The Wings Of Zahra Sand Had Long Spread As The Dancer Flew Her Way Around Dorne Perfecting And Teaching

misunderstanding was certainly one way to put it. zahra was not quite sure if she would use the same word, but she understood there was little other way to describe what had occurred without being entirely gruesome. the dancer of salt shore had experienced many different stages of life, with various emotions to associate with them, but she had never felt such a weight of sorrow and anger as she did now. it was almost smothering and she greatly disliked it. she had no idea the impact that rashid had had on her until it was too late, far too late.

and now there was to be justice, but if the other party would not honor their customs, what could be done? would dorne war with the volantene in order to find the answers they sought? zahra, truthfully, hadn't a clue what the next steps were, she hardly knew what occurred when things went right, and it were very clear that things were going very, very wrong.

and so, she made herself smaller, hopefully unnoticed, unable to keep from glancing to a woman in particular in the room. ophelia's presence was welcome, if to give her something to keep her mind off of what was happening around them, even briefly. "i'm just tired." she admitted, and that were certainly part of the truth, for she did not sleep well these days. and suddenly she wondered if the lady before her might be able to help in that matter, at least. "actually, do you have any remedies for such a thing?" she inquired. "a hot chai only does so much good, surprisingly.

hues looked around them, perhaps hoping that she would look up and suddenly everything would be back to normal again. but it were not so easy. "i'm afraid of what it will take to reach an understanding." she admitted, as debates between both parties seemed to become passionate.

.

there was a tension in the air of the dornish court. all of them were tip toeing around their new guests and the new announcement given. all of them were already on edge after a loss of someone so important. a man who wanted peace, who wanted to bring the court together and make the lives of everyone better. it seemed more than cruel to have him taken from them so soon. 

now justice wasnt even being given but a swift execution. that would help no one. none of them would be any closer to finding out what happened if it went this way.

ophelia weaved in an out of the crowds unsure of where to go or whom to speak with. she flittered between her guardian, armaan, and other trusted people at the court. she felt uneased by what was happening and like most she was not her normal cheerfu and talkative self

she glanced over to see who had bumped into her when she saw zahara. “no apologies needed.” she said, offering her a small but kind smile. “i too am feeling very uneasy about this whole thing. it seemed they do not want to have any room for discussion at all on this.” she said glancing around the room. “but i have faith we will find a way to come to an agreement or a way through this…misunderstanding.” ophelia said trying to keep on the lighter side of things. trying to keep her thoughts positive.

“forgive me for asking if this is out of line but, are you alright?” she asked her, her voice low as they walked towards the edge of the crowd. “a habit from the sand sages, to survey everyone. i couldn’t help but notice you seem…distracted? or at least a little worried about something more than what is happening.”

the tone in the voice of the woman beside her sent a wave of comfort over the dancer - a thought that hadn’t even crossed her mind at the fact that the gods had blessed her with closure she didn’t realize she so craved after so many years. while her mind would yet be filled with why’s and what if’s she could feel the relief begin to slowly wash over her, as if she were taking a dip in cool water on a warm day. with the shawl grasped gently in her hands, almost instinctively taking to the others offers of comfort, a thing she never really knew much of, a faint smile crossed her lips.

"i needed to hear that." she admitted, with a sniffle as she used the back of her hand to rub at her nose. zahra was suddenly all too aware of the mess she presented herself in front of the princess regent. despite the closeness that seemed to bond them as of late, she felt the slightest sensation of bashfulness.

and she nodded at the mention of the sword of the morning, though she did not know the lord of starfall well, she knew of his closeness with rashid, and it seemed, myriam as well. a conversation she would not question now, though curiosity picked at the back of her mind. "i know he must be heartbroken, too." she stated with a shaky resolve, before giving a soft clear of her throat. "he made the most of anything, he was..." good. he was purely good. of course, no man could be the subject of godliness, but she thought rashid jordayne's demeanor certainly came close. she would miss the simple conversations they would have, the smell of incense swirling about them in a dimly lit room. even if such moments were not recent, it was comforting to simply know this world had someone like him.

