his attention. Owen didn't want to be king right now and unless it was an emergency he would much prefer to weigh out choices and whether they would be bad for him or not.

✯

the sound of the carriage moving through the lanes of kings landing was not the most pragmatic, and around halfway into the journey, nasir of house manderly began to realise it would have saved him much more time should he have just decided to use his legs and walk the length of the city. it had been years since he had walked the halls of kings landing, and the sheer size of the city was always enough to leave him quietly astounded: the sheer amount of time he spent within his own glistening city of white harbour only made him think he needed to do so much more to further expand. the rushing currents of blackwater bay remained the destination of this journey, in an attempt to locate a specific individual who often took to spending time amongst manderly sailors and roughen his own hands.

matters never would be the same after manal, but there was no denying the worry he felt for his youngest brother in the aftermath of his return home; to find out they had saved her, but lost her all the same.

the carriage stopped some miles earlier than intended, largely down to the amount of people and his own quiet impatience; he assured the driver he would take to walking to his final point, and thus as he thanked the man and opened the carriage door, he found himself directly opposite a scene unfolding. a large number of smallfolk, seeming to mostly be merchants, remained at one of the docks and in the middle was a woman he did not recognise; though by her clothing and her attire she was clearly noble. the reaction she gained included the repetition of her house name, upcliff; and he was not going to get involved, if not for the fact the scene before him felt as though it could very easily tumble out of control.

he stepped down from the carriage, his boots landing in filth and mud as he looked upon the scene at hand: and his suspicions had been confirmed correct, when he heard the sound of her pleading to be left alone.

and perhaps because the distress of a woman remained close to home in recent months, and the quiet shake of her voice, nasir of house manderly knew he needed to intervene. there remained manderly guards behind the wagon, and nasir approached the group. "you would all do well to go upon your way, and leave the lady be." he spoke, his tone firm; a clear warning being indicated. nonetheless, he indicated towards the carriage door to the woman. the situation could get dangerous, and it would be better for her to be within the carriage. "now."

who: @nasirofmanderlys

where: king's landing, during the coronation of jaehaerys targaryen

the lady of witch isle disliked the tower she was supposed to stay in. yuna royce disliked mostly everything in the realm they now called new valyria. the people were unsettling and their new ways were foreign to her, and she wished for nothing more than to return to the vale. it was familiar and it was home, and the chambers of the eyrie did not reek of black magic. the alchemists of king's landing called the librarius tower their home, but old men with white beards and dangerous knowledge did not seem trustworthy to her. she needed to get out of there.

those were the reasons she found herself near blackwater bay. the water always calmed her because it reminded her of home. the docks were filled with people, and yuna struck up a conversation with the group nearest to her. they were also from the vale, but they were not nobles. her curiosity beat the urge to be alone. the men and women of the group seemed interesting enough. that is until they asked which part of the vale she came from. witch isle, she had answered, and she could see the faces of the people turn. she was well aware of the reputation of her family, but she never faced them on her own. she had her family, her position, her husband. but here on the docks, she realised how painfully alone she was. upcliff, they said with such hatred. the upcliff witch - the man closest to her spat out, and yuna realised she was slowly removing herself from the group. but they were not letting her leave.

"leave me alone," she spoke, her voice shaking. it would be embarrassing if she were not beginning to feel fear. "please."

@manaliimanderly

The Little Mermaid (2023) dir. Rob Marshall ↳ "But a mermaid has no tears, and therefore she suffers so much more." - Hans Christian Andersen

✯

was their a major difference in the trauma and the suffering in the aftermath of such an event between men and women? nasir of house manderly was not entirety sure, despite how much he had servants speak to maesters and various different scholars about the matter. it was something he was trying to learn more about with each passing day upon returning to white harbour, and whilst his stomach twisted in a strange sense of anxiety in the walk up to her chambers, the feeling of anxiety and worry seemed to cease as he looked upon her in this moment. because at the end of the day, regardless of all that had happened, this was his sister he was looking at and speaking to. there was no changing that.

his arm remained outstretched towards her as he uttered her name, and asked her to come to him; and perhaps she would not, considering she continued to walk around her chambers and fiddle with insignificant thing after insignificant thing. no doubt it were some sort of defence mechanism, an attempt to stop herself from allowing the tears to flow: and whilst he would readily allow the tears to flow and be there to wipe them, he would not force her. "yes?" he responded, knowing all too well the uttering of his name was not a question, but a statement of acknowledgement of his presence. manal manderly would do, and be, manal manderly; in all ways she had been raised to be - even at the lowest of points.

