Truth Serum: Do You See Yourself As A Valuable Addition Or A Burden To Your House?

May Sarton, Journal of a Solitude

"oh," it was an offer dacey very much wanted to accept, and yet, something held her back from a simple yes. "only if it is not any trouble. i'd hate to take you away from something important." her eyes slid to the door of the sept. clearly, the woman had come here for prayers of her own, but perhaps she needed to step away from this place as much as dacey did. "but if it isn't inconvenient, i'd like that very much." the old gods might not be the way of this new valyria, but perhaps the woman might find a balm for her sorrows in its quiet, its peace, as dacey often did herself.

she had not thought to find kindness in a place like this, in a city like this. dacey was not someone who was quick to befriend others, nor find comfort in them, but she supposed that made it all the more beautiful to find it in a place she did not think to look, in the most unlikely of places. there was something about this woman, and perhaps it was simply because she could see herself in her. a more tearful version perhaps, for it was rare that dacey shed them, but the emotions were the same, the overwhelming feeling of it all, the self-consciousness.

and then, she fell out of place beside dacey, coming to a halt in the middle of the street. dacey turned to face her then, and when she saw the recognition in her face, she almost felt disappointed. she might have been the most absent of the starks, but with her title came a recognition of her name that she had never felt comfortable with. it was there her mind went first - that the woman had identified her as one of the princesses of the north, and that was what had startled her so.

"oh, no, please..." she began, quickly, wanting to assure her that there was no need to stand on formalities, but then came the half-whisper of her name. dacey. her name, not her title, and it spoke of familiarity where it should not have existed. she was sure they had never met, but why did it seem otherwise?

i've written to you. in an instant, the confusion cleared from dacey's expression, replaced with a recognition of her own, of understanding. she recalled words on a page, the thud of anticipation when a letter arrived, graceful handwriting and flowers drawn in margins. here was her ink and paper friend, a woman who had existed only through words, now made flesh and blood.

"i..." she began, her voice soft and uncertain. the din of the city seemed to have silenced. all there was, was two women, who knew each other so intimately, and yet not at all. "but of course you are. you're naelys."

for a moment, dacey did not want to do. the correspondence between the two had been a source of solace during the best and worst of times, a safe place in which to confide the doubts of her heart that she spoke to nobody else. her hands twitched, as though to reach out, but she stopped herself, instead clasping them together.

"thank me? oh, no, thank you." her own cheeks coloured faintly pink. "your letters were - you were - a friend when i needed it the most. i don't know that i can put into words how grateful i am for them." perhaps not verbally, at least. it was almost laughable how her first instinct to metting naelys in the flesh was to write to her about it in a letter.

"and now you are here," a tentative smile broke through her expression. "when i thought about what it might be like to meet you, it was not... like this." she briefly released her right hand from the grip of her left, and gestured to the city around them. "shall we continue to the godswood? it might be easier to talk where it is quieter."

¿

naelys’ breath felt shallow as she lingered on the steps, the heavy air of king’s landing pressing down on her. the woman’s voice had been soft, a kind of balm against the clamor in her mind, but the words themselves barely registered at first. it was the tone that drew her—the quiet understanding, the gentleness of someone who knew what it was to carry the weight of an unwelcome world.

she clung to that tone as she focused on her breathing, her fingers restlessly tracing the silver lace of her corset. her mind wandered to the past, to the long evenings spent writing letters by candlelight, pouring her heart out to someone who existed only in words. that correspondence had been her anchor. how strange, then, to feel a similar warmth in the presence of a stranger.

the mention of the godswood stirred her from her thoughts. perhaps this is a chance, she thought, to offer some comfort, even if i can hardly find it for myself. her voice was quiet when she spoke, almost tentative. “if you’d like… i could walk you to the godswood. it’s peaceful there—quieter. you deserve a place to pray that feels right.” she wasn’t sure why she offered. perhaps it was the familiarity she sensed in the woman, though naelys couldn’t place it. it wasn’t her face—she was certain they’d never met. but the way she carried herself, the gentle self-deprecation in her tone, felt like a note struck in harmony with her own being.