"and i needed to hear that, too." zahra answered with a gentle laugh, a small lift of her spirits as it seemed the woman before her, who held so much weight upon her own shoulders, whilst comforting the dancer of salt shore, read her own very mind in all of this. "i've never grieved in such a way, before." she admitted. the favorite daughter of her father's, a motherless child save for the woman his father took as his wife, who never dealt with very many hardships, despite the lack of status she held, she held something that many would yearn for, many died for - freedom. "it almost seems like there is a wrong way to do it, but you are right." she inhaled. "perhaps if i share my grief with the jordayne's, we can all bear the weight of it, together."

she looked at the shawl in her hands now, wrinkled and damp, a felt a small flush come to her tear-stained cheeks. zahra gently lifted it. "i must wash this before i return it to you, or perhaps i owe you a new one." she insisted, a hint of jest, even in mournful spirits. "thank you, myri. i am grateful for your words and your company, eternally."

❂

there was the slow dawning realisation within the mind of myriam allyrion, the idea that what she was seeing sat before her was what the court would have expected to see from her upon the murder of her own husband: and yet, myriam's own tears had come from a place of shock and empathy for her daughter, rather than about the actual loss.

a feeling of detachment had come over as she stood within the room surrounded by her martell family, the diligent daugher in law that had completed her duty; and would now remain part of the royal family as was expected for royal widows. "you did?" there was audible relief within myriam's words; she was glad zahra had the chance to speak to rashid, and put aside whatever pain had occurred between them years ago. "thank the gods; and you were meant to see him. whatever was said was a gift; your last conversation was not one filled with pain, or hurt. it was years later, in sunspear's hallway. everything seemed okay, didn't it?"

and yet still, the feeling of dread continued to come over her at the prospect of knowing the bridal bangles she adorned at seventeen had become shackles; her mangalsutra weighed upon her, now more than ever before. this was what grief looked like, this was how a woman that loved a man grieved. all myriam grieved for was her daughter's innocence, a childhood she would try to stitch together but she knew it would never be the same.

"i didn't know him well." myriam spoke, her hand resting upon zahra's back, rubbing it up and down as the woman allowed herself to cry on the steps of sunspear's throne. how it felt as though sunspear's throne was built on the tears and sacrifices of women. "but baashir did…he was basically his brother, so." and those words were a quiet admission of what many thought, but did not speak of. that there was something between the princess regent and the first minister of dorne: that there always had been. "you're not the only one wishing for more time."

zahra sand was just a woman who brought joy to leila's face, allowing girlish giggles to fill the courtyard over the sound of the fountains - she did not know when she had found herself latching onto her in such a way, but here she was. there was something utterly maternal about the way she wound her shawl from her own body, moving aside strands of thick chesnut hair and allowing zahra to wipe her tears with it; almost insisting she do so. the same way zahra was basically on her shoulder, with how close they sat beside one another.

and now, she grieved for the concept of goodness: whilst she never felt as though she could be, or would be, good, she had always found herself quiet in awe and in comfort in the space of rashid jordayne. now he too was gone, and she found herself wondering what plans the gods had. "you're not wrong for grieving, zahra. okay? even if you've taken different paths and found different people. you are not stepping on or undermining the grief of the jordaynes with your own." and how she knew the jordaynes would be grieving; safeerah especially, considering how close she was to her brother.

"speaking to them may help you feel some sense of peace. be with the people that have so many memories of him - it'll prepare you for the funeral."

the court seer of dorne took to traveling only when it seemed like it contained opportunity, or perhaps it was asked of her by those within sunspear, who no doubt perhaps would like to have some insight as to what this next gathering would bring. zahra did not believe she need read the stars to believe that the west would not bring much great opportunities for their homeland, but she respected the efforts to make this travel and form whatever alliances they could. she were not entirely privy to the intricacies of the political sphere, but she knew enough to know that an ally to the north was likely being sought, for having partnerships only across the sea would not always do them good.

tonight, however, she indulged in the masquerade, picking out one of her finest lehengas, purchasing the most colorful mask she could find, zahra felt entirely in her element this evening. it were a show, an act, and she put it on very well. despite not often dancing as the westerosi did traditionally, she knew enough of the steps to take to the dance floor on more than one occasion, the ringing her her anklets liking causing some surprise to whatever partner she happened upon.

the music ended and she gave a nod of her head to her most recent companion, before turning to pluck a drink from one of the serving trays. it were then she had spotted a young lord she had seen earlier, as well. she need not remove his mask to believe he was handsome, and zahra had always enjoyed an air of mystery.

"my lord," she responded, head tilting slightly as she grinned. "you certainly may, if you are a good lead. i'm afraid i am not always familiar with these songs." her accent rang, giving way to some of her identity behind the mask.

