Something Reared Its Head In Dacey Then, Something Both Unfamiliar And Uncomfortable That Settled In

"it's an artform i'm familiar with." there was a sort of quiet contemplation in dacey's expression. a hum of agreement at malee's words. "it is a kind of magic, i suppose." the magic, though, was in the fact that they were looking upon the fruit of someone's labour. the fields of gold and skies of blue clearly mattered to the weaver to pour such care into their creation, every thread a deliberate act of preserving a memory. to dacey, that told more of a story than any tales of battle and conquest.

"i think i favour it because it is so peaceful. there is no need for embellishments or ornamentation. it speaks for itself, and it is enough as it is." the battle piece demanded attention and awe, but this earned it, gently and quietly, it's true grandeur only revealed the more she looked at it.

or perhaps it was because dacey simply did not have the stomach for war and battle. so often, she heard people around her speak of the vision of peace, as though it was something they strove toward, only for it to be broken almost the moment they had it. "if only we could treasure peace whilst we have it, instead of relying on reminders when it is threatened."

her cheeks flushed. she didn't know why she said that. her throat cleared, and she readily jumped on the change of topic. "the stories tend to be that of our histories, as i'm sure yours tell your own. the weaves are quite different, though. northern tapestries are far heavier - the cold demands it. and the colours... it is rare to see a sky so blue past the neck, and we weave what we know." it had been a long time since she had seen white harbour, and she tried to recall what hung on the manderly's walls.

malee inclined her head at the winter princess' words, a soft smile playing at her lips. “you have an eye for it, your grace,” she said, her voice even and measured, though there was a warmth beneath it. “not everyone looks beyond the grand gestures to see the smaller threads that truly hold a piece together.” she gestured lightly toward the tapestry of the harvest. “it does seem to breathe differently, doesn’t it? as if it asks us to pause, rather than march forward.”

she let her fingers trail just above the fabric, careful not to touch the fragile threads. “it’s a kind of magic, weaving a story from nothing but wool and vision. there’s honesty in it, even when the tales themselves are embellished.” the soft hues of gold and blue seemed to glow in the dim light, a stark contrast to the crimson chaos of the battle scene.

the lady of the crag turned toward dacey, her expression thoughtful. “i admire your honesty, your grace,” she said after a pause. “it’s easy to speak of glory when surrounded by reminders of it.” her lips curved into a faint, almost wistful smile. “but you’re right to prefer this one. it feels... truer, somehow. a reminder of what we fight for, even if it’s fleeting.”

she exhaled softly, almost to herself. “sometimes i wonder if we only appreciate peace once it’s become a memory.” there was a heavier meaning to her words, with the tension lingering in the air, kingdoms who held their own firm opinions, a dislike of what the lion king has decreed in his lands, it felt as if the small bit of peace had already come unraveled, a thread fastened with haste and a lack of care. "are tapestries so similar in the north? i mean, i imagine the stories are similar, but do you find the colors or weaves to be different here? i did not have the privilege of seeing the tapestries white harbor had to offer during our court's time there." she questioned, adding, almost wistfully, "i suppose that seems so long ago, now."

she nodded her head. it was little surprise that owen would extend an invitation to the remaining targaryens of the black faction, both out of enduring loyalty, and because of his distaste for king jaehaerys. friendship ensured between their families, and even if it did not, it was not for dacey to question the decisions of her brother when said brother was also her king. "i look forward to seeing your sister, too." she had exchanged letters with aemma targaryen over the years, but an in-person meeting was a different matter entirely. "it is good to have you both with us."

dacey began to walk, gesturing for him to follow as she led him from the courtyard to the gardens. it seemed that most of the guests had yet to discover this part of winterfell, the one she deemed the most beautiful, and the large glass dome of the winter gardens was deserted when they slipped into it. "oh, i would not want you to keep him waiting," teeth came down over her lip, suddenly a little anxious that she had distracted baelon from what he truly wanted to do.

The North's loyalty and friendship was something that Baelon truly cherished and appreciated. He knew how hard it was to come by that now a days, mostly with how the war between the greens and the blacks ended. They didn't end up with that many allies but the northern were a constant, they would not break their oaths. He did not take them for granted of course, he would show how much he appreciated them. "Yes, I am. Your brother invited us to attend and I could not send my sister alone on this trip." He said with a smile. "And it was a perfect chance to meet with my friends from the North once again."

