Sylvia Plath, From The Collected Poems Of Sylvia Plath; "Three Women,"

Frances Ha (2012) Lady Bird (2017) Little Women (2019) Barbie (2023)

WRITTEN BY GRETA GERWIG

a temporary hush fell between them. usually when such silences fell, it kicked dacey's mind into overdrive, always assuming the worst of herself, always trying to figure out where she had gone wrong. but there was reassurance in his voice, and her cheeks turned half a shade more flushed when it hit her that she had missed the point, completely overlooked that this was simply banter between brothers, even if one of the brothers were not there to hear it. it still did not feel like her place to poke fun at aleksander behind his back, but neither did she need to explain and overexplain it, neither. she breathed out, and nodded her head once more. "thank you."

it was a common pattern for dacey. for a brief moment, her defences would lower enough for her to speak without thinking, until her mind caught up with her and forced her to re-examine what she had said. and then she would doubt herself. she spun, but continued to try and maintain eye contact with him, glancing back over her shoulder with her neck twisted at an awkward angle until the only option was to turn her head the other way. for a brief second, confusion flitted over her face, for when he announced his intention to speak with the hand, her mind still went to him first, not nasir manderly. "i am sure that will put many minds at ease."

he mentioned speaking to the king, and it would not be hard for him to notice how dacey tensed at the idea. was that a good idea? she opened her mouth, then closed it again. unless you think it best. was that a rhetorical question, or was he truly asking her opinion? she wanted to reassure him that owen would want to speak with him, and a part of her believed that to be true, but though he was her brother, she would not deny the truth - brandon knew him best. even now, he knew him better than dacey did.

"i don't know," she admitted, softly. there was worry, the sort of worry she always felt when she thought about owen these days. "i'd like to be able to tell you that i think he would prefer to hear it from you himself, but i truly don't know, brandon. do you want to speak with him?"

♞

the quickness to which the princess of the north, those the songs often dubbed as the rose of snow within the lands of karhold, took to attempting to defend aleksander karstark made brandon go momentarily quiet - though not for reasons one may have assumed. not because he felt as though she were interceding on something that was not hers to deal with, nor because he found the closeness she shared with aleksander to be questionable or inappropriate: but rather because it felt as though she had missed the part where it were clear the brothers of karhold were joking.

"i know, yer highness." his words were quiet but reassuring under the sound of the music as they continued to dance, his hand still resting respectfully on her hip as they spun around; he was careful not to barge her into any other couple on the dance floor. she were over explaining herself, in a way that would no doubt show far more of her state of mind than his own. "he'll not hear a word from me about it." a part of him wondered if this was the consequence of a clear change in sibling dynamics, what happens when the oldest brother is no longer that, but a king too.

for some reason the sight of the smallest of heads nods, the acknowledgement of his word, seemed to cause him a sense of relief - that there was at least one of the royals that understood the movement had not been encouraged by him, nor those who spoke it. none would find brandon karstark within their halls, igniting their whispers and their flames; not so soon after the weapons had been laid to rest. "i intend on speaking with the hand of the king himself on it. enough has befallen us all, i will not speak in riddles or wait in the shadows." he spun her around, watching as she turned.

whether brandon thought it was his truth, was something else entirely. he agreed with the sentiment. he agreed with what was being said. only, he did not agree with the timing; nor did he agree with the method in which such rumour was being spread. "unless you think it best for me to speak to the king himself." the king, instead of owen; there was so much change in wording, words that still felt foreign upon his lips. he watched as thought crossed over her features; no doubt, a sense of kindness remained upon her face.

dacey had been spending more time in the godswood of late, seeking to clear her mind, looking for guidance and insight that did not come. it was amongst the trees where she felt most comfortable these days, but there was only so much that could do for her. and yet, still she came, searching for answers for questions she had not quite figured out how to ask.

oftentimes, when she visited, she would find herself here alone. today, that was not so. the figures of her elder brother and sister loomed before her, sharing a moment of tenderness. she was glad of that - her own reunion with cyrene had been a frosty one, and that was enough to both weigh on her conscience and have her hesitating, dithering between the trees as she pondered whether to interrupt, if her presence would be welcomed in the moment they shared. she was about to turn and return to the keep, leaving them to it, when the sound of her footsteps had adam turning, and she could no longer pretend she had never been there at all.

instead of turning, dacey drew a little closer, leather-gloved hands clasping together before her, coming to a stop a few meters away from them. near, but still apart, still retaining some distance. "sorry," her voice was sheepish when she spoke, the smile on her face a tentative one. "i didn't mean to intrude on you." she'd caught none of their conversation, but before she could speak, another of their kin made their presence known, and her tension relaxed a little. "we're all of a similar mind today, i think."

