Closed Starter For @northernglorie

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.

westerlands attire

dacey dresses with the exact opposite intention of standing out or making a statement. her clothing is chosen to help her blend in, not make a scene, and not be noticed. just nice enough that people aren't going to say she looks bad, but not remarkable enough to comment on.

she favours darker colours, but never black. greys, deep blues, burgundy and forest greens are common colours in her attire.

there was once a time when dacey stark would have been the first in line to greet a guest of winterfell. sometimes, she could walk in the shoes of that girl still, the one she used to be, could wear her face, think her thoughts, laugh like she used to. it never quite felt the same as it used to, more hollow, less sincere. there was a constant gnawing in her chest that never quite went away, but some days it was louder than others. more days then most, lately. today, however, it screamed, demanding attention. when it clawed at her insides like this, there was no façade she could put up that would hold. and so, when her brother's men came, dacey made herself scarce. she had little taste for tales of war, anyway.

the only thing that had her resolve wavering was adam himself. the last thing she wanted was for him to think her absence was some sort of personal slight. she was saved from trying to put on a brave face, though, when he himself appeared, as though summoned by her thoughts. she did not smile, though the look she gave him upon his approach was full of warmth. her slender fingers, cool to the touch, wound their way around his, and she squeezed his hand gently. she'd gotten far more accustomed to silence then she'd like to be, but there was something comforting about sharing moments of quiet with somebody you cared for. dacey held on to the quiet between them, nurturing it for an all-too-brief moment, before shattering it when she finally spoke.

"i hear a congratulations are in order," as much as she didn't want him to regale her with tales of battle, she could not let his victory slip by without comment. "i am - very glad to see that you are safe." the words carry an undercurrent of the feelings dacey has yet to speak out loud. thus far, her grief for jon has been a silent, shameful and private thing, kept clutched close to her chest like a child trying to hide something they know they should not have. grieving a brother is a burden she can just about bear. the relief that she does not have to grieve another is enough to relieve even just a portion of that weight. "welcome home."

Closed starter for @daceystvrk Setting: Following the latest battle of the berserker force against Umber followers, Prince Adam Stark and some of his men return to Winterfell victorious once more, set only to replenish supplies. Their stay is meant to be brief before they return to the field of battle.

The Commander of the Kingsguard was back to his family home only for a few days. Before, the lone wolf of House Stark would have focused on duty and duty alone, a soldier's mindset steadily guiding his every action. Now, however, the prince made sure to make good use of his time in Winterfell to be with his wife, to see his brothers and sisters, be with them before he had to march north again and keep writing by the edge of his sword the strong retaliation against the betrayers of the land.

He found Dacey in one of the sitting rooms of the keep. She was there, silent, solitary. All of the Stark siblings mourned for Jon in their own ways, grasping at whatever they could to cope with the grief. He'd held on to rage and the need for retribution; all of the siblings were directing their pain into some sort of action. And his little sister was there alone. Without a word, he walked over to take a seat by her side. He'd been away for some time, and he couldn't help but wonder if Dacey had been grieving alone all this time. Adam reached for his sister's hand, a knowing look in his eyes.

she did not step forward to embrace lillith, nor did she offer a barrage of greetings and questions. it was not the way of dacey stark, even with those she was closest to, and yet, there was a warmth in her expression that was nothing to do with the hearth they stood at. lillith understood that, and for that, dacey was endlessly grateful.

it was why the tense set of her shoulders relaxed, even as her gaze dipped to the floor. "if only it were not so loud," she said, with a self-deprecating chuckle. winterfell was bursting at the seams with life, but their time here together in their younger years had been spent in quieter halls. dacey far preferred the latter.

she glanced behind her, further down the hall, where voices and laughter mingled with music. "sometimes i think i wasn't made for this," she confessed. it wasn't just sometimes - it was always, forever trying to fit a role she wore uneasily. there was no bitterness in her tone, nor any trace of self-pity, just a weariness she could not deny.

