Dacey Inclined Her Head In A Nod At Baelon's Words. The Black Targaryens Of Dragonstone Were Old Friends

even as children, the similarities between dacey and cyrene had ended with their last name. the sister dacey remembered had burnt bright and fierce, her voice always ringing loud and certain where dacey's shook. if cyrene had been a flame, dacey was the shadow cast behind it. she had never truly minded that, content to bask in the warmth her sister offered her, but all fire had the ability to scorch, and dacey could not help but shield herself from it now, for fear of being burnt.

and she understood what cyrene meant by her comment, the difference between living and surviving. in truth, dacey could not remember a time when her existence hadn't centred around the latter, when the focus of her days hadn't been about making it through rather than living as best she could, and that was what painted the expression of hurt across her face before she could hide it. was that what cyrene thought of her now? that she were good as dead?

"sometimes being alive is all you have." came the defence, quiet and weak, as though dacey hoped she would not hear it.

a blink, and the hurt in her face gave way, first to confusion at the rapid change of tone, then understanding at what cyrene was trying to do. she nodded her head. "i would like to." there had never been a chance to meet cyrene's children before, but at least with wylla, she could now make up for lost time. "where is she?"

I am alive. That is more than many.

The words hit Cyrene like a backhanded slap. Alive. More than many. Jon was no longer alive, the third to their little unruly trio. Now, here they stood. Not that far apart, but it might as well have been realms. Cyrene still in the Riverlands with Dacey all the way up in the North. Cyrene had tried. And it had not been enough.

Some deeply buried part of her wanted to allow the heat to rise into her cheeks. Wanted to raise her voice, wanted to yell. Not necessarily at Dacey, but at something, someone looking down at them and building walls and circumstances to tear them apart.

Cyrene bit her tongue. She had grown used to this by now. Copper in her mouth, her temper caught in her throat. "Alive means little these days. Merely being alive is almost as good as dead." Cyrene would know this only too well. She felt alive walking the halls of the Crossing. But she didn't feel like she was living.

"Would you like to meet my daughter?" A change of topic would be good. Yet another chance for Dacey to turn away from Cyrene, but she would not take this olive branch back. "Wylla is rather eager to meet her extended family." It was a weak reasoning, but true nonetheless.

the offer of tea should not have come as a surprise to dacey. for as long as she had known lillith, she had known her to brew her tinctures. and yet, something in it caught dacey off guard, anyway. she couldn't quite put her finger on the reason for it, why the offer, given so simply, set her ill at ease, but she tried not to dwell on it.

instead, she gave a small nod of her head, glancing towards lillith, then the fire, and then back again. "that sounds lovely," she said, and she meant it. tea did sound lovely. she was being ridiculous, as usual. "i've never been one for the strong stuff. tea will be enough, thank you."

her gaze returned to the hearth, watching the flames flicker. she was always one more comfortable in the quiet, something lillith knew well, but there were times when it felt awkward to dacey, as though she should be offering words, but she just couldn't reach them. it took an enormous amount of effort to bring herself to speak, though when she did manage it, there was relief in hearing her own voice sound even and steady.

"i imagine it tastes of the woods, your blend. birch and honey." there was a thoughtfulness to her voice, inviting lillith to fill the spaces between it. "of ironoaks?" she looked to her then for confirmation. "it would be nice to share something from your home."

even when dacey had briefly found herself in the vale in the past, she had never seen ironoaks, though its name alone conjured a picture - tall trees, straight and strong, standing guard upon the mountain. would the vision in her mind compare to the real thing? or was she entirely wrong? "i hope when i visit, i don't bring enough of the snow to be cruel. just enough to make everything quiet for a little while."

lillith gave a quiet hum of acknowledgment, the corners of her mouth twitching in something like amusement—small, fleeting, but there all the same.

