Dacey's Gaze Lingered On Brandon, As Though She Were Afraid If She Looked Away, He Might Fall Into The

there was once a time when dacey stark would have been the first in line to greet a guest of winterfell. sometimes, she could walk in the shoes of that girl still, the one she used to be, could wear her face, think her thoughts, laugh like she used to. it never quite felt the same as it used to, more hollow, less sincere. there was a constant gnawing in her chest that never quite went away, but some days it was louder than others. more days then most, lately. today, however, it screamed, demanding attention. when it clawed at her insides like this, there was no façade she could put up that would hold. and so, when her brother's men came, dacey made herself scarce. she had little taste for tales of war, anyway.

the only thing that had her resolve wavering was adam himself. the last thing she wanted was for him to think her absence was some sort of personal slight. she was saved from trying to put on a brave face, though, when he himself appeared, as though summoned by her thoughts. she did not smile, though the look she gave him upon his approach was full of warmth. her slender fingers, cool to the touch, wound their way around his, and she squeezed his hand gently. she'd gotten far more accustomed to silence then she'd like to be, but there was something comforting about sharing moments of quiet with somebody you cared for. dacey held on to the quiet between them, nurturing it for an all-too-brief moment, before shattering it when she finally spoke.

"i hear a congratulations are in order," as much as she didn't want him to regale her with tales of battle, she could not let his victory slip by without comment. "i am - very glad to see that you are safe." the words carry an undercurrent of the feelings dacey has yet to speak out loud. thus far, her grief for jon has been a silent, shameful and private thing, kept clutched close to her chest like a child trying to hide something they know they should not have. grieving a brother is a burden she can just about bear. the relief that she does not have to grieve another is enough to relieve even just a portion of that weight. "welcome home."

Closed starter for @daceystvrk Setting: Following the latest battle of the berserker force against Umber followers, Prince Adam Stark and some of his men return to Winterfell victorious once more, set only to replenish supplies. Their stay is meant to be brief before they return to the field of battle.

The Commander of the Kingsguard was back to his family home only for a few days. Before, the lone wolf of House Stark would have focused on duty and duty alone, a soldier's mindset steadily guiding his every action. Now, however, the prince made sure to make good use of his time in Winterfell to be with his wife, to see his brothers and sisters, be with them before he had to march north again and keep writing by the edge of his sword the strong retaliation against the betrayers of the land.

He found Dacey in one of the sitting rooms of the keep. She was there, silent, solitary. All of the Stark siblings mourned for Jon in their own ways, grasping at whatever they could to cope with the grief. He'd held on to rage and the need for retribution; all of the siblings were directing their pain into some sort of action. And his little sister was there alone. Without a word, he walked over to take a seat by her side. He'd been away for some time, and he couldn't help but wonder if Dacey had been grieving alone all this time. Adam reached for his sister's hand, a knowing look in his eyes.

@wintervsuns

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

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

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

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

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

Rainer Maria Rilke, from a letter featured in Letters to Merline, 1919-1922

if there was one thing dacey was completely certain of, it was cassana's strength. where dacey had little, her sister, her baby sister, possessed it in spades. dacey had faltered so many times, crumbled under the slightest amount of pressure, but cassana had always stood proud and unyielding. it broke her heart to see her like this, but she understood it inherently.

"cass," there was something firm in her voice, an indication that what she was about to say was not to be argued with. "there is no apology needed. i was already awake, and you are welcome company." she paused, hesitating for a moment. "and even if i was, it doesn't matter. you can come to me no matter the hour." there was a gentle earnestness to her tone, an open invitation to seek dacey's door whenever it was needed.

a distraction. it was an easy enough to propose, but now the prospect of actually doing the distracting was before her, it was difficult to think exactly what she could do to provide relief from all Cass had been through. She absent-mindedly ran her fingers through Cass' hair, chuckling when she felt a knot towards the ends. "Your hair is all tangled," she couldn't help but chuckle as she spoke the words. "would you like me to fix it for you?"

.

cass closed her eyes, surrendering to the embrace of her sister's arms, finding comfort in their warmth and familiarity. though she was the youngest among them, she rarely sought such comfort from her siblings. she prided herself on her resilience, her ability to remain steadfast in the face of adversity that they always seemed to face. she was a wolf. a stark. yet, despite her efforts to maintain composure, she found herself crumbling beneath the weight of her emotions. why was this particular moment so different? why did she struggle to maintain her facade of strength? it was stupid, she was stupid for feeling this way.

a surge of guilt and embarrassment flooded through her, prompting a hasty apology. "i'm sorry, dacey. i shouldn't have woken you up," she murmured, attempting to dismiss how she was feeling.. but even as she spoke, she made no move to break free from her sister's embrace. her words felt feeble, even her lie felt stupid.