his arm remained outstretched, though he did not move towards her; whilst he prayed she would not see him as something to fear, he knew somewhere in her mind, that could be a possibility with all the trauma and suffering she had amassed. there were four children of house manderly, and there was no denying they came in duos; reflections of one another, even in their times of being complete opposites. there was no animosity or anger in knowing there were some who were closer to other siblings - and manal, was and always would be his closest. his rock, as much as he was her own.

"you really think i was going to let you leave me deal with those two on my own?" nasir asked, a moment his dry sense of humour coming through. and when she looked at him, they exchanged a knowing look, filled with equal parts amusement as much as sadness. it were clear she continued trying not to cry, but as she turned on her heel and began to make his way over to him, he remained in place. that night, the eldest siblings of house manderly remained beside one another upon the velvet rug, sharing equal part tears and discussions that were heavy in nature. a servant girl was ushered to bring the future ruling lord, khalid; and he remained upon his aunt's lap as they remained upon the comfort of the rug, eating a dinner.

(end of thread.)

14 days. Quietly she counted those days as she sat within her room. She didn’t have it in her to leave the quarters for more than a few moments. Feasts were hard enough, standing before so many made it even harder. The lady of House Manderly wasn’t doing well, she didn’t think she would do well for some time. Though, each day, she stayed out a little longer. She would walk through the halls with her dogs, she would walk through the gardens and the glasshouses and then she would go back to her room. She would close her door and when they were all gone, she would place her hands on her chest, and she would weep. In her time in captivity, she learned to cry quietly, then pray to herself and to make sure she could not be seen for she would have given none the satisfaction of seeing her fall. How much further could a woman fall when they already whispered of what could have happened to her? Manal came to believe no one would catch her.

Then it happened. And every morning she woke, and she forgot she were and then she would panic, the handmaids coming to her with their arms outstretched for her, calling for the Septa for she wouldn’t speak to the Wisdoms. They needed to have a woman made available. Men frightened her. She felt her spine shiver when a hand rose. She felt her heart fall to her stomach when a strange voice was loud, and so many of their Northman looked like the little King that she wanted to run away. But she did not run away. Lady Manal Manderly, she would have to present herself and she would have to return to form soon. Soon.

Through polite conversations she knew one brother had a should and another was wrapped up in vengeance, she knew it would be vengeance. She didn’t write to him. Where would the ravens go? Letters were dangerous in a war, she recalled. Shooting down their birds, arriving to locations. Even without secrets she wouldn’t distract him with her. She would wait for him to come home.

And when Nasir came into the room, she looked upon him, she watched him, and listen. She hadn’t touched any of the letters. When she finally came home, when she was safe and away from those dangers the night terrors stayed. And those letters were written for someone else. Someone gone.

“Nasir.” She pretended not to see his hand as she fussed around the room, if she allowed herself to be hugged she would break and if she broke again she would not have enough pieces to put her together. Again.

✯

there was not much that could result in the ruling lord of white harbour entirely derooting himself from what he would consider fact and what he would consider opinion: too often had he been considered southern by the rest of the realm, whilst his brashness and bluntness was the very same as their own - merely two sides of the same coin. there was not much that would make him freeze entirely into place, as though he felt his chest ready to cave in on itself and collapse inwardly; as though the collapse of nasir manderly would be the collapse of white harbour itself. the scene that was playing out before him, however, was enough to result in a man feeling as small as a little boy.

he had been too late.

the sound of the crying and the sobbing of women mourning their dead was something nasir manderly had never truly been able to sit and listen to, even in times war when one needed to ride through villages and settlements that had been entirely torched and were now nothing but ash. to see it, to hear it, in such a circumstance was something that made him feel entirely on edge.

he had been too late.

and so, nasir manderly remained frozen on the sidelines of the room: frozen in time, and frozen in fear. what could he possibly be afraid of? the knowledge that nothing would remain the same now, though he was never a man that was afraid of change, or even dreaded it. the knowledge that upon the body being taken from the bed, the next time he would see his sister would be during the funeral prayers; and the time after that, when he would be carrying her coffin to be entombed and buried. this is the last place he would see her that was her own, and as much as he was silent as opposed to zaida's descent into hysterics, he agreed whole heartedly with her.

