Latest Posts by daceystvrk - Page 6

if there was one thing dacey was completely certain of, it was cassana's strength. where dacey had little, her sister, her baby sister, possessed it in spades. dacey had faltered so many times, crumbled under the slightest amount of pressure, but cassana had always stood proud and unyielding. it broke her heart to see her like this, but she understood it inherently.

"cass," there was something firm in her voice, an indication that what she was about to say was not to be argued with. "there is no apology needed. i was already awake, and you are welcome company." she paused, hesitating for a moment. "and even if i was, it doesn't matter. you can come to me no matter the hour." there was a gentle earnestness to her tone, an open invitation to seek dacey's door whenever it was needed.

a distraction. it was an easy enough to propose, but now the prospect of actually doing the distracting was before her, it was difficult to think exactly what she could do to provide relief from all Cass had been through. She absent-mindedly ran her fingers through Cass' hair, chuckling when she felt a knot towards the ends. "Your hair is all tangled," she couldn't help but chuckle as she spoke the words. "would you like me to fix it for you?"

.

cass closed her eyes, surrendering to the embrace of her sister's arms, finding comfort in their warmth and familiarity. though she was the youngest among them, she rarely sought such comfort from her siblings. she prided herself on her resilience, her ability to remain steadfast in the face of adversity that they always seemed to face. she was a wolf. a stark. yet, despite her efforts to maintain composure, she found herself crumbling beneath the weight of her emotions. why was this particular moment so different? why did she struggle to maintain her facade of strength? it was stupid, she was stupid for feeling this way.

a surge of guilt and embarrassment flooded through her, prompting a hasty apology. "i'm sorry, dacey. i shouldn't have woken you up," she murmured, attempting to dismiss how she was feeling.. but even as she spoke, she made no move to break free from her sister's embrace. her words felt feeble, even her lie felt stupid.

"perhaps a distraction would be good." cass suggested, her voice resonating softly in the darkness. something to help get her mind off of things, make her believe she wasnt being foolish. that the darkness didn’t suddenly frighten her.

{ Words by Megan Fernandes, from "Fabric in Tribeca," in Good Boys / Silas Melvin, from "Twenty," Grit }

dacey held no ill will towards amir manderly. he, and his entire house, was trusted by owen, and that was good enough for her to trust them too, even if there was no personal ties to them. that was more her own fault than anybody else's. not for the first time in her life, she felt a pang of regret for the years she had spent shuttering herself away from the world.

but despite the fact that owen trusted him, despite the fact that she was, genuinely, pleased to see him safely returned home, despite the fact that not a single part of her felt any sort of negative feelings towards amir manderly, dacey felt herself tensing at his words, felt her fingernails begin to scrape at the freshly healed skin around her thumbs, and felt a flash of displeasure shoot through her that she didn't entirely know what to do with.

"contemplating?" she repeated, dully. "but likely to come to pass. am i correct?" if it did happen, it wouldn't be amir's fault. she had asked him a question, and he had answered it true. she could not place the blame at his feet for giving her an answer she had sought. and yet, to dacey's shame, this was something she had to remind herself of.

"it is not my safety that i'm concerned about." she was certain that amir meant the words kindly, but she felt herself bristle at them all the same, just a little. did he think her the type of woman who cared only for her own skin? "if there is to be war, then my brothers will fight in it. my sister, too, probably." her mind went to cassana, and the thought of it made her feel queasy. "i've no wish to see another stark go to the grave before their time." it was not just the starks. the north had seen far too much death and bloodshed. she was not ready to prepare herself for more.

❅

historically, amir of house manderly had maintained a healthy distance with the ladies of winterfell; which had come into greater use when they became princesses of the north. there was nothing questionable that they would have heard about him, nothing that was not written in those foolish pamphlets; meaning the king trusted him to speak with the princesses. he still did not maintain a closeness with them however, and the more he thought about it, the more he realised he never had.

"your highness." amir greeted, lowering his head before straightening back to his full height.

it only fed further into the thoughts that swirled in his mind, the thoughts of being the other in the north, the thoughts of not belonging and that they would always be this way. the ones to blamed, for their obvious power and wealth. he found himself wondering what this princess wanted. he did not want to hear talk of more grief, he did not want to talk about manal, or anything else; he did not want to talk about the grief that lingered over both of their houses.

because amir thought owen stark was in the right. because, when people were comfortable, they refused to change. to become better. the callouses on his hands were a sign of his own work ethic: his willingness to make himself uncomfortable. people did not do that unless you forced change upon them. his opinion was very much the minority in the realm though. "his grace remains contemplating, but it will not be as you think."

two sides meeting on a battle field. skagos was officially belonging to the north anyway; it was just about bringing them to heel. he did not want to go back there, but he would. he would rain down fury on all those who made him feel this way. like he did not belong - because he did not. "it will be on their front, rather than our own. you should be safe, princess."

Genevieve Wilhelmina Gaunt born 13th January 1991 - Happy Birthday!

“What is your mantra? We make our habits, then our habits make us.”

dacey nodded in understanding, in agreement with feray's assessment of king's lading. she hadn't much enjoyed it there, either, save for a few moments in between that had painted a genuine smile on her lips. "i was certainly glad to be home," the words were out before she could really think about them, for as much as she had been looking forward to leaving the city, to coming back to winterfell, so much had changed that she wasn't really sure she was all that glad at all.

house stark was not the only northerners to have suffered during the war, a fact dacey was all too keenly aware of. it had took from them all, leaving all with scars that couldn't, wouldn't, heal, and dacey did not think many had lost quite so much as feray locke. and yet she stood here still. offering condolences for yet another tragedy. death had followed them for far too long. it was inevitable that today, it would once again make its presence known, an uninvited straggler they couldn't ignore. the late queen's absence was heavily felt - as was the loss of the eldest princess of the north.

