It Was Rare Dacey Had Conversations Like This With Others, Even With Those She Held Dearest To Her. Those

it wasn't until adam released her hand that dacey realised that, in his grasp, her fingers had been still for the first time in weeks. they itched to move again, to twist around each other in the way that had become both a nervous habit and a source of comfort, but she managed to hold off, dropping her hands into her lap and leaving them there, stone still and untwitching.

"and a good deal longer again, i hope," she had intended the words as a sort of strange, macabre joke, but her tone did not reflect that. instead of the wry humour it was meant to carry, her voice cracked in the middle of speaking. it wasn't a joke - as a family, they had tasted more than enough loss. it clung to them like the scent of smoke, filling their lungs until they choked on it. dacey wasn't sure she could take any more of it. "do not ask me not to worry for you. you'd have better luck asking the snow to stop falling." it wasn't that she didn't trust in adam's abilities. it was quite the opposite. with skill came renown, and renown made a man into a target.

"i'm grateful for that." she was. truly, she was. you did not need to posses greensight to notice that amongst the stark kin, dacey was the quieter of the bunch, not as stubborn, not as strong, but she loved just as fiercely, and that was what had her looking into adam's face with a smile painted on to her own. "when all this is over, i'll make good use of those ears of yours. for now, you don't need to carry my burdens. though if you have any of your own, i'll happily help to shoulder them for you."

For a moment they stayed like that, brother and sister silently holding hands, sharing a moment of the grief that had fallen upon the sons and daughters of Winterfell like the long night itself. Adam didn't think himself good with words, so he could at least offer Dacey his presence. He was the lone wolf of House Stark, but he was also a man who slowly attempted to change some of his solitary ways to be there for his siblings, those who mattered the most to him.

“Thank you,” he replied in a quiet tone, squeezing Dacey's hand a little tighter before he let go. The Commander of the Kingsguard sighed. The news of the latest victory of his commanded legion had been echoed through the whole of the North. The fires could be made out in the distance. The ash that snowed upon the region a testament to all that burned and died that day. “Do not fret about me, sister. I made a vow to Owen. To Jon... I intend to live long enough to keep it,” the prince added, his voice gravelly and with an undeniable undercurrent of determination. Adam Stark possessed the skill to cut through battle and survive, yes, but he also had that strange, newfound strength in him that the consumption of the xiangliao substance granted him. It was a feeling that came from a place of arrogance, but he did feel invincible. His men had been turned invincible. They were called berserkers now for a reason.

“What's on your mind, Dacey?” he asked, clear eyes of ice finding his sister's warm gaze. Quiet and private as she could be at times, Adam wanted to ensure she didn't feel unheard or unseen through this harsh time. The prince pulled his chair closer, angling it so he faced his little sister more directly. “If you ever wished to speak about it...” he trailed off. “Or speak about anything, really, I'm glad to lend my ear. Always”.

♛ → THE NORTH presents DACEY STARK, the PRINCESS of WINTERFELL. when the dragons danced in the sky they thought the BLACKS would still fly, but in the blink of an eye, they would all die. the TWENTY-NINE year old CIS WOMAN who was COMPASSIONATE & GENTLE before they saw the first of the flames, is now CAUTIOUS & INSECURE after seeing the last. they’re often associated with slim fingers weaving together shimmering silver fabric, plush velvets concealed by heavy furs, cheeks flushed pink from winter’s bite. ( genevieve gaunt )

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tws: mentions of premature birth, illness, anxiety/mental health and death

history.

dawn

the fourth child of house stark, dacey sybelle stark was born two moons too early and far too small. as a baby, she barely cried, but was prone to illness, particularly of the lungs.

it was not expected that she would be long for this world. infants with such weak constitution rarely do, but against the odds dacey grew. it would not be the first time she would be underestimated.

sickly babe grew into a quiet, pensive child. more stark children came after her, and dacey loved them all with her whole heart, even as she differed from the rest in temperment. she was not built to be a fierce and fearless daughter of the north, but something else entirely, though for a long time, nobody was quite sure what that something would be. she was intelligent, sensitive and kind, but possessed nothing that would point to future greatness.

the delicacy of her infant years followed her into childhood. she can scarcely remember a time from when she was young where she wasn't sheltered to protect her fragile health, wracked with coughs that echoed through her entire body. the majority of her childhood was spent in the companionship of the two siblings who immediately preceded her, cyrene and jon.

noon

as she approached adolescence, a question lingered over what to do with dacey stark. while her siblings began to be fostered or trained for their duties as a stark, dacey remained in winterfell, sheltered and protected in order to maintain her health. there was brief talk of betrothing her to jaehaerys targaryen, but that would come to nothing as both parties decided it was a poor match.

with the dance of the dragons breaking out during her teenage years, her opportunity to explore the world outside of the north was further stripped from her.