he too, wanted five more minutes; he wanted to be able to wait for amir and not need to look his brother in the face when he returned. if he returned. the pit in his stomach only felt more hollow.

it was the sound of his mother's voice that derooted him from the spot he was stood; frozen. how he wished he could remain frozen, and yet he knew he could not. and so, he approached the bed, not even feeling his legs despite knowing he used them because he came closer to the face of death. was this what it meant when it was said death was like an old friend? his gaze looked upon manal only for a moment, and if not for the cry of zaida, he would have found himself giving out too. the sound of her cry made him look over at her, thinking of his mother's words; how long could they shield her now too? no longer was she the child of the family, the innocent sister; she was the oldest of the manderly ladies. a part of him wanted to tell their mother that zaida did need to see this - what a hypocrite he would be, for even he could not bare to see this.

he had been too late.

and if this was any other circumstance, he would have had no qualms with using force and grabbing hold of her; taking her out of the room in the way he would when they were children, pulling her away from the fighting squabbles she would get into with manal and amir alike. instead he merely moved in her view of the bed, not able to lift a hand to place upon her shoulders; instead, he only looked upon her. as though, for the first time in a long time, they were the same more than they were different. "let's go downstairs." he spoke, but in reality, he asked. because he too needed to leave the room, in fear of retching. his offer made it as though the choice was being given to zaida, rather than her being dragged from the chambers.

"i'm going downstairs. come with me, please."

𝔠𝔩𝔬𝔰𝔢𝔡 𝔰𝔱𝔞𝔯𝔱𝔢𝔯 𝔣𝔬𝔯: @nasirofmanderlys 𝔰𝔢𝔱𝔱𝔦𝔫𝔤: the morning after the death of Manal II

There had been no rest of Zaida, that night. She'd not wanted it. She'd stayed awake all night, a silent trail of tears washing her face as she gazed at the too-still form of her sister in repose. She might have been sleeping. Manal looked perfectly still in the guttering candlelight, the too-pallid hue of her face half excused by the silver moonlight. No, it was not loss. It was only the shining stars above that played such tricks. She was only sleeping. How could it be otherwise? How could it be that her sister lay dead before her?

Zaida had clasped her hand, steady through her painful last hours, and now -- though Manal's hand felt like ice -- she would not let her go. She would not look away from her face. Not when this was, perhaps, the first peace Manal had known since her capture. Not when they had been so long sundered, fear and heartache eating at her. Not when all Manal had wanted in the end was to run and play with her siblings as they all had once done. No, this wasn't happening, wasn't real. She'd made it! They'd fought for her, found her, borne her home and she, gods, she had been so strong and so brave all that time. How could it be? The gods were not so cruel: they would not let them all go through all of that, only to steal her away as soon as she was safely home again. It could not be.

Zaida did not see dawn break, did not note how ephemeral silver moonbeams turned to golden sunshine. She did not notice the familiar sounds of the servants making daily preparations outside the room. She did not want them. She did not want any of it. If time passed...but it did not. Could not. There would be no funeral because there was no death. Wouldn't be. Couldn't be. This was a cruel trick: a nightly terror from which she'd soon awaken, perhaps, or a bizarre misunderstanding, soon to be cleared up when Manal woke, happy and glowing, to explain it all. She was just sleeping. It couldn't be this way.

But Manal's hand was cold in her own.

"It's time," someone was saying. Zaida felt a handprint upon her shoulder. How hot it felt in contrast to Manal's. Zaida shuddered. "It's time," said the voice. "She's gone." It was her mother's voice, low and kind.

"No. No," bit out Zaida, pulling away from the other's Manal's touch. "No, mama, mama, no, don't disturb her. Please. Please. She's been through so much. Please, please let her sleep. Don't--" But the servants came, respectfully, reaching out to touch Manal, to move her. To prepare her. "No!" shrieked Zaida. "No! No, don't touch her! Don't you touch her!"

"Zaida." Her mother's voice was gentle, still, yet firm, and Zaida went rigid. She'd heard that tone before -- on the day of her father's death. Her mother was clasping Zaida's hand, dislodging it from her sister's.

