The Last Thing That Dacey Had Expected To Find When Glorie Had Wed Her Brother Was A Sister. The Best

she'd always felt solace in the godswood, as though it were the only place in the world where silences did not demand to be filled. and yet, tonight, the quiet moments were charged with something she could not name and could not place, and when brandon spoke, she was grateful to him for not letting the hush linger, even if the tone of his voice and the words he chose caught her off guard.

her arms folded loosely across her chest, her eyes fixed on the carved face of the heart tree, as though its mouth might move, and it might provide her the words she struggled with to respond. "there are some things that are impossible to put down." she murmured. alysanne was one of those things. since brandon had offered her the truth, her feelings surrounding her oldest sister had been complex. the grief was there, but there was anger too, and blame, wrapped up in a neat bow of guilt for feeling such things in the first place. that, though, was too much to put into words, but there was a way in which brandon karstark seemed to look at her, and understand the very shape of her thoughts, that had her wondering if she needed to.

and she so rarely let herself be unguarded with anybody. within winterfell, she was the one who hid things, who shielded others from that which would do them harm, who at times would shy away from revealing her very being, but the more he spoke, the clearer it was that there was little use in hiding anything from him. whatever she tried to keep away from his eyes, he already knew.

"you've a way with words, brandon." her cheeks were flushed with more than the cold, because for a woman who bled kindness so freely, so willingly, having it directed back at her, to hear the things that she had always thought made her weak rephrased as her strength, was something she did not know how to contend with. but hearing it from him, she could almost believe it, even for a moment.

there was a gentleness to his gaze that had not been there before, or if it had, she hadn't noticed it. it was enough to make her breath catch briefly, coming from her in an audible stutter on the winds. "the same goes for you." she spoke with a solemnity, a sincerity that could not be doubted. a quiet confirmation that there was at least one in winterfell who recognised what it was that he had to carry forward with him, and would help lift up that which was too heavy to raise alone. "thank you, lord karstark. your loyalty... that means more than i can say."

and she understood that too much had changed, that brandon would not and could not be the ever-present figure he had been before, but that did not mean that there was not regret in parting. it twisted at her, forcing her to look away, towards the skies where the snow swirled, almost peacefully. "i will. i'll write." whether she would or not remained to be seen. "stay safe. on the roads, in karhold."

and as dacey made to leave, something stopped her, rooting her to the snow-covered ground, because there was still something left unsaid. "you are right," she glanced back over her shoulder, at brandon, standing by the heart's tree. "the north does not lose its own for long." she was speaking not of alysanne, but of him.

♞

the quiet of the godswood wrapped around them like an old cloak, the weirwood’s red leaves trembling gently in the wind. the snow lay thick beneath their boots, the air cold enough to sting the skin, but brandon karstark felt none of it. his gaze was on princess dacey stark, her face solemn as she stood before the heart tree. the faint candlelight of winterfell barely reached this corner of the world, leaving the grove to its shadows and whispers.

he’d seen her unyielding and dedicated —but tonight, there was something softer about her, something vulnerable. it pulled at something deep in his chest.

he broke the silence first, his voice low and rough like gravel underfoot. “dacey,” he began, her name heavy on his tongue, “ye’ve carried this weight long enough. too long, if i’m to speak plain.” his northern drawl softened the sharpness of his words, but not their intent. “ye’ve got the look o’ someone fightin’ battles in her own head. alysanne’s gone, aye, but it weren’t your doin’. whatever ghosts haunt ye about it, they’re lyin’ through their teeth.”

he stepped closer, his furs rustling with the movement. the godswood always felt like a place for truths, and he wouldn’t hold back here. not with her. “i know ye think the north depends on ye—the whole of it, like the weight of winter itself rests on yer shoulders. but ye’ve got to know this: the north’s strong ‘cause o’ folk like ye. not ‘cause ye bear it alone, but because ye’ve got the heart to care when most’d shut theirs away.” he sighed, his breath visible in the cold air.

