Dacey Nodded. Her Social Circle Had Been Small At School, And Ryon Wyl Had Not Been Part Of It. She Knew

"you don't sound silly," dacey's voice was firm as she spoke. she did not believe otherwise, either. perhaps idealistic, but if anybody was going to take the hope from her, it would not be dacey. "and you are no bother. not while there is still packing to be done," she half-joked, gesturing to the disarray of her room and the swirl of activity. "i hope you know you can speak with me whenever you'd like. i am not so difficult to find in winterfell." when she was not isolating herself away from those she did not wish to find her.

we have to convince ourselves that we are something. perhaps maisie would not recognise the effect the words had on dacey. it was a lovely sentiment, but not one she was sure she could live up to. what was there that she could convince herself that she was? the voice in the back of her head said only words of discouragement, all the horrible things it convinced her everyone else was thinking. she wasn't sure what else there was to her. but rather than dwell on it, she merely nodded.

"we sound like philosophers," she offered a wry smile, finally securing her trunk and rising to her feet. "as ready as i can be, i suppose. i don't much enjoy travelling. let's hope the road is clear and safe, for the both of us."

“I sound silly, don't I?” She jokes, knowing that his ideas were a little too idealistic, belonging more to the plane of dreams than reality. As if she were inside a cave and decided to stare at the shadows outside as she pleased, ignoring the truth of the matter “I think I'm delaying your party, I'm sorry” She recalled, Mormont couldn't wait to be inside the icy plains of the North, her true home “Thank you, it's nice to have someone to talk to”

“Don't assume, be sure” she encouraged. Perhaps it was Maisie's way of dealing with things, but she didn't like anyone doubting her own ability or courage, unless, of course, it was the enemy side ‘I don't want to sound conceited or invasive, princess, but we have to convince ourselves that we are something” She frowns thoughtfully “A king truly becomes a king when he recognises himself as one, not just by his title” She sighs, pushing everything out of his mind.

“It's like a fine line, one foot walks in the shadows and the other in the light. I'd like to spend more time in the light, to be honest, but even so, what's light to me may not be to you” Completing Dacey's thought, “Ready for the long journey?” She asks, putting her hands behind her back, a habit she possesses, preparing to leave Princess Stark's presence.

Stephanie Garber, Once Upon a Broken Heart

the northern court was no stranger to upheaval, usually riding on the back of tragedy. dacey had learned that nothing was permanent - but there were some things that she had never anticipated changing. brandon karstark’s position was one of those immutable things, so guaranteed that she had never thought of a world were he was not owen’s hand. but the old gods had shown her the folly of thinking in certainties, and caused yet another seismic shift that left the pair of them on shaky ground. 

she could not find it in her to throw up a wall between them, to act as though he was nothing to the starks but a bannerman of the north. he deserved better than that. but neither could she bring herself to acknowledge what he had been through. dacey was not a worldly woman. her life had been touched by loss, but not like this. she did not have the words to try and empathise or offer comfort, and she was cautious enough to recognise that even if she had, they may not be welcome from her. 

she was not owen stark, the similarities between she and her brother few and far between, but her loyalty to him was another of those certified facts that couldn’t be shaken. even when his actions did not align with what she would do, she trusted that he knew best. 

she could not say the words that darted around in her head, so she thought them, as though if she willed them into existence hard enough, the sentiment would somehow reach him, and brandon would know. thank you for my sister. i’m sorry this is how things ended up. i wish i could change it for you. you deserve better.

and then there was alys. another circumstance she couldn’t understand, but in this, dacey felt a little less helpless to act. she could not explain where her older sister was, did not know if her disappearance was connected to word from dorne, but there was something inside her that told her that she would not see alysanne stark again. what she could do was lessen the gap that she had left behind. for owen. for the north. 

“thank you,” her voice was little more than a whisper, the soft tones one might use to try and calm a snarling wolf. “i appreciate any help you can offer.” she would have understood if he refused her, but was endlessly glad that he had not. they still felt as though they were in unfamiliar territory with one another, but they could still hold eye contact over the chasm that stretched between stark and karstark. they were not lost to one another yet. 