Closed starter for @dancingshores Setting: Lannisport, The Westerland's. The celebration of Lann's Day is in full swing, with music, dancing, and competitions.

It was a day of celebration and yet he couldn't celebrate anything with the person he'd attended Lann's Day with. He'd asked if Talia wished to dance, and she'd rejected his proposal. He'd asked if she wished to listen to some of the stories being performed, and she'd said she was in no mood for it. Perhaps it was a form of protest from his wife's side, who no doubt saw her marriage as a prison in which both Harlon and him were to blame for her oh-so-horrible fate. She was not the first woman to endure an arranged marriage nor would she be the last. And for gods' sake, she was a Lady of Oldtown now. There were far worse fates to be had in this world.

“Well, I do want to dance, my dear,” Gael stated in a polite tone, a forced smile crossing his lips —no effort going into making the gesture anything else other than what it was: fake. He ought to be more patient, he knew, but at least for the day he'd grown tired of his wife's antics and wished to enjoy something. And so the Hightower lord left Talia in the company of her guards and ladies, disappearing into the crowd.

The Master of the Arts readjusted his mask and headed for the area where lively music was playing. He got himself a drink, feeling some of the tension he'd felt minutes ago begin to dissipate gradually. There was something exciting about seeing masks all around, no uncovered faces. It was a theater performance, almost. Individuals giving themselves permission to let go of certain inhibitions, the chance to feel somewhat freer, all because no one knew who they were. He could relate to that desire today.

Gael took a long sip of his drink, finishing the contents and marched to the dance floor as a song ended and partners were changing. “May I have the next dance?” he asked as he stood before a young lady. He'd spotted her earlier, his gaze inevitably drawn to her for the way she danced.

zahra's fingers traced the lines of his palm slowly, her gaze never wavering from his face. hte flickering light from the torches above seemed to dance in the depth of her eyes as she considered his question, taking a moment to let the silence stretch between them like a taut string.

“fire," she began, her voice smooth and deliberate, "is like a field of grain. the earth yields it, and the flame can spread across the entire harvest in the blink of an eye." she paused, watching him closely as she spoke, her words deliberate and full of intent. "at first, it’s nothing more than a spark, a small flame. but then, it catches, sweeping across the land. the fields yield not just grain, but discord. where the smoke rises, so too will resolve be tested, and bonds will be unmade.”

her eyes glinted with the hint of something deeper—something unspoken—as she let her words settle. she shifted slightly, moving a fraction closer, the air around them thick with the weight of her meaning.

“the stars do not always offer simple answers,” she continued, her voice lowering to a more intimate tone. “in the heat of fire, one may forget the fragility of what’s grown—what is harvested—until it is too late. you can grow strong from fire, yes, but it often leaves the land barren in its wake. and the thing with fire... is that it has a way of spreading when no one expects it. you may plant your seed with intent, but you may not be the one who reaps the harvest."

the seer's fingers lingered on the lines of his palm a moment longer, her gaze flicking up to meet his. "and how long, armaan," she asked with a soft, almost teasing tone, though laced with curiosity, "do great men stand still before the world catches fire around them? long enough to watch it burn, or just long enough to strike the match?"

꙰

the question she posed him made his expression change, dark brows furrowing as he looked downward in her direction; she always held his gaze, no matter how much he tested to see whether he would break it. matching his intensity with a level of calm, like the surface of the ocean itself. "because great men need to stand still." his response was one filled with his usual sense of arrogance, not even blinking when considering the way he spoke about himself. he knew what he thought of himself. the greatest.

the throne room of sunspear shimmered down on them in the late afternoon glow, its golden light painting the sandstone walls in hues of amber and crimson. armaan yronwood leaned against a marble pillar, his gaze fixed on zahra sand as she moved through the gathering. her dark hair cascaded over her shoulders, glinting in the firelight, and her sparkling eyes held a liveliness that drew every glance her way. "you've sold dreams." her hips swayed with unhurried confidence, and armaan found himself watching, caught in the effortless rhythm of her steps.

he pushed off the pillar, closing the distance with a measured stride. when he reached her, he allowed a smile to ghost his lips, his expression carefully calculated to convey both charm and intrigue. his dark gaze flickered over her, before a slight scoff slipped from his mouth. “you’ve stirred something in this court,” he said, his voice low, his tone somewhere between admiration and amusement. “not just their imaginations but their ambition. even the most placid faces seem alight with schemes when you’re near. - thinking they could be something they never will be.” as much as he believed in the concept of astrology and vedic timing, he also believed some simply were. and some were not.

