"hmm." Dacey's Own Response Was A Low Hum Of Acknowledgement. Would She Have Liked The Reach? She Wasn't

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

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

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

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

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

♞

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

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

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

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

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

"discipline can be learned," there was a softness to her gaze when she spoke of her sister, entwined with something a little stronger, protectiveness present, too. "spirit and talent are half the battle, and cassana has both in abundance." it was something she had always admired about her littlest sister, her strength and her courage something dacey felt she herself lacked.

she did not know her other cousin too well, lucius' own younger sibling. whenever they had encountered one another, talk had been awkward, the two of them never finding anything to connect with. she was not sure why it was different with lucius, but it was. "he'll be all right though, won't he?" despite her lack of a connection with ben, a hint of worry found its way on to her face. "i've heard he's a fair fighter. he'll be able to hold his own?" it was a question she phrased to lucius, as though she were waiting for him to confirm.

her gaze shifted the the opposite river bank. it was indeed a calmer place, and in that moment, dacey knew what he was doing, in directing her attention to it and making it sound as though it was to his benefit. gratitude flooded her expression, and she bobbed her head in a nod, a little too quickly. she was eager to get a little space, away from the feeling of everything pressing in on her at once.

"as long as you don't mind me taking you away from the opportunity to bask in your victory," her smile was almost sheepish. "i think i would appreciate a walk. please, lead the way?"

Lucius let out a low chuckle at Dacey's comment about her sister. “Aye, your sister is talented. She lacks discipline, though,” he pointed out, having made that conclusion after seeing his other Stark cousin's skill with the bow. Though his comment could have sounded stern, there was a faint trace of something warmer in his eyes. There was a quiet pride that his Northern kin could hold their own in a skill he valued so deeply.

At the mention of his brother, Lucius’s gaze drifted for a moment to the grounds where the melee had yet to begin. “No doubt Ben will be bleeding and grinning by the end of it, as if that counts as victory,” he said in a light tease of his little brother. Bloody Ben was formidable, of course, and perhaps Dacey wasn't wrong in thinking the brothers of House Blackwood could earn more than one victory together. “If it happens, it might annoy a Bracken or two, which is always worth toasting about”.

Her confession about the crowds made him nod. Lucius didn't often spill truths about himself, but he understood what it was to feel at odds with such large gatherings. They had different reasons for it, of course. “It can be exhausting,” he agreed, taking note of the subtle discomfort in his cousin's body language. Dacey was very different to Agnes in terms of personality, but the bastard felt a similar drive to protect his kin as he did with his sister.

“Have you ever taken a walk along the other side of the Red Fork?” he asked, tilting his head in the direction he meant. There was a thin wooden bridge that connected the area they were in and the calmer plains on the opposite bank of the river. “I could use a walk,” he offered, giving Dacey the opening to step away from the loud merriment of the festival for some time.

dacey stark - a future au

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school years

whilst the stark family have a long history, dacey was always quietly determined to make her own way in life. she did not have many friends in school, keeping her head down and getting on with her studies.

a straight a student, she did not involve herself in clubs or extra curricular activities, but spent a lot of free time volunteering for charities.

despite having a very small social circle, she dated hugo vance for a while in school, parting in college as they grew apart.

adult life

dacey went to medical school, and ended up becoming a doctor - specifically, a paediatrician who works in a children's hospital on a ward for long-term patients.

she still keeps to herself, living in a country cottage with her golden retriever, lily.

before starting her job at the hospital, she spent some time travelling to provide medical care for underprivileged children. it was on her travels she met safeerah jordayne, and they dated for six months before parting ways on good terms.

currently, dacey is in a relationship with ulises tarth, after being introduced by her brother, adam.

as much as dacey did not enjoy large groups, she did enjoy speaking with people. moreso with people she knew well, and who knew her in turn, but in her best of moods, though she remained quiet and shy, she did take joy in conversations with people she knew a little less of. baelon was one of the people she knew by name, but not really much else of. as she had spent most of her life hidden in winterfell, she had heard that he was much the same in dragonstone, using ancestral walls as a shield. and yet, he had made the journey here, when he could have easily remained in his home.

"and we greatly appreciate that you undertook such a journey to be here," she was quick to deflect any gratitude back to him. after all, this ball was not her choice, nor did she help in the organisation. any appreciation was not her due, but that of her brother, of the hand. "if you would like, i can take you inside for some refreshments while your things are taken to your quarters. or if you would prefer to stretch your legs, the winter gardens? it's warmer in there." she was sure that, being from so far south of here, he must be feeling the cold. "i'm certain my brother will be glad to see you here, too."

Baelon had assumed that his cousin did not get any sort of invitation to this event, it would be a shame if he had to come face to face with the man who he believed stole the throne that should be rightfully his. But judging by the lack of relations between the north and the crownlands, it was safe to say that the only Targaryens in Winterfell will be himself and his sister. Owen and the North had always been loyal, always kept their oath and their word, Baelon knew that would not change now.

