Dacey Exhaled, The Breath Coming From Her In A Visible Puff As It Met The Cold Air. It Was A Heavy Burden

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."

"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.

there was something disconcerting about being in the westerlands. that gnawing feeling of unease had been blooming in the pit of dacey's stomach since the starks had left the crownlands, notably absent two sisters. she had thought of little else in the days since, spending her nights obsessing over their fates, wondering if there was more she could have done. she hadn't wanted to come, but she could also not deny that she would feel the same anywhere. it didn't matter if she was in winterfell, or the west.

still, she was on edge, but the sight of one familiar face offered relief. margaret blackwood looked like dacey felt, and she could not blame her for that. house stark was suffering, but so too were her cousins. she had heard the news of merindah's death, and was so intimately familiar with loss herself that she knew exactly how the other woman must be feeling.

the greeting was unusual for margaret, but dacey caught on quickly. she nodded her head, returning it with one equally formal. "lady blackwood," despite the rigidity of her tone, she reached out one hand, fingers briefly making contact with maggie's own and squeezing in a way she hoped communicated all they were not saying aloud. she wished this was a more joyous reunion.

she struggled for a moment to think of the right words to say, but there were none. instead, dacey elected to throw caution to the wind. she could not pretend. "i am very sorry. to hear of your sister. if there is anything i can do..." she trailed off. what could she do? what support could she offer? "how are you holding up? and your brothers?"

setting: the kingdom of the westerlands, when the other kingdoms begin arriving, margaret runs into her cousin ; starter for @daceystvrk

steps that once felt so confident and airy felt entirely too weighty for the lady of raventree, who could not help but be hyper aware of her surroundings in the westerlands. she could not tell if it was this kingdom in particularly that unsettled her, or being, once again, in foreign lands after her sister’s passing. even now it felt too quiet without the younger blackwood chittering in her ear. she recalled praying for a more silent journey to her next destination, but now the silence haunted her.

the great hall was bustling with guests, she recognized some faces from the other kingdoms, but not the names. she catapulted back to their time in king’s landing, but she knew it were important to either impress, or go by unnoticed, for their own soon to be queen was a princess of these very lands.

margaret found some reprieve in one of the many corridors, intriguing artwork lining the walls, and she placed herself in front of one of the paintings in an attempt to look as if she were doing…*something*. hazel hues turned at the sound of footsteps, and she found relief in the sight of her cousin. “d-your grace.” she greeted the other, offering a bow of her head in respect of the woman. she would normally resort to more informal greetings, but maggie felt she could not be too careful, here. “i hope the journey was well, for you.”

willow moreno & her glasses :’)

dacey stark - a future au

quick links

style

home decor

career

vibes

school years

whilst the stark family have a long history, dacey was always quietly determined to make her own way in life. she did not have many friends in school, keeping her head down and getting on with her studies.

a straight a student, she did not involve herself in clubs or extra curricular activities, but spent a lot of free time volunteering for charities.

despite having a very small social circle, she dated hugo vance for a while in school, parting in college as they grew apart.

adult life

dacey went to medical school, and ended up becoming a doctor - specifically, a paediatrician who works in a children's hospital on a ward for long-term patients.

she still keeps to herself, living in a country cottage with her golden retriever, lily.

before starting her job at the hospital, she spent some time travelling to provide medical care for underprivileged children. it was on her travels she met safeerah jordayne, and they dated for six months before parting ways on good terms.

currently, dacey is in a relationship with ulises tarth, after being introduced by her brother, adam.

a small part of dacey hoped that brandon would confirm that he knew exactly where saoirse was. that this was all a big misunderstanding, and he would take her to her sister, and things would slowly begin to return to normal - or as normal as they could be, given everything else that had happened since their arrival. they would return home, and she would hold her sister close and repair the distance that had festered between them over the years. in their childhood, dacey and saoirse had been near inseparable. the younger sister's fostering in the riverlands had put an end to that, and now, she hated herself for not doing more. why hadn't she done more?

she took a shaky breath, an attempt to steady herself, return her voice to its usual cadence, but it had little effect. when she spoke again, her voice cracked, pitching unnaturally. "saoirse's rooms were empty this morning. it seems she is not in the tower." dacey had always been private with her emotions. she bore her grief and worry and melancholy quietly, away from prying eyes, but there was no hiding it now. later, perhaps, she would be embarrassed by herself, her lack of self-control. right now, though, her own shame was the furthest thing from her mind.