"perhaps a distraction would be good." cass suggested, her voice resonating softly in the darkness. something to help get her mind off of things, make her believe she wasnt being foolish. that the darkness didn’t suddenly frighten her.

they began to dance, and dacey found herself lapsing into silence, focusing on the movement as much as she could. she didn't want to make a mistake - perhaps in the north, it would have been different, but there were too many eyes waiting for another court to make a misstep. she didn't want it to be her to do that for the north.

somehow, she seemed to be managing that. while her movements by no means came naturally too her, she was not as awkward or clumsy as she knew she could be. she even found herself enjoying it, and in her enjoyment, she relaxed a little.

"i think you've misled me, lord vance," she broke the silence, corners of her mouth twisting upwards in a half-smile. "you're a finer dancer than your words suggested." the compliment was utterly sincere. "thank you again for asking me."

"We shall." Hugo felt this was going well. While he would never presume to add a princess to his list of possible names for marriage prospects, it could only bode well for the Lord to have a reputation of carrying himself with a gentlemanly natures. Something for Ladies and Princesses to speak about in their sewing and tea circles, whatever it was the ladies of Westeros chose to occupy themselves with.

Dancing was something the Lord of Wayfarer enjoyed, as a boy he hated it. He hated being out there and having people watching him, making their comments or worse, snickering. Hugo learned it was better to become good at something, somewhere between good and great and leave them with nothing to laugh at.

The swell of the piano, the careful placement of his hands he danced with a Princess of the North and found himself worrying that he would trip over his feet, or that he would embarrass the Riverlands. And if whispers were to be believed, Hugo did not think the Riverlands could continue to survive embarrassments.

dacey turned her head, dark eyes fixing on brandon. there was much that neither was saying, but she wasn't sure they needed to. she couldn't change what had come to pass, but that did not erase the years of knowing him. there was a small comfort in that, the fact that despite everything, she could still find a way to understand him.

"no, of course not." she almost felt a fool for asking. she was in unfamiliar territory, tasked with dealing with things that scared her, that her morals did not hold with, but that did not need to become his problem. still, there was a hesitancy in her, as though spending enough time with what alys had left behind to get rid of them would stain her by mere proximity. she dropped her gaze to her hands. "if there's a way to get rid of such things without making things worse, i'll find it."

she knew little of such practices, except for the gnawing feeling that alys dabbling in them had been a dreadful mistake, and that she would need to be careful in how she proceeded. her first instinct was to throw the whole cursed lot into the fire, but the logical part of her mind told her that would be a grave mistake. the old valyrian empire was steeped in stories of magic, coming from fire and blood. dacey kept to the old gods, but there was a significance to the flame she didn't want to invite. neither did she want to remove alys' belongings in such a way that others could find them.

"and what are your thoughts, brandon?" the formality between them was dropped, driven from her head by the distraction the issue before them presented. she could guess, and was pretty certain her assumptions were close to accuracy, but she would hear it in his own words first, should he be willing to share them with her.

"hmm." her brow furrowed. "i suppose whether or not owen knows is... somewhat irrelevant. for as long as alys remains missing, at least." something deep in dacey's heart told her she would not see her sister again. should that continue to remain true, she wasn't sure that owen's knowledge was relevant. "i don't think i'm going to tell him."

♞

there was a heavy beat of silence in the aftermath of her words, that were tainted with a hint of annoyance that sounded so inherently abnormal within her voice. they were the same in some regard, swept up in the decisions and circumstances of the gods to have to transform, mutate, according to their will. somewhere deep within the sun of winter, the sight of the flames that licked the heart tree and spread from branch to branch as though it were limb from limb, and he knew that the gods would remain unhappy with him.

"i do not know such the depth behind such things, yer highness." brandon spoke, his karhold accent wrapping around each of his words: rougher than the other northern dialects, he found himself thinking back on that night they had embarked for the neck, to cross into the land of rivers and feast within the hospitality of house blackwood - distant kinsfolk. to have emerged from the tent to hear the raspy sound of a voice that was not alysanne's, and the knowing of what it was he needed to halt. to stop.

