Genevieve Wilhelmina Gaunt Born 13th January 1991 - Happy Birthday!

"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.

it wasn't until they had already started for seffora's lodgings that dacey realised, belatedly, that she should have informed somebody where she was going. it was hard enough at the best of times to keep track of her siblings, but when there were already two of their number unaccounted for, her stomach knotted at the idea of causing undue worry. she glanced over her shoulder, already a distance away from her northern countrymen, and caught the eye of a guard she knew, who gave her a brief nod. it eased her to know that somebody had seen her leaving, safely with her friend.

it was a difficult thing to come to terms to, making sure that you were noticed, when dacey had spent so long hoping for the opposite, to pass through the world with her head down, invisible.

but in the company of her friend, she could allow her heart to rest a little freer. she did not want to talk of loss or mourning, the heavy things that had hung around her ankles like shackles. seffora was a splendid tonic to that, and dacey allowed her good cheer to rub off on herself, a smile creeping across her face. "do you mind if i stay standing until the refreshments arrive? it's been a long journey." she was hesitant to explore the westerlands and stretch her legs more substantially, but she did not want to take a seat before she needed to.

"but i want to hear everything. about your good fortune." she truly did, let her be reminded that there could be something good in this world.

News of the losses suffered by House Stark had reached Longtable, so she knew she couldn't echo the sentiment of good fortune for Dacey. Instead, Seffora offered a gentle smile, reached briefly to take her friend's hand. It wasn't stated, but the empathetic gesture was clear. If the princess wished to speak, the lady would always lend her ear.

“We shall do just that, then,” the Lady of Longtable said with a bright smile. It was a nice feeling, truth be told, to connect with the softer, merrier side of herself that shone more often when she was a younger lady. Her position demanded a certain maturity, of course, and Seffora embodied it well. It was a sweet thing to be a little flower, as Rhys used to call her, every now and then.

“I've just arrived myself, I must confess, but we can figure out where I and those of my house will be staying,” she added, linking her arm with Dacey's so they could make their way through the groups of people arriving at Casterly Rock. Fortunately, it didn't take long for one of Seffora's guards to lead them to the area that had been designated for the Reach, and specifically for the people of Longtable.

“Danke sehr” Thank you, the lady said to her guards. “Bitten Sie eine die Damen, uns Tee und Feingebäck zu bringen, wenn sie können,” Please ask one of the ladies to bring us tea and pastries when they can, she requested before they left the two young women in the quarters for the Merryweather lady. “Well, here we are,” she said with a wave of her hands, grinning.

"hmm." dacey's own response was a low hum of acknowledgement. would she have liked the reach? she wasn't certain. it certainly seemed as though it would have been less overwhelming than king's landing, and all that transpired there. and yet, it was the latter that had tempted her from the north. perhaps there had been something within her that had sensed what was to come, that she would be needed in a way she had never been before.

"perhaps i would have." or perhaps she would have felt similarly to how she did in the crownlands, lost and shy and adrift. that was not lord manderly's concern, though, and so she kept it to herself. she already felt as though she was sharing too much with him, more than he asked for, at least. it would seem that the more present she was, the more difficult it was to shut up.

and that was the precise wrong way to be - at least, around nasir it was. she was getting along just fine before, when they could comfortably keep their distance from one another, but that distance had become less tenable, and would continue to do so the more time he spent as her brother's hand.

and yet. despite her own discomfort, the prospect of him not being the hand was worse than the prospect of seeing his face in her home more often than she was used to. the north needed the stability of a steady hand, and if it could no longer be brandon karstark, she trusted her brother's judgement, that nasir was the best man for the job.

"you don't have to." the refusal was quick to fall from her lips. "i would like to be prepared, i mean, but that's not exactly within your remit. i won't bother you with that." and she was over-explaining, trying to make the burden of her own existence a little smaller for others and somehow feeling more of an irritant than ever.

and she nodded, for of course there were reasons beyond that which she understood. "of course." she should have known that owen would have his reasons, his presence would be necessary, but did that mean she would need to go, too? almost as soon as the thought materialised, she felt guilty for it. she still had not quite found where she could be most useful to the north, but it would not be hiding behind the walls of winterfell.

"do we have a gift prepared?" she wondered aloud. "from the north, i mean. for the baby?"

✯

"i did think so." his response in reaction to her words about never having visited the reach, nor the westerlands; there was no denying the fact that of all the courtly beating hearts within the continent, it was the kingdom of thorns and roses that seemed the most culturally developed. a variety of differences between them, and yet their lands were filled with both the necessary for survival, and so much more.

whilst many northerners turned their noses up at the frequent trips the manderlys of white harbour took further south, there was no denying the fact that it had given them something many others did not have - perspective. "we were all there only some months ago, for the coronation of king cedric, following the end to their civil war."

it had been the height of discussion and gossip at the time, how brother had turned against brother; and it had resulted in one root of house tyrell being pulled from the dirt, the body of the eldest son left hanging from a window for all to see.

