The Starks Were Plenty In Number - Or At Least, They Had Been, Once. That Had Allowed Dacey To Slip By

there was truth to owen's words. anything was possible, and if there was any proof of that, the starks were it. for good and for ill. it was the ill that worried her. the fear of the unknown sent a shudder down dacey's spine that she struggled to suppress. "plenty of things have come to pass that neither of us could have seen coming." she chose her words slowly and deliberately, with a warning laced between them. there would be plenty more that she wouldn't see.

there was a faith in her abilities owen seemed to possess that dacey herself did not. she had never seen herself as smart and capable, but if owen needed her to be so, she would try to be. for a brief second, her mind flicked back to childhood, to little-girl-dacey who was all to eager to lend a helping hand to anybody in need. that thirst to be useful had never quite gone away, even if it had dulled somewhat as the years drew by.

her melancholy was washed away by owen's proclamation. it was enough to draw a small laugh from her. "of course, your grace," she addressed him playfully. "though the crown lends it a little more weight, no? regardless, whatever you need of me, it will be done."

The King smiled at her joke, chuckling a bit as he continued to eat and drink the black beer, strong and hearty, exactly what a man in the North needed. It was nice to take a moment to feel light when he was with his family. Their life was a heavy one, so many would talk about the joys of royalty and everlasting existence in the written text of the Wisdoms who now tracked their history.

The loss of Jon was not one he prepared himself for though he should have seen it coming. Truthfully he'd expected it to be him or Adam to die in some fight before any of the rest, even Alys on some level. He believed too strong in Cass' speed for her to ever die before him or get captured. Jon, he always thought Jon too smart and to witty to get captured or die. He would know how to get out of anything and perhaps he did in the hands of one more reasonble.

Alas, ransoming was a game of southron lords. In the North you were taken and rarely were your bones even returned. Given to the old Gods, the most pious of them secretly filling their trees with the entrails of their enemies as they did on Skagos. Owen took another drink, clearing his mind and focusing on his sister as she started to speak again. "You may find yourself even more capable than Jon, anything is possible sister. In fact, I never thought there would be another warg king and yet." He gestured, "one sits before you, Stark and all." He smiled at her.

"You're smart and you're capable. We all have our own strengths. You will see things Jon could have never seen and think them as well. Don't aim to be Jon, be yourself, sister, and all will be well. I believe in you. And I'm your big brother which makes my world law with or without the crown."

the moment cassana placed her head upon dacey's shoulder, her reaction was instinctual, one hand coming up to gently smooth across cassana's cheek, as though to check that she was all right without using words to do so, before letting her hand drop to her side again. it was unreserved in it's warmth in a way that was rare for daey for all but the youngest of her siblings.

there was no such warmth for cyrene. dacey did not miss the way cyrene's smile froze at the sight of her, and she responded by doing what she always did - by drawing back, away from what it was that was making her feel as though she did not belong here, in this place, where countless generations of starks had walked before. their reunion had been a tense one, and it seemed to have lingered.

and yet, she tried not to make it evident upon her face, tried not to spoil the peace the rest of them seemed to feel upon this reunion. cassana still stood by her side, and she allowed herself to draw strength from her presence, as she often did without the other knowing it. it was enough to paint a smile on her face, swallow down that knot of anxiety, and respond to what adam was saying, reminding herself that moment like these, when they got to be together like this, were a rare gift for them all.

"it does," she replied softly to adam, surprising even herself with the fact she were the first to speak. "i don't think i can recall the last time so many of us were here at once. it is usually quieter in the godswood, now life has taken us in our own directions." but for a moment, she could hear the shades of their childhood around them, laughter that had begun to echo long ago, and she felt a strange longing in her chest for it now. "but i have missed it. and i am glad the old gods saw fit to bring us together here again." even with those missing. even with those lost.

@owenstark

The King wanted to hunt and some times he wanted to go alone. On this day he traveled with his wolf. The great beast walking along side him as they made their way back. His horse carried a great stag on it's back and rabbits on the saddle. It would be a good meal, when the King wanted to eat well he would go out and get his own meat and have it roasted in butters and with vegetables and he would eat until he could not. Food and beer. It kept his mind at ease.

