Dacey Turned Her Head, Dark Eyes Fixing On Brandon. There Was Much That Neither Was Saying, But She Wasn't

dacey exhaled, the breath coming from her in a visible puff as it met the cold air. it was a heavy burden brandon carried now, and she felt the weight of it on her own shoulders. she looked at him for a second too long before speaking, but it was not suspicion that clouded her gaze, merely contemplation. perhaps with all that had transpired, the cracks in the ice of the northern court, it was a foolish thing to trust him, but she did. when she looked at him, she saw only honesty in his face.

"i don't envy the position you find yourself in." owen was her brother, but she would offer him no lies. it would do no good - because despite everything, brandon still knew owen far better than she. dacey loved her brother, and there was little he could ask of her that she would not do, and yet, she could not pretend that she had the measure of him as a man. "if i thought my words held any weight with my brother, i would offer to speak for you. but..." she trailed off, allowing the unspoken to fill the silence. but, it would be best coming from brandon.

and it was strange, how he seemed to want to give her reassurance, when that was the exact thing she was struggling to find to offer him. "oh, it's..." she began her protest, her assurances that she believed that the blame for this did not lie at his feet, but the words died in her throat. brandon faltered before her, suddenly unsteady on his feet, and her reaction was instinctual, moving closer and raising her hands as though he did not tower over her, as if she could bear the weight of him if her fell.

in the end, she did not need to. he caught himself on the wall, pressed his hand to the side of his head, and still, dacey stood there, arms half-raised, hesitating as she studied him. "brandon," her voice was soft, a whisper on the wind as she looked him over, and saw etched in his features something that she could not name. her heart was hammering in her chest, and though she knew the gesture may not be welcomed, she could not fight the urge to reach out, to provide something solid and steady should he stumble again. the vision she had always held of brandon karstark was of a man who seemed so unwavering ; to witness him like this was unsettling.

dacey lowered one arm, but the other stretched out, bridging the small gap between them and coming to rest upon his arm. the fabric of his cloak was rough beneath her palm, but warm, her touch light, but firm, as though her own gentleness could somehow lend him strength. she did not know if she was overstepping, if this was too familiar, but in that moment, it was the last thing on her mind, her thoughts full of little else but her concern. "are you all right? do you need..." she glanced around, looking for somewhere to bid him to sit, before settling on a stone mounting block a few meters away.

"over here," her fingers curled around his sleeve, and she tentatively led him to the mounting block, brushing the snow from it with her free hand before gesturing for him to sit. it was only then did she let go of his arm, though her gaze did not move from his face, scanning for any sign of weakness or pain, or what exactly had come over it. perhaps it was the stress of it all. perhaps he was just tired.

"you're all right," her voice was low, a steady mantra of reassurance. "you'll be all right." she should step back, give him space to breathe, but a part of her remained afraid that if she did, he would keel over sideways. at least it was happening here, with the snow to break his fall and no eyes but her own and the gods, rather than in the overheated hall surrounded by northmen, though that was a small mercy in the grand scheme of things.

♞

the cold air outside the hall bit at brandon karstark’s cheeks, but he barely noticed it. winterfell’s great halls had been stifling, crowded with people and their endless voices. out here, beneath the wide expanse of a pale sky, he could think clearer. speak clearer. though dacey stark’s presence made his words heavier than he liked. she had a way of looking at a man like she could see the cracks in him, even if she didn’t mean to.

she stood before him now, bundled in furs, her cheeks flushed—partly from the cold, partly from the unspoken weight of their conversation. she was anxious, that much was clear. he could see it in the way her hands twisted at the edge of her cloak, the way she glanced at him like she wasn’t sure whether to trust his words or doubt them.

brandon exhaled, his breath a plume of mist. he’d been taller than most his whole life, but now, with his beard grown thick and wild, and the weight of years etched into his features, he felt like a shadow looming over her. he shifted, trying to soften his stance, though his voice remained gruff. “aye, i want to speak wi’ him,” he said, his words slow, careful. his karhold accent roughened each syllable. “but it ain’t about what i want, is it? i’ve got no choice but t’ clear me name and karhold’s name. them rumours o’ the true north are spillin’ too close me and my kin. if yer brother thinks i’m stirrin’ rebellion... well, that’s a noose i won’t wear.”

he glanced down at her, noting the worry in her eyes. it wasn’t just for him—there was a weight there, tied to her brother. to owen. “but yer right,” he admitted, his voice softening just a shade. “i don’t know how he’ll take it. things’ve been… strained.” he rubbed a hand over his beard, the motion slow, thoughtful. brandon had made his choice in refusing to attend the ceremony in which nasir manderly had taken up the position of hand; for the principle of it all. he too had not listened to the true wants of the north folk, and instead had been a champion.

perhaps even an instigator. it don't matter, not when the walls of white harbour remain high and they continue to become all the richer.