her lips curved into the smallest of smiles, and she nodded her head, a quick, nervous gesture. it was not to do with lillith - her patience, the way she allowed space to exist without demanding it be filled, were often what dacey needed. she trusted her, but she did not trust the ears around them. and so, she saved what it was she held close to her chest, to reveal another time.

she nodded her sympathies. the north was a harsh place, demanding much of those who travelled it. "the weather has been unkind of late. it makes the roads a little more difficult to traverse." she lifted her gaze from the floor, green eyes raising to meet lillith's mismatched ones. "and how fares the vale? ironoaks?" it had been a long time since dacey had visited the mountains of the moon - not once during queen ravella's reign.

"you'd think i'd be used to the cold by now, but it still catches me sometimes," she laughed again, the sound a little lighter now. "the trick isn't to stand by the hearth, but the walls. the hot springs under winterfell provide heat to them, and the stone spreads it." she looked back towards the fire then, watching the flame twist and dance. "but i suppose it is only human to seek out the fire instead."

lillith stood beside the princess, the warmth from the hearth pulling at the edges of her gown, but it did little to thaw the chill that clung to dacey’s frame. it was always the same—no matter how close she stood to the fire, her hands remained cold. lillith could see it, could sense the quiet unease in her friend, and a small part of her wished she could somehow fix it. but she knew better than to offer empty words of comfort.

“i’m glad to see you too,” she murmured softly, her voice barely above the crackling of the fire. she took a small step closer, her presence a quiet reassurance, though she gave dacey space to remain within herself. lillith didn’t need to speak often, not with dacey; they had always shared an unspoken understanding.

when her friend shifted slightly, as if to gather herself, lillith’s gaze softened. she could feel the heaviness in her friend’s silence, the weight that hung just beneath the surface, something too deep to put into words right now. lillith wasn’t one to push, but the concern was there, palpable in the stillness between them.

the other's words, displacing her question for another moment, elicited a nod of understanding, and an offering of a faint smile that was both comforting and respectful of the boundary the other had set. there was no need to press. “of course,” she said quietly. “i’ll wait for the time when you’re ready.” she was always happy to bear the burden, even if unspoken.

her fingers brushed the edge of her gown, the fabric soft beneath her touch. “the journey here... it was long.” she admitted, never quite mincing her words, but her tone was not in any way harsh, simply, it was.

lillith had grown used to the chill, even in the colder months of ironoaks, where the wind could howl across the moors. still, it was a different kind of cold here—more biting, more oppressive. she could feel it in her bones, no matter how close she got to the fire, and she knew dacey felt it too, despite growing within this place. "the chill makes one want to simply leap into the hearth, huh?"

there was no retort from dacey's lips - merely a hum of agreement. she had always remained, two feet on the ground, whilst cyrene and jon scaled winterfell's walls. in many ways, that had not changed. she remained fixed in one spot, watching her siblings climb higher and higher until she could not see them anymore.

and it was always cyrene that she could count on to look down, look back, to wave at her from above and make dacey feel included still, until the day came when cyrene was gone. time and distance stretched between them, even as cyrene, for the first time in many, many years, took dacey's hand.

cyrene's question almost made dacey laugh. it was not a happy laugh, a scoff that she could be anything but well, but one of desperation, because for months now, it had felt like dacey was falling apart at the seams. the northern court had rearranged itself into something she barely recognised, defined by those missing from it, and she had taken it upon herself to try and bridge the chasms they left behind. she was not well.

and yet, her answer was a contradiction to that, to the dark circles under her eyes and red-raw fingers currently gripped in her sister's hand. "i am well," dacey responded, her voice surprisingly firm, full of conviction she did not feel. "you do not need to worry about me, cyrene." and there it was, the reason for the lie - dacey would not burden her family with what was hers to shoulder.

"i'm just tired and cold," she managed a smile then, and she tugged her hand back to tuck beneath her furs, the contact suddenly too much. "i stayed up too late and woke too early. i always do when the frosts start coming in." she paused. cyrene's past few years were spent in the riverlands, far to the south. "are you managing all right with the cold?"

