It Was Only A Matter Of Time Before The Winds Had Brought The Kite That Was Zahra Sand Within The Realm

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 : 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.

zahra had just barely made it out of the feast hall, the press of warmth and music still clinging to her like a second skin, her silks clutched in her hands, wine blooming like some tragic flower across her skirts. outside, the air was cooler, sweetened by the scent of night jasmine growing wild along the sandstone walls. the stars blinked overhead, indifferent and distant, and the moon threw silver light across the courtyard’s tiled floor.

she ducked into a quiet alcove tucked between two carved columns, where a small basin trickled water into a shallow bowl, and the only sound was the faint echo of laughter from within. barefoot children dashed past chasing each other, oblivious to her quiet crisis, and somewhere above, a windchime clinked lazily.

zahra was dabbing furiously at the stain with a stolen cloth, futile, of course, but she had to do something. the wine had soaked in deep, like it was meant to ruin the night.

and then came the voice, sharp.

she jumped, nearly dropping the cloth, and looked up with wide eyes. “seven,” she gasped, half-laughing, half-flustered. “you walk like a ghost, lady yronwood.”

the other woman had already snatched the cloth from her hands before she could say another word, moving with the kind of precision that made zahra stand back with her hands raised in surrender.

“i wasn't going to ruin it that much,” she muttered under her breath, but a smile tugged at her lips. she watched halima dab at the fabric like it was a battlefield, and for a moment, zahra said nothing, just listened to the quiet swish of cloth and the distant thrum of drums from the hall.

then halima spoke again.

zahra blinked, then gave a small snort of amusement. “i read the stars, not wine stains,” she said, placing a hand lightly over her chest as though she'd been accused of something most dramatic. “if i’d known that cup had it in for me, i would’ve danced on the other side of the room.”

she tilted her head slightly, studying halima as she worked. “you always did have interesting timing.” she grinned, the earlier fluster fading as easily as it had come. “but thank you. i rather liked this one. it makes me look like i belong in a painting.” a pause. “a painting without bloodstains, preferably.”

closed starter for @dancingshores

sunspear was alive tonight, aglow with warmth and light and laughter with the feast at the epicentre. people were beginning to peel away from their seats, having eaten their fill, to migle with one another in conversation or upon the dancefloor, but not halima. she remained firmly in her seat, alone, her posture stiff and her expression devoid of any trace of amusement. as she always did, she was watching, her cup of wine untouched before her. she was taking note, of who was talking to who, of who was entering and leaving the room, ensuring little that escape her notice.

it was then that she noticed zahra sand, moving from the dancefloor back to the tables. there was always two things that struck her when she took in the face of bastard girl of house gargalen - the first being that same face, but younger, speaking to halima as though they were friends, though that was so long ago it invoked only a faint stirring.

the second was a face that was similar - but not the same. the nose slightly wider, the cheekbones a little higher, which altered the look of eyes that stared without seeing, unblinking, and dead. she did not lose sleep over it, nor particularly care about what had been done, but she could clearly remember the sight of farah gargalen dead in the desert.

a misstep, a careless hand tipping a cup, and the contents were spilled in a slow, ruinous bloom across the embroidery of zahra's silks, the dornish red marking a deep stain in the fabric. halima did not react, her dark eyes tracking the spread of the blotch, but when zahra excused herself from the room, she found herself rising to follow, lifting a jug of vinegar to take with her.

she made no effort to make herself known, footsteps making no sound as she trailed after zahra. it was not until the other woman had a cloth in her hand, rubbing at the stain, did she make herself known.

"don't do that." her voice was sharp as she stepped forward, snatching the cloth from zahra's hand. "you'll make it worse." it was true that she had little experience lifting wine stains from silk, but it could not be so different to blood. it was the same colour, after all. she dipped the cloth in the vinegar, and then began to blot at the stain, her movements practical and efficient, if not particularly gentle.

"you are a seer, are you not?" she looked up at zahra, her movements continuing as she did. it was effective - the colour of the wine was beginning to fade. "you'd think you would have seen this coming."

the golden lord’s words elicited a gentle laugh from zahra. lady he called her though she would not correct him. she found it fun when people did not really know who she was or how she fit into place. it made interactions like this somewhat more genuine. “seems simple enough.” zahra stated, as she leaned slightly back into her seat, hues watching as each card fell and was flipped upon the table until the lord ultimately lost his round.

“ah, what a shame. your coffers must be nearly drained.” zahra quipped in jest as hazel gaze shifted to the other lord now, quietly watching as he played his round. “gods, you have all the luck, huh?”

the dealer turned to zahra now and dealt her two cards: a jack of spades and six of hearts. fingers tapped upon the table as she contemplated her next move. should she not try, she would for certain lose. “hit.” she decided confidently, and her final card was revealed.

it was a five of clubs.

