Slender Fingers Let The Parchment That Hazel Hues Had Just Scanned Over Roll Back Into The Position In

zahra let out a soft hum, her fingers tapping idly against her arm as she watched him. armaan yronwood was sharp edges and coiled ambition, speaking of fire as though he could shape it with his hands alone. she had met men like him before—restless, hungry, eager to set the world alight. but he was different too, wasn’t he? not just all flame and fury. there was something deliberate in the way he spoke, in the way he watched her.

and oh, how she loved to be watched.

“you think fire is simple?” she echoed, amusement curling at the edges of her voice. “fire dances, armaan. it flickers, it tempts, it shifts before you can ever quite catch it. you think you hold it in your palm, and then—” she snapped her fingers, a playful grin flashing across her lips. “gone.”

she stepped closer, just enough for the light to catch in her eyes. “but i think you know that already. i think you like the risk of it, the not-knowing. you want to see what will burn, what will survive. you want to test the limits.”

her gaze lifted past him for a fleeting moment, drawn to the distant windows, to the sky beyond. the stars were hidden behind the golden glow of the throne room, but she knew they were there, burning just as they always had. eternal. untouchable.

when she looked back, he was still watching her, still waiting. his hand remained outstretched. an invitation.

she let the moment linger, stretching the space between them like a cat playing with a ribbon. and then, with a slow, deliberate motion, she took his hand. not submission, not surrender—just curiosity, just a game she wasn’t finished playing.

“i’ll walk with you,” she murmured, her thumb brushing absently over his knuckles before she turned toward the door. “but do not mistake me for one of your flames, armaan.” a smirk ghosted her lips as she let him lead her forward. “i do not burn for just anyone.”

as they stepped out into the warm dornish night, zahra tilted her head back, her dark curls shifting as she sought the sky. and there they were—her stars. scattered across the heavens like specks of silver on black silk, steady and shining, uncaring of wars or whispers. a soft smile curled at the corners of her lips.

"ah, always so focused on what lies ahead," she mused, her voice soft, almost teasing. she turned her head, her gaze meeting his with a glint of mischief in her eyes. "i wonder, when was the last time you looked at the sky? not for what it could offer, but just for what it is?"

꙰

armaan yronwood’s lips curled into a faint, almost imperceptible smile as zahra’s words wove their intricate web around him. her voice, smooth as silk, carried the weight of ancient wisdom and the intoxicating lure of chaos. he let the silence linger between them, the throne room’s warm light casting flickering shadows across their faces. the scent of burning incense mingled with the aroma of spiced wine, a heady mixture that seemed to amplify the tension in the air.

he let out a slow breath, his gaze steady and penetrating. “fire is fire, let's not complicate it with your poetry,” he began, his tone measured, as though each word was chosen with the utmost care. “it destroys, yes, but it also clears the way for new growth. sometimes, the old must be razed to the ground for the new to flourish. and sometimes,” he paused, a glint of something darker flashing in his eyes, “it is not about the harvest at all. it’s about the flame itself—the sheer, unrelenting power of it.”

he leaned slightly closer, his voice dropping to a near-whisper, though the intensity of his words remained. “great men must be the ones to set fire to the world, zahra. to watch it burn and to mould the ashes into something greater. it’s not enough to stand still and let the world turn around you. no, true greatness lies in seizing the reins of fate, in shaping the course of events, not merely reacting to them.” his gaze flickered to the doorway, the corners of his mouth curling in a subtle, almost predatory smile. the marches need defending, but more than that, they need to know where their strength lies.

the reach had grown complacent, and perhaps it’s time they were reminded of the fire that lies within dornish borders.

he straightened, the air around him shifting from contemplative to resolute. “i’m done with this conversation now,” he said, his tone carrying a finality that left little room for argument. yet, there was a spark of something else—an invitation, perhaps—in the way his eyes lingered on hers. he extended his hand, the gesture both commanding and expectant. “come walk with me, zahra. there’s more to discuss, about what is in front of us rather than whatever you are seeing in the sky.” he wanted her; he knew he wanted her. she knew he wanted her. he did not know why he was taking his time with it.