@owenstark

It was true, they had never been quite close. As children, Cyrene had chased the thrill while Adam had remained in his lonesome. She had run away from boredom, while Adam had welcomed the security of it.

The war had come, the fire had come, and Cyrene had grown into a woman. A woman who stood alone, walls of ice grown between those she had held close and those she had not. The dragons had danced and Adam had grown into a man. A good man. A protector.

With every letter she penned, with every one she received, every visit he payed her at the Twins, she'd felt a gnawing sort of guilt take hold in her chest. She had never been fair to him. It was just like time, allowing her to realize how wrong she had been about her very own brother.

Her fingers tightened around his. Warmth meeting warmth among familiar cold. "I told no one," she admitted, a glimmer of mischief dancing within her eyes. "Well, other than all those who traveled with me." Adam's eyes were searching hers, roving over her every expression, her demeanor. "And my husband." She made a point out of telling him. This had been agreed upon. Even if in her very depth, she despised having to gain permission for anything from anyone.

"In a way, I suppose, I am glad you did not answer my letter," she spoke, a slow smile spreading on her lips. "It would not have reached me in time. And gods know what you might have written in those letters. I can imagine Lord Frey being quite affronted."

"i am glad to hear that fortune has smiled on you." she truly was. she could understand how it would be easy to be bitter that others may prosper when it felt like her own life was falling apart at the seams, but that was not, would never be, dacey's way. the way she saw it, seffora was overdue for the blessings that she had received since they had last been face to face, and in that, there was hope that one day, the old gods would look upon house stark and grant them a reprieve, too. until that day, though, she would content herself with knowing that at least one person she cared for was well.

dacey nodded her head. "i would like that. it's been a long journey. i think some tea with a friend would be just the right way to settle in." just for a moment, it would do her some good to pretend as though nothing was wrong, and they were simply two women enjoying one another's company. the heavy gloom of winterfell had encompassed so much of her day to day. perhaps, despite her hesitancy to come, the westerlands could be a much-needed light.

"where are you staying?" she had yet to find her way around the westerlands, a place so unfamiliar to her that she had barely been able to picture it in her mind before they had arrived here. "i haven't got my bearings here yet, so you'll have to show me the way."

The Lady of Longtable offered a respectful bow of her head before the Princess of the North once she stood before her. Seffora did consider Dacey a friend, and despite skipping over some of the appropriate formalities, she did wish to convey her respect for the Stark princess. It was so reassuring to have the other woman reach towards her and offer a hug. The Merryweather held Dacey tightly, warmly, before they let go.

Dacey was not the first one to remark on her appearance as of late, whether to note her demeanor, whatever confidence or brightness she might be showing more outwardly than before. “Well, I've been blessed with great fortune,” was all she could say, for the gods had truly smiled upon her house and people after all the hardships they endured collectively as the civil war in the Reach raged on. Seffora knew her friend could be thinking of what she got to witness firsthand in Winterfell, though. House Merryweather had lost much back then. Seffora had lost the sister who had been her lifelong companion in the most harrowing way. The scar of such a loss remained, but as she stood here today, it didn't feel like a constantly bleeding wound.

“We must,” Seffora grinned, eager to hear whatever Dacey wished to tell her. She was also most willing to lend a shoulder to cry on too, if necessary, for news of the misfortunes of the Starks had reached the court of King Cedric. The Lady of Longtable would never forget the way the Stark princess had been there for her when she needed it. It was something she would never be able to fully repay. She wished to give it a try, however, and be there for Dacey. “Could you spare a moment now? Perhaps we can ask to have some tea or refreshments brought to the guest quarters my house has been granted”.

closed starter for @hxrundxne

"welcome to the north, your grace."

it was strange, dacey thought, how the chain of events set in motion by the dance had changed both their lives so dramatically. dacey had been born a daughter of house stark, a lady of the north, but in her brother gaining a crown, she had found herself a princess, even if she still wore the title awkwardly. in contrast, aemma had once been a sister to a monarch, and though she retained her title of princess, the line of succession had moved away from her line, to her cousins who now sat in king's landing. it served as a reminder ; how quickly their fortunes could change.

"i hope you aren't finding it too uncomfortable. it always takes me a little while to adjust to the heat in the south," her tone was apologetic - she wasn't sure why. it wasn't as though dacey stark had the ability to control the weather.

but she liked aemma targaryen. dacey was not a woman who made friends easily, always feeling a little out of place wherever she went, but though that self-conscious feeling had not disappeared with aemma, it was lessened somewhat.

