Outside The Sept, Dacey Lingered, Internally Cursing Herself For Even Ending Up Here In The First Place.

a temporary hush fell between them. usually when such silences fell, it kicked dacey's mind into overdrive, always assuming the worst of herself, always trying to figure out where she had gone wrong. but there was reassurance in his voice, and her cheeks turned half a shade more flushed when it hit her that she had missed the point, completely overlooked that this was simply banter between brothers, even if one of the brothers were not there to hear it. it still did not feel like her place to poke fun at aleksander behind his back, but neither did she need to explain and overexplain it, neither. she breathed out, and nodded her head once more. "thank you."

it was a common pattern for dacey. for a brief moment, her defences would lower enough for her to speak without thinking, until her mind caught up with her and forced her to re-examine what she had said. and then she would doubt herself. she spun, but continued to try and maintain eye contact with him, glancing back over her shoulder with her neck twisted at an awkward angle until the only option was to turn her head the other way. for a brief second, confusion flitted over her face, for when he announced his intention to speak with the hand, her mind still went to him first, not nasir manderly. "i am sure that will put many minds at ease."

he mentioned speaking to the king, and it would not be hard for him to notice how dacey tensed at the idea. was that a good idea? she opened her mouth, then closed it again. unless you think it best. was that a rhetorical question, or was he truly asking her opinion? she wanted to reassure him that owen would want to speak with him, and a part of her believed that to be true, but though he was her brother, she would not deny the truth - brandon knew him best. even now, he knew him better than dacey did.

"i don't know," she admitted, softly. there was worry, the sort of worry she always felt when she thought about owen these days. "i'd like to be able to tell you that i think he would prefer to hear it from you himself, but i truly don't know, brandon. do you want to speak with him?"

♞

the quickness to which the princess of the north, those the songs often dubbed as the rose of snow within the lands of karhold, took to attempting to defend aleksander karstark made brandon go momentarily quiet - though not for reasons one may have assumed. not because he felt as though she were interceding on something that was not hers to deal with, nor because he found the closeness she shared with aleksander to be questionable or inappropriate: but rather because it felt as though she had missed the part where it were clear the brothers of karhold were joking.

"i know, yer highness." his words were quiet but reassuring under the sound of the music as they continued to dance, his hand still resting respectfully on her hip as they spun around; he was careful not to barge her into any other couple on the dance floor. she were over explaining herself, in a way that would no doubt show far more of her state of mind than his own. "he'll not hear a word from me about it." a part of him wondered if this was the consequence of a clear change in sibling dynamics, what happens when the oldest brother is no longer that, but a king too.

for some reason the sight of the smallest of heads nods, the acknowledgement of his word, seemed to cause him a sense of relief - that there was at least one of the royals that understood the movement had not been encouraged by him, nor those who spoke it. none would find brandon karstark within their halls, igniting their whispers and their flames; not so soon after the weapons had been laid to rest. "i intend on speaking with the hand of the king himself on it. enough has befallen us all, i will not speak in riddles or wait in the shadows." he spun her around, watching as she turned.

whether brandon thought it was his truth, was something else entirely. he agreed with the sentiment. he agreed with what was being said. only, he did not agree with the timing; nor did he agree with the method in which such rumour was being spread. "unless you think it best for me to speak to the king himself." the king, instead of owen; there was so much change in wording, words that still felt foreign upon his lips. he watched as thought crossed over her features; no doubt, a sense of kindness remained upon her face.

♛ → 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 )

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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.

dacey did not relish in being perceived, the idea of someone seeing her for what she was filling her with a sort of anxiety she couldn't truly voice. she was more comfortable when she could slip into the quiet places between conversations, existing in the periphery while others took to the centre. with lucius, though, she did not mind so much. perhaps it was the fact that she knew that any judgement he had of her would be spoken aloud. there was an honesty to him that she appreciated, even when he laid what she saw as her own failings bare before her in that simple, straightforward way of his.

"it is," she admitted, a sheepish sort of smile crossing her face. "it's not... it isn't that i don't like people. i do, very much. but like this," she gestured first at herself, then at him, wordlessly indicating that it was the smaller, more personal interactions that she enjoyed. "there's something about being part of a crowd that makes me feel like i'm out of place." her eyes fell on the river, water surging gently forward. "it's like everyone is watching me trying to hold water with my hands, and laughing that it keeps slipping through. does that make sense at all?" there was a flush upon her face as she looked at him, and she could not recall the last time she had tried to put those thoughts into words, nor if anybody had ever asked.

lucius had already offered his own thoughts on the matter ; but even if he had not, dacey was not clueless enough not to be able to guess at why he might not enjoy crowds of people, even if it did not come from the same place that her own need for quieter spaces did. his mention of performance, though, surprised her, for it was at odds with the vision that she held of him. "and yes. the performance of it," she paused for a moment, as though weighing up whether to say more. "i wouldn't have expected that to be the same for you." it was not a question, but phrased lightly enough for him to elaborate if he wished to, or ignore if he did not.

