Closed Starter For @ulises-tarth Location: At The Fair

july 12th 115 ac - dacey stark is born

the fourth child of house stark was born two moons too early and far too small. as a baby, she barely cried, but was prone to illness, particularly of the lungs. it was not expected that she would be long for this world. infants with such weak constitution rarely do, but against the odds dacey grew. she remained a frail child, prone to sickness, and her childhood was mostly spent confined inside winterfell to preserve her health.

129 ac - the dance begins

as she approached adolescence, a question lingered over what to do with dacey stark. while her siblings began to be fostered or trained for their duties as a stark, dacey remained in winterfell, sheltered and protected in order to maintain her health. with the dance of the dragons breaking out during her teenage years, her opportunity to explore the world outside of the north was further stripped from her. she waits out the next ten years in the north, purposely kept as far away from any conflicts as possible.

140 ac - the dance ends

with the leaders of westeros proclaiming independence from the targaryens, dacey finds her position shifting. she is slow to adjust to the change, maintaining her reclusive lifestyle except when absolutely necessary. she does put her complete faith in her family, particularly owen, and trusts and supports his decisions without question. however, at her core she begins to develop idealistic morals of pacificism, which will begin to shape her personal views and how she reacts to things.

post-dance

dacey continues to rarely leave the north, notable exception being to the vale, where she meets and forms a friendship with guinevere lannister. when the kingdoms are gathered in the north, she is more visible than she normally would be, but still seen less often than her siblings and very quiet publicly. she is a soft-hearted person, however, and does offer support to people she recognises to be suffering, including seffora merryweather, and engages in plenty one-on-one conversations whilst fading into the background in group settings. she remains in complete support of the king's decisions.

northern wars

it is during the conflicts in the north that dacey truly develops her distaste for war and violence. however, she is not foolish enough to voice her pacifism out loud, though when asked, she will always answer as honestly as she can: she knows her ideas are idealistic at best, and unrealistic at worst, but she thinks there is a better path than violence, aggression and fighting. despite this, she still believes the king knows best, and does not ever argue with his decisions or contradict him, either publicly or to his face. she remains in winterfell for much of this time.

death of jon stark

the death of a brother marks the beginning of a shift in dacey. still reclusive by nature, she begins to make her presence more known within the north and quietly attempts to aid her brother the king as best she can. she doesn't quite fill the gap left by jon, but she does try and lessen it slightly. the starks meet to discuss retaliation, and dacey advocates for justice over vengeance.

the kidnap of cassana stark, the deaths of rosalyn arryn, and the disappearance of alysanne stark

when further tragedy hits her house in close succession, dacey becomes more present than ever in order to better support her brother and the rest of the family. she takes the initiative to push herself out of her comfort zone and become more involved as best as she knows how whilst handling her own feelings and anxieties privately.

recent events

dacey attends both king jahaerys' coronation in the crownlands, where she largely keeps to herself, stopping at her blackwood cousins' home in the riverlands on her way back to the north, and the celebration of prince arthur's birth in the westerlands.

she shouldn't have come here. for the first time, dacey was struck by the selfishness of what she had done in facing brandon. after everything, the way that things had gone so south, it felt almost like inflicting another cruelty on him by making him sit with a stark. she had thought only of herself, seen him as a path to her answers. she should have found a better way, but it was too late for that. there was a stilted edge to the conversation, both deliberately ignoring all that they could say. if she was a bolder person, more like cassana maybe, perhaps she could find the words that she currently couldn't grasp. but that wasn't her way, and so the barrier remained.

his response was both vague, and yet completely plain to her. dacey stilled for a moment, mind racing as she tried to rationalise what he was telling her, her heart sinking as she realised it made complete sense. the silence stretched for a moment, and she squeezed her eyes shut, raising a hand to pinch the bridge of her nose.

"well," she began, and was even surprised herself by the annoyance that tinged her voice. "that explains a lot, doesn't it?"

she couldn't pinpoint exactly why she was annoyed, but there was an anger towards alys that was rising within her that she hadn't anticipated. perhaps it was annoyance at herself, that she had locked herself away, turned a blind eye for so long that this was where they had ended up.

she thought of old stories, told to her in her childhood, racking her brains for what she knew. there was one thing that stuck out to her - a warning that such ancient practices had their price. was alys' disappearance the cost paid? or did it lie in jon's death? rosalyn's? meera's? she didn't know if the blame was at alys' feet, or if this was a completely irrational line of thought, but it was one that gnawed at her all the same.