she were entirely flustered, that much was obvious just by taking one look upon the features of zahra sand's face. she had never been one that was good at hiding what she were truly feeling, a consequence of her art, where all feeling was expressed upon her face. now she cursed it, fighting the tears stinging at her eyes, agitated by the flushing of her cheeks as she walked away from such an encounter. zahra had never expected such a thing, and she had desperately wished her father did not make her aware of exactly who her mother was.

but he had, and now she had been seen by the woman as well. it were not a warm reunion, it were one that made zahra's veins entirely run cold, because she desperately did not want a certain secret revealed without it being uttered from her own lips. and she were not ready for such a thing, at least, not yet.

the dancer hoped the tense mood that lingered heavily in the air would provide the perfect excuse for her demeanor, but that plan was entirely thwarted when she were approached by halima, a woman she did not know entirely well, but could never quite place her mind, and that unsettled her. "i have been around." zahra stated, plainly. "i was with lady fowler, earlier." she added, almost as if to cover her tracks.

an excuse that was quickly dismissed by the revelation that she had been seen earlier. lips rolled in frustration as her arms crossed over her chest. "some courtesan of one of the volantene lords. i did not appreciate her rude demeanor during such a serious time."

it were a terrilble lie, because zahra hadn't a clue how to back that up, but she hoped halima would simply stop pressing.

closed starter for @dancingshores

halima knew what she saw, but what she had yet to figure out was how the pieces of the puzzle fit together. she had laid out the facts, examined them carefully, and still felt like there was something missing. that bothered her more that she let on.

what she knew was this: the volantene had arrived to bring justice for lord jordayne. in the midst of the lockdown, halima had stumbled upon a conversation she was not supposed to see, one she had watched from the shadows, unable to make out the word exchanged, but recognising that it was heated and private and something she should not be watching, and one of the parties involved in that conversation was stood before her now : zahra sand. she should have already told armaan of this, but something held her back. the fear of delivering incorrect information, something that hardly mattered at all, perhaps.

her head tilted, gaze unyielding as she took in the dancer, her mannerisms and natural expressions, so that she may note any changes to it should she choose to lie. "i don't think i've seen you since the volantene were here," her words were lazy, drawling.

"who was she?" there was an almost imperceptible shift to halima's demeanour, a hardening and sharpening as she prepared to cut to the heart of what she was after, with all the subtlety of a war-hammer. "the woman you were speaking with? seemed quite the emotional little chat."

setting : the coronation events of jaehaerys ii, a pair of lords and unlikely third party play a game of cards together ; @nicholaslannisters @percival-templeton

the coronation events of the new valyrian king had been intriguing, to say the least, for the dancer of salt shore did not often find herself beyond the borders of dorne, unless she needed to be. though she was not necessarily needed here, she enjoyed the opportunity to see places outside of her own homeland - a kite drifting wherever the wind should take her. curious, hazel hues scanned the great room before her within the red keep, it was not quite obvious in the open, but not hidden away, either. tables were set up, with nobles sat around them playing various games.

zahra hadn't a clue what the rules of any of these games were, she saw dice thrown, cheers and jeers, laughter as wine seemed to flow through all of their veins. she tended to indulge in her curisosity, especially in such a, what seemed to be, relaxed environment. bangles rang as if they were signaling her approach as she stood near the table where only two lords sat with cards in hand, perhaps preferring the more intimate game, though she would inquire anyways. "is there room for another at this table, my lords?" lips pulled upwards into a friendly grin as she looked between the two, awaiting their response only a brief moment before taking the empty chair, anyways.

