Lucius Didn't Dismiss Dacey's Words, Nor Did He Tease Or Offer False Comfort. He Spoke As Plainly As

F•R•I•E•N•D•S (1994-2004)

dark half-moons had painted themself under dacey's eyes, a sure sign that she had slept very little in the nights leading up to this - the arrival of all who would see themselves as queen in the north, and the family members that came to support that ambition. she knew the north needed a queen, but more and more was she questioning owen's decisions. throwing the door open for all of westeros, bar a few notable exceptions, to throw their hat in the ring seemed to her like a recipe for disaster, but then, she had always been quiet and introverted. winterfell was her safest place, and though she were accustomed to guests, with it being the seat of a king, the idea of it being quite so full of strangers was not a pleasant one.

yet here she stood, in the courtyard, a smile laced with tension on her face as she greeted these invaders to her home. her hands were clasped before her, twisting around one another and betraying the anxiety she felt. owen's choice would be his own, but one that played on her mind, keeping her awake until the small hours as she carefully considered who she would see joining the wolves of winter.

and she did not think to see the distinctive sight of targaryen silver here. not in the north, given relations between owen and the king of new valyria were so fraught, but she quickly realised who it was. this must be the prince baelon, the son of rhaenyra, the black dragon the starks had once raised their banners for.

"your highness?" her voice was laced with uncertainty as she stepped forward to greet him. "welcome to winterfell, your grace. i trust the journey wasn't too difficult?"

Open starter

Where: Winterfell's Courtyard

When: Before the beginning of The Winter Ball, Baelon just arrived in Winterfell

Baelon did not mind the North. Actually, the only thing about it that bothered him was the cold, but he could deal with that. When he got the invitation from the King in the North to attend the event, he did not hesitate to accompany his sister. Baelon didn't want to let her attend alone, plus it was a good chance to get drunk without much judgement, it was a celebration after all. Along with that, the Starks were loyal to his mother to the very end and Baelon does not forget that. Even now, he believes that they did not forget their vows.

The trip had been a long and tiring one and Baelon could not wait to find his chambers, where a nice bed and a warm fire would be waiting for him. Winterfell was as beautiful as ever, the whole of the North was an incredible place, even though in his opinion, nothing would ever come close to his home of Dragonstone.

Baelon climbed down from his horse once they entered the courtyard of the castle. He handed the horse's lead to one of the servants that had come to meet him and his caravan, before nodding and thanking the young boy. Baelon paused for a moment, admiring his surroundings and observing who had already arrived in Winterfell. Not a familiar face, from what he could see. Although he failed to notice the figure approaching him.

whilst there was undoubtedly perks to being a king, it was also a thankless job. the weight of the kingdom rested on his shoulders, and it was that of which he spoke now. a new queen, rather than a wife. a new hand, rather than the loss of a friend so treasured. to dacey, it was telling, and worrying, all in one. the north needed owen the king, but she cared for owen the man.

"i understand there's more than... well, you to think about, but i don't think anybody would blame you for taking your time to start your search for a queen." perhaps they would. dacey certainly wouldn't think less of him, but then, she held in heart more compassion than she knew what to do with. "at least until the right woman makes herself known." it might be easier said than done, but too much change at once could be dangerous, and the starks household had shifted so much, still knitting around the gaps left by those they'd lost.

the mention of alys had her shifting uncomfortably, both feet finding the ground once more as she released her grip on her legs. she knew more than she should, but owen's words only reinforced her decision to keep that to herself, to relieve him of at least one burden. and so, she said nothing, pointedly avoiding the conversation of the oldest stark sister. neither did she address brandon - for she could not find it in her to condemn him, even if he did hate owen.

"a manderly could be a good idea." her gaze fell contemplatively on the fire. "there will doubtless be people vying for that position. not necessarily for the right reasons. not for the north." she liked to believe the best in people, but it would be foolish to deny that there were people who were out for themselves, grasping for power where they could. "if you think the manderlys share in your ambitions for the kingdom, and can support you when you are right and speak plain when they think you're wrong, then you could do worse than making one of them your hand."

