Starter For @allysannestark

maisie spoke of her loyalty, and dacey merely nodded, a twist of guilt shooting through her that she felt the need to justify her position. not to dacey, at the least, and yet, perhaps this was the price of her increased presence at court, that the people who surrounded her would not find themself scrambling to provide her with explanations, to discuss politics she did not wish to involve herself in beyond what was necessary. and underneath the guilt was worry, a concerned look shot to the westerlander serving girls helping the princess to pack. they had been sweet and obliging, but dacey trusted them not. discussing the fractured state of the north in the midst of the lion's den was not something she would indulge in. "perhaps this conversation is better left for our return, my lady," despite her attempts to keep her voice casual, it shook a little, betraying what was going through her mind. "though i am sure my brother will be glad to hear of it."

she had intended to let the matter rest there, but when maisie brought up encouraging brandon to do something, dacey stiffened, an unfamiliar protectiveness for brandon karstark shooting through her at the insinuation. "i don't know," teeth came down over her bottom lip, fingers moving to scratch the the sore red skin around her nailbeds. "lord karstark has been through much of late. but he is your blood." stark and karstark were ancient kin, but the blood he shared with maisie ran far thicker. it was not for dacey to involve herself in matters of family. and in any case, brandon already planned on speaking with the king, or the hand, if their last conversation held truth.

the change of topic was rapid, but one dacey jumped on, anything to distract from the northern fracture. marriage and children was her duty to the north, one she herself had yet to fulfil, but she was one stark princess in many, and knew not what plans her brother had for her hand. it was different for maisie, who had the fate of house mormont to consider. "have you a mind to take a husband?" she queried. it was a happier topic than that of alicent hightower. "suffered, and caused suffering in turn." she pointed out. "do not forget that she sowed the seeds that tore the realm apart, and took many lives with it."

❛❛Yes, my cousin... Brandon❜❜ Maisie cleared her throat in a silent cough as she affirmed, tilting her head a little and biting the bottom left corner of her lip. It was obvious that she felt Dacey's gaze on her face, as well as the countless questions that filled the princess's mind; Dacey had always been sweet, friendly, but very worried and afraid of everything around her, one part of Lady Mormont understood her completely, the other wanted to give her a little push so that Stark would blossom for good; ❛❛I'm loyal to the Starks, I always will be,❜❜ she assured quickly, trying to calm the princess's doubting mind. ❛❛There's only one true north for me, the one you and I know,❜❜ she sighed and slumped her shoulders, trying to look as relaxed as possible.

❛❛He's my family, the only one I have left by blood. I just want to convince Brandon to do something about it, or try to... I don't feel like I have that much of a voice yet.❜❜ A smile appears on Mormont's face at the memory of the family time she had, she misses it ❛❛It's just...❜❜ She shakes her head and arches her eyebrows ❛❛I hope it really was a bit of fun with wine, beer and random conversations❜❜ She says, remembering a little of the amount of alcohol she had consumed, much more than she normally did, something about western wine was different from northern wine.

❛❛It's very strange to say that all this has made me wonder if I'll ever have children, I mean, I need to, but... you get the idea❜❜ He laughs a little as he fumbles with his words, but then closes his face as he remembers the terrible scene that took place ❛❛I wouldn't have liked to have seen it either, hasn't she already suffered too much for them to still be targeting her? It reminded me that the climate of war is still there, I don't like it❜❜

F•R•I•E•N•D•S (1994-2004)

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

but that was highgarden, wasn't it? silks and open balconies of warm stone that never cooled, all teeming with the presence of things that grew. all bright, all green, even the floor beneath her feet polished smooth with dancing feet rather than carved by frost and pressure and time. it was evident even in the way the people of the reach conducted themself, and dacey could not find her footing in it. and so, she withdrew, present in body only as she sat, a pale shape at the edge of the northern retinue, missing the cold and the weight of furs around her shoulders.

the seat to her left had only just emptied when another slipped into it. she glanced up, more to know who she had found herself beside than to attempt conversation, then stilled at the sight of brandon karstark. she had not thought to see him here - none had. since the last time they had spoken, his name had been uttered only to notice his absence, and there had been little indication that he had planned to join them here, cutting through the scent of roses with the smell of rain and road that she found she far preferred. he looked worn, the look of a man who had kept riding after he should have stopped, and the sight of him produced a strange sort of feeling in her chest she couldn't fully describe. it wasn't quite surprise, and it wasn't dread, but a sort of relief that wound around her ribcage and worry that coiled just underneath it.

he didn't look at her, but she was looking at him, making a concentrated effort to ensure her hands remained still in her lap and that she wasn't staring, an endeavour she expected she was failing. there was an odd sense of anticipation, like watching a tourney knight fall from his horse and holding your breath to see if he would sit up again. but then he spoke, with just enough humour that she let out a small breath that could have been a laugh. "don't judge me too terribly," she said, in a voice that was only just louder than a whisper, something said for his ears alone. "but i have never been able to tell one frey from the other. i do not even know which one cyrene is married to." it was said in humour, but her words still drew a pang of guilt. how distant a sister had she been, that she did not know her goodbrother?

