Events Like This Were Never Comfortable To Dacey, But It Was Clear To Her That Lord Templeton Was Taking

july 12th 115 ac - dacey stark is born

the fourth child of house stark was born two moons too early and far too small. as a baby, she barely cried, but was prone to illness, particularly of the lungs. it was not expected that she would be long for this world. infants with such weak constitution rarely do, but against the odds dacey grew. she remained a frail child, prone to sickness, and her childhood was mostly spent confined inside winterfell to preserve her health.

129 ac - the dance begins

as she approached adolescence, a question lingered over what to do with dacey stark. while her siblings began to be fostered or trained for their duties as a stark, dacey remained in winterfell, sheltered and protected in order to maintain her health. with the dance of the dragons breaking out during her teenage years, her opportunity to explore the world outside of the north was further stripped from her. she waits out the next ten years in the north, purposely kept as far away from any conflicts as possible.

140 ac - the dance ends

with the leaders of westeros proclaiming independence from the targaryens, dacey finds her position shifting. she is slow to adjust to the change, maintaining her reclusive lifestyle except when absolutely necessary. she does put her complete faith in her family, particularly owen, and trusts and supports his decisions without question. however, at her core she begins to develop idealistic morals of pacificism, which will begin to shape her personal views and how she reacts to things.

post-dance

dacey continues to rarely leave the north, notable exception being to the vale, where she meets and forms a friendship with guinevere lannister. when the kingdoms are gathered in the north, she is more visible than she normally would be, but still seen less often than her siblings and very quiet publicly. she is a soft-hearted person, however, and does offer support to people she recognises to be suffering, including seffora merryweather, and engages in plenty one-on-one conversations whilst fading into the background in group settings. she remains in complete support of the king's decisions.

northern wars

it is during the conflicts in the north that dacey truly develops her distaste for war and violence. however, she is not foolish enough to voice her pacifism out loud, though when asked, she will always answer as honestly as she can: she knows her ideas are idealistic at best, and unrealistic at worst, but she thinks there is a better path than violence, aggression and fighting. despite this, she still believes the king knows best, and does not ever argue with his decisions or contradict him, either publicly or to his face. she remains in winterfell for much of this time.

death of jon stark

the death of a brother marks the beginning of a shift in dacey. still reclusive by nature, she begins to make her presence more known within the north and quietly attempts to aid her brother the king as best she can. she doesn't quite fill the gap left by jon, but she does try and lessen it slightly. the starks meet to discuss retaliation, and dacey advocates for justice over vengeance.

the kidnap of cassana stark, the deaths of rosalyn arryn, and the disappearance of alysanne stark

when further tragedy hits her house in close succession, dacey becomes more present than ever in order to better support her brother and the rest of the family. she takes the initiative to push herself out of her comfort zone and become more involved as best as she knows how whilst handling her own feelings and anxieties privately.

recent events

dacey attends both king jahaerys' coronation in the crownlands, where she largely keeps to herself, stopping at her blackwood cousins' home in the riverlands on her way back to the north, and the celebration of prince arthur's birth in the westerlands.

dacey fell silent, and it suddenly occurred to her that she had chosen her words carelessly. neither of them were a stranger to loss, and yet, dacey knew her own grief must pale in comparison to feray's. whilst there were still starks left breathing, she could not compare herself to the woman she called a friend.

"i'm sorry, feray," her voice was quiet, her expression saying all that her words did not about what exactly she was sorry for. "of course it is. i was not thinking." and dacey hoped that she would understand, and not take offence to words that carried in them no intent to offend.

feray spoke of the gods, and dacey merely listened, quiet contemplation crossing her face. she had not much thought what those who follow the seven thought of the afterlife. the thought of reuniting with those who had been lost was a sweet sentiment, but seemed worlds away from what she had grown up knowing. she believed that the gods returned you to the earth, to the trees and the stream and the wind, that those who were lost were around them now in the present, rather than a sweet promise for the future. but her beliefs were her own. she would not repeat them here, the regard she held feray in and the respect she felt for her too great to share her thoughts on a topic that dacey knew meant a lot to the lady of oldcastle. "i will have to tell the children that, when they are older." it would do them no harm to learn of the views of others who occupied the north. their kingdom was changing, and no matter who protested it, the faith of the seven was as much a part of their world now as the old gods were.