“but it’s a talk that needs havin’. and better it comes from me mouth than through whispers or knives in the dark, aye?” he watched her shift on her feet, unsure. she was trying to decide if she agreed, trying to decide if she even wanted to agree.

“listen, princess,” he said, his tone warmer now, though no less rough. “i ain’t leadin’ no rebellions. i don’t want yer brother’s crown, nor his throne. but what i do want is t’ make sure my folk don’t pay the price fer things i’ve no hand in.” he looked away then, out toward the snow-covered trees beyond the walls of winterfell. “yer kin matters t’ me. not just karstarks, but starks too. that’s why i’ll talk t’ him, no matter how he feels about it. he needs t’ hear it, and i'll leave it for da gods to decide..”

when he glanced back at her, his eyes softened just enough to ease the sharp edges of his words. “ye’ve got nothin’ t’ worry about, dacey. this ain’t somethin’ i’d leave unsettled. not when yer've been dealin wit....” there was a slight blur in his vision, and it showed in the fact his dark grey orbs seemed to flicker for a moment, becoming unfocused; he found himself reaching out against the stone wall, as though he needed to steady himself before losing his footing beneath him. it had come in a sudden wave, and his hand moved to his temple.

his mask slipped a little, and while she felt a pang of guilt, it was not enough to offer to swap back. in this matter, dacey decided she would be completely selfish. "you can always take it off, if it's too cumbersome for you," there was a faux innocence laced in her tone. "i'd be happy to take it off your hands. for the purposes of the competition, of course." her arm slid through his, leading him to the festival games and looking for something aleks might excel in. "what of this?" she pointed to a wooden crank. from what she could understand, it was a test of strength, the aim being to use one arm to get the crank to turn to a right-angle. it reminded her of an arm wrestle. "you are strong."

He saw her suppress a laugh as Aleksander had finally fixed his mask in place, the ridiculous ornate thing heavier than his simple one had been. Dacey's amusement came as no surprise and when he lifted his hand to nudge to mask back into place after it had slipped a little, Aleks couldn't help the small, albeit equally amused, sigh that escaped him. He huffed, then, offering his arm for the Princess to slip her own through. "Right. Your Highness deserves nothin' but the best," there was slight mockery in his tone, but in no way malicious. The Princess Dacey did deserve good things. That did not mean Aleks couldn't make jokes. He led them towards the stands with the Games, contemplating which one might be the best to play.

closed starter for @ulises-tarth location: at the fair

"i think i had my eyes closed for that last one," dacey admitted, leaning against the outside of the photobooth as she waited for the little strip of pictures they had just taken to develop. it had seemed like a fun, cute idea at the time, but almost immediately as she had stepped into the cramped booth, she had been unsure how to pose, what to do with her face, where to put her arms, and she was sure that they'd just taken nearly four identical photos.

the strip finally printed, and she picked it up, gingerly, careful not to smudge it before it dried. "yep. see? eyes closed." she sighed a little, before a smile came over her face. "i like the first picture, though." in it, ulises was facing the camera, but dacey wasn't, her chin upturned to instead look at him. she looked happy. "do you want this, or can i keep it?"

for six months, dacey and safeerah had been near enough joined at the hip. parting from one another had been a bittersweet thing, sorrow, and yet an inevitability. they were just too different, their outlooks and philosophies and what they wanted out of life. and yet, there was a sense of hope to it. dacey had been less diligent about maintaining the friendship than she should have been, but there was no time like the present to rectify that.

"safeerah!" dacey was a quiet soul, reserved in her emotions, but she made no attempt to hide the joy and excitement that she felt at seeing safeerah again. her arms wrapped around her in a gentle hug, the voluminous skirt of her dress making it difficult to pull her as close as she normally would. "thank you. it's a replica of something audrey hepburn wore." one of dacey's favourite actresses, there had been no doubt in her mind that this was what she'd wear. "but look at you!" she smiled brightly. "that shade of red is so lovely on you. you look stunning." there was no lie or exaggeration. safeerah looked beautiful.