"No, Mama," sobbed Zaida, shaking her head. "No, no, no," she begged. "Please, please. Let's just...let's just wait for Amir. He'll be here any moment, I know it, and she wants to see him. So much. It's all she wants, and then everything will finally be all right. Please. Please, mama, please!"

"Nasir," said Manal, in the same tone. "Zaida doesn't need to see this. Take her downstairs, please."

✯

for as long as he could remember, the locks of oldcastle had been more than their banners: they had been their companions within the ornate halls of white harbour, majestic and towering and glistening in it's glory and yet what was more glorious was the beginnings of a new generation which appeared to stand together in their difference in the backdrop that was the rest of the north. being different was something nasir manderly had never come to truly and entirely feel in essence, for there was no way he could feel isolated when there was always those like him around him.

feray, for as long as he could remember, had also walked the halls of oldcastle; more of a permanent presence than her brothers, but equally as beloved by his family. whilst he had always maintained a respectful distance from her as a result of their difference in age and his marital status, nasir had accepted what his mother and her mother had told him so many years ago in passing: that one day, she would join house manderly was a wife to his younger brother.

the woman had been raised as the only and the youngest daughter: with three brothers, ready to take on the responsibility of heirship. and now, she was the sole heir of oldcastle with a weight to carry: healing the people and securing their confidence once more following an attack on who they were as people. an attack on their very essence and their very soul. "forgive me, feray." he spoke, his tone remaining warm, despite how much it seemed to cause her face to change. whilst he never spoke to her in such a personal and close way, how else could he speak to her about a matter such as this one? all her siblings had sacrificed themselves for the sake of him and his family.

her life had changed forever, as a result of the staunch loyalty they had showed them. they truly were the keys, in more ways than one.

and whilst he had never felt entirely like an older brother to the young girl who had turned into a young woman, in this moment, he understood the weight of what it was to essentially be her guardian from the moment his own father had died. a part of him felt cruel for even looking in her direction as the quiet disintegration began, first by clinging onto the blanket he placed over her skirts as though she depended on it, to the silent tears that rolled down her cheeks. frozen, was what she had appeared; regardless of how warm the room felt, or the warmth she would continue to feel within the house of white harbour and the house of manderly.

and so, he broke his gaze from her own, almost as though to offer her a moment of respite; how awful it was to see her frozen in such a way. when the correspondence from amir finally arrived, he found himself relieved - desperately relieved to know the man was alive, and had not perished within the shivering sea nor upon the isle of skagos. that relief was short lived upon reading the contents of the letter. "okan and enver both fell in battle, fighting within different legions." he spoke, giving her no more details than that; there was no need to speak to her of the realities of the battle front, how it often took days to search out and recover the dead. the brothers had not been with one another - none of them had.

"okan was dealing with the bolton force. enver the umbers."

and bekarys, was the matter of which even nasir manderly struggled to speak of. a desperate attempt to escape that had resulted in essentially being hunted through the wilderness of the skagosi woods, and had ended up dying in the arms of amir manderly, who had refused to leave him to perish alone in the dark. nasir did not even try and open his mouth regarding the matter, for instead, all he done was silently pass feray the letter which had finally arrived from amir. "he was with amir." nasir spoke, his voice remaining soft over the crackling of the hearth. he was ready to assure her that oldcastle would remain a close ally of house manderly, that this castle and her rooms would remain as they always had for her. but not yet. it was too soon.

feray was surprised when she was summoned by nasir. she had never been as close to the eldest brother as she was with the rest of the manderlys ― particularly zaida and amir. he was already a man grown when she had arrived in white harbour. now he had a wife and a babe, both of whom she adored. she turned up dutifully in his audience chambers, a careful smile on her face. she was going to wait until he had spoken before she told him that she was grateful he had made it home safe, but his tone slowly made her smile disappear. it was too warm, too familiar. it caught her completely off guard. "nasir." she greeted him simply, too confused to say anything else. she had always referred to him as nasir in private, anything else seemed odd within the walls of white harbour, but she exclusively used lord manderly when in public.

the more she thought about why he had summoned her, and especially his greeting, the more sure she became that something terrible must have happened. maybe one of her brothers had been injured, maybe amir had been, or maybe something had happened to her parents still in oldcastle. a thousand worries went through her mind as she followed him to the hearth in the room.

