Long Had Dacey Been On Friendly Terms With Anya, But As With Most Of The People She Knew, There Was A

a stab of guilt twisted at dacey’s gut when she looked at him. he was already a man burdened - you did not have to possess any great level of empathy to take note of that, and here she was, bringing more struggles to his door. she should have left him alone, should have found another source for the answers she sought.

but then, would anybody else be able to grant them? who else, if not brandon karstark? not for the first time, worry sparked in her, an uncertainty of what they would do without him when his presence in the stark’s lives had been so constant for so long, but that was something to turn over later, when she was alone without the distraction of standing in front of him.

they were speaking as plainly as dacey knew how, but there was still so much that wasn’t said - by her, and certainly by brandon. they were avoiding the inevitable conversation. she wasn’t sure if that would ever be addressed between them, if it was even her place to. it was an unscalable wall, and she wasn’t mentally prepared to climb it. she would not be the one to reopen wounds that had not yet begun to heal.

“no.” she agreed. “not in the way my sister was.” but there was a fundamental difference between alysanne and dacey. where the elder of the two invited such things, dacey was seeking to put an end to it. to rid winterfell of everything dark and dangerous, and hope that was enough. she didn’t know much, but she could not rid herself of the suspicion that doing so would not be the simple task he was posing it as.

she took a breath, small, but audible, as though steeling herself to say something she didn’t want to. “but i do want to be rid of all the things she’s left behind. i don’t think that will be so simple as casting them upon the fire.” she looked at him, half a moment away from begging him to tell her that she was wrong.

it wasn’t in dacey’s nature to lead the charge when trouble presented itself. she could scarcely remember the last time she had been involved in matters of the kingdom, save for her quiet, steadfast support. but times were changing, and she was tired. too much had been lost, and the eyes of those she would normally trust to handle things like this were either turned elsewhere or gone forever. and so, it fell to her, the wolf who had never found her howl nor bite.

she heard his warning, considered it, then nodded. “there’s something you’re holding back.” it was a statement of fact, devoid of confrontation, spoken with nothing but concern. “and i understand. i don’t expect…” she trailed off, mind racing to find the right words. “i trust you.” any bad blood between stark and karstark would not find root in dacey stark. perhaps it should have been easier for her to put distance between them, when more of it existed to begin with than with owen or alys or cassana, but that wasn’t so. “and i’m sorry. for bringing this to your door.”

♞

he found no insult in her natural assumption that brandon himself could have provided more light on the complexities of what it was they were beginning to wade through, a pool whose water had long since darkened and was far deeper than either of them could thoroughly grasp and understand. his hand moved to rest on the side of his neck with a low exhale, a movement he often did when he found himself thinking, and thinking, and then overthinking.

there would be no way the princess, or any living soul, would be able to encounter the associate that alysanne had found herself working closely with - and the reason why came not from differences within their class, title or rank. the reason why, was because that woman no longer was able to speak, or be, anything.

a part of him knew wished to address something, the obvious space in the room: the obvious matter which needed to be discussed when the names stark and karstark came together in a sentence within these months. even the lowest at court had heard the news of the king obtaining a new hand, and the sun of winter no longer sat upon the council at all: that, paired with aleksander's noticeable storminess he showed toward the majority of starks, truly set the scene before any who had any questions.

"hm." came his only response regarding what was right, and what was wrong. even after everything, he still believed entirely in the concepts - that all humans knew the difference between what was right, and what was wrong. he hoped she did not address what it was she seemed to dance around, with a tone and a poise so elegant it appeared as though she could have been some blue rose, plucked from the rolling fields of the reach or the banks of the trident, and forced to withstand the harsh snows of the far north.

he remained stood with both of his hands clasped before his furs, half expecting the conversation to come to an end, for her to offer him dismissal. and for him to be able to let out the breath he kept caged deep within his chest. and then she uttered the words which made his grey gaze go from utterly aloof, to his usual gaze. a flicker of the sun of winter, a flicker of recognition. "yer not desperate enough to engage in such matters." he responded, his tone far curter and more informal than it had been some moments previously.

the last thing he needed, was a princess of the north going poking her head in the matters of various woods witches, following a conversation with him. the last thing he needed, was more being traced back to him. no, he was no longer the hand of the king, but gods knew he would have no trouble in going to owen directly and informing him of what seeds were being planted here. "yer right. she ain't here to stop." he heard the sounds of his boots crunching beneath his feet again, the sound of an ancient tongue coming from the lips of the princess - the sight of her eyes going white, then black, and the blood seeping from her nose. he had stopped her then. was he to blame for this?

