I Was An Isolated Child

for a moment, she thought she saw a smile on lucius' lips, and she returned it with one of her own. she was not the type to let unkindness fall from her lips, but neither would she speak false words that she did not believe. her words were chosen because that was what she meant, and for a moment, she felt a pang of envy. knowing one's place in the world, their purpose, was a privilege she had not yet been granted, one that to her meant more than titles and last names and the things she had that her cousin did not.

"you aren't wrong," dacey confirmed, before a further admission fell from her lips. "i think you might be one of the few to think so, though. sometimes i feel like people expect me to be weeping, or else to blow away in the wind." she kept her tone light to match his own, but it was not an untruth. there were few that dacey could say truly knew her, even her family at times having a tendency to treat her as though she might break. even in previous days, when isolation was more common for the princess, she had never been one to turn to tears - at least, not when in complete privacy. in her melancholy, she was stoic, even when it radiated from her in waves.

"ah. like birds." a raven could fly and carry words on its wings, a hawk or a falcon could be used to hunt. but what use was a peacock, or a parrot, but for a show of luxury and wealth? it put much of what she had seen in the crownlands into perspective, and helped dacey, in a strange way, to feel a little less anxious about the way she may have been perceived there, for any pretence that the valyrians would not hate her simply for who she was was just that ; a pretence. even their gods required more grandeur, stained glass and incense to replace the way the sunlight filtered through the leaves, the smell of dirt and trees. and she immediately admonished herself for the thought. she had no quarrel with the worshippers of the seven in the north - but king's landing was not the north. "conversation should not be a maze to navigate," she agreed in a quiet murmur.

Lucius nodded solemnly to the princess' words, for all he ever did was trust in the wisdom of their gods. Trust in them and let them guide him, be whichever tool they wished him to be. A tool that so often became the tip of a true-aiming arrow or a blade bathed in blood. If they did not wish him to become such violent things, then the gods themselves would have stopped Red Rivers. But no, instead they gave him his gifts. He looked at Dacey pensively for a moment, wondering what were the gifts the gods had given her.

The Stark princess spoke with a sort of kindness that did not feel empty, not like words that were spoken merely to please or be agreeable. Lucius detected sincerity in her words, and was all the more surprised because of that. Samwell Blackwood's firstborn did not feel shame or insecurity regarding his position, yet he did not ignore the stigma of his birth. Bastards were so often seen as mistakes —the result of the sin of the flesh— so it was rare to encounter someone who viewed an individual like him not as a fault but as someone who correctly fell into place with his siblings like another piece that was necessary in that family unit. “That is a nice way of seeing it,” he replied, feeling deeply ineloquent after she'd voiced a thought that sounded so profound to the bastard of Raventree Hall, “I like it”. And for a moment, Lucius Rivers smiled subtly.

She spoke and he looked at her with narrowed eyes, a certain levity present in his demeanor. “You do not strike me as someone who cries so easily,” he replied after her remark. He did not think he could make her cry. A princess she may be, yet Dacey Stark did not seem to him damsel-like or like the sort of frail creature that was reduced to tears easily or often. Her next words had him nodding once again, agreeing fully with her vision of the Western folk and the Valyrians. He too preferred harsh honesty and directedness over ulterior intentions veiled with flowery language. “I've made my judgment of them. The more adornments I find in someone's appearance, the more embellished and insincere I can expect their conversation to be,” he half-joked. He did believe that to be true to some extent, not having encountered exceptions to the rule.

the sound of brandon karstark laughing was not an unfamiliar sound, but neither was it one that dacey was used to hearing as a result of something she had said. she had managed to swallow her own laughter at aleksander's expense earlier on, but brandon's own amusement coaxed it from her now. and yet, she would not be disloyal to the younger karstark now. "he was doing me a kindness," she attempted to explain. "i don't wish to insult whoever picked it out for me but it was... not to my taste. he might have abandoned me for a westerner, but he did save me from a night of wearing the that thing."

there had never been a time where the sight of stark and karstark in conversation, even dancing with one another, would have been a cause for raised eyebrows. not until now. she did not know if the separation was as felt by brandon as it was in winterfell. she had not spoke with owen about it, nor any of her other siblings, but she would not have been surprised if they harboured similar sentiments to dacey herself, that there was a wrongness to how everything had unfolded, and yet she was uncertain if there was really anybody at fault, or blame to be laid.

but if such a chasm was to exist, she would not be the one to further it. and once again, dacey found herself creeping in to something she did not really understand, trying to make the broken pieces fit back together.

it is not my own. dacey knew that people lied, for some as naturally as breathing. she did not believe brandon to be one of them, not he who had always been so honest, who had not lied to her when it had mattered most. in those five words, she would hear nothing but truth, because that was what she wanted to hear. if it were foolish to trust him now, then a fool she would be. she nodded her head, a silent acknowledgment of such sentiment.

