Closed Starter For @hxrundxne

war had left dacey feeling both far too hollow and far too full. the parasitic gnawing that had taken root in her stomach seemed to devour a little more of who she was every day, taking with it everything that made her feel whole and clean and dacey and leaving behind only an increasingly debilitating feeling of despair. there was sorrow and grief, yes, and a resounding sense of worry that was only natural given her sibling's roles in the war, but guilt and shame also - both because she knew she was not the only one to taste loss, and because here, barricaded behind winterfell's walls, dacey had proven herself to be nothing short of useless.

she preferred it at night. even on nights like tonight, when the castle was not-quite empty, it was more hushed. easier to move and breathe and be. at night, it was almost easy to pretend.

tonight was a little different - solely for the presence of sylvi cerwyn. her words brought dacey from her stupor, one that had her gazing pensively at the hearth she sat before, and she nodded a polite greeting. her mouth opened to exchange idle pleasantries, but she paused at the question. she could lie, and say she was faring well, that she was comfortable and at ease. it was what she would normally do. but tonight, she was just too tired to pretend anymore.

"poorly." the admission was a single word, but in it was more of an insight into her mind than she had given anybody in months. dark eyes lifted from the embers to meet sylvi's own, an attempt at a smile flitting across her features before dying. "though in the grand scheme of things, i haven't earned the right to complain." the rare moment of self-pity passed as quickly as it came over her, her face scrunching in an expression of concern. "i should be asking you that question. are you well?"

setting : the feast hall of winterfell, the hour is later and less people are wandering about, by the hearth, sylvi cerwyn spots one of the princesses and approaches her to talk (this is sort of flashbacky since it's during the war) ; starter for @daceystvrk

the walls of winterfell were cold to the touch, frigid upon lady of cerwyn's fingertips as she grazed them upon it's smooth surface as she wandered. sleep did not greet her easily these days, her children had long gone to bed, and there seemed to be a sort of tension that filled the air. so much had already been lost, so much uncertain. sylvi tried not to think of her own husband, of her dear friend brandon, of cassana...

she inhaled deeply, filling her lungs with the smell of firewood, ale, and stew as she entered the feast hall. she was both surprised and not to see others still lingering, mostly women and elder men. many spoke in hushed tones, perhaps either do to the lateness of the hour, or the topics of conversation. surely they all had someone they worried for, too. sylvi only hoped that all of their troubles would soon cease, that things would settle down quickly.

near the hearth, she spotted one of the stark princesses, dacey, the one who had always been quiet, a flower amidst the snowy landscape, frozen in time. she was kind, though, and likely racked with worry. "your grace," sylvi spoke softly as she approached the other, taking the seat next to the young woman, extending her hands to the hearth and flexing her fingers as she felt the coldness melt from her limbs. "how are you faring?" it was perhaps a silly question, but sylvi had always had an approach of getting straight to the topic at hand without talking around it.

{Words by Anaïs Nin, from The Diary Of Anais Nin, Vol. 4 (1944-1947) / Cynthia Cruz }

Frances Ha (2012) Lady Bird (2017) Little Women (2019) Barbie (2023)

WRITTEN BY GRETA GERWIG

closed starter for @cassvstark

when there was enough courtiers in winterfell for the great hall to be full at meal times, it was always a roll of the dice whether dacey would attend or not. there were times where she would go months without showing her face in the hall.

today was one of those times. it had been two weeks since the last time she'd eaten anywhere that wasn't her own chambers. the kitchen staff were used to checking where she would prefer to take her meals by now. if they didn't, it was likely dacey would not eat at all, far too polite to make a fuss.

today was different, though. cassana had decided to join her. that alone was enough to almost completely turn dacey's mood around. socialising with most people was often draining for her - but not with her little sister. around cassana, any anxiety dacey held almost evaporated entirely. she was grateful for that - as she was grateful for her company tonight.

"it's almost finished," she spoke of the tapestry, still hanging from the loom in the corner of the room, a complex pattern of silvers and forest greens, the lastest in a never ending series of works woven by dacey's own hand to steady herself when it was all too much. "it would have been by now, but i lost a few nights of work when owen held his ball. you can have it, if you want it."

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?"

F•R•I•E•N•D•S (1994-2004)

there was truth to owen's words. anything was possible, and if there was any proof of that, the starks were it. for good and for ill. it was the ill that worried her. the fear of the unknown sent a shudder down dacey's spine that she struggled to suppress. "plenty of things have come to pass that neither of us could have seen coming." she chose her words slowly and deliberately, with a warning laced between them. there would be plenty more that she wouldn't see.

there was a faith in her abilities owen seemed to possess that dacey herself did not. she had never seen herself as smart and capable, but if owen needed her to be so, she would try to be. for a brief second, her mind flicked back to childhood, to little-girl-dacey who was all to eager to lend a helping hand to anybody in need. that thirst to be useful had never quite gone away, even if it had dulled somewhat as the years drew by.

her melancholy was washed away by owen's proclamation. it was enough to draw a small laugh from her. "of course, your grace," she addressed him playfully. "though the crown lends it a little more weight, no? regardless, whatever you need of me, it will be done."