when feray sat down next to him, she kept glancing at his face, trying to piece together what could have happened. if one of her brothers had been injured or something had happened to her parents, she had to get back to oldcastle no matter what. she only tore her eyes away from his face when suddenly there was a blanket in her lap. she looked at it as if it itself had brought her some grave news. when he told her to brace herself, she held her breath as her nails dug into the softness of the blanket. however, there was absolutely nothing he could have said that could have prepared her for what he revealed. all sons of house locke have been returned to oldcastle, to be buried. bekarys, okan and enver - none have made it through the war. it felt like her heart had stopped beating. as if everything in the entire world had to stop for a moment. the gulls out on the water should have ceased their screeching, the dogs barking in the distance should be quiet. but she could still hear them. it meant that it had to be a mistake of some sort. "nasir, i don't understand, what-" she began to say, but the truth was that she did understand. feray had helped dress the wounds of those who arrived at white harbour with injuries, she had helped those who had been forced to flee from their homes. she had helped feed them, helped with sewing clothes for those who had been left with nothing. she had heard so many tragic tales of sons, brothers, husbands not returning home from war. life had gone on for all their families left behind to mourn. maybe the noises from outside the walls of the chambers were not proof that it was a lie. even when she had been comforting others, she had never imagined, not even once, that her brothers could die. they were all three so strong and healthy, so full of life... except they were not anymore.

her dark eyes were on the oldest manderly brother but she did not see him. all she imagined were the faces of her bekarys, okan and enver. in her memories, they were smiling and laughing. she could almost hear them arguing about whose fault it was that they had once again been bested by their little sister in their favourite card game. okan and enver always blaming bekarys for teaching feray all his tricks a little too well. they were so alive in her memories. but then she started imagining them with empty eyes wide open, their skin ashen grey and their lips blue from the cold. no, no, no. nasir had to be wrong, he had to be. "tell me it's not true... please, i beg you," feray whispered, her eyes suddenly focused and desperate as she looked for any sign in nasir's eyes that he was lying. she wanted him to lie, to play a cruel joke on her. but she already knew that he would never lie to her about this. none of the manderlys would.

for so long she had feared death, so many times she had bravely fought against the darkness of the beyond, in illness and underneath the sea as she sank to the bottom. but at that moment, if her heart should fail her now, she would put up no fight against the final end. it was the first time in her life that death would be welcomed as a friend. her brothers, all three of them, were gone from this world and she was somehow expected to stay here without them. house locke had always feared its only daughter would pass early, none had ever spared a thought that all three sons would perish instead. her hand went to her heart as silent tears stained her cheeks. she did not sob or scream or throw herself onto the ground. she sat motionless as a statue, frozen in shock with her eyes on the fire roaring in the hearth now. feray tried to will her heart to stop beating underneath her palm, to finally give up as the maesters had warned her that it could at any moment. but it stubbornly refused to heed her wish.

feray lost all sense of time. she did not know if nasir had allowed her to grieve silently for minutes or an hour. "were okan and enver together? was bekarys with amir?" she finally asked in a quiet voice, almost too quiet to hear. why she asked, she truly did not know. feray knew there was no solace to be found, there was no comfort, no mercy. and yet she needed to know her brothers had died at the side of someone they called friend, of each other.

✯

it were not as though his faith and his trust was entirety within the hands of the ruling lord of oldtown: a man who was painted in the hues of many a different controversy they would be here until sunset should they decide to list all of them. it were not as though he felt some suspicion or irritation towards the lord of the hightower, a staunch difference in the backdrop of other northern lords whom would consider the man to as much poison as his family before him; nasir manderly understood there was no such thing as good and bad in the world they lived in.

the concept of northern honour was flawed, and one could see it in the way the sun of winter had found himself at a loss time and time again, whilst those who crossed him seemed only to benefit in their realm. and thus, he was not judging the man's work ethic: it were not his place to do so. his question was a genuine one, an effort to bridge the gap of lacking knowledge regarding events.

was garland hightower a holy man? there was no way of knowing by this conversation, and some men would have looked at his actions during the war to make that assumption. the actions of man did not equate to their godliness, it seemed; more now than ever before. he thought of the marbrands, all he knew of them from the companionship of his choice of wife: but his surprise in turn did surprise nasir manderly.