"thank you," she murmured, shifting uncomfortably on her feet. she was grateful for the sentiment, but it did not feel like her condolences to receive. "it is her children's grief i think of. theirs, and my brother's."

it was a dreadful thing, to see children lose their mother, made all the more bittersweet that she had for the smallest babe she had brought into the world. "it is a strange thing," she admitted. "i can only hope the sadness does not follow her much longer into her life." it was a terrible burden for a child, for their whole existence to be tied to death from the moment they entered the world. "i don't know which is worse," she was largely thinking out loud, her words unfiltered in the presence of one she trusted. "to die without ever having the chance to know who your child will become, or to be the child left behind."

despite their familarity, she dipped into a curtsy as dacey entered the room. "of course not, princess." feray had called the woman 'her highness' in the past, but as they had grown closer through the years then it seemed too formal. yet it still felt wrong to just outright call her dacey, so the lady of house locke usually eased herself into it by first acknowledging her title. "your visits are always welcomed." it was mostly true. feray did truly enjoy seeing her friends. they were a balm to the wounds life had inflicted on her in the past year. but it was also difficult to put on a mask and pretend all was well. she was healing but only slowly. and the starks had a tendency to remind her of the war. but her heart was lighter today so she did not have to fake the smile on her lips. "it was good to see old friends again but there was too much brutality in king's landing. the valyrian way of life would not suit me." she had not seen them fight but she had prayed for the gladiators. it seemed an unusual cruelty to make them fight in front of a crowd. she had heard of some of the injuries inflicted, how some of them resulted in death.

but she was acutely aware that she was not the only one of them who had experienced loss and uncertainty. "i was sorry to hear of your family's loss, dacey." she really had been. feray was not close to the royal family. house locke had always allied themselves with house manderly, so while they still answered to house stark then the royal house seemed even farther removed from them. but queen rosalyn had been known for her kind and gentle nature, the loss of such a soul was a heavy one. "her grace will be missed by the north but our grief pales to that of yours." she thought of the children that would grow up without their mother, of the king that was no longer a husband. "it must be difficult to come to grips with death and a new life at the same time." it was the cost many women paid for new life, the cost she had been warned that she would likely pay one day. she always felt a cold shiver down her spine when she heard of women dying in childbirth. it always ended up feeling like a warning of what was to come.

it wasn't that dacey wasn't enjoying herself. in fact, aleksander's feast was a welcome reprieve from everything, but as the night went on, she found herself growing more and more overwhelmed as the attendants grew more and more inebriated. making her excuses, she slipped from the hall, alone, seeking a short break from the festivities.

her moment of solitude didn't last long. the gracious host's voice reached her, and dacey turned her head to face him, smile on her lips.

"not yet, i'm afraid. i just wanted a little air." eyes raked over aleksander, noting his unsteadiness. she was glad that he seemed to be enjoying himself - it was, after all, his night. "would you like to join me?"

who: @daceystvrk where: a hallway outside the great hall

Perhaps Aleksander had indulged a little too much. The Lady Greenleaf had given him a magnificent gift with that bottle they'd shared, but it had made him a little unsteady on his feet as well. Aleks found himself craving a bit of fresh air, but he got no farther than the hallway right outside the noisy Great Hall. Candles lined the walls in their flickering orange glow, casting long shadows.

Aleks braced his palm against the cool stone. A smile split his lips as he caught sight of Princess Dacey. "Tired of the party already, your Highness?"

closed starter for @amirofmanderlys

"lord manderly," she wished she could say that it was good to see him, but trepidation clouded her tone, her expression, for a large part of dacey feared that he did not bring with him glad tidings. not that his return was itself full of good news. only tragedy had awaiting amir manderly on his return, and that was not much of a welcome home.

"i am glad to see you returned to us." it was the kindest thing that she could say that still remained the truth. she was glad that he was safe, despite any anxieties she held about what his lengthy absence meant for the north.

there was once a time where she never would have asked the question she was about to voice, simply because she was too afraid to do so. for so long, her way had been to bury her head in the sand and hope that pretence was enough. it had been a long time since that had worked.

"is there to be war?" as blunt as the query was, it was softened by the way she spoke it, no less gentle than when she expressed her joy that he was back. "with skagos?" the signs were there, but she could not help but hope he would tell her otherwise.

closed starter for @northernglorie

the hour was late, and dacey's quiet footsteps echoed against the stone walls, reverberating through the silence. there was once a time when she could count on being the only one awake when night fell over the keep, but now, it was more and more common to find that she was not alone in it.

more often then not, one who could be counted on to remain awake was glorie. and on nights where solitude was too much for her, dacey found herself here, approaching glorie's door with a warm drink and the hope that the night would end a little less lonely.

"i brought you something to drink," she placed the cup carefully on a clear spot on the table, careful not to interfere with glorie's work. there was a quiet admiration for her good-sister, and she liked to think that glorie knew it was there, that it showed in these small gestures. "and some candles. i wasn't sure if you had enough."

"and my company, if you'll have it."