The voice coming from his side caught his attention and Baelon turned around to face the person with a friendly smile. This was a nice change of scenery, while Baelon had been keeping mostly to himself in Dragonstone, only ever leaving the castle when he would go down to the villages to interact with the small folk, it would be nice to see and speak with new people. Or with people that he had not seen in some time, like Princess Dacey. “Princess.” He greeted her, before nodding his head. “It was certainly long and tiring but all went well, I’m glad that we have finally arrived.” He paused. “Thank you for having us and your hospitality, we greatly appreciate it.” There was honesty on his voice, it wasn’t just about this but everything that happened in the past too. Baelon was thankful to them and their loyalty. “I hope you are faring well? I’m looking forward to seeing your brother again too, it's been sometime since we last spoke.”

dacey's palm was flat against the stone, long, thin fingers red from the cold and where the skin had been picked and peeled around the beds of her nails. the starks were of the old gods; they believed that their nameless deities watched them through the trees, spoke to them through the whisper of the winds and rustle of the leaves and rush of the streams, but in the stones lay the history of man, of the ancestors whose blood persisted in their veins.

these walls had stood for thousands of years, raised by brandon the builder, seen the celebrations when the barrow kings and red kings and marsh kings had fallen to the kings of winter. they had seen the andals beaten back to the south and the wildlings back to the north, had seen the king who knelt and the end of the kings of the north, and had seen them rise once more from the dragon's ashes. they had seen starks born and die and born and die, over and over, and would go on doing so for as long as the sun continued to rise and set.

in between those moments, the ones preserved in the pages of history books, the walls had seen other things, the day to day living that had been lost to time. it was there that dacey's mind turned now, to a girl and a girl and a boy and the three wolves that shadowed them, long enough ago to become memory, not yet long enough to be lost.

"you fell from there, once," her voice was gentle and fond, her breath escaping her lips in small puffs that lingered in the air in a misty cloud. "and you landed on my snowman." it had been one of the first snows of the year. the snow was fresh, soft and powdery, which had been cyrene's good fortune. it had not yet compacted and turned to ice, and so, she had popped out of the pile that had once been dacey's work of art without a scratch.

she withdrew her hand from the wall, brushing it daintily against her furs to rid it of any dirt. "i wasn't going to climb it." it was a reversal from how things had been when cyrene had left for the riverlands, a wild and wilful girl who had balked at nothing, so much so that dacey had wondered if her sister had been born without fear. then, it had been dacey who had called words of caution. that cyrene would be halfway up the wall by now, responding to dacey's warnings with nothing but a laugh.

but things changed. the world changed, and they changed with it. in cyrene, the change was more pronounced than dacey could have ever imagined. but then, the years had not been kind to their kin. distance had not saved cyrene from grief and heartache. dacey did not know how to be with this new sister, who wore the face of the old. not yet.

"there isn't enough snow at the moment. to catch me if i fell."

who: @daceystvrk where: at winterfell when cyrene arrives home for the first time in years

There were notches in the outer walls. Always had been, always would be. Cyrene found at least some comfort that things in Winterfell would never change. The people who lived within the walls would. Death haunted the halls, but the years did as well. She'd already seen many who had survived the wars that lay in the past, but they had not come out of it unchanged.

Neither had she.

"Don't climb that," she spoke, voice pragmatic and clipped, "That cannot end well."

― Albert Camus, A Happy Death

.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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.”]

anya could not know it, but her words brought a sense of relief to dacey. most of the time, it felt like she were fighting a losing battle, play-acting at a role that she didn't belong in and the entirety of the northern court could see through. to know there was at least one person she had convinced was a reassurance - perhaps the rest of the world could be fooled, too. "people never really see you how you see yourself, i suppose," she mused. "for good or for ill."

it was something the two had in common. dacey had always been the quiet sort, reserved in her ways and anxious in conversation. it did not easily lend itself to making friends. "i haven't either," she agreed. "it makes me appreciate those i do have all the more." the people she let her guard down for were few and far between, and yet, she did not regret doing so for any of them. a beat of silence fell over dacey then. nobody could stand alone - it was something she applied to others, she realised, always trying to lessen the burden they shouldered, but rarely to herself. when she struggled, she did so in silence. she didn't say that out loud, instead shaking her head in response. "no. and you don't need to, either." the words were subtle, but in them, a quiet hand of friendship was offered.

she let out a breath. the judgement of the west was nothing she could offer comfort for. she could not assure anya that it would not occur, because it would be an outright lie. "they would always have found something to judge you for, though." she did not try to pretend that she could not think why the west may have a harsh view of anya, that her background would be of no consequence here. "i think just being northern would be enough. we can only trust that they need this to go well, and so will choose to keep their thoughts in their head rather than making our time here more unpleasant than it need be."

“You mask it well, then,” Anya mentioned. Dacey had an admirable quality to appear composed, graceful, confident regardless of where she was. By the princess' own admission that wasn't always the case, just the image the lady had of the other woman. “And yes, we endure what we must,” the raven-haired lady replied. It was something she agreed with entirely. Her life had been built on enduring and overcoming.

There were not many friends in Anya's life. There had never been many she counted as close to her, and the situation continued to be the same. Her circumstances were entirely different at present, and yet there remained the underlying feeling that she needed to protect herself, to be cautious, to keep others at arm's length out of a sense of self-preservation. Noble courts were different grounds from those she's known as a lowborn bastard, but dangerous all the same. “I've never been very good at making friends, I'll admit,” she mused in a lower tone. “Silly of me. No one can stand alone, after all”. She did not have the sort of charming, gentle or enticing personalities that drew in others to her. For most of her life, she'd been challenging, jaded, and much too prickly to let others get too close. Those she'd let in, she'd lost in one way or another.

At least we are here together, the princess said. Anya did find some comfort in that, finding herself in this place with fellow Northerners, It brought a sense of safety, in a way. A home away from home, indeed. “I will remain vigilant. I generally find it difficult to let down my guard,” she shrugged. Another consequence of the way she grew up, she supposed. “I will try to enjoy the trip. However, I am wary of the social events and some of the gatherings that will surely take place. I don't usually care much for the judgment— I try not to care for it, that is. But I know I will be judged more harshly here,” she dared to say, for it felt safe to admit this before Dacey.

Stephanie Garber, Once Upon a Broken Heart