any reassurance she had taken from talk of the freys was quickly dismissed again when he turned, and looked at her, and spoke more. the small smile that had begun to twist at her lips faded, brows creasing as she listened. it brought to mind the last time they had spoken with one another, when she had stopped him from falling in the northern snows. it would have been easy to try and offer reassurance that sometimes a dream was just a dream, but the months since alysanne had disappeared had left her wary. if it was enough to bring him to a place he hadn't wanted to be, she would not dismiss it as a figment of an overactive mind.

at no point did her gaze leave him, not judging, not appraising, simply looking. there was a heaviness to him that sat bone-deep, like a man who had not had a full night's sleep in years, and still she found herself strangely grateful for the sight of him ; she had thought of him, not too often, but on nights where sleep eluded dacey herself, and she had felt the concern that she supposed was normal given what she knew, but she hadn't realised until now how much not knowing had unsettled her.

she didn't know what to make of it, of the fact he were here chasing dreams, except that it left her uneasy in a way she could not put her finger on. "it's no wonder you look tired," was all she said in response, not unkind, but gentle. "but i am glad you did come." he didn't say alysanne's name, and neither did she, but her thoughts drifted there now. time was beginning to dull grief and anger, and when she thought of her sister now, her face was blurred at the edges, like her mind was beginning to lose its grip on her. for the first time since she had taken her seat, she reached for her wine and sipped it, even though she didn't like the taste. it felt like something to do. her fingers shook a little against the cup, and she let them, because he was the only one watching.

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

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

he slid into the great hall of highgarden with all the ease of a towering man stepping into a room he weren’t sure he had a right to be in - not since ignoring the royal summons of his king. didn’t matter that his blood was old as the roots of the trees carved into the southern pillars, nor that he bore the name of karhold and the quiet menace of its winters. down here, everything smelled of roses and soft summer—he smelled of damp wool and northern road, and looked like he’d rode through the night, which he had. cloak sodden at the hem, hair flattened on one side, beard uncombed and flecked with trail dust.

even now, as gold light poured through the high arched windows and laughter echoed off marble floors, there was a weight to him. something heavy in his shoulders, something slow behind his eyes.

he said nothing when he entered. not a word. just strode in, boots clicking on stone too fine for northern feet, and made for the gathered seats near the centre of the hall, where the northern retinue had gathered beside the southerners, all warmth and courtesy and talk of trade and wine. the southern lords looked up as he passed—some with curiosity, others with that reach sort of politeness that always felt like it might curdle into mockery if left too long in the sun. his brother had only just left his seat—off chasing wine or women, likely—and brandon took the space without hesitation. cloak fell behind him like a shadow, the weight of it sodden with rain that hadn’t dried in the warmth. he leaned forward, took up the half-empty cup his brother had left behind, and drank without blinking.

none had seen him in months.

the chair beside him belonged to princess dacey stark. he didn’t look at her straight away. just stared into the firelight blazing across the far wall, thinking about how far he was from the frost. it all smelled too green here. "princesss." wet grass and honeysuckle. made his chest feel tight. then he spoke, his voice low, and lined with gravel. “worked out which one’s lordin’ over the rest o’ them freys yet?” he asked, not turning, but his mouth twitched at the corner. “they change faster than the wind, them lot. last i saw, one of ‘em was carryin’ on like he were heir to bloody casterly rock.” he paused, sipped again. this shit was too fruity.

he turned to glance at her now, proper. dacey stark. she looked more tired than the last time, and stronger for it too. he weren’t sure what that said about the time between. he hadn’t seen her since spring turned to summer and the snows back home started to melt, but never quite enough.

and yet still, he didn’t speak of her sister - despite the fact it was not rare for the voic of alysanne stark to visit him in his sleep. didn’t speak of the fire in the woods that night, or how the world had bent sideways when the wind screamed through the trees. didn’t speak of the way he still sometimes woke with his heart pounding and her name half-choked in his throat. alysanne. if she’d gone through that door, he weren’t sure she could be brought back.

but that wasn’t what he came south for. or at least, that wasn’t what he’d told himself. “weren’t plannin’ to come,” he muttered, his voice quieter now. “but the dreams’ve been wrong. sea where there shouldn’t be, blood in the snow. i saw our benny blackwood in one of ‘em, so i thought i’d ride down and see if he’s still the arse he always was.” he paused, then added, without looking at her, “maybe it weren’t about ben, though.” he let the words hang there, like something that might mean more if she wanted it to. then he drank again, and leaned back in the chair like he might disappear into it.