“if you did, i suppose it would serve the vale right,” she mused, mismatched eyes flickering toward the hearth as if measuring its warmth. “perhaps then they’d stop pretending the mountain winds are anything but frigid.”

she was silent for a moment, letting the fire crackle between them, the weight of dacey’s words settling in the space they occupied. the north is as much a part of me as the marrow in my bones. a sentiment she understood, though her own bonds had been forged differently. she had never felt trapped in ironoaks, precisely, but there was an expectation to remain, to endure. it was not always an unwelcome thing. but there was something about the way dacey spoke that made her wonder if the cold in her bones was comforting, or suffocating.

without much preamble, she said, “i could make you some tea.”

it was not quite a question, nor was it particularly warm, but there was a quiet sincerity in the offer. lillith was not one to fuss, not one to coddle, but she knew the value of small comforts. and, if nothing else, she had a fair hand at brewing something strong enough to warm through the bones.

“i brought a blend with me from ironoaks,” she continued, shifting slightly as if already preparing to follow through. “black tea, with birch and a bit of honey. it’s good for the cold. unless you’d rather something stronger?” a wry note entered her voice, though her expression remained unreadable.

if there was one thing dacey was completely certain of, it was cassana's strength. where dacey had little, her sister, her baby sister, possessed it in spades. dacey had faltered so many times, crumbled under the slightest amount of pressure, but cassana had always stood proud and unyielding. it broke her heart to see her like this, but she understood it inherently.

"cass," there was something firm in her voice, an indication that what she was about to say was not to be argued with. "there is no apology needed. i was already awake, and you are welcome company." she paused, hesitating for a moment. "and even if i was, it doesn't matter. you can come to me no matter the hour." there was a gentle earnestness to her tone, an open invitation to seek dacey's door whenever it was needed.

a distraction. it was an easy enough to propose, but now the prospect of actually doing the distracting was before her, it was difficult to think exactly what she could do to provide relief from all Cass had been through. She absent-mindedly ran her fingers through Cass' hair, chuckling when she felt a knot towards the ends. "Your hair is all tangled," she couldn't help but chuckle as she spoke the words. "would you like me to fix it for you?"

.

cass closed her eyes, surrendering to the embrace of her sister's arms, finding comfort in their warmth and familiarity. though she was the youngest among them, she rarely sought such comfort from her siblings. she prided herself on her resilience, her ability to remain steadfast in the face of adversity that they always seemed to face. she was a wolf. a stark. yet, despite her efforts to maintain composure, she found herself crumbling beneath the weight of her emotions. why was this particular moment so different? why did she struggle to maintain her facade of strength? it was stupid, she was stupid for feeling this way.

a surge of guilt and embarrassment flooded through her, prompting a hasty apology. "i'm sorry, dacey. i shouldn't have woken you up," she murmured, attempting to dismiss how she was feeling.. but even as she spoke, she made no move to break free from her sister's embrace. her words felt feeble, even her lie felt stupid.

"perhaps a distraction would be good." cass suggested, her voice resonating softly in the darkness. something to help get her mind off of things, make her believe she wasnt being foolish. that the darkness didn’t suddenly frighten her.

there was something disconcerting about being in the westerlands. that gnawing feeling of unease had been blooming in the pit of dacey's stomach since the starks had left the crownlands, notably absent two sisters. she had thought of little else in the days since, spending her nights obsessing over their fates, wondering if there was more she could have done. she hadn't wanted to come, but she could also not deny that she would feel the same anywhere. it didn't matter if she was in winterfell, or the west.

still, she was on edge, but the sight of one familiar face offered relief. margaret blackwood looked like dacey felt, and she could not blame her for that. house stark was suffering, but so too were her cousins. she had heard the news of merindah's death, and was so intimately familiar with loss herself that she knew exactly how the other woman must be feeling.

the greeting was unusual for margaret, but dacey caught on quickly. she nodded her head, returning it with one equally formal. "lady blackwood," despite the rigidity of her tone, she reached out one hand, fingers briefly making contact with maggie's own and squeezing in a way she hoped communicated all they were not saying aloud. she wished this was a more joyous reunion.

