The Moment Cassana Placed Her Head Upon Dacey's Shoulder, Her Reaction Was Instinctual, One Hand Coming

the grip on her hand was grounding, reassuring and rare. the comfort of physical touch was a rarity for dacey, who had spent too long walling herself in, isolating herself from the world, making such acts of affection difficult to come by. in the end, it was all for nothing. it hadn't stopped grief reaching her, hadn't stopped her heart feeling heavy. she gripped seffora's hands, sore fingers curling tightly around those of her friend.

"unfair," it was the first time someone had offered her a word to explain what it was that was weighing her down. silently, she nodded her head. "yes. it does." and though she agreed with the sentiment, with the feeling that a great injustice had been done, trying to pinpoint what that injustice was had her furrowing her brow. there was a great heartlessness in wondering if the unfairness came from jon dying, and not alysanne, before she could have made a choice that was now dacey's to clean up the wreckage of. there was a great selfishness in believing that it was their fates that were the unfairness, that the death and vanishing and the fact dacey was forced to endure.

her throat cleared, ridding it of its tightness. dacey would not weep, not when others could see her do so. she did not think any had ever seen her cry, her tears reserved for when she found herself alone. as much as seffora was her friend, and she trusted her, felt more at ease here than she had done in so long, she would not break the habits of a lifetime now. "thank you," and she meant it, her appreciation shown in the slight squeeze of seffora's hand. "but i don't think there is anything that can be done, apart from finding a way to... keep going forward, i suppose." that was something seffora had done, and done well, but whilst there were similarities in their tragedies, seffora had something to focus on. longtable, and it's people. for dacey, there was no such distraction.

a glimmer of a smile crossed her face, and then, dacey let out a laugh, the very idea of smiling after the turn their conversation had taken something that was funny to her in the strangest of ways. "i'm inclined to disagree." a wise woman would have done things very differently to dacey, would know how to navigate the mess she could not seem to unravel. "though it is gratifying to know that i have you fooled." a poor jest, but perhaps that was what was needed to clear the heaviness that had enveloped them

It was instinctive for Seffora to reach out and hold Dacey's hand. There were no words that ease the feelings that came with losing a sibling, that she knew from her own experience. The princess had buried a brother in the Winterfell crypt and knew nothing of the whereabouts of one of her sisters. There really was nothing the Merryweather lady could say in such a situation, and so she only offered comfort and company in the best way she knew how: in a small gesture to show Dacey that she was not alone.

The Lady of Longtable listened in silence as the Northern princess spoke. Her friend was quiet and reserved in nature, so she deeply understood the weight of her opening up to her. Seffora held her hand a bit tighter. She wasn't sure if she should prompt the princess to speak more on the subject. Sometimes it was best to let the other person share what they felt ready to share. “It feels unfair, doesn't it?” she ended up saying, however. It was unfair to lose a loved one. It was unfair to have a sibling stir up trouble and bring forth heartache. She thought about it because it was eerie and heartbreaking how similar their circumstances were to some degree. Both of them lost a sibling who was taken before their time, as happened with Sofina and Jon. Both of them had a sibling bring unnecessary strife and conflicting emotions to them, as happened with Sienna and Alysanne.

“I know there is little I can do in a situation like this,” she began. Seffora had just thought about it mere moments ago, how being there and offering some comfort might be the only thing someone like her had to offer. But still, she felt compelled to continue. “But I don't want it to go unsaid. If there is anything I can do —anything at all, for you and your family, you need only ask, Dacey”. And for her friend, Seffora would give it.

Again, Seffora's hold of the princess' hand tightened ever so slightly. “You have so much wisdom in you, you know?” she mused with a soft smile on her lips. Dacey was without a doubt one of the most insightful and wise people she'd encountered and for that, the lady felt fortunate. You should acknowledge the people who helped you, so long as it does not get in the way of acknowledging your own hard work. It was certainly the sort of mantra to remember for the future.

closed starter for @lucius-rivers setting: on her way back to the north from king's landing, dacey stops in the riverlands and meets with her cousin.

dacey travelled slowly, if she travelled at all. she had left the north to make it to king's landing, her first time away from the lands of her own family, and expected to arrive home after the rest. it wasn't ideal, but having never been so far from home before, she didn't want to wear herself out, but did want to ensure she was making the most of her trip.

lucius rivers was not a man she knew well, but he was blood. that was what mattered to dacey. her mother's kin was a subject of curiosity for her, but she had always cared for them from afar. it made her a little nervous to be here.

swallowing her trepidation, dacey tried to still her hands, which were twisting together in her lap, and offered a tentative, but sincere smile.