Lucius nodded, making a mental note to talk with Cassana, extending his offer if the younger Stark wished to take it. His eyes flickered to his cousin, a touch of amusement present in his usually stern expression. “Aye, stubbornness is in our blood,” he agreed, letting out a subtle scoff. It was certainly not a trait the bastard attributed to whatever line his mother came from, but something he was sure he'd gotten from Samwell Blackwood and his kin. Only rarely did he wonder what traits he might have gotten from her because the bastard knew him himself to be Blackwood blood through and through. And Dacey, despite the air of introverted gentleness that she carried herself with, was a determined young woman, from what he'd gleaned in their past interactions. A stubborn nature could manifest in many ways, and both Starks and Blackwoods were a testament to that.

The pair walked on the quieter side of the river and he glanced at his cousin, his eyes lingering on the soft gratitude she offered him. Hers was a gentle warmth that stood in stark contrast to the steeliness of his own demeanor. There was commonality between the cousins, as they spoke about earlier, but for the most part, Lucius Rivers and Dacey Stark were almost perfect opposites. Despite that, he found himself at ease in her company. “You don’t like crowds,” he observed. Lucius’s gaze was sharp, perceptive. A lot of people saw only a big brute in him, but he did see more than most gave him credit for. More than once he'd run into his cousin as she walked on her own. “Too many eyes, too many voices. And the endless performance. It's exhausting,” he stated, offering his own perceptions on the matter, his own reasons for wishing to oftentimes stand on the side of it all. He did wonder what was the part that caused his cousin to trail away.

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.”]

dacey nodded. her social circle had been small at school, and ryon wyl had not been part of it. she knew little of him to know if it had been a sporting and spirited action, or if hugo was being polite, as he often was. "either way, you look fine without it," she assured him, with a slight nod of her head.

"thank you. i'm a little embarrassed to say this was all panic-bought at the airport." she had forgotten all about it until they had gone through security, and scraped together what she could. she let out a laugh. "somehow, i'd completely forgotten about ugg boots. i'm not sure what we were thinking with those." she'd definitely had a pair or two of her own in her youth.

a gasp left her, and she shook her head. "oh hugo, congratulations. i'd have sent a gift if i had known." mentally, she added it to her to do list for when she arrived back home. "i'd love to meet her. how long have you two been together, now?" it might seem strange, being on such friendly terms with an ex-boyfriend, but dacey was nothing but happy for him in that moment. "i'm well. my partner and i are living together now, and i finished my residency this year, so i suppose i'm a proper doctor now."

"Oh no, it's fine, Mr. Wyl is sporting and spirited if anything." Hugo spoke with that same smile he always wore. Some would say he spent a lot of time in his political form and while that could arguably be true, he was also the kind of man who knew it was better to start with a smile. His mother always told him that people remember a man with a warm and welcoming smile.

Hugo spoke to the bartender and then put his attention back on her. "You look inspired if I say so myself. Personally, I find myself disappointed there's not a single Ugg boat in the crowd." Hugo laughed at his own joke as he finished his drink, glad for the new one coming his way.

"I'm quite well. I don't know if you've heard but I've been elected MP of Greenwich. Quite an accomplishment, well on my way I'd say. I would introduce you to Ellie Swann, she's somewhere. Perhaps speaking to her brother." He turned back to her. "Tell me how you are."

his musings on the gods brought a purse to her lips, a thoughtful look to her eye, and she nodded their head. in king's landing, she had felt so utterly disconnected from the old gods. in the north, she could feel them everywhere, in every bite of wind and whisper of the trees. the further north they travelled, the more at ease she felt, and in blackwood lands, there was a sort of comfort knowing that here at least, they still had power. "then it is all we can do to trust in their wisdom, and hope that we can change with their will, too." she held her faith very privately, but there was an ease to their conversation that made it easier to talk about.

if there was one skill dacey possessed, it was knowing when to stay quiet and listen. lucius did not change his stance, but his words carried enough weight that she did fall into silence, allowing him to speak the thoughts through to completion before responding. "then perhaps there is no luck involved, on either side. you are all simply where you belong." she could almost envy that. so many of her days were spent feeling out of place and out of sorts, trying to contort herself into a shape that fit with something. she did not get the impression the same could be said for lucius, who wore who he was with no frills or compromise, and yet had roots in the ground, a place and a role and a purpose.

