Dacey Did Not Answer The Question Immediately. It Wasn't That She Bristled At The Question, Did Not Take

{Words by Anaïs Nin, from The Diary Of Anais Nin, Vol. 4 (1944-1947) / Cynthia Cruz }

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 somehow completely lost track of what the camera was doing. she knew she was laughing in the second picture, and thought they might have been kissing by the fourth, but it was truly anyone's guess. she barely even registered that their little photoshoot was finished, not until she pulled away from the kiss and realised the screen had once again darkened. "those ones were better, i think." she took a moment to straighten her hair, make sure her lipstick was still in place, and reached out to wipe a tiny smudge of it from the corner of his own mouth before standing, holding her hand out for him to take so she could help him stand, too.

stepping out of the booth, dacey saw the second round of pictures had already been printed, picking up the strip and taking them in with a smile before offering it to ulises to look at. "see? much better. we just needed to practice."

her gaze swept around the fair, noting familiar faces, and those that were less familiar. "did we really go to school with this many people?" she mused out loud. "it didn't seem like so many at the time. though i suppose some of the people here are just guests, aren't they?"

Flying all the way from Norway to come here had given him a bit of a let lag too in the past couple of days, though he'd slept well enough the previous night to not feel that weariness right now. In any case, that excuse could give them an out to leave anytime they wanted. He rubbed the small of Dacey's back tenderly. With that touch and just a glance, he could communicate that they were okay to leave whenever she wished. But who knew, perhaps his own social battery would end before hers.

“I'm sure. Come on,” he said with a nod, confirming he really was eager to take some more pictures with his girlfriend. With their first set of pictures safely tucked inside Dacey's wallet, they were back in for another round of photos inside the booth. Ulises wrapped his arm around her and pulled her a little closer. He felt Dacey's kiss on his cheek, which immediately made him grin for the first picture. Ulises allowed himself to be a little sillier and have fun with her, winking at the camera for the second picture. He turned to look at her for the third one, just pausing there. Ulises looked at her with so much warmth and adoration in his eyes, but that look wasn't for the camera, it was just for Dacey. His free hand moved up, slipping to the back of her neck and he leaned in to kiss her. He had no clue at what point the fourth picture was taken.

Elizabeth Olsen as Wanda Maximoff in WandaVision S01E09

willow moreno & her glasses :’)

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."

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.

dacey offered a quiet laugh, soft but genuine. "there are always some eager to prove themselves." on his comments on the brackens, she said nothing. the age-old rivalry was well known, but not hers to fan the flames of. it may have been blackwood blood in her veins, but dacey was every inch a stark, and even if she was not, it was uncommon for unkind words to escape her lips.

"cassana may have given you a run for your money in the archery, i think," there was a hint of pride that tinged her voice. "but i fear i've lost track of them since i arrived here." perhaps they were visiting with their sister, the one who had become the lady frey and lived apart from them in the north - the one dacey was avoiding, because after years of not seeing one another, it felt far too monumental to change that. "i did see your brother had his name down for the melee. perhaps we will see a double victory for your house."

she hesitated before answering his question, as though trying to decide how truthful to be. normally, she would not speak of her own discomfort with crowds and people, but in lucius, she had found an unexpected kinship. they could not have been more different, and yet, she thought he might understand, not ridicule, where she was coming from. "crowds have never been my favourite," she confessed. "sometimes it's all a little much to take in. but it's joyful, tonight. i don't dislike it. and i am glad i did not miss your moment of triumph."

Dacey Stark was one of the few people whose company Lucius did not simply tolerate but actually happened to enjoy. Beyond her appearance of frailty and quietness, the bastard had found someone earnest with a kind of subtle steadiness, a sort of subdued strength. The calm wolf before being provoked to bite.

Lucius gave a simple nod in response to her good wishes for Litha and then went ahead to let out a slight scoff with her next comment. “Well, you never know. There's always a proud upstart looking to claim new titles, or a thickhead Bracken looking to embarrass himself,” he said, his tone casually disdainful.

“I did not see your siblings compete,” he mentioned, not having seen a Stark on the lists earlier. Lucius had yet to form a close enough relationship with his Northern cousins, and asking was more a formality than a real inkling to know about them or what they were up to here in Riverrrun. He looked at the princess then. “How is the Litha festival suiting you?”.

Sharon Olds, from "Known to Be Left", Stag’s Leap

closed starter for @cassvstark

when there was enough courtiers in winterfell for the great hall to be full at meal times, it was always a roll of the dice whether dacey would attend or not. there were times where she would go months without showing her face in the hall.

today was one of those times. it had been two weeks since the last time she'd eaten anywhere that wasn't her own chambers. the kitchen staff were used to checking where she would prefer to take her meals by now. if they didn't, it was likely dacey would not eat at all, far too polite to make a fuss.

today was different, though. cassana had decided to join her. that alone was enough to almost completely turn dacey's mood around. socialising with most people was often draining for her - but not with her little sister. around cassana, any anxiety dacey held almost evaporated entirely. she was grateful for that - as she was grateful for her company tonight.

"it's almost finished," she spoke of the tapestry, still hanging from the loom in the corner of the room, a complex pattern of silvers and forest greens, the lastest in a never ending series of works woven by dacey's own hand to steady herself when it was all too much. "it would have been by now, but i lost a few nights of work when owen held his ball. you can have it, if you want it."