she struggled for a moment to think of the right words to say, but there were none. instead, dacey elected to throw caution to the wind. she could not pretend. "i am very sorry. to hear of your sister. if there is anything i can do..." she trailed off. what could she do? what support could she offer? "how are you holding up? and your brothers?"

setting: the kingdom of the westerlands, when the other kingdoms begin arriving, margaret runs into her cousin ; starter for @daceystvrk

steps that once felt so confident and airy felt entirely too weighty for the lady of raventree, who could not help but be hyper aware of her surroundings in the westerlands. she could not tell if it was this kingdom in particularly that unsettled her, or being, once again, in foreign lands after her sister’s passing. even now it felt too quiet without the younger blackwood chittering in her ear. she recalled praying for a more silent journey to her next destination, but now the silence haunted her.

the great hall was bustling with guests, she recognized some faces from the other kingdoms, but not the names. she catapulted back to their time in king’s landing, but she knew it were important to either impress, or go by unnoticed, for their own soon to be queen was a princess of these very lands.

margaret found some reprieve in one of the many corridors, intriguing artwork lining the walls, and she placed herself in front of one of the paintings in an attempt to look as if she were doing…*something*. hazel hues turned at the sound of footsteps, and she found relief in the sight of her cousin. “d-your grace.” she greeted the other, offering a bow of her head in respect of the woman. she would normally resort to more informal greetings, but maggie felt she could not be too careful, here. “i hope the journey was well, for you.”

percival asked her to forgive him, and for a moment, a flicker of confusion crossed dacey's face - until she realised just how short her words had been. guilt gnawed at her, her head shaking. "there is nothing to forgive, my lord." she offered him a small, genuine smile. "in fact, i should be offering you my apologies. i did not mean to be short with you." her hands clasped before her, as they often did when she was trying to ground herself. "i am sure you can understand it's been rather a lengthy few days. long enough that i seem to have forgotten my manners."

he approached the tapestries, and dacey followed, looking upon threads she was so familiar with. "this one," she pointed to the relevant hanging, the one that told the tale of the night's king and his dead queen. "the man in the centre, in the night's watch armour, is the night's king. the armies approaching him are that of king brandon the breaker and the king beyond the wall. it is a story every northern child knows." it was one that had given her nightmares for weeks the first time she had been told of it, though she had never told anybody this, simply endured the dark circles and stifling yawns through her lessons as a girl.

"he was supposedly a brother of the night's watch who married an other and declared himself king of the nightfort, with his corpse queen at his side. he reigned for years, using dark magics to bend his sworn brothers to his will, until the two kings joined forces to defeat him." she lingered upon the tapestry for a moment, then turned to look at percival. "or he saw a pretty girl, manipulated the watch into following him, and the rest was embellished in the retelling over the years."

The tale of Adam Stark, the Giantslayer had reached the Vale, of course. It was a grand act that a man like him could admire, for it was the sort of tale that could echo in time to become a legend. His own mind was often geared toward legacy and what was in his hands to ensure the name Templeton remained as high as possible, soaring close to the name of Arryn in relation to the Vale. The Knight of Ninestars hummed lightly as the princess gave a very short recounting of the giant's head her family showcased. “I will make sure to ask him, then,” he said with a nod. “Forgive my curiosity, princess. I'm a knight, I'm sure you can imagine a man in my position can only admire what your brother did”.

It was not hard to miss that Dacey Stark felt more keen to speak of the tapestries, and the knight showed his eagerness to listen to those tales. The Knight of Ninestars walked closer to the wall to examine the detailed work of one of the pieces. The embroidery and weaving displayed imagery that was not so different from the paintings in his keep about the Battle of the Seven Stars, with the Templeton army on the side of the Falcon Knight, Artys Arryn. Battles and wars were the making of the world.

One thing caught his attention, though. “The Night's King?” he asked, turning to look at the Northern princess. Some knew it, some did not, but Percival Templeton did not believe in gods. He did not believe in dark forces beyond the Wall either. “The story of the Long Night and all that? Forgive me, I'm only vaguely familiar with that myth. I never gave much stock, or attention, to it when I was little,” he admitted as he glanced from the tapestry to the princess.