as they began to walk, naelys listened to the woman speak of the north. the descriptions painted vivid images in her mind—stark landscapes, fierce wolves, ancient trees. it sounded so unlike the gilded, suffocating halls of king’s landing. she felt a pang of longing, not for the north itself, but for the sense of freedom the woman seemed to describe, a freedom naelys had never known. when the woman mentioned winterfell, something shifted. the word felt heavy, like a stone dropped into still water, rippling outward.

winterfell. her mind darted to her letters, to the friend who had shared fragments of that very place with her. her heart began to race, her thoughts scrambling to piece together what now seemed so obvious.

naelys stopped mid-step, her fingers tightening against the lace of her corset as she turned to face the woman. “winterfell?” she repeated, her voice barely above a whisper. “you’re... you’re not—?” naelys’ breath hitched, and for a moment, she could only stare. her voice trembled as she spoke, barely able to contain the flood of emotions surging within her. don't cry, don't cry more. don't be foolish. “dacey,” she whispered. “it’s you. oh, gods. i... i’ve written to you for years, and now...”

for some reason, she bowed her head. people usually introduced themselves properly when meeting in person? "hello...i am lady naelys velaryon, your highness." naelys felt her cheeks flush, a mix of embarrassment and vulnerability taking hold of her. she swallowed hard, forcing herself to meet dacey’s gaze. the words spilled out unbidden, her voice tinged with disbelief and wonder. “you don’t know how much your letters meant to me. they were—” she hesitated, her gaze dropping to the ground. “thank you for them."

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."

{Words by José Olivarez from Citizen Illegal /@fatimaamerbilal , from even flesh eaters don't want me.}

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

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

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

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

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

“to be left behind.”

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

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

willow moreno & her glasses :’)

dacey nodded her head. despite maisie's reassurance, she did not find herself much assured. but then, that was always the way with the princess. she thought too much, running through interactions again and again in her mind until she convinced herself she had made a horrible impression, that the person she was speaking with hated her guts. there was very few that she ever felt at ease with, and that was more true than ever when she found herself away from the north. whilst it was true that her home had been torn apart by war, only now beginning to rebuild, she still felt safer there than anywhere else.

"your cousin?" at that, dacey's gaze shot to maisie's face. she did not speak, much, about the divisions that were beginning to make themselves obvious. the eight, the loyallists, and the true north, the latter of which worried her the most. the whole thing made her nervous, and there was nothing she wanted more than to bury her head in the snow and pretend all was well, but that was proving more difficult by the day. had maisie herself picked a side? was that what she wanted to discuss? dacey did not know, and did not ask. neither did she offer the information that she herself had spoken to brandon karstark on the matter. that felt much too private. "of course." she said, instead. "we must all keep family close."

what was easier to answer was the question of whether she enjoyed her time in the west. to that, dacey let out a weary sigh. "i enjoyed lann's day." she admitted. "the festival. it was... more amusing than i expected. and the lion's tor was a beautiful place. peaceful." the rest of her time in the west, she had less kind words for. "but i must admit, i am not at ease here, and eager to return home. as for what happened to that poor woman..." the sight of alicent hightower being pierced with an arrow and struck by a horse lingered in her mind. "i wish i had not seen it."

Maisie Mormont was still getting used to all the excitement that was the West. In fact, many things were different from the North; especially the people and their attitudes. A little more daring, more... open. At least in his opinion, but the young woman couldn't be considered a reference either; she'd only left Bear Island a handful of times that she could be considered a baby in this world, despite her age. 

His eyes had taken in everything different there, but above all he had observed the behavior of the lords throughout the event. How the conversations looked like business, how the little activities looked like competitions. How everything was a way of imposing their names, it was funny, Maisie had to admit, at another time, she would undoubtedly enjoy the whole situation more; she would allow herself to have a bit of fun instead of all her exhibitionist posing and thoughtful interactions — she wanted to be seen, admired and also arouse any kind of interest she could. She needed to make herself known.

