Dark Half-moons Had Painted Themself Under Dacey's Eyes, A Sure Sign That She Had Slept Very Little In

dacey was trying her best, but there were times when that just wasn't enough. it overwhelmed her, crowds and people and the feeling of being on display, and that was what had her slipping away from the feast inside. she knew casterly rock not at all, and so it was here, to the stables, where the direwolf she had brought with her from the north was being housed.

she had managed to calm herself down when she stepped from the stables, until the crunch of gravel and a voice she had not expected startled her. dacey visibly jumped, though she did not cry out, silent, even when caught unawares. it took a moment for her to recognise the man who had stepped from the shadows - axell royce was not somebody dacey knew well. her hands clasped before her, an attempt to ground herself and assuage the temporary panic she had felt, though the anxiety she had been attempting to rid herself of bubbled up again.

it was not just her general discomfort with people she did not know. whispers clung to axell royce like his own shadow. dacey was no gossip, but she could see how they had started. still, she was not one to let her apprehension show, nor to be rude. her face arranged itself into a tentative, abashed smile, and she brushed a stray piece of hay from her gown. "forgive me, my lord. you startled me."

he spoke with something like disdain about the festivities, and she let out a polite laugh, too reserved in her ways to outright disagree with him, even though that was not what drew her here at all. "it is the way of the west, i think, to ensure their grandeur is the first thing any of us notice." that much was true, a neutral statement somewhere between his own and the truth, that the opulence here overwhelmed her, that she found herself craving something quieter and more like home.

she would not say that out loud, though, even when the conversation took a turn for her to explain why she, a princess of the north, had wandered off alone. she was certain he would find her reasoning quite ridiculous. instead, she reluctantly let one hand slip from the others grip, gesturing the the stable box where her wolf lay. "i just wanted to check on rose. my direwolf," she explained, quickly. "they unsettle the other dogs, so it is better to keep them in the stables. only, i was worried she would be howling, and making a nuisance of herself." it was a lie. dacey's wolf was a quiet, gentle soul, much like the woman herself, but he need not know that.

"what of you, my lord? just looking for a moment of peace?"

closed starter for: @daceystvrk setting: flashback to the westerlands gathering before the north left early. axell's wife has been missing for a few months now and word has only just begun to be spread to the other kingdoms

the air near the stables smelled of sweet hay and horses, a sharp contrast to the perfume-soaked halls of casterly rock. the celebration roared on inside, but out here, it was quieter, save for the occasional distant echo of laughter and music filtering through the stone corridors. axell royce had never been a man for grand feasts and courtly pretense, not when there were more important matters to tend to. and tonight, his focus had shifted to one particular matter—princess dacey stark.

she was a rare sight outside of winterfell, and even rarer to find alone. meek, quiet, unassuming in his eyes. the kind of woman who did not draw attention to herself, who moved like a whisper rather than a storm. axell liked that. he had seen too many women with sharp tongues and wandering gazes, women who brought trouble.like his late wife. maybe it was time for a change. he did not want trouble. he wanted control. and a stark princess, tied to the great north, bound to him by name and duty—well, that was an opportunity worth taking.

he stepped forward, boots crunching lightly against the gravel, making his presence known. “princess.” his deep voice cut through the cool air, smooth but edged with something heavier. he inclined his head slightly, the closest thing to a proper greeting he would offer. “didn’t think i’d find a stark hiding out here among the horses. tired of all the pomp and spectacle inside?”

he leaned casually against the stable door, his imposingly large frame filling the space. his dark eyes studied her carefully, weighing her reaction. “can’t say i blame you. there’s little worth entertaining in a hall full of peacocks.” a pause, calculated. “though, i must admit, i didn’t expect to find you here alone.” he let the words hang, inviting her to speak, to give him something—anything—to work with.

dacey did not answer the question immediately. it wasn't that she bristled at the question, did not take offence to the fact it had been asked. no, when the quiet stretched between them, it was because she was considering the answer she would give. the north had always been her home, a place she was sure she would never leave, she still felt that way. when she closed her eyes, she could not picture herself anywhere but winterfell, but she knew that would not always be so. once the matter of his own marriage was settled, owen would likely want to see her wed, too, and there was no telling where her groom to be would be from, and where that would see her living. the matter of leaving the north or not was not in her own hands.