however, as she grew older, dacey's health began to improve. she will never be of strong constitution, often picking up small illnesses that seem to hit her a little harder than others, but no longer was she plagued by a constant barrage of ill health.

with her newfound strength, dacey began to explore more of the winterfell that was denied to her as a child, and learned to love it there. she filled her days with discovering the castle's secrets, and made herself happy amongst the walls of her home.

without the illnesses that plagued her childhood and with the dance of the dragons ending as she reached adulthood, dacey was hit with a newfound confidence. she would never be comfortable being the centre of attention, but she began to find joy in conversation, and could talk for hours with whoever's company she found herself in. there's a sort of vulnerable charm to dacey, a sincerity that makes her likable.

dusk

the tragedies that have befallen house stark weighed heavily on dacey. loss brought about a great change in her. even in her younger, sickly years, she was always contented, but grief knocked that out of her. she became serious, always worried about things she had little control over - in particular, the lives of her family.

with that change came withdrawal. dacey has been a shadow of a woman, secluding herself from life in winterfell and becoming a ghost of what she was.

with her grief came anxiety and nightmares. she has not dealt with sorrow well. the lack of sleep made its mark, painting dark shadows around her eyes and hollowing her cheeks. her mental health declined sharply, though she spoke to nobody about it. the last thing dacey wants is to be a burden when so many of the people she cares for are suffering just as much as she.

midnight

the only thing that could pull dacey from her grief was her selflessness. as more troubles plagued her family, hiding away from the world was no longer a viable option for her.

there is no bigger supporter of king owen stark. dacey is unshakeably loyal to her eldest brother, and determined to be of use to the north, and to him. with all the problems faced by the starks, she does so by quietly picking up the duties of those no longer here to fulfill them, without being asked, without making a fuss, first to advise when jon stark was killed, then to help heal, as alysanne once did.

she's more present than she has ever been in her life, and feels a bit overwhelmed by it all. nevertheless, this is very much her era of coming into her own, finding herself, and figuring out her place in life.

personality.

basics

she's an incredibly anxious person. This mainly manifests in her movements, particularly her hands. they are constantly moving, even when she is at ease, her her fingers twisting around each other and her nails scratching at the skin. if she isn't able to weave for a while or is particularly stressed, her fingers become painful and red as her skin becomes raw.

to cope with her anxiety when she can't sleep at night and give herself something to do with her hands, dacey's favourite hobby is weaving, and she's rather good at it. she enjoys the consistent movements and finds it soothing, often making gifts of her creations to those she loves. her family likely have clothes, blankets, tapestries, and rugs made by her.

when her mental health is poor, she withdraws into solitude. however, on good days, dacey is an incredibly chatty person, and particularly loves talking to people very different from herself. she's thoughtful and sweet, and a very kind and considerate friend.

she's something of a pacifist. she cannot stand violence for any reason but the most necessary, and even then, she does not like it. she will always prefer mercy and justice, and believes a path of vengeance to be harmful and destructive for all involved. she accepts that there is evil in the world, and some people just don't deserve kindness, but she knows her morals and believes by seeking revenge, everyone loses.

it's taken her longer than most to find her passion and purpose, but she's incredibly dedicated and hardworking. when she does something, it will be completed, and to a high standard. she's a perfectionist at heart, because she's deeply worried of something going wrong and it being her fault, and doesn't want to cause any trouble or harm.

she's gentle, more lapdog than direwolf, but protective of those she loves in her own quiet, comforting way.

where dacey excels is exercises of the mind. she’s rational and logical, a little too tender-hearted to be called calculated, but honeyed words dripping from her lips are leaden with promises unspoken, convincing when they need to be, flattering when such is required, and so utterly sincere. her innate kindness means that this gift is not used to its full extent, to cause harm to any, but it's there regardless.

her sense of humour is very subtle, but there. she usually cracks jokes at her own expense, but does enjoy gently teasing those she's close to.

rumours

whilst not as sickly as she once was, dacey does possess a weak immune system and is prone to picking up any illnesses that sweep through the north, particularly in the winter, causing her to withdraw for a little while to recover. since birth, there's been rumours that she's on her deathbed, and every time she takes ill, they seem to resurface.

with a quieter sort of personality, it would certainly be easy to see dacey as someone to manipulate with ease. whilst she would certainly be easy to take advantage of for personal gain, however, manipulating her is far harder than it may appear. she knows her morals and is not easily swayed from them - just because she isn't loud about her opinions doesn't mean she doesn't hold them strongly.

goals

she accepts that it's unlikely to happen in her lifetime, but dacey's biggest dream is peace for the kingdoms. she cannot stand the idea of anybody hurting, whether she knows them or not, and craves a world where nobody has to suffer as she and her family have.