Virginia Woolf, from a diary entry written in October 1920, featured in The Diary of Virginia Woolf: Vol.2, 1920-1924

"a fresh start, then." it felt odd to offer a fresh start to a man who she barely knew, who aside from shared grandparents was essentially a blank slate, but dacey was glad to offer it. there was no offence to be taken by either party, no perceived snub to try and overcome. she did not know, if a familial connection was what she was looking for, if she'd find that in lucius rivers, but she also knew that it would not sit right with her to overlook his existence. the circumstances of his birth did not alter the fact she shared just as much blood with him as with any of his siblings.

his words were coarse, but dacey laughed anyway. "it was something," she found herself agreeing. "it couldn't end soon enough. i was more than glad to take my leave of it." it had been too hot, too smelly, too much of everything for dacey, too used to the quiet of winter and her own company.

"i'm sure they would, and i'm very grateful for it, but i hope not to intrude too long." this was a necessary stopover, not a planned visit, and she could not help but think that her presence was more of a burden than a pleasure. "does it please you?" she did not know where the question came from, but it had spilled from her lips before she could bite it back.

Lucius Rivers was bound by blood to House Stark, and yet he had nowhere near as close a bond to them as his brother and sisters did. Some of the Stark pups had been fostered in the Riverlands, some made it a point to spend time in the company of their kin, but the bastard of Raventree Hall had never engaged enough to feel a true familial bond if he were honest.

Dacey Stark was much too fragile in his mind, a quiet and reserved young woman who lacked the grit he'd seen in other Northern folk. Her company wasn't disagreeable, though, if only because she was one of the few who regarded him as she were regarding any other of the true-blooded Blackwoods. “No apology is needed. I did not seek your company or that of your siblings while in King's Landing, so that makes us even,” the Riverlander stated plainly. “That fucking place was a nightmare,” he found himself agreeing in less cordial language than Dacey's. Fuck diplomacy now, there was no lizard king or lords to offend in earshot.

“You're welcome to visit anytime you like, Dacey. I'm sure Ben and Maggie would gladly welcome you anytime you wished to visit,” the man assured her, for it was his brother and sister who made all the choices about their house, not the hag who clung to the title of Lady of Raventree Hall. “Or if you hope to extend this visit. It pleases them to have cousins around”.

willow moreno & her glasses :’)

whilst there was undoubtedly perks to being a king, it was also a thankless job. the weight of the kingdom rested on his shoulders, and it was that of which he spoke now. a new queen, rather than a wife. a new hand, rather than the loss of a friend so treasured. to dacey, it was telling, and worrying, all in one. the north needed owen the king, but she cared for owen the man.

"i understand there's more than... well, you to think about, but i don't think anybody would blame you for taking your time to start your search for a queen." perhaps they would. dacey certainly wouldn't think less of him, but then, she held in heart more compassion than she knew what to do with. "at least until the right woman makes herself known." it might be easier said than done, but too much change at once could be dangerous, and the starks household had shifted so much, still knitting around the gaps left by those they'd lost.

the mention of alys had her shifting uncomfortably, both feet finding the ground once more as she released her grip on her legs. she knew more than she should, but owen's words only reinforced her decision to keep that to herself, to relieve him of at least one burden. and so, she said nothing, pointedly avoiding the conversation of the oldest stark sister. neither did she address brandon - for she could not find it in her to condemn him, even if he did hate owen.

"a manderly could be a good idea." her gaze fell contemplatively on the fire. "there will doubtless be people vying for that position. not necessarily for the right reasons. not for the north." she liked to believe the best in people, but it would be foolish to deny that there were people who were out for themselves, grasping for power where they could. "if you think the manderlys share in your ambitions for the kingdom, and can support you when you are right and speak plain when they think you're wrong, then you could do worse than making one of them your hand."

When his wife died he receive the news his sister his was missing as well. Owen didn't take the time to process either. They sat on shelves in his mind and he would approach them later. When life allowed him to dust off the annals of his memory and feel it all. Brandon. Alys. Rosa. Only one remained and he imagined he would never see the living one again.

Much of it was his own fault. He should have put people in different positions, he should have listened to people when they said it was time for him to slow down. Owen Stark didn't like to listen to others. At the beginning of the conflict with the Umbers he say the cobbled road, where it stopped and how much they had to do, how far they had to go. He saw the improvements of Moat Cailin and the increased taxes from new villages and trade proved him right. Again. Northmen would be more than survivors.

In a generation they would speak about their southron wolf and all he sacrificed for the Kingdom that was thrust upon him after the mess of the dancing Dragons. Out of the flames came a kingdom came a kingdom reborn. His kingdom.

"I don't look forward to looking for a new queen." Owen murmured as he raised the hand carved mug of Honeywine Whisky from the Reach. A gift from their High Commander for the rate he provided in lumber for his building in the newly named golden sea. Another venture possible because of his drive.

"Alys could be dead. Brandon hates me as well. I need a new Hand. Perhaps a Manderly. Though, I've rather bad news for him. They will thank me in the long run."