"i don't know," she admitted at last, her voice quiet enough that it didn't carry beyond lillith. "the north is as much a part of me as the marrow in my bones. i shouldn't like to leave it, but none of us know what the future will bring."

and yet. her lips pressed together with the thoughts she would not speak aloud. for a long time, she had thought of winterfell as her sanctuary. as a sickly young girl, it was a place where the ills of the world could not touch her, and she had carried that thought process into her adulthood. now, though, she could not help but wonder if it was less a sanctuary, and more a cage she had constructed around herself. she took a breath to dispel the thought. there was little to be gained from dwelling upon it.

"ironoaks," she spoke softly, latching on to the offered distraction. there was something in the offer that tempted her, to her own surprise. she had always been more comfortable in what was familiar, but even in winterfell's halls, little felt familiar now. there was too much being whispered in the shadows, and the sinking anticipation of impending disaster she could not shake. the idea of an escape, however brief, was not unwelcome. "i would like to visit." she confirmed. "though we should both pray that i don't bring the cold with me when i do."

lillith stood beside dacey, her hands clasped loosely before her to keep them from fidgeting. the warmth of the hearth barely reached her, and she shifted slightly closer, her dark skirts brushing against the stone floor. the heat was a welcome reprieve from the biting chill of the north, though her mismatched eyes flickered toward dacey, noting the way her friend still seemed cold despite the fire’s proximity.

“the north doesn’t make it easy for visitors, does it?” she murmured, her voice light with an undertone of amusement. “i thought the cold might have mellowed since the last time i came here, but it appears as unyielding as ever. you must tell me, dacey—if you had the choice, would you ever leave it? or has it bound you too tightly, like frost creeping into stone?”

she glanced toward the bustling hall beyond, voices and laughter spilling into the quieter space they occupied. the firelight painted the edges of dacey’s gown in golden hues, and lillith’s gaze lingered there a moment before returning to her friend’s face. “you should come to the vale. ironoaks would welcome you, and it would do you good to escape this chaos, even for a little while. there are no hot springs to warm the walls, true, but the hearths burn just as brightly—and," as the thought formed a drunken clatter arose from a particularly rowdy group in the corner of the hall. "the company might be more agreeable.”

a faint smile tugged at her lips, softening her typically reserved expression. “though perhaps you’ll tell me you’re just as stubborn as your winters and wouldn’t leave even if the chance arose.”

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?"

it was rare dacey had conversations like this with others, even with those she held dearest to her. those who she called friends knew of her enjoyment of weaving, of spinning stories from thread, but she had long since suspected beyond the appreciation of her handmade gifts of wall hangings and rugs, they cared little for the technicalities, the actual art of it all. not in the way the two of them were speaking now.

her eyes traced the graceful movement of malee's hands, listening intently to her thoughts. it struck a deeper chord in her than she cared to admit - the idea that peace was so fragile. it doesn't fight to stay. time and time again, that had proven to be true. no matter how they strove for it, how many wars were fought for it, how much blood was spilled to hold it for a moment, it was shattered all to easily.

"you're right." she admitted, carefully. "it doesn't fight to stay. but i think that makes it all the more important to hold on to." but if it did not fight for itself, then who would fight to preserve it, rather than just achieve it? "i think the artist was fighting for us not to forget it's value." her hands folded loosely in front of her, thumb idly rubbing circles against her own palm.

"does it hold a memory for you?" she asked. fields of gold were not a common sight in the north, but perhaps here, in the west, gold could be found above the ground rather than simply in the mines. she liked the idea that this might be so.

her gaze return to malee at her question, smile tugging at her lips. "it is," she confirmed. "I find peace in it. the weaving." there were nights where the creation of something became something close to prayer for dacey, peace to be found in every stitch. she was not a woman who found her words easily. it was in thread that she truly found her voice. "there is something special about seeing something come together that you created, with your own hand. do you weave yourself?"

the lady of the crag stood with a quiet grace, her posture poised yet natural, as though effortlessly balanced between decorum and ease. one hand rested lightly at her side, the other brushing the folds of her gown with deliberate care. “you put it beautifully,” she said, her voice low and melodic, carrying the weight of genuine understanding.

her free hand rose in a fluid motion, fingers tracing the air delicately as if painting the sentiment she sought to express. “peace doesn’t shout. it doesn’t demand. it’s quieter, subtler—much like this.” she turned slightly, her gesture extending toward the harvest scene, the golden threads shimmering faintly in the soft light.

a faint, thoughtful smile touched her lips as she studied the tapestry. “perhaps that’s why we forget it so easily,” she continued, her voice taking on a wistful tone. “it doesn’t fight to stay.” she let her hand drop slowly, her fingers brushing the edge of the display as though grounding herself in the moment.