Aditi Rao Hydari in Heeramandi (Netflix, 2024)

zahra gave a slight pout because mango is her favorite and she isn’t sure how she missed the cheesecake, but that wasn’t important right now. a hand goes to pat myri’s arm linked in hers, the two looking like the inseparable pair they had always been. "i mean, it’s just strange where it ended up, you know? maybe some creepy staff member." zahra pondered as she scrunches her nose, no one gave that vibe, but she wondered if they were starstruck by many of the guests they couldn’t resist

"thank gods." she sighed with relief, a grin spreading over her features and she shook her head in return. "nope, not at all. though if this heater blows any hotter i think i’ll start to melt." she fanned herself with her free hand, but then she paused and gave myriam a look, suggesting she jokingly disapproved of her initial guesses. "no, not them. i wouldn’t think twice about either of those guys." she had a type, it were obvious, but they never had her attention for so long to deserve her distress or tears.

zahra closes the door behind them, moving to hop on to sit on the teachers desk, setting the bottle next to her a moment. "hmm, not that i know of, i should probably check." she moves to unscrew the top, thankful she did not grab a corked bottle, taking a swig, because she did not grab glasses "armaan. did you see what he was wearing tonight?" it were nothing particularly special, only the sleeves of his shirt hugged her biceps particularly well, which only brought her back to the day it were clear there was some vibe, one she never put her finger on.

"did you ask anyone if they maybe found your phone somewhere? i still think that’s super weird." she asked, deflecting on the topic now.

"uhhh, yeah there was some. they went out relatively quick though, had to wipe the sauce from my phone." and her arm linked through zahras, quietly leaning forward to rest on her friends shoulder, quietly seeking out some kind of comfort from her best friend without ever speaking on it. "you don't think someone would've taken it, do you? what would they have been trying to even find?" and she knows she's being paranoid. who would try to go through her phone? why? and she giggled lightly as zahra asked if she were sweaty, shooting her a funny expression - with raised brows, before shaking her head.

"nah, nah you're not sweaty. am i sweaty, because the laps ive been doing...i wouldn't be surprised."

and she quietly adjusts her bra as they walked, glancing sideways at zahra again as she tried to work out what was going on. who could have been that got her this flustered? "it better not be percival templeton or that cedric tyrell. i know you love yourself a white man but...it's not them, is it?" and armaan never crosses her mind, because she doesn't think its anything that'll cause zahra stress or panic. or to become flustered. they were just them, you know? they were the way they always were. "...did someone ask for your number that shouldn't have? is he married?"

setting: when the campus announces the alumni are snowed in for at least the foreseeable future, zahra, who is normally energized by socialization, finds herself a bit more agitated due to the presence of a certain someone who's she's found herself having complicated feelings for ; @myriamas

context: that someone is armaan lol

blizzard wear did not suit her, zahra preferred the garments she wore freely in california, the sun on her tan skinned golden rings upon her fingers shining in the sunlight instead of hidden by gloves. that alone, had already put her in a mood, but across the room with all the chatter, she caught glimpses of armaan yronwood, occassionally looking her way too, but also, towards a popstar in their midst.

she spotted myriam and quickly jumped up from her seat, whilst one of the bartenders wasn't looking she snagged a bottle of red and held it within the coat draped over her arm. "myri!" she called to the other, approaching her. "i need to talk, and drink, and talk. come with me?" she gestured to the wine grasped in her other hand.

caramel colored hues brightened at the grin upon xia-li's face, no doubt glad to see an old friend again, but also glad to be more welcome company to the lady of the north. zahra's relaxed disposition seemed to fit perfectly with the free spirit that was the lady of fir hold. she did not know much of life in the north, other than simply visiting did not sound enticing in the least. the cold climate did not seem to suit the woman before her, who, in contrast, was warm as the dornish sun. "a wet sheep." she repeated, a laugh escaping her now. "well, something about mother's know best, but i might respectfully disagree."

hand took the others, no doubt a look of friendship to anyone who might gaze upon the two, and truly that is what their relationship was to it's core - kindred spirits who ebbed and flowed into one another's lives like the tide meets and recedes from the shore. "well, the people here are quite easily entertained if enough of the reach's finest red fills their belly's, i can say." zahra's experienced was not much more thrilling than the woman's before her, other than an evening spent dancing before some lord's and lady's, those who no doubt did not respect her craft as much as they did in dorne, but she danced nonetheless, because she enjoyed it.