♛ → THE NORTH presents DACEY STARK, the PRINCESS of WINTERFELL. when the dragons danced in the sky they thought the BLACKS would still fly, but in the blink of an eye, they would all die. the TWENTY-NINE year old CIS WOMAN who was COMPASSIONATE & GENTLE before they saw the first of the flames, is now CAUTIOUS & INSECURE after seeing the last. they’re often associated with slim fingers weaving together shimmering silver fabric, plush velvets concealed by heavy furs, cheeks flushed pink from winter’s bite. ( genevieve gaunt )

pinterest ✧ playlist ✧ wanted connections ✧ character building ✧ house stark ✧ tiktoks

tws: mentions of premature birth, illness, anxiety/mental health and death

history.

dawn

the fourth child of house stark, dacey sybelle stark was born two moons too early and far too small. as a baby, she barely cried, but was prone to illness, particularly of the lungs.

it was not expected that she would be long for this world. infants with such weak constitution rarely do, but against the odds dacey grew. it would not be the first time she would be underestimated.

sickly babe grew into a quiet, pensive child. more stark children came after her, and dacey loved them all with her whole heart, even as she differed from the rest in temperment. she was not built to be a fierce and fearless daughter of the north, but something else entirely, though for a long time, nobody was quite sure what that something would be. she was intelligent, sensitive and kind, but possessed nothing that would point to future greatness.

the delicacy of her infant years followed her into childhood. she can scarcely remember a time from when she was young where she wasn't sheltered to protect her fragile health, wracked with coughs that echoed through her entire body. the majority of her childhood was spent in the companionship of the two siblings who immediately preceded her, cyrene and jon.

noon

as she approached adolescence, a question lingered over what to do with dacey stark. while her siblings began to be fostered or trained for their duties as a stark, dacey remained in winterfell, sheltered and protected in order to maintain her health. there was brief talk of betrothing her to jaehaerys targaryen, but that would come to nothing as both parties decided it was a poor match.

with the dance of the dragons breaking out during her teenage years, her opportunity to explore the world outside of the north was further stripped from her.

however, as she grew older, dacey's health began to improve. she will never be of strong constitution, often picking up small illnesses that seem to hit her a little harder than others, but no longer was she plagued by a constant barrage of ill health.

with her newfound strength, dacey began to explore more of the winterfell that was denied to her as a child, and learned to love it there. she filled her days with discovering the castle's secrets, and made herself happy amongst the walls of her home.

without the illnesses that plagued her childhood and with the dance of the dragons ending as she reached adulthood, dacey was hit with a newfound confidence. she would never be comfortable being the centre of attention, but she began to find joy in conversation, and could talk for hours with whoever's company she found herself in. there's a sort of vulnerable charm to dacey, a sincerity that makes her likable.

dusk

the tragedies that have befallen house stark weighed heavily on dacey. loss brought about a great change in her. even in her younger, sickly years, she was always contented, but grief knocked that out of her. she became serious, always worried about things she had little control over - in particular, the lives of her family.

with that change came withdrawal. dacey has been a shadow of a woman, secluding herself from life in winterfell and becoming a ghost of what she was.

with her grief came anxiety and nightmares. she has not dealt with sorrow well. the lack of sleep made its mark, painting dark shadows around her eyes and hollowing her cheeks. her mental health declined sharply, though she spoke to nobody about it. the last thing dacey wants is to be a burden when so many of the people she cares for are suffering just as much as she.

midnight

the only thing that could pull dacey from her grief was her selflessness. as more troubles plagued her family, hiding away from the world was no longer a viable option for her.

there is no bigger supporter of king owen stark. dacey is unshakeably loyal to her eldest brother, and determined to be of use to the north, and to him. with all the problems faced by the starks, she does so by quietly picking up the duties of those no longer here to fulfill them, without being asked, without making a fuss, first to advise when jon stark was killed, then to help heal, as alysanne once did.