he straightened, letting his eyes flicker over her once more, lingering on the curve of her hips before returning to her face. for all the ways in which her alluring presence constantly called to him, he found himself unwilling to cross the line drawn in the sand: a line that was not a line at all. “and what do the stars say of fire, zahra?” his voice held a teasing edge, constantly trying to seem as though he were attempting to catch her out on some element of her readings, though there was an undeniable intensity beneath it. because something began to shift together in his mind.

great men thrived on ambition. they were driven to seek more, to strive for improvement, always yearning to shape the course of events rather than merely be carried by it. to feel as though they turned the wheel, rather than being turned by it—this was their purpose. this was his purpose.

there was not a room that zahra could walk in and not become acquainted with someone, in this instance, it was many someone's. though she much preferred dorne to any other region of the realm, the dancer very much enjoyed the presence of people, and in these circumstances, one's she could learn much from. she found the culture of others to be fascinating, if not to realize how much she preferred and loved everything about her own, from the music, to the food, to, frankly, the very people themselves.

she wasn't quite sure how she managed to find herself in the center of a circle that formed, perhaps it was to prove a point, or to simply give in to the pleads of reachmen to grace them with one dance. zahra did not really care either way, she enjoyed any opportunity to showcase her craft.

and so there she was, golden silks of her lehenga flowing about her, like waves within the sea. there was a faraway tune playing, but the sounds of bangles gave way to her own melody within the song. chestnut curls seemed to float about her in their own beat, and in her mind she was transported, as she often found happening when the room around her became nothing more than an assortment of lights and colors. a small grin played at her lips as she made her final spin, hands that were raised up slowly falling back down to her sides as the small audience that had formed gave their applaud.

a familiar figure suddenly approached her, though it did not seem so sudden. she had caught sight of him earlier in the evening, recalling a time that seemed not so long ago when she visited the halls of yronwood. she was young then, and found herself quite absorbed with the handsome lord. much had happened since then, and suddenly that time of her life seemed to be within another century entirely.

"mainne aapakee nigaraanee ke bina kaee jagahon par nrty kiya hai." (i have danced many places without your watchful eye.) a half-smirk tugged up at the corners of her mouth, her spirited, independent nature somewhat taking over for a moment. "yadi aap chaahen to dekhane ke lie aapako kisee bahaane kee aavashyakata nahin hai." (you need no excuse to watch if you'd like.) her not returning to the center, however, as another tune began to play gave her answer for her, and the crowd began to disperse.

"it is nice to see you, lord yronwood."

who: @dancingshores​ where: one of highgarden’s many bustling halls, within a night of celebration. there was feasting, dancing, and gambling; he noticed how women from the other courts did not seem to engage in the game, apart from their own. currently, armaan was involved in some sort of game of dice, with lyseni, tyroshi and reachmen. 

it was another hot summer night within the great hall of highgarden, ivy and vines creeping up stained glass and ornate white marble decor; and yet, after an evening of feasting, the surroundings was the last thing on his mind. this card game had gone on for far too long, thanks to a specific member of the party seemingly enjoying the conversation more than the actual game. unaware of the impatience that was only growing upon the table, the man continued to speak of matters across the narrow sea; matters that were not anything of significant importance. 

rather, building styles of villas and pavilions - and as the lord of yronwood put down his final hand, his hand seemed to come down hard upon the table top. almost in a way that caused whatever was on the table to shake.

it shut the representative up at least, or reminded him they were here to play the game, rather than engage in small talk for the sake of trying to get in one’s socialising. his dark orbs, stormy in essence, looked to the large crowd that was dotted around the rest of the room; there was dancing, there was one woman dancing specifically. by the sounds of the anklet, his first impression was to think it was the princess consort - only, it was not her. only someone with an uncanny resemblance to her, a woman he had come across before. she had stayed within yronwood with her lord father some years prior, for a brief amount of time; back when his uncle held the regency and armaan was to turn eighteen within the week. 

of course, she was once someone of far more importance to his friend, the ruling lord of the tor. she had stayed with the jordaynes; he was sure he had seen her during his visits to the tor, time after time.