"thank you," a light smile graced her face. "i will try and make sure you don't regret that offer. winterfell is often a busier place than i would like." and there was a beauty to oldcastle's shores that did, indeed, invite peace. things were changing so quickly, a change of scenery and a place where she did not have to be so on her guard would be welcomed. "as you are just as welcome at winterfell, though i cannot promise much quiet there."

feray had no doubt if death was worse for the one departed or those left behind. if she had drowned in that frozen lake all those years ago, it was not she who would have suffered. a babe growing up without her mother was a tragedy. every child needed a mother, a safe haven. maybe king owen would remarry and princess rosalyn would know a mother's love, if the new queen would have space in her heart for a motherless child.

“to be left behind.”

if there was one thing feray did not waver in, it was her faith. she had seen some around her lose it during the war. but she only clung tighter to there being a reason for everything, a plan she did not yet understand. “her grace is at peace with the gods, there is no pain or regret or worry where she is now.” she gestured for dacey to sit down in the seat by the fire. if there was one thing feray had pondered a lot lately, it was death, and how to deal with being the one left behind. “there will always be sadness for those left behind, but the little princess is not alone. she will live and hear stories of her mother, and one day, many years from now with the gods' blessing, they will reunite.” for feray, her faith was what had helped her through the grief of losing all her brothers. without it, she feared that she would have given up. some days the grief felt too heavy to bear, other days she felt at peace knowing the separation from her brothers was just temporary. they would see each other again.

feray knew dacey did not share her religion, but as far as she was aware then the sentiment also worked with the followers of the old gods. “you are always welcome at oldcastle if you need to escape once in a while. there is room for quiet contemplation on our shores.” there were so many starks, several children too, and she wondered how someone like dacey could find their own peace at winterfell.

TRUTH SERUM: It's time to make the 8! What one person would you bed from all the different regions of Westeros?

dacey's face flushed a deep scarlet. "that is not a question i am comfortable answering." even if she was not so private of a person, this would still feel far too personal. "certainly nobody from the westerlands or the crownlands." there was not a single person in either court she could see herself taking to bed. "hugo vance was kind to me, so perhaps he would not be objectionable." this was proving a very difficult question for her to answer. she found herself wondering who would be kind, and who had honour. "wylliam swann. percival templeton. ravi martell. brandon karstark."

"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”.

"i had to try," she protested, though in jest. she shook her head. "i would not have taken your coin from you, though, mask or no." there was not an inch of dacey that was competitive in that manner, and aleks knew her well enough to know as much about her. A glance at his face told her that her assessment was correct, and her choice of game was up his alley. "Of course you're strong," a half-grin appeared on her face, and she folded her arms across her chest as she stood to watch. "I might have a turn next, so try your best. Wouldn't want me showing you up." The idea was laughable. If there was one thing Dacey was not capable of, it was feats of physical strength.

His eyes narrowed behind the mask, and a chortle passed over his lips. "I know what you're doin' there, princess." Aleksander patted her hand as Dacey's arm looped through his. "I doubt you are in need of my coin, though." They strolled through the festival games, looking at them with unbridled curiosity. His lips parted, formed a silent o as she pointed to a game that tested strength. A lopsided grin built on his lips. "I'm flattered you think of me as strong, Dacey. Perhaps it's time to prove you right." He disentangled their arms and walked towards the built game, positioning himself so he could wrap his fingers around the crank.

TRUTH SERUM

feel free to ask anything, in character or anonymously, and my character will be forced to answer truthfully.

dacey - devani - norbert - minthara - conall

even on her best days, dacey retreated in on herself in a crowd, and today was not one of her better days. even in winterfell, it was a struggle to pull herself from her isolation, and doubly so when she was in a place that did not offer the comfort of home. there was an undeniable sort of joy in the air, and while it warmed her heart to witness it, she remained on the outskirts regardless, witnessing the merriment, but never quite a part of it.

even if she had been at her brightest, had been able to make herself mingle in the crowds, the competitions would have held little interest for dacey, save for one name on the lists. her cousin's skill was well known, and here was her opportunity to see it in action. so she had braved the crowd, finding herself a spot to watch as lucius did what he did best. even with her limited knowledge on such matters, all she knew coming from watching starks stronger than she train in winterfell's courtyard, there was no denying his ability, and when he was declared the winner, she genuinely felt a little proud of him as she joined in the applause.

she did not expect him to spot her, nor to approach her, but she smiled when he did, the tense set of her shoulders relaxing a little in the company of someone she was more familiar with. "and to you," she greeted him back. she did not want to butcher the traditional phrase, to embarrass herself by stumbling over words that she was unfamiliar with, instead opting to sidestep the issue. "your title is safe another day, though i don't think that was in doubt." even with her inexpert perspective, it did not look like a particularly close contest to dacey.