"princess alysanne heard all my thoughts on the matter." in the end, she had warned him that the ritual had been left incomplete: and yet such action and darkness was not his place to merely turn a blind eye to. brandon karstark was a northman, but meddling in such magic and was only asking for further trouble.

the gods were beyond unhappy. there would come the need for penance, from some place or another. at sometime, when he expected it or when he did not expect it. there was a time where he would have tried to ease the concern and anxiety this may have brought forth, if not with overt affection, than at least with words of warmth that would provide a sense of everything be okay in the end. he hated how he no longer believed such a thing; the concept that everything would turn out okay in the end. it was far from it, and that was obvious.

"i cannot confirm if the princess informed the king." how was he to know such things anymore?

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.

dacey nodded her head. one step each day. it was good advice in theory, if not for the fact that it felt like she was descending a steep set of stairs in the dark. if any of those one steps was on uneasy footing, she would go plummeting to the bottom. even when her feet found the ground, merely trying to find it made her stomach feel like it was trying to leap out of her throat. she had no idea if there was an end to the descent, but there had to be. seffora had similarly had to navigate her own darkened staircase, and now was starting to speak of the light at the end of it. perhaps, with time and patience, dacey could arrive there too.

she stayed quiet when seffora hugged her, her own arms coming up to hold her friend tight. she did not know if seffora knew how grateful she was for her support in that moment. though dacey had shared only a fraction of her worries, she felt lighter, unburdened in some ways. she made a mental note to send seffora a token of that appreciation before they returned to their respective lands once more.

"then you must be serious," the ghost-smile on her lips turned into something more genuine. dacey's melancholy had a permanent presence in her, but there were occasions where she could put it to the side, and this was one of them. "but you did not come all the way to the west to listen to my complaints. let's talk of happier things while we have time to spend together."

Seffora continued to hold her friend's hand, both grateful and saddened by this intimate space of trust and vulnerability the two shared. She never wished to see a loved one struggling, of course, but she also understood that sometimes it were the moments of an aching heart that brought people closer together. “One step each day,” she said to the princess. Some days it would be a step forward and some days it would feel like a step backward. And it was alright that it was so. Grief and heartache were not linear processes, she'd learned.

There was undoubtedly a warm, physical nature to Seffora in how she reached to hold hands or touch shoulders. For her most dear ones she couldn't help but wish to offer an embrace, and so she moved closer to Dacey to give her a hug.

“You can disagree,” Seffora chuckled then, her expression still soft, though with some more gladness in her eyes now “But know I will stubbornly insist upon it. It's the only thing I'm willing to contradict a princess about,” she half-joked. It was the beautiful thing about friends, she supposed, that she could see something in Dacey that the princess did not see in her herself, and vice versa. She experienced this with the Northern princess, and with Laena too —the subtle and tender ways in which they lifted each other up, trying to make the other see and recognize what others might have instilled into them to be blind to. It was the way in which girls —women— could do more than just survive in this world, but actually learn to thrive.

for: @owenstark timestamp: early morning location marker: winterfell

it had been so long since dacey stark had a good night's sleep that the circles around her eyes were almost a permanent fixture. no, she spent her evenings in the glow of candlelight, weaving until her hands cramped, her vision blurred, and exhaustion finally overtook her body, usually just as the sun began to peek through winterfell's towers. then, there was only time to sleep for a few precious hours before she was on her feet again, facing another day that she didn't know if she had the energy to face.

there were often nights where dacey could not shut out the cacophony of disjointed thoughts that flitted through her mind, lingering only long enough to leave a lasting impression of worry or dread before slipping away before she had the chance to wrangle it into submission. there had been more nights like that recently, and tonight was one of them. her candles had burned down to stubs by the time the sun had risen. there was little point trying to fall asleep now. winterfell was beginning to awaken. from her window, she could see figures below, assuming their morning duties. instead, she readied herself for the day, and routed herself through the castle.

she had come to see her brother.

she knocked lightly on his door, but pushed it open before awaiting an answer. if he was here, he would be alone. if he was not here, then there was little point in lingering outside of an empty room. her eyes fell upon him, and a small smile curled around her lips. It was a smile of greeting, of warmth, even if there was little joy in it.

"I hope i'm not intruding," she began, hovering in the doorway, awaiting instruction to venture further in, or to turn to leave. "i'm sure you have a busy day ahead of you." her hands were clasped in front of her, but though she stood still, they did not rest, fingers twisting around one another, pulling mindlessly at the already raw skin around her nails. "If there is anything I can do - if you have need of me - you need only ask."

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