Dacey Did Her Best To Look Put Together, But She Was By No Means A Fashionable Person. What She Called

the moment cassana placed her head upon dacey's shoulder, her reaction was instinctual, one hand coming up to gently smooth across cassana's cheek, as though to check that she was all right without using words to do so, before letting her hand drop to her side again. it was unreserved in it's warmth in a way that was rare for daey for all but the youngest of her siblings.

there was no such warmth for cyrene. dacey did not miss the way cyrene's smile froze at the sight of her, and she responded by doing what she always did - by drawing back, away from what it was that was making her feel as though she did not belong here, in this place, where countless generations of starks had walked before. their reunion had been a tense one, and it seemed to have lingered.

and yet, she tried not to make it evident upon her face, tried not to spoil the peace the rest of them seemed to feel upon this reunion. cassana still stood by her side, and she allowed herself to draw strength from her presence, as she often did without the other knowing it. it was enough to paint a smile on her face, swallow down that knot of anxiety, and respond to what adam was saying, reminding herself that moment like these, when they got to be together like this, were a rare gift for them all.

"it does," she replied softly to adam, surprising even herself with the fact she were the first to speak. "i don't think i can recall the last time so many of us were here at once. it is usually quieter in the godswood, now life has taken us in our own directions." but for a moment, she could hear the shades of their childhood around them, laughter that had begun to echo long ago, and she felt a strange longing in her chest for it now. "but i have missed it. and i am glad the old gods saw fit to bring us together here again." even with those missing. even with those lost.

@owenstark

The King wanted to hunt and some times he wanted to go alone. On this day he traveled with his wolf. The great beast walking along side him as they made their way back. His horse carried a great stag on it's back and rabbits on the saddle. It would be a good meal, when the King wanted to eat well he would go out and get his own meat and have it roasted in butters and with vegetables and he would eat until he could not. Food and beer. It kept his mind at ease.

The sound of voices caught this attention. He dragged his fingers over his beard and took wrapped an arrow around his finger and lined it up as he walked closer. Calm washed over him as the voices were suddenly familiar and strange to him. Cyrene sounded different to his ears but he knew he all same. Adam was Adam, if his voice changed Owen would think another wore his face. And of course, Dacey, she carried a weight he always put on her shoulders. "Smoke get off her." Owen called out, putting the arrow away as Smoke ran up to Cyrene and put muddy paws on her front.

"And what do we have here?" A smiled graced his features briefly. "Starks in the Godswood. Have I stumbled upon the secret club house or has the old Gods brought us here?" Owen remember his secret cave with Alys and Jon, and it pained him to think of them so he pushed it away. "It's been too long since we've been a pack. We just need Cass." Those who were home at least. Life pulled them apart and together. Even as he tried, Owen did not feel like a brother. He felt like a King and he did not know how to turn it off.

@cassvstark

i was an isolated child

last words of a shooting star - mitski / interlude - jeremy lipking / beast monster thing (love isn't love enough) - car seat headrest / untitled - franz wright / twilight: new moon (2009) / teen idle - marina and the diamonds / my year of rest and relaxation - ottessa moshfegh / morning sun - edward hopper / look who's inside again - bo burnham / a girl ago - lucie brock-broido

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.

Genevieve Wilhelmina Gaunt born 13th January 1991 - Happy Birthday!

“What is your mantra? We make our habits, then our habits make us.”

Elizabeth Olsen photographed by Ryan West for L'Officiel Indonesia (2018)

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there were many things dacey was good at - but dancing was not one of them. she had no natural gift for rhythm, but she loved music. thus, she kept to the side of the floor whilst others partook in the group dance, occasionally casting amused glances to the figures moving in unison. they seemed to be having fun, and that made her heart happy. it did her good to see some joy every now and then. 

her solitude was broken by a man she had never met before, who offered an introduction and an invitation. 

“hello,” she greeted him with a polite incline of her head. “it’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance, lord vance. my name is dacey. dacey stark of winterfell.” it was a conscious choice not to use her title. the man seemed mortified to be speaking to her, after all. 

“i would like that,” she agreed with a small nod. “as long as you don’t mind my two left feet. i’ve never been a gifted dancer.” 

Who: @daceystvrk The Dance: During one of the Balls during the Coronation in New Valyria, Lord Hugo Vance works up the courage to get finally ask someone to dance. What he doesn’t plan on is asking Dacey Stark, Princess of the North.

Hugo was nervous but he was on a mission. His mother wanted him to get to know more people and wanted him to speak to many women and perhaps find a betrothed for him in the future. Hugo didn’t know what he would do but he knew that if they were going to be having balls there would be dancing and then he would have to take part and try to dance with someone, try to dance with others. And so far he’d been to two of these dances held by the dragon king during his coronation and he’d been too nervous to do anything so this time he made it a point to be part of the group dancing, To speak and it seemed to be going quite well and he was happy about that to say the least.