“i’ve been trying to organise my sister’s things.” she did not feel the need to explain which sister, trusting that brandon could infer which stark princess she was talking about. “trying to… help, i suppose. be useful.” this was irrelevant to why she was here, a delayal of what she had come to speak about. 

she shifted on her feet, uncomfortable, hands tightening on the strap of the leather satchel she had brought with her. she didn’t know exactly what she was carrying, but there was an uneasy feeling that came when she looked at them, merely thought about them. she could have simply cast them aside, but something nagged at the back of her mind, telling her there was more to this than she could possibly know. 

“i came across some things i don’t really understand.” she admitted. “and i thought out of everyone, you might. understand, i mean.” she reached into the satchel, withdrawing from it a stack of papers neatly bound in twine, covered with alys’ own hand, and holding them out to brandon. there was more where that came from, books and items that made the back of her hair stand on end, but this was a start. 

“i don’t like the feeling i get when i look at them.”

♞

all knew that brandon karstark was no longer the hand of the winter king - and it did not require the extensive intelligence of a maester to grasp the reasons why. the murder of lady meera reed at the hands of jin renshu had spread around the northern court, and even beyond it, like wildfire: the same way the flames had spread through the ancient trees of the heart tree. somewhere, he had come to the deep acknowledgement that there would need to be a balance in the world following such an action - the gods would have cast their backs on him.

if that meant the princess cassana stark was freed of the ropes that bound her beneath it in the chaos, then surely it would be considered worth it? right?

there had been disappearances, two; seeming to have happened on the very same day. the world of ice and the world of the sun had each lost an important member of their court, if the reports from the dornish was to be considered true: and he could not help but feel his stomach drop at the idea that they could have somehow been linked. the princess had accompanied brandon karstark to yule within the land of rivers for the celebrations, though in their journey there he had found something out.

witnessed something about her choices, which she had remained firmly in favour of. something about the disappearance seemed to settle badly in his gut, the idea that it was beyond the actions of humans - who, even in themselves, remained wicked. he knew this went beyond it - meaning, he also knew there was little they could do to retrieve her. princess dacey of house stark had been told to step into the duties of her sister, as the world needed to continue to spin - and brandon found himself weary of speaking and involving himself in the family.

but how could he not, when they had grown together as kin? his recent fracture with the king did not mean all the starks would no longer trust him. there was no reason they should not trust him. "yer highness." brandon greeted, his hand resting on his chest in an action of humbleness; not on the council, but still a subject. "i will do all i can." were his words in response; different to what he once would say. brandon was very much aware that there was only two karstarks left in the world: the cold winter had taken the babies their mother had once birthed. sickness, disease.

"what worries you, princess?"

"never mind treason. accusing me of lying is the mark of a poor friend, and that's much more serious," for somebody who had to practically force herself to travel to the west, dacey was noticeably more relaxed than she had been since the northerners had originally left for king's landing, the festivals jovial mood rubbing off on her. the decorated mask was quickly whipped from her face, handed to the karstark with little hesitation, and replaced with the plainer alternative. "that's better," she looked far less ostentatious, and that suited her well. "how are you with a bow?" she queried. "i saw an archery game back there. perhaps you cabn win a prize to take back to greywater watch."

"We can swap," Aleksander readily agreed. It was just the slightest bit comical, the way he realized this could be a scheme of unmasking at the same time the Princess assured him it was not. "Hm," he muttered, jovially narrowing his eyes at Dacey. "I will have to believe you, I suppose. I heard somewhere it's considered treason to accuse royalty of lying." As he quickly took off his mask, he offered her a good natured wink while waiting for her to hand hers over in exchange.

sheltered was perhaps the best way to describe dacey stark, and that was her own doing. it did not help her now, though, for it was a struggle to recall who it was that she was speaking with in that moment. it took a minute before she recognised him from the coronation of king jaehaerys - the lord paramount of the stormlands, whose sister was mother to two of her cousins.

"catmint," she repeated, sounding somewhere between amused and satisfied by the answer. she took the flower, taking it from the very bottom of the stem in heed of his warning. "i've never seen it before. it must prefer the sun." it took a hardy plant to survive the climates of the north, though she wondered if it might survive under the dome of the glass gardens, where it was warmer.