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

nasir spoke, and dacey fell silent, though her gaze remained fixed upon his face. she was listening, taking everything he said to heart, regarding his words seriously and thoughtfully. there was a wisdom to his words, she thought, one that she should have expected, but made it clear in her mind that owen's decision to name the elder manderly as his next hand had been a correct one. and it were not that she had doubted that, as she had never doubted her brother's vision, but to say there was not uncertainty within her about the change in the north would be untrue. yet, things could not be how they were. they would all need to look to the future, in order to ensure the north was all it could be.

but his guidance did not soothe her, he spoke of hate, and that made her nervous. fearful they would hate her simply upon the sight of her, anxious that something she could do would incite that hatred further. "and so around it goes," she murmured, more to herself than to nasir. she possessed such little capacity for hate in her own heart, and she could not understand those who held it close to them. was it not exhausting? how was it that they were not so weighted down by it that they found it in them to hate even those they purported to hold as allies?

but the same could be said of the north, she supposed, though instead of hating the west or the reach, it seemed to her that they would rather hate one another, as though the war had taught them nothing. she thought of her sister, the princess saoirse, who had clung to her own grudges so hard she left claw marks behind before she had vanished.

"i would not mind if you did." despite her personal issues with nasir manderly, he had spoken to her plainly and granted her insight and truth, and that she could appreciate. "i am grateful for your council, lord manderly. we are stronger when we know what to expect." and she said we, because in his capacity as the new hand of the king, whatever either of them did would reflect on the north.

the north had seen much grief, and house stark had not been untouched by it, but out of everything, even the loss of her own kin, perhaps it was manal manderly's death that felt the most tragic, the most horrifying. her instincts were to offer words of condolences, but what words could there be that could be enough? there wasn't any, and so though her expression softened, her tension and uneasiness giving way to something gentler.

"maybe she thought i would not have accepted?" in truth, there was a high likelihood that she would not have. it had taken her own losses to shake her out of her solitude, an isolation born in her childhood but maintained only by dacey herself. "i did not know your sister well." everything she knew about manal came from what others had told her - but she was yet to find anybody with an unkind word to say about who she was as a person, and how she treated others. "but i think i would have liked her very much."

"i don't think babies like very much," for the first time since the conversation began, a smile found its way to her lips. "and this particular baby is a prince of the west. he will want for nothing." that, at least, she was certain of. "something symbolic would be most suitable, i think. if you would like, i would not mind taking the responsibility for putting something together." it was a small gesture, but it was only in the small gestures that dacey every felt like she could be useful.

✯

"i think, knowing there is not much difference between westermen and reachmen is important." there were beats of awkward silence that seemed to sit comfortably between the conversation, not within it but between it; nasir of house manderly had never been one to attempt to fill in the cracks within a conversation, no doubt having once been the quietest of a trio of the generation that no longer existed. she had insisted he did not need to, but nasir would not have the princess of the north walk into a situation she did not know of.

the king, the truth north, and the manderly was what it had seemed to become; the realities of adulthood pulling apart strings of friendship and all but severing them rather than letting them hang loose was all but apparent. "the men of the west do in sunlight what the men in the reach do in the shadows." still, his quiet nature had turned to a certain sense of stubborn sternness that came in his beliefs; and what he could offer the kingdom of the north. "it is easy to assume the men of the west hate us. and perhaps they do. but as do the men of the reach, who are their greatest allies. then, they too hate one another."

the brothers of house manderly had swung both ways; one latching further onto the north, as though he wished to shake it into waking itself up and realising how much better it could be. the other turning away from it, all too apparent of the feelings of isolation and otherness that the stirrings had caused against their own. "i do not ever intend to inform your highness of how to behave, or how to be. only that, your kindness and your virtue is an exception within such lands."

there was no denying the fact that much bloodshed stained the pure snow of the north, but the violence targeted toward the manderlys and their people was due to a different reason - not just treason, but a feeling of being a scapegoat. the wealthy other. "manal found a great love for the reach." his late sister, the oldest kidnapped by the false king and who perished from malnutrition. he knew it the moment he looked upon her frame, her face; the death that had already sunk within her face.

"she spoke of wishing to extend you an invitation to join her, at least once. i am not sure why she never got around to it." perhaps because manal manderly had been a northern socialite, effortlessly involved in all matters - a striking difference to the princess. and suddenly, nasir found himself realising he was able to speak of his sister without feeling something blocking his throat.

now nasir wished to shake them all in their ignorance, force them to look upon what he could and what he would do; never did he think that brandon karstark would be an obstacle, a barrier to such a reality. even when he had detached himself from court, when he had pulled himself away, there continued a sense of faith, loyalty and trust in him that nasir did not have as hand. it caused a large hole in nasir's side, an apparent one any could use to target.

"…ah. i've forgotten that detail. what do babies like?"

@asoiafsnet ‘s stark appreciation week

“the winters are hard, but the starks will endure. we always have.”

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."

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.”]

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

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

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

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

Open starter

Where: Winterfell's Courtyard

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

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

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

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

"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.