Genevieve Gaunt in Knightfall (s2) as Princess Isabella

more avatars right here

closed starter for @owenstark

dacey leaned in towards the fire, letting the heat seek into her bones. it almost felt strange, that in the middle of such tumultuous times for the north, that they could find a moment to just be. 

it had been one thing after another. if that was overwhelming for dacey, she could not imagine how owen must feel. he was a king, but he was still her brother, and as a sister, she reserved the right to worry for owen the man, rather than owen who wore the crown. the loss of a queen was a blow to the north, but the loss of the mother of his children was what weighed most heavily on her. alysanne’s disappearance was similarly felt, but he had lost a twin. she couldn’t believe that just one of those things would not drag anybody down, let alone both in succession. 

she drew her knees to her chest, adjusting her skirts and wrapping her arms around them in a gesture that was both informal and child-like, something she had done long ago when they had both been far younger and less burdened. for once, her hands were still. 

she turned her head to look at him, taking a moment to simply observe before speaking. “what are you thinking about?” her voice was gentle - not obtrusive, simply wondering. “you don’t have to tell me. but if you want to talk about anything… well, i’m here to listen.”

a stab of guilt twisted at dacey’s gut when she looked at him. he was already a man burdened - you did not have to possess any great level of empathy to take note of that, and here she was, bringing more struggles to his door. she should have left him alone, should have found another source for the answers she sought.

but then, would anybody else be able to grant them? who else, if not brandon karstark? not for the first time, worry sparked in her, an uncertainty of what they would do without him when his presence in the stark’s lives had been so constant for so long, but that was something to turn over later, when she was alone without the distraction of standing in front of him.

they were speaking as plainly as dacey knew how, but there was still so much that wasn’t said - by her, and certainly by brandon. they were avoiding the inevitable conversation. she wasn’t sure if that would ever be addressed between them, if it was even her place to. it was an unscalable wall, and she wasn’t mentally prepared to climb it. she would not be the one to reopen wounds that had not yet begun to heal.

“no.” she agreed. “not in the way my sister was.” but there was a fundamental difference between alysanne and dacey. where the elder of the two invited such things, dacey was seeking to put an end to it. to rid winterfell of everything dark and dangerous, and hope that was enough. she didn’t know much, but she could not rid herself of the suspicion that doing so would not be the simple task he was posing it as.

she took a breath, small, but audible, as though steeling herself to say something she didn’t want to. “but i do want to be rid of all the things she’s left behind. i don’t think that will be so simple as casting them upon the fire.” she looked at him, half a moment away from begging him to tell her that she was wrong.

it wasn’t in dacey’s nature to lead the charge when trouble presented itself. she could scarcely remember the last time she had been involved in matters of the kingdom, save for her quiet, steadfast support. but times were changing, and she was tired. too much had been lost, and the eyes of those she would normally trust to handle things like this were either turned elsewhere or gone forever. and so, it fell to her, the wolf who had never found her howl nor bite.

she heard his warning, considered it, then nodded. “there’s something you’re holding back.” it was a statement of fact, devoid of confrontation, spoken with nothing but concern. “and i understand. i don’t expect…” she trailed off, mind racing to find the right words. “i trust you.” any bad blood between stark and karstark would not find root in dacey stark. perhaps it should have been easier for her to put distance between them, when more of it existed to begin with than with owen or alys or cassana, but that wasn’t so. “and i’m sorry. for bringing this to your door.”

♞

he found no insult in her natural assumption that brandon himself could have provided more light on the complexities of what it was they were beginning to wade through, a pool whose water had long since darkened and was far deeper than either of them could thoroughly grasp and understand. his hand moved to rest on the side of his neck with a low exhale, a movement he often did when he found himself thinking, and thinking, and then overthinking.

there would be no way the princess, or any living soul, would be able to encounter the associate that alysanne had found herself working closely with - and the reason why came not from differences within their class, title or rank. the reason why, was because that woman no longer was able to speak, or be, anything.

a part of him knew wished to address something, the obvious space in the room: the obvious matter which needed to be discussed when the names stark and karstark came together in a sentence within these months. even the lowest at court had heard the news of the king obtaining a new hand, and the sun of winter no longer sat upon the council at all: that, paired with aleksander's noticeable storminess he showed toward the majority of starks, truly set the scene before any who had any questions.

"hm." came his only response regarding what was right, and what was wrong. even after everything, he still believed entirely in the concepts - that all humans knew the difference between what was right, and what was wrong. he hoped she did not address what it was she seemed to dance around, with a tone and a poise so elegant it appeared as though she could have been some blue rose, plucked from the rolling fields of the reach or the banks of the trident, and forced to withstand the harsh snows of the far north.

he remained stood with both of his hands clasped before his furs, half expecting the conversation to come to an end, for her to offer him dismissal. and for him to be able to let out the breath he kept caged deep within his chest. and then she uttered the words which made his grey gaze go from utterly aloof, to his usual gaze. a flicker of the sun of winter, a flicker of recognition. "yer not desperate enough to engage in such matters." he responded, his tone far curter and more informal than it had been some moments previously.

the last thing he needed, was a princess of the north going poking her head in the matters of various woods witches, following a conversation with him. the last thing he needed, was more being traced back to him. no, he was no longer the hand of the king, but gods knew he would have no trouble in going to owen directly and informing him of what seeds were being planted here. "yer right. she ain't here to stop." he heard the sounds of his boots crunching beneath his feet again, the sound of an ancient tongue coming from the lips of the princess - the sight of her eyes going white, then black, and the blood seeping from her nose. he had stopped her then. was he to blame for this?

"alysanne knew her stuff, and still, she found herself…" his voice trailed, as though he were hinting at the obvious. somewhere deep within his gut, he knew she was dead: knew she was no longer breathing. he could still hear her laugher from across the table. "if the line ain't for crossin', then i advise you. do not cross it."

they began to dance, and dacey found herself lapsing into silence, focusing on the movement as much as she could. she didn't want to make a mistake - perhaps in the north, it would have been different, but there were too many eyes waiting for another court to make a misstep. she didn't want it to be her to do that for the north.

somehow, she seemed to be managing that. while her movements by no means came naturally too her, she was not as awkward or clumsy as she knew she could be. she even found herself enjoying it, and in her enjoyment, she relaxed a little.