"alysanne knew her stuff, and still, she found herself…" his voice trailed, as though he were hinting at the obvious. somewhere deep within his gut, he knew she was dead: knew she was no longer breathing. he could still hear her laugher from across the table. "if the line ain't for crossin', then i advise you. do not cross it."

for: @owenstark timestamp: early morning location marker: winterfell

it had been so long since dacey stark had a good night's sleep that the circles around her eyes were almost a permanent fixture. no, she spent her evenings in the glow of candlelight, weaving until her hands cramped, her vision blurred, and exhaustion finally overtook her body, usually just as the sun began to peek through winterfell's towers. then, there was only time to sleep for a few precious hours before she was on her feet again, facing another day that she didn't know if she had the energy to face.

there were often nights where dacey could not shut out the cacophony of disjointed thoughts that flitted through her mind, lingering only long enough to leave a lasting impression of worry or dread before slipping away before she had the chance to wrangle it into submission. there had been more nights like that recently, and tonight was one of them. her candles had burned down to stubs by the time the sun had risen. there was little point trying to fall asleep now. winterfell was beginning to awaken. from her window, she could see figures below, assuming their morning duties. instead, she readied herself for the day, and routed herself through the castle.

she had come to see her brother.

she knocked lightly on his door, but pushed it open before awaiting an answer. if he was here, he would be alone. if he was not here, then there was little point in lingering outside of an empty room. her eyes fell upon him, and a small smile curled around her lips. It was a smile of greeting, of warmth, even if there was little joy in it.

"I hope i'm not intruding," she began, hovering in the doorway, awaiting instruction to venture further in, or to turn to leave. "i'm sure you have a busy day ahead of you." her hands were clasped in front of her, but though she stood still, they did not rest, fingers twisting around one another, pulling mindlessly at the already raw skin around her nails. "If there is anything I can do - if you have need of me - you need only ask."

even as children, the similarities between dacey and cyrene had ended with their last name. the sister dacey remembered had burnt bright and fierce, her voice always ringing loud and certain where dacey's shook. if cyrene had been a flame, dacey was the shadow cast behind it. she had never truly minded that, content to bask in the warmth her sister offered her, but all fire had the ability to scorch, and dacey could not help but shield herself from it now, for fear of being burnt.

and she understood what cyrene meant by her comment, the difference between living and surviving. in truth, dacey could not remember a time when her existence hadn't centred around the latter, when the focus of her days hadn't been about making it through rather than living as best she could, and that was what painted the expression of hurt across her face before she could hide it. was that what cyrene thought of her now? that she were good as dead?

"sometimes being alive is all you have." came the defence, quiet and weak, as though dacey hoped she would not hear it.

a blink, and the hurt in her face gave way, first to confusion at the rapid change of tone, then understanding at what cyrene was trying to do. she nodded her head. "i would like to." there had never been a chance to meet cyrene's children before, but at least with wylla, she could now make up for lost time. "where is she?"

I am alive. That is more than many.

The words hit Cyrene like a backhanded slap. Alive. More than many. Jon was no longer alive, the third to their little unruly trio. Now, here they stood. Not that far apart, but it might as well have been realms. Cyrene still in the Riverlands with Dacey all the way up in the North. Cyrene had tried. And it had not been enough.

Some deeply buried part of her wanted to allow the heat to rise into her cheeks. Wanted to raise her voice, wanted to yell. Not necessarily at Dacey, but at something, someone looking down at them and building walls and circumstances to tear them apart.