“it’s not just her ye’re mournin’, is it? it’s all of it—the feelin’ o’ losin’ control, losin’ kin. but we’ll find her. aye, we will. the north doesn’t lose its own for long. someone’ll speak, or some sign’ll show itself. the gods don’t let things like this stay hidden forever.”

brandon let his gaze drift to the heart tree for a moment, the carved face watchin’ them with its eternal solemnity. he turned back to her, his expression softer now, though the steel in his voice remained. “ye’re stronger than ye give yerself credit for, dacey. always have been. but if the weight’s too much, lean on those who care for ye. lean on me, if ye need. i’ll not see ye break under it. not you.” he paused, uncertain for a moment. then, more quietly, almost as an afterthought, he added, “ye’ve always had me respect, princess. even when i did not know of yer ways. but now... ye’ve got me loyalty too. not just as lord karstark. as a man who sees the good in ye, even when ye can’t see it yerself.”

he paused slightly, briefly distracted by the way in which the snow seemed to swirl before them. he waved his hand toward it, as if he would leave some lingering spirit on his hand. "i'll be returning back to karhold soon enough, though know if ya need anythin' from me you can send a raven." it felt like a goodbye of sorts; he had accepted that aleksander would be the present karstark within the court of the north. he knew not when he would see dacey stark again.

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

dark half-moons had painted themself under dacey's eyes, a sure sign that she had slept very little in the nights leading up to this - the arrival of all who would see themselves as queen in the north, and the family members that came to support that ambition. she knew the north needed a queen, but more and more was she questioning owen's decisions. throwing the door open for all of westeros, bar a few notable exceptions, to throw their hat in the ring seemed to her like a recipe for disaster, but then, she had always been quiet and introverted. winterfell was her safest place, and though she were accustomed to guests, with it being the seat of a king, the idea of it being quite so full of strangers was not a pleasant one.

yet here she stood, in the courtyard, a smile laced with tension on her face as she greeted these invaders to her home. her hands were clasped before her, twisting around one another and betraying the anxiety she felt. owen's choice would be his own, but one that played on her mind, keeping her awake until the small hours as she carefully considered who she would see joining the wolves of winter.

and she did not think to see the distinctive sight of targaryen silver here. not in the north, given relations between owen and the king of new valyria were so fraught, but she quickly realised who it was. this must be the prince baelon, the son of rhaenyra, the black dragon the starks had once raised their banners for.

"your highness?" her voice was laced with uncertainty as she stepped forward to greet him. "welcome to winterfell, your grace. i trust the journey wasn't too difficult?"

Open starter

Where: Winterfell's Courtyard

When: Before the beginning of The Winter Ball, Baelon just arrived in Winterfell

Baelon did not mind the North. Actually, the only thing about it that bothered him was the cold, but he could deal with that. When he got the invitation from the King in the North to attend the event, he did not hesitate to accompany his sister. Baelon didn't want to let her attend alone, plus it was a good chance to get drunk without much judgement, it was a celebration after all. Along with that, the Starks were loyal to his mother to the very end and Baelon does not forget that. Even now, he believes that they did not forget their vows.

The trip had been a long and tiring one and Baelon could not wait to find his chambers, where a nice bed and a warm fire would be waiting for him. Winterfell was as beautiful as ever, the whole of the North was an incredible place, even though in his opinion, nothing would ever come close to his home of Dragonstone.

Baelon climbed down from his horse once they entered the courtyard of the castle. He handed the horse's lead to one of the servants that had come to meet him and his caravan, before nodding and thanking the young boy. Baelon paused for a moment, admiring his surroundings and observing who had already arrived in Winterfell. Not a familiar face, from what he could see. Although he failed to notice the figure approaching him.

Elizabeth Olsen for a special screening of His Three Daughters in London

Cathy Park Hong, from "Spring and All"

I've been worried ever since I was born

"it's an artform i'm familiar with." there was a sort of quiet contemplation in dacey's expression. a hum of agreement at malee's words. "it is a kind of magic, i suppose." the magic, though, was in the fact that they were looking upon the fruit of someone's labour. the fields of gold and skies of blue clearly mattered to the weaver to pour such care into their creation, every thread a deliberate act of preserving a memory. to dacey, that told more of a story than any tales of battle and conquest.