"i was glad to hear that you and your brother had made the journey."

it felt as though there were a dark cloud gathering around dacey stark more often than not these days, the unbearable pressure of an oncoming storm weighting her down. the lingering worry was a constant companion, but in the days since king's landing, it had grown teeth, tearing at her from the inside out. was she the only one to see it? sometimes, it certainly seemed that way.

but not tonight. there was a certain joviality in the air, and it was catching. she was still nervous to be in the west, but here, at least, she had managed to leave her anxieties behind her, and do something that was not the norm for the princess of winter - she was managing to enjoy herself. her sister was still missing. the northern schism still made it's presence known. and yet, tonight she had smiled more, laughed more, enjoyed the company of aleksander karstark, whose friendship remained thankfully untainted despite having every reason to crumble.

aleksander was not the only karstark who had her attention tonight. more than once, she had seen brandon amongst the crowds, and when her dark eyes glanced over him, she could have sworn he was looking at her, too. she did not approach him. brandon karstark had taken measures to put distance between himself and winterfell, and though their last conversation was never far from her thoughts, she would respect that.

she did not need to. when dacey found herself standing alone, lingering on the edge of the merriment, it was brandon karstark who approached her, and when he spoke, dacey smiled, tentative and encouraging, one hand reaching to tuck back a stray lock of her hair. "hello, lord karstark."

perhaps she should have been wearier to speak with him, paying more heed to the divisions his absence had created. the true north, they called it, and that scared her, uncharted territory for the place she called her home. she had never thought to see brandon and owen on separate sides, the figureheads of factions that sat in opposition to one another, but it had happened. and yet, she did not feel any trepidation, nor unease.

"he has," she confirmed, a quiet laugh accompanying the words. "but i think we can forgive him that, just this once." aleksander's attention was firmly fixed upon the girl he had taken to the dancefloor, and dacey would not begrudge him that. he deserved to enjoy himself, and she would not confine him to the sidelines with her.

but then, a hand was extended, without words, but the intent was clear. he was inviting her to dance. and dacey did not think, did not stop to consider whether it was the right thing to do or not. if she had, perhaps she would not have placed her hand in his, fingers curling around his own, and let him lead her to the dancefloor.

"i should warn you," she laughed again, but this time, at her own expense. "i've always been a terrible dancer."

who: @daceystvrk when and where: lann's day, the westerlands

how it was he had been able to identify the individual behind the mask was something he did not entirely understand, nor contemplate, nor think too much on: his gut instinct seemed to only indicate toward being moved to stand in her presence. perhaps because his warm, grey gaze moved to meet her own multiple times whilst he were in conversation, or whilst she was in conversation with his own younger brother – and he knew who aleksander had planned on accompanying to the lann’s day festivities that evening. 

still, he knew not what seemed to pull him in her direction; only that at one point, he seemed to have blinked, and he found himself stood before her – goblet of ale still within one of his hands. “princess.” his voice was rough, his karhold accent remaining wrapped around it: if she did not already know who he was, that simple word would have been enough to give it away in an instant. 

whatever pull, or invisible string, that seemed to have slowly begun to weave was one he did not understood nor fully acknowledge yet at this point: but their whispered conversation regarding the extent of the activities the princess alysanne had taken part in that fateful night in the woods seemed to have bound them in some way. did she know there was something he was not entirely comfortable speaking of yet?

did he want to burden her with discussions of her missing sister, when the idea of celebrating and allowing themselves to be swept into southern revelry still felt entirely wrong when one of the pack was missing? 

unaccounted for; no closure, for any questions that lingered. but what was he to do? there were enough rumours regarding him, and the stance of the karstarks as a whole: to continue rocking the manderly boat would only prove the rumours true. that he were trying to stand against something. all brandon karstark wanted, was to be left in his own seat: with his own people, within parts of the north he still recognised. but the manderlys had stressed the opportunity of negotiations with the westerlands, and here they were.

there was a stark missing. who were they becoming?

still, his brother had found himself wrapped up in the presence of a woman with hair of flames, and he couldn’t help but lightly smile at the sight of the woman stood to the side of the room; almost as though she were trying to busy herself. “has that treacherous mud man left ya to yer own devices?” there was a light humour in his voice, one that masked the weariness that he felt in his lack of sleep these days. he still smelt the scent of his wife, heard the sound of her sighs as she turned to sleep on her side; but the bed was empty. he simply offered her his hand to take, nodding his head in the direction of the dance floor.

in truth, he wondered if she would close herself from his speech. the true north, was what he apparently represented: what did that mean the king represented? 

