Dacey Said Nothing In Response. Always Prone To Overthinking, Thin-skinned Over A Heavy Heart, It Was

Le Comte de Monte Cristo | The Count of Monte Cristo (2024) dir. Matthieu Delaporte & Alexandre de La Patellière

the sound of brandon karstark laughing was not an unfamiliar sound, but neither was it one that dacey was used to hearing as a result of something she had said. she had managed to swallow her own laughter at aleksander's expense earlier on, but brandon's own amusement coaxed it from her now. and yet, she would not be disloyal to the younger karstark now. "he was doing me a kindness," she attempted to explain. "i don't wish to insult whoever picked it out for me but it was... not to my taste. he might have abandoned me for a westerner, but he did save me from a night of wearing the that thing."

there had never been a time where the sight of stark and karstark in conversation, even dancing with one another, would have been a cause for raised eyebrows. not until now. she did not know if the separation was as felt by brandon as it was in winterfell. she had not spoke with owen about it, nor any of her other siblings, but she would not have been surprised if they harboured similar sentiments to dacey herself, that there was a wrongness to how everything had unfolded, and yet she was uncertain if there was really anybody at fault, or blame to be laid.

but if such a chasm was to exist, she would not be the one to further it. and once again, dacey found herself creeping in to something she did not really understand, trying to make the broken pieces fit back together.

it is not my own. dacey knew that people lied, for some as naturally as breathing. she did not believe brandon to be one of them, not he who had always been so honest, who had not lied to her when it had mattered most. in those five words, she would hear nothing but truth, because that was what she wanted to hear. if it were foolish to trust him now, then a fool she would be. she nodded her head, a silent acknowledgment of such sentiment.

"then i am sorry." had anybody told him that they were sorry? she did not know what had been said between him and owen behind closed doors. "you deserve more than to be made to represent something that is not your truth." they were not honeyed words, delivered with another intent, but said because that was exactly what dacey meant.

♞

"she's what?" brandon asked, an incredulous sound to his voice that was far rougher around the edges than he ever could have anticipated - perhaps because of all the things he was expecting to hear this night, the idea of aleksander finding himself tangled up and enjoying the company of some westerwoman was at the bottom of his list. "he's what?" he repeated, in the very same tone, though this time accompanied with the sound of his own laughter. the idea of him wearing the mask that belonged to the princess; perhaps he had been in the cups for all of this night.

if gods be good, he'll awake tomorrow and the redheaded girl will be a memory, or halfway out of the door. "yeah, he has his moments alright."

he heard her quiet comment regarding not appearing so out of place, and whilst his first initial reaction was to begin to dismiss it, he found himself holding his tongue; perhaps because he did not want to draw further attention to whatever feelings of self-consciousness she felt. they were in the middle of the dance floor, and whilst they could be spotted, they would not be in the forefront of all attention - apart from any courtiers of the north, who could very much be wondering what it was the pair were doing associating with one another.

but that was the thing - the narrative that had begun, was not a narrative of his own. it was not brandon karstark who called for the true north; his fracture from court was for no greater purpose than to stand by his own morals.

and stop himself from killing jin renshu; if it were the very last thing he would do, it would be that. if there was any matter he would risk facing the worst of sentences for, it was that. but he could do not that - not yet, not until aleksander had gotten married and had at least one heir to secure the family line. the slight frown that crossed her features, illuminated in candlelight, was the reason he wanted to speak to her in the privacy of such a thing - a dance was public, but their conversation was between them. "it is not my own." he responded, his tone quieter now; as though he wanted her to believe him.

because he would always care for what the starks thought of him. their sun of winter; he who knew no king other than whose name was stark. "i didn't call for it. people use what is already public to have their own issue."

Frances Ha (2012) Lady Bird (2017) Little Women (2019) Barbie (2023)

WRITTEN BY GRETA GERWIG

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

lucius didn't dismiss dacey's words, nor did he tease or offer false comfort. he spoke as plainly as he always did, but with a sort of softness to his tone. dacey knew her cousin was not a man who needlessly reached for gentle words, but when he gave them, it felt earned. "i'm glad it makes sense to one of us," she gave a wry sort of laugh, shaking her head slightly as she spoke. "i'm not sure it even does to me at times. i'm not sure feelings every really do." at least, not when they were her own. she never quite seemed able to justify or rationalise that part of herself.

as lucius had given her space to speak, she fell silent, listening to him in that quiet, attentive way she did. even when speaking of spaces that held so much uncertainty, lucius still sounded so very certain, as though he had found the things in his life that made him who he was, and clung to them even tighter. in a way, dacey envied that. there was a sort of liberation that came from not caring that she wasn't sure she'd ever achieve herself. "i suppose if that's where they choose to stop looking, it gives you a little more room to move," she spoke thoughtfully, her eyes finding the glassy surface of the river in the dark. "it's a luxury in itself." one it did not sound like lucius' siblings enjoy. dacey's brow knotted, concern blossoming on her features. she could relate to his words, in the way that they echoed the worries she held for her own brothers and sisters. "it's never easy, is it?" she wondered aloud. wherever they found themselves in life, they all had their burdens to bear.

her hands were folded before her, fingers tightly interlaced, thumbs rubbing absent-mindedly against each other. "i'm sorry," the flush on her face darkened. she never knew when she hadn't said enough, and when she had said too much, and this time, it seemed to be the latter. "i do appreciate you listening, for what it is worth." the corners of her mouth lifted, her smile self-deprecating in its nature, but when her gaze met his, it was a little steadier. "i think i like this better, too."