"the faith's centre has been the starry sept for many a year. aside from some moments in our history, that has worked. there is little need to change what works." they are dealing with enough, are they not?

there was a clear sense of surprise within the face of the hightower lord upon hearing the manderly's statement: they would not be breaking from the faith of oldtown, regardless of the independence gained within the north or the change of momentum across the realms. not many would agree with the hardline launch taken by the lion king and his court; the manderlys of white harbour being one of many who perceived such a move as a mere power hungry grab.

"the north is not the place for independence regarding the faith." his words were heavy, and had many a connotation and suggestion within it; and he truly believed it. a part of him felt as though should an independent institution following the faith of the seven be set up within the north, it would not last. "i would rather not have it at all, rather than end up seeing it lost, either personally or in the years to come."

he heard the man's clear line of reasoning regarding those extremists tainted in blood; those who had taken to cobbled streets and washed it with the blood of the innocent in the name of the gods and in the name of religion. the same people who called for a holy crusade to defend what was their own to defend: in the moment of time where it was the perfect distraction. there is no better way to bind men together than to declare a universal enemy. "the northern delegate are aware of my thoughts regarding the high septon's actions." nasir manderly had already started disassociating from the man, and strangely, felt no guilt for it at all. the northern septons would speak their voice in any hearings the lord of oldtown called.

"but there is no denying there is a foundation of issues in which this extremism has been built upon. things that had been exposed." he paused, knowing what it was he referred to. payment, blackmail, the taking of mistresses and bed slaves by septons. "that too need be monitored."

If there was one house on the continent Garland would liken to his own, it was the Manderlys. Not in origin nor in wealth, but in position in each of their kingdoms. When the North was not it’s own power, the city of White Harbor was just another port, another city, in the scheme of it all. But the fractures in the map made by black ink and crowns made the Manderlys as important as the Hightowers in their own lands. The greatest port, the richest gateway into the kingdom, where the greatest amount of people lived with little exception. Institutions that survived the collapse of dragons from the sky. Though the Hightowers limped away from that. Were limping still, like him, as chaos brewed within and without.

He had poured the most vile of poisons down his own throat to secure his people, and still the foreign weeds kept growing in spite of it all. Still the fucking foreigners ruin things.

Not Nasir Manderly, no, he was one of the few honorable folk Garland had no bitter feelings towards, no matter the side they ended up on or choices they made to get where they were. In all honesty, Nasir reminded Garland of his uncle. Something in the way Lord Manderly was, maybe his calm demeanor or way he spoke. Garland felt no need to play his golden games of posturing and politics with the Master of Laws. Of course there was the unstated way lords talked to one another, showing half their hand and hiding their low cards like high stakes gamblers, but it was not hostile. Just the way things happen when you possess power.

There was no misunderstanding the way Garland’s eyebrows raised for just a split second when he heard how the North’s premier follower of the Seven -even if was the Old Way- intended to keep with the Starry Sept. It was a mix of judgment and surprise. He would not blame the man if he were separate and cut his ties if he wished. The North had their own religion, one that often conflicted with the new and old ways of the Seven, and separating would give the Manderlys the chance to be further follow the Hightower footsteps, guide their sect from unseen shadows. Merge better with their old ways or become more conflicting. It was more power, plainly. But some do not want power, or the responsibility that came with it. Gods, this was the worst part of the titles he received, both boldly written and the ones unsaid. He did not want to deal with the gods that were nothing more than gilded statues to him, nor their more earthly servants. Wasn’t it enough he had to lay amongst the vipers of court both ally and foe, to keep the weeds from tangling around his and his house’s throats?

“I know nothing but work, your lordship. Whether pointed to the coffers or the streets or the hymn-filled halls.” Garland knew it was not just him working on ousting the current High Septon. He could almost feel phantom fingers from without digging into the cobbled streets of his city, just not knowing from where. Well, he knew one, a compatriot on the small council and the wife of his best friend, but others he did not know were friend or foe. If he should chop them off or let them unsettle the foundation of the very Sept his family funded. “My king has given me–” His voice trails in that suggestive way before the word leaves his mouth. “–guidelines. I will act within them.” For now. “But I intend to see harmony return to the Starry Sept, and the septs throughout Westeros, shortly. The people need the Faith, and the Faith needs an unshakable foundation.”