most of all, she wants her family to thrive and the north to prosper. she firmly believes in owen's vision and supports every sibling in all that they do and is proud of their accomplishments.

fears

more than anything dacey fears further personal loss. too much tragedy has befallen house stark, and she's already struggling to stay afloat with it all.

she fears becoming a burden. she wants to help, rather than be help, and hates people worrying for her.

other.

her direwolf is small for its kind, the runt of its litter. she's a pale silvery-grey colour with a small white patch on her chest. dacey named her rose, and temperament wise, she's very quiet, but very observant of her surroundings.

she favours darker colours, but never black. greys, deep blues, purples, burgundy and forest greens are common colours in her attire, her jewellery simple and unobtrusive.

dacey is always cold, but it doesn't seem to bother her. her skin is cool to the touch, especially her hands. having never been too far from winterfell, she's unaccustomed to warm weather, and in the few times she has experienced it, she doesn't cope very well.

she's a fairly tolerant person, but keeps to the old gods herself. her relationship with her faith is one she holds intensely privately, but it is very dear to her, and she takes great comfort in being in the wierwoods, or indeed any forest. if you asked her to imagine a place of peace, it would be amongst the trees.

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.

for the first time in far too long, dacey felt a little lighter, a little less like the weight of the world was hanging around her shoulders. for the first time in long time, she was able to simply enjoy herself. perhaps later she would feel guilty for that - but now, she could acknowledge how much she needed that feeling.

his compliment earned a simple bob of her head. she had never been very good at accepting them, even on her very best of days. "the pleasure was mine, lord vance." it was a sincere comment. "should our paths ever cross again, please don't hesitate to say hello."

It was going well. He did not crush her toes. A series of northern knights were not rushing toward them and as they continued to dance he felt himself relax. the Lord of Wayfarer smiled at the woman before him. A laugh briefly leaving him. "I dare say you are a fine dancer yourself, your highness."

As the music came to an end, he smiled, bowing forward as looked at her. "It was an honor dancing with you this evening. I have found that there are wonderful surprises all across this continent. And it's quite nice to find a Princess who is a lovely dance and quite charming as well."

"I sincerely thank you for accepting my offer." After an evening of rejections that ranged from polite to downright cruel giggles, he found himself feelin ga new confidence he was sure would carry him through the rest of this stay in King's Landing.

dacey's palm was flat against the stone, long, thin fingers red from the cold and where the skin had been picked and peeled around the beds of her nails. the starks were of the old gods; they believed that their nameless deities watched them through the trees, spoke to them through the whisper of the winds and rustle of the leaves and rush of the streams, but in the stones lay the history of man, of the ancestors whose blood persisted in their veins.

these walls had stood for thousands of years, raised by brandon the builder, seen the celebrations when the barrow kings and red kings and marsh kings had fallen to the kings of winter. they had seen the andals beaten back to the south and the wildlings back to the north, had seen the king who knelt and the end of the kings of the north, and had seen them rise once more from the dragon's ashes. they had seen starks born and die and born and die, over and over, and would go on doing so for as long as the sun continued to rise and set.

in between those moments, the ones preserved in the pages of history books, the walls had seen other things, the day to day living that had been lost to time. it was there that dacey's mind turned now, to a girl and a girl and a boy and the three wolves that shadowed them, long enough ago to become memory, not yet long enough to be lost.

"you fell from there, once," her voice was gentle and fond, her breath escaping her lips in small puffs that lingered in the air in a misty cloud. "and you landed on my snowman." it had been one of the first snows of the year. the snow was fresh, soft and powdery, which had been cyrene's good fortune. it had not yet compacted and turned to ice, and so, she had popped out of the pile that had once been dacey's work of art without a scratch.

she withdrew her hand from the wall, brushing it daintily against her furs to rid it of any dirt. "i wasn't going to climb it." it was a reversal from how things had been when cyrene had left for the riverlands, a wild and wilful girl who had balked at nothing, so much so that dacey had wondered if her sister had been born without fear. then, it had been dacey who had called words of caution. that cyrene would be halfway up the wall by now, responding to dacey's warnings with nothing but a laugh.

but things changed. the world changed, and they changed with it. in cyrene, the change was more pronounced than dacey could have ever imagined. but then, the years had not been kind to their kin. distance had not saved cyrene from grief and heartache. dacey did not know how to be with this new sister, who wore the face of the old. not yet.

"there isn't enough snow at the moment. to catch me if i fell."

who: @daceystvrk where: at winterfell when cyrene arrives home for the first time in years

There were notches in the outer walls. Always had been, always would be. Cyrene found at least some comfort that things in Winterfell would never change. The people who lived within the walls would. Death haunted the halls, but the years did as well. She'd already seen many who had survived the wars that lay in the past, but they had not come out of it unchanged.

Neither had she.