"i'm sorry i didn't get to spend time with you in king's landing," she began. "i think this is better, though. i didn't care much for the city, but the riverlands is beautiful. you are lucky to call it your home."

Patricia Smith, from Teahouse of the Almighty; “Building Nicole’s Mama”

[Text ID: “and she is an empty vessel waiting to be filled. / And she is waiting. / And she / is / waiting. / And she waits.”]

cassana's presence filled the space whenever she paid dacey a visit, and for that, dacey was grateful. she brought with her light and warmth, coaxing from dacey a different side to herself, one that was less guarded, less composed. cassana had a way of grounding her, of making her push her own doubts and anxieties to the side for a few short moments, even if only to soothe her sisters. for that was the truth of it. dacey did not much enjoy being a princess of the north, but she very much loved being cassana's older sister.

her lips curved into a smile at cassana's hidden bottle, and if anybody else had produced it, she would have refused a drink. instead, dacey uncorked it, filling both their cups, though she poured more into cassana's than to her own. "if anybody asks, i knew nothing about this," amusement threaded through her words as she set the bottle down, still half-full of northern ale. "though if you ask me, they should be grateful you didn't figure out a way to smuggle out an entire cask. that may have been more difficult to hide under your cloak, though."

her smile turned introspective, a faint flush coming over her cheeks at cassana's compliments. "it's just something to do to pass the time." it was a little more than that, a steady, comfortable rhythm she could fall into when there was little else to offer it, but she enjoyed it all the same.

"you should have it," her voice was a touch firmer now. she had not woven it with cassana in mind, guided more by what inspired her in the moment than a desire to tell a particular story, but the tapestry suited her all the same. woven into it was a small pattern that looked a little like arrows. it seemed right that she would give it to her sister. "and i'll keep the next one. i'd run out of space on the walls if i didn't give some of it away."

.

cassana settled into the familiar warmth of dacey’s chambers, the space exuding her sister’s quiet strength and grace. sharing a meal with dacey had become a comforting ritual—a way to connect amidst the chaos of winterfell, to ensure her sister didn’t quietly skip meals as she was prone to do. there were times recently when she had already eaten but took as small second dinner to eat with her sister,not telling her she’d already eaten.she wanted just to be around her.

“you know,” cass began, sliding a bottle onto the table between them with a sly grin.she'd brought along a bottle of ale from their private stores, tucked discreetly beneath her cloak like a conspirator’s prize. “i thought tonight called for something special. straight from the collection the kitchen is so protective of. they won’t notice one missing.” the sparkle in her eye hinted she was daring enough to test that assumption.

her gaze wandered briefly to the tapestry hanging from the loom, its intricate greens and silvers glinting softly in the firelight. she marveled at dacey’s skill, the delicate patterns forming a story only her sister could tell. to create was her sisters gift. “it’s beautiful,” cass said, her voice tinged with admiration. “you put us all to shame with your patience”

at the offer, cassana’s brows lifted in genuine surprise. “for me?” her smile softened, touched by dacey’s generosity. “i’d love to have it, but only if you’re sure. it belongs here, though—with you. this is your work, dace. are you sure?”

something reared its head in dacey then, something both unfamiliar and uncomfortable that settled in her gut. defiance. she had always been more lapdog than direwolf, more likely to show her belly than her teeth, and that was still true now, even as indignant as she felt at cyrene's words. she bit back what was on the tip of her own tongue - that cyrene had not been there, had not witnessed the lowest of dacey's lows, and yet here she stood now, acting as though she could read dacey's mind.

the reverse was just as true. cyrene had once been the person closest to dacey, and now she was a stranger who wore the face of a sister. the woman who returned to winterfell was not the same as the one who had left.

she kept hands beneath her furs, though her cheeks were pink, the cold wind and dacey's self-consciousness painting colour into her face. you are not well. why was it that she took such umbrage to the words? was it because she had spent so much time, worked so hard, to convince everyone otherwise? or was it perhaps because the first person to notice the façade she hid behind was someone who had not set eyes upon her face in many long years?