Cyrene bit her tongue. She had grown used to this by now. Copper in her mouth, her temper caught in her throat. "Alive means little these days. Merely being alive is almost as good as dead." Cyrene would know this only too well. She felt alive walking the halls of the Crossing. But she didn't feel like she was living.

"Would you like to meet my daughter?" A change of topic would be good. Yet another chance for Dacey to turn away from Cyrene, but she would not take this olive branch back. "Wylla is rather eager to meet her extended family." It was a weak reasoning, but true nonetheless.

.

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?

dacey fell quiet as malee spoke, a small smile playing upon her face. there was something lovely in it, the way she described the way in which obligation slowly gave way to joy. her eyes fell upon malee's as they moved, recognising the pattern in the way her fingers traced through the air. it was a weaver's motion, familiar and repetitive as it was elegant.

"we have work from yi ti. in winterfell." she was always a little in awe of it, how different it was from what the north created both in style and substance, and yet there was always something so captivating about them, a beauty that spoke all on its own without any need for adaptation. "i've always admired it. i can see why it made an impression on you, when you were there."

it was the wonderful thing about tapestry. without it, the tales of yi ti would have been lost to dacey, stuck behind words she could not read or understand. "i love how they need no translation to understand. as though history and tales have been woven into a form anybody can look at and feel," she confessed, before letting out a soft laugh. "silly thought."

she shook her head. "please, don't apologise for speaking about something you're passionate about. it isn't every day i get the opportunity to talk about weaving, myself. i should be thanking you, really." there was no need for apologies - not when this was a conversation dacey was very much enjoying having.

"it was a little different for me," her lips pursed a little in thought. "it was never an obligation. never something i had to learn to love. but it started as a distraction from... well, everything, really. i was quiet the frail child, and none thought it a good idea to allow me to spend much time outdoors or away from home. it left a lot of lonely hours to fill, and weaving became something to pass the time."

it was different now. dacey was no longer the fragile child who needed sheltering, and yet, she had never broken the habit of sheltering herself, regardless. "i suppose for me it's always about the process and the rhythm of it all. there was something grounding about it to me, as though it was anchoring me to the world." it sounded silly, now she was saying it out loud, but she continued anyway. "i liked having something intentional. every colour, and every knot, it's a choice i could make when it did not feel like i had many choices."

she looked down to the ground, something akin to embarrassment in her features. "do i sound completely ridiculous?" her voice was self-deprecating in its softness.

the lady of the crag shifted her weight slightly, standing beside the tapestry, her hands clasped together in front of her. she looked down at the delicate threads and the intricate patterns, her gaze softening as she continued.

“yes, but, i didn’t love weaving at first,” she confessed, the words quiet and almost introspective. “it was just something I was taught to do, something expected of me. my mother insisted on it when I was young, as something a westerling woman should know. but in those early days, it was just another task—like learning to play the harp or proper table manners.”

she over to dacey, her expression gentle but thoughtful. “but when we stayed in shenlong, yi ti, during the dance, something shifted. the people there, they wove stories into their work, legends, histories, even prayers. they weren’t just weaving to create beautiful cloth or tapestries; it was a way to preserve something deeper. something that might be forgotten otherwise.”

malee paused, her hands subtly moving as if she could feel the weave in her mind, the rhythm of it, the care it took, tracing over the tapestry in front of her. “at first, i didn’t understand it. but with time, i began to see how the technique itself was an art—how the pattern and the thread told a story beyond the surface. and that’s when I began to love it, when i saw how much meaning could be woven into something so simple.”

hand fell back to its place in front of her, fingers interlacing once again. “now, every piece feels like a small act of creation—something i can control, something i can pour a part of myself into. i don’t think i could ever stop weaving now.”

she gave a soft, almost apologetic smile, her hands unconsciously smoothing the fabric of her gown. “i’m sorry,” she said, her voice a little softer now, tinged with a slight self-consciousness. “i didn’t mean to speak so freely about it. i suppose weaving has become more personal to me than I expected." she met the other's gaze, offering a small, apologetic smile before continuing. “and it is rare to find someone who appreciates the technique as much as the final product. so, thank you for listening.”

