Dacey Offered A Quiet Laugh, Soft But Genuine. "there Are Always Some Eager To Prove Themselves." On

a quick nod of dacey's head was the only acknowledgement given. it was not to say that she was ungrateful for maisie's friendship. it was quite the opposite. a friendly face was hard to come by, and harder still for one such as dacey. she was never one to be found at the centre of attention, she didn't seek glory or flattery or to fill her days with idle chatter and social events. reserved and quiet, finding someone like maisie, whose loyalty to the starks was not in question, was a rare and treasured thing. and yet, dacey held herself back, unable to say what was truly on her mind for fear of saying something entirely wrong.

the lady mormont's next words had dacey's hands stilling for another reason, another reminder of the men and women of the north who had been touched by loss and bloodshed. she could not think of any amongst them who had not felt its sting. from the neck to the wall, the north was united in grief, yet fractured in so many other ways. and just when it seemed it was over, more division raised its head. "of course," her tone was soft, filled with compassion for the losses maisie had endured. "it must have been a terrible transition for you." she could not imagine suddenly standing at the head of your house, when that was never a thing you were raised to be. "the wheel can be cruel."

a small smile crept across dacey's face, the revelation of maisie's childhood dreams an endearing one. they were not dreams she had ever harboured herself, a young, sickly girl hiding away in winterfell's towers. marriage then seemed such a distant, foreign thing, and in many ways that had not changed. she did not dream of love now, because she knew that as the sister of a king, her heart would always be secondary to his needs. "duty." the answer came without hesitation. if she was to be wed, it would be at owen's discretion. "perhaps there is a way you might have both." and she hoped that there was, that maisie would not have to give up on the hopes of girlhood.

"it is up to the gods to judge alicent hightower. i will not condemn her, but neither will i shed tears for her misfortune. i do worry what it may mean for the reach and new valyria." there was a storm brewing, and as much as this was not the concern of the north, she did not like it.

"I care about my King's happiness, but in this conversation, I want to assure you that I'll be by your side" Maisie Mormont answered on the tip of her tongue, a little too quietly for any of the girls in the west to hear, realizing the Princess's insecurity. Perhaps it was time for both of them to return to the North, to their home, where they wouldn't have to worry about the intonation of their breathing in public. Although Lady Mormont felt that things were more difficult for Dacey, perhaps it was a feeling that was on her mind with the princess herself. She would have liked to get closer to her, like a true friend, but she felt that her words were rather direct. A part of the brunette saw herself in her when she was younger. 

"My cousin went through a lot, there were losses that I felt too" Maisie's lips twitched, thinking about deaths had never been her strong suit. The woman didn't like to recall the image of a deceased person she loved, because one memory brought the other. Sarra, Rhydian, her father. And she couldn't give herself over to it completely, only pray to the gods to take their souls. "But the world around us doesn't stop, and that's sad, one day you're just a girl and the next, a Lady Regent" Her shoulders heaved with a small pinch on her cheek "We're always expected to keep pace with the wheel, no matter what the conditions" She ran a hand through her hair in an attempt to dispel any inappropriate feelings that arose and put a smile on her face, even if it was somewhat false. 

"I need to get married, the Mormonts need to stay in the North" he jokes, pulling a laugh from deep within his chest. "When I was younger, I always imagined myself getting married, it was my fun, you know? But now that it's become a responsibility... I just don't know, but what about you, Princess?" Maisie asks with genuine curiosity, "Marrying for love or out of duty?" She lets out a breath, even though she already knew the answer "She's going to pay for what she's done all her life, she's going to become a sick, crazy woman, I think it's a fair punishment for someone who was so arrogant to proclaim her son as king, the old gods take their toll" he whispers about the Hightower woman, only for Dacey Stark to hear. 

dacey did not answer the question immediately. it wasn't that she bristled at the question, did not take offence to the fact it had been asked. no, when the quiet stretched between them, it was because she was considering the answer she would give. the north had always been her home, a place she was sure she would never leave, she still felt that way. when she closed her eyes, she could not picture herself anywhere but winterfell, but she knew that would not always be so. once the matter of his own marriage was settled, owen would likely want to see her wed, too, and there was no telling where her groom to be would be from, and where that would see her living. the matter of leaving the north or not was not in her own hands.