there was much talk of him retaking yronwood that evening over the dinner, stepping into his father’s shoes that dinner; it was almost ironic now. for who knew what betrayal, bloodshed and butchery would come just a week later; crossbows shot into an empty bed, and he watched. her presence reminded him of a time where things seemed okay, but in reality, were truly not. their eyes met multiple times throughout the course of the night, and when he was finally able to collect his winnings once the game wrapped up, the man did not excuse himself. 

rather, moved his way through the crowd in his black kurta, still adorning traditional dornish attire. his hair longer than he usually kept it. moving his way through the crowd, he knew better than to interrupt her. he would not join her. and so, the bloodroyal just became another figure stood around watching. watching, alongside those andals who looked as though she were a piece of meat to be unwrapped. he was there, silently, as he felt as though he needed to be - she was dornish, she was one of their own. 

there was applause as she finished, in a spiral conclusion. he joined the claps, slowly; still keeping his gaze fixed on her. though in truth, his attention was on the people around them. dancers were not whores, not in dorne; he knew not elsewhere. “kya aapaka kaam khatm ho gaya, ya kya mujhe agale din tak yaheen rukana hoga?” (are you finished, or do i have to wait until tomorrow?) 

zahra sat across from myriam, the shadows of the room weaving around them, but she could feel the weight of her friend’s words pressing on her. she could hear the conflict in myriam’s voice, see it in the tight set of her shoulders as she cradled inaaya close, the baby’s tiny hand still curled around her finger. zahra understood the weight of that burden—had carried something similar herself. but there was something else now, something she could not ignore. she had known myriam for years, and this was different. this wasn’t just about power or strategy; this was about the core of who they were.

the seer's gaze lingered on myriam, her mind working swiftly. “perhaps if you want to find those in volantis who oppose slavery,” she said thoughtfully, “start with the trade guilds. the merchants, the people who don’t rely on slaves for their wealth—many of them resent the practice, seeing it as outdated and inefficient. if you can find a way to speak with those who hold influence in those circles, you might uncover allies who share our values."

zahra leaned back in her chair, folding her hands in her lap. the moonlight on the walls seemed to deepen the shadows, lending an air of intimacy to the quiet room. her eyes glanced briefly toward the window where the comet’s faint light bathed the night, a reminder of the uncertainty they all faced.

she glanced at myriam, her heart aching for her friend’s inner turmoil. “you are not betraying your legacy by seeking peace, not if that peace protects your people. you’ll find a way to balance it, like you always have. I believe that.”

zahra stood and moved to the window, her silhouette framed against the starry night, her eyes flicking up to the comet that myriam had spoken of. "the comet," she murmured, "it’s an omen, yes. but not a bad one. don’t mistake the sign of change for one of destruction. trust that it means something new is coming—something that may not be clear yet, but it’s coming. it doesn’t mock you, myri jaan. it’s just… a sign that things are never as they seem."

turning back, she met her friend’s gaze once more, her expression resolute, yet gentle. “you are not alone in this struggle. and sometimes, it’s okay not to trust your heart fully… as long as you trust those around you, those of us who see your heart from the outside looking in."

❂

myriam listened to zahra's words, a mix of comfort and frustration gnawing at her. the room was dimly lit, moonlight spilling through the open window and casting soft shadows. the air was cool, carrying the faint scent of night-blooming flowers from the gardens outside.

"i know you're right," she said, her voice steady despite her inner turmoil. "it's just… it's hard to see the bigger picture when everything feels like it's crashing down around me. we are currently at war...i've brought us to war." she looked down at inaaya, the baby's tiny hand grasping her finger.

"i don't want my daughters to grow up thinking that we have to compromise our morals to survive. we were supposed to be better than slaver states. how are we? is there no other way?"

the room felt smaller with each passing second, the weight of responsibility pressing down on her. myriam glanced at zahra, hoping for reassurance in her friend’s eyes. "do all volantenes agree with the practice of slavery? is there really no one there who sees it for the horror it is?" the alliance with volantis gnawed at her conscience, the thought of aligning with a state that endorsed slavery a bitter pill to swallow. "how can we support them when they stand for everything we’re supposed to stand against?"

her gaze drifted to the intricate tapestries on the walls, each thread telling a story of dorne’s rich history. she felt a pang of guilt, wondering if she was betraying that legacy by allying with volantis. "i just need to find a way that doesn't force us to betray who we are." she said softly, her voice barely above a whisper.

