There Was A Peace To The Godswood That Dacey Had Not Felt Since They Had Passed The Neck, And Left The

it did not take more than a cursory glance in dacey's direction to see that something was very, very wrong. her dark eyes were darting around the room frantically, and her hands, which were never still at the best of times, were moving a mile a minute. if she stopped to still them, to look down, she would notice that her fingers were bleeding.

it wasn't until she had been informed of saoirse's disappearance that she realised, with a sinking heart, that she did not know when she had last seen her sister. and now she was missing, just like alys, and dacey could not help but shoulder the guilt for it. she did not want to be a selfish person - but she had been, so concerned with what was happening in her own head that she did not see past her nose at what was happening to those she claimed to love. the guilt chewed at her, and it hurt.

there was enough movement that she did not immediately notice the karstark's appearance - not until brandon was close enough to her that she could meet his gaze. dacey looked up, silent for a moment. the facts as she knew them were this: alysanne was gone, and thanks to the last talk she had with the lord of karhold, she had her suspicions as to exactly what had happened, and knew somewhere deep in her stomach that she would never again see her elder sister alive. the second truth was that saoirse, too, found herself lost - but this time, dacey did not have the slightest inkling what might have occurred. was it another casualty of alysanne's folly, or something else entirely?

dacey opened her mouth to greet him, but what came out was not a polite hello. "have you seen my sister?" she paused. "saoirse," she added. it was ridiculous that she even needed to clarify exactly which sister they were looking for. if she wasn't so close to the epicentre of it all, she would almost look upon the situation with disbelief. "we can't find saoirse." her voice had grown thicker, the lump in her throat growing painfully large as she attempted to choke out the words. her lashes moved rapidly to blink back the tears she'd been too worried to shed, until that moment. it was all too much, too quickly.

who: @daceystvrk when and where: kings landing, brandon karstark enters the main gathering hall allocated for the northern court to find a tense, stressed atmosphere. within the middle of the hall is princess dacey stark.

the king's road would be a long journey, venturing through the length of the continent; and yet, the northern court within kings landing had been busying itself. there was a constant bustle of movement in the preparation to depart, for the hour of the wolf had come to an end - northmen did not belong in the south, and each time they did venture south, it was made abundantly clear why they were not supposed to be here.

loyally dedicated men who fought black now looked upon the green dragons, and there was noticeable tension in the air.

"something's off." brandon walked into the room alongside his brother, surrounded by the squires and other men of houses karstark and reed alike: at first glance it appeared as though the hall was just bustling and busy, and yet a second glance revealed more about the situation at hand. there was an issue, it was apparent in the faces of the servants, the way nasir manderly was giving orders to multiple men that surrounded him, and close to him stood the princess dacey stark; he thought of their last interaction and hoped she had not dabbled in what it was he had advised her against.

his brother stepped forward into the crowds, pushing through to enquire from the manderlys about what was happening; there were multiple people lined up giving their statements, as though they were being questioned. the king in the north was nowhere to be seen: though something told him that matter was only more pressing. more of a concern.

brandon himself did not step forward to speak, silently watching his brother instead: and yet, when a familiar gaze turned and looked upon him, he only lowered his head in a show of respect.

it took a moment of hesitation, a moment of wondering whether he ought to even wonder about such a thing: but he followed in the footsteps of his younger brother, parting through the crowds as he approached the princess of the north. the closer he got, the more obvious it was that she was greatly concerned about something. his mind immediately jumped to alysanne, and he felt his stomach twist. "highness." he greeted, his tone weary. trying to read between the lines.

brandon was never good at reading between the lines. had they found alysanne?

for a moment, dacey fell quiet, looking beyond lucius at some point in the distance. his words presented a conundrum, for as much as she was enjoying his company, in a strange sort of way she hadn't quite anticipated, lucius did not feel like someone she should confide in. but then, neither could she ignore his words. there was no doubt that the misfortune that had hit house stark in king's landing was not a secret.

"no." her answer came quietly. she had almost managed to forget, for a moment, lost in the frivolity of small talk, but now her mind wandered back to her sisters. "king's landing wasn't a good experience for us." the fact they were returning with two less starks amongst their number was proof enough of that.

she didn't want to dwell on it. there would be time to think it all through once she was back in winterfell, but time with her cousins was brief, and soon it would be over. she wanted to make the most of it, and so she schooled her face back into a smile and nodded her head. she had not asked the question out of a need to stroke her own ego - it was a genuine curiosity, one that had now been sated. "i'll try and keep it that way." the joke was a light, self-deprecating jab at herself. she even managed a laugh. "there's no offence taken. i'm actually flattered you think so."

Lucius gave a curt nod in response. A fresh start it was. Another person might have considered the strategic nature of becoming closer to someone of royal blood, yet the bastard did not operate in that way. There were few benefits in the world for him to reap beyond what his skill, his infamy, and the closeness to his siblings would award. The Bowman of Raventree Hall did not look for kindness or warmth in others either, yet he could not deny a part of him did appreciate Dacey Stark's manner of treating him.

