The Grip On Her Hand Was Grounding, Reassuring And Rare. The Comfort Of Physical Touch Was A Rarity For

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.

Audrey Hepburn as Sabrina Fairchild

Sabrina (1954) dir. Billy Wilder

@wintervsuns

in the face of past loss, dacey had crumbled. it had made her weaker, crumbling in on herself until all that remained was a ghost of a girl. this time, though, there was something different about it. perhaps she was just tired of being weak, or perhaps she had been dulled to what it means to lose someone, but her sister’s disappearance hadn’t cowed her. not this time.

instead of retreating further into herself, dacey had rolled her sleeves up and made herself useful. that began with clearing alysanne’s things, deciding what could be of use, what exactly dacey needed to step into her shoes. in the process of doing so, she had come across some things she didn’t quite understand, but looked important enough that she did not want to keep the discovery to herself.

that was what brought her to brandon karstark. if anybody could help her understand, he seemed a sensible first bet.

“lord karstark,” there was a tentativeness to her voice, a caution that made it clear she was very unsure of herself in the moment. “thank you for seeing me.” there was much she could say to him, but the words died in her throat.

“i was wondering if you could help me with something?”

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.

the conversation was taking so many turns, from something resembling civility to something entirely different, that only accentuated to dacey that nasir manderly did not like her. and he did not need to like her. dacey had long since accepted that there would always be people who would not, and most of the time, she had made her peace with that, even if she did not particularly enjoy it.

so why was it, then, that talking to nasir had her on high alert, anxiety coursing through her veins? why was it that she felt so small and useless, as though her every word was the wrong one. it made her want to withdraw from the life she had begun to take up, one of greater visibility and more responsibility. it made her question if that was necessary at all, or if she would be better retreating to the towers of winterfell, and forever closing the doors.

not to you, was the thought that immediately came to mind, but she did not voice that. she could feel her cheeks warming, both embarrassment and trepidation accompanying her unease. "i said around it goes," and the revelation seemed almost anticlimactic, as though it would disappoint him to hear that it was no utterance of great wisdom. "more to myself than to you, my lord. my apologies."

they had not yet left for the west, but already, dacey found herself wishing the trip was over. the northern court could not be absent, no matter how little she wished to go, and she could only hope that the trip would be uneventful, that they could show their faces, enjoy what king tyland lannister's hospitalities, and return home without coming to any trouble or concern.

"leave it with me," she assured him. if nothing else, it was something she could do. "and if there is anything else you need of me, please do let me know."

✯

he was all too aware of the fact there was a quietness that settled between them, and whilst nasir usually could appreciate moments of silence and stretches of quiet, whenever it settled in the space between them he found himself wondering if he had somehow misstepped. whether his words had been too direct and forward, and had resulted in him somehow offending her.

she had always been the quietest of her siblings, seemingly softer than the rest of them - he was sure she had muttered something under her breath, and he had not heard it. if he were not overthinking, he would simply have ignored it - and yet, nasir did not want her to think he was ignoring her to her very face. why could she not just speak louder?

"…did you say something, your highness?" nasir asked, looking over at her again; and again, his expression always came across far more serious than he could ever truly intend.

perhaps he had only put her off their upcoming journey, and yet it was imperative that the woman in the most amount of power in this northern court understood the reality of where they were going - if not for her to coach the rest of the northern ladies in the court. they could not be too casual with their tongue, they could not find false friends in those who were more foe.

"perhaps that was the reason." or perhaps manal would have found the princess entirely dull and unbecoming; they were striking different, manal able to command the centre of attention - whilst, well, the difference was obvious enough. again, he sounded almost borderline dismissive of dacey's idea of her perhaps getting along with his sister - though not because he actually thought that, but rather because he'd rather not discuss his sister at great length. too sensitive a subject, no doubt.

"i think it would best if you did…i know my limits, princess." he knew what he was good at. gift giving, had never been one of those subjects.

"oh," a disapproving frown found it's way onto dacey's face. "that was rude. for what it's worth, i don't think you needed it. you still look great."

hugo had been one of the people she'd been hoping to catch up with while she was here. she didn't have very many friends during her school years, but she'd had him. even though life had pulled them apart, she would always think of him fondly, and be endlessly grateful for the time they spent together.

"i think i missed the mark a little bit," she smiled, gesturing at her own outfit. she'd gone for a sienna miller-inspired boho look that she remembered being popular back then, but it seemed she was the only one to go for that particular style.

"yes, please," she nodded. she was never a big drinker, but it was a special occasion, after all. "i'm good, thank you. it's been way too long." they'd always kept in touch, but it had been a while since their last good catch up. "how are you? anything new going on?"

who: @daceystvrk where: 2000's party, costume notable deets: high school sweethearts that ended after graduation with the pair going down different paths. very good terms.