The sound of voices caught this attention. He dragged his fingers over his beard and took wrapped an arrow around his finger and lined it up as he walked closer. Calm washed over him as the voices were suddenly familiar and strange to him. Cyrene sounded different to his ears but he knew he all same. Adam was Adam, if his voice changed Owen would think another wore his face. And of course, Dacey, she carried a weight he always put on her shoulders. "Smoke get off her." Owen called out, putting the arrow away as Smoke ran up to Cyrene and put muddy paws on her front.

"And what do we have here?" A smiled graced his features briefly. "Starks in the Godswood. Have I stumbled upon the secret club house or has the old Gods brought us here?" Owen remember his secret cave with Alys and Jon, and it pained him to think of them so he pushed it away. "It's been too long since we've been a pack. We just need Cass." Those who were home at least. Life pulled them apart and together. Even as he tried, Owen did not feel like a brother. He felt like a King and he did not know how to turn it off.

@cassvstark

dacey said nothing in response. always prone to overthinking, thin-skinned over a heavy heart, it was hard not to take cyrene's words and add them to the weight in her chest. everything her sister had said, dacey had taken as an insult against her, and that only made her withdraw into her shell. for months now, she had done her best to hold things together as much as she could, trying to fill multiple roles vacated by their absent kin. with cyrene here, things had shifted, and she no longer knew what her place was. it was yet another adjustment, and she had never done well in uncertainty.

silently, she followed cyrene away from the memories that had enveloped her, up upon the walls where her sister's daughter would be found. still, she hovered silently, inexplicably shy. it was ridiculous. she was the adult, wylla nothing but a small child, but she was a child dacey did not know. it was different with owen and adam's children. she had known them since they were born, but to wylla, she was a stranger.

eventually, she managed a small smile, though there was still a seriousness to her expression, there was warmth, too. "hello, wylla."

Sometimes being alive is all you have.

Cyrene's expression grew into something icy. Stony and hard. "I know." And that was all she would say for now, all she would lay bare of her soul in the frigid air, in front of someone her heart knew but her mind no longer did. She knew. It had been her existence for nearly six years now, even if her children had made it more tolerable. Had taken her from surviving to living for an entirely different purpose.

She was thankful, then, that Dacey readily took to her change of topic. Her head tipped and tilted, a vague gesture to the direction Cyrene had approached her sister from. "Come."

Wylla had been taken to walkway overlooking Winterfell's courtyard by one of Cyrene's ladies, a slight and uncomfortable looking one, bundled in furs to shield against the cold. Cyrene excused her with a quiet word, and the Lady was gone in a flash, likely to seek the warmth that had been leeched from her skin. Cyrene reached for her daughter to pick her up. "Say hello to your auntie, sweetling." As it always did, her voice turned soft and warm, almost uncharacteristically so. She supposed it was, in this place. It was not, with her children.

Rainer Maria Rilke, from a letter featured in Letters to Merline, 1919-1922

dacey was trying her best, but there were times when that just wasn't enough. it overwhelmed her, crowds and people and the feeling of being on display, and that was what had her slipping away from the feast inside. she knew casterly rock not at all, and so it was here, to the stables, where the direwolf she had brought with her from the north was being housed.

she had managed to calm herself down when she stepped from the stables, until the crunch of gravel and a voice she had not expected startled her. dacey visibly jumped, though she did not cry out, silent, even when caught unawares. it took a moment for her to recognise the man who had stepped from the shadows - axell royce was not somebody dacey knew well. her hands clasped before her, an attempt to ground herself and assuage the temporary panic she had felt, though the anxiety she had been attempting to rid herself of bubbled up again.

it was not just her general discomfort with people she did not know. whispers clung to axell royce like his own shadow. dacey was no gossip, but she could see how they had started. still, she was not one to let her apprehension show, nor to be rude. her face arranged itself into a tentative, abashed smile, and she brushed a stray piece of hay from her gown. "forgive me, my lord. you startled me."

he spoke with something like disdain about the festivities, and she let out a polite laugh, too reserved in her ways to outright disagree with him, even though that was not what drew her here at all. "it is the way of the west, i think, to ensure their grandeur is the first thing any of us notice." that much was true, a neutral statement somewhere between his own and the truth, that the opulence here overwhelmed her, that she found herself craving something quieter and more like home.

she would not say that out loud, though, even when the conversation took a turn for her to explain why she, a princess of the north, had wandered off alone. she was certain he would find her reasoning quite ridiculous. instead, she reluctantly let one hand slip from the others grip, gesturing the the stable box where her wolf lay. "i just wanted to check on rose. my direwolf," she explained, quickly. "they unsettle the other dogs, so it is better to keep them in the stables. only, i was worried she would be howling, and making a nuisance of herself." it was a lie. dacey's wolf was a quiet, gentle soul, much like the woman herself, but he need not know that.