“Hello, my name is Hugo Vance of Wayfarer’s Rest in the Riverlands. I hope I’m not being too bold in asking if you would wish to dance with me?”

Hugo realized as he was asking the question that he was speaking to one of the Princesses of the North and suddenly his heart was pounding in his ears. He could feel the heat in his ears and prayed to the seven that his neck and ears weren’t as red as they felt. He swallowed thickly. What was he thinking?

"i had to try," she protested, though in jest. she shook her head. "i would not have taken your coin from you, though, mask or no." there was not an inch of dacey that was competitive in that manner, and aleks knew her well enough to know as much about her. A glance at his face told her that her assessment was correct, and her choice of game was up his alley. "Of course you're strong," a half-grin appeared on her face, and she folded her arms across her chest as she stood to watch. "I might have a turn next, so try your best. Wouldn't want me showing you up." The idea was laughable. If there was one thing Dacey was not capable of, it was feats of physical strength.

His eyes narrowed behind the mask, and a chortle passed over his lips. "I know what you're doin' there, princess." Aleksander patted her hand as Dacey's arm looped through his. "I doubt you are in need of my coin, though." They strolled through the festival games, looking at them with unbridled curiosity. His lips parted, formed a silent o as she pointed to a game that tested strength. A lopsided grin built on his lips. "I'm flattered you think of me as strong, Dacey. Perhaps it's time to prove you right." He disentangled their arms and walked towards the built game, positioning himself so he could wrap his fingers around the crank.

there was something disconcerting about being in the westerlands. that gnawing feeling of unease had been blooming in the pit of dacey's stomach since the starks had left the crownlands, notably absent two sisters. she had thought of little else in the days since, spending her nights obsessing over their fates, wondering if there was more she could have done. she hadn't wanted to come, but she could also not deny that she would feel the same anywhere. it didn't matter if she was in winterfell, or the west.

still, she was on edge, but the sight of one familiar face offered relief. margaret blackwood looked like dacey felt, and she could not blame her for that. house stark was suffering, but so too were her cousins. she had heard the news of merindah's death, and was so intimately familiar with loss herself that she knew exactly how the other woman must be feeling.

the greeting was unusual for margaret, but dacey caught on quickly. she nodded her head, returning it with one equally formal. "lady blackwood," despite the rigidity of her tone, she reached out one hand, fingers briefly making contact with maggie's own and squeezing in a way she hoped communicated all they were not saying aloud. she wished this was a more joyous reunion.

she struggled for a moment to think of the right words to say, but there were none. instead, dacey elected to throw caution to the wind. she could not pretend. "i am very sorry. to hear of your sister. if there is anything i can do..." she trailed off. what could she do? what support could she offer? "how are you holding up? and your brothers?"

setting: the kingdom of the westerlands, when the other kingdoms begin arriving, margaret runs into her cousin ; starter for @daceystvrk

steps that once felt so confident and airy felt entirely too weighty for the lady of raventree, who could not help but be hyper aware of her surroundings in the westerlands. she could not tell if it was this kingdom in particularly that unsettled her, or being, once again, in foreign lands after her sister’s passing. even now it felt too quiet without the younger blackwood chittering in her ear. she recalled praying for a more silent journey to her next destination, but now the silence haunted her.

the great hall was bustling with guests, she recognized some faces from the other kingdoms, but not the names. she catapulted back to their time in king’s landing, but she knew it were important to either impress, or go by unnoticed, for their own soon to be queen was a princess of these very lands.

margaret found some reprieve in one of the many corridors, intriguing artwork lining the walls, and she placed herself in front of one of the paintings in an attempt to look as if she were doing…*something*. hazel hues turned at the sound of footsteps, and she found relief in the sight of her cousin. “d-your grace.” she greeted the other, offering a bow of her head in respect of the woman. she would normally resort to more informal greetings, but maggie felt she could not be too careful, here. “i hope the journey was well, for you.”

{ Words by Megan Fernandes, from "Fabric in Tribeca," in Good Boys / Silas Melvin, from "Twenty," Grit }

TRUTH SERUM: It's time to make the 8! What one person would you bed from all the different regions of Westeros?

dacey's face flushed a deep scarlet. "that is not a question i am comfortable answering." even if she was not so private of a person, this would still feel far too personal. "certainly nobody from the westerlands or the crownlands." there was not a single person in either court she could see herself taking to bed. "hugo vance was kind to me, so perhaps he would not be objectionable." this was proving a very difficult question for her to answer. she found herself wondering who would be kind, and who had honour. "wylliam swann. percival templeton. ravi martell. brandon karstark."