“it’s strange, isn’t it?” she mused, her voice carrying a note of wistfulness. “how a thread can hold a story. a memory. sometimes i think we’re drawn to these because they don’t change. because they stay when so much else slips away.”

she turned her attention back to dacey, a thoughtful expression settling on her face as a flicker of genuine curiosity warmed her eyes. the conversation had settled into a more relaxed rhythm, the formal edge of her posture softening slightly as she allowed herself to settle into the moment. "you're quite knowledgeable of tapestries, your grace. is it a hobby you've taken up yourself?"

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 gaze whipped to aleksander, the surprise and hesitancy in her dark eyes softening when she realised that there was a familiar face behind the mask. "oh, i don't know. i think i would rather have yours. this feels a bit much for me," she waved a hand in front of her face, gesturing to the far more ornate mask that covered it. "we can always swap, if you like. and i mean that literally, by the way, not as an elaborate ruse to unmask you and take your coin."

who: @daceystvrk where: lann's day festival in lannisport

The inside of the mask was a little stuffy, but Aleksander would survive. The city was beautiful enough, colorful and lively. Finding Dacey amongst the growing crowd was a little tricky, but he managed eventually. He gave the side of her mask a miniscule flick. "You got a good one," he said, a chuckle coloring his tone. His hand rose to touch his own mask, unremarkable and rather plain. "I was less lucky. This was the last one they had left."

the gesture from lucius was unexpected, dacey's expression warming at his offer. there was approval in his expression, but one she completely misread, not a result of her own protectiveness of her sister, but as a mark of respect for cassana's talents. it never once crossed her mind that it was her own words that put it there. "i won't accept for her, but i think she'd like that. and i would be grateful, too." she blieved cassana to be strong and capable - but under it all, that was still her little sister.

she could see shades of how she felt of cassana in lucius when he spoke of ben, obvious in the quiet but steadfast pride in his words. benjicot blackwood was her cousin as much as lucius was, but she had never exchanged more than a few passing words with the ruling lord of raventree hall. all she knew about him truly was what the songs said, but lucius' certainty left little room for doubt in his abilities. "it sounds familiar," she admitted, with a knowing smile. "all that stubbornness. a trait shared by starks and blackwoods alike." few would look at dacey and assume she was a woman who knew her own mind, but it was not entirely true. in the things she believed in, she was quietly resolute.

the tension she hadn't entirely realised she was holding on to ebbed away as they stepped towards the bridge. the other side of the bank was, as lucius had promised, far quieter, giving her more room to breathe. the sounds of the river were lighter here, and though the festival was still visible, the sounds of it carrying in the breeze, it was enough of a distance for her to relax. she hadn't realised how much she needed this, a moment of peace and the simple comfort of company that did not demand more than she had the capacity to give. she turned her gaze upward, to where the wind rustled the leaves of the trees gently. "you were right," she said, simply. "it's nicer over here. less... well, constricting." she returned her eyes to him, her smile showing her gratitude to him for suggesting the walk. "thank you, lucius."

Lucius tilted his head slightly at Dacey’s words, the faintest shadow of a smile touching his lips. Her quiet defense of her sister struck a chord with him, perhaps because it mirrored the fierce protectiveness he himself felt for his family. “Discipline can be learned,” he conceded, his tone measured, though there was a glint of approval in his eyes. “But it takes time and patience, and someone willing to teach it. If your sister wishes it, I could train her while your family is in the Riverlands”. It wasn't the sort of offer he gave often, but one he would extend to Cassana because of his appreciation for Dacey.