"perhaps you may have liked it." and suddenly, nasir began to wonder whether he were speaking too much; this princess was one he did not often find himself speaking with, for he did not speak much to any of the stark princesses. there was no denying the fact that dacey was now being forced to be present, because of the troubling issues which had arisen. that left much silences to either allow to grow between them, or fill.

"...do you want me to tell you of the westerlands?" the hand of the king asked, half hoping she would honestly say no, and the conversation could come to an end. why did it feel so strange each time they crossed paths with one another? why did he always find himself wondering whether he had been mistakenly rude? he knew he could do that at times, yet he were always quick to pull back and clarify.

but then she asked another question, one which there was no shortening the conversation of. "the king has been waiting for the right time to approach the lion king with some offer. there is no better time than when the man is of higher spirits - when his son has been born." there was only so much the north could do; search parties were out, but he began to wonder whether both stark princesses had involved themselves in the ritualistic practices of hags of the woods.

in that case, the only person responsible for what happened to them, was them. "there is little use in letting the opportunity slip."

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.

Nikos Engonopoulos, from Bolívar, a Greek Poem

dacey nodded her gratitude, remaining standing though seffora sat. there was a temptation to pace the room, but she withstood it - refusing a seat was one thing, but it felt rude to take the liberty to stroll around the room, even with someone she was as comfortable with as she was with seffora. she clasped her hands before her, neatly, and turned her full attention to the lady of longtable.

and her expression softened then, clear sympathy written on her face. sienna merryweather's treason had reached her ears, but it was not a topic she would have broached had sefford not mentioned it first. "i was sorry to hear of it," she spoke gently. "of your sister. the position she put you in. i cannot imagine how trying that would have been." trying seemed too small of a word for what seffora had been through, both before and after such an event. "you did not deserve it." but then, it seemed both the old gods and the new seemed to put them on paths that they did not deserve, did not ask for. dacey could only hope the worst of their life's challenges were behind them both.

for seffora, that certainly seemed so. she spoke of the people who had come together to help aid her in times of trouble, and that painted a smile on dacey's lips. finally, she took a seat next to seffora. "there's great wisdom in listening to the guidance of those with wisdom of their own to share, i think." it was a philosophy she lived her own life by - listen to those who knew better, follow the teachings of those who had knowledge to impart. "a skill i think many who rule keeps forget, sometimes." it was a subtle sort of compliment towards seffora. "you may not have prepared for this, but it sounds as though you are taking things in your stride. and when longtable flourishes again, don't let your gratitude towards those who helped you overshadow your pride in your own actions."

“Not at all. Make yourself comfortable in any way you like, Dacey,” the Merryweather lady offered with a friendly smile. The journey from the North was considerably longer, so she fully understood the princess' wish. Seffora, for her part, who'd ridden the last bit of the journey on horseback, did welcome the comfort of the couch that was set near one of the windows. It was lovely to get a good view of the western sea from it.

“Well, after what Sienna unleashed, anything would count as better fortune,” the Lady of Longtable admitted with a subtle scoff. To this day she remained conflicted of what her eldest sister had done, but Seffora had gradually learned it was not her burden to bear. What was hers to carry was the promise of what Longtable could become following the civil war. “I never thought I would end up being a ruling lady. None of the odds were in favor for it, and I never wished it, really,” the lady admitted. But circumstance built character, and Seffora could feel proud of herself for how she'd risen to the occasion.

“Well, my fortune has been deeply tied to those who have been guiding and aiding me in this chapter of my life. My aunt Denyse has offered her wisdom. I have little in the form of family left, and I'm so grateful for her,” she added with a subtle tug of her lips, a bittersweet smile. If one understood what it meant to lose siblings, it was Dacey. “Lord Tirius continues to be a support for me, some of his kin have moved to Longtable and been great advisors. I do have Laena, too. My cousin helped so many of my people, we arranged for her to teach her craft to many of the widows from the war, and they're slowly but surely rebuilding their lives”. Seffora's unshakable focus on the widows and the orphans had been her most important work once she became a ruling lady, wishing to support the most disenfranchised and the most vulnerable. “It's taken effort and time, but Longtable will be thriving again soon. I'm sure of it”.

dacey held no ill will towards amir manderly. he, and his entire house, was trusted by owen, and that was good enough for her to trust them too, even if there was no personal ties to them. that was more her own fault than anybody else's. not for the first time in her life, she felt a pang of regret for the years she had spent shuttering herself away from the world.

but despite the fact that owen trusted him, despite the fact that she was, genuinely, pleased to see him safely returned home, despite the fact that not a single part of her felt any sort of negative feelings towards amir manderly, dacey felt herself tensing at his words, felt her fingernails begin to scrape at the freshly healed skin around her thumbs, and felt a flash of displeasure shoot through her that she didn't entirely know what to do with.