brandon's line of questioning was logical. "a hunting party?" she repeated, half a mutter, allowing herself a moment to ponder the thought. but then, surely her departure would have been seen? somebody would have noticed a princess of the north, would they not? "perhaps? i'm not sure. nobody has mentioned it to me, but perhaps lord manderly..." she broke off, for even in her distress, she was sensitive to the fact that this may be a sore subject for brandon.

her dark eyes met his, and she nodded her head a little. in a way, it was comforting to know that saoirse had been seen so recently. there was only a few hours between her disappearance and the search. "i could not remember the last time i saw her," she confessed, diverting her eyes to look at her ruined hands. she felt like she had failed her little sister. saoirse could be anywhere, dead, alive, in trouble, or simply exploring, unaware of the trouble she had caused. dacey didn't know, but she should.

there was another element to her guilt, one perhaps only brandon could understand. their last conversation hung heavily on her mind, though she had kept what they had discussed to herself. she believed that divulging what he had shared with her would only cause her family further heartache. now, she couldn't help but wonder if her two sister's disappearances were linked - and if they were, could she have prevented all of this? was it her fault?

"we don't know if it's connected to alysanne."

♞

the words that seemed to come tumbling from the lips of the princess who stood before him were words that caused his hands to fall on either side, almost as though there was a blow of defeat he were now dealing with at hearing such a thing: because it meant something was terribly wrong. alysanne's matter was on alysanne, and he thought it was supposed to be focused only on her - she who had taken part in such rituals and practices, and now faced the consequences of lore that ran too deep even for her to understand. but the other princess?

there was no reason for the other to be impacted and to have gone missing too, especially considering her hands had not touched such things?

or had they? was there something he was missing? had both sisters been involved in the matter. "...what?" brandon spoke, his voice ringing a sense of numbing shock that had not been heard since he had been told news of his wife's murder. of her butchering. this was not of his own, and yet, he began to feel as though something nefarious was happening. or, was it a guise of something entirely natural using the chaos of all that had happened to their advantage? there was a level of informality that came in his voice, a striking contrast to their last conversation where he had maintained such boundaries - as she had too. "what you mean?"

brandon knew what she meant, and yet, the thought in itself was enough to cause genuine discomfort to come over him. his grey orbs flickered over the various other northern faces in the hall, some of whom seemed as upset and disturbed as the princess, and others who appeared afraid, looking over their shoulder. "there was a hunting party that left this morning." and there were multiple people going missing from kings landing - from the dornish to the north. were they all connected? they could not have all been connected. unless there was something darker going on here. "are we sure she did not leave with them?"

they would need to leave, was his own take on the matter; gods knew he would tell aleksander he thought it best to return north. some would wish to remain to search, and yet, it was clear this was no place for them. what made him the most uneasy was the fact not once did thought of the dragon king cross his mind, not once did he put it down to him. he only thought of the sight of the woods that night, and the sounds of the chanting. he would need to speak to someone.

"i saw her yesterday during the feast." brandon offered words of attempted comfort; the night where the majority of the northern court gathered together in the great hall allocated to them within kings landing, the tensions and fractures obvious in the air. there was a lack of spirit, and of joy; the king was an increasing drunk, it appeared, and the manderlys found themselves stepping further and further into the light of power. "i don't remember how many times…did she not leave before us all?"

dacey smiled at the girl who came to deliver their refreshments, then again at seffora, murmuring a quiet "thank you" of her own as seffora poured her a drink. it was moments like this that she missed when she was in the north, and made leaving it all the more worthwhile. though winterfell was her home, it could often be a lonely place for someone with dacey's disposition. there weren't many dacey called a friend, but the northeners who did count amongst them were not much for sitting down for tea.

but with seffora, things were different. as much as there was a lightness around her, a sense of putting away the weight on her shoulders and just being, there was also a sort of trust. with seffora, it felt as though she could say anything, and trust that it would remain private, just for the two of them to know.