she took a half step closer, her tone gentle but eager. “when did you begin weaving, your grace? was it something you’ve always enjoyed, or did you find the joy later on, as i did?”

closed stater for @percival-templeton location : owen's wifey search ball

if dacey had been uncertain about owen's choice to throw open the doors of their home to any unmarried lady looking to call herself a queen before, it had duplicated tenfold now that the hour had arrived. as the centre of the northern court, it was rare that winterfell wasn't housing a guest or two, but rarely was it quite as full as this. all of her favourite places to go to when she wished to look for peace were annoyingly full, and the result was this ; she stood in the hall, observing owen's ball, getting closer and closer to overwhelmed.

at some point, she had ended up outside, standing alone in the courtyard. it was not deserted here, either, but it was quieter than the hall had been, and the bite of the cold on her cheeks was enough to ground her, bring her out of her head and back to the present. that was what she had needed, a brief moment to breathe.

feeling a little more centred, dacey made to return to the ball, but came to an awkward stop at the door, her path blocked by a lord attempting to enter at the same time as she. she recognised him as percival templeton of the vale, but beyond his name and house, there was little else she knew about the man. graciously, dacey stepped back, giving him space to enter before she.

"apologies, my lord." her expression was serious, but not unfriendly. "please, after you."

it was a role dacey found herself falling into easily, that of the confidant, the person you could share your burdens with and trust that it would not go further. she did not voice further disagreement. believe we will survive, maisie said, and it was all dacey could do not to murmur that she wished she could in response. too much had happened, and too much had been lost, for her to believe herself untouchable, but she would not stop maisie thinking it. sometimes, you needed something to hold on to, and if that was survival, it was not for dacey to squash that from her.

"i think it is a wise choice. to believe in the best." if nothing else, it meant that maisie would not live with the crushing melancholy of grief, anxiety and despair, and dacey was glad that she might be spared that. "it means you have a vision for what the best might be. a vision is where it all starts, isn't it?" owen had vision, and for the most part, dacey trusted in it, even though she did not know of any of the north who did not pay the price for it. she hoped that whatever needed be paid for maisie's, it would not be such a steep sacrifice. "you may speak to me anytime you wish, lady mormont. when we are home." in the latter sentence, the meaning was clear - be careful in this place, where even the walls might have ears.

if her self esteem was higher, dacey might have accepted the compliment with more grace than she did. as it was, it flustered her, turning cheeks pink and causing her to shake her head in a tiny gesture, almost too small to notice. "i suppose so," she said, though she had little else to add to the discussion. to her, allowing others to decide her direction was done because the alternative was choosing for herself, and that was too monumental a thing to do.

"that would be lovely." the forest was where she felt closest to the gods, under the shade of the weirwood. she had visited the weirwood of casterly rock, a twisted, ugly thing that filled a cave, and felt suffocated. she longed once more for the godwood of winterfell, nothing above her but the canopy of leaves and the open sky.

"sometimes i think there is no difference," she admitted. "even men who do bad things often have the noblest of reasons. and men who do good can easily become the villain to another."

Maisie quickly realized what Dacey meant and a swelling weight rose in her body. Some women really couldn't stay alive. The memories of grief for each of them, even those she wasn't close to. It wasn't guilt, but perhaps it was the realization that at some point she could be one of them, a victim who didn't even have a chance to fight "But we'd better believe that we'll survive everything that can happen" Mormont's voice was as thin as a thread "If I think I might die one day for being part of all this..." She sighs and puts her hands together, controlling the urge to snap her fingers "I think I'd be held hostage by that feeling and I won't do what I need to do" She bites her lip and shakes her head, pushing it all away "Sorry for venting, I don't usually have anyone to share these things with" She cracks a small smile, trying to show that everything was fine.

"Yes, strong. You have to be strong to keep who you are kind of in the middle of these things, not just anyone could handle such a load, Princess" This was Maisie's thought, it might go against the natural river of people's minds, but allowing important issues in your life to be chosen by others, with the greater good in mind, was as honorable as fighting against the current "I don't think so, you have to be brave to do that and live your life so well, just look at history, some people have caused wars because they wouldn't accept having their lives decided by others? It's not a good example, but I think you get the idea" She frowns, realizing that he may have messed up between words.