"i'm glad of that. i will be awfully embarrassed if you reduce me to tears," as quickly as they had grown serious and candid, the tone once again shifted, a rapport that was more convivial. "westermen, valyrians," she raised a hand and made a gesture, as though dismissing the idea of both. "conversing with either feels like they are trying to catch you out on something so they may use it to condemn you. at least there's a candour to stormlanders i can appreciate. i would rather be slighted by honesty than find comfort in treachery."

Dacey was certainly reserved in what she said, how she phrased things, and her diplomatic demeanor. He detected some disdain in her words, though, or what he believed to be disdain toward the newly crowned Targaryen king. He could respect that she was not immediately inclined to be a boot-licker about it, as so many seemed to be when it came to the mad House of the Dragon. “Stranger things could happen still,” he mused, “the gods continually will for the world to change”.

Lucius glanced silently at the princess as she complimented his presence in the Blackwoods' lives. So often it was perceived in such a way. His siblings were lucky to have him, someone who would always raise his bow and fight for them. A different thought crossed his mind, though, one that was rare in Lucius' mind. “I'm lucky to have them,” he found himself saying. The bastard's stern demeanor remained, despite the vulnerability he perceived in saying something like that out loud. It was best to focus on the practicality of it all, rather than the emotional side of things. “Not everyone welcomes someone like me into their families. I suppose I was fortunate my father always claimed me, even if he didn't give me his name”.

The bastard actually found himself smiling a little at his cousin's last words. She spoke in a similar upfront manner as Maggie did, somehow never crossing a line into cruelty or becoming offensive. It was a talent he didn't develop so graciously. “Fret not, I've no evil plans to do so, Dacey. I do pity you if you've dealt with worse,” he said in a more light-hearted manner. “Who was it? A Westerlander? A Stormlander?”.

TRUTH SERUM

feel free to ask anything, in character or anonymously, and my character will be forced to answer truthfully.

Send a question to: dacey - devani - norbie - minty - conall - halima - ben - tion - elia

dacey inclined her head in a nod at baelon's words. the black targaryens of dragonstone were old friends to the starks. it was rare that she questioned the king in the north's judgement, but she was wary of the idea of inviting the realms to their home again, unsure who was truly a friend, and who was a foe. a ball to find a queen in the north was certain to draw the ambitious, those who sought to make a name for themselves in the history books, and all she could do was hope he chose wisely. "are you escorting princess aemma?" friends were few and far between for the quiet princess of the north, but she liked aemma targaryen enough that if she did not already consider her a friend, they were close to it.

she shook her head a little. "in truth, i think i'd like a moment of peace and quiet. if not the winter gardens, i would probably take myself to the godswood to find it. if you would not mind the company, i'd gladly accompany you." she tired quicker than usual these days, in her attempts to be visible, to do her duty to support her brother. "i am certain my brother will be glad that you've arrived." the wounds between owen and the king of new valyria ran deep, but that did not extend to the blacks.

Baelon had found solace and comfort in Dragonstone. The place reminded him of his family, the one he had lost during the war. Although, the trauma and the grief replaced every good and positive memory that he had of his childhood. He knew that completely isolating himself from the world would not be good for him, and the last thing he wanted was to lose his mind. There was still a lot to be done, he could not let himself fall into that darkness. It was during that time that Baelon would leave the castle more, go to the village under the dragonmount and speak with the common folk. Still, that was as far as he would go, Baelon would not leave the island of Dragonstone. That was until the invitation from the King in the North came and Baelon could not refuse an old friend.

"Of course, it was a long and tiring journey, but I'm glad it went well. And I'm happy to be here once again, see old friends." Baelon offered her a smile, knowing how uncomfortable it could be to see so many strangers coming into your home all at once. Baelon shrugged his shoulders. "I do not wish to bother you or pull you away from any errands that you might be running." He chuckled. "Although, I would love to see the winter gardens. I cannot wait to reunite with your brother once again."