"gods, i was going to say the same of you." zahra quipped. "home is the same, really." the dancer, however, did not pay much attention to political matters, or rather, she did not care to discuss them much. "and up north? i hope things are much better, now."

cavalier and cool demeanor is quick to melt around the dornish woman, lips quirking upward at the playful response shes given. there's little need for such an attitude when zahras in her presence, not when they've known each other in such ways that facades are impossible to keep up. "no need for flattery, qīń ài de. i believe it was my mother who told me i move with all the grace of a wet sheep and im inclined to believe her." chuckle laces through a humored admission. its true, she lacks the poise that her sisters possess and had she given as much of a care towards her status as she did conversing with the woman she lingers an acceptable distance from, it might have struck a nerve enough for change.

"the wine and the views are divine, i must admit. the people however," tongue clicks against the roof of her mouth, a signifier of her distaste for the forced company. chance to lounge in temperate weather was truly the only factor in her decision to willingly join her family in the reach. that, and the chance to cross paths with zahra once more. "let us say that your presence is a beacon of light in my dim experience. i have the gods to thank for the journey that brought you here. i've been feeling a bit deprived of dorne and all its delights." offers a hand that passerby might construe as friendly towards her. "walk with me, tell me all i've missed."

zahra took a deep breath, steadying herself as she met myriam’s eyes. the weight of the conversation, of the very woman they discussed, pressed on her chest like a stone. she was careful, always careful, but there was no denying the tension in the air now, thick with the lingering presence of a past neither of them had ever fully embraced. the volantene woman was a thread she hoped would remain unraveled, but it had been tugged, and now they were caught in the weave.

“myri,” zahra said, her voice soft, almost soothing, as she took a scooted closer, the firelight casting shadows that flickered across her calm face. her posture was relaxed, but inside, her thoughts spun in anxious circles. she had to guide this conversation carefully, avoid the tightrope of truth that stretched between them. "i understand your hesitation. that woman, yes… she can be dangerous. but sometimes, danger is something we must face to get what we need. if that’s what this is, if it’s poison we need to counter poison, then perhaps she’s the only one who can help us.”

the dancer placed a hand gently on the other's shoulder, grounding her friend as much as she tried to ground herself. she could feel the weight of the moment—the future of the child in myriam’s arms, the fragility of peace, the unspoken history between them and the woman they knew only as a shadow in the distance.

“i know her, yes,” zahra continued, her voice steady and smooth as if she were telling a simple fact. “heard whispers, firstly, but I’ve only met her once. just once, and it was brief.” she let the words settle, watching myriam’s eyes closely. "she has a way about her, myri. she’ll never be an ally in the way you want her to be, but she might help us, perhaps our cause will resonate with her." her gaze softened, but there was something unreadable in her eyes. "there may be a price to it, but we can handle that. i'll get in touch with her, i promise." she swallowed.

gently, zahra placed a hand on myriam's arm, her voice soft but steady. "enough about her for now," she said, trying to shift the conversation, to ease the tension that had tightened the room.

her gaze dropped to the baby cradled in myriam’s arms, so small and delicate, her little face peaceful as she slept. the sight of inaaya was a balm, a reminder of everything that mattered. “look at her,” ahra said with a soft smile, her eyes warm as she looked at the newborn. “she’s a reminder that there’s still hope. you’ve just brought her into the world. you’ve done something no one can take away from you. she’s going to grow up in a world of your making. and you’re already shaping that world with everything you’ve done and will do." she offered a reassuring smile. "and i will always be here to help you."

❂

myriam’s fingers curled tighter around the bundle in her arms, her daughter’s warmth grounding her amidst zahra’s words. her eyes flicked to the fire and back to zahra, narrowing slightly at the mention of cost. everything had a cost—she knew that well enough—but there was a part of her, stubborn and unyielding, that hated to hear it out loud. clarity? peace? how much would those cost, too?