"i think i favour it because it is so peaceful. there is no need for embellishments or ornamentation. it speaks for itself, and it is enough as it is." the battle piece demanded attention and awe, but this earned it, gently and quietly, it's true grandeur only revealed the more she looked at it.

or perhaps it was because dacey simply did not have the stomach for war and battle. so often, she heard people around her speak of the vision of peace, as though it was something they strove toward, only for it to be broken almost the moment they had it. "if only we could treasure peace whilst we have it, instead of relying on reminders when it is threatened."

her cheeks flushed. she didn't know why she said that. her throat cleared, and she readily jumped on the change of topic. "the stories tend to be that of our histories, as i'm sure yours tell your own. the weaves are quite different, though. northern tapestries are far heavier - the cold demands it. and the colours... it is rare to see a sky so blue past the neck, and we weave what we know." it had been a long time since she had seen white harbour, and she tried to recall what hung on the manderly's walls.

malee inclined her head at the winter princess' words, a soft smile playing at her lips. “you have an eye for it, your grace,” she said, her voice even and measured, though there was a warmth beneath it. “not everyone looks beyond the grand gestures to see the smaller threads that truly hold a piece together.” she gestured lightly toward the tapestry of the harvest. “it does seem to breathe differently, doesn’t it? as if it asks us to pause, rather than march forward.”

she let her fingers trail just above the fabric, careful not to touch the fragile threads. “it’s a kind of magic, weaving a story from nothing but wool and vision. there’s honesty in it, even when the tales themselves are embellished.” the soft hues of gold and blue seemed to glow in the dim light, a stark contrast to the crimson chaos of the battle scene.

the lady of the crag turned toward dacey, her expression thoughtful. “i admire your honesty, your grace,” she said after a pause. “it’s easy to speak of glory when surrounded by reminders of it.” her lips curved into a faint, almost wistful smile. “but you’re right to prefer this one. it feels... truer, somehow. a reminder of what we fight for, even if it’s fleeting.”

she exhaled softly, almost to herself. “sometimes i wonder if we only appreciate peace once it’s become a memory.” there was a heavier meaning to her words, with the tension lingering in the air, kingdoms who held their own firm opinions, a dislike of what the lion king has decreed in his lands, it felt as if the small bit of peace had already come unraveled, a thread fastened with haste and a lack of care. "are tapestries so similar in the north? i mean, i imagine the stories are similar, but do you find the colors or weaves to be different here? i did not have the privilege of seeing the tapestries white harbor had to offer during our court's time there." she questioned, adding, almost wistfully, "i suppose that seems so long ago, now."

the air in highgarden was thick with the perfume of roses - climbing roses, garden roses, blossoms in soft pastels, vivid reds and the cleanest whites that spilled over trellises and peeked from stone urns. the smell wasn't bad, exactly, but cloying, amplified by the summer heat. dacey had always loved her winter roses, their scent refreshing in the crisp winds of the north, subtle and sweet. nothing like the flowers here, that seemed to be in competition with each other over who had the loveliest of fragrances, boastful blooms that left her with the beginnings of a headache forming at her temples.

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.

"i don't know much about dreams and omens," she said, almost apologetic as she set her cup aside. "but..." but what? anything she might have said didn't feel right, inadequate in her voice. he did not need her to tell him that what he described was worrisome. "but it's a long way to ride for ben blackwood." it wasn't about ben. he had said as much, even if she was reluctant to pick at the truth of why he was here.

who: @daceystvrk when and where: the verdant concord, an unexpected northern visitor makes an appearance within the halls of highgarden - the first one in months since he retired to karhold and ignored the summons of king owen stark.

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.

he didn’t smile, but the firelight caught the faintest twitch in his jaw. something like a man remembering what it felt like to want something. or someone. and there, for some reason as he looked at her face, he made the silent solemn decision he would return to the place where it all started. retreat his steps. he owed her that. he owed them all that.

the birthchart of dacey stark

sun sign : cancer

cancers are astrologically wired to channel their intense emotions to caring for others and expressing a unique understanding of the human condition and heart. compassionate, often sweet, always deeply feeling, you can rely on the cancers in your life to offer a shoulder to cry on. typical sun in cancer traits include being nurturing, sensitive, compassionate, self-protective, security-seeking, and loving. since the emotional, maternal moon influences cancer's personality so intensely, the water sign tends to prioritize — and occasionally twist themselves into knots — to make most people in their life feel even slightly more comfortable and secure. they'll pour their heart into caring for plants and pets just as much as they do loved ones. while they're loyal to the core and will always show up for their friends, family comes first. cancer's intense connection to their emotions doesn't come without its negative side, which is a tendency to be moody and snappy when rubbed the wrong way in a particularly sensitive, agitated state. whether they're worked up or drowning in their feelings, they'll be quick to retreat into their shell.