Closed starter for @daceystvrk Setting: Following the end of the archery competition, Lucius runs into the Stark princess.

The bastard had earned the grim moniker of Red Rivers because of how many men's lives ended every time he nocked an arrow to his bowstring during the war. With an archery competition taking place as part of the activities for the Litha festival, it was only right that he defended his renowned skill —his title as one of the best there ever was—, even more so in his homeland.

There were very skilled archers he competed against in the tournament, making him work for it, but in the end, Lucius Rivers did emerge as the undisputed champion. There was prize money to be earned, but it was the recognition that the bastard of Raventree Hall truly savored. The reverence, the fear, and not born out of a name or noble title but because of what he was capable of doing.

The giving of the prizes for the archery competition and other disciplines in the open tourney ended, and that was when he spotted the familiar figure of the Northern princess. She brought her hands together for some subtle clapping as he walked towards his cousin. “Well, I had to defend my title, didn't I?” he said as a form of greeting before he offered a respectful bow for Dacey. “Beannaithe Litha,” Blessed Litha, he said then, which he didn't actually wish to any save a select few.

for a moment, she thought she saw a smile on lucius' lips, and she returned it with one of her own. she was not the type to let unkindness fall from her lips, but neither would she speak false words that she did not believe. her words were chosen because that was what she meant, and for a moment, she felt a pang of envy. knowing one's place in the world, their purpose, was a privilege she had not yet been granted, one that to her meant more than titles and last names and the things she had that her cousin did not.

"you aren't wrong," dacey confirmed, before a further admission fell from her lips. "i think you might be one of the few to think so, though. sometimes i feel like people expect me to be weeping, or else to blow away in the wind." she kept her tone light to match his own, but it was not an untruth. there were few that dacey could say truly knew her, even her family at times having a tendency to treat her as though she might break. even in previous days, when isolation was more common for the princess, she had never been one to turn to tears - at least, not when in complete privacy. in her melancholy, she was stoic, even when it radiated from her in waves.

"ah. like birds." a raven could fly and carry words on its wings, a hawk or a falcon could be used to hunt. but what use was a peacock, or a parrot, but for a show of luxury and wealth? it put much of what she had seen in the crownlands into perspective, and helped dacey, in a strange way, to feel a little less anxious about the way she may have been perceived there, for any pretence that the valyrians would not hate her simply for who she was was just that ; a pretence. even their gods required more grandeur, stained glass and incense to replace the way the sunlight filtered through the leaves, the smell of dirt and trees. and she immediately admonished herself for the thought. she had no quarrel with the worshippers of the seven in the north - but king's landing was not the north. "conversation should not be a maze to navigate," she agreed in a quiet murmur.

Lucius nodded solemnly to the princess' words, for all he ever did was trust in the wisdom of their gods. Trust in them and let them guide him, be whichever tool they wished him to be. A tool that so often became the tip of a true-aiming arrow or a blade bathed in blood. If they did not wish him to become such violent things, then the gods themselves would have stopped Red Rivers. But no, instead they gave him his gifts. He looked at Dacey pensively for a moment, wondering what were the gifts the gods had given her.

The Stark princess spoke with a sort of kindness that did not feel empty, not like words that were spoken merely to please or be agreeable. Lucius detected sincerity in her words, and was all the more surprised because of that. Samwell Blackwood's firstborn did not feel shame or insecurity regarding his position, yet he did not ignore the stigma of his birth. Bastards were so often seen as mistakes —the result of the sin of the flesh— so it was rare to encounter someone who viewed an individual like him not as a fault but as someone who correctly fell into place with his siblings like another piece that was necessary in that family unit. “That is a nice way of seeing it,” he replied, feeling deeply ineloquent after she'd voiced a thought that sounded so profound to the bastard of Raventree Hall, “I like it”. And for a moment, Lucius Rivers smiled subtly.

She spoke and he looked at her with narrowed eyes, a certain levity present in his demeanor. “You do not strike me as someone who cries so easily,” he replied after her remark. He did not think he could make her cry. A princess she may be, yet Dacey Stark did not seem to him damsel-like or like the sort of frail creature that was reduced to tears easily or often. Her next words had him nodding once again, agreeing fully with her vision of the Western folk and the Valyrians. He too preferred harsh honesty and directedness over ulterior intentions veiled with flowery language. “I've made my judgment of them. The more adornments I find in someone's appearance, the more embellished and insincere I can expect their conversation to be,” he half-joked. He did believe that to be true to some extent, not having encountered exceptions to the rule.

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.”]

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