"i am alive," she said, eventually. "that is more than many." it was more than jon, the unspoken ghost that curled around them. since his death, dacey had grown accustomed to his absence - but now cyrene was here, she needed to reconcile with it all over again. "the cold doesn't effect me much, anymore. only on the worst of days."

Dacey practically ripped her hand out of Cyrene's hold, and it felt like an old wound ripped open once more. Scabbed over, healed and forgotten. And now, it was as thought the stitches had vanished during the healing process, something fresh, something malformed left behind.

I am well.

You do not need to worry about me, Cyrene.

I am well. You do not need to worry.

She worried. Dacey had to know she did. Cyrene could imagine the reasoning behind her words. Spelled out in Cyrene's letters to Dacey, to Cassana, to Jon, to Adam and even to Owen. Distance had grown her into a worrier. Distance had left her without control over her choices, her care of those she held closest in her heart. Every single one of her siblings had denied her request of being provided safety. And now they were all left to pick up the pieces.

Bits and pieces within Cyrene still knew her sister well. Too well, perhaps. They were both changed women now, hardened by time. But Cyrene knew who Dacey was at her core. Beyond the care Dacey had for other people. Her sister's fingers had been rough in her grip. Proof of incidents Cyrene had only heard about from afar. "You are not fine," she whispered. "You are not well." Dacey held herself together admirably, but it broke Cyrene's heart when she watched anyone else like this, anyone other than herself. "I will worry, whether you tell me or not." Her voice was low, urgent. She did not try to reach out to Dacey again, did not step closer again. But her eyes. Green-brown hues pleading for her sister to let her in like she had in the past. "You know the chill does not bother me. You know I care more about what it does to you."

the frustration that had gripped her was uncharacteristic, but when amir spoke again, it was replaced with something far more familiar. a self-consciousness, a feeling that she had said something wrong, spoken out of turn, that in her own moment of anxiety and discontent, she had caused discontent in turn. and usually, despite her worries, dacey's feelings were unfounded, a result of a mind that worked too much and concerned itself with overanalysing her every action.

but there was no mistaking that this time, there was no unfounded fear. if it were not obvious in his words, it was in his tone, in the set of his jaw. a frown appeared on her face, and she racked her mind back over her previous words, trying to find the place where she had in her irritation provoked insult.

"i see." perhaps it was her own tone of voice, the expression on her face indicating more hostility than intended.

should she broach the tension that seemed to have rooted between them? dacey was unused to conflicts, unsure how best to navigate the waters she found herself in. she took a breath, a sharp, audible intake, and nodded her head. "if that is what my brother decides, then it is not for me to question it." not to question it, but to despair of it in private, away from any eyes that would look for dissent within the ranks of house stark, and dacey would not be the one to give in to it.

but despite it all, the prospect of war and death and battle a growing, pressing worry that was beginning to hurt her head, she could not shake the feeling that she had done something wrong. if owen was to move forward with skagos, there was nothing she could do about it, but if she had made things difficult between herself and house manderly, perhaps that was something she could atone for. theirs was a house that was important to the north, and dissent was not an option.

"my lord," she began, her tone shifting to one much more uncertain. "i apologise if i have given offence. i can assure you that was not my intention."

❅

there was an uncharacteristic, strenuous pause in the moments of hollowed silence between the princess of winter and the man that was ultimately a subject of her house, and her king. something in the air that shifted seemed to have caught onto his attention, and whilst the second son of manderly had never been one to overthink and strain himself over possibilities, the recent nights had been a different case all together.

perhaps he would have not noticed such a change, or such strain; and yet, his increasing sense of voluntary isolation in associating with other northerners only caused him to notice. perhaps add too much emphasis, wrap it up in something that it were not necessarily. "the king is the only one who can answer such a question, your highness." amir responded, and as much as he attempted to ensure his voice remained civil, there was a deadpan to it.