He’d started his manipulations of the Most Devout, putting the names of septons who came from trusted Hightower stock in their mouths and ears, and the current High Septon let himself get smeared with shit, no matter how direct or not. A vote of no confidence would be ideal, but Hightowers had dealt with previous High Septons in other ways.

“I am moving to root out those who would undermine the Faith for their own gains, who support the breaking of laws and the terror of innocents.” The purge was still recent in memory. Garland had half a mind to restrict those knights to the district in which the Starry Sept resided, as to keep the populace calm. But he needed them to incriminate themselves as well, and cornering a feral thing only leads to it clawing back. “They were crimes committed in my city, against my people, and they will see my justice. It is not a simple matter, and those who wish to poison the Faith are good at retreating back to the shadows for a time. I’m afraid any chance of them knowing what is planned for them is too great of a chance for me to take.”

   —   ⁺  𝐔𝐏𝐃𝐀𝐓𝐄  .  𝐑𝐄𝐆𝐄 𝐉𝐄𝐀𝐍 𝐏𝐀𝐆𝐄  ,  1988  [ AN ADDITIONAL #503 GIFS,  NEW TOTAL #808 GIFS ]  BRIDGERTON S1  /  rege jean page is zimbabwean & white, please cast accordingly and use appropriately. all of the gifs have been created from scratch by me. to access the gifs please click the source link. do not edit, claim as your own or add into your own hunts! time and effort were spent into making these gifs, a like or a reblog would be much appreciated!

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[ ! ] content warning: alcohol, partial nudity, kissing

✯

despite the fact it had been so long since the ruling lord of white harbour had walked through the halls he would know even if he were blinded and the silent urge to return home remained so utterly exhausting, it was his sister who had passed through the mighty gates of white harbour's courtyard first - some days before lord nasir himself returned home. that had felt like the finish line in itself, the end of something that had plagued them for what felt like an eternity; the rest that came through could be settled. and the fires lord nasir had set upon the portions of the woods little umber had hidden himself in from the world could be seen, heard, and smelt from leagues and leagues away - his sense of retribution not be tainted in revenge.

it was controlled, rather than savagery that ravaged through the ancient earth. the flames had little reaction to the man who had spent over a decade fighting by the side of the starks during the hour of the wolf, in lands that were ancestrally more of him than this desolate landscape. but this was their home.

and whilst he had written to his wife, there was a part of him that felt like he could have and should have done more to attempt to see her. they were newly married when the war first hit, and now they had grown into their own ways after a year apart: still, the roles nasir had been taught whilst growing made it clear what his role was in their family. there was no place to take his focus from the conflict at hand and risk diverting his forces to seagard; there would be no home for his wife to return to. in the months that had separated them, she had birthed the heir of white harbour - entirely alone. he was unsure whether he even would have been in the room, but he struggled to comprehend the fact the choice had been taken away from them.

he was not nervous to see imane again until his boots were walking against the marble floors that led to her private chambers. he had passed the nursery on route, finding it strange to think it were no longer vacant. when he crossed the threshold into the room, he found his vivid dark orbs looking upon the lady who had done all she had ever promised him; in return for the promise of a family that would only accept her. treat her kindly. so much had changed it felt like, and he had never once thought of the fact he would have to resettle into their marriage again - after barely settling in to begin with. it were clear by the slightly hesitant look in her expression that she felt the same, and he saw the tears that seemed to pool in her orbs.

and yet, before he even looked upon his son, the first thing nasir manderly done was to place a kiss at the top of his wive's head as he pulled her into an embrace, hoping the pieces of the puzzle that was their marriage would slowly fit back into place. more than a year. it felt like a lifetime, and he hated the fact she felt so far away. "salaam." he murmured, his hand resting upon her back as he wished peace upon her. he wished peace upon them both. there was a tired smile that crossed his features as he looked down at her, as though this were strange. that it felt like so much time had passed, and none had, all at once. "leave us, please." he spoke, his tone firm but warm as he looked upon the servants, knowing this moment was one he wanted to share alone with his wife and his son.