"The forest is like a safe home, isn't it? Where we can be without barriers. Maybe, when you get married, you can be lucky enough to live near the forest and have simple little moments, take your children to the riverside" A smile settled on her face, a dreamy look on her face. Maisie knew it was a dream far removed from the reality they both had. For some, being a Lady and especially a Princess, with countless perks and freedoms, but everything had a price to pay over the years.

"I wish I could tell the difference between the good guys and the bad guys, but when I try, I get nowhere" She bit her lip, a little afraid to express her true thoughts on the matter. Maisie didn't even think she was good. "Yes, they're good for us, I wish Westeros was full of men like them, maybe all these situations wouldn't exist"

she'd always felt solace in the godswood, as though it were the only place in the world where silences did not demand to be filled. and yet, tonight, the quiet moments were charged with something she could not name and could not place, and when brandon spoke, she was grateful to him for not letting the hush linger, even if the tone of his voice and the words he chose caught her off guard.

her arms folded loosely across her chest, her eyes fixed on the carved face of the heart tree, as though its mouth might move, and it might provide her the words she struggled with to respond. "there are some things that are impossible to put down." she murmured. alysanne was one of those things. since brandon had offered her the truth, her feelings surrounding her oldest sister had been complex. the grief was there, but there was anger too, and blame, wrapped up in a neat bow of guilt for feeling such things in the first place. that, though, was too much to put into words, but there was a way in which brandon karstark seemed to look at her, and understand the very shape of her thoughts, that had her wondering if she needed to.

and she so rarely let herself be unguarded with anybody. within winterfell, she was the one who hid things, who shielded others from that which would do them harm, who at times would shy away from revealing her very being, but the more he spoke, the clearer it was that there was little use in hiding anything from him. whatever she tried to keep away from his eyes, he already knew.

"you've a way with words, brandon." her cheeks were flushed with more than the cold, because for a woman who bled kindness so freely, so willingly, having it directed back at her, to hear the things that she had always thought made her weak rephrased as her strength, was something she did not know how to contend with. but hearing it from him, she could almost believe it, even for a moment.

there was a gentleness to his gaze that had not been there before, or if it had, she hadn't noticed it. it was enough to make her breath catch briefly, coming from her in an audible stutter on the winds. "the same goes for you." she spoke with a solemnity, a sincerity that could not be doubted. a quiet confirmation that there was at least one in winterfell who recognised what it was that he had to carry forward with him, and would help lift up that which was too heavy to raise alone. "thank you, lord karstark. your loyalty... that means more than i can say."

and she understood that too much had changed, that brandon would not and could not be the ever-present figure he had been before, but that did not mean that there was not regret in parting. it twisted at her, forcing her to look away, towards the skies where the snow swirled, almost peacefully. "i will. i'll write." whether she would or not remained to be seen. "stay safe. on the roads, in karhold."

and as dacey made to leave, something stopped her, rooting her to the snow-covered ground, because there was still something left unsaid. "you are right," she glanced back over her shoulder, at brandon, standing by the heart's tree. "the north does not lose its own for long." she was speaking not of alysanne, but of him.

♞

the quiet of the godswood wrapped around them like an old cloak, the weirwood’s red leaves trembling gently in the wind. the snow lay thick beneath their boots, the air cold enough to sting the skin, but brandon karstark felt none of it. his gaze was on princess dacey stark, her face solemn as she stood before the heart tree. the faint candlelight of winterfell barely reached this corner of the world, leaving the grove to its shadows and whispers.

he’d seen her unyielding and dedicated —but tonight, there was something softer about her, something vulnerable. it pulled at something deep in his chest.

he broke the silence first, his voice low and rough like gravel underfoot. “dacey,” he began, her name heavy on his tongue, “ye’ve carried this weight long enough. too long, if i’m to speak plain.” his northern drawl softened the sharpness of his words, but not their intent. “ye’ve got the look o’ someone fightin’ battles in her own head. alysanne’s gone, aye, but it weren’t your doin’. whatever ghosts haunt ye about it, they’re lyin’ through their teeth.”