But at the moment, Lady Mormont's footsteps were taking her to the most relaxing place in the whole of the west: Princess Dacey's premises, someone she could call a friend, or something close to it. As she entered the room, she saw the princess in the midst of the bustle of tidying up. ❛❛Princess Dacey❜❜ a big smile appears on Maisie's face, ❛❛No need to apologize, I was in the middle of a mess myself earlier❜❜ She speaks to reassure the princess ❛❛I'll probably go with my cousins, I need to have a chat with my cousin about everything that's going on in the North❜❜ Mormont's lips twitch as he recalls the conflicts that have been going on ❛❛But what about you, are you okay? Have you managed to have some fun here?❜❜

it felt as though there were a dark cloud gathering around dacey stark more often than not these days, the unbearable pressure of an oncoming storm weighting her down. the lingering worry was a constant companion, but in the days since king's landing, it had grown teeth, tearing at her from the inside out. was she the only one to see it? sometimes, it certainly seemed that way.

but not tonight. there was a certain joviality in the air, and it was catching. she was still nervous to be in the west, but here, at least, she had managed to leave her anxieties behind her, and do something that was not the norm for the princess of winter - she was managing to enjoy herself. her sister was still missing. the northern schism still made it's presence known. and yet, tonight she had smiled more, laughed more, enjoyed the company of aleksander karstark, whose friendship remained thankfully untainted despite having every reason to crumble.

aleksander was not the only karstark who had her attention tonight. more than once, she had seen brandon amongst the crowds, and when her dark eyes glanced over him, she could have sworn he was looking at her, too. she did not approach him. brandon karstark had taken measures to put distance between himself and winterfell, and though their last conversation was never far from her thoughts, she would respect that.

she did not need to. when dacey found herself standing alone, lingering on the edge of the merriment, it was brandon karstark who approached her, and when he spoke, dacey smiled, tentative and encouraging, one hand reaching to tuck back a stray lock of her hair. "hello, lord karstark."

perhaps she should have been wearier to speak with him, paying more heed to the divisions his absence had created. the true north, they called it, and that scared her, uncharted territory for the place she called her home. she had never thought to see brandon and owen on separate sides, the figureheads of factions that sat in opposition to one another, but it had happened. and yet, she did not feel any trepidation, nor unease.

"he has," she confirmed, a quiet laugh accompanying the words. "but i think we can forgive him that, just this once." aleksander's attention was firmly fixed upon the girl he had taken to the dancefloor, and dacey would not begrudge him that. he deserved to enjoy himself, and she would not confine him to the sidelines with her.

but then, a hand was extended, without words, but the intent was clear. he was inviting her to dance. and dacey did not think, did not stop to consider whether it was the right thing to do or not. if she had, perhaps she would not have placed her hand in his, fingers curling around his own, and let him lead her to the dancefloor.

"i should warn you," she laughed again, but this time, at her own expense. "i've always been a terrible dancer."

who: @daceystvrk when and where: lann's day, the westerlands

how it was he had been able to identify the individual behind the mask was something he did not entirely understand, nor contemplate, nor think too much on: his gut instinct seemed to only indicate toward being moved to stand in her presence. perhaps because his warm, grey gaze moved to meet her own multiple times whilst he were in conversation, or whilst she was in conversation with his own younger brother – and he knew who aleksander had planned on accompanying to the lann’s day festivities that evening. 

still, he knew not what seemed to pull him in her direction; only that at one point, he seemed to have blinked, and he found himself stood before her – goblet of ale still within one of his hands. “princess.” his voice was rough, his karhold accent remaining wrapped around it: if she did not already know who he was, that simple word would have been enough to give it away in an instant. 

whatever pull, or invisible string, that seemed to have slowly begun to weave was one he did not understood nor fully acknowledge yet at this point: but their whispered conversation regarding the extent of the activities the princess alysanne had taken part in that fateful night in the woods seemed to have bound them in some way. did she know there was something he was not entirely comfortable speaking of yet?

did he want to burden her with discussions of her missing sister, when the idea of celebrating and allowing themselves to be swept into southern revelry still felt entirely wrong when one of the pack was missing? 