"No snow would be enough to have you escape unscathed," Cyrene responded amused. Dacey had been a sickly child. Only one year older, Cyrene had been right there alongside her to watch her grow and survive. Sickness in the cold so rarely persevered but Dacey - she had been stronger than she gave herself credit for. Cyrene had seen strength in her slight sister and so, together with their brother Jon, she'd pulled her along into whirlwind adventures, despite Dacey's protests that called to caution.

Once upon a time, Cyrene had been a restless being, always moving, always running. Standing still had never been an option. Had it been with Jon or Dacey or Owen or Brandon - her heart and blood had been the same colour as her hair.

Her younger self would've been ashamed of her now. Stagnant and steadfast. She was ruthless now, mercilessly fighting for her children and her close ones, yes, but she no longer dared consequence to catch up to her. There was too much at stake now.

Cyrene stepped closer, suddenly and quickly, reaching out to grab her sister's cold hands. Tightly, though she made sure that the rings on her fingers, plentiful and equally as cold, did not bite into Dacey's skin.

"Sister," she spoke, voice dropping to a whisper. Reverent and urgent. "Are you well?" Are you safe? It went without saying. Dacey, as well as all her other siblings had denied her request to seek safety with her in the Riverlands. For a little while, there had been peace in the North. This time, when tensions were rising, Cyrene would not stay away.

THE HOLIDAY (2006) dir. Nancy Meyers

it wasn't until they had already started for seffora's lodgings that dacey realised, belatedly, that she should have informed somebody where she was going. it was hard enough at the best of times to keep track of her siblings, but when there were already two of their number unaccounted for, her stomach knotted at the idea of causing undue worry. she glanced over her shoulder, already a distance away from her northern countrymen, and caught the eye of a guard she knew, who gave her a brief nod. it eased her to know that somebody had seen her leaving, safely with her friend.

it was a difficult thing to come to terms to, making sure that you were noticed, when dacey had spent so long hoping for the opposite, to pass through the world with her head down, invisible.

but in the company of her friend, she could allow her heart to rest a little freer. she did not want to talk of loss or mourning, the heavy things that had hung around her ankles like shackles. seffora was a splendid tonic to that, and dacey allowed her good cheer to rub off on herself, a smile creeping across her face. "do you mind if i stay standing until the refreshments arrive? it's been a long journey." she was hesitant to explore the westerlands and stretch her legs more substantially, but she did not want to take a seat before she needed to.

"but i want to hear everything. about your good fortune." she truly did, let her be reminded that there could be something good in this world.

News of the losses suffered by House Stark had reached Longtable, so she knew she couldn't echo the sentiment of good fortune for Dacey. Instead, Seffora offered a gentle smile, reached briefly to take her friend's hand. It wasn't stated, but the empathetic gesture was clear. If the princess wished to speak, the lady would always lend her ear.

“We shall do just that, then,” the Lady of Longtable said with a bright smile. It was a nice feeling, truth be told, to connect with the softer, merrier side of herself that shone more often when she was a younger lady. Her position demanded a certain maturity, of course, and Seffora embodied it well. It was a sweet thing to be a little flower, as Rhys used to call her, every now and then.

“I've just arrived myself, I must confess, but we can figure out where I and those of my house will be staying,” she added, linking her arm with Dacey's so they could make their way through the groups of people arriving at Casterly Rock. Fortunately, it didn't take long for one of Seffora's guards to lead them to the area that had been designated for the Reach, and specifically for the people of Longtable.