“peace,” she repeated, her voice quiet but crackling with a tension she couldn’t quite mask. “they always say it’s for the children, don’t they? for leila. for inaaya.” her gaze dropped to the baby’s tiny face, soft and unburdened. “but when has peace ever come easy in dorne? when has it ever come without someone taking more than they’re owed?” and for a moment, she found herself thinking about the reality of her life. the scandal which swirled around her name, the backlash; how she had chosen to be with someone for an attempt at happiness.

and in the end, she had birthed their child in his home alone; with only zahra by her side. had that been for dorne too? how that could have ended up being the end of her story truly made her sit and disassociate - would her possible death, a cold corpse on bloodstained bedsheets, have been the ending she deserved? an anticlimactic, quiet death.

she shifted inaaya in her arms, her free hand brushing against the baby’s hair, dark like baashir’s. like her own. a storm of thoughts swirled in her mind, zahra’s measured tone clashing with her own fiery impulses. trust, power, cost—she hated the way those words hung in the air, heavy and inevitable.

“i don’t want her,” she said suddenly, her voice sharper now. “that volantene woman, whoever she is, she sounds like poison wrapped in silk. but maybe that’s what we need. poison to counter poison.” she let out a harsh breath, her frustration spilling out like water over stone. her chest tightened at the thought of leila, her firstborn, who carried the weight of a legacy myriam had only started to understand. and now inaaya, so small and fragile, already bound to a world of politics and war she couldn’t escape.

"do you know her?" myriam asked, her question direct as she looked upon her close friend. her closest friend, by the navigation of life. "for some reason i thought you did." somewhere in her mind she could have sworn she saw the two talking, though she could be wrong. she was probably wrong.

even before the woman uttered words regarding what zahra had been doing, it were clear that she suspected her of...something. enough to draw suspicion simply because of who she was speaking to. the dancer understood it, probably would've thought it herself, but she simply wondered why this woman would approach her regarding it. what was the benefit? perhaps halima yronwood was simply a snake in the grass, ready to strike and get a leg up with whatever opportunity presented itself to her. the thought was intriguing, but fleeting. zahra set her sights on attempting to deflect.

it was a poor effort, on her part, however. for in her art her expressions were always right there - right upon the surface of her features. she could not hide it, but she could excuse her flustered nature and heightened emotions with what was occurring now. "i did not even know who she was, perhaps lady fowler does." zahra's tone was flat, even she did not believe it, perhaps she were calling the other's bluff, if it was even that.

she felt a new way of agitation wash over her at the comment made, no doubt to provoke a reaction out of her. zahra, however, was never one to quite react in such heated ways, instead the emotions bared itself, certainly, but then she took it to the dancefloor. she did not quite like the feeling of admitting when one had gotten under her skin, but this woman, was quite close to getting her to do just that.

"courtesan, or lady, the reaction would be all the same." she responded, "we might've, had i chosen to live my life differently." zahra inhaled, letting her frustration release as the breath exited her lips again. "alas, we have very little in common. i can't help, but wonder, what answers you are expecting from me, my lady?"

there was a similarity, halima thought, head cocking brazenly as she took in the features of the the gargalen bastard. something in the way the lashes framed the eyes and the graceful curve of her jaw. she could see the shade of farah gargalen there, the way she had been before a tumble in the dark had closed her own eyes and shattered her own jaw. and despite the fact that halima knew the sound of her kin's death-rattle, she still looked at zahra as though she had something to hide.

because obviously, she did. halima was never certain if people were telling her the truth, but she could certainly spot a lie, and there was no part of her that believed the words zahra spoke carried with them a grain of truth.

"then should i ask lady fowler who you were speaking with?" there was an implicit threat to her tone, an unflinching rigidity that carried with it an undercurrent of a challenge. she had no intention of sharing what she had seen with a fowler, but her words carried with it the suggestion of potential - how easy it would be to ensure word of this was dispersed through court.

"the court is emotional at the moment," she concurred, in a voice completely devoid of said emotion. "i am sure everyone is grateful that you afforded our departed lord jordayne the respect he deserves." the words would almost sound kind, if not for what followed them. "still, seems quite silly to allow a courtesan to provoke such a reaction."

her finger was raised, a tap of the lips. "but then, i forget who i am speaking to. bastards, courtesans, i suppose you probably have some things in common."

ADITI RAO HYDARI in Sufiyum Sujatayum (2020) dir. Shanavas Naranipuzha