she's more present than she has ever been in her life, and feels a bit overwhelmed by it all. nevertheless, this is very much her era of coming into her own, finding herself, and figuring out her place in life.

personality.

basics

she's an incredibly anxious person. This mainly manifests in her movements, particularly her hands. they are constantly moving, even when she is at ease, her her fingers twisting around each other and her nails scratching at the skin. if she isn't able to weave for a while or is particularly stressed, her fingers become painful and red as her skin becomes raw.

to cope with her anxiety when she can't sleep at night and give herself something to do with her hands, dacey's favourite hobby is weaving, and she's rather good at it. she enjoys the consistent movements and finds it soothing, often making gifts of her creations to those she loves. her family likely have clothes, blankets, tapestries, and rugs made by her.

when her mental health is poor, she withdraws into solitude. however, on good days, dacey is an incredibly chatty person, and particularly loves talking to people very different from herself. she's thoughtful and sweet, and a very kind and considerate friend.

she's something of a pacifist. she cannot stand violence for any reason but the most necessary, and even then, she does not like it. she will always prefer mercy and justice, and believes a path of vengeance to be harmful and destructive for all involved. she accepts that there is evil in the world, and some people just don't deserve kindness, but she knows her morals and believes by seeking revenge, everyone loses.

it's taken her longer than most to find her passion and purpose, but she's incredibly dedicated and hardworking. when she does something, it will be completed, and to a high standard. she's a perfectionist at heart, because she's deeply worried of something going wrong and it being her fault, and doesn't want to cause any trouble or harm.

she's gentle, more lapdog than direwolf, but protective of those she loves in her own quiet, comforting way.

where dacey excels is exercises of the mind. she’s rational and logical, a little too tender-hearted to be called calculated, but honeyed words dripping from her lips are leaden with promises unspoken, convincing when they need to be, flattering when such is required, and so utterly sincere. her innate kindness means that this gift is not used to its full extent, to cause harm to any, but it's there regardless.

her sense of humour is very subtle, but there. she usually cracks jokes at her own expense, but does enjoy gently teasing those she's close to.

rumours

whilst not as sickly as she once was, dacey does possess a weak immune system and is prone to picking up any illnesses that sweep through the north, particularly in the winter, causing her to withdraw for a little while to recover. since birth, there's been rumours that she's on her deathbed, and every time she takes ill, they seem to resurface.

with a quieter sort of personality, it would certainly be easy to see dacey as someone to manipulate with ease. whilst she would certainly be easy to take advantage of for personal gain, however, manipulating her is far harder than it may appear. she knows her morals and is not easily swayed from them - just because she isn't loud about her opinions doesn't mean she doesn't hold them strongly.

goals

she accepts that it's unlikely to happen in her lifetime, but dacey's biggest dream is peace for the kingdoms. she cannot stand the idea of anybody hurting, whether she knows them or not, and craves a world where nobody has to suffer as she and her family have.

most of all, she wants her family to thrive and the north to prosper. she firmly believes in owen's vision and supports every sibling in all that they do and is proud of their accomplishments.

fears

more than anything dacey fears further personal loss. too much tragedy has befallen house stark, and she's already struggling to stay afloat with it all.

she fears becoming a burden. she wants to help, rather than be help, and hates people worrying for her.

other.

her direwolf is small for its kind, the runt of its litter. she's a pale silvery-grey colour with a small white patch on her chest. dacey named her rose, and temperament wise, she's very quiet, but very observant of her surroundings.

she favours darker colours, but never black. greys, deep blues, purples, burgundy and forest greens are common colours in her attire, her jewellery simple and unobtrusive.

dacey is always cold, but it doesn't seem to bother her. her skin is cool to the touch, especially her hands. having never been too far from winterfell, she's unaccustomed to warm weather, and in the few times she has experienced it, she doesn't cope very well.

she's a fairly tolerant person, but keeps to the old gods herself. her relationship with her faith is one she holds intensely privately, but it is very dear to her, and she takes great comfort in being in the wierwoods, or indeed any forest. if you asked her to imagine a place of peace, it would be amongst the trees.

