I've Been Worried Ever Since I Was Born

the positive confirmation was all dacey needed. she closed the door behind her before taking a seat, eyes drifting over the food before him. in the end, she took only bread, never-resting hands now taking to tearing it into thin strips. "thank you," a nod of gratitude followed. "one's cheese and meat consumption is a serious matter. best to explore all possibilities before deciding the right way to do it." for a second, there was a glimpse of her old self, the lighter dacey who was quicker to smile and joke. it was easier to feel a modicom of calm around owen, a little safer.

her stomach lurched unpleasantly at the mention of jon's name. her brother's fate was never far from her mind, and she could not think of his name without the grotesque imagery of what had happened to him.

"i do." dacey had lived her life within the walls of winterfell, and though she had seen little of the word beyond the north, it had its benefits. chief among them being that there was little that happened in the castle that she did not catch wind of. dacey saw everything, and understood more than most would give her credit for. if there was any offence in his query, she did not feel it, nor did she seek it out.

there was no denying that owen had a vision for the north. the ramifications of that were sweeping, but a vision without the proper guidance was doomed to remain just that. jon was that guidance, taking even the most complex of ideas and bringing it to life. it was an influence she was sure was sorely missed.

"i can't say i could be as capable as jon," she began, "but if there's anything you'd like me to look at, i can at least help you talk it through. sometimes a second pair of eyes does the trick."

Without Jon, Owen sat in the solar alone, such a strange feeling. Jon wasn't suppose to die. He was a man of the mind, a man who could look at the drawings of Owen's plans and bring them to life through builders and workmen. The changes happening all around them were because Jon knew how convey his ideas. Owen knew they would continue on with their dreams, continue on with their needs. The North would prosper and they would do more than be the region that survives.

"Come in, sister. You're never disrupting here. You're my sister and Princess of the North. Sit down. There's bread and cheese and hard meats. There's even black beer a gift from our visitors from the wall." He raised the mug and took a drink, sitting it down to the side then he picked up a heel of bread piling cheese, and dried meat on top. "Seen the sailors eating this way. Think I'm doing it wrong." He took a bite.

Owen loved his siblings, calling them all home the first chance he got when words of the Dance starting was reaching them. Some arrived before, during, and after but they came home. Their brother crowned King and them crowned as princes and princesses. The weight of it wouldn't crush them as long as he has his way.

"I would love to have more help...take no offense in my next question. Do you know what Jon did?"

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

the idea that owen and the targaryen king would make nice with one enough was enough to bring a small laugh to dacey's lips. "i very much doubt it, but i suppose stranger things have happened." she didn't like to speak for her brother, and more often than not had little insight to offer, but on this, at least, she felt confident. "i don't really know the whys of it all. why we went there," she confessed. "if i had to guess, i would say it was probably more about who else would be there than the man of the hour."

she nodded, his amplifying her respect for him. "such is the lot of an older sibling." she had enough siblings herself that she understood how it worked, being both an older sister and a younger one herself. "they're lucky to have you." it was not an empty compliment. as much as she would not bring it up, there was no escaping the fact his cousin was a bastard, and life would not be as kind to him as to his siblings for that simple fact. and yet, a bond still seemed to exist between lucius and his kin, and that was something she found commendable.

"you're not the worst company i've ever had." she shrugged. she'd no doubt that he was capable of rubbing people up the wrong way, but she'd yet to be offended. she didn't even really feel all that self-conscious, which was a feat within itself. "i'm rather enjoying it, actually. if you wish to make things unpleasant, you might have to try a little harder than you initially planned." there was an honesty to the way he spoke that she appreciated. there had been little of that in king's landing, and she had grown weary of trying to decipher the difference between what people said and what they meant.

Lucius knew that perhaps he ought to say something about the losses endured by House Stark. Say something for the sibling that was recently buried, or the sister that had gone missing. He didn't truly feel sorry, however. He had no ill will, he simply had never gotten to know Jon or Alysanne at all. They had been strangers to him. So he didn't utter any condolences for they would have been superficial, insincere words. Even Dacey, who was just getting to know him, would have detected the lack of truth.

