As The Liquid Ran Itself Over Her Tongue, She Could Understand Why He Would Say Such A Thing. Zahra Had

it was not usual to see the dancer of saltshore in such a state, one might call it pitiful, but it could easily be summed up with one description: broken. perhaps it were zahra's on fault for feeling everything, and yet, she would push away the bad, the negative things that she did not want to spend her energy upon. it served her well for most of her life, and then there was now, this moment, where she practically melted into the steps that the princess regent had sat upon - wearing her grief with the grace she so naturally possessed. zahra would envy the other if she did not care for and respect her so much, beyond the connection that only she knew between the two of them.

the floor was cool and hard, she tried to grasp onto her senses so she would not entirely crumble. what did she feel, hear, smell - the sweet fragrance of citrus emitted from the other as she welcomed her to lean against her. zahra naturally found herself doing just so, it were a silent motion of the two of them, as if they so often supported one another in such a way.

zahra did not want to wet the beautiful fabrics the other adorned and so quickly ran a hand over her face, as if that would make much difference for they only continued to flow no matter what she desired. "it is, most certainly." a faint smile crossed her lips at the thought of rashid's soul at the end of it's cycle, escaping the pains and difficulties of the mortal world.

the dancer quietly contemplated the others words, comforted by the fact that others felt as she did, that while the grief was heavy, it was not entirely her own. of course, zahra was entirely aware he left behind his own wife, a princess of dorne, and it was in that awareness that she did all she could to maintain herself to a degree that matched the sorrows of those around her until it were an appropriate time to release it as one who shared many cherished moments of her life with rashid jordyne.

brows furrowed gently as she dug into her memory, a tired laugh slowly escaping her. "i did, recently actually." the years had separated the two of them, unintentionally. they simply continued on their own paths after the natural end of their relationship, and it were not long ago when their paths crossed yet again in these very halls. and she suddenly realized the conversation offered the sense of closure she so desired - not that she felt he was missing, but perhaps, she wanted to think they had made the right choice all those years ago. and they had.

"and i suppose looking back now it was such a gift. to be given that small bit of time to speak to him again." hand moved to brush chestnut strands away from sticking to her tear stained cheeks. "and yet, selfishly, i want more time. i can only imagine i am not the only one who feels such a way." she shifted slightly to look at the other woman, now. "did you know him well?"

❂

for a woman who was the epitome of the radiance of the moon itself, zahra sand was able to hold her rays in a way that was enough to cause one's entire body to tremble, before letting tears roll down wide, doe-like orbs. the sort of constraint that meant one's entire body reacted before the eyes, regardless of how much they swam; and yet, she held a great respect for maintaining her composure before rashid jordayne's royal widow.

it were notable that there was more to the story that myriam was not entirely aware of, considering the outpour that came in the moon's eclipse was more than the initial shock and tears most courtiers felt upon hearing of the murder of the justiciar of dorne. "if there is any whose soul will reach enlightenment, it is him." was that not what any dornish soul would want? the escape of their soul from the cycle of samsara, and to be reunited with the gods?

if there was any that lived as his role before it were even in existence, it was and always would be him. many looked up to him, despite the fact he stood by their side rather than stood above: the sort of man any young woman prayed she would be married to someday. such goodness, being ripped away, was enough to cause air to even get stuck in her own throat: let alone those who knew him far better than in a professional capacity. it took one look at zahra to see that she had.

she mourned for rashid jordayne the way the courtiers would have expected her to mourn for mors martell. what myriam mourned for, however, was her own life; her own fate, as a royal widow. "neither do i." myriam spoke in agreement; she too, did not understand it.

there had always been something that drew myriam to the other; the sun and the moon, the moon and the sun; and yet, as she turned to look upon her figure climbing up sunspear's throned steps in a manner which made it seem as though she were dragging her feet, she extended her arms as though she were expecting the woman to collapse. how it felt as though she were looking in a reflection of some sort, though myriam did not know what it was she would be mourning for in such a way - or perhaps she did, and did not want to address, or even think on it.

"because he would have wanted it to be so." it was then myriam reached out, each of her movements as maternal and warm as the sun's rays: she scooted closer, moving her dupatta from her side to allow zahra to rest against. sometimes, collapsing was what was needed. grief was physically exhausting in itself. she used her dupatta to wrap around the frame of zahra sand, one that had the scent of myriam within it: sandalwood, citrus.

"did you speak with him, pyari?" myriam asked, her voice soft.

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.

a humored smile crept on the lips of zahra sand, unable to maintain total composure with the lord who was so sincere she was unsure if she had ever actually seen him smile. though she never took much notice of baashier dayne until now, for they were in each other's company far more given the new position she had accepted. still, there was a slight feeling of discomfort in the pit of her stomach, a sense of nervousness that he had actually noticed something that would cause a great secret to be ripped from her before she was truly ready to speak it. though truthfully, zahra was unsure if she would ever be just that.

"yes, that she is." she replied, rolling her lips and then pressing them into a smile of sorts as she hoped to stray from the topic, soon. "sometimes we find coincidences that aren't there. i'm certain if she was stood next to me, you would not compare us at all." and zahra sand hoped that would be the end of that conversation, at least for now.

as he shifted to her roots, her feet shifted in her stance, never quite still with little movements here and there. "salt shore, yes." she responded. "no, my siblings take after their own mother. i'm told i take after my father some, but i suppose i'll never truly know." eyes flickered down to the booklet in hand, little drawings of the skies, maps in reality, though perhaps indiscernible to those who were not sure what they were looking at. "the end