"then i am sorry." had anybody told him that they were sorry? she did not know what had been said between him and owen behind closed doors. "you deserve more than to be made to represent something that is not your truth." they were not honeyed words, delivered with another intent, but said because that was exactly what dacey meant.

♞

"she's what?" brandon asked, an incredulous sound to his voice that was far rougher around the edges than he ever could have anticipated - perhaps because of all the things he was expecting to hear this night, the idea of aleksander finding himself tangled up and enjoying the company of some westerwoman was at the bottom of his list. "he's what?" he repeated, in the very same tone, though this time accompanied with the sound of his own laughter. the idea of him wearing the mask that belonged to the princess; perhaps he had been in the cups for all of this night.

if gods be good, he'll awake tomorrow and the redheaded girl will be a memory, or halfway out of the door. "yeah, he has his moments alright."

he heard her quiet comment regarding not appearing so out of place, and whilst his first initial reaction was to begin to dismiss it, he found himself holding his tongue; perhaps because he did not want to draw further attention to whatever feelings of self-consciousness she felt. they were in the middle of the dance floor, and whilst they could be spotted, they would not be in the forefront of all attention - apart from any courtiers of the north, who could very much be wondering what it was the pair were doing associating with one another.

but that was the thing - the narrative that had begun, was not a narrative of his own. it was not brandon karstark who called for the true north; his fracture from court was for no greater purpose than to stand by his own morals.

and stop himself from killing jin renshu; if it were the very last thing he would do, it would be that. if there was any matter he would risk facing the worst of sentences for, it was that. but he could do not that - not yet, not until aleksander had gotten married and had at least one heir to secure the family line. the slight frown that crossed her features, illuminated in candlelight, was the reason he wanted to speak to her in the privacy of such a thing - a dance was public, but their conversation was between them. "it is not my own." he responded, his tone quieter now; as though he wanted her to believe him.

because he would always care for what the starks thought of him. their sun of winter; he who knew no king other than whose name was stark. "i didn't call for it. people use what is already public to have their own issue."

dacey's gaze seemed to catch on the tapestry. it were undoubtedly a work of art - careful stitching and vibrant colours speaking of a master of the craft, one she could recognise due to her own skill with a loom. and yet, the subject of the piece, the story it was trying to tell, made her stomach twist. it were bold, speaking of victory and glory, and yet, she found its depiction of battle and war distasteful, bordering on grotesque. the crimson threads could not fully capture the horror of spilled blood.

lips pressed into a thin line as she took in the details, the embroidered waves and flames. she were a stark, she knew the necessity of battle, and yet, she was also a girl who longed for a world without it, one where loss did not seem an inevitability. the tale being told did not fill her with any sort of admiration to the glory of the west - it just left her feeling colder than winterfell ever could.

she tore her gaze away. another stood before the second tapestry, and the feeling it evoked was softer, gentler. better. there was a quiet peace to it, hues of blue and gold that contrasted with the other one, and yet she preferred it. she caught the gaze of it's other admirer, recognising her as malee westerling, and offered a faint smile.

"lady westerling," dacey greeted, tentatively stepping forward and coming to stand beside malee. "they are... certainly a work of art." it was not a lie, though she could not bring herself to offer more glowing praise for the first tapestry. "though i prefer the ones that speak of quieter days." it was a curious decision to hand two such differing pieces beside one another. perhaps the blue sky and peaceful fields was supposed to serve as a reminder of what they were battling for.