"what of you, my lord? just looking for a moment of peace?"

closed starter for: @daceystvrk setting: flashback to the westerlands gathering before the north left early. axell's wife has been missing for a few months now and word has only just begun to be spread to the other kingdoms

the air near the stables smelled of sweet hay and horses, a sharp contrast to the perfume-soaked halls of casterly rock. the celebration roared on inside, but out here, it was quieter, save for the occasional distant echo of laughter and music filtering through the stone corridors. axell royce had never been a man for grand feasts and courtly pretense, not when there were more important matters to tend to. and tonight, his focus had shifted to one particular matter—princess dacey stark.

she was a rare sight outside of winterfell, and even rarer to find alone. meek, quiet, unassuming in his eyes. the kind of woman who did not draw attention to herself, who moved like a whisper rather than a storm. axell liked that. he had seen too many women with sharp tongues and wandering gazes, women who brought trouble.like his late wife. maybe it was time for a change. he did not want trouble. he wanted control. and a stark princess, tied to the great north, bound to him by name and duty—well, that was an opportunity worth taking.

he stepped forward, boots crunching lightly against the gravel, making his presence known. “princess.” his deep voice cut through the cool air, smooth but edged with something heavier. he inclined his head slightly, the closest thing to a proper greeting he would offer. “didn’t think i’d find a stark hiding out here among the horses. tired of all the pomp and spectacle inside?”

he leaned casually against the stable door, his imposingly large frame filling the space. his dark eyes studied her carefully, weighing her reaction. “can’t say i blame you. there’s little worth entertaining in a hall full of peacocks.” a pause, calculated. “though, i must admit, i didn’t expect to find you here alone.” he let the words hang, inviting her to speak, to give him something—anything—to work with.

THE HOLIDAY (2006) dir. Nancy Meyers

dacey let out a breath she had not realised she was holding. she knew little of arron lannister, her nerves at being here in his domain, in the west, were already in overdrive, and she had not fully realised how much they had amplified simply by asking something of him. but it was the softening of his expression, the way his demeanour shifted just slightly, that had some of that anxieties easing.

even so, she knew not what to make of it. wherever she went, she feared the weight of scrutiny, of being weighed and measured and found to be lacking. she had felt it when he approached, whether it was true or not, but the sharpness he had approached with had dulled around the edges, and she found herself grateful for it.

"i am sure she does," she said, quietly, and there was no judgement or mockery in it, simply an acknowledgement of what could not be ignored. "but i am glad to hear that she is doing well. i have often wondered." she could not pinpoint the moment they had began to drift apart, whether it had happened when rowan arryn had died, or if it was already in motion before. it was as though dacey had looked around one day, and realised it had already happened.

she hesitated when he enquired as to their closeness, fingers tracing idle patterns on her palm. it was difficult to say - if they had been close, would they have ended up here? would that not have meant something lasting? "i don't know," she admitted, voice barely above a whisper. "not as close as i would have liked to be, i think."

she let out a cough, a small sound to clear her throat, and the small smile on her face turned rueful. "that is probably my own doing," she explained. "it is... difficult for me to get close to people." she did not expand on the point, though it should have been obvious enough, her bearing and stature that of a woman who took little pleasure in being noticed, who shrank when called upon to be social with those who she did not know.

"but guinevere was kind to me," she added, her thumb rubbing circles in the palm of her other hand. "she was... someone to speak with when i needed it. i do not know if she knows how much i appreciated her."

Arron’s sharp gaze softened, just for a moment, when Dacey spoke of his sister. The sincerity in Dacey’s eyes pulled at something buried beneath the hard exterior he wore. His emerald green eyes studied her, assessing her words with the same scrutiny he gave everything, though her request seemed to catch him off guard.