"the smell is divine. i will look forward to the tea." the flower was placed in the basket, and she set about collecting more, now that she was assured there was no danger to come from touching them. she was not in the habit of picking unfamiliar blooms, aware of the dangers some possessed if handled without the proper care taken. "i do wonder, do you know how it got it's name?" were cats fond of it, or was it some reference to the lion of lannister that she did not understand?

"i'm sorry, my lord. i forgot to thank you for your assistance." it was not often that dacey forgot her manners, but in that moment, they had quite slipped her mind. "you seem knowledgeable on such matters." she did not think to find common ground with a man of new valyria, but a stormlander was quite different to a man of the crownlands, or so she understood.

whilst the lord paramount was swift in his duties to make nice with the court of lions, as a steadfast ally of his king, he never felt amongst friends in a place such as this. of course, he would also say he did not feel amongst friends in the court of dragons, either. though he had grown up with many of those he walked alongside in the same halls, they had, over time, become something akin to strangers. war bonded them, certainly spilling blood with those around you would do such a thing, but as time passed, and memory's faded, it seemed so did loyalties.

such was life, so he believed. the sun continued to rise and set, and he would continue on as he did every day. morgan wylde was a man of routine, and habits, so his decision to visit the lion's tor on a whim was certainly unlike him, but as he was one who often preferred the solitude of nature and the outdoors, it also wasn't entirely shocking when he said as much to his household.

the ride was not terribly long - morgan had much to ponder on the journey. he was still a bit dazed and surprised by the kindness of the dornish woman on the water's edge, how they could not be more destined to be enemies, and yet she was compassionate instead of resentful, everything he did not imagine for one of dorne.

he exited the carriage, the warm sun upon his face, and gave a quick word to those accompanying him before taking a stroll on his own. the hillside was so green, and ground firm, and drier than he were used to. he imagined his boots should sink slightly upon the earth as they did in the rain house, but the did not. the crunching of the earth was almost foreign to him, and when blue orbs looked down, he realized he stepped in a patch of flowers.

a woman's voice called to him in that moment, and he glanced over to her. he recognized her, vaguely. he believed her to be of the north, and then the connection was made that she were certainly one of the stark princesses. morgan tried to do well to recall the royals and high nobility of each court. he approached her to observe what she were referring to. a grin spread upon his face as he knelt down to pluck the plant by it's stem, careful not to touch too high - for there were small thorns amongst the lavender petals. "it is called catmint, your grace." he stated, holding it up between them so she may observe it closer. "bees are fond of it, butterflies too, perhaps it would be good in some tea." he held it for her to take, now. "careful of the small spines nearer the middle."

Sylvia Plath, from The Collected Poems of Sylvia Plath; "Three Women,"

the frustration that had gripped her was uncharacteristic, but when amir spoke again, it was replaced with something far more familiar. a self-consciousness, a feeling that she had said something wrong, spoken out of turn, that in her own moment of anxiety and discontent, she had caused discontent in turn. and usually, despite her worries, dacey's feelings were unfounded, a result of a mind that worked too much and concerned itself with overanalysing her every action.

but there was no mistaking that this time, there was no unfounded fear. if it were not obvious in his words, it was in his tone, in the set of his jaw. a frown appeared on her face, and she racked her mind back over her previous words, trying to find the place where she had in her irritation provoked insult.

"i see." perhaps it was her own tone of voice, the expression on her face indicating more hostility than intended.

should she broach the tension that seemed to have rooted between them? dacey was unused to conflicts, unsure how best to navigate the waters she found herself in. she took a breath, a sharp, audible intake, and nodded her head. "if that is what my brother decides, then it is not for me to question it." not to question it, but to despair of it in private, away from any eyes that would look for dissent within the ranks of house stark, and dacey would not be the one to give in to it.

but despite it all, the prospect of war and death and battle a growing, pressing worry that was beginning to hurt her head, she could not shake the feeling that she had done something wrong. if owen was to move forward with skagos, there was nothing she could do about it, but if she had made things difficult between herself and house manderly, perhaps that was something she could atone for. theirs was a house that was important to the north, and dissent was not an option.