dacey hadn't want to come to the westerlands. she was anxious enough about travelling to begin with, worsened by the fact her last excursion from winterfell had seen the disappearance of not one, but two stark sisters. she had hated leaving winterfell, hated every moment of the journey south to casterly rock, and now she was here, could not imagining summoning a false smile and making idle chatter with people she did not wish to see.

until she set eyes on seffora merryweather.

the friendship between them had been forged in a time of great sorrow for seffora. when she had left the north, dacey had half expected to never hear from her again, that the prospect of her company would be a painful reminder. how happy she had been to be wrong. seffora approached her through the crowd, and it was good to see a smile on her face and a light in her eyes.

"oh, seffora," dacey skipped any sense of formality, reaching her arms out to envelop her friend in a tight, but brief hug. perhaps this trip would be better than the last, even if only because she would be in the company of someone she cared for. "look how well you look!" there was only affection in her tone as she spoke. "we must catch up. i want to hear everything."

Closed starter for @daceystvrk Setting: Casterly Rock, the Westerlands.

The Lady of Longtable had chosen to ride the last few miles on horseback rather than in the carriage. Casterly Rock was a most imposing keep, a place Seffora had never visited in the past, and the scenery around the Lion King's castle was much too beautiful to see only through a window. She entered the courtyard escorted by her loyal guards, followed by the small retinue of people who travelled with her from her homeland.

Seffora looked around as she dismounted, seeing people from all the regions had been arriving on this very day as well. She Dornish, Riverlands and North banners. Her eyes landed on the Starks. The Starks who remained. The young lady had experienced some of the worst hardships of her life while in the North, and yet she had found solace and companionship in Princess Dacey. The princess had managed to be such a compassionate presence during it all, and that was something Seffora would forever be grateful for.

The Merryweather lady separated herself from her kin for a moment, walking over to the Stark princess as she removed her riding gloves. “Dacey!” the lady called as she weaved through the crowd of newly arrived guests, heading towards the Northern woman. A soft smile spread across her lips as she caught her friend's eye. She dared address her informally only because of the bond of friendship that had forged between them while the realms were hosted in the North, and the closeness that continued after that, even if only through letters at times. “Gods, it's so good to see you”.

Elizabeth Olsen photographed by Ryan West for L'Officiel Indonesia (2018)

Le Comte de Monte Cristo | The Count of Monte Cristo (2024) dir. Matthieu Delaporte & Alexandre de La Patellière

she looked at him, and for a moment, a profound sadness fell over her. it was not born of grief, like her sadness often was these days, nor of pity, because there was never a time when she looked upon him with pity. she had never seen him as anything but strength, and while she had long understood that he carried the weight of a crown, she looked at him now and saw the weight of the world. the politics of it all made her head swim, and she could not imagine how much worse it was for owen.

"sounds exhausting," and not just for owen. the arrival of more women in court would mean more women she would have to talk to, when she already only found herself comfortable in the presence of a select few.

dacey nodded her assent. war was an ugly thing. she knew there was supposed to be honour and glory found in it, but while she could look at those who fought and think them brave, she could not see it as anything other than a tragedy. "in that, you have my support. anything to prevent further bloodshed." if there was any cause she would dedicate herself to, it would be that one.

their conversation oscillated from politics to personal, and while it was the former dacey struggled to immerse herself in, it was the latter that owen was reticent to discuss. "i understand, but i am your sister." a ghost of a smile flitted across her face. it was easy to forget that she could be stubborn. "and my duty to my brother is equal to my duty to my king. when you have some hours to be owen, then i will make time to be dacey."

"If someone can get a king to marry their choice, they stand to gain a great deal. If it's not from the King himself then they stand to gain from the Queen. There will be an influx of courtiers, many who haven't left after the end of things with Rosa's funeral are sending for women to join them here." And he would share this with her but they were hoping he would sleep with their daughter or their sisters and then the Lord would show up and demand a marriage. With the beginning of responsibility brought on the end of what he enjoyed these days. Women.

"I grow tired of war, sister. Let us do everything we can o prevent one from happening and perhaps look beyond our realm and our connections." He dragged his fingers through his beard, he would have to shave soon. He would have to do something to ensure he presented himself as someone that wore the crown of the north. And not the images of Kings from times long ago. Ages of heroes. No. He would look like a King.

Owen looked at her when she asked him about how he was feeling and he thought for a moment. Raised his mug, finished his beer, and then refilled it before looking back at her and then towards the window. "If we start talking about that I fear we'll be here for hours and I can only be Owen so many hours a day."