Baelon shook his head. "Of course not, it would be my pleasure to accompany you and keep you company for a few moments." He could not blame her for wanting to find some peace and quiet, there were quite a few people currently arriving in Winterfell and he could only imagine how anxious she must be feeling, seeing so many people invading her home, most of them strangers. "I will be seeking him out soon enough. I'm sure he won't mind that I take a few moments to keep his sister company before going to greet him." He said with a smile.

the sense of unease that had been dacey's constant companion in recent days was multiplied tenfold in the west. at least in the north, there were only her own people to face, and all the comforts at home that allowed her to do what she did best and retreat into herself when things were overwhelming, despite the attempts she was making to break the habits of a lifetime.

but here, there was nowhere to hide, and so she was forced to face the seven kingdoms and dorne with her head held as high as her neck would allow, and hope the sense of propriety that seemed to permeate the very foundations of casterly rock had some influence in stilling the tongues of those who would ask about her sisters' whereabouts, for she did not think her own courtly mask would remain fixed if they should.

anya's appearance had an unmistakeable relief flood through her features. she would not claim to know her well, but she knew her and liked her, and more than that, here she was something familiar. had they been in winterfell, she might have made a subtle step towards removing the barriers of formality between them, as she so often did. it felt like the walls had ears. "lady yuan," despite her unease, her smile was genuine, though it soon faded, replaced with something akin to concern. "are you alright? how are you settling in?" it sounded like small talk, but there was an undercurrent to her words. here, they carried more weight.

Closed starter for @daceystvrk Setting: Casterly Rock, the Westerlands. Little after the Northern court arrived in the West.

Anya had become accustomed to not display her doubts or her insecurities. As she grew up, remaining steady, appearing unfazed, untouchable, was almost a way of continuing to survive. Her unshakable demeanor was the only shield a lowborn bastard could hold. It remained second nature to her, even if her circumstances had drastically changed. And so here, in the court of the West, she could not find the words or who to confide in about the utter sense of being ill-fitting with every other noble around.

It was different than it was in the North. The court of the West appeared to have a heightened sense of elegance and propriety that Anya had not seen elsewhere. In the North, she'd earned her place. Here, she felt she was being seen as someone merely wearing the costume of a lady. She didn't even know if others thought that or not. She should not care, but she did. The raven-haired lady did not wish to embarrass the king or the North as a whole for any missteps, for failing to know what others at court knew from birth.

The Yuan lady walked next to the Northern retinue when they arrived at Casterly Rock, and was later led to the area of the keep where they would be hosted. Anya noted that her chambers were only a few doors away from where Dacey and Cassana would be, which was somewhat of a relief. In fact, after settling in and unpacking, she ran into the middle Stark princess as she was leaving her room. “Your highness,” she greeted with a polite nod.

dacey hadn't want to come to the westerlands. she was anxious enough about travelling to begin with, worsened by the fact her last excursion from winterfell had seen the disappearance of not one, but two stark sisters. she had hated leaving winterfell, hated every moment of the journey south to casterly rock, and now she was here, could not imagining summoning a false smile and making idle chatter with people she did not wish to see.

until she set eyes on seffora merryweather.

the friendship between them had been forged in a time of great sorrow for seffora. when she had left the north, dacey had half expected to never hear from her again, that the prospect of her company would be a painful reminder. how happy she had been to be wrong. seffora approached her through the crowd, and it was good to see a smile on her face and a light in her eyes.

"oh, seffora," dacey skipped any sense of formality, reaching her arms out to envelop her friend in a tight, but brief hug. perhaps this trip would be better than the last, even if only because she would be in the company of someone she cared for. "look how well you look!" there was only affection in her tone as she spoke. "we must catch up. i want to hear everything."

Closed starter for @daceystvrk Setting: Casterly Rock, the Westerlands.

The Lady of Longtable had chosen to ride the last few miles on horseback rather than in the carriage. Casterly Rock was a most imposing keep, a place Seffora had never visited in the past, and the scenery around the Lion King's castle was much too beautiful to see only through a window. She entered the courtyard escorted by her loyal guards, followed by the small retinue of people who travelled with her from her homeland.

Seffora looked around as she dismounted, seeing people from all the regions had been arriving on this very day as well. She Dornish, Riverlands and North banners. Her eyes landed on the Starks. The Starks who remained. The young lady had experienced some of the worst hardships of her life while in the North, and yet she had found solace and companionship in Princess Dacey. The princess had managed to be such a compassionate presence during it all, and that was something Seffora would forever be grateful for.

The Merryweather lady separated herself from her kin for a moment, walking over to the Stark princess as she removed her riding gloves. “Dacey!” the lady called as she weaved through the crowd of newly arrived guests, heading towards the Northern woman. A soft smile spread across her lips as she caught her friend's eye. She dared address her informally only because of the bond of friendship that had forged between them while the realms were hosted in the North, and the closeness that continued after that, even if only through letters at times. “Gods, it's so good to see you”.