"contemplating?" she repeated, dully. "but likely to come to pass. am i correct?" if it did happen, it wouldn't be amir's fault. she had asked him a question, and he had answered it true. she could not place the blame at his feet for giving her an answer she had sought. and yet, to dacey's shame, this was something she had to remind herself of.

"it is not my safety that i'm concerned about." she was certain that amir meant the words kindly, but she felt herself bristle at them all the same, just a little. did he think her the type of woman who cared only for her own skin? "if there is to be war, then my brothers will fight in it. my sister, too, probably." her mind went to cassana, and the thought of it made her feel queasy. "i've no wish to see another stark go to the grave before their time." it was not just the starks. the north had seen far too much death and bloodshed. she was not ready to prepare herself for more.

❅

historically, amir of house manderly had maintained a healthy distance with the ladies of winterfell; which had come into greater use when they became princesses of the north. there was nothing questionable that they would have heard about him, nothing that was not written in those foolish pamphlets; meaning the king trusted him to speak with the princesses. he still did not maintain a closeness with them however, and the more he thought about it, the more he realised he never had.

"your highness." amir greeted, lowering his head before straightening back to his full height.

it only fed further into the thoughts that swirled in his mind, the thoughts of being the other in the north, the thoughts of not belonging and that they would always be this way. the ones to blamed, for their obvious power and wealth. he found himself wondering what this princess wanted. he did not want to hear talk of more grief, he did not want to talk about manal, or anything else; he did not want to talk about the grief that lingered over both of their houses.

because amir thought owen stark was in the right. because, when people were comfortable, they refused to change. to become better. the callouses on his hands were a sign of his own work ethic: his willingness to make himself uncomfortable. people did not do that unless you forced change upon them. his opinion was very much the minority in the realm though. "his grace remains contemplating, but it will not be as you think."

two sides meeting on a battle field. skagos was officially belonging to the north anyway; it was just about bringing them to heel. he did not want to go back there, but he would. he would rain down fury on all those who made him feel this way. like he did not belong - because he did not. "it will be on their front, rather than our own. you should be safe, princess."

THE HOLIDAY (2006) dir. Nancy Meyers

war had left dacey feeling both far too hollow and far too full. the parasitic gnawing that had taken root in her stomach seemed to devour a little more of who she was every day, taking with it everything that made her feel whole and clean and dacey and leaving behind only an increasingly debilitating feeling of despair. there was sorrow and grief, yes, and a resounding sense of worry that was only natural given her sibling's roles in the war, but guilt and shame also - both because she knew she was not the only one to taste loss, and because here, barricaded behind winterfell's walls, dacey had proven herself to be nothing short of useless.

she preferred it at night. even on nights like tonight, when the castle was not-quite empty, it was more hushed. easier to move and breathe and be. at night, it was almost easy to pretend.

tonight was a little different - solely for the presence of sylvi cerwyn. her words brought dacey from her stupor, one that had her gazing pensively at the hearth she sat before, and she nodded a polite greeting. her mouth opened to exchange idle pleasantries, but she paused at the question. she could lie, and say she was faring well, that she was comfortable and at ease. it was what she would normally do. but tonight, she was just too tired to pretend anymore.

"poorly." the admission was a single word, but in it was more of an insight into her mind than she had given anybody in months. dark eyes lifted from the embers to meet sylvi's own, an attempt at a smile flitting across her features before dying. "though in the grand scheme of things, i haven't earned the right to complain." the rare moment of self-pity passed as quickly as it came over her, her face scrunching in an expression of concern. "i should be asking you that question. are you well?"

setting : the feast hall of winterfell, the hour is later and less people are wandering about, by the hearth, sylvi cerwyn spots one of the princesses and approaches her to talk (this is sort of flashbacky since it's during the war) ; starter for @daceystvrk

the walls of winterfell were cold to the touch, frigid upon lady of cerwyn's fingertips as she grazed them upon it's smooth surface as she wandered. sleep did not greet her easily these days, her children had long gone to bed, and there seemed to be a sort of tension that filled the air. so much had already been lost, so much uncertain. sylvi tried not to think of her own husband, of her dear friend brandon, of cassana...

she inhaled deeply, filling her lungs with the smell of firewood, ale, and stew as she entered the feast hall. she was both surprised and not to see others still lingering, mostly women and elder men. many spoke in hushed tones, perhaps either do to the lateness of the hour, or the topics of conversation. surely they all had someone they worried for, too. sylvi only hoped that all of their troubles would soon cease, that things would settle down quickly.

near the hearth, she spotted one of the stark princesses, dacey, the one who had always been quiet, a flower amidst the snowy landscape, frozen in time. she was kind, though, and likely racked with worry. "your grace," sylvi spoke softly as she approached the other, taking the seat next to the young woman, extending her hands to the hearth and flexing her fingers as she felt the coldness melt from her limbs. "how are you faring?" it was perhaps a silly question, but sylvi had always had an approach of getting straight to the topic at hand without talking around it.

Willow making the decision to marry Robert