"i don't know," she admitted at last, her voice quiet enough that it didn't carry beyond lillith. "the north is as much a part of me as the marrow in my bones. i shouldn't like to leave it, but none of us know what the future will bring."

and yet. her lips pressed together with the thoughts she would not speak aloud. for a long time, she had thought of winterfell as her sanctuary. as a sickly young girl, it was a place where the ills of the world could not touch her, and she had carried that thought process into her adulthood. now, though, she could not help but wonder if it was less a sanctuary, and more a cage she had constructed around herself. she took a breath to dispel the thought. there was little to be gained from dwelling upon it.

"ironoaks," she spoke softly, latching on to the offered distraction. there was something in the offer that tempted her, to her own surprise. she had always been more comfortable in what was familiar, but even in winterfell's halls, little felt familiar now. there was too much being whispered in the shadows, and the sinking anticipation of impending disaster she could not shake. the idea of an escape, however brief, was not unwelcome. "i would like to visit." she confirmed. "though we should both pray that i don't bring the cold with me when i do."

lillith stood beside dacey, her hands clasped loosely before her to keep them from fidgeting. the warmth of the hearth barely reached her, and she shifted slightly closer, her dark skirts brushing against the stone floor. the heat was a welcome reprieve from the biting chill of the north, though her mismatched eyes flickered toward dacey, noting the way her friend still seemed cold despite the fire’s proximity.

“the north doesn’t make it easy for visitors, does it?” she murmured, her voice light with an undertone of amusement. “i thought the cold might have mellowed since the last time i came here, but it appears as unyielding as ever. you must tell me, dacey—if you had the choice, would you ever leave it? or has it bound you too tightly, like frost creeping into stone?”

she glanced toward the bustling hall beyond, voices and laughter spilling into the quieter space they occupied. the firelight painted the edges of dacey’s gown in golden hues, and lillith’s gaze lingered there a moment before returning to her friend’s face. “you should come to the vale. ironoaks would welcome you, and it would do you good to escape this chaos, even for a little while. there are no hot springs to warm the walls, true, but the hearths burn just as brightly—and," as the thought formed a drunken clatter arose from a particularly rowdy group in the corner of the hall. "the company might be more agreeable.”

a faint smile tugged at her lips, softening her typically reserved expression. “though perhaps you’ll tell me you’re just as stubborn as your winters and wouldn’t leave even if the chance arose.”

the positive confirmation was all dacey needed. she closed the door behind her before taking a seat, eyes drifting over the food before him. in the end, she took only bread, never-resting hands now taking to tearing it into thin strips. "thank you," a nod of gratitude followed. "one's cheese and meat consumption is a serious matter. best to explore all possibilities before deciding the right way to do it." for a second, there was a glimpse of her old self, the lighter dacey who was quicker to smile and joke. it was easier to feel a modicom of calm around owen, a little safer.

her stomach lurched unpleasantly at the mention of jon's name. her brother's fate was never far from her mind, and she could not think of his name without the grotesque imagery of what had happened to him.

"i do." dacey had lived her life within the walls of winterfell, and though she had seen little of the word beyond the north, it had its benefits. chief among them being that there was little that happened in the castle that she did not catch wind of. dacey saw everything, and understood more than most would give her credit for. if there was any offence in his query, she did not feel it, nor did she seek it out.

there was no denying that owen had a vision for the north. the ramifications of that were sweeping, but a vision without the proper guidance was doomed to remain just that. jon was that guidance, taking even the most complex of ideas and bringing it to life. it was an influence she was sure was sorely missed.