When Dacey’s concern shifted to Ben, Lucius’s expression grew more neutral, but his gaze remained somewhat gentler than usual. “Ben’s more than just a fair fighter,” he said, his voice steady. “He’s been well-versed in the world of battle since he was a boy”. There was no boast to his tone, only a sort of quiet pride tempered with the harsh acknowledgment of why his brother had been shaped into a fierce warrior so young. “He’ll hold his own, no matter what’s thrown at him. He’s a Blackwood. We fight with every ounce of our pride and heart, even when we shouldn’t,” he admitted with a scoff. “He’ll be fine,” he reassured her, offering a firm nod to quell her worry.

As Dacey accepted his suggestion, Lucius’s smile grew somewhat warmer, though still subdued, as was his way. “I don't care about applause,” he said with a quick shrug, for he did not compete to earn a victory. He competed only to continue to sharpen his skill, to know himself to remain a polished weapon. There was some quiet pride in it too, in knowing every arrow he nocked and released could seed fear, could seed reverence, in the hearts of men. So he extended his arm slightly, motioning for her to follow him toward the bridge. “Come on, then. We can take our time. And during Litha the views from the other side of the Red Fork are lovely”. His words were simple, but his tone carried an undercurrent of understanding. Lucius didn’t press her further, content to walk in silence or speak as the moment allowed. Whatever his cousin wished, he was content to offer.

Rainer Maria Rilke, from a letter featured in Letters to Merline, 1919-1922

dacey nodded in understanding, in agreement with feray's assessment of king's lading. she hadn't much enjoyed it there, either, save for a few moments in between that had painted a genuine smile on her lips. "i was certainly glad to be home," the words were out before she could really think about them, for as much as she had been looking forward to leaving the city, to coming back to winterfell, so much had changed that she wasn't really sure she was all that glad at all.

house stark was not the only northerners to have suffered during the war, a fact dacey was all too keenly aware of. it had took from them all, leaving all with scars that couldn't, wouldn't, heal, and dacey did not think many had lost quite so much as feray locke. and yet she stood here still. offering condolences for yet another tragedy. death had followed them for far too long. it was inevitable that today, it would once again make its presence known, an uninvited straggler they couldn't ignore. the late queen's absence was heavily felt - as was the loss of the eldest princess of the north.

"thank you," she murmured, shifting uncomfortably on her feet. she was grateful for the sentiment, but it did not feel like her condolences to receive. "it is her children's grief i think of. theirs, and my brother's."

it was a dreadful thing, to see children lose their mother, made all the more bittersweet that she had for the smallest babe she had brought into the world. "it is a strange thing," she admitted. "i can only hope the sadness does not follow her much longer into her life." it was a terrible burden for a child, for their whole existence to be tied to death from the moment they entered the world. "i don't know which is worse," she was largely thinking out loud, her words unfiltered in the presence of one she trusted. "to die without ever having the chance to know who your child will become, or to be the child left behind."

despite their familarity, she dipped into a curtsy as dacey entered the room. "of course not, princess." feray had called the woman 'her highness' in the past, but as they had grown closer through the years then it seemed too formal. yet it still felt wrong to just outright call her dacey, so the lady of house locke usually eased herself into it by first acknowledging her title. "your visits are always welcomed." it was mostly true. feray did truly enjoy seeing her friends. they were a balm to the wounds life had inflicted on her in the past year. but it was also difficult to put on a mask and pretend all was well. she was healing but only slowly. and the starks had a tendency to remind her of the war. but her heart was lighter today so she did not have to fake the smile on her lips. "it was good to see old friends again but there was too much brutality in king's landing. the valyrian way of life would not suit me." she had not seen them fight but she had prayed for the gladiators. it seemed an unusual cruelty to make them fight in front of a crowd. she had heard of some of the injuries inflicted, how some of them resulted in death.

but she was acutely aware that she was not the only one of them who had experienced loss and uncertainty. "i was sorry to hear of your family's loss, dacey." she really had been. feray was not close to the royal family. house locke had always allied themselves with house manderly, so while they still answered to house stark then the royal house seemed even farther removed from them. but queen rosalyn had been known for her kind and gentle nature, the loss of such a soul was a heavy one. "her grace will be missed by the north but our grief pales to that of yours." she thought of the children that would grow up without their mother, of the king that was no longer a husband. "it must be difficult to come to grips with death and a new life at the same time." it was the cost many women paid for new life, the cost she had been warned that she would likely pay one day. she always felt a cold shiver down her spine when she heard of women dying in childbirth. it always ended up feeling like a warning of what was to come.