the room’s quiet was punctuated only by the crackling of the fireplace, the warmth a stark contrast to the cold uncertainty that gripped her heart. looking out the window at the comet, myriam silently vowed to keep searching for that elusive path, hoping that one day she would find it. she kissed inaaya’s forehead, drawing strength from the tiny life in her arms, determined to be the leader her daughters needed her to be.

her eyes wandered to the comet outside, its purple glow still visible in the night sky. it seemed to mock her uncertainty, a cosmic reminder of the changes she couldn't control. "i'm trying to believe in your comet, to trust that it means something good. but right now, it just feels like another bad sign. what is it you call it? an omen? you say people trust my heart...but i don't even trust it."

zahra watched myriam quietly for a moment, her dark eyes thoughtful, like she was piecing together the stars to make sense of the chaos swirling in her friend’s heart. her thoughts drifted back to those long hours of labor, to the way myriam had looked at her then—vulnerable but strong, fragile yet fierce. it had been a moment of pure trust, the kind of trust zahra did not take lightly. the firelight danced across her face as she finally spoke, her voice soft but sure.

“you’re not being too much, myriam. you’ve given life—endured more than most men could fathom—and now you’re feeling everything all at once. that’s not too much; that’s being alive.” she shifted closer, her hand brushing lightly over inaaya’s tiny foot, marveling for a moment at the miracle of her. “it’s easy to feel like the world is too loud, too close, when you’re carrying this much in your heart.”

her gaze lifted to myriam’s, unblinking and steady. “but this feeling—this ache? it’s not wrong. you just want what anyone would: to have the person you love beside you when you needed him most. you’re valid in that. it’s a heavy thing to do alone.”

she hesitated, the silence filling with the crackle of fire and inaaya’s soft breaths. when she spoke again, her tone held a thread of sadness. “but maybe... baashir thought he was doing what was right. maybe he stayed because he thought he was protecting you both. men like him—men like your husband—they think strength is about swords and shields, about fighting battles to keep their loved ones safe. they forget the battles we fight here, alone.”

zahra leaned forward slightly, her gaze piercing but kind. “you’re not broken for wanting him here. and he’s not unforgivable for failing to be. but ask yourself, myriam—when has a great man ever stayed still long enough to truly understand what’s in front of him?”

her hand lingered on myriam’s shoulder, a steadying touch. “you’re strong. and you’re not alone. let him see that when he returns. let him realize what he’s missed... and what he still has.”

❂

the room felt oppressive, though it wasn’t the size—it was the sheer presence of others. the dayne attendants moved quietly, their whispers blending with the crackle of the fire, but to myriam, every sound grated. she couldn’t place why their closeness irked her so, why her skin prickled at their nearness, but the feeling refused to dissipate. "no point telling them to leave, they'll come back." she uttered, her tone dismissive; she were sure at one point during her labour her mother in law had entered the apartments, no doubt wishing to put her directions in order to the midwives and look over what was happening.

myriam had been on all fours at the time, and had screamed for her to get out; the shock of her presence momentarily distracting her the most painful of pressures, which felt like her lower back was snapping. "thank you for getting her out."

she tightened her hold on inaaya, the soft weight of her daughter the only thing keeping her grounded. “it’s strange,” she began softly, her voice barely rising above the hearth’s murmurs, “to hold life in your arms and feel like your own is slipping through your fingers.” her gaze lingered on the baby, her tiny fist curled against myriam’s chest; this was her and baashir's baby. they had a baby. the whole idea of it still felt incredibly foreign and strange as she looked down at the round baby nestled against her chest, wrapped in blankets.

“i thought when she came, it would all make sense. that i’d finally understand my place. instead…” she exhaled, her shoulders sagging, “it just doesn't feel right...not her. it's not her.” inaaya stirred, her tiny mouth working instinctively, and myriam adjusted her position, ensuring the baby remained latched; the movement was so natural, leaning forward to inhale her unique smell. the sensation was grounding, though it did little to dull the ache that lingered in her body, a constant reminder of what she’d endured. “and he wasn’t here,” she said, the bitterness in her tone sharper now. “baashir. he should’ve been here.” her fingers brushed over inaaya’s delicate hair, her touch trembling as she allowed zahra to softly trace her own hand over her baby's small feet. "that's why i'm upset isn't it? it's got my head so fucked."