"i think you've misled me, lord vance," she broke the silence, corners of her mouth twisting upwards in a half-smile. "you're a finer dancer than your words suggested." the compliment was utterly sincere. "thank you again for asking me."

"We shall." Hugo felt this was going well. While he would never presume to add a princess to his list of possible names for marriage prospects, it could only bode well for the Lord to have a reputation of carrying himself with a gentlemanly natures. Something for Ladies and Princesses to speak about in their sewing and tea circles, whatever it was the ladies of Westeros chose to occupy themselves with.

Dancing was something the Lord of Wayfarer enjoyed, as a boy he hated it. He hated being out there and having people watching him, making their comments or worse, snickering. Hugo learned it was better to become good at something, somewhere between good and great and leave them with nothing to laugh at.

The swell of the piano, the careful placement of his hands he danced with a Princess of the North and found himself worrying that he would trip over his feet, or that he would embarrass the Riverlands. And if whispers were to be believed, Hugo did not think the Riverlands could continue to survive embarrassments.

May Sarton, Journal of a Solitude

Sharon Olds, from "Known to Be Left", Stag’s Leap

"easy enough, yes," there was a glimpse of a smile, tired and heavy and devoid of any real amusement. "but not right." brandon had been a guiding light for the starks for a long time ; so long that it was difficult to think of him as anything but infallible, someone who held answers where they were needed. he was not that anymore, nor did she imagine he wanted to be, but old habits died hard.

"i'm sure there are." finding answers would not be the issue, she expected, but finding answers from people she trusted was another matter entirely. it wasn't that she was cynical. if anything, she was naïve, offering more goodwill than was deserved at times, but the list of people she could trust dwindled by the day. she was certain brandon would understand that. you could not go through something like what he had faced and not lose some of your ability to trust.

the facts as dacey understood them were this: alysanne, whether with the best of intentions or not, had dabbled in things best left untouched. alysanne was gone, and there were no clues to unravel, no leads to follow, and no indication she would ever return. alysanne had left behind her remnants of what, in dacey's eyes, was a dire mistake, and the only thing she could do was ensure nobody else had to pay the price for it.

"then i suppose i know where i should start," there was a resigned sort of acceptance in her voice, as though she'd rather be doing anything else but that, and that was because she would. "assuming her associates will make themselves known to me." she had no idea how to circumnavigate that particular snag, but she would cross that bridge when it came to it.

at the mention of jon, something in her seemed to shift. her back stiffened, an anger uncharacteristic to dacey crossing her face. "we were all desperate." what had happened had broke something in dacey, perhaps beyond repair. she understood desperation, but this she could not condone. "there are still lines that should not be crossed. are not meant to be crossed." she understood her view of the world wasn't the norm, too idealistic, to unrealistic, especially for the north, but if this was the depths they were willing to stoop to, did that make them any better than those they would call enemies?

there was logic in what he was saying, but something tugged at the back of dacey's mind anyway. perhaps it was simply the fact she was born with all the caution other starks lacked, too much of it. she'd never been one for kicking a hornet's nest - and the situation at winterfell had never felt so complex. "was," she repeated, more of a musing than anything else.

"yes," she had to concede that, if nothing else, owen would want to know. "and yet you know all you have told me, and don't know if he does. which means you haven't told him, either." it was not an accusation, her words as gentle as they had been since the moment she entered the room. "and i understand our reasons may be different," she added. "but what good would it do? he can't stop her. she isn't here to stop."

♞

there was a level of self consciousness that became clear in the minor details of how she stood before him, and yet there had never been a time where he could not recall her in such a way. "easy to assume." he spoke, referencing the culture of karhold: they were further north than many, with their own dialect. the sun tongue. and dacey before him, had always remained the quiet princess, the soft princess, caught in the middle of the pack: who would ever hear the gnawing of paws upon the dirt of the earth when the others howled over each of her attempts?

"there are many who would be able to provide you with the real answers you seek." the north was rooted in ancient practices, a place so strange he almost forgot - that was until he was beyond the wall, visiting his uncle who remained the current lord commander of the night's watch. the desolate emptiness and the creeping knowledge of what remained beyond the wall, the strange practices that caused a chill to run down the back of his spine.

he could delve further into the information regarding what it was she sought that night, reveal the conversations they had within the wagon or atop horseback through all weathers as they passed through the neck. he was not knowledgeable enough about such practices, though he had gotten her message all too clearly: there was ample risk in what it was she was planning to do. he cleared his throat slightly as the memories of the night flooded back to him, the churning sound of the wind and the leaves beneath his feet as he witnessed her stood by a fire; and when she looked up at him, there was blood running from her nose. with eyes that remained black.

and perhaps he would have backed away rather than forward, if he had not been confronted with what it was the old gods could force upon mortals merely some weeks earlier. he'll never forget the way in which meera reed's body had remained warm, for the days they spent travelling for her to be entombed within karhold. the sight of her eyes as they opened, and she drew in a large amount of breath that sounded like her last all the while.

"i can confirm the princess spent time studying such practices. she had many associates within the woods." the witches, who too worked methods that could be used for good or for evil. brandon firmly believed it was not magic itself that was evil, but how it was to be used. "after the murder of the late prince, she was desperate." and those were all the words he was ready to say on the matter, until she spoke of perhaps not mentioning details to the king.

brandon found himself wondering how he had managed to stumble himself in such a situation - as though he had not sworn the personal matters of the starks was not his issue. and now, the princess admitted to perhaps withholding information from the king - information he knew. "we both know the fixation the king holds on knowing all the facts." brandon responded. speaking objectively about his closest friend, his closest companion: who had once been so much shorter than him. "he would want to know. she was his twin, in the end."

dacey turned her head, dark eyes fixing on brandon. there was much that neither was saying, but she wasn't sure they needed to. she couldn't change what had come to pass, but that did not erase the years of knowing him. there was a small comfort in that, the fact that despite everything, she could still find a way to understand him.

