For A Moment, She Thought She Saw A Smile On Lucius' Lips, And She Returned It With One Of Her Own. She

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.”]

if there was one thing dacey knew how to do, it was be polite. manners and kindness came to her with ease - but that did not mean it was not hard to stifle a laugh at the sight of aleksander, donning the ornamented mask she had been allotted, with all it's fine embellishing. doubtless, aleksander would not mind her laughter, but she closed her eyes and pressed her lips together anyway, just for a second, to regain her composure. when she opened them again, though, she was still smiling. "you are far too kind." she meant that genuinely, before her expression turned more mischievous, a rare sight in the princess of winter. "but let's see what you win first, hmm? then we can decide who it should be inflicted upon."

"Apologies, your highness," Aleksander put on a faux solemn tone, hand placed over his heart before the mask was handed to him and he quickly fixed it in place. This ornate piece was heavier than the one he had originally worn. Perhaps this would aid them both in their disguise. A princess wearing a plain mask while a second son wore something ridiculously decorated. He snorted, then. "Don't know how welcomin' the mudmen will be towards symbols from the west. Might be close to the border but they're still northmen through and through." Nonetheless, he was not about to pass up a challenger. Never was, never would be. "I'll win a prize for you, m'lady. To take back to Winterfell." That they were more inviting to such things was no secret, it went unsaid.

Elizabeth Olsen as Wanda Maximoff in WandaVision S01E09

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."

closed starter for @maisiemormont

the rooms that dacey had been staying in during her time in the west were a flurry of movement, maids and ladies rushing to help the princess pack so that she might leave the west along with the king. she should not have left it until the last minute to ensure everything was ready to go. even her direwolf was helping, neatly collecting her belongings at dacey's command for her to place in her trunks.

when yet another body entered the room, she gave them a cursory glance and a nod of hello, only to double take when she recognised it not as a member of her household or a servant of the west, but a ruling lady of the north. maisie mormont.

"lady mormont," she rose to her feet, granting a grateful smile to the maid who stepped in to take over her spot kneeling at the trunk, ensuring everything fit. "i apologise for the state of disarray. will you be travelling with us, or do you intend to stay longer in the rock?"

GENEVIEVE GAUNT in THE ROYALS

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.”

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? 

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."

dacey inclined her head in a nod at baelon's words. the black targaryens of dragonstone were old friends to the starks. it was rare that she questioned the king in the north's judgement, but she was wary of the idea of inviting the realms to their home again, unsure who was truly a friend, and who was a foe. a ball to find a queen in the north was certain to draw the ambitious, those who sought to make a name for themselves in the history books, and all she could do was hope he chose wisely. "are you escorting princess aemma?" friends were few and far between for the quiet princess of the north, but she liked aemma targaryen enough that if she did not already consider her a friend, they were close to it.

she shook her head a little. "in truth, i think i'd like a moment of peace and quiet. if not the winter gardens, i would probably take myself to the godswood to find it. if you would not mind the company, i'd gladly accompany you." she tired quicker than usual these days, in her attempts to be visible, to do her duty to support her brother. "i am certain my brother will be glad that you've arrived." the wounds between owen and the king of new valyria ran deep, but that did not extend to the blacks.

Baelon had found solace and comfort in Dragonstone. The place reminded him of his family, the one he had lost during the war. Although, the trauma and the grief replaced every good and positive memory that he had of his childhood. He knew that completely isolating himself from the world would not be good for him, and the last thing he wanted was to lose his mind. There was still a lot to be done, he could not let himself fall into that darkness. It was during that time that Baelon would leave the castle more, go to the village under the dragonmount and speak with the common folk. Still, that was as far as he would go, Baelon would not leave the island of Dragonstone. That was until the invitation from the King in the North came and Baelon could not refuse an old friend.

"Of course, it was a long and tiring journey, but I'm glad it went well. And I'm happy to be here once again, see old friends." Baelon offered her a smile, knowing how uncomfortable it could be to see so many strangers coming into your home all at once. Baelon shrugged his shoulders. "I do not wish to bother you or pull you away from any errands that you might be running." He chuckled. "Although, I would love to see the winter gardens. I cannot wait to reunite with your brother once again."