“Your brother is seeking to make good with the dragon king?” he inquired, curious to know what was the North's vision of the recent crowning. The realms were no longer Seven Kingdoms under Targaryen rule and had not been for years, and yet they all dragged themselves to the old capital to kiss ass and play nice with the dragon folk. “I admit I had little desire to travel there myself, but where my siblings go, I go. Someone needs to keep an eye on them”. Especially in a place where he trusted no one.

Lucius glanced sideways, looking at Dacey briefly as they walked. “Fret not, I'll be quicker than you in making my company unpleasant,” he half-joked in return, certain that she'd be the one escaping his company eventually, not the other way around, since the Stark princess was evidently a sweet person. The bastard knew he wasn't a likable man and never really bothered to make himself so. Polishing his manners in that way had never been something his father cared about. Samwell never sought to make a proper lord out of him, after all.

wherever she went, dacey stark did not dress to be seen. she garbed herself in the quietest tones she could find, because it was easier that way to keep herself on the sidelines, where she was comfortable. it had the opposite effect today - amongst the bright colours of the west, her gown of navy blue, trimmed with the grey of a hazy sky, only served to make her more visible that she had ever intended.

the call of her name had her head turning to face it, her shoulders holding a careful sort of restraint, and there was arron lannister, a man she knew only by name, and nothing more. her hands clasped before her, nail of her thumb tracing patterns on the skin of her index finger, the skin there already reddened as though this was not an unfamiliar habit for her.

"prince lannister," she greeted him, the smile on her face polite as she dipped into a brief curtsy. there was a look in his eyes that she could not place, and did not know what to do with. a lion's curiosity, perhaps. "it is us wolves who should be thanking you for your hospitality. you have been most gracious hosts." her words were quiet, as her voice usually was. her eyes flicked briefly to the crowd around them, but when she glanced back at arron, the lion's gaze had not strayed.

"if i may, my prince?" it was not like dacey to be bold, to ask things of others - but there may not be another chance. there was nobody else to ask. and so she did not wait for a response before speaking, a red flush in her cheeks and slight waver of her voice a dead giveaway to her hesitancy to do so. "i was wondering if i might ask of you a favour?"

she paused, shaking her head a little. "it is silly, really. it's only... your sister." she allowed the words to linger for a moment, not because she was trying to place any emphasis on them, only because she was trying to figure out what to say next. "we were friends. or at least, we were friendly with one another, during her time in the vale. i am not asking for you to tell me anything of her life now, or to ask her to write to me, or anything like that."

what was it dacey was asking for? she wasn't even sure she knew, anymore. "will you tell her that i send my regards?" she asked, wide eyes finding his in a way that betrayed the utter sincerity of her request. "and that i wish her the best."

who: @daceystvrk when: flashback, the westerlands event what: the open market

The marketplace in Lannisport was alive with celebration, its vibrant streets bursting with color and energy. Stalls lined the cobbled streets, draped in crimson and gold banners that fluttered in the sea breeze. Merchants shouted their wares—perfumed oils, finely crafted jewelry, bolts of rich fabric, and steaming trays of spiced meats. Musicians played lively tunes on pipes and drums, their melodies weaving through the hum of the crowd, while children darted between legs, laughing as they chased each other.

Prince Arron Lannister moved through the throng with a regal bearing that set him apart from the revelry. Clad in the finest Westerland fashion, he wore a doublet of deep crimson, its golden embroidery shimmering in the sunlight. A heavy cloak of gold-trimmed crimson hung from his broad shoulders, fastened with a lion-shaped clasp. His boots, polished to a mirror sheen, struck the cobblestones with purposeful strides. The crowd parted instinctively as he passed, whispers following him like a shadow. The Smiling Lion, they called him when they weren't warning the king's rage was on his way, though the faint curve of his lips held little warmth today.