“Danke sehr” Thank you, the lady said to her guards. “Bitten Sie eine die Damen, uns Tee und Feingebäck zu bringen, wenn sie können,” Please ask one of the ladies to bring us tea and pastries when they can, she requested before they left the two young women in the quarters for the Merryweather lady. “Well, here we are,” she said with a wave of her hands, grinning.

she nodded her head. it was little surprise that owen would extend an invitation to the remaining targaryens of the black faction, both out of enduring loyalty, and because of his distaste for king jaehaerys. friendship ensured between their families, and even if it did not, it was not for dacey to question the decisions of her brother when said brother was also her king. "i look forward to seeing your sister, too." she had exchanged letters with aemma targaryen over the years, but an in-person meeting was a different matter entirely. "it is good to have you both with us."

dacey began to walk, gesturing for him to follow as she led him from the courtyard to the gardens. it seemed that most of the guests had yet to discover this part of winterfell, the one she deemed the most beautiful, and the large glass dome of the winter gardens was deserted when they slipped into it. "oh, i would not want you to keep him waiting," teeth came down over her lip, suddenly a little anxious that she had distracted baelon from what he truly wanted to do.

The North's loyalty and friendship was something that Baelon truly cherished and appreciated. He knew how hard it was to come by that now a days, mostly with how the war between the greens and the blacks ended. They didn't end up with that many allies but the northern were a constant, they would not break their oaths. He did not take them for granted of course, he would show how much he appreciated them. "Yes, I am. Your brother invited us to attend and I could not send my sister alone on this trip." He said with a smile. "And it was a perfect chance to meet with my friends from the North once again."

Baelon shook his head. "Of course not, it would be my pleasure to accompany you and keep you company for a few moments." He could not blame her for wanting to find some peace and quiet, there were quite a few people currently arriving in Winterfell and he could only imagine how anxious she must be feeling, seeing so many people invading her home, most of them strangers. "I will be seeking him out soon enough. I'm sure he won't mind that I take a few moments to keep his sister company before going to greet him." He said with a smile.

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."

there was something disconcerting about being in the westerlands. that gnawing feeling of unease had been blooming in the pit of dacey's stomach since the starks had left the crownlands, notably absent two sisters. she had thought of little else in the days since, spending her nights obsessing over their fates, wondering if there was more she could have done. she hadn't wanted to come, but she could also not deny that she would feel the same anywhere. it didn't matter if she was in winterfell, or the west.

still, she was on edge, but the sight of one familiar face offered relief. margaret blackwood looked like dacey felt, and she could not blame her for that. house stark was suffering, but so too were her cousins. she had heard the news of merindah's death, and was so intimately familiar with loss herself that she knew exactly how the other woman must be feeling.

the greeting was unusual for margaret, but dacey caught on quickly. she nodded her head, returning it with one equally formal. "lady blackwood," despite the rigidity of her tone, she reached out one hand, fingers briefly making contact with maggie's own and squeezing in a way she hoped communicated all they were not saying aloud. she wished this was a more joyous reunion.

she struggled for a moment to think of the right words to say, but there were none. instead, dacey elected to throw caution to the wind. she could not pretend. "i am very sorry. to hear of your sister. if there is anything i can do..." she trailed off. what could she do? what support could she offer? "how are you holding up? and your brothers?"

setting: the kingdom of the westerlands, when the other kingdoms begin arriving, margaret runs into her cousin ; starter for @daceystvrk

steps that once felt so confident and airy felt entirely too weighty for the lady of raventree, who could not help but be hyper aware of her surroundings in the westerlands. she could not tell if it was this kingdom in particularly that unsettled her, or being, once again, in foreign lands after her sister’s passing. even now it felt too quiet without the younger blackwood chittering in her ear. she recalled praying for a more silent journey to her next destination, but now the silence haunted her.

the great hall was bustling with guests, she recognized some faces from the other kingdoms, but not the names. she catapulted back to their time in king’s landing, but she knew it were important to either impress, or go by unnoticed, for their own soon to be queen was a princess of these very lands.

margaret found some reprieve in one of the many corridors, intriguing artwork lining the walls, and she placed herself in front of one of the paintings in an attempt to look as if she were doing…*something*. hazel hues turned at the sound of footsteps, and she found relief in the sight of her cousin. “d-your grace.” she greeted the other, offering a bow of her head in respect of the woman. she would normally resort to more informal greetings, but maggie felt she could not be too careful, here. “i hope the journey was well, for you.”