“i know there’s a war. i know there are men who can’t be spared. but he knew, zahra. he knew when my time was nearing; they had told him in advance and he knew how long it would take to come home. she wasn't early.” her voice wavered, but she pressed on, feeling herself falling back into that spiral again. “what if i’d died? what if she had? would he have mourned us from the battlefield, too late to even say goodbye?” the thought coiled tight in her chest, threatening to choke her. did he even know what he’s missed? those first moments… they’re now gone, and he’ll never have them. he'd never have heard his daughter's first cry, and for all the way myriam thought she would understand, the feeling of abandonment crept in each time she turned her head to see her bedside empty.

aside of course, from the voice of the stars, the one who listened and danced with them; her starlight.

"he could have come back. the others would have continued, one man missing from the front lines won't decide the fate of the war." a tear welled in her eye, and she blinked it away before it could fall; allowing the thickness of her hair to momentarily hide her face as she remained as still as possible, trying not to disrupt her daughter. another daughter; it made her heart glow, it made her wish to kneel down and thank the mother endlessly for the blessings. “you make it bearable, you know,” she murmured, her gaze flicking to zahra before dropping again. “even when i don’t say it. even when i’m too caught up in my own chaos to see straight.” she leaned closer, resting her head against zahra’s shoulder for a fleeting moment. “i just… i thought he’d be here for me.” she closed her eyes, the weight of exhaustion pressing down on her.

“but i suppose i should’ve known better. baashir belongs to the fucking battlefield, not to me. the sword of the morning.” a slight laugh slipped from her lips as she looked at zahra, as though she were trying to laugh off the situation. even if she had torn apart her entire world for him. the fire crackled softly, filling the space between her words. "tell me, okay?" inaaya’s tiny breaths were a steady rhythm, a fragile constant in a world that felt anything but steady. "am i being too much?" she asked, desperate for some sense of honesty from her friend. to reawaken her, if needed. was she being too clingy? why was she being like this?

as the dance concluded zahra flashed a grin to the young lord who had accompanied her, though she had no clue what his name was at this moment in time, she already decided she quite liked him, and would enjoy conversing with him more this evening. of course, just as quickly as the thought fluttered into her mind, the glass shattered with the sound of clapping from the lady ruqaiyah dayne herself observing nearby.

round eyes looked from the lady, back to her partner for a moment as the exited the dance floor, she gave a subtle nod of thanks, and hoped perhaps he could see her intentions to find him again when she were done, though she had a feeling she would be occupied for some time, and so she let the idea of reconciling with the other fade from mind as she offered ru a sweet smile, zahra's more genuine than the lady's before her, but she could see right through the other woman's facade. it were hardly being disguised.

zahra had known the other for quite some time, of course not in any personal way. she recalled the ladies callous nature, in the tor she were entirely unapproachable, so she thought, and yet she had recalled how farah seemed to grow on her, at least so it seemed, before that fateful day.

the dancer allowed ruqaiyah to lead her away, though she would not have fought it, anyways. despite her court-appointed position, despite her status in dorne not being seen as lowly as most of the continent, she knew house dayne's ideaologies were different, the westerlands views were different, even if she wanted to protest, she had no ground here. and yet, she would not have, even if she did. for that was simply the nature of zahra sand, to let the winds take her and face the next moment in her life in stride.

"i apologize, had i known you were in search of me, i would not have taken to the dance floor." she replied, simply, feeling a flush of frustration prickling at her cheeks and eyes, hopefully hidden by the mask upon her face. zahra gestured to a seating area, just out of the great hall, a quieter place for conversations to be heard "is there something you are concerned about?"

who: @dancingshores when and where: lann's day celebrations within casterly rock, ruqaiyah dayne comes across a nobody who has been climbing the ranks of importance within the court of sunspear. how she hates it.

she had noticed it briefly first, orbs passing over the scene as she found herself engaging in conversation with the hand of king cedric of house tyrell, and then her gaze snapped back to it again.

a familiar figure and voice, all sweetness and honey with long thick dark hair behind a mask; and a head of blonde hair she did not recognise, dancing upon the floor. it was enough to cause her to look upon it, making no attempt to even be subtle; what a scene. this was hardly a surprise, was it? the woman had seemingly given up on her mission of being the most unreliable, detached string in the realm and had instead decided to climb the ranks of court - and climbing the cocks of reachmen.

the music came to a slow as the dance began to end, and she found herself winding her way toward the woman she suspected, and the man that would later be confirmed to be lord gael hightower. and when the dance ended, ruqaiyah had no issue with a slow, sarcastic clap for the duo; slipping right to the side of zahra sand, the dornish court seer.