"this one," she gestured to the harvest scene before them. "it feels truer to me. it's about life, i suppose. the beauty in what we see around us every day. the heart is in the details, rather than the story."

setting: flashback to the westerlands event, malee finds a moment of peace in a room of tapestries, and is joined by a northern companion ; starter for @daceystvrk

the lady of the crag stood before a tapestry, her fingers lightly brushing the edge of the fabric. The scene depicted a fierce battle at sea—ships ablaze, warriors clashing beneath storm-darkened skies. the intricate details of the waves, the glint of swords, and the defiant stance of her ancestors seemed almost alive. she traced the embroidered figure of a ser westerling, his sword raised high against a towering greyjoy raider. her lips tightened. they always show the glory, never the cost.

the faint murmur of celebration drifted up from the great hall below: laughter, the clink of goblets, the steady rhythm of a drum. The birth of a prince. a new chapter in the story of the realm. yet, malee found herself here, away from the noise, seeking solace in the quiet narratives of thread and cloth.

she shifted her gaze to the next tapestry, this one softer in tone—a peaceful scene of harvest in the westerlands. golden fields, proud castles, and a sky so blue it seemed to stretch beyond the bounds of the fabric. malee exhaled slowly. how many years of blood and toil had it taken to weave such peace?

her thoughts were interrupted by a faint creak of the floorboards behind her. She turned to see the visage of dacey stark some paces away. she had briefly met the princess of the north on a few occassions, and was admittedly surprised to see her here, now. "your grace." she offered a small bow of her head, looking to the tapestry behind her, then back to the other. "they're lovely, aren't they?" she asked, a delicate finger pointing to the corner of the one she stood before. "i find the technique used for this one particularly interesting."

cassana's presence filled the space whenever she paid dacey a visit, and for that, dacey was grateful. she brought with her light and warmth, coaxing from dacey a different side to herself, one that was less guarded, less composed. cassana had a way of grounding her, of making her push her own doubts and anxieties to the side for a few short moments, even if only to soothe her sisters. for that was the truth of it. dacey did not much enjoy being a princess of the north, but she very much loved being cassana's older sister.

her lips curved into a smile at cassana's hidden bottle, and if anybody else had produced it, she would have refused a drink. instead, dacey uncorked it, filling both their cups, though she poured more into cassana's than to her own. "if anybody asks, i knew nothing about this," amusement threaded through her words as she set the bottle down, still half-full of northern ale. "though if you ask me, they should be grateful you didn't figure out a way to smuggle out an entire cask. that may have been more difficult to hide under your cloak, though."

her smile turned introspective, a faint flush coming over her cheeks at cassana's compliments. "it's just something to do to pass the time." it was a little more than that, a steady, comfortable rhythm she could fall into when there was little else to offer it, but she enjoyed it all the same.

"you should have it," her voice was a touch firmer now. she had not woven it with cassana in mind, guided more by what inspired her in the moment than a desire to tell a particular story, but the tapestry suited her all the same. woven into it was a small pattern that looked a little like arrows. it seemed right that she would give it to her sister. "and i'll keep the next one. i'd run out of space on the walls if i didn't give some of it away."

.

cassana settled into the familiar warmth of dacey’s chambers, the space exuding her sister’s quiet strength and grace. sharing a meal with dacey had become a comforting ritual—a way to connect amidst the chaos of winterfell, to ensure her sister didn’t quietly skip meals as she was prone to do. there were times recently when she had already eaten but took as small second dinner to eat with her sister,not telling her she’d already eaten.she wanted just to be around her.

“you know,” cass began, sliding a bottle onto the table between them with a sly grin.she'd brought along a bottle of ale from their private stores, tucked discreetly beneath her cloak like a conspirator’s prize. “i thought tonight called for something special. straight from the collection the kitchen is so protective of. they won’t notice one missing.” the sparkle in her eye hinted she was daring enough to test that assumption.

her gaze wandered briefly to the tapestry hanging from the loom, its intricate greens and silvers glinting softly in the firelight. she marveled at dacey’s skill, the delicate patterns forming a story only her sister could tell. to create was her sisters gift. “it’s beautiful,” cass said, her voice tinged with admiration. “you put us all to shame with your patience”

at the offer, cassana’s brows lifted in genuine surprise. “for me?” her smile softened, touched by dacey’s generosity. “i’d love to have it, but only if you’re sure. it belongs here, though—with you. this is your work, dace. are you sure?”

cursed with "do you still like me?" "are you mad at me?" "did i do something wrong?" disorder

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?"

if there was one thing dacey was completely certain of, it was cassana's strength. where dacey had little, her sister, her baby sister, possessed it in spades. dacey had faltered so many times, crumbled under the slightest amount of pressure, but cassana had always stood proud and unyielding. it broke her heart to see her like this, but she understood it inherently.