"my lord," she began, her tone shifting to one much more uncertain. "i apologise if i have given offence. i can assure you that was not my intention."

❅

there was an uncharacteristic, strenuous pause in the moments of hollowed silence between the princess of winter and the man that was ultimately a subject of her house, and her king. something in the air that shifted seemed to have caught onto his attention, and whilst the second son of manderly had never been one to overthink and strain himself over possibilities, the recent nights had been a different case all together.

perhaps he would have not noticed such a change, or such strain; and yet, his increasing sense of voluntary isolation in associating with other northerners only caused him to notice. perhaps add too much emphasis, wrap it up in something that it were not necessarily. "the king is the only one who can answer such a question, your highness." amir responded, and as much as he attempted to ensure his voice remained civil, there was a deadpan to it.

"judging by our conversation, he was eager to see it happen. if i had to guess, then yes. you would be correct."

the question was something he would have considered the answer as being obvious; the isle of skagos had struck out against the king, and the king held every moral and legal reason to get the situation under control. his expression changed ever so slightly in the face of her question, her somewhat bristled manner of passing the words across: it was rare to hear dacey stark speak up, and now when she did, it felt as though he were being patronised. as though he needed to explain the obvious.

and perhaps amir would have felt more sympathetic, felt more of an ability to see the situation as it was and walk it off. but there was a flare of anger that seemed to stir within his gut as he looked at the princess, a sense of anger that did not usually come forth so suddenly. and yet, it were as though his vision of the woman seemed to blur.

i've no wish to see another stark go to the grave before their time. before their time? as though everyone else's time had come for them? as though manal's time had come for her? the fuck was this absent ghost of a princess talking about? what made her think he wanted to hear of her concerns about her own family? the starks get a crown and forget, whilst the north remembers.

"yes, they will." amir responded, his tone bluntly formal. what he did not add, was how everyone else would be putting their necks on the line too. because as much as amir manderly wished he could get the words that burned off his chest, he knew his place. knew what he could, and could not do.

cassana's presence filled the space whenever she paid dacey a visit, and for that, dacey was grateful. she brought with her light and warmth, coaxing from dacey a different side to herself, one that was less guarded, less composed. cassana had a way of grounding her, of making her push her own doubts and anxieties to the side for a few short moments, even if only to soothe her sisters. for that was the truth of it. dacey did not much enjoy being a princess of the north, but she very much loved being cassana's older sister.

her lips curved into a smile at cassana's hidden bottle, and if anybody else had produced it, she would have refused a drink. instead, dacey uncorked it, filling both their cups, though she poured more into cassana's than to her own. "if anybody asks, i knew nothing about this," amusement threaded through her words as she set the bottle down, still half-full of northern ale. "though if you ask me, they should be grateful you didn't figure out a way to smuggle out an entire cask. that may have been more difficult to hide under your cloak, though."

her smile turned introspective, a faint flush coming over her cheeks at cassana's compliments. "it's just something to do to pass the time." it was a little more than that, a steady, comfortable rhythm she could fall into when there was little else to offer it, but she enjoyed it all the same.

"you should have it," her voice was a touch firmer now. she had not woven it with cassana in mind, guided more by what inspired her in the moment than a desire to tell a particular story, but the tapestry suited her all the same. woven into it was a small pattern that looked a little like arrows. it seemed right that she would give it to her sister. "and i'll keep the next one. i'd run out of space on the walls if i didn't give some of it away."

.

cassana settled into the familiar warmth of dacey’s chambers, the space exuding her sister’s quiet strength and grace. sharing a meal with dacey had become a comforting ritual—a way to connect amidst the chaos of winterfell, to ensure her sister didn’t quietly skip meals as she was prone to do. there were times recently when she had already eaten but took as small second dinner to eat with her sister,not telling her she’d already eaten.she wanted just to be around her.