he stepped closer, his furs rustling with the movement. the godswood always felt like a place for truths, and he wouldn’t hold back here. not with her. “i know ye think the north depends on ye—the whole of it, like the weight of winter itself rests on yer shoulders. but ye’ve got to know this: the north’s strong ‘cause o’ folk like ye. not ‘cause ye bear it alone, but because ye’ve got the heart to care when most’d shut theirs away.” he sighed, his breath visible in the cold air.

“it’s not just her ye’re mournin’, is it? it’s all of it—the feelin’ o’ losin’ control, losin’ kin. but we’ll find her. aye, we will. the north doesn’t lose its own for long. someone’ll speak, or some sign’ll show itself. the gods don’t let things like this stay hidden forever.”

brandon let his gaze drift to the heart tree for a moment, the carved face watchin’ them with its eternal solemnity. he turned back to her, his expression softer now, though the steel in his voice remained. “ye’re stronger than ye give yerself credit for, dacey. always have been. but if the weight’s too much, lean on those who care for ye. lean on me, if ye need. i’ll not see ye break under it. not you.” he paused, uncertain for a moment. then, more quietly, almost as an afterthought, he added, “ye’ve always had me respect, princess. even when i did not know of yer ways. but now... ye’ve got me loyalty too. not just as lord karstark. as a man who sees the good in ye, even when ye can’t see it yerself.”

he paused slightly, briefly distracted by the way in which the snow seemed to swirl before them. he waved his hand toward it, as if he would leave some lingering spirit on his hand. "i'll be returning back to karhold soon enough, though know if ya need anythin' from me you can send a raven." it felt like a goodbye of sorts; he had accepted that aleksander would be the present karstark within the court of the north. he knew not when he would see dacey stark again.

his musings on the gods brought a purse to her lips, a thoughtful look to her eye, and she nodded their head. in king's landing, she had felt so utterly disconnected from the old gods. in the north, she could feel them everywhere, in every bite of wind and whisper of the trees. the further north they travelled, the more at ease she felt, and in blackwood lands, there was a sort of comfort knowing that here at least, they still had power. "then it is all we can do to trust in their wisdom, and hope that we can change with their will, too." she held her faith very privately, but there was an ease to their conversation that made it easier to talk about.

if there was one skill dacey possessed, it was knowing when to stay quiet and listen. lucius did not change his stance, but his words carried enough weight that she did fall into silence, allowing him to speak the thoughts through to completion before responding. "then perhaps there is no luck involved, on either side. you are all simply where you belong." she could almost envy that. so many of her days were spent feeling out of place and out of sorts, trying to contort herself into a shape that fit with something. she did not get the impression the same could be said for lucius, who wore who he was with no frills or compromise, and yet had roots in the ground, a place and a role and a purpose.

"i'm glad of that. i will be awfully embarrassed if you reduce me to tears," as quickly as they had grown serious and candid, the tone once again shifted, a rapport that was more convivial. "westermen, valyrians," she raised a hand and made a gesture, as though dismissing the idea of both. "conversing with either feels like they are trying to catch you out on something so they may use it to condemn you. at least there's a candour to stormlanders i can appreciate. i would rather be slighted by honesty than find comfort in treachery."

Dacey was certainly reserved in what she said, how she phrased things, and her diplomatic demeanor. He detected some disdain in her words, though, or what he believed to be disdain toward the newly crowned Targaryen king. He could respect that she was not immediately inclined to be a boot-licker about it, as so many seemed to be when it came to the mad House of the Dragon. “Stranger things could happen still,” he mused, “the gods continually will for the world to change”.

Lucius glanced silently at the princess as she complimented his presence in the Blackwoods' lives. So often it was perceived in such a way. His siblings were lucky to have him, someone who would always raise his bow and fight for them. A different thought crossed his mind, though, one that was rare in Lucius' mind. “I'm lucky to have them,” he found himself saying. The bastard's stern demeanor remained, despite the vulnerability he perceived in saying something like that out loud. It was best to focus on the practicality of it all, rather than the emotional side of things. “Not everyone welcomes someone like me into their families. I suppose I was fortunate my father always claimed me, even if he didn't give me his name”.