“congratulations my lady, you’ve achieved a blackjack.” the dealer stated, shifting the coins to her side of the table as zahra gave a few claps of her hands. “well it was either try again, or lose for certain, right?” she flashed a beaming smile in the direction of each at the table. “i can see why you lords could play this game all night, that was thrilling.”

@nicholaslannisters

"Lady Zahra," Nicholas said with a wide grin, tilting his head in greeting. He waited until she had taken her seat upon the empty chair before settling again himself. Nicholas leaned over, clapping Percival on his shoulder before giving it a firm, almost excited shake. What was it about the captain, that attracted so many stormy individuals? The mysterious northern woman, Leo Lefford, and now a star-spangled knight and dark beauty.

"I may be bleeding gold, my friend, but bleeding for a lady makes any outcome much more enjoyable." His words were met with another thunderous laugh as he released the Valeman, and the Heir of Lannisport tossed a hand up to a servant to indicate another round be brought to their gambling table.

"The game is Blackjack." The servant floated over as he explained the rules, setting the drinks upon the table. The dealer that ran the table nodded his greeting to the new participant, and quickly dealt Zahra into the game. "Twenty-one or bust, my lady." Nicholas said, his thick eyebrows waggling as he took a heavy sip from his cup.

His voice humorous, but the truth was, Percival Templeton had been busting him nearly broke.

Nicholas turn came first, and as the dealer flipped a six of hearts and a Jack of spades face up in front of him. "Sixteen," he said, and Nicholas couldn't help but groan. Already, the odds weren't in his favor.

"Hit, or stay?" The dealer asked. Nicky knew he should stay, wait it out and try for some luck. But with the arrival of their new opponent, he waggled his eyebrows again instead. "Hit."

The dealer flipped his card over, revealing an eight of diamonds. "24, my lord. Bust."

Nicholas slammed his hand down on the table, making the chips jump upon the surface. His face twisted in mock annoyance, before his loud laugher returned again, and he tossed his gold coins upon the table. "Another bloody wound…" @percival-templeton

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.

zahra laughed, a full sound that cracked through the night like a spark, unexpected and honest. it spilled out of her without permission, the kind that bubbled up from somewhere deep in the ribs, where longing and relief sometimes collided. she ducked lower into the water, letting it rise to her chin, her knees bent and her arms drifting out like wings on the surface. it felt good to laugh. too good. dangerous, maybe. a little indulgent. but she didn’t stop. her eyes glittered in the moonlight as she looked at myriam, something soft blooming behind them. “you’re mad,” she said teasingly, tilting her head. “completely mad. and i’ve missed it.”

for a while, she simply floated, arms outstretched, staring up at the wide mouth of the sky. her hair spread out in slow waves around her head like ink in water. silence pressed around her, not heavy, not lonely. just present. the stars were watching as they began to peak through indigo skies, same as always. their light didn’t judge. it never had. she sighed, voice low when she finally spoke again. “you ever notice how it’s easier to tell the truth when you’re not looking at anyone?” her eyes stayed on the sky, the colors blurred slightly from the damp upon her lids. “maybe that’s why the stage never felt like a lie. i wasn’t with them. not really. i couldn’t see their faces, just the lights, the music. it was like… like i stepped into another world the moment the drums began.”

the words left her, and for a moment, the silence pressed in. her gaze lingered on the stars, but something else flickered behind her eyes. not regret, not quite. something older. something quieter.

she could have said it then. could have turned to myriam and told her the truth that had lived beneath her ribs since she was old enough to understand why she never asked too many questions. that they shared more than time, more than songs. that the woman who placed a baby in a basket to float down the greenblood, had mothered zahra too. but zahra didn’t speak. she couldn’t. instead, she took in a long breath, and when she turned her head, her smile was faint but real. “alright,” she said with mock solemnity, casting a sidelong glance. “but if i get scolded by some concerned reach lord, i’ll drag you down with me. fair?”

she swam in a lazy arc toward the stone ledge, fingers slicing the surface. myriam had pointed it out earlier, and now it called to her like something inevitable. her body moved with a dancer’s grace even in the water, deliberate and sure. she pulled herself up onto the stone, water clinging to her in rivulets. the air kissed her skin, cool and fleeting, as she stood there hugging her arms loosely around herself—not from cold, but from thought. her eyes drifted to the horizon, to where the mountains folded into shadow and the world felt far too wide for old griefs.