When his wife died he receive the news his sister his was missing as well. Owen didn't take the time to process either. They sat on shelves in his mind and he would approach them later. When life allowed him to dust off the annals of his memory and feel it all. Brandon. Alys. Rosa. Only one remained and he imagined he would never see the living one again.

Much of it was his own fault. He should have put people in different positions, he should have listened to people when they said it was time for him to slow down. Owen Stark didn't like to listen to others. At the beginning of the conflict with the Umbers he say the cobbled road, where it stopped and how much they had to do, how far they had to go. He saw the improvements of Moat Cailin and the increased taxes from new villages and trade proved him right. Again. Northmen would be more than survivors.

In a generation they would speak about their southron wolf and all he sacrificed for the Kingdom that was thrust upon him after the mess of the dancing Dragons. Out of the flames came a kingdom came a kingdom reborn. His kingdom.

"I don't look forward to looking for a new queen." Owen murmured as he raised the hand carved mug of Honeywine Whisky from the Reach. A gift from their High Commander for the rate he provided in lumber for his building in the newly named golden sea. Another venture possible because of his drive.

"Alys could be dead. Brandon hates me as well. I need a new Hand. Perhaps a Manderly. Though, I've rather bad news for him. They will thank me in the long run."

Elizabeth Olsen for a special screening of His Three Daughters in London

@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?”

closed starter for @hxrundxne

"welcome to the north, your grace."

it was strange, dacey thought, how the chain of events set in motion by the dance had changed both their lives so dramatically. dacey had been born a daughter of house stark, a lady of the north, but in her brother gaining a crown, she had found herself a princess, even if she still wore the title awkwardly. in contrast, aemma had once been a sister to a monarch, and though she retained her title of princess, the line of succession had moved away from her line, to her cousins who now sat in king's landing. it served as a reminder ; how quickly their fortunes could change.

"i hope you aren't finding it too uncomfortable. it always takes me a little while to adjust to the heat in the south," her tone was apologetic - she wasn't sure why. it wasn't as though dacey stark had the ability to control the weather.

but she liked aemma targaryen. dacey was not a woman who made friends easily, always feeling a little out of place wherever she went, but though that self-conscious feeling had not disappeared with aemma, it was lessened somewhat.

"i was glad to hear that you and your brother had made the journey."

even on her best days, dacey retreated in on herself in a crowd, and today was not one of her better days. even in winterfell, it was a struggle to pull herself from her isolation, and doubly so when she was in a place that did not offer the comfort of home. there was an undeniable sort of joy in the air, and while it warmed her heart to witness it, she remained on the outskirts regardless, witnessing the merriment, but never quite a part of it.

even if she had been at her brightest, had been able to make herself mingle in the crowds, the competitions would have held little interest for dacey, save for one name on the lists. her cousin's skill was well known, and here was her opportunity to see it in action. so she had braved the crowd, finding herself a spot to watch as lucius did what he did best. even with her limited knowledge on such matters, all she knew coming from watching starks stronger than she train in winterfell's courtyard, there was no denying his ability, and when he was declared the winner, she genuinely felt a little proud of him as she joined in the applause.

she did not expect him to spot her, nor to approach her, but she smiled when he did, the tense set of her shoulders relaxing a little in the company of someone she was more familiar with. "and to you," she greeted him back. she did not want to butcher the traditional phrase, to embarrass herself by stumbling over words that she was unfamiliar with, instead opting to sidestep the issue. "your title is safe another day, though i don't think that was in doubt." even with her inexpert perspective, it did not look like a particularly close contest to dacey.

Closed starter for @daceystvrk Setting: Following the end of the archery competition, Lucius runs into the Stark princess.

The bastard had earned the grim moniker of Red Rivers because of how many men's lives ended every time he nocked an arrow to his bowstring during the war. With an archery competition taking place as part of the activities for the Litha festival, it was only right that he defended his renowned skill —his title as one of the best there ever was—, even more so in his homeland.

There were very skilled archers he competed against in the tournament, making him work for it, but in the end, Lucius Rivers did emerge as the undisputed champion. There was prize money to be earned, but it was the recognition that the bastard of Raventree Hall truly savored. The reverence, the fear, and not born out of a name or noble title but because of what he was capable of doing.