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.

she'd always felt solace in the godswood, as though it were the only place in the world where silences did not demand to be filled. and yet, tonight, the quiet moments were charged with something she could not name and could not place, and when brandon spoke, she was grateful to him for not letting the hush linger, even if the tone of his voice and the words he chose caught her off guard.

her arms folded loosely across her chest, her eyes fixed on the carved face of the heart tree, as though its mouth might move, and it might provide her the words she struggled with to respond. "there are some things that are impossible to put down." she murmured. alysanne was one of those things. since brandon had offered her the truth, her feelings surrounding her oldest sister had been complex. the grief was there, but there was anger too, and blame, wrapped up in a neat bow of guilt for feeling such things in the first place. that, though, was too much to put into words, but there was a way in which brandon karstark seemed to look at her, and understand the very shape of her thoughts, that had her wondering if she needed to.

and she so rarely let herself be unguarded with anybody. within winterfell, she was the one who hid things, who shielded others from that which would do them harm, who at times would shy away from revealing her very being, but the more he spoke, the clearer it was that there was little use in hiding anything from him. whatever she tried to keep away from his eyes, he already knew.

"you've a way with words, brandon." her cheeks were flushed with more than the cold, because for a woman who bled kindness so freely, so willingly, having it directed back at her, to hear the things that she had always thought made her weak rephrased as her strength, was something she did not know how to contend with. but hearing it from him, she could almost believe it, even for a moment.

there was a gentleness to his gaze that had not been there before, or if it had, she hadn't noticed it. it was enough to make her breath catch briefly, coming from her in an audible stutter on the winds. "the same goes for you." she spoke with a solemnity, a sincerity that could not be doubted. a quiet confirmation that there was at least one in winterfell who recognised what it was that he had to carry forward with him, and would help lift up that which was too heavy to raise alone. "thank you, lord karstark. your loyalty... that means more than i can say."

and she understood that too much had changed, that brandon would not and could not be the ever-present figure he had been before, but that did not mean that there was not regret in parting. it twisted at her, forcing her to look away, towards the skies where the snow swirled, almost peacefully. "i will. i'll write." whether she would or not remained to be seen. "stay safe. on the roads, in karhold."

and as dacey made to leave, something stopped her, rooting her to the snow-covered ground, because there was still something left unsaid. "you are right," she glanced back over her shoulder, at brandon, standing by the heart's tree. "the north does not lose its own for long." she was speaking not of alysanne, but of him.

♞

the quiet of the godswood wrapped around them like an old cloak, the weirwood’s red leaves trembling gently in the wind. the snow lay thick beneath their boots, the air cold enough to sting the skin, but brandon karstark felt none of it. his gaze was on princess dacey stark, her face solemn as she stood before the heart tree. the faint candlelight of winterfell barely reached this corner of the world, leaving the grove to its shadows and whispers.

he’d seen her unyielding and dedicated —but tonight, there was something softer about her, something vulnerable. it pulled at something deep in his chest.

he broke the silence first, his voice low and rough like gravel underfoot. “dacey,” he began, her name heavy on his tongue, “ye’ve carried this weight long enough. too long, if i’m to speak plain.” his northern drawl softened the sharpness of his words, but not their intent. “ye’ve got the look o’ someone fightin’ battles in her own head. alysanne’s gone, aye, but it weren’t your doin’. whatever ghosts haunt ye about it, they’re lyin’ through their teeth.”

he stepped closer, his furs rustling with the movement. the godswood always felt like a place for truths, and he wouldn’t hold back here. not with her. “i know ye think the north depends on ye—the whole of it, like the weight of winter itself rests on yer shoulders. but ye’ve got to know this: the north’s strong ‘cause o’ folk like ye. not ‘cause ye bear it alone, but because ye’ve got the heart to care when most’d shut theirs away.” he sighed, his breath visible in the cold air.

“it’s not just her ye’re mournin’, is it? it’s all of it—the feelin’ o’ losin’ control, losin’ kin. but we’ll find her. aye, we will. the north doesn’t lose its own for long. someone’ll speak, or some sign’ll show itself. the gods don’t let things like this stay hidden forever.”

brandon let his gaze drift to the heart tree for a moment, the carved face watchin’ them with its eternal solemnity. he turned back to her, his expression softer now, though the steel in his voice remained. “ye’re stronger than ye give yerself credit for, dacey. always have been. but if the weight’s too much, lean on those who care for ye. lean on me, if ye need. i’ll not see ye break under it. not you.” he paused, uncertain for a moment. then, more quietly, almost as an afterthought, he added, “ye’ve always had me respect, princess. even when i did not know of yer ways. but now... ye’ve got me loyalty too. not just as lord karstark. as a man who sees the good in ye, even when ye can’t see it yerself.”

he paused slightly, briefly distracted by the way in which the snow seemed to swirl before them. he waved his hand toward it, as if he would leave some lingering spirit on his hand. "i'll be returning back to karhold soon enough, though know if ya need anythin' from me you can send a raven." it felt like a goodbye of sorts; he had accepted that aleksander would be the present karstark within the court of the north. he knew not when he would see dacey stark again.