“you know,” cass began, sliding a bottle onto the table between them with a sly grin.she'd brought along a bottle of ale from their private stores, tucked discreetly beneath her cloak like a conspirator’s prize. “i thought tonight called for something special. straight from the collection the kitchen is so protective of. they won’t notice one missing.” the sparkle in her eye hinted she was daring enough to test that assumption.

her gaze wandered briefly to the tapestry hanging from the loom, its intricate greens and silvers glinting softly in the firelight. she marveled at dacey’s skill, the delicate patterns forming a story only her sister could tell. to create was her sisters gift. “it’s beautiful,” cass said, her voice tinged with admiration. “you put us all to shame with your patience”

at the offer, cassana’s brows lifted in genuine surprise. “for me?” her smile softened, touched by dacey’s generosity. “i’d love to have it, but only if you’re sure. it belongs here, though—with you. this is your work, dace. are you sure?”

closed starter for @hxrundxne

"welcome to the north, your grace."

it was strange, dacey thought, how the chain of events set in motion by the dance had changed both their lives so dramatically. dacey had been born a daughter of house stark, a lady of the north, but in her brother gaining a crown, she had found herself a princess, even if she still wore the title awkwardly. in contrast, aemma had once been a sister to a monarch, and though she retained her title of princess, the line of succession had moved away from her line, to her cousins who now sat in king's landing. it served as a reminder ; how quickly their fortunes could change.

"i hope you aren't finding it too uncomfortable. it always takes me a little while to adjust to the heat in the south," her tone was apologetic - she wasn't sure why. it wasn't as though dacey stark had the ability to control the weather.

but she liked aemma targaryen. dacey was not a woman who made friends easily, always feeling a little out of place wherever she went, but though that self-conscious feeling had not disappeared with aemma, it was lessened somewhat.

"i was glad to hear that you and your brother had made the journey."

dacey nodded her head. "that's sensible, i think." there was certainly wisdom in keeping the search private. a political struggle was the last thing that the north needed, and to have it publicly known that owen was looking for a queen could certainly cause such a thing. for now, he had the luxury of time. "a weakness?" she wasn't an unintelligent woman, but perhaps a little naive in the ways of the world. she was here, though, and she was trying to understand a little better, trying to be useful in the best way she could.

for so much of her life, she had seen owen as a pillar of strength. perhaps it was unfair of her to have built such an image of him, but it had been there for almost as long as she had known how to draw breath. when she looked at him now, for the first time she could see cracks in that infallible image. she could see that he was tired, and wished that she could tell him to rest.

"i can't disagree with you." there was so much logic in what he was saying. nasir manderly made sense. she did not doubt his capabilities. on paper, he was the best person for the job. but this was not a conversation dacey ever thought she would be having - not just because she had traditionally been reticent about offering her opinion to him about matters of the kingdom, believing she had little wisdom to offer, but because she never could have foreseen a time when the kingdom would need a new hand.

when she glanced up, owen was looking at her, and their eyes met. there was something else behind his, something he was not telling her - but then, there were things she was not telling him, too. she wanted to tell him that he could speak to her of anything, but how could she without feeling like a hypocrite? "are you all right, though?" her brows raised. "i'm not... talking about the north or the hand or the queen. if there's ever anything you want to talk to me about..." she trailed off. she could not finish the sentence.

And his sister was kind, but many and more would have something to say about him looking for a new wife too soon. It would not be the queen of the Vale but perhaps the people. And the smallfolk had grown to love their queen. They loved that the queen didn't bring her seven, whispers he heard himself. They loved a queen that protected them with her own laws, giving their daughters places, places he would have to somehow maintain. It would not go over well.

"Of course, I will not advertise this search. Some will make their plans to put those women before me. And then there will be others who hope to see it as a weakness." Owen shrugged his shoulder, his fingers dragging over his dark hair. He was very tired and sleep abandoned him at every turn. Like the sister with whom he shared a womb. And now she was gone. Again.

"Nasir is the best choice. He understands the need for growth, very old friend." Fostered with the man. Their houses would one day be joined. He looked at her, there was more that was needed and he was uncertain if his sister was ready for everything. There would be marriages, conflicts, and more resistance. Owen didn't want another war. Next time he would cut the head off the snake and burn the body. Cousin branches were far more useful anyway.