closed starter for @adam-stark location: owen's birthday party

it had been early in the evening when dacey began to feel that familiar press in her chest, the weight of too much noise, too many voices, music and laughter and clinking goblets, too much to look at and listen to all at once. there were times when it was more tolerable than others, but tonight, with winterfell's feast hall dressed for celebration, it felt like it might swallow her whole. but it was owen's nameday, and for that reason alone, she did not slip away, no matter how much she wanted to.

it was obvious to any who knew her well - when her nerves got the best of her, her hands were never at rest. they were clasped neatly in front of her now, but her fingers twisted around each other, never once stilling, as she found herself drawn into conversation with yet another lord from the knot of courtiers she had found herself entangled in. he was telling a story she suspected was supposed to amuse her, and though she was nodding in the right places, smiling when it seemed called for, she hadn't heard half of it. her thoughts were elsewhere, half looking for a suitable gap in the conversation that never seemed to arrive in which she could excuse herself, and half adrift, caught in the well of the crowd and all the more overwhelmed for it.

she did not notice adam approach - not until he was already by her side, apologising to her company and offering his hand in a dance.it was more than obvious why he had done it, and she did not hesitate to let him guide her away. in fact, she almost could have wept with relief when he did. once they were out of earshot of the lord, clear of the worst of the crowd, did she exhale. she was usually no more comfortable on a dancefloor as she was in a crowd. there was no peace or stillness to be found here, but it was enough of a reprieve for now.

"sorry," she said, when she finally spoke, a sheepish look crossing her face, though the corners of her mouth turned up slightly in the shape of a smile. "you didn't have to come to my rescue, but i'm glad that you did." there was no mistaking her gratitude in that moment. "and apologies in advance if i step on your toes."

Elizabeth Olsen as Wanda Maximoff in WandaVision S01E09

Rainer Maria Rilke, from a letter featured in Letters to Merline, 1919-1922

she looked at him, and for a moment, a profound sadness fell over her. it was not born of grief, like her sadness often was these days, nor of pity, because there was never a time when she looked upon him with pity. she had never seen him as anything but strength, and while she had long understood that he carried the weight of a crown, she looked at him now and saw the weight of the world. the politics of it all made her head swim, and she could not imagine how much worse it was for owen.

"sounds exhausting," and not just for owen. the arrival of more women in court would mean more women she would have to talk to, when she already only found herself comfortable in the presence of a select few.

dacey nodded her assent. war was an ugly thing. she knew there was supposed to be honour and glory found in it, but while she could look at those who fought and think them brave, she could not see it as anything other than a tragedy. "in that, you have my support. anything to prevent further bloodshed." if there was any cause she would dedicate herself to, it would be that one.

their conversation oscillated from politics to personal, and while it was the former dacey struggled to immerse herself in, it was the latter that owen was reticent to discuss. "i understand, but i am your sister." a ghost of a smile flitted across her face. it was easy to forget that she could be stubborn. "and my duty to my brother is equal to my duty to my king. when you have some hours to be owen, then i will make time to be dacey."

"If someone can get a king to marry their choice, they stand to gain a great deal. If it's not from the King himself then they stand to gain from the Queen. There will be an influx of courtiers, many who haven't left after the end of things with Rosa's funeral are sending for women to join them here." And he would share this with her but they were hoping he would sleep with their daughter or their sisters and then the Lord would show up and demand a marriage. With the beginning of responsibility brought on the end of what he enjoyed these days. Women.

"I grow tired of war, sister. Let us do everything we can o prevent one from happening and perhaps look beyond our realm and our connections." He dragged his fingers through his beard, he would have to shave soon. He would have to do something to ensure he presented himself as someone that wore the crown of the north. And not the images of Kings from times long ago. Ages of heroes. No. He would look like a King.

Owen looked at her when she asked him about how he was feeling and he thought for a moment. Raised his mug, finished his beer, and then refilled it before looking back at her and then towards the window. "If we start talking about that I fear we'll be here for hours and I can only be Owen so many hours a day."