"who knows?" she didn't know why that mattered to her, only that it did. then, there was the issue of removal, which presented just as many problems as solutions. "you said it was to aid the war," her hands had fallen into her lap, her right thumb scratching lightly at the skin of her left hand. "can i be sure that won't do more harm than good?"

♞

it were a peculiar and obvious change, to see the emergence of another stark princess when one had gone missing. there had been no leads as to her vanishing, no traces to follow in what could have happened; only an open window during a stormy night, in a tower that was too high to scale, with no ways in which she could have escaped from it. there was a small voice at the back of his head, which only asked him why he bothered in such things.

was it not the responsibility of adam stark that his own sister was dead? was it not the responsibility of king owen stark that his own wife was now a lifeless, cold corpse? his gaze looked upon the princess of winter, and there was a level of distance within them that was different to what he usually showed toward the children of winterfell that he once would have considered his own siblings.

now, though, his distance was obvious. as though they had both drawn a line in all that had happened, and there was no changing it. no blurring it. no going above, or beyond it. "yer highness." brandon's voice remained wrapped in his usual karhold accent, his hands clasped before his heavy furs: making no other response to her words of gratitude. let them see what it was they needed to discuss, so the distance between stark and karstark could once again be put firmly in place.

be useful, were the words she uttered. he heard something she did not necessarily say, though made no reaction to it. again, his blankness was unusual: it was all wrong. but it felt as though this was how things would be, and they would grow into the mighty change. his gaze flickered her direction as she pulled out items. he knew what they were. the last he had seen them was the night he had ruined what it was she was trying to do. stopping her.

"her highness turned to ancient practices, to aid in the war for winterfell." ancient practices. woods witches. magic, which took both forms. "yer'll be wantin' to remove such things from yer household."

anya could not know it, but her words brought a sense of relief to dacey. most of the time, it felt like she were fighting a losing battle, play-acting at a role that she didn't belong in and the entirety of the northern court could see through. to know there was at least one person she had convinced was a reassurance - perhaps the rest of the world could be fooled, too. "people never really see you how you see yourself, i suppose," she mused. "for good or for ill."

it was something the two had in common. dacey had always been the quiet sort, reserved in her ways and anxious in conversation. it did not easily lend itself to making friends. "i haven't either," she agreed. "it makes me appreciate those i do have all the more." the people she let her guard down for were few and far between, and yet, she did not regret doing so for any of them. a beat of silence fell over dacey then. nobody could stand alone - it was something she applied to others, she realised, always trying to lessen the burden they shouldered, but rarely to herself. when she struggled, she did so in silence. she didn't say that out loud, instead shaking her head in response. "no. and you don't need to, either." the words were subtle, but in them, a quiet hand of friendship was offered.

she let out a breath. the judgement of the west was nothing she could offer comfort for. she could not assure anya that it would not occur, because it would be an outright lie. "they would always have found something to judge you for, though." she did not try to pretend that she could not think why the west may have a harsh view of anya, that her background would be of no consequence here. "i think just being northern would be enough. we can only trust that they need this to go well, and so will choose to keep their thoughts in their head rather than making our time here more unpleasant than it need be."

“You mask it well, then,” Anya mentioned. Dacey had an admirable quality to appear composed, graceful, confident regardless of where she was. By the princess' own admission that wasn't always the case, just the image the lady had of the other woman. “And yes, we endure what we must,” the raven-haired lady replied. It was something she agreed with entirely. Her life had been built on enduring and overcoming.

There were not many friends in Anya's life. There had never been many she counted as close to her, and the situation continued to be the same. Her circumstances were entirely different at present, and yet there remained the underlying feeling that she needed to protect herself, to be cautious, to keep others at arm's length out of a sense of self-preservation. Noble courts were different grounds from those she's known as a lowborn bastard, but dangerous all the same. “I've never been very good at making friends, I'll admit,” she mused in a lower tone. “Silly of me. No one can stand alone, after all”. She did not have the sort of charming, gentle or enticing personalities that drew in others to her. For most of her life, she'd been challenging, jaded, and much too prickly to let others get too close. Those she'd let in, she'd lost in one way or another.