and so, when seffora mentioned the brother and sister who were gone, buried in the crypts below winterfell or vanished without a trace, dacey resolved to speak of the things she had said to none other. "thank you," she shuffled, her eyes coming to rest on the hands clasped together on the table. she had tried her best, in the past, to help seffora through her grief, so she did not carry it alone, but when it came to her own, she had clutched it so tightly to her chest, keeping it so private that she had not let it go. "i dream of jon sometimes," she admitted, though dream was perhaps too tame a word. "and alysanne... i am angry with her." she wasn't sure if she was ready to share exactly why, but there was a sort of ease in admitting the feeling existed nonetheless.

she picked up a pastry then, pulling it into small pieces, more for something to do with her hands. as seffora spoke, she nodded her head, understanding all too well when she meant. it was not simply empathy - the sentiment of feeling the imposter, as though they were standing in someone else's shoes was something dacey herself often felt. "that is good," she nodded, in response to the fact seffora was already attempting to remind herself of her own success. "and you should acknowledge the people who helped you, so long as it does not get in the way of acknowledging your own hard work." in that, she had no doubt. there were many lands in westeros that would benefit from having seffora merryweather as a ruling lady. "i am glad that you have so many people to count upon. very few can succeed alone."

There was a knock on the door, and after Seffora granted entrance to the servant girl, the tea and pastries she'd requested were delivered for the lady and the princess. “Thank you,” she said and the servant girl retired, closing the door behind her. Seffora smiled at her friend then and began to pour the warm drinks for the both of them.

Dacey's presence was a comforting one, for Seffora felt she could be herself without any pretense. She could like what she liked, she could fear what she feared, without being judged as a naive, silly young lady. Somehow, their girlhood persisted in each other's company, in a world that did its damnedest to rip that away from young women.

“Thank you,” Seffora said in response, fully aware that the princess' words were genuine, that her empathy was always true. It was relieving in a subtle and special way to know there were people like Dacey who accompanied her through her trials and tribulations, even from a distance. At a time in which Seffora ought to have felt as alone as ever, she did not. Thanks to Lucrezia, Laena, Tirius, Dacey, she did not. “I heard of the happenings in the North as well,” she said in a softer tone, “Of your brother. Of your sister”. She had written to Dacey then, but Seffora knew words on paper would never be a salve for the heart in matters of loss and uncertainty. Still, she hoped that perhaps the Stark princess did not feel so alone in those moments.

The Stark princess was a very wise woman too, and those last words she spoke really resonated with Seffora. Don't let your gratitude towards those who helped you overshadow your pride in your own actions. Her friend could read her so well, understanding that was a lingering insecurity that still existed in the Lady of Longtable's heart. “I quarrel with that thought from time to time,” she admitted, actually voicing out what Dacey's keen perception had already detected. “I do work to remind myself that I have done good, that I have set in motion positive outcomes for my people. Sometimes it does feel it was because someone else guided me, and like I might just be the imposter that dons the title of ruling lady,” she spoke in a calm tone, reaching for her cup of tea, softly blowing on the warm beverage. “I suppose it's the lingering effect of my father's vision of me. His voice comes back from time to time. But I also hold fast to the voice of others, like yours, like Sofina's, who raise me up rather than bring me down,” she said before taking a sip.

for a moment, she thought she saw a smile on lucius' lips, and she returned it with one of her own. she was not the type to let unkindness fall from her lips, but neither would she speak false words that she did not believe. her words were chosen because that was what she meant, and for a moment, she felt a pang of envy. knowing one's place in the world, their purpose, was a privilege she had not yet been granted, one that to her meant more than titles and last names and the things she had that her cousin did not.

"you aren't wrong," dacey confirmed, before a further admission fell from her lips. "i think you might be one of the few to think so, though. sometimes i feel like people expect me to be weeping, or else to blow away in the wind." she kept her tone light to match his own, but it was not an untruth. there were few that dacey could say truly knew her, even her family at times having a tendency to treat her as though she might break. even in previous days, when isolation was more common for the princess, she had never been one to turn to tears - at least, not when in complete privacy. in her melancholy, she was stoic, even when it radiated from her in waves.

"ah. like birds." a raven could fly and carry words on its wings, a hawk or a falcon could be used to hunt. but what use was a peacock, or a parrot, but for a show of luxury and wealth? it put much of what she had seen in the crownlands into perspective, and helped dacey, in a strange way, to feel a little less anxious about the way she may have been perceived there, for any pretence that the valyrians would not hate her simply for who she was was just that ; a pretence. even their gods required more grandeur, stained glass and incense to replace the way the sunlight filtered through the leaves, the smell of dirt and trees. and she immediately admonished herself for the thought. she had no quarrel with the worshippers of the seven in the north - but king's landing was not the north. "conversation should not be a maze to navigate," she agreed in a quiet murmur.