His lips curved, but it wasn’t a smile. It was something quieter, something more contemplative. He’d seen that look before—the wide eyes, the hesitant voice. His sister, for all her bravado, had never been good at letting people get close. She had too many walls, too many layers that even he couldn’t break through. But here was someone who cared.

"My sister is doing well," Arron replied, his voice a bit more measured than it had been before, betraying a softness he had not intended. He cleared his throat lightly, his posture straightening as he considered the way forward. "She has... her challenges, but she’s well. I’m sure she’ll appreciate hearing that you send your regards."

The offer of a favour lingered in his mind, and as he watched Dacey, a thought crossed his mind—an idea that could perhaps create the opportunity for the two women to reconnect. The thought of orchestrating a meeting between them, however indirect, seemed like a small chance to give his sister the companionship she needed without forcing the issue. He could easily arrange for them to meet, though neither of them would likely suspect his involvement. A quiet, gentle way of nudging both toward something that might ease the isolation that hung around his sister.

His expression softened as he spoke again, his voice quieter now, not as sharp as before. "Were you close?" he asked, though the question hung in the air with more curiosity than anything else. He didn’t ask out of a need for gossip; no, he wanted to understand.

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.”

IL DESERTO ROSSO (RED DESERT) 1964 | Michelangelo Antonioni

dacey let out a low hum of understanding. it was a feeling she often felt herself - that something might be about to fall apart, that the winds were warning her of great changes to come. often, it was a result of her many anxieties, the gnawing beast in her stomach that told her terrible things were about to happen. it was hard not to listen to it when terrible things were happening every day. "i still wish it were not so for you." maisie's next words had her thinking about her mother, about alysanne stark, and manal manderly, about sarra karstark and meera reed and rosalyn arryn. "i'm not sure i agree," her voice was gentle, as though maisie might take offence at the mere suggestion.

"strong?" at that, the ghost of a smile flickered across dacey's face. it was not a perspective she had ever taken. "i suppose i always thought of it as the opposite. as though i was allowing someone else to take control of my life." but with a brother who was a king, allowing him to decide what she did and did not do, and who she would and would not marry, was practically a given. but what were her dreams? it was not something she allowed herself to focus on, her fears taking up far more of her headspace. "i suppose i always thought i would be happiest if i were nobody at all. if i had nothing to worry about except where in the forest i wanted to walk when i woke up in the morning." it was simplicity she craved, far more than dreams of love or power or glory.

and maisie was right. people could be cruel, and men especially. and yet, dacey reverted to her base instincts, to believing there was still good ones, because the alternative was too bleak to bear. "there are good men amongst them." of that, she truly believed. "my brothers are good, i think. and your cousins, brandon and aleksander. they cannot be the only ones."

"Not very cruel, it felt like something inside me knew something was going to happen... like an omen that I should be prepared for something important" And it was true, for a long time an agonizing feeling took hold of Mormont's heart, preventing her from closing her eyes peacefully at night; she always ended up waking sweating from a nightmare she couldn't remember. The first few times, she thought it was her lungs failing while she slept, but as the moons passed, the opposite proved true. It really was a foreboding; this was the period when Maisie stood before the Old Gods the most, asking for instruction for what was to come "But we'll outlive her... usually women always stay alive" she joked, although there was a hint of truth in it. In a twisted way, but it was.

"We're girls who put duty before desire, it shows how strong we are. We don't hesitate if we have to suffer" A small, resigned smile appears on her face with a bit of a bitter taste, but it was better this way, knowing what she needed to do rather than deluding herself with silly thoughts "Even though, as a princess, you have to sacrifice more" Complete, Dacey was above her station and even if she tried, she couldn't imagine the huge sacrifices she would one day have to make "Perhaps, but I don't think about it too much, I just let it happen, but what about you, princess, don't you have dreams?" She asks hopefully, causing Stark to open up a little.

"I hope it's not another war, Westeros has already lost too much, we've already lost too much" She swallows dryly and sighs, Maisie really didn't want a war, even though she knew how fragile any veil of stability was "But it only depends on the men and part of me can't trust them completely" She whispers the last part, like a secret and forbidden confession.