"we have to catch up," she declared. "i'm sure you have plenty of travel stories to fill me in on. where have you been this year?"

event starter: @daceystvrk setting: hollywood glamour night. context: dacey and saf dated in the past. they have not seen each other since they said goodbye in the airport.

most of safeerah's life had been lived wherever she pleased and with whomever she pleased. she went where opportunity was, or wherever the last person to capture her heart was. it was her favourite thing about her line of work. the freedom it gave her. most of her life fit inside two suitcases. it had been during her travels that her path crossed with dacey, and they had spent half a year together until life happened, and they had to say goodbye. it was one of the few times that she felt bound by to take certain opportunities. the two women had parted as friends, but it had been one of the relationships that she had mourned the most. now it seemed their paths had crossed again.

she spotted the woman from across the hall, instantly recognising her, and excused herself from the little group. she got a hold of two glasses of champagne before making her way over to dacey. she stepped out of the crowd with a carefree smile. “i had a feeling you might be here. it's so lovely to see you again.” for others, it was awkward running into an ex, but she had always prioritised ending as friends. well, with almost everyone. she had dropped the ball with deimos. safeerah gave her a careful hug, afraid to mess with her dress or hair in any way. she took a step back to admire her. “you look absolutely beautiful, dacey. it's like you stepped out of one of those old hollywood movies.”

"you don't sound silly," dacey's voice was firm as she spoke. she did not believe otherwise, either. perhaps idealistic, but if anybody was going to take the hope from her, it would not be dacey. "and you are no bother. not while there is still packing to be done," she half-joked, gesturing to the disarray of her room and the swirl of activity. "i hope you know you can speak with me whenever you'd like. i am not so difficult to find in winterfell." when she was not isolating herself away from those she did not wish to find her.

we have to convince ourselves that we are something. perhaps maisie would not recognise the effect the words had on dacey. it was a lovely sentiment, but not one she was sure she could live up to. what was there that she could convince herself that she was? the voice in the back of her head said only words of discouragement, all the horrible things it convinced her everyone else was thinking. she wasn't sure what else there was to her. but rather than dwell on it, she merely nodded.

"we sound like philosophers," she offered a wry smile, finally securing her trunk and rising to her feet. "as ready as i can be, i suppose. i don't much enjoy travelling. let's hope the road is clear and safe, for the both of us."

“I sound silly, don't I?” She jokes, knowing that his ideas were a little too idealistic, belonging more to the plane of dreams than reality. As if she were inside a cave and decided to stare at the shadows outside as she pleased, ignoring the truth of the matter “I think I'm delaying your party, I'm sorry” She recalled, Mormont couldn't wait to be inside the icy plains of the North, her true home “Thank you, it's nice to have someone to talk to”

“Don't assume, be sure” she encouraged. Perhaps it was Maisie's way of dealing with things, but she didn't like anyone doubting her own ability or courage, unless, of course, it was the enemy side ‘I don't want to sound conceited or invasive, princess, but we have to convince ourselves that we are something” She frowns thoughtfully “A king truly becomes a king when he recognises himself as one, not just by his title” She sighs, pushing everything out of his mind.

“It's like a fine line, one foot walks in the shadows and the other in the light. I'd like to spend more time in the light, to be honest, but even so, what's light to me may not be to you” Completing Dacey's thought, “Ready for the long journey?” She asks, putting her hands behind her back, a habit she possesses, preparing to leave Princess Stark's presence.

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.”]

if dacey was more confident, more sure of herself, she likely would already be dancing without waiting for invitation from hugo vance of the riverlands. she would not care if she looked a fool, would not worry that people may look at her and laugh. 

but unfortunately, she did care. she didn’t want to embarrass herself, her brother or her country, and worst of all she didn’t want to embarrass the poor man who had asked her to dance. for a second, she wavered, considered changing her mind to spare him having to go through that. 

but then he spoke, with a self-deprecating joke that mirrored her own, and that was enough to banish doubts and set dacey stark at ease. She exhaled a quiet breath of laughter at his words. “either we are about to make a wonderful pairing, or the worst westeros has ever seen,” she mused. “Shall we find out?”