“Northern folk don't do too well in Southron realms, I've heard,” he mused, admittedly curious to learn her opinions. Lucius did not merely mean the differences in weather, but the way of moving about in the world and interacting with others was so distinct in the wintry realm of the Starks than it was in other regions.

He wouldn't speak further on behalf of his siblings, though knowing the softness in their nature, they would never deem their cousin an intrusion. Her next question was somewhat unexpected. He arched an eyebrow, glancing at her as they walked. He wasn't someone who often felt pleased, so he actually struggled somewhat to decide where he found himself around that spectrum. “I'm not displeased,” he admitted in the end. “No offense to your siblings, but I do find your company better than theirs. They're so serious,” the Riverlander added with a light scoff. He knew he was a serious individual too, so putting him together with someone similar was just a recipe for quiet nods, intense stares and taciturn silence.

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."

dacey did not consider herself an intelligent woman. she was not particularly learned, nor did she possess a vast amount of political acumen, but what she did have was the ability to see beyond what was said, and find meaning in what was not. even if the tears had not quite yet dried upon her cheeks, she thought that she might have recognised it in the woman before her.

there was a specific look that painted itself on the faces of those who were trying to hold themselves together, clinging to frayed edges in the hope that they would not unravel. she had seen it in her own reflection - the look in the eyes that betrayed thoughts that were elsewhere, the way her voice took on a certain tone, like a song in a wine glass, despite her assurances that all was well. something stirred within her, a quiet urgency to offer whatever comfort she could, but it would be an intrusion to press the matter further. and so, instead of lingering in the unsaid, dacey focused her attention on what was. "i know what you mean," her voice was soft, audible over the din of king's landing to naelys only. "sometimes, when i'm in a crowded place, it's like the walls are pressing in." a flicker of a smile crossed her face then, a private moment of understanding. it would seem such a silly thing to someone who had not experienced it themselves - but dacey had. she knew all too well how suffocating it could be.

"oh," her gaze turned to the door of the step, as though she were looking upon a foreign beast, uncertain whether or not it would snap at her or leave her be. "no, mine are the old gods." it was not that she had quarrel with those who followed the faith of the seven, the divisions that had drawn lines in the northern court more a source of anxiety than something she wished to involve herself in, but it all seemed so unfamiliar to her. even standing here made her feel out of place. "i wanted to visit the godswood, but i'm afraid my attendant misunderstood, and i haven't got the heart to tell them otherwise." her smile turned rueful, hands clasping together in front of her skirts as one thumb scratched at the other. "i know it sounds ridiculous, but i thought i would just... wait for him to come back."

her cheeks burned, embarrassment for admitting her own ineptitude, and a touch of guilt. the woman had sought solace, and dacey was intruding on it. and yet, there was something that dacey could not put her finger on keeping her tied to the conversation, as though they knew one another, and were not strangers, standing on the steps of the sept.

"have you been away for long?" her query was gentle. "it must be difficult to expect to return to something familiar, and find that it isn't." dacey had only ever really known winterfell, excursions away from the place she had made her sanctuary few and far between, but with jon's death, even the ancient walls of her home felt different.

"i'm just visiting - my family and i - for the coronation. from the north. from winterfell."

¿

naelys' breath hitched as she exited the sept, her mind a swirling tempest of grief and confusion. the familiar sting of tears blurred her vision as she almost collided with the woman standing just outside. she hardly registered the words spoken to her, her mind too engrossed in the most hazy of memories and the overwhelming presence of king’s landing—a city that no longer felt like home. had it ever?

she still remembered the day those mighty doors swung open, and they had entered - the day rhaenyra had married.

hues of amethyst, still hazy with pools that appeared as still as a deceptively deep lake, finally focused on the concerned face before her. there was something oddly comforting about the woman’s sheepish yet empathetic expression. "oh, no, thank you. i'm... i'll be all right," naelys managed to say, her voice fragile, like glass on the verge of shattering. she wiped her eyes, though the action felt futile; for they would stain her cheeks red, and each stain felt like a hiss upon her skin.

the woman’s kindness tugged at something deep within naelys, a part of her that longed for connection amidst the overwhelming solitude of her grief. something akin to her words reminded her of the way her mother would look upon her, would try to check on her and encourage. it reminded her of what she no longer had, what her older sister would never be able to provide. “i appreciate your concern, truly,” she continued, a bit more steady now. “i was just...there were many people in that room."

naelys took a deep breath, trying to compose herself. her gaze lingered on the woman’s face, sensing an understanding there. she felt like a warm beacon, like some sort of candle; she could not help but naturally turn toward her, like a sunflower turns to the rays of the sun. “may i ask... what brings you to the sept? you don’t seem...,” she hesitated, trying to find the right words, “you don’t seem entirely at ease here. have you been standing all these hours?” she sniffed slightly, no doubt appearing pathetic.

she took a step back, giving herself and the woman a bit more space, and so she took to fiddling with the silver lace on her corset. “i’ve just returned to king’s landing and...this city is very different." naelys felt a strange mix of awkwardness and comfort in the presence of this stranger. there was an unspoken bond, a shared sense of displacement that made her feel a little less alone. “and you? are you new to the city as well?” she asked, genuinely curious about the woman who had unknowingly offered her a brief reprieve from her inner turmoil.

perhaps, in this moment of shared vulnerability, they could both find some solace. even if only for a fleeting moment.