THE HOLIDAY (2006) dir. Nancy Meyers

dacey fell silent, and it suddenly occurred to her that she had chosen her words carelessly. neither of them were a stranger to loss, and yet, dacey knew her own grief must pale in comparison to feray's. whilst there were still starks left breathing, she could not compare herself to the woman she called a friend.

"i'm sorry, feray," her voice was quiet, her expression saying all that her words did not about what exactly she was sorry for. "of course it is. i was not thinking." and dacey hoped that she would understand, and not take offence to words that carried in them no intent to offend.

feray spoke of the gods, and dacey merely listened, quiet contemplation crossing her face. she had not much thought what those who follow the seven thought of the afterlife. the thought of reuniting with those who had been lost was a sweet sentiment, but seemed worlds away from what she had grown up knowing. she believed that the gods returned you to the earth, to the trees and the stream and the wind, that those who were lost were around them now in the present, rather than a sweet promise for the future. but her beliefs were her own. she would not repeat them here, the regard she held feray in and the respect she felt for her too great to share her thoughts on a topic that dacey knew meant a lot to the lady of oldcastle. "i will have to tell the children that, when they are older." it would do them no harm to learn of the views of others who occupied the north. their kingdom was changing, and no matter who protested it, the faith of the seven was as much a part of their world now as the old gods were.

"thank you," a light smile graced her face. "i will try and make sure you don't regret that offer. winterfell is often a busier place than i would like." and there was a beauty to oldcastle's shores that did, indeed, invite peace. things were changing so quickly, a change of scenery and a place where she did not have to be so on her guard would be welcomed. "as you are just as welcome at winterfell, though i cannot promise much quiet there."

feray had no doubt if death was worse for the one departed or those left behind. if she had drowned in that frozen lake all those years ago, it was not she who would have suffered. a babe growing up without her mother was a tragedy. every child needed a mother, a safe haven. maybe king owen would remarry and princess rosalyn would know a mother's love, if the new queen would have space in her heart for a motherless child.

“to be left behind.”

if there was one thing feray did not waver in, it was her faith. she had seen some around her lose it during the war. but she only clung tighter to there being a reason for everything, a plan she did not yet understand. “her grace is at peace with the gods, there is no pain or regret or worry where she is now.” she gestured for dacey to sit down in the seat by the fire. if there was one thing feray had pondered a lot lately, it was death, and how to deal with being the one left behind. “there will always be sadness for those left behind, but the little princess is not alone. she will live and hear stories of her mother, and one day, many years from now with the gods' blessing, they will reunite.” for feray, her faith was what had helped her through the grief of losing all her brothers. without it, she feared that she would have given up. some days the grief felt too heavy to bear, other days she felt at peace knowing the separation from her brothers was just temporary. they would see each other again.

feray knew dacey did not share her religion, but as far as she was aware then the sentiment also worked with the followers of the old gods. “you are always welcome at oldcastle if you need to escape once in a while. there is room for quiet contemplation on our shores.” there were so many starks, several children too, and she wondered how someone like dacey could find their own peace at winterfell.

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.

dacey's gaze seemed to catch on the tapestry. it were undoubtedly a work of art - careful stitching and vibrant colours speaking of a master of the craft, one she could recognise due to her own skill with a loom. and yet, the subject of the piece, the story it was trying to tell, made her stomach twist. it were bold, speaking of victory and glory, and yet, she found its depiction of battle and war distasteful, bordering on grotesque. the crimson threads could not fully capture the horror of spilled blood.

lips pressed into a thin line as she took in the details, the embroidered waves and flames. she were a stark, she knew the necessity of battle, and yet, she was also a girl who longed for a world without it, one where loss did not seem an inevitability. the tale being told did not fill her with any sort of admiration to the glory of the west - it just left her feeling colder than winterfell ever could.

she tore her gaze away. another stood before the second tapestry, and the feeling it evoked was softer, gentler. better. there was a quiet peace to it, hues of blue and gold that contrasted with the other one, and yet she preferred it. she caught the gaze of it's other admirer, recognising her as malee westerling, and offered a faint smile.

"lady westerling," dacey greeted, tentatively stepping forward and coming to stand beside malee. "they are... certainly a work of art." it was not a lie, though she could not bring herself to offer more glowing praise for the first tapestry. "though i prefer the ones that speak of quieter days." it was a curious decision to hand two such differing pieces beside one another. perhaps the blue sky and peaceful fields was supposed to serve as a reminder of what they were battling for.