his son was placed into his hands for the very first time and he felt the world slow; his hands almost shaking as he settled the child in his arms, his hand resting softly upon the curve of his head. he saw the presence of dark hair, and looked upon imane, as though suddenly the pieces had all fit into place. as he grew from a boy into a man, all he had ever heard of was the importance of the manderly dynasty; the name of those who had honoured the promise that was made a thousand years ago. it had been something he was desperate to understand, until he did; in this very moment. his thumb brushed the curve of his son's cheek softly, unable to work out who he resembled: was it too early for such a thing? "your son." he quietly reminded her, tracing his thumb over his son's cheek. "i never meant for you to have to do it alone."

with : @nasirofmanderlys

where : the new castle, white harbor. this takes place after the war in the north has ended.

she'd forgotten the smell of white harbor. the sharp saltiness on chilly air, so distinctly white harbor, warmed her heart better than any fire ever could but she wanted to weep at the same time. she'd almost forgotten it. almost forgotten her home, though she spent so little time there so far. it was heartbreaking and yet being there, feeling the carriage bump along the cobbled streets up to the new castle, eased so much anxiety that had been growing in her heart. more than a year had passed since she’d been back in the city, not realizing when she left for the reach with her husband it would be so long until she was back again. she’d been so hopeful that she would be pleasantly along when they’d return, that her son would be born in the halls of his ancestors, but instead the war came -another bloody war that took her husband from the safety of their bed into the great wide battlefields of the north- and she had to retreat to the kindness of seagard and house mallister. imane did her best not to show ayca or the others that she was teeming with the same nerves she felt when her husband had gone to war before, made worse and worse with the more news that trickled down the neck. manal taken, the vitriol hatred of the umber pretender king towards her people, more and more piled onto her slender shoulders like heavy blankets, dimming her hopeful smile by the time her son wished to enter the world.

imane’s mind echoed with her own cries as she remembered the cries she uttered into the inky black of the night. clinging to the mattress, sweat clinging to her skin and soaking her nightdress, wanting nothing more than her husband to be there, to just want to know if he was alive at one point. was she already a widow? would she bring a child into the world that would not know their father? their aunt? their uncle? she’d pretended so long that things would be alright, hiding the truth from her own mind for the sake of her child and herself, but the pain and the fear and the aching tiredness within finally let it break. The tears she cried holding her boy were not just from joy, but the uncertainty of his future. But there was one thing she knew, it was she would love that boy and teach him to be a great man like those that came before him.

the gods smiled on her when the news came that she could come home, written in the hand she longed to see again. Her husband had survived. news came quickly after that manal was alright too. amir lived, zaida and the dowager manal had kept the home fires bright. they could all be home, and they could meet khalid. the boy was sitting up now with help, his newborn status long gone, imane helping him look through the window of the carriage as he sat on her lap. he was still too young to speak, to remember this, but to watch him see it all for the first time brought such joy to her. his eyes wandered over the stretches of stone, over the statues that they would pass, the intense interest glittered there at the sight of mermen and maids… it was like he knew this was his home, even at first sight. It made her heart swell with both peace and relief. he knew he was a manderly, before he could even understand what that would mean.

finally though they entered the gates of the new castle, and through the latticed window, imane saw her staff. how quick and joyous they were to greet her, to greet the little lord in her arms that she refused to hand off just yet. “forgive me, but i want his father to be the first one here to hold him… he’s missed so much already.” imane’s soft voice asked of the nannies and servants, who nodded and retracted their offers to take on the weight of the small child. instead they escorted her to nasir, all the while she was whispering things about the halls and castle to their son. the things she would have said in the days after his birth, when he would coo and awe at the details his ancestors had put into their home. things she had learned from walking the halls with nasir, asking questions about every little thing that piqued her curiosity because it was so different from ashemark. 

finally though, the door opened and there he was. Her husband. Her blessed beautiful husband. She thought she could hold back the rush that she expected to feel when she saw nasir, but tears immediately welled in her dark eyes, her breath caught in her throat. how many dreams did she have like this, seeing him again? how many nightmares painted this moment with crimson and pain? imane kept herself from running and throwing herself and her son into his arms, but there was a noticeable speed to how she walked across the room. she hardly noticed how the servants had shut the door, allowing them privacy. imane didn’t even know what to say. where did she start, after a year apart? a squirming in her arm made her look down, look at the child that was starting to reach out towards this new stranger who was not so strange at all. “i went with the name we picked… khalid hashim.” she started to position him in her arm, allowing him to be handed off. “your son.”