"cass," there was something firm in her voice, an indication that what she was about to say was not to be argued with. "there is no apology needed. i was already awake, and you are welcome company." she paused, hesitating for a moment. "and even if i was, it doesn't matter. you can come to me no matter the hour." there was a gentle earnestness to her tone, an open invitation to seek dacey's door whenever it was needed.

a distraction. it was an easy enough to propose, but now the prospect of actually doing the distracting was before her, it was difficult to think exactly what she could do to provide relief from all Cass had been through. She absent-mindedly ran her fingers through Cass' hair, chuckling when she felt a knot towards the ends. "Your hair is all tangled," she couldn't help but chuckle as she spoke the words. "would you like me to fix it for you?"

.

cass closed her eyes, surrendering to the embrace of her sister's arms, finding comfort in their warmth and familiarity. though she was the youngest among them, she rarely sought such comfort from her siblings. she prided herself on her resilience, her ability to remain steadfast in the face of adversity that they always seemed to face. she was a wolf. a stark. yet, despite her efforts to maintain composure, she found herself crumbling beneath the weight of her emotions. why was this particular moment so different? why did she struggle to maintain her facade of strength? it was stupid, she was stupid for feeling this way.

a surge of guilt and embarrassment flooded through her, prompting a hasty apology. "i'm sorry, dacey. i shouldn't have woken you up," she murmured, attempting to dismiss how she was feeling.. but even as she spoke, she made no move to break free from her sister's embrace. her words felt feeble, even her lie felt stupid.

"perhaps a distraction would be good." cass suggested, her voice resonating softly in the darkness. something to help get her mind off of things, make her believe she wasnt being foolish. that the darkness didn’t suddenly frighten her.

Elizabeth Olsen for a special screening of His Three Daughters in London

@asoiafsnet ‘s stark appreciation week

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

feray's forgiveness was a relief, but dacey still stood ill at ease, so sure she had said the wrong thing, and so unsure she entirely deserved the grace. there was a grace to the way she carried herself that dacey could never truly hope to emulate. so rarely did she speak of jon, and never without a tightness in her chest, an intensity she wished not to speak of. grief, to dacey, was an exposed nerve, to be concealed and protected from poking and prodding, and yet to feray, it seemed to be something quite different.

"you have more strength than most," she added, after a pause. "more than me." it was a strength that came from faith. that much was plain to any who knew feray locke. it was not that dacey did not have faith of her own, just that it was different. the afterlife feray spoke of was nothing like the teachings dacey had grown up with. "it is a lovely thought." it might have sounded patronising, if not for the utter sincerity in dacey's voice. "it might not be what my gods teach, but there is much peace in the thought." and children who had already faced hardship so young deserved nothing more than peace.

"it is never quiet in winterfell," she managed a smile. "there is too much life in the walls." and that was the way it should be, even if she often felt like a ghost, a relic of the past watching life continue around her. "it is funny, sometimes life seems too loud to bear, and at other times the quiet is crushing. there's never an in-between." it was more of a musing than something she expected feray to provide a solution to, if she could even understand it. "i'm sorry. a silly thought."

her head tilted a little at mentions of the ravens, expression softening. "i think i'd like that." her mother had been of house blackwood. the sight and sounds of ravens always reminded dacey of her. "clever birds."

she had become used to people not sure what to say, or apologising for accidentally saying something that might hurt her. but the truth was that anything rarely did. she had grown stronger in these last couple of moons. “do not fret, dacey.” she finally used her real name. there was a kind smile on her lips, but it was not wide or particularly joyous. there was always a tint of sadness to it now. except for a few moments where she felt like herself again, how she had been before the war, before she had to rely on poppy milk.

feray had never found it too difficult speaking of her brothers. she believed it helped her to be able to talk about them. then it was not all in her head and heart. “i do not mind speaking of grief and loss. i do mourn my brothers, and i wish every day they were here, but i also know we will see each other again.” without her faith, she did not believe she would have lived through the loss. she would not have been able to deal with her mother's sudden silence, or her father's pain that was so great he never left oldcastle any more, which meant she had to take on certain responsibilities as ruling lady in his stead. the war has done its damage, they all had to find a way to move on in peace. “i hope the children will find comfort in it as i have.”

she had no ambition to spend much time in winterfell, happy to stay home and at white harbor with amir. “thank you. winterfell is the heart of the north, so let us hope that it never grows quiet.” it should never become as quiet as oldcastle has become. “if you come visit, we can go see the ravens. i cannot claim that they are quiet, but luckily they are kept some distance away from the keep.”