His sharp green eyes swept over the market, taking in the faces of the gathered nobility and common folk alike. It was then that he spotted her—a figure draped in the cool, muted tones of the North, standing out starkly against the riotous colors of the West. Dacey Stark, the Princess of the North.

Arron’s expression didn’t change, but a flicker of curiosity lit in his eyes. The North and the Westerlands had never shared friendly relations, and the presence of a Stark at such a celebration presented opportunities Arron always searched out. “Princess Stark,” he greeted, his deep voice cutting through the bustle of the market like a blade. He inclined his head slightly, a gesture that was polite without being subservient. “The North graces Lannisport with its presence. I did not expect to see a wolf among lions today.”

He smiled then, though the glint in his eyes suggested the smile was less about warmth and more about probing curiosity. “How are you enjoying your time in the Westerlands?”

the conversation was taking so many turns, from something resembling civility to something entirely different, that only accentuated to dacey that nasir manderly did not like her. and he did not need to like her. dacey had long since accepted that there would always be people who would not, and most of the time, she had made her peace with that, even if she did not particularly enjoy it.

so why was it, then, that talking to nasir had her on high alert, anxiety coursing through her veins? why was it that she felt so small and useless, as though her every word was the wrong one. it made her want to withdraw from the life she had begun to take up, one of greater visibility and more responsibility. it made her question if that was necessary at all, or if she would be better retreating to the towers of winterfell, and forever closing the doors.

not to you, was the thought that immediately came to mind, but she did not voice that. she could feel her cheeks warming, both embarrassment and trepidation accompanying her unease. "i said around it goes," and the revelation seemed almost anticlimactic, as though it would disappoint him to hear that it was no utterance of great wisdom. "more to myself than to you, my lord. my apologies."

they had not yet left for the west, but already, dacey found herself wishing the trip was over. the northern court could not be absent, no matter how little she wished to go, and she could only hope that the trip would be uneventful, that they could show their faces, enjoy what king tyland lannister's hospitalities, and return home without coming to any trouble or concern.

"leave it with me," she assured him. if nothing else, it was something she could do. "and if there is anything else you need of me, please do let me know."

✯

he was all too aware of the fact there was a quietness that settled between them, and whilst nasir usually could appreciate moments of silence and stretches of quiet, whenever it settled in the space between them he found himself wondering if he had somehow misstepped. whether his words had been too direct and forward, and had resulted in him somehow offending her.

she had always been the quietest of her siblings, seemingly softer than the rest of them - he was sure she had muttered something under her breath, and he had not heard it. if he were not overthinking, he would simply have ignored it - and yet, nasir did not want her to think he was ignoring her to her very face. why could she not just speak louder?

"…did you say something, your highness?" nasir asked, looking over at her again; and again, his expression always came across far more serious than he could ever truly intend.

perhaps he had only put her off their upcoming journey, and yet it was imperative that the woman in the most amount of power in this northern court understood the reality of where they were going - if not for her to coach the rest of the northern ladies in the court. they could not be too casual with their tongue, they could not find false friends in those who were more foe.

"perhaps that was the reason." or perhaps manal would have found the princess entirely dull and unbecoming; they were striking different, manal able to command the centre of attention - whilst, well, the difference was obvious enough. again, he sounded almost borderline dismissive of dacey's idea of her perhaps getting along with his sister - though not because he actually thought that, but rather because he'd rather not discuss his sister at great length. too sensitive a subject, no doubt.

"i think it would best if you did…i know my limits, princess." he knew what he was good at. gift giving, had never been one of those subjects.

dacey knew that she should mourn the death of her cousin - but she also knew she had little more grief to give. watching her family dwindle one by one had all but made sure of that. whilst she did not have enough space in her heart to grieve for merindah blackwood, she could offer some comfort to maggie, or at least, try to. she wasn't sure how much of that she could offer, if her cousin felt the same as she did ; that they were united in grief, even if they were not mourning the same loss.

but maggie's voice was tired, in a way dacey could not remember hearing it be before, and the tidings from raventree hall were predictably not ones of joy and cheer. "how old are your youngest brothers, now?" the query was gentle. she knew the boys were both still young, and could not honestly say when the best age to understand death and loss could possibly be. in an ideal world, not until your hair turned grey, but that was not the way of the world they lived in. "what of lucius? and you?" she spoke of her younger brothers, but said little of herself.

she swallowed thickly, giving a quick nod of her head. it was easier to manage how she felt about her sisters if she did not think about it, did not talk about it. maggie did not need to know that every moment spent alone, they were the only thing on her mind. that even when she dreamed, it was of her sisters riding through the gates of winterfell, wolves heads instead of their own, the same as jon.