The King smiled at her joke, chuckling a bit as he continued to eat and drink the black beer, strong and hearty, exactly what a man in the North needed. It was nice to take a moment to feel light when he was with his family. Their life was a heavy one, so many would talk about the joys of royalty and everlasting existence in the written text of the Wisdoms who now tracked their history.

The loss of Jon was not one he prepared himself for though he should have seen it coming. Truthfully he'd expected it to be him or Adam to die in some fight before any of the rest, even Alys on some level. He believed too strong in Cass' speed for her to ever die before him or get captured. Jon, he always thought Jon too smart and to witty to get captured or die. He would know how to get out of anything and perhaps he did in the hands of one more reasonble.

Alas, ransoming was a game of southron lords. In the North you were taken and rarely were your bones even returned. Given to the old Gods, the most pious of them secretly filling their trees with the entrails of their enemies as they did on Skagos. Owen took another drink, clearing his mind and focusing on his sister as she started to speak again. "You may find yourself even more capable than Jon, anything is possible sister. In fact, I never thought there would be another warg king and yet." He gestured, "one sits before you, Stark and all." He smiled at her.

"You're smart and you're capable. We all have our own strengths. You will see things Jon could have never seen and think them as well. Don't aim to be Jon, be yourself, sister, and all will be well. I believe in you. And I'm your big brother which makes my world law with or without the crown."

the idea that owen and the targaryen king would make nice with one enough was enough to bring a small laugh to dacey's lips. "i very much doubt it, but i suppose stranger things have happened." she didn't like to speak for her brother, and more often than not had little insight to offer, but on this, at least, she felt confident. "i don't really know the whys of it all. why we went there," she confessed. "if i had to guess, i would say it was probably more about who else would be there than the man of the hour."

she nodded, his amplifying her respect for him. "such is the lot of an older sibling." she had enough siblings herself that she understood how it worked, being both an older sister and a younger one herself. "they're lucky to have you." it was not an empty compliment. as much as she would not bring it up, there was no escaping the fact his cousin was a bastard, and life would not be as kind to him as to his siblings for that simple fact. and yet, a bond still seemed to exist between lucius and his kin, and that was something she found commendable.

"you're not the worst company i've ever had." she shrugged. she'd no doubt that he was capable of rubbing people up the wrong way, but she'd yet to be offended. she didn't even really feel all that self-conscious, which was a feat within itself. "i'm rather enjoying it, actually. if you wish to make things unpleasant, you might have to try a little harder than you initially planned." there was an honesty to the way he spoke that she appreciated. there had been little of that in king's landing, and she had grown weary of trying to decipher the difference between what people said and what they meant.

Lucius knew that perhaps he ought to say something about the losses endured by House Stark. Say something for the sibling that was recently buried, or the sister that had gone missing. He didn't truly feel sorry, however. He had no ill will, he simply had never gotten to know Jon or Alysanne at all. They had been strangers to him. So he didn't utter any condolences for they would have been superficial, insincere words. Even Dacey, who was just getting to know him, would have detected the lack of truth.

“Your brother is seeking to make good with the dragon king?” he inquired, curious to know what was the North's vision of the recent crowning. The realms were no longer Seven Kingdoms under Targaryen rule and had not been for years, and yet they all dragged themselves to the old capital to kiss ass and play nice with the dragon folk. “I admit I had little desire to travel there myself, but where my siblings go, I go. Someone needs to keep an eye on them”. Especially in a place where he trusted no one.

Lucius glanced sideways, looking at Dacey briefly as they walked. “Fret not, I'll be quicker than you in making my company unpleasant,” he half-joked in return, certain that she'd be the one escaping his company eventually, not the other way around, since the Stark princess was evidently a sweet person. The bastard knew he wasn't a likable man and never really bothered to make himself so. Polishing his manners in that way had never been something his father cared about. Samwell never sought to make a proper lord out of him, after all.

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?”.

DACEY STARK - the inspirations

cosette (les misérables)

there was dew in her eyes. cosette was a condensation of auroral light in womanly form.

violet parr (the incredibles)

i feel different. it's different, okay?

beth march (little women)

there are many beth’s in the world, shy and quiet, sitting in corners till needed, and living for others so cheerfully that no one sees the sacrifices till the little cricket on the hearth stops chirping, and the sweet, sunshiny presence vanishes, leaving silence and shadow behind

isobel thorm (baldur's gate iii)

i hope we won't intrude on your hospitality too long. i'm grateful for a safe place to... well, just to be.

sandy (grease)

to my heart i must be true

rapunzel (the brother's grimm)

When she was twelve years old the witch shut her up in a tower in the midst of a wood, and it had neither steps nor door, only a small window above.

primrose everdeen (the hunger games)

there's something else there as well, something entirely her own. an ability to look into the confusing mess of life and see things for what they are.

tara maclay (buffy the vampire slayer)

things fall apart, they fall apart so hard.