"amazing." ruqaiyah spoke, her tone gushing in falsehood; and yet, she maintained the gaze of them both. would the reachman see her deceit? no doubt zahra sand would, instantly.

and then she switched to their native tongue, a smooth and seamlessly transition as she feigned a friendly move of putting her hand on zahra's forearm, as though to usher her away. "is the court seer too busy planning on spreading herself on the white man to do the ridiculous job given to you out of pity?" myriam allyrion's favourite pet, was what ruqaiyah called her. all the while, not once did she think of the sister she had left for dead on the borders of the tor. the blood that was never upon her hands.

"i want my palm read. save embarrassing us for later and do your job."

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.

the dim corridor was lit unevenly by flickering torches, casting long shadows that seemed to stretch and shift with every movement. the faint murmur of voices from the great hall echoed distantly, a reminder of the oppressive atmosphere they had both fled. zahra leaned back against the cold stone wall, arms loosely folded, her face an unreadable mask until ophelia came closer.

she tilted her head, offering a faint smile. “you have impeccable timing, as always. i was just debating whether staring at these walls long enough might inspire some grand revelation.”

her gaze flicked back toward the hall, her lips pressing into a thin line as ophelia described the stifling tension inside. zahra nodded faintly, her expression softening as she met ophelia’s eyes. “you’re not wrong. it’s like every word spoken in there has to be coated in honey or daggers, and i’ve had enough of both for one night.” her fingers traced the edge of the cool stone beside her, an absent motion that betrayed her lingering unease.

when ophelia’s tone shifted to concern, zahra hesitated, the flicker of a frown crossing her face before she shook her head lightly. “i’m fine,” she replied, her voice low but steady. “just... the weight of it all, i suppose. the lockdown, the waiting. it gets to everyone eventually.” she straightened, brushing invisible creases from her skirts. “but enough about me.”

she gestured toward the darker end of the corridor, where the torches cast fewer shadows. “a walk sounds good. somewhere quieter.” she stepped closer, her hand briefly brushing ophelia’s arm. “lead the way, and maybe tell me what you've been up to, lately, anything far removed from all of this.” zahra’s smile returned, faint but genuine. “i'd much rather hear your stories than get lost in my own thoughts right now.”

.

the great hall had felt suffocating. every glance, every carefully measured word, every shift in posture weighed heavy with unspoken tension. it was the kind of atmosphere that made ophelia’s skin itch and her heart yearn for air untainted by suspicion and formality. she had done her best to linger quietly—quietly for her, anyway—nodding when needed, offering a fleeting smile here and there. but even she could only endure so much of the heavy air before she needed an escape.

slipping out unnoticed wasn’t exactly her forte, but she managed, darting down a side corridor with a brief glance over her shoulder. the cool air in the hallway was a relief, and she let out a quiet sigh, smoothing her skirts and brushing back a strand of hair that had slipped loose. perhaps she could walk off this restlessness, at least for a moment.

it was then she spotted zahra further down the dim corridor, her silhouette lit by the soft flicker of torchlight. “zahra!” ophelia called softly, quickening her steps to catch up. her skirts swishing lightly against the stone floor. the flickering torchlight played across her features, softening her usual effervescence but not dimming it entirely. her hands fluttered for a moment, as if she wanted to reach out but wasn’t sure if zahra would welcome the gesture. instead, she clasped them in front of her. her expression brightened as she approached, though it was gentler than her usual exuberance, subdued by the lingering tension from the hall.

“oh, it’s dreadful,” ophelia admitted, lowering her voice as if afraid the shadows themselves might overhear. “everyone’s either scowling or whispering like their secrets might sprout wings and fly away if they’re not careful. i couldn’t take it anymore. i felt like i’d burst if i stayed another moment.”

she tilted her head, studying zahra more closely now, her healer’s instincts stirring. “you look troubled too. is everything alright?” her smile softened, a mix of care and curiosity. “you don’t have to tell me if it’s too much, of course, but i can’t help but notice you seem…” burdened was the word but she wasnt sure if it was best to say that. “well…something. if there’s anything i can do—or even just a listening ear—you know i’m always here.”

there was a pause, the faint sound of distant footsteps echoing behind them,opelia only gave it a glance before remaining focused on zahra. “i thought i might go for a walk to clear my head. perhaps you’d like to join me? i promise i can keep the conversation brief if you need a break—or, well, as breif as i’m capable of.” maybe somewhere a little more private would be best for them.