"i almost didn't want to come," she confessed, dropping her voice to a whisper, as though if anybody heard her, she would be cast out. "i still think perhaps i shouldn't have. though i am glad it means i can spend some time with you."

her cousins hand giving hers a reassuring squeeze made maggie feel a sense of compassion she hadn't encountered in some time. she knew the stark's, as well, were dealing with immense losses, not just with the war that ravaged over heir lands, but with the disappearance of two siblings, the former death of another, it surely put perspective onto her own circumstances. regardless, she knew there was not comparing of grief, only enduring. and she hoped that they might be a comfortable presence to one another while they simply endured.

maggie returned the squeeze of the others hand, a ghost of a smile coming upon her lips as she rose to her normal height now. her hands came to clasp in front of her now, and it seemed for a moment there wasn't quite anything to say - where would one start? normally the lady of raventree hall could maintain conversation well, but she felt at a loss of words, and had for some time.

a nod, she responded with, wisps of scarlet tresses falling over her face, and a hand rose to push them back as she tried to surmise just had to answer such a thing. "thank you, cousin." she responded, voice weary and tired, a show of her true feelings for the first time she their arrival to the west. "we are all doing as well as expected, i think." which wasn't all that well, in reality. "benadict seems to have immersed himself into the duties of his new position." another blow, but maggie understood it, almost relieved by it, strangely. "hugo and little sam seem to struggle with comprehending it." they were young, and not young. she realized she hadn't had opportunity to really discuss such things with them, but figured their mother had taken that upon herself.

"and i am sorry for you all, as well." maggie swallowed, taking a deep inhale. "my ear is always yours should you need it." there was a small beat of silence as she looked about the hall. "this place does not make dealing with such circumstances much easier, do they?"

dacey's gaze lingered on wylla, her niece's small face full of curiosity and unspoke questions dacey was half-hoping she would not ask. the ache in her chest was an unfamiliar feeling, equal parts yearning and hesitation. cyrene's words were gentle, in contrast to what had felt like a reprimand before, but gentle words had done little to ease the knot of insecurity tightening within her. braved than she seems. braver than she'll let you believe. green eyes drifted over cyrene for a moment, trying to deduce if the words were supposed to be comfort, challenge, or mockery, and unsure she would find a definite answer to that.

it was almost second nature, the way her hands clasped before her, so much so that she did not realise she was using her nail to scratch at the rough skin around her other thumb, the outward manifestation of her lingering doubts. the voice in the back of her head was telling her that wylla would not like her, that she did not know how to bridge the gap between aunt and stranger, and it would be an embarrassment to try. the thought had been gnawing at dacey since she'd first heard of cyrene's arrival, and now faced with the girl herself, she felt utterly unprepared for any of this.

cyrene's patience was, too, something dacey hadn't prepared for. it were further proof that the woman who returned was not the girl she remembered. cyrene wasn't pushing, wasn't teasing, wasn't testing dacey's limits. there was no sharp edge that she had anticipated.

finally, dacey crouched to meet wylla's gaze at her own level, skirts gathering in the snow that covered the walls. her movements were slow, as though afraid to scare her off, but the small, hesitant smile on her face remained, her voice soft when she spoke. "it is nice to meet you after all these years, wylla." she wondered if her northern accent sounded strange to a child accustomed to the riverlands, who would have only heard such tones from her mother on a regular basis.

her eyes flicked back to cyrene briefly, as though looking for approval, or permission, and when she turned her attention back to wylla, she released her hand from her own grip and extended it, palm up, leaving it in the space between herself and wylla for the little girl to decide what to do with. "i think you must be a wonderful explorer," her voice was a little firmer now, as though she were trying to find something to latch on to. "it is not everyone who can find their way out to the walls. it's so high." a pause, and dacey swallowed.