At least we are here together, the princess said. Anya did find some comfort in that, finding herself in this place with fellow Northerners, It brought a sense of safety, in a way. A home away from home, indeed. “I will remain vigilant. I generally find it difficult to let down my guard,” she shrugged. Another consequence of the way she grew up, she supposed. “I will try to enjoy the trip. However, I am wary of the social events and some of the gatherings that will surely take place. I don't usually care much for the judgment— I try not to care for it, that is. But I know I will be judged more harshly here,” she dared to say, for it felt safe to admit this before Dacey.

dacey nodded her gratitude, remaining standing though seffora sat. there was a temptation to pace the room, but she withstood it - refusing a seat was one thing, but it felt rude to take the liberty to stroll around the room, even with someone she was as comfortable with as she was with seffora. she clasped her hands before her, neatly, and turned her full attention to the lady of longtable.

and her expression softened then, clear sympathy written on her face. sienna merryweather's treason had reached her ears, but it was not a topic she would have broached had sefford not mentioned it first. "i was sorry to hear of it," she spoke gently. "of your sister. the position she put you in. i cannot imagine how trying that would have been." trying seemed too small of a word for what seffora had been through, both before and after such an event. "you did not deserve it." but then, it seemed both the old gods and the new seemed to put them on paths that they did not deserve, did not ask for. dacey could only hope the worst of their life's challenges were behind them both.

for seffora, that certainly seemed so. she spoke of the people who had come together to help aid her in times of trouble, and that painted a smile on dacey's lips. finally, she took a seat next to seffora. "there's great wisdom in listening to the guidance of those with wisdom of their own to share, i think." it was a philosophy she lived her own life by - listen to those who knew better, follow the teachings of those who had knowledge to impart. "a skill i think many who rule keeps forget, sometimes." it was a subtle sort of compliment towards seffora. "you may not have prepared for this, but it sounds as though you are taking things in your stride. and when longtable flourishes again, don't let your gratitude towards those who helped you overshadow your pride in your own actions."

“Not at all. Make yourself comfortable in any way you like, Dacey,” the Merryweather lady offered with a friendly smile. The journey from the North was considerably longer, so she fully understood the princess' wish. Seffora, for her part, who'd ridden the last bit of the journey on horseback, did welcome the comfort of the couch that was set near one of the windows. It was lovely to get a good view of the western sea from it.

“Well, after what Sienna unleashed, anything would count as better fortune,” the Lady of Longtable admitted with a subtle scoff. To this day she remained conflicted of what her eldest sister had done, but Seffora had gradually learned it was not her burden to bear. What was hers to carry was the promise of what Longtable could become following the civil war. “I never thought I would end up being a ruling lady. None of the odds were in favor for it, and I never wished it, really,” the lady admitted. But circumstance built character, and Seffora could feel proud of herself for how she'd risen to the occasion.

“Well, my fortune has been deeply tied to those who have been guiding and aiding me in this chapter of my life. My aunt Denyse has offered her wisdom. I have little in the form of family left, and I'm so grateful for her,” she added with a subtle tug of her lips, a bittersweet smile. If one understood what it meant to lose siblings, it was Dacey. “Lord Tirius continues to be a support for me, some of his kin have moved to Longtable and been great advisors. I do have Laena, too. My cousin helped so many of my people, we arranged for her to teach her craft to many of the widows from the war, and they're slowly but surely rebuilding their lives”. Seffora's unshakable focus on the widows and the orphans had been her most important work once she became a ruling lady, wishing to support the most disenfranchised and the most vulnerable. “It's taken effort and time, but Longtable will be thriving again soon. I'm sure of it”.

dacey held no ill will towards amir manderly. he, and his entire house, was trusted by owen, and that was good enough for her to trust them too, even if there was no personal ties to them. that was more her own fault than anybody else's. not for the first time in her life, she felt a pang of regret for the years she had spent shuttering herself away from the world.

but despite the fact that owen trusted him, despite the fact that she was, genuinely, pleased to see him safely returned home, despite the fact that not a single part of her felt any sort of negative feelings towards amir manderly, dacey felt herself tensing at his words, felt her fingernails begin to scrape at the freshly healed skin around her thumbs, and felt a flash of displeasure shoot through her that she didn't entirely know what to do with.

"contemplating?" she repeated, dully. "but likely to come to pass. am i correct?" if it did happen, it wouldn't be amir's fault. she had asked him a question, and he had answered it true. she could not place the blame at his feet for giving her an answer she had sought. and yet, to dacey's shame, this was something she had to remind herself of.