moon sign : aquarius

there may be something about an aquarius moon that somehow “separates” them from everybody else. a fixed sign, which gives qualities of focus, perseverance and endurance, when an aquarius moon individual has a clear idea, they are unlikely to easily change it. their position as someone already ‘on the outside’ gives them the ability to interpret the world around them from an often unique point of view. the placement of the moon in aquarius gives them incredible compassion. they are the person who will "take a bullet" for the one they love, and will be the first person to stand up for the rights of another. they can be very caring when they want to be, though it may not read that way to others at first, because you are also a quiet person who keeps their emotions to themselves. an aquarius moon knows what they want and believes in personal freedom and choices. they will uphold what you believe in, no matter how far-fetched others may find their decisions. in some ways, they prefer solitude as it makes them feel safe, and independence is their calling card. those around them will notice that they only march to your own drum, and they accept this about them. an aquarius moon is a deep thinker — so much so, that they tend to get lost in thought. people think of them as a worrywart, spending way too much time overthinking things until they make very little sense.

rising sign : pisces

pisces is a mutable water sign, and those with this rising sign appear deeply emotional and sensitive. the symbol for pisces is two fish swimming in opposite directions, representing the duality and connection between the imaginary world and physical reality. they are masters of making the imaginary seem possible, but they also can succumb to melancholy and suffering. it’s in their nature to go with the flow, like swimming through the waves of the ocean. this can sometimes lead them to be overly trusting, and they might struggle with setting boundaries. pisces risings possess a natural ability to connect with the energies of others, giving them an emotional intelligence in new social situations. while they have a gentle demeanor, they can also be elusive, often escaping into their rich inner universe to find comfort. pisces ascendants might find solace in the arts or healing modalities—whether it’s through music, painting, or writing—as a means to channel their vivid inner world. they can gravitate toward spirituality, but they also should be aware of becoming lost in their own illusions. the rising sign strongly influences physical appearance. the pisces rising often has a dreamy and mysterious look about them, with features that appear delicate and otherworldly. their eyes, in particular, are known to appear captivating, soulful, and dreamy—often reflecting a depth of emotion. like their symbol, the fishes, a pisces is not in a rush. they uncover the mysteries and depth of emotion with ease. not one for conflict, they can bring serenity and soothe those around them. they are also highly in touch with their intuition, whether they are aware of it or not. they are dreamers, artists, and healers, who are here to create beauty, inspire others, and bring a sense of enchantment to the lives they touch.

events like this were never comfortable to dacey, but it was clear to her that lord templeton was taking care to push her, the way some did when they sought to engage her in conversation. those who did would only find her clamming up all the more. percival's approach was better, she thought, carried with it the implication that this was a man who was thoughtful, and thoughtful people tended to be kind.

she did not like the giant's head. it send a shiver down her spine, but she kept that to herself. "the giant was slain by my brother, the prince adam. i am sure he can tell you a more insightful tale of it than i ever could." whilst that particular trophy was not her favourite, the tapestries were.

"i think i am more qualified to speak on the tapestries, if that is all right." none of her own work hung publicly, dacey's own creations reserved for the more private parts of winterfell, where her family dwelled, but she had given many hours to looking at those that hung here in pursuit of her own mastery of the craft. she knew them well. "most speak of the accomplishments of our ancestors. the ones who became kings, at least. the earliest tales are of the fight against the night's king at the wall, then of other lords who once called themselves kings, before the starks held all the north." it was not lost on dacey - the way all their stories came from times of war.

The Knight of Ninestars bowed his head, politely appreciative that the Northern princess was a gracious host as well as her brother. Of course, there was also a sense of pride subtly simmering in him when Dacey Stark admitted to already knowing who he was. He could only hope she knew of him for the carefully constructed reputation he'd sought to build as a valiant knight, an honorable lord, and a loyal Commander to his queen. And not for the coincidental misfortunes that ended a betrothal here and there in his past.

“I'm pleased to formally meet you, your highness,” he added with a softer smile, a subtler gesture with a more subdued sort of charm. There was an air of reservation in the Stark princess, he'd noticed, he did not wish to overstep or cause discomfort. She reminded him of other women he'd known in the past, gentler presences to engage with more care.

“We do, very much so. Thank you,” he responded, glancing around the great hall. He could see Ginevra, and how she thrived in environments like this one. Both of the Templeton siblings were very much in their element, comfortable, in social gatherings. “I admit I also find myself feeling very intrigued. I noticed the giant's head displayed in King Owen's throne room, and some of the tapestries that hang here,” Percival mentioned, “Yours is a land of rich stories. If you don't mind, could you feed my curious mind and tell me a little about them?”.