Lucius nodded solemnly to the princess' words, for all he ever did was trust in the wisdom of their gods. Trust in them and let them guide him, be whichever tool they wished him to be. A tool that so often became the tip of a true-aiming arrow or a blade bathed in blood. If they did not wish him to become such violent things, then the gods themselves would have stopped Red Rivers. But no, instead they gave him his gifts. He looked at Dacey pensively for a moment, wondering what were the gifts the gods had given her.

The Stark princess spoke with a sort of kindness that did not feel empty, not like words that were spoken merely to please or be agreeable. Lucius detected sincerity in her words, and was all the more surprised because of that. Samwell Blackwood's firstborn did not feel shame or insecurity regarding his position, yet he did not ignore the stigma of his birth. Bastards were so often seen as mistakes —the result of the sin of the flesh— so it was rare to encounter someone who viewed an individual like him not as a fault but as someone who correctly fell into place with his siblings like another piece that was necessary in that family unit. “That is a nice way of seeing it,” he replied, feeling deeply ineloquent after she'd voiced a thought that sounded so profound to the bastard of Raventree Hall, “I like it”. And for a moment, Lucius Rivers smiled subtly.

She spoke and he looked at her with narrowed eyes, a certain levity present in his demeanor. “You do not strike me as someone who cries so easily,” he replied after her remark. He did not think he could make her cry. A princess she may be, yet Dacey Stark did not seem to him damsel-like or like the sort of frail creature that was reduced to tears easily or often. Her next words had him nodding once again, agreeing fully with her vision of the Western folk and the Valyrians. He too preferred harsh honesty and directedness over ulterior intentions veiled with flowery language. “I've made my judgment of them. The more adornments I find in someone's appearance, the more embellished and insincere I can expect their conversation to be,” he half-joked. He did believe that to be true to some extent, not having encountered exceptions to the rule.

events like this were never comfortable to dacey, but it was clear to her that lord templeton was taking care to push her, the way some did when they sought to engage her in conversation. those who did would only find her clamming up all the more. percival's approach was better, she thought, carried with it the implication that this was a man who was thoughtful, and thoughtful people tended to be kind.

she did not like the giant's head. it send a shiver down her spine, but she kept that to herself. "the giant was slain by my brother, the prince adam. i am sure he can tell you a more insightful tale of it than i ever could." whilst that particular trophy was not her favourite, the tapestries were.

"i think i am more qualified to speak on the tapestries, if that is all right." none of her own work hung publicly, dacey's own creations reserved for the more private parts of winterfell, where her family dwelled, but she had given many hours to looking at those that hung here in pursuit of her own mastery of the craft. she knew them well. "most speak of the accomplishments of our ancestors. the ones who became kings, at least. the earliest tales are of the fight against the night's king at the wall, then of other lords who once called themselves kings, before the starks held all the north." it was not lost on dacey - the way all their stories came from times of war.

The Knight of Ninestars bowed his head, politely appreciative that the Northern princess was a gracious host as well as her brother. Of course, there was also a sense of pride subtly simmering in him when Dacey Stark admitted to already knowing who he was. He could only hope she knew of him for the carefully constructed reputation he'd sought to build as a valiant knight, an honorable lord, and a loyal Commander to his queen. And not for the coincidental misfortunes that ended a betrothal here and there in his past.

“I'm pleased to formally meet you, your highness,” he added with a softer smile, a subtler gesture with a more subdued sort of charm. There was an air of reservation in the Stark princess, he'd noticed, he did not wish to overstep or cause discomfort. She reminded him of other women he'd known in the past, gentler presences to engage with more care.

“We do, very much so. Thank you,” he responded, glancing around the great hall. He could see Ginevra, and how she thrived in environments like this one. Both of the Templeton siblings were very much in their element, comfortable, in social gatherings. “I admit I also find myself feeling very intrigued. I noticed the giant's head displayed in King Owen's throne room, and some of the tapestries that hang here,” Percival mentioned, “Yours is a land of rich stories. If you don't mind, could you feed my curious mind and tell me a little about them?”.