"it is not my safety that i'm concerned about." she was certain that amir meant the words kindly, but she felt herself bristle at them all the same, just a little. did he think her the type of woman who cared only for her own skin? "if there is to be war, then my brothers will fight in it. my sister, too, probably." her mind went to cassana, and the thought of it made her feel queasy. "i've no wish to see another stark go to the grave before their time." it was not just the starks. the north had seen far too much death and bloodshed. she was not ready to prepare herself for more.

❅

historically, amir of house manderly had maintained a healthy distance with the ladies of winterfell; which had come into greater use when they became princesses of the north. there was nothing questionable that they would have heard about him, nothing that was not written in those foolish pamphlets; meaning the king trusted him to speak with the princesses. he still did not maintain a closeness with them however, and the more he thought about it, the more he realised he never had.

"your highness." amir greeted, lowering his head before straightening back to his full height.

it only fed further into the thoughts that swirled in his mind, the thoughts of being the other in the north, the thoughts of not belonging and that they would always be this way. the ones to blamed, for their obvious power and wealth. he found himself wondering what this princess wanted. he did not want to hear talk of more grief, he did not want to talk about manal, or anything else; he did not want to talk about the grief that lingered over both of their houses.

because amir thought owen stark was in the right. because, when people were comfortable, they refused to change. to become better. the callouses on his hands were a sign of his own work ethic: his willingness to make himself uncomfortable. people did not do that unless you forced change upon them. his opinion was very much the minority in the realm though. "his grace remains contemplating, but it will not be as you think."

two sides meeting on a battle field. skagos was officially belonging to the north anyway; it was just about bringing them to heel. he did not want to go back there, but he would. he would rain down fury on all those who made him feel this way. like he did not belong - because he did not. "it will be on their front, rather than our own. you should be safe, princess."

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.

@asoiafsnet ‘s stark appreciation week

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

the offer of tea should not have come as a surprise to dacey. for as long as she had known lillith, she had known her to brew her tinctures. and yet, something in it caught dacey off guard, anyway. she couldn't quite put her finger on the reason for it, why the offer, given so simply, set her ill at ease, but she tried not to dwell on it.

instead, she gave a small nod of her head, glancing towards lillith, then the fire, and then back again. "that sounds lovely," she said, and she meant it. tea did sound lovely. she was being ridiculous, as usual. "i've never been one for the strong stuff. tea will be enough, thank you."

her gaze returned to the hearth, watching the flames flicker. she was always one more comfortable in the quiet, something lillith knew well, but there were times when it felt awkward to dacey, as though she should be offering words, but she just couldn't reach them. it took an enormous amount of effort to bring herself to speak, though when she did manage it, there was relief in hearing her own voice sound even and steady.

"i imagine it tastes of the woods, your blend. birch and honey." there was a thoughtfulness to her voice, inviting lillith to fill the spaces between it. "of ironoaks?" she looked to her then for confirmation. "it would be nice to share something from your home."

even when dacey had briefly found herself in the vale in the past, she had never seen ironoaks, though its name alone conjured a picture - tall trees, straight and strong, standing guard upon the mountain. would the vision in her mind compare to the real thing? or was she entirely wrong? "i hope when i visit, i don't bring enough of the snow to be cruel. just enough to make everything quiet for a little while."

lillith gave a quiet hum of acknowledgment, the corners of her mouth twitching in something like amusement—small, fleeting, but there all the same.

“if you did, i suppose it would serve the vale right,” she mused, mismatched eyes flickering toward the hearth as if measuring its warmth. “perhaps then they’d stop pretending the mountain winds are anything but frigid.”

she was silent for a moment, letting the fire crackle between them, the weight of dacey’s words settling in the space they occupied. the north is as much a part of me as the marrow in my bones. a sentiment she understood, though her own bonds had been forged differently. she had never felt trapped in ironoaks, precisely, but there was an expectation to remain, to endure. it was not always an unwelcome thing. but there was something about the way dacey spoke that made her wonder if the cold in her bones was comforting, or suffocating.

without much preamble, she said, “i could make you some tea.”

it was not quite a question, nor was it particularly warm, but there was a quiet sincerity in the offer. lillith was not one to fuss, not one to coddle, but she knew the value of small comforts. and, if nothing else, she had a fair hand at brewing something strong enough to warm through the bones.

“i brought a blend with me from ironoaks,” she continued, shifting slightly as if already preparing to follow through. “black tea, with birch and a bit of honey. it’s good for the cold. unless you’d rather something stronger?” a wry note entered her voice, though her expression remained unreadable.

― Albert Camus, A Happy Death

Augusten Burroughs