unaccounted for; no closure, for any questions that lingered. but what was he to do? there were enough rumours regarding him, and the stance of the karstarks as a whole: to continue rocking the manderly boat would only prove the rumours true. that he were trying to stand against something. all brandon karstark wanted, was to be left in his own seat: with his own people, within parts of the north he still recognised. but the manderlys had stressed the opportunity of negotiations with the westerlands, and here they were.

there was a stark missing. who were they becoming?

still, his brother had found himself wrapped up in the presence of a woman with hair of flames, and he couldn’t help but lightly smile at the sight of the woman stood to the side of the room; almost as though she were trying to busy herself. “has that treacherous mud man left ya to yer own devices?” there was a light humour in his voice, one that masked the weariness that he felt in his lack of sleep these days. he still smelt the scent of his wife, heard the sound of her sighs as she turned to sleep on her side; but the bed was empty. he simply offered her his hand to take, nodding his head in the direction of the dance floor.

in truth, he wondered if she would close herself from his speech. the true north, was what he apparently represented: what did that mean the king represented? 

"must be the jet lag," her own grin betrayed the fact she was being about as serious as he was. it was true that dacey was a classic introvert, leaving social gatherings early more often than nod and endlessly glad that her job gave her a convenient out. it was different with ulises, though. he anchored her in a way, and it was easy to tune out the crowds that surrounded them and carry on as though they were both back at home in their own little world.

she'd not quite mastered spanish, though she was trying to learn, but she knew enough that she understood what he said perfectly, her cheeks tinging a light shade of pink. "so do you," came the simple response, before pulling out her wallet to tuck the pictures carefully inside, on top of a photograph of her dog that was beginning to look ragged around the edges. "are you sure? we don't have to." despite giving him the out, she allowed him to lead her back into the booth, squashing herself onto the tiny bench beside him. she slid a coin in to start the camera, and turned to him as the countdown began. instead of facing the screen and smiling, this time she pressed a kiss to his cheek, and waited for the flash to go off.

“Getting tired already?” he asked with a playful smile. Ulises it was more likely she just simply blinked, but then again, being in this sort of big event with so many people could be somewhat draining. His own social battery was still holding up, but he knew that in a couple of hours, he'd need to either step back for a bit or suggest they left altogether if Dacey was also feeling okay to leave then.

“Te ves hermosa,” he murmured without thought, just looking at the four little images of them. It was true that her eyes were closed in the last one, but her smile remained. She looked so serene, so happy. It made him feel endlessly fortunate to be able to play some part in Dacey's happiness like that. “Yeah, you can keep it,” he leaned in, pressing a soft kiss to her temple. “Let's take another one,” Ulises suggested, taking her hand in his and guiding her back inside the booth.

closed starter for @intothewylde

the day was warm and pleasant, the sun bathing the hill of the lion's tor in light. it was one of the few places in the west dacey had been eager to see, and the first chance she had to get there. the old gods had little power in the south, and she felt that doubly so in the westerlands. even the weirwood that stood in the casterly rock godswood left her with the feeling of confinement, as though those twisting roots would wrap around her and squeeze.

but here was a place removed from the splendour of the west, its legends speaking of the children of the forest and the first men who worshipped as she did. here there was a little more ease, and for a moment, dacey almost felt at peace.

she was crouched before a patch of flowers, a book and a basket next to her. the basket she had filled with plants and herbs she had already collecting, growing wild on the hillside. the book, she lafed through, comparing each illustration to the buds before her, trying to identify them to little avail.

she was not the only one here. there was another, one dacey had given an awkward smile and bob of her head, but largely left to their own devices, as he had her. he seemed to be interested in the local flora, too. perhaps he would have answers for her? she turned to look at him, cleared her throat, and called out.

"excuse me, my lord?" dacey's voice was quiet, but it carried across the hillside. he would have heard her. "by any chance, do you happen to know what this is called?" she gestured to the plant, but did not touch it. "i don't want to pick it up until i know its name," she explained.