She didn't say Princess and it made him wonder how he should greet her. Hugo knew that as a Stark of Winterfell she was undoubtedly a Princess of the North. Far more regale than he expected, soft features and nothing about her said she was a Northern woman. She didn't look ready to don a leather jerkin and go into battle. No. She looked a lady, a Princess. And that made him even more nervous.

Hugo Vance was going to fall over and crack his head on the floor, he just knew it. He knew that he would embarrass his kingdom. But, when the fall didn't come, he trusted himself and decided he would address by her title for she was a Princess and he'd yet to meet a Stark that did not have their title.

"The pleasure is mine, your highness. And so is the honor."

He smiled at what he would assume was her jest. "No worries, I've two right feet, so together we may make up for the others shortcomings."

the idea that owen and the targaryen king would make nice with one enough was enough to bring a small laugh to dacey's lips. "i very much doubt it, but i suppose stranger things have happened." she didn't like to speak for her brother, and more often than not had little insight to offer, but on this, at least, she felt confident. "i don't really know the whys of it all. why we went there," she confessed. "if i had to guess, i would say it was probably more about who else would be there than the man of the hour."

she nodded, his amplifying her respect for him. "such is the lot of an older sibling." she had enough siblings herself that she understood how it worked, being both an older sister and a younger one herself. "they're lucky to have you." it was not an empty compliment. as much as she would not bring it up, there was no escaping the fact his cousin was a bastard, and life would not be as kind to him as to his siblings for that simple fact. and yet, a bond still seemed to exist between lucius and his kin, and that was something she found commendable.

"you're not the worst company i've ever had." she shrugged. she'd no doubt that he was capable of rubbing people up the wrong way, but she'd yet to be offended. she didn't even really feel all that self-conscious, which was a feat within itself. "i'm rather enjoying it, actually. if you wish to make things unpleasant, you might have to try a little harder than you initially planned." there was an honesty to the way he spoke that she appreciated. there had been little of that in king's landing, and she had grown weary of trying to decipher the difference between what people said and what they meant.

Lucius knew that perhaps he ought to say something about the losses endured by House Stark. Say something for the sibling that was recently buried, or the sister that had gone missing. He didn't truly feel sorry, however. He had no ill will, he simply had never gotten to know Jon or Alysanne at all. They had been strangers to him. So he didn't utter any condolences for they would have been superficial, insincere words. Even Dacey, who was just getting to know him, would have detected the lack of truth.

“Your brother is seeking to make good with the dragon king?” he inquired, curious to know what was the North's vision of the recent crowning. The realms were no longer Seven Kingdoms under Targaryen rule and had not been for years, and yet they all dragged themselves to the old capital to kiss ass and play nice with the dragon folk. “I admit I had little desire to travel there myself, but where my siblings go, I go. Someone needs to keep an eye on them”. Especially in a place where he trusted no one.

Lucius glanced sideways, looking at Dacey briefly as they walked. “Fret not, I'll be quicker than you in making my company unpleasant,” he half-joked in return, certain that she'd be the one escaping his company eventually, not the other way around, since the Stark princess was evidently a sweet person. The bastard knew he wasn't a likable man and never really bothered to make himself so. Polishing his manners in that way had never been something his father cared about. Samwell never sought to make a proper lord out of him, after all.

closed starter for @owenstark

dacey leaned in towards the fire, letting the heat seek into her bones. it almost felt strange, that in the middle of such tumultuous times for the north, that they could find a moment to just be. 

it had been one thing after another. if that was overwhelming for dacey, she could not imagine how owen must feel. he was a king, but he was still her brother, and as a sister, she reserved the right to worry for owen the man, rather than owen who wore the crown. the loss of a queen was a blow to the north, but the loss of the mother of his children was what weighed most heavily on her. alysanne’s disappearance was similarly felt, but he had lost a twin. she couldn’t believe that just one of those things would not drag anybody down, let alone both in succession. 

she drew her knees to her chest, adjusting her skirts and wrapping her arms around them in a gesture that was both informal and child-like, something she had done long ago when they had both been far younger and less burdened. for once, her hands were still. 

she turned her head to look at him, taking a moment to simply observe before speaking. “what are you thinking about?” her voice was gentle - not obtrusive, simply wondering. “you don’t have to tell me. but if you want to talk about anything… well, i’m here to listen.”

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