Lucius did not answer right away. His gaze followed hers, settling on the flowing river at their side, watching how the current curled around stones and broken branches. He understood the metaphor, even if he had never felt what she described. That kind of unease, the sense of being misplaced in a space meant for others, was foreign to him. He had always known his place, it had been irrevocably set from his birth. But he did not doubt the truth she confessed. He saw the way her voice softened, the way the flush climbed up her cheeks when she admitted what she no doubt considered a vulnerability. “It makes sense, Dacey,” he said, low and certain, with the rare gentleness he reserved for his kin. “And it sounds very tiring”.

His eyes narrowed slightly, thoughtful. “It’s different for me,” Lucius went on, not as a correction but as an offering. “I don’t feel out of place in a crowd. I just don’t care for the game of it. All the nodding and smiling. The words that mean nothing, or mean everything, and you’re meant to guess which,” he said, glancing toward his cousin. For someone as straightforward as him, those labyrinths were unnerving. “I know what people see when they look at me. A soldier, a brute, something simple. And that’s fine. I let them see that”. His tone held no bitterness. “But I’ve seen what it’s like for Ben. For Agnes. The way people, even inside our own halls, watch them. Waiting for them to fail. To lose”. He paused, then glanced at her. It was not the experience he lived in his own flesh, but he'd seen closely what it was to be measured by standards one never chose.

They walked on a few more steps before he added, “I appreciate your sincerity, but frankly, you don’t need to explain yourself to me. It's fine to want some quiet, to want to step away”. His mouth curved slightly at the corner, not quite a smile, but close. “I like this better, too. Talking with one person who actually means what they say. It’s rare”. He cast a sideways look at her, something wry and almost conspiratorial in his expression. Lucius didn’t say things he didn’t mean, and it was clear in his tone that what he’d said was no small compliment.

dacey did her best to look put together, but she was by no means a fashionable person. what she called timeless, others would call boring, her outfit choices always perfectly fine, in a classic sort of way, but very safe. she was a creature of habit, and she very much stuck to what she knew.

it was why she was grateful for lucrezia, someone to bounce ideas off and tell her if she was too boring, or too out there, or not quite on theme. it was going to be an important night, and it was one of the rare times dacey was putting a concentrated effort into what she was going to wear.

"i honestly don't think so," she mused, looking up from the ipad she was using to scroll pinterest and see what outfits other had put together. none felt quite right for her, though many were lovely. "she might hint at it, but there's a pattern. whenever she puts an album out, she does two re-records the year after. so i think reputation will be next year, at the earliest. it would be too soon to announce it."

her mouth opened in a small 'o' shape, and she nodded her head. "oh, i love the august dress. it's so dreamy." she moved back to the search bar, typing in 'taylor swift august dress' and scrolling through the various colour options until she found one she thought would work with her complexion. "what colour were you thinking? we should all wear a different one, i think. just so we look a little different to one another."

who: @daceystvrk

there was serious business afoot within the hotel room of dacey stark; various sketches on a table, and a few ipads with different pinterest pictures and links being pulled up. the girls had a special night to plan for having obtained tickets for closing night in london; and it was agreed they would wear folklore inspired outfits.

"do you think she'll announce reputation? we've been wrong multiple times now. what is it, like four?" lucrezia asked, a glow of genuine excitement coming over her face as she peered over the pinterest screen, scrolling down almost mindlessly, trying to find something.

"the vault tracks will be so good too." she looked up at dacey, a third chair vacant for when feray would be able to join them. she checked her phone for any texts from their third missing member, wanting to ensure she did not ghost on feray. "are you thinking a dress? you'd look lovely in the august dress."

starter for @allysannestark

there was something about this that was so reminiscent of better years that it almost hurt. there were some things that came as naturally as breathing, a padding to her sister's room late at night when she could feel her health declining was one of them.

it had been a long time since dacey had sought help for anything. by nature, she was wary of making a nuisance of herself, and even warier still when she knew that there were other, more important things to think about. there was another side to it, too, the side that reminded her of being a sickly child, skinny as a reed with a delicate constitution to boot.

tonight, she had held out for as long as she could before the wheeze in her chest became unbearable. she knew from experience trying to sleep through a bad cough was a recipe for disaster, and her ribcage ached from exertion. she had admitted defeat - and that had brought her here. to her sister.

"alys?" there was only a few years between them, but something about alys felt just as maternal as she did sororal. the childish awe she had always felt around her had never gone away. "I don't feel well."

F•R•I•E•N•D•S (1994-2004)

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.