The bastard actually found himself smiling a little at his cousin's last words. She spoke in a similar upfront manner as Maggie did, somehow never crossing a line into cruelty or becoming offensive. It was a talent he didn't develop so graciously. “Fret not, I've no evil plans to do so, Dacey. I do pity you if you've dealt with worse,” he said in a more light-hearted manner. “Who was it? A Westerlander? A Stormlander?”.

the frustration that had gripped her was uncharacteristic, but when amir spoke again, it was replaced with something far more familiar. a self-consciousness, a feeling that she had said something wrong, spoken out of turn, that in her own moment of anxiety and discontent, she had caused discontent in turn. and usually, despite her worries, dacey's feelings were unfounded, a result of a mind that worked too much and concerned itself with overanalysing her every action.

but there was no mistaking that this time, there was no unfounded fear. if it were not obvious in his words, it was in his tone, in the set of his jaw. a frown appeared on her face, and she racked her mind back over her previous words, trying to find the place where she had in her irritation provoked insult.

"i see." perhaps it was her own tone of voice, the expression on her face indicating more hostility than intended.

should she broach the tension that seemed to have rooted between them? dacey was unused to conflicts, unsure how best to navigate the waters she found herself in. she took a breath, a sharp, audible intake, and nodded her head. "if that is what my brother decides, then it is not for me to question it." not to question it, but to despair of it in private, away from any eyes that would look for dissent within the ranks of house stark, and dacey would not be the one to give in to it.

but despite it all, the prospect of war and death and battle a growing, pressing worry that was beginning to hurt her head, she could not shake the feeling that she had done something wrong. if owen was to move forward with skagos, there was nothing she could do about it, but if she had made things difficult between herself and house manderly, perhaps that was something she could atone for. theirs was a house that was important to the north, and dissent was not an option.

"my lord," she began, her tone shifting to one much more uncertain. "i apologise if i have given offence. i can assure you that was not my intention."

❅

there was an uncharacteristic, strenuous pause in the moments of hollowed silence between the princess of winter and the man that was ultimately a subject of her house, and her king. something in the air that shifted seemed to have caught onto his attention, and whilst the second son of manderly had never been one to overthink and strain himself over possibilities, the recent nights had been a different case all together.

perhaps he would have not noticed such a change, or such strain; and yet, his increasing sense of voluntary isolation in associating with other northerners only caused him to notice. perhaps add too much emphasis, wrap it up in something that it were not necessarily. "the king is the only one who can answer such a question, your highness." amir responded, and as much as he attempted to ensure his voice remained civil, there was a deadpan to it.

"judging by our conversation, he was eager to see it happen. if i had to guess, then yes. you would be correct."

the question was something he would have considered the answer as being obvious; the isle of skagos had struck out against the king, and the king held every moral and legal reason to get the situation under control. his expression changed ever so slightly in the face of her question, her somewhat bristled manner of passing the words across: it was rare to hear dacey stark speak up, and now when she did, it felt as though he were being patronised. as though he needed to explain the obvious.

and perhaps amir would have felt more sympathetic, felt more of an ability to see the situation as it was and walk it off. but there was a flare of anger that seemed to stir within his gut as he looked at the princess, a sense of anger that did not usually come forth so suddenly. and yet, it were as though his vision of the woman seemed to blur.

i've no wish to see another stark go to the grave before their time. before their time? as though everyone else's time had come for them? as though manal's time had come for her? the fuck was this absent ghost of a princess talking about? what made her think he wanted to hear of her concerns about her own family? the starks get a crown and forget, whilst the north remembers.

"yes, they will." amir responded, his tone bluntly formal. what he did not add, was how everyone else would be putting their necks on the line too. because as much as amir manderly wished he could get the words that burned off his chest, he knew his place. knew what he could, and could not do.