“jasveer’s name,” she said softly, almost to herself. “i’ve been carrying it like it’s a story i need to keep alive. but it’s mine too. i want it to be memory, not a weight.”

she bent her knees just a touch, toes curled at the edge, breath catching in her throat. she didn’t count to three. she didn’t shout his name. but she thought it, like a thread tied to her ankle, like a blessing, like a farewell.

then she jumped.

the splash was clean and sharp, and the water rose to meet her like an open mouth, swallowing her whole for a breathless moment. then she broke the surface, gasping and laughing, hair plastered to her face, eyes alight with something too wild to name. “gods,” she sputtered, wiping her brow, “that felt better than it should’ve. you win. but only this once.”

without warning, zahra surged forward and flung herself into myriam's arms, arms wrapping tight around the other's shoulders. it wasn’t a dive or a swim or anything graceful, just pure motion, unfiltered and reckless. she was laughing still, breathless, eyes bright as fireflies in the dark. “your turn,” she stated, nudging her shoulder gently against myriam’s. “no hiding.”

❂

myriam stayed still as zahra eased herself into the water, watching her friend with the kind of focus she reserved for dance or strategy or poetry written in someone else’s hand. there was reverence in her silence, not distance. she wanted to absorb zahra’s words as they came, one at a time, not risk misunderstanding them by rushing to fill the quiet. she’d always believed her friend’s voice was most beautiful when she didn’t try to make it so. when it stumbled a little, or paused too long between words. that was when it was real. her own silks were loosening slowly, methodically, beneath the moonlight.

the choli she’d worn earlier—a deep rust colour with fine threadwork down the spine—slid off first, caught briefly on her elbows before she tugged it away with a soft sigh.

the long skirts went next, peeled off like ripe fruit, careful not to wet the hem, and folded over the dry stone bench behind her. only the bindi remained, a dot of black on her forehead. “mmm,” she murmured in agreement, her first sound in some time, low and velvety as she stepped to the water’s edge. a quick, feline glance around the garden confirmed it—no children had wandered near, no stray courtiers, no highborn fools fumbling in hedges. they were alone, and she intended to keep it that way. and then she stepped in, as if the water owed her something. there was no hesitation. her foot slid down into the pool and then the rest of her followed—dark curls trailing behind her like seaweed, like shadow, her body gleaming and unapologetic beneath the moon.

she wore her nudity not like armour, but like inheritance: ancient, queenly, hers by right. the water surprised her—deeper than she expected—and she laughed softly as she began to tread, the movement making soft waves around zahra’s hips. “you were right not to strip the whole truth down,” she said, glancing over at her friend with a curl of amusement at her lips. “clarity’s overrated. blissful ignorance... that’s where the comfort is. if you don’t know it, you can’t ache for it. you can’t miss what never reached you.” she tilted her head back, letting the water creep along her collarbones, her dark hair floating like ink around her. “i used to think knowing everything was a kind of power. but lately...” her voice trailed off, the shrug more elegant than defeat.

“some things are lighter when left untouched, doesn't it?”

she floated closer then, her arms cutting little crescent moons in the water. she was watching zahra carefully—not for signs of weakness, but for signs of depth, of things unsaid. “you know,” she said gently, as one would speak to something precious, something that glowed, something they could not believe was with them. “you’re carrying all of it so beautifully, my girl." she let her foot brush zahra’s beneath the surface—just a touch, a nudge. “and don’t let them make you feel like you owe anyone ease. not the court, not the dancers, not even jassie's memory. you’re allowed to feel heavy. you’re allowed to sink sometimes - just trust another will catch you.” myriam's arms were long and bare as she drifted closer, water coiling around her like silk spun from ink.

the pool held them gently—two constellations untethered from the sky, bobbing in its quiet cradle. she watched zahra with a soft patience, chin tipped just slightly as if she were listening to a song only her friend could sing.

her lashes were wet, casting faint shadows on her cheekbones, and her bindi remained stubbornly in place, a single black truth clinging above her brow. “come,” she said suddenly, voice low and filled with something half-playful, half-sincere. “we’re playing a game.” myriam was already backing a few paces through the water, treading slowly until she was at the deeper centre of the pool. moonlight lacquered her shoulders, made her seem otherworldly—like some forgotten goddess of fresh water and difficult truths. she lifted her arms, held them steady before her like an invitation wrapped in challenge.

"climb up there, let's yell something to no longer carry, and fall back on me. i won't let you hit the water wrong." and there it was—that grin again. the one myriam reserved only for those she truly loved, the one that twisted her usually composed face into something far more mischievous. for suddenly, she were six and ten in the shallow waters of the greenblood, wading throguh reeds and doing the same with dastan and hasaryn. she remembers shrieking with a mouthful of water as hasa pulled her under, or the time dastan emerged with a fish. she remembered the time she ran from a snapping stray baby turtle. “if you fall wrong on your own accord, i’ll scold your form like some bitter auntie at a debut dance,” she teased, “so do it properly, or suffer my commentary forever.”

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