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?”.

apologetically myself

dacey said nothing in response. always prone to overthinking, thin-skinned over a heavy heart, it was hard not to take cyrene's words and add them to the weight in her chest. everything her sister had said, dacey had taken as an insult against her, and that only made her withdraw into her shell. for months now, she had done her best to hold things together as much as she could, trying to fill multiple roles vacated by their absent kin. with cyrene here, things had shifted, and she no longer knew what her place was. it was yet another adjustment, and she had never done well in uncertainty.

silently, she followed cyrene away from the memories that had enveloped her, up upon the walls where her sister's daughter would be found. still, she hovered silently, inexplicably shy. it was ridiculous. she was the adult, wylla nothing but a small child, but she was a child dacey did not know. it was different with owen and adam's children. she had known them since they were born, but to wylla, she was a stranger.

eventually, she managed a small smile, though there was still a seriousness to her expression, there was warmth, too. "hello, wylla."

Sometimes being alive is all you have.

Cyrene's expression grew into something icy. Stony and hard. "I know." And that was all she would say for now, all she would lay bare of her soul in the frigid air, in front of someone her heart knew but her mind no longer did. She knew. It had been her existence for nearly six years now, even if her children had made it more tolerable. Had taken her from surviving to living for an entirely different purpose.

She was thankful, then, that Dacey readily took to her change of topic. Her head tipped and tilted, a vague gesture to the direction Cyrene had approached her sister from. "Come."

Wylla had been taken to walkway overlooking Winterfell's courtyard by one of Cyrene's ladies, a slight and uncomfortable looking one, bundled in furs to shield against the cold. Cyrene excused her with a quiet word, and the Lady was gone in a flash, likely to seek the warmth that had been leeched from her skin. Cyrene reached for her daughter to pick her up. "Say hello to your auntie, sweetling." As it always did, her voice turned soft and warm, almost uncharacteristically so. She supposed it was, in this place. It was not, with her children.

closed starter for @northernglorie

the hour was late, and dacey's quiet footsteps echoed against the stone walls, reverberating through the silence. there was once a time when she could count on being the only one awake when night fell over the keep, but now, it was more and more common to find that she was not alone in it.

more often then not, one who could be counted on to remain awake was glorie. and on nights where solitude was too much for her, dacey found herself here, approaching glorie's door with a warm drink and the hope that the night would end a little less lonely.

"i brought you something to drink," she placed the cup carefully on a clear spot on the table, careful not to interfere with glorie's work. there was a quiet admiration for her good-sister, and she liked to think that glorie knew it was there, that it showed in these small gestures. "and some candles. i wasn't sure if you had enough."

"and my company, if you'll have it."

.

there were many things dacey was good at - but dancing was not one of them. she had no natural gift for rhythm, but she loved music. thus, she kept to the side of the floor whilst others partook in the group dance, occasionally casting amused glances to the figures moving in unison. they seemed to be having fun, and that made her heart happy. it did her good to see some joy every now and then. 

her solitude was broken by a man she had never met before, who offered an introduction and an invitation. 

“hello,” she greeted him with a polite incline of her head. “it’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance, lord vance. my name is dacey. dacey stark of winterfell.” it was a conscious choice not to use her title. the man seemed mortified to be speaking to her, after all. 

“i would like that,” she agreed with a small nod. “as long as you don’t mind my two left feet. i’ve never been a gifted dancer.” 

Who: @daceystvrk The Dance: During one of the Balls during the Coronation in New Valyria, Lord Hugo Vance works up the courage to get finally ask someone to dance. What he doesn’t plan on is asking Dacey Stark, Princess of the North.

Hugo was nervous but he was on a mission. His mother wanted him to get to know more people and wanted him to speak to many women and perhaps find a betrothed for him in the future. Hugo didn’t know what he would do but he knew that if they were going to be having balls there would be dancing and then he would have to take part and try to dance with someone, try to dance with others. And so far he’d been to two of these dances held by the dragon king during his coronation and he’d been too nervous to do anything so this time he made it a point to be part of the group dancing, To speak and it seemed to be going quite well and he was happy about that to say the least.

“Hello, my name is Hugo Vance of Wayfarer’s Rest in the Riverlands. I hope I’m not being too bold in asking if you would wish to dance with me?”

Hugo realized as he was asking the question that he was speaking to one of the Princesses of the North and suddenly his heart was pounding in his ears. He could feel the heat in his ears and prayed to the seven that his neck and ears weren’t as red as they felt. He swallowed thickly. What was he thinking?

Nikos Engonopoulos, from Bolívar, a Greek Poem