"judging by our conversation, he was eager to see it happen. if i had to guess, then yes. you would be correct."

the question was something he would have considered the answer as being obvious; the isle of skagos had struck out against the king, and the king held every moral and legal reason to get the situation under control. his expression changed ever so slightly in the face of her question, her somewhat bristled manner of passing the words across: it was rare to hear dacey stark speak up, and now when she did, it felt as though he were being patronised. as though he needed to explain the obvious.

and perhaps amir would have felt more sympathetic, felt more of an ability to see the situation as it was and walk it off. but there was a flare of anger that seemed to stir within his gut as he looked at the princess, a sense of anger that did not usually come forth so suddenly. and yet, it were as though his vision of the woman seemed to blur.

i've no wish to see another stark go to the grave before their time. before their time? as though everyone else's time had come for them? as though manal's time had come for her? the fuck was this absent ghost of a princess talking about? what made her think he wanted to hear of her concerns about her own family? the starks get a crown and forget, whilst the north remembers.

"yes, they will." amir responded, his tone bluntly formal. what he did not add, was how everyone else would be putting their necks on the line too. because as much as amir manderly wished he could get the words that burned off his chest, he knew his place. knew what he could, and could not do.

Willow making the decision to marry Robert

sheltered was perhaps the best way to describe dacey stark, and that was her own doing. it did not help her now, though, for it was a struggle to recall who it was that she was speaking with in that moment. it took a minute before she recognised him from the coronation of king jaehaerys - the lord paramount of the stormlands, whose sister was mother to two of her cousins.

"catmint," she repeated, sounding somewhere between amused and satisfied by the answer. she took the flower, taking it from the very bottom of the stem in heed of his warning. "i've never seen it before. it must prefer the sun." it took a hardy plant to survive the climates of the north, though she wondered if it might survive under the dome of the glass gardens, where it was warmer.

"the smell is divine. i will look forward to the tea." the flower was placed in the basket, and she set about collecting more, now that she was assured there was no danger to come from touching them. she was not in the habit of picking unfamiliar blooms, aware of the dangers some possessed if handled without the proper care taken. "i do wonder, do you know how it got it's name?" were cats fond of it, or was it some reference to the lion of lannister that she did not understand?

"i'm sorry, my lord. i forgot to thank you for your assistance." it was not often that dacey forgot her manners, but in that moment, they had quite slipped her mind. "you seem knowledgeable on such matters." she did not think to find common ground with a man of new valyria, but a stormlander was quite different to a man of the crownlands, or so she understood.

whilst the lord paramount was swift in his duties to make nice with the court of lions, as a steadfast ally of his king, he never felt amongst friends in a place such as this. of course, he would also say he did not feel amongst friends in the court of dragons, either. though he had grown up with many of those he walked alongside in the same halls, they had, over time, become something akin to strangers. war bonded them, certainly spilling blood with those around you would do such a thing, but as time passed, and memory's faded, it seemed so did loyalties.

such was life, so he believed. the sun continued to rise and set, and he would continue on as he did every day. morgan wylde was a man of routine, and habits, so his decision to visit the lion's tor on a whim was certainly unlike him, but as he was one who often preferred the solitude of nature and the outdoors, it also wasn't entirely shocking when he said as much to his household.

the ride was not terribly long - morgan had much to ponder on the journey. he was still a bit dazed and surprised by the kindness of the dornish woman on the water's edge, how they could not be more destined to be enemies, and yet she was compassionate instead of resentful, everything he did not imagine for one of dorne.

he exited the carriage, the warm sun upon his face, and gave a quick word to those accompanying him before taking a stroll on his own. the hillside was so green, and ground firm, and drier than he were used to. he imagined his boots should sink slightly upon the earth as they did in the rain house, but the did not. the crunching of the earth was almost foreign to him, and when blue orbs looked down, he realized he stepped in a patch of flowers.

a woman's voice called to him in that moment, and he glanced over to her. he recognized her, vaguely. he believed her to be of the north, and then the connection was made that she were certainly one of the stark princesses. morgan tried to do well to recall the royals and high nobility of each court. he approached her to observe what she were referring to. a grin spread upon his face as he knelt down to pluck the plant by it's stem, careful not to touch too high - for there were small thorns amongst the lavender petals. "it is called catmint, your grace." he stated, holding it up between them so she may observe it closer. "bees are fond of it, butterflies too, perhaps it would be good in some tea." he held it for her to take, now. "careful of the small spines nearer the middle."

F•R•I•E•N•D•S (1994-2004)

"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.