"no, of course not." she almost felt a fool for asking. she was in unfamiliar territory, tasked with dealing with things that scared her, that her morals did not hold with, but that did not need to become his problem. still, there was a hesitancy in her, as though spending enough time with what alys had left behind to get rid of them would stain her by mere proximity. she dropped her gaze to her hands. "if there's a way to get rid of such things without making things worse, i'll find it."

she knew little of such practices, except for the gnawing feeling that alys dabbling in them had been a dreadful mistake, and that she would need to be careful in how she proceeded. her first instinct was to throw the whole cursed lot into the fire, but the logical part of her mind told her that would be a grave mistake. the old valyrian empire was steeped in stories of magic, coming from fire and blood. dacey kept to the old gods, but there was a significance to the flame she didn't want to invite. neither did she want to remove alys' belongings in such a way that others could find them.

"and what are your thoughts, brandon?" the formality between them was dropped, driven from her head by the distraction the issue before them presented. she could guess, and was pretty certain her assumptions were close to accuracy, but she would hear it in his own words first, should he be willing to share them with her.

"hmm." her brow furrowed. "i suppose whether or not owen knows is... somewhat irrelevant. for as long as alys remains missing, at least." something deep in dacey's heart told her she would not see her sister again. should that continue to remain true, she wasn't sure that owen's knowledge was relevant. "i don't think i'm going to tell him."

♞

there was a heavy beat of silence in the aftermath of her words, that were tainted with a hint of annoyance that sounded so inherently abnormal within her voice. they were the same in some regard, swept up in the decisions and circumstances of the gods to have to transform, mutate, according to their will. somewhere deep within the sun of winter, the sight of the flames that licked the heart tree and spread from branch to branch as though it were limb from limb, and he knew that the gods would remain unhappy with him.

"i do not know such the depth behind such things, yer highness." brandon spoke, his karhold accent wrapping around each of his words: rougher than the other northern dialects, he found himself thinking back on that night they had embarked for the neck, to cross into the land of rivers and feast within the hospitality of house blackwood - distant kinsfolk. to have emerged from the tent to hear the raspy sound of a voice that was not alysanne's, and the knowing of what it was he needed to halt. to stop.

"princess alysanne heard all my thoughts on the matter." in the end, she had warned him that the ritual had been left incomplete: and yet such action and darkness was not his place to merely turn a blind eye to. brandon karstark was a northman, but meddling in such magic and was only asking for further trouble.

the gods were beyond unhappy. there would come the need for penance, from some place or another. at sometime, when he expected it or when he did not expect it. there was a time where he would have tried to ease the concern and anxiety this may have brought forth, if not with overt affection, than at least with words of warmth that would provide a sense of everything be okay in the end. he hated how he no longer believed such a thing; the concept that everything would turn out okay in the end. it was far from it, and that was obvious.

"i cannot confirm if the princess informed the king." how was he to know such things anymore?

Willow making the decision to marry Robert

{Words by Anaïs Nin, from The Diary Of Anais Nin, Vol. 4 (1944-1947) / Cynthia Cruz }

she shouldn't have come here. for the first time, dacey was struck by the selfishness of what she had done in facing brandon. after everything, the way that things had gone so south, it felt almost like inflicting another cruelty on him by making him sit with a stark. she had thought only of herself, seen him as a path to her answers. she should have found a better way, but it was too late for that. there was a stilted edge to the conversation, both deliberately ignoring all that they could say. if she was a bolder person, more like cassana maybe, perhaps she could find the words that she currently couldn't grasp. but that wasn't her way, and so the barrier remained.

his response was both vague, and yet completely plain to her. dacey stilled for a moment, mind racing as she tried to rationalise what he was telling her, her heart sinking as she realised it made complete sense. the silence stretched for a moment, and she squeezed her eyes shut, raising a hand to pinch the bridge of her nose.

"well," she began, and was even surprised herself by the annoyance that tinged her voice. "that explains a lot, doesn't it?"

she couldn't pinpoint exactly why she was annoyed, but there was an anger towards alys that was rising within her that she hadn't anticipated. perhaps it was annoyance at herself, that she had locked herself away, turned a blind eye for so long that this was where they had ended up.

she thought of old stories, told to her in her childhood, racking her brains for what she knew. there was one thing that stuck out to her - a warning that such ancient practices had their price. was alys' disappearance the cost paid? or did it lie in jon's death? rosalyn's? meera's? she didn't know if the blame was at alys' feet, or if this was a completely irrational line of thought, but it was one that gnawed at her all the same.

"who knows?" she didn't know why that mattered to her, only that it did. then, there was the issue of removal, which presented just as many problems as solutions. "you said it was to aid the war," her hands had fallen into her lap, her right thumb scratching lightly at the skin of her left hand. "can i be sure that won't do more harm than good?"