"Don't climb that," she spoke, voice pragmatic and clipped, "That cannot end well."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

anya's assumption that dacey was someone who could adapt well took the princess by surprise, for that was never how she saw herself. it was why she rarely left the confines of winterfell, where she felt most at ease. wherever she went, there was a feeling of being ill at ease, as though everyone who surrounded her was simply waiting for her to do or say something that would see her judged. at least in winterfell, she knew the places where she would not be seen.

"i'm flattered, but i've never felt that was the case." she admitted. "but we endure it, don't we?" and dacey endured it because she had to, because the queen in the north was dead, her elder sister was gone, and now she found herself the oldest of the stark princesses. there was nobody to hide behind anymore. the quiet places where she most found comfort were no longer hers to occupy. "but there are friends here, i think. i hope it is the same for you."

it must be. the more anya spoke, the more dacey was reminded that she had seen far more of the continent than the princess had, that she had lived an entire life before entering the world that dacey had been born into. "at least we are here together," she pointed out. "a home from home whilst here." it was a comforting thought. she wished she had words of wisdom to offer, but she would wager that she knew even less of the west than anya did, and did not think nasir manderly's words of caution would be particularly helpful in this moment. "i think it is best to be wary," it was as close as she would get to repeating the words of the north's hand. "but we are here for a celebration. it would be good, i think, to indulge your curiosity whilst enjoying what king tyland has in store." whatever this trip would throw at them, it could not be worse than the crownlands.

A foot in one world, a foot in another. Anya still felt that way; a lady by title and having a place in King Owen’s court while remaining a bastard by birth in the eyes of many, someone who still maintained a certain link to her life before. She couldn’t fully cut it, admittedly. In the North, that sense of being what she was, who she was, did not bother her at all. She was surrounded by people who had known her for a long time, people who knew what she stood for and the value she brought. In other realms, it was different, perhaps in none more than in the West.

It was somewhat of a relief to hear the Northern princess admit she felt out of place as well. If someone like Dacey felt that way, it almost was a sort of permission to feel it too. She was justified in her thoughts if the princess doubted as well. “Really? I always saw you as someone who adapts quite well to foreign places,” Anya confessed that thought, for she always saw the princess carry herself with confidence and grace.

The princess’ second admission managed to bring a little smile to Anya’s lips. “It’s not awful. I may have been thinking the same,” the raven-haired lady chuckled softly, raising a hand to cover that little laugh that escaped her. It felt as though the walls had ears and she wanted no one but the princess to hear her own confessions. “I know so little of the West in comparison to other places. I never travelled much here in the past,” she said, for her trips for blade commissions generally took her to the Vale, the Riverlands, or the Reach. The West was as rare a destination as was Dorne, one for the distance and the other for their reliance on their own master blacksmiths, she supposed. “I’m a little curious about this place. But I'll admit I am more intimidated than I am curious,” Anya added with a little shrug. She'd been crossing paths with some people who piqued her interest in a land and a culture so different from her own, but there was something in the court of lions that did make her uneasy, for they seemed like statues of ivory and gold; unapproachable in their elegance, saintly or heroic, but always untouchable.

THE HOLIDAY (2006) dir. Nancy Meyers

GENEVIEVE GAUNT in THE ROYALS

anybody else might have laughed at owen's story, but dacey, though amused, looked vaguely horrified. "how many pizzas are you eating in a week, owen?" she asked, making a mental note to set up a meal delivery plan for him the second she got back to norway. "you could always donate some to a shelter or something. at the very least, it'll clear out your freezer." and also save his cholesterol levels.

sibling catch ups like this were far too few and far between. they'd all been so busy with their own lives, but it was nice to take a moment that was just for each other, no matter how overdue it was. she did her best, but it never quite felt like she was doing enough to show her support.

"life's good," she confirmed. "ulises has moved in." she'd never been sure she could see herself living with someone. for dacey, it was a big step. "everything else is basically the same. work keeps me busy. you should come by the hospital when you have time. there's a little boy on the ward who loves rugby, and he didn't believe you're really my brother," she smiled at the thought, shaking her head a little bit. "what about you? what's new in your life?"

who: @daceystvrk where: school gym notable deets: staaaaaark

"So, they said that if I can get them to a million likes I get life long freeze pizza. And when I realized it as like 400 calories for the whole pizza I was like well, I'll just eat as many pizzas as I can in my underwear and that's how I got free pizza for life but I'm a little sick of pizza."

Owen pulled his hair back away from his face as he caught up with his sister. He liked to visit her whenever he could and she came to games when she could, it was a good balance for them. The Starks were many but they were all very busy and even when Owen wasn't busy, he was always traveling because he could. He worked hard for his own money, ignoring the healthy trustfund from his family, and he wanted to spend his money in the best ways. What was the use in having so much if you wanted to die with the same amount?

"Tell me about things, how 's life be, doctor lady?"