"Ryon Wyl took my bandanna which I think really tied the whole thing together."

Hugo spoke as he rested against the bar, the obvious choice was for him to choose something closer to how he actually dressed back in those days but that wasn't fun so he went for the other trend he saw sweep through suburbanites of Vermont, gang culture and he did always enjoy Malibu's Most Wanted, it was perfect. As soon as they played Wanksta he would solidify his victory if he ignored Ben Shady in the corner.

"How are you Dacey? It's been quite some time hasn't it?" The young man smiled and took a drink from his cup, paused and then finished it. "Bit watered down. You want one?" He offered as he turned to the bartender.

GENEVIEVE GAUNT in THE ROYALS

closed starter for @amirofmanderlys

"lord manderly," she wished she could say that it was good to see him, but trepidation clouded her tone, her expression, for a large part of dacey feared that he did not bring with him glad tidings. not that his return was itself full of good news. only tragedy had awaiting amir manderly on his return, and that was not much of a welcome home.

"i am glad to see you returned to us." it was the kindest thing that she could say that still remained the truth. she was glad that he was safe, despite any anxieties she held about what his lengthy absence meant for the north.

there was once a time where she never would have asked the question she was about to voice, simply because she was too afraid to do so. for so long, her way had been to bury her head in the sand and hope that pretence was enough. it had been a long time since that had worked.

"is there to be war?" as blunt as the query was, it was softened by the way she spoke it, no less gentle than when she expressed her joy that he was back. "with skagos?" the signs were there, but she could not help but hope he would tell her otherwise.

hyper specific 5am collection about freshman year of college (so far) and the pit it leaves inside your chest !!!!!!

Constantin Émile Meunier, Ophelie / D.H. Lawrence / Sung Hwa Kim, Untitled / pinterest user wuxianspeare / Albert Camus / pinterest user raiiiisha / Ramón Casas, Tired

when the knock came at her door, dacey was still awake. sleep was not easy to come by for her - likely for any stark, given the myriad of tragedies that had faced. her mind was overburdened with worry more often than not, and this was not the first night she had lain awake until the dawn.

the knock startled her. at this time, it would only be a sibling or the bearer of more bad news. her relief that it was the former was soon washed away by the look on cassana's face. the two girls were drastically different, night and day in temperament, but there existed an unspoken bond that only sisters can possess. and so, without words, dacey threw back the covers and invited her into the bed.

as soon as cassana took her place next to dacey, she was covering them both again, her hand pressed gently into the small of her sister's back. the northern chill was unforgiving at the best of times, but worse in the dead of night when the fires were dwindling to ash.

eventually, cassana spoke, and at her words, dacey moved her hand from her back to wrap around her, pulling her as close as she could, as though that was enough to keep her safe. in reality, there was little dacey could do to protect her. she was no warrior, like so many of their blood, but it was not their comfort cassana had sought tonight. it was dacey's, and there was nothing she would not do to try and make her sister sleep a little easier.

"i'm sorry," her voice was tinged with understanding and concern. "would you like to talk about it, or would you prefer a distraction?"

location: at winterfell after the trip back home from the coronation event

@daceystvrk

as the late hours stretched on and on into the night's embrace, cassna moved the dimly lit corridors, her path illuminated by the soft glow of a candle clasped in her hand. her destination clear in her mind as she made her way to her sister's chambers.

a gentle rknock on dacey's door preceded cass's quiet entry into the room, casting her visage in a warm halo of flickering candlelight. whether her sister was still awake or roused from slumber mattered not, for in that first exchange of gazes between sisters, words were not needed. between them lay an unspoken understanding, nurtured since cass's return from the harrowing ordeal with the umbers. by day, she grappled with her turmoil through a veneer of aggression and anger. 

yet as night unfurled into darkness, a different specter haunted her—fear.

in the embrace of darkness, cass's unease found no refuge. unable to conceal her nocturnal trepidation with the same facade of anger, she harbored an unspoken dread. and so, an understanding unfolded between the sisters, a silent communion that transcended words. cass approached dacey's bedside, setting the candle upon the nightstand before extinguishing its flame, enveloping them both in the embrace of darkness. nestling beside her sister, she welcomed the comforting touch of dacey's hand upon her back.

minutes ticked by in silence before cass found the courage to speak, breaking into the silence. "i dreamt i was back there...that brandon didn't arrive in time," she confessed, her words punctuating the nocturnal stillness. it was not a prophetic vision that tormented the youngest stark, but a nightmare that held her in its unrelenting grip throughout the night.