The giving of the prizes for the archery competition and other disciplines in the open tourney ended, and that was when he spotted the familiar figure of the Northern princess. She brought her hands together for some subtle clapping as he walked towards his cousin. “Well, I had to defend my title, didn't I?” he said as a form of greeting before he offered a respectful bow for Dacey. “Beannaithe Litha,” Blessed Litha, he said then, which he didn't actually wish to any save a select few.

if there was one thing dacey knew how to do, it was be polite. manners and kindness came to her with ease - but that did not mean it was not hard to stifle a laugh at the sight of aleksander, donning the ornamented mask she had been allotted, with all it's fine embellishing. doubtless, aleksander would not mind her laughter, but she closed her eyes and pressed her lips together anyway, just for a second, to regain her composure. when she opened them again, though, she was still smiling. "you are far too kind." she meant that genuinely, before her expression turned more mischievous, a rare sight in the princess of winter. "but let's see what you win first, hmm? then we can decide who it should be inflicted upon."

"Apologies, your highness," Aleksander put on a faux solemn tone, hand placed over his heart before the mask was handed to him and he quickly fixed it in place. This ornate piece was heavier than the one he had originally worn. Perhaps this would aid them both in their disguise. A princess wearing a plain mask while a second son wore something ridiculously decorated. He snorted, then. "Don't know how welcomin' the mudmen will be towards symbols from the west. Might be close to the border but they're still northmen through and through." Nonetheless, he was not about to pass up a challenger. Never was, never would be. "I'll win a prize for you, m'lady. To take back to Winterfell." That they were more inviting to such things was no secret, it went unsaid.

dacey's gaze lingered on wylla, her niece's small face full of curiosity and unspoke questions dacey was half-hoping she would not ask. the ache in her chest was an unfamiliar feeling, equal parts yearning and hesitation. cyrene's words were gentle, in contrast to what had felt like a reprimand before, but gentle words had done little to ease the knot of insecurity tightening within her. braved than she seems. braver than she'll let you believe. green eyes drifted over cyrene for a moment, trying to deduce if the words were supposed to be comfort, challenge, or mockery, and unsure she would find a definite answer to that.

it was almost second nature, the way her hands clasped before her, so much so that she did not realise she was using her nail to scratch at the rough skin around her other thumb, the outward manifestation of her lingering doubts. the voice in the back of her head was telling her that wylla would not like her, that she did not know how to bridge the gap between aunt and stranger, and it would be an embarrassment to try. the thought had been gnawing at dacey since she'd first heard of cyrene's arrival, and now faced with the girl herself, she felt utterly unprepared for any of this.

cyrene's patience was, too, something dacey hadn't prepared for. it were further proof that the woman who returned was not the girl she remembered. cyrene wasn't pushing, wasn't teasing, wasn't testing dacey's limits. there was no sharp edge that she had anticipated.

finally, dacey crouched to meet wylla's gaze at her own level, skirts gathering in the snow that covered the walls. her movements were slow, as though afraid to scare her off, but the small, hesitant smile on her face remained, her voice soft when she spoke. "it is nice to meet you after all these years, wylla." she wondered if her northern accent sounded strange to a child accustomed to the riverlands, who would have only heard such tones from her mother on a regular basis.

her eyes flicked back to cyrene briefly, as though looking for approval, or permission, and when she turned her attention back to wylla, she released her hand from her own grip and extended it, palm up, leaving it in the space between herself and wylla for the little girl to decide what to do with. "i think you must be a wonderful explorer," her voice was a little firmer now, as though she were trying to find something to latch on to. "it is not everyone who can find their way out to the walls. it's so high." a pause, and dacey swallowed.

"i've spent some time exploring winterfell myself. learning it's secrets." her voice lowered, as though she was sharing one of those hidden secrets now. "if you'd like, i can show you all my favourite places. the ones nobody else knows of."