♞

it were a peculiar and obvious change, to see the emergence of another stark princess when one had gone missing. there had been no leads as to her vanishing, no traces to follow in what could have happened; only an open window during a stormy night, in a tower that was too high to scale, with no ways in which she could have escaped from it. there was a small voice at the back of his head, which only asked him why he bothered in such things.

was it not the responsibility of adam stark that his own sister was dead? was it not the responsibility of king owen stark that his own wife was now a lifeless, cold corpse? his gaze looked upon the princess of winter, and there was a level of distance within them that was different to what he usually showed toward the children of winterfell that he once would have considered his own siblings.

now, though, his distance was obvious. as though they had both drawn a line in all that had happened, and there was no changing it. no blurring it. no going above, or beyond it. "yer highness." brandon's voice remained wrapped in his usual karhold accent, his hands clasped before his heavy furs: making no other response to her words of gratitude. let them see what it was they needed to discuss, so the distance between stark and karstark could once again be put firmly in place.

be useful, were the words she uttered. he heard something she did not necessarily say, though made no reaction to it. again, his blankness was unusual: it was all wrong. but it felt as though this was how things would be, and they would grow into the mighty change. his gaze flickered her direction as she pulled out items. he knew what they were. the last he had seen them was the night he had ruined what it was she was trying to do. stopping her.

"her highness turned to ancient practices, to aid in the war for winterfell." ancient practices. woods witches. magic, which took both forms. "yer'll be wantin' to remove such things from yer household."

the northern court was no stranger to upheaval, usually riding on the back of tragedy. dacey had learned that nothing was permanent - but there were some things that she had never anticipated changing. brandon karstark’s position was one of those immutable things, so guaranteed that she had never thought of a world were he was not owen’s hand. but the old gods had shown her the folly of thinking in certainties, and caused yet another seismic shift that left the pair of them on shaky ground. 

she could not find it in her to throw up a wall between them, to act as though he was nothing to the starks but a bannerman of the north. he deserved better than that. but neither could she bring herself to acknowledge what he had been through. dacey was not a worldly woman. her life had been touched by loss, but not like this. she did not have the words to try and empathise or offer comfort, and she was cautious enough to recognise that even if she had, they may not be welcome from her. 

she was not owen stark, the similarities between she and her brother few and far between, but her loyalty to him was another of those certified facts that couldn’t be shaken. even when his actions did not align with what she would do, she trusted that he knew best. 

she could not say the words that darted around in her head, so she thought them, as though if she willed them into existence hard enough, the sentiment would somehow reach him, and brandon would know. thank you for my sister. i’m sorry this is how things ended up. i wish i could change it for you. you deserve better.

and then there was alys. another circumstance she couldn’t understand, but in this, dacey felt a little less helpless to act. she could not explain where her older sister was, did not know if her disappearance was connected to word from dorne, but there was something inside her that told her that she would not see alysanne stark again. what she could do was lessen the gap that she had left behind. for owen. for the north. 

“thank you,” her voice was little more than a whisper, the soft tones one might use to try and calm a snarling wolf. “i appreciate any help you can offer.” she would have understood if he refused her, but was endlessly glad that he had not. they still felt as though they were in unfamiliar territory with one another, but they could still hold eye contact over the chasm that stretched between stark and karstark. they were not lost to one another yet. 

“i’ve been trying to organise my sister’s things.” she did not feel the need to explain which sister, trusting that brandon could infer which stark princess she was talking about. “trying to… help, i suppose. be useful.” this was irrelevant to why she was here, a delayal of what she had come to speak about. 

she shifted on her feet, uncomfortable, hands tightening on the strap of the leather satchel she had brought with her. she didn’t know exactly what she was carrying, but there was an uneasy feeling that came when she looked at them, merely thought about them. she could have simply cast them aside, but something nagged at the back of her mind, telling her there was more to this than she could possibly know. 

“i came across some things i don’t really understand.” she admitted. “and i thought out of everyone, you might. understand, i mean.” she reached into the satchel, withdrawing from it a stack of papers neatly bound in twine, covered with alys’ own hand, and holding them out to brandon. there was more where that came from, books and items that made the back of her hair stand on end, but this was a start. 

“i don’t like the feeling i get when i look at them.”

♞

all knew that brandon karstark was no longer the hand of the winter king - and it did not require the extensive intelligence of a maester to grasp the reasons why. the murder of lady meera reed at the hands of jin renshu had spread around the northern court, and even beyond it, like wildfire: the same way the flames had spread through the ancient trees of the heart tree. somewhere, he had come to the deep acknowledgement that there would need to be a balance in the world following such an action - the gods would have cast their backs on him.

if that meant the princess cassana stark was freed of the ropes that bound her beneath it in the chaos, then surely it would be considered worth it? right?

there had been disappearances, two; seeming to have happened on the very same day. the world of ice and the world of the sun had each lost an important member of their court, if the reports from the dornish was to be considered true: and he could not help but feel his stomach drop at the idea that they could have somehow been linked. the princess had accompanied brandon karstark to yule within the land of rivers for the celebrations, though in their journey there he had found something out.

witnessed something about her choices, which she had remained firmly in favour of. something about the disappearance seemed to settle badly in his gut, the idea that it was beyond the actions of humans - who, even in themselves, remained wicked. he knew this went beyond it - meaning, he also knew there was little they could do to retrieve her. princess dacey of house stark had been told to step into the duties of her sister, as the world needed to continue to spin - and brandon found himself weary of speaking and involving himself in the family.

but how could he not, when they had grown together as kin? his recent fracture with the king did not mean all the starks would no longer trust him. there was no reason they should not trust him. "yer highness." brandon greeted, his hand resting on his chest in an action of humbleness; not on the council, but still a subject. "i will do all i can." were his words in response; different to what he once would say. brandon was very much aware that there was only two karstarks left in the world: the cold winter had taken the babies their mother had once birthed. sickness, disease.