"i can't say i could be as capable as jon," she began, "but if there's anything you'd like me to look at, i can at least help you talk it through. sometimes a second pair of eyes does the trick."

Without Jon, Owen sat in the solar alone, such a strange feeling. Jon wasn't suppose to die. He was a man of the mind, a man who could look at the drawings of Owen's plans and bring them to life through builders and workmen. The changes happening all around them were because Jon knew how convey his ideas. Owen knew they would continue on with their dreams, continue on with their needs. The North would prosper and they would do more than be the region that survives.

"Come in, sister. You're never disrupting here. You're my sister and Princess of the North. Sit down. There's bread and cheese and hard meats. There's even black beer a gift from our visitors from the wall." He raised the mug and took a drink, sitting it down to the side then he picked up a heel of bread piling cheese, and dried meat on top. "Seen the sailors eating this way. Think I'm doing it wrong." He took a bite.

Owen loved his siblings, calling them all home the first chance he got when words of the Dance starting was reaching them. Some arrived before, during, and after but they came home. Their brother crowned King and them crowned as princes and princesses. The weight of it wouldn't crush them as long as he has his way.

"I would love to have more help...take no offense in my next question. Do you know what Jon did?"

outside the sept, dacey lingered, internally cursing herself for even ending up here in the first place. it could all have been avoided had she just opened her mouth, had not feared embarrassing her attendant and said nothing, instead meekly exiting the carriage when they had brought her here. they had been all too eager to help when she had mentioned wanting to pray that morning, assuring her they would take her where she needed to go, but instead of the godswood, they had brought her here, to a sept she had no place stepping foot in. hers were the nameless gods of the trees and wind and water, but such a thought did not seem to cross the mind of those native to king's landing.

there was nothing for it but to wait for the carriage to return. it would surely do so when the service had finished, only, dacey had no idea exactly how long these sermons could be. how long did septons speak for? what was there even to speak about? it seemed such a complicated way to worship, convoluted by song and scripture when compared to the silent, simple way of prayer she was used to. she were far too timid to use this time to explore the city, and so remaining awkwardly hovering on the steps was her only option.

the door opened, and dacey's head turned, relief flooding her that it was finally over - only it wasn't. it was not a crowd of worshippers who flooded through them, but a single woman. dacey knew that she should look away, but as was always the case when there was something you knew you should not look at, she could not stop her gaze drifting back to the woman.

and the woman noticed. when she spoke, dacey turned her attention to her fully, her expression part-sheepish, and part-apologetic. "oh, no, no, that's very kind..." she began, promptly breaking off when she got a proper look at her face. her heart immediately softened. even if there were not shining tracks on her cheeks where she had failed to completely swipe them away, dacey would have recognised the expression on her face immediately, the look of someone desperately trying to hold it together when the walls were caving in.

"i'm sorry, i know it is not my business," and it wasn't. she had clearly exited the sept to find solace in the solitary, did not need dacey prying into matters that had clearly stirred something emotional within her, and yet, dacey could not help herself. empathy stirred within her. she did not know this woman, but neither would she leave her to suffer, alone and in silence. "but are you all right? silly question," she immediately chastised herself. "but can i get anything for you? some water?"

who: @daceystvrk when and where: semi-flashback to the gathering in kings landing, naelys finally meets her years long penpal...all by chance. context: despite once being betrothed to adam, nellie and dacey never had the opportunity to meet. until now.

there were far more seven pointed stars adorned across the majestic, rebuilt halls of the red keep; though what surprised her more was the fact that influence had also spread beyond the halls of the keep and into the streets of the capital. she had been perched upon the velvet recliner beside the stained glass within the velaryon apartments; and when she saw a procession in the distance she was surprised to find it a collection of followers of the faith, adorned in robes of white and with chains and maces in their hands.

they seemed to be whipping themselves, and it was all she could think of as she clutched her hands together in this grand sept, standing side by side with members of her family and her court. why would these people do such harm to themselves, and for what purpose?