Cyrene watched Dacey with a careful eye, noting the quiet that had always defined her younger sister. It was the same quiet that had once driven Cyrene to provoke her, to tease and cajole in the hopes of coaxing something louder from the girl who seemed to carry the weight of the world in her stillness. She had always wanted Dacey to roar, to be the wolf Cyrene believed she could be, rather than the shadow of one.

But time had worn that impulse down. Dacey’s silence wasn’t weakness; it was something harder to define, something solid and unyielding. It was courage, though Dacey would never claim it.

Cyrene glanced down at Wylla, her small hand still clinging to her mother’s fingers. She felt the weight of her daughter’s curiosity as Wylla’s wide eyes flickered to her aunt. And still, Dacey said nothing.

“She’s braver than she seems,” Cyrene said softly, her words meant for both her daughter and her sister. The irony of it struck her. She had spent so long wishing Dacey would break her silence, only to now realize how much strength it carried.

She crouched, steadying Wylla as the girl peered up at her aunt with quiet fascination. “This is your Aunt Dacey,” Cyrene said, a smile tugging faintly at her lips. "She’s braver than she’ll let you believe, I'm afraid.”

Her gaze flicked to Dacey then, searching, hoping. She didn’t tease this time. Didn’t push. Cyrene had learned to leave some silences unbroken.

dacey did not answer the question immediately. it wasn't that she bristled at the question, did not take offence to the fact it had been asked. no, when the quiet stretched between them, it was because she was considering the answer she would give. the north had always been her home, a place she was sure she would never leave, she still felt that way. when she closed her eyes, she could not picture herself anywhere but winterfell, but she knew that would not always be so. once the matter of his own marriage was settled, owen would likely want to see her wed, too, and there was no telling where her groom to be would be from, and where that would see her living. the matter of leaving the north or not was not in her own hands.

"i don't know," she admitted at last, her voice quiet enough that it didn't carry beyond lillith. "the north is as much a part of me as the marrow in my bones. i shouldn't like to leave it, but none of us know what the future will bring."

and yet. her lips pressed together with the thoughts she would not speak aloud. for a long time, she had thought of winterfell as her sanctuary. as a sickly young girl, it was a place where the ills of the world could not touch her, and she had carried that thought process into her adulthood. now, though, she could not help but wonder if it was less a sanctuary, and more a cage she had constructed around herself. she took a breath to dispel the thought. there was little to be gained from dwelling upon it.

"ironoaks," she spoke softly, latching on to the offered distraction. there was something in the offer that tempted her, to her own surprise. she had always been more comfortable in what was familiar, but even in winterfell's halls, little felt familiar now. there was too much being whispered in the shadows, and the sinking anticipation of impending disaster she could not shake. the idea of an escape, however brief, was not unwelcome. "i would like to visit." she confirmed. "though we should both pray that i don't bring the cold with me when i do."

lillith stood beside dacey, her hands clasped loosely before her to keep them from fidgeting. the warmth of the hearth barely reached her, and she shifted slightly closer, her dark skirts brushing against the stone floor. the heat was a welcome reprieve from the biting chill of the north, though her mismatched eyes flickered toward dacey, noting the way her friend still seemed cold despite the fire’s proximity.

“the north doesn’t make it easy for visitors, does it?” she murmured, her voice light with an undertone of amusement. “i thought the cold might have mellowed since the last time i came here, but it appears as unyielding as ever. you must tell me, dacey—if you had the choice, would you ever leave it? or has it bound you too tightly, like frost creeping into stone?”

she glanced toward the bustling hall beyond, voices and laughter spilling into the quieter space they occupied. the firelight painted the edges of dacey’s gown in golden hues, and lillith’s gaze lingered there a moment before returning to her friend’s face. “you should come to the vale. ironoaks would welcome you, and it would do you good to escape this chaos, even for a little while. there are no hot springs to warm the walls, true, but the hearths burn just as brightly—and," as the thought formed a drunken clatter arose from a particularly rowdy group in the corner of the hall. "the company might be more agreeable.”

a faint smile tugged at her lips, softening her typically reserved expression. “though perhaps you’ll tell me you’re just as stubborn as your winters and wouldn’t leave even if the chance arose.”