"i've spent some time exploring winterfell myself. learning it's secrets." her voice lowered, as though she was sharing one of those hidden secrets now. "if you'd like, i can show you all my favourite places. the ones nobody else knows of."

Cyrene watched Dacey with a careful eye, noting the quiet that had always defined her younger sister. It was the same quiet that had once driven Cyrene to provoke her, to tease and cajole in the hopes of coaxing something louder from the girl who seemed to carry the weight of the world in her stillness. She had always wanted Dacey to roar, to be the wolf Cyrene believed she could be, rather than the shadow of one.

But time had worn that impulse down. Dacey’s silence wasn’t weakness; it was something harder to define, something solid and unyielding. It was courage, though Dacey would never claim it.

Cyrene glanced down at Wylla, her small hand still clinging to her mother’s fingers. She felt the weight of her daughter’s curiosity as Wylla’s wide eyes flickered to her aunt. And still, Dacey said nothing.

“She’s braver than she seems,” Cyrene said softly, her words meant for both her daughter and her sister. The irony of it struck her. She had spent so long wishing Dacey would break her silence, only to now realize how much strength it carried.

She crouched, steadying Wylla as the girl peered up at her aunt with quiet fascination. “This is your Aunt Dacey,” Cyrene said, a smile tugging faintly at her lips. "She’s braver than she’ll let you believe, I'm afraid.”

Her gaze flicked to Dacey then, searching, hoping. She didn’t tease this time. Didn’t push. Cyrene had learned to leave some silences unbroken.

Sylvia Plath, from The Collected Poems of Sylvia Plath; "Three Women,"

Patricia Smith, from Teahouse of the Almighty; “Building Nicole’s Mama”

[Text ID: “and she is an empty vessel waiting to be filled. / And she is waiting. / And she / is / waiting. / And she waits.”]

dacey did her best to look put together, but she was by no means a fashionable person. what she called timeless, others would call boring, her outfit choices always perfectly fine, in a classic sort of way, but very safe. she was a creature of habit, and she very much stuck to what she knew.

it was why she was grateful for lucrezia, someone to bounce ideas off and tell her if she was too boring, or too out there, or not quite on theme. it was going to be an important night, and it was one of the rare times dacey was putting a concentrated effort into what she was going to wear.

"i honestly don't think so," she mused, looking up from the ipad she was using to scroll pinterest and see what outfits other had put together. none felt quite right for her, though many were lovely. "she might hint at it, but there's a pattern. whenever she puts an album out, she does two re-records the year after. so i think reputation will be next year, at the earliest. it would be too soon to announce it."

her mouth opened in a small 'o' shape, and she nodded her head. "oh, i love the august dress. it's so dreamy." she moved back to the search bar, typing in 'taylor swift august dress' and scrolling through the various colour options until she found one she thought would work with her complexion. "what colour were you thinking? we should all wear a different one, i think. just so we look a little different to one another."

who: @daceystvrk

there was serious business afoot within the hotel room of dacey stark; various sketches on a table, and a few ipads with different pinterest pictures and links being pulled up. the girls had a special night to plan for having obtained tickets for closing night in london; and it was agreed they would wear folklore inspired outfits.

"do you think she'll announce reputation? we've been wrong multiple times now. what is it, like four?" lucrezia asked, a glow of genuine excitement coming over her face as she peered over the pinterest screen, scrolling down almost mindlessly, trying to find something.

"the vault tracks will be so good too." she looked up at dacey, a third chair vacant for when feray would be able to join them. she checked her phone for any texts from their third missing member, wanting to ensure she did not ghost on feray. "are you thinking a dress? you'd look lovely in the august dress."