the septon seemed to continue to hurl down word after word, and for a while she was managing to ignore it and focus on the vividness of the colours on the glass. that was until the nature of the words thrown from the pulpit began to change, and it were words referring to the sins of lust and fornication that caught her attention. not like a hook, but rather like the feeling of a hand gripping her neck and forcing her to look. and suddenly she found herself listening, half aware that most of the sept would believe the septon was alluding to the oldest of the velaryon sisters - and even that naelys found inherently cruel. it felt as though they were standing, and there was a flame directly over them.

and he felt like he could see right through her, and see the memories of her braavosi perfume and her purple bedsheets. and his eyes, or the sound of her laugh mixing with his own.

she quietly muttered something about excusing herself and finding there were too many people, all but pushing by vhaenessa and deimos as she kept her hands clasped together as she walked; the doors seemed as though they were moving further and further away, and the walls were collapsing in. people knew naelys struggled with packed places and loud noises, or at least she prayed they did. she picked up her pace and let the door slam behind her, not knowing if any saw the slight tears that were sprung to her amethyst eyes.

they were not subtle, they were pools that swum, and threatened to finally fall. and fall they did as she let it in a short inhale of air, wiping her cheeks with the back of her sleeve.

it was not until she turned around and saw another dark haired figure standing outside did she realise she was not alone in standing outside of the sept doors. she momentarily froze, wiping her cheeks one more time in defeat. the lady had seen her. "are you waiting for somebody?" naelys asked, still feeling some wetness on her cheeks as she remained fixed in place. she did not know what to say. "i can go back in and get them for you."

the idea that owen and the targaryen king would make nice with one enough was enough to bring a small laugh to dacey's lips. "i very much doubt it, but i suppose stranger things have happened." she didn't like to speak for her brother, and more often than not had little insight to offer, but on this, at least, she felt confident. "i don't really know the whys of it all. why we went there," she confessed. "if i had to guess, i would say it was probably more about who else would be there than the man of the hour."

she nodded, his amplifying her respect for him. "such is the lot of an older sibling." she had enough siblings herself that she understood how it worked, being both an older sister and a younger one herself. "they're lucky to have you." it was not an empty compliment. as much as she would not bring it up, there was no escaping the fact his cousin was a bastard, and life would not be as kind to him as to his siblings for that simple fact. and yet, a bond still seemed to exist between lucius and his kin, and that was something she found commendable.

"you're not the worst company i've ever had." she shrugged. she'd no doubt that he was capable of rubbing people up the wrong way, but she'd yet to be offended. she didn't even really feel all that self-conscious, which was a feat within itself. "i'm rather enjoying it, actually. if you wish to make things unpleasant, you might have to try a little harder than you initially planned." there was an honesty to the way he spoke that she appreciated. there had been little of that in king's landing, and she had grown weary of trying to decipher the difference between what people said and what they meant.

Lucius knew that perhaps he ought to say something about the losses endured by House Stark. Say something for the sibling that was recently buried, or the sister that had gone missing. He didn't truly feel sorry, however. He had no ill will, he simply had never gotten to know Jon or Alysanne at all. They had been strangers to him. So he didn't utter any condolences for they would have been superficial, insincere words. Even Dacey, who was just getting to know him, would have detected the lack of truth.

“Your brother is seeking to make good with the dragon king?” he inquired, curious to know what was the North's vision of the recent crowning. The realms were no longer Seven Kingdoms under Targaryen rule and had not been for years, and yet they all dragged themselves to the old capital to kiss ass and play nice with the dragon folk. “I admit I had little desire to travel there myself, but where my siblings go, I go. Someone needs to keep an eye on them”. Especially in a place where he trusted no one.