"what worries you, princess?"

if dacey was more confident, more sure of herself, she likely would already be dancing without waiting for invitation from hugo vance of the riverlands. she would not care if she looked a fool, would not worry that people may look at her and laugh. 

but unfortunately, she did care. she didn’t want to embarrass herself, her brother or her country, and worst of all she didn’t want to embarrass the poor man who had asked her to dance. for a second, she wavered, considered changing her mind to spare him having to go through that. 

but then he spoke, with a self-deprecating joke that mirrored her own, and that was enough to banish doubts and set dacey stark at ease. She exhaled a quiet breath of laughter at his words. “either we are about to make a wonderful pairing, or the worst westeros has ever seen,” she mused. “Shall we find out?”

She didn't say Princess and it made him wonder how he should greet her. Hugo knew that as a Stark of Winterfell she was undoubtedly a Princess of the North. Far more regale than he expected, soft features and nothing about her said she was a Northern woman. She didn't look ready to don a leather jerkin and go into battle. No. She looked a lady, a Princess. And that made him even more nervous.

Hugo Vance was going to fall over and crack his head on the floor, he just knew it. He knew that he would embarrass his kingdom. But, when the fall didn't come, he trusted himself and decided he would address by her title for she was a Princess and he'd yet to meet a Stark that did not have their title.

"The pleasure is mine, your highness. And so is the honor."

He smiled at what he would assume was her jest. "No worries, I've two right feet, so together we may make up for the others shortcomings."

@wintervsuns

in the face of past loss, dacey had crumbled. it had made her weaker, crumbling in on herself until all that remained was a ghost of a girl. this time, though, there was something different about it. perhaps she was just tired of being weak, or perhaps she had been dulled to what it means to lose someone, but her sister’s disappearance hadn’t cowed her. not this time.

instead of retreating further into herself, dacey had rolled her sleeves up and made herself useful. that began with clearing alysanne’s things, deciding what could be of use, what exactly dacey needed to step into her shoes. in the process of doing so, she had come across some things she didn’t quite understand, but looked important enough that she did not want to keep the discovery to herself.

that was what brought her to brandon karstark. if anybody could help her understand, he seemed a sensible first bet.

“lord karstark,” there was a tentativeness to her voice, a caution that made it clear she was very unsure of herself in the moment. “thank you for seeing me.” there was much she could say to him, but the words died in her throat.

“i was wondering if you could help me with something?”

House Stark

of Winterfell

Winter Is Coming

credits: divider created by @zaldritzosrose

house stark won the poll. the next one is house velaryon!

Charles Bukowski, "no title," from What Matters Most is How Well You Walk through the Fire

.

there were many things dacey was good at - but dancing was not one of them. she had no natural gift for rhythm, but she loved music. thus, she kept to the side of the floor whilst others partook in the group dance, occasionally casting amused glances to the figures moving in unison. they seemed to be having fun, and that made her heart happy. it did her good to see some joy every now and then. 

her solitude was broken by a man she had never met before, who offered an introduction and an invitation. 

“hello,” she greeted him with a polite incline of her head. “it’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance, lord vance. my name is dacey. dacey stark of winterfell.” it was a conscious choice not to use her title. the man seemed mortified to be speaking to her, after all. 

“i would like that,” she agreed with a small nod. “as long as you don’t mind my two left feet. i’ve never been a gifted dancer.” 

Who: @daceystvrk The Dance: During one of the Balls during the Coronation in New Valyria, Lord Hugo Vance works up the courage to get finally ask someone to dance. What he doesn’t plan on is asking Dacey Stark, Princess of the North.

Hugo was nervous but he was on a mission. His mother wanted him to get to know more people and wanted him to speak to many women and perhaps find a betrothed for him in the future. Hugo didn’t know what he would do but he knew that if they were going to be having balls there would be dancing and then he would have to take part and try to dance with someone, try to dance with others. And so far he’d been to two of these dances held by the dragon king during his coronation and he’d been too nervous to do anything so this time he made it a point to be part of the group dancing, To speak and it seemed to be going quite well and he was happy about that to say the least.

“Hello, my name is Hugo Vance of Wayfarer’s Rest in the Riverlands. I hope I’m not being too bold in asking if you would wish to dance with me?”

Hugo realized as he was asking the question that he was speaking to one of the Princesses of the North and suddenly his heart was pounding in his ears. He could feel the heat in his ears and prayed to the seven that his neck and ears weren’t as red as they felt. He swallowed thickly. What was he thinking?

closed starter for @feraylocke

dacey's return from the crownlands had been a slow, tedious progress, leading to her delayed arrival back in the north long after the rest of the stark's retinue had arrived home. she'd never travelled much before, and opted for a steady journey that could allow her to take breaks, should her health require it. that would prove to be a wise decision, for the princess had remained strong throughout the coronation and still fit and well now she had returned to her home.

but the feeling in winterfell was strange. the loss of the queen, coupled with the tension between the eldest stark siblings and all things relating to alysanne casting an odd sensation over familiar halls. dacey would do her best to see where she could help, how she could best support her elder brother, but not yet. first she had to clear her mind.

and so, it was to feray locke she had come. feray had long been a friend, the recipient of many letters from dacey over the years. the idea of seeing her in the flesh again was a welcome one.

"i apologise for the short notice, feray," an apologetic smile graced dacey's face as she greeted her. "i hope my visit isn't an inconvenience to you." she would be mortified if her visit had put feray out in any way, but such things couldn't be helped.

"how are you? did you enjoy the coronation?"