"this one," she gestured to the harvest scene before them. "it feels truer to me. it's about life, i suppose. the beauty in what we see around us every day. the heart is in the details, rather than the story."

setting: flashback to the westerlands event, malee finds a moment of peace in a room of tapestries, and is joined by a northern companion ; starter for @daceystvrk

the lady of the crag stood before a tapestry, her fingers lightly brushing the edge of the fabric. The scene depicted a fierce battle at sea—ships ablaze, warriors clashing beneath storm-darkened skies. the intricate details of the waves, the glint of swords, and the defiant stance of her ancestors seemed almost alive. she traced the embroidered figure of a ser westerling, his sword raised high against a towering greyjoy raider. her lips tightened. they always show the glory, never the cost.

the faint murmur of celebration drifted up from the great hall below: laughter, the clink of goblets, the steady rhythm of a drum. The birth of a prince. a new chapter in the story of the realm. yet, malee found herself here, away from the noise, seeking solace in the quiet narratives of thread and cloth.

she shifted her gaze to the next tapestry, this one softer in tone—a peaceful scene of harvest in the westerlands. golden fields, proud castles, and a sky so blue it seemed to stretch beyond the bounds of the fabric. malee exhaled slowly. how many years of blood and toil had it taken to weave such peace?

her thoughts were interrupted by a faint creak of the floorboards behind her. She turned to see the visage of dacey stark some paces away. she had briefly met the princess of the north on a few occassions, and was admittedly surprised to see her here, now. "your grace." she offered a small bow of her head, looking to the tapestry behind her, then back to the other. "they're lovely, aren't they?" she asked, a delicate finger pointing to the corner of the one she stood before. "i find the technique used for this one particularly interesting."

Nikos Engonopoulos, from Bolívar, a Greek Poem

whilst there was undoubtedly perks to being a king, it was also a thankless job. the weight of the kingdom rested on his shoulders, and it was that of which he spoke now. a new queen, rather than a wife. a new hand, rather than the loss of a friend so treasured. to dacey, it was telling, and worrying, all in one. the north needed owen the king, but she cared for owen the man.

"i understand there's more than... well, you to think about, but i don't think anybody would blame you for taking your time to start your search for a queen." perhaps they would. dacey certainly wouldn't think less of him, but then, she held in heart more compassion than she knew what to do with. "at least until the right woman makes herself known." it might be easier said than done, but too much change at once could be dangerous, and the starks household had shifted so much, still knitting around the gaps left by those they'd lost.

the mention of alys had her shifting uncomfortably, both feet finding the ground once more as she released her grip on her legs. she knew more than she should, but owen's words only reinforced her decision to keep that to herself, to relieve him of at least one burden. and so, she said nothing, pointedly avoiding the conversation of the oldest stark sister. neither did she address brandon - for she could not find it in her to condemn him, even if he did hate owen.

"a manderly could be a good idea." her gaze fell contemplatively on the fire. "there will doubtless be people vying for that position. not necessarily for the right reasons. not for the north." she liked to believe the best in people, but it would be foolish to deny that there were people who were out for themselves, grasping for power where they could. "if you think the manderlys share in your ambitions for the kingdom, and can support you when you are right and speak plain when they think you're wrong, then you could do worse than making one of them your hand."

When his wife died he receive the news his sister his was missing as well. Owen didn't take the time to process either. They sat on shelves in his mind and he would approach them later. When life allowed him to dust off the annals of his memory and feel it all. Brandon. Alys. Rosa. Only one remained and he imagined he would never see the living one again.

Much of it was his own fault. He should have put people in different positions, he should have listened to people when they said it was time for him to slow down. Owen Stark didn't like to listen to others. At the beginning of the conflict with the Umbers he say the cobbled road, where it stopped and how much they had to do, how far they had to go. He saw the improvements of Moat Cailin and the increased taxes from new villages and trade proved him right. Again. Northmen would be more than survivors.

In a generation they would speak about their southron wolf and all he sacrificed for the Kingdom that was thrust upon him after the mess of the dancing Dragons. Out of the flames came a kingdom came a kingdom reborn. His kingdom.

"I don't look forward to looking for a new queen." Owen murmured as he raised the hand carved mug of Honeywine Whisky from the Reach. A gift from their High Commander for the rate he provided in lumber for his building in the newly named golden sea. Another venture possible because of his drive.

"Alys could be dead. Brandon hates me as well. I need a new Hand. Perhaps a Manderly. Though, I've rather bad news for him. They will thank me in the long run."