Lucius glanced sideways, looking at Dacey briefly as they walked. “Fret not, I'll be quicker than you in making my company unpleasant,” he half-joked in return, certain that she'd be the one escaping his company eventually, not the other way around, since the Stark princess was evidently a sweet person. The bastard knew he wasn't a likable man and never really bothered to make himself so. Polishing his manners in that way had never been something his father cared about. Samwell never sought to make a proper lord out of him, after all.

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.

F•R•I•E•N•D•S (1994-2004)

dacey's gaze lingered on wylla, her niece's small face full of curiosity and unspoke questions dacey was half-hoping she would not ask. the ache in her chest was an unfamiliar feeling, equal parts yearning and hesitation. cyrene's words were gentle, in contrast to what had felt like a reprimand before, but gentle words had done little to ease the knot of insecurity tightening within her. braved than she seems. braver than she'll let you believe. green eyes drifted over cyrene for a moment, trying to deduce if the words were supposed to be comfort, challenge, or mockery, and unsure she would find a definite answer to that.

it was almost second nature, the way her hands clasped before her, so much so that she did not realise she was using her nail to scratch at the rough skin around her other thumb, the outward manifestation of her lingering doubts. the voice in the back of her head was telling her that wylla would not like her, that she did not know how to bridge the gap between aunt and stranger, and it would be an embarrassment to try. the thought had been gnawing at dacey since she'd first heard of cyrene's arrival, and now faced with the girl herself, she felt utterly unprepared for any of this.

cyrene's patience was, too, something dacey hadn't prepared for. it were further proof that the woman who returned was not the girl she remembered. cyrene wasn't pushing, wasn't teasing, wasn't testing dacey's limits. there was no sharp edge that she had anticipated.

finally, dacey crouched to meet wylla's gaze at her own level, skirts gathering in the snow that covered the walls. her movements were slow, as though afraid to scare her off, but the small, hesitant smile on her face remained, her voice soft when she spoke. "it is nice to meet you after all these years, wylla." she wondered if her northern accent sounded strange to a child accustomed to the riverlands, who would have only heard such tones from her mother on a regular basis.

her eyes flicked back to cyrene briefly, as though looking for approval, or permission, and when she turned her attention back to wylla, she released her hand from her own grip and extended it, palm up, leaving it in the space between herself and wylla for the little girl to decide what to do with. "i think you must be a wonderful explorer," her voice was a little firmer now, as though she were trying to find something to latch on to. "it is not everyone who can find their way out to the walls. it's so high." a pause, and dacey swallowed.

"i've spent some time exploring winterfell myself. learning it's secrets." her voice lowered, as though she was sharing one of those hidden secrets now. "if you'd like, i can show you all my favourite places. the ones nobody else knows of."

Cyrene watched Dacey with a careful eye, noting the quiet that had always defined her younger sister. It was the same quiet that had once driven Cyrene to provoke her, to tease and cajole in the hopes of coaxing something louder from the girl who seemed to carry the weight of the world in her stillness. She had always wanted Dacey to roar, to be the wolf Cyrene believed she could be, rather than the shadow of one.

But time had worn that impulse down. Dacey’s silence wasn’t weakness; it was something harder to define, something solid and unyielding. It was courage, though Dacey would never claim it.

Cyrene glanced down at Wylla, her small hand still clinging to her mother’s fingers. She felt the weight of her daughter’s curiosity as Wylla’s wide eyes flickered to her aunt. And still, Dacey said nothing.

“She’s braver than she seems,” Cyrene said softly, her words meant for both her daughter and her sister. The irony of it struck her. She had spent so long wishing Dacey would break her silence, only to now realize how much strength it carried.

She crouched, steadying Wylla as the girl peered up at her aunt with quiet fascination. “This is your Aunt Dacey,” Cyrene said, a smile tugging faintly at her lips. "She’s braver than she’ll let you believe, I'm afraid.”

Her gaze flicked to Dacey then, searching, hoping. She didn’t tease this time. Didn’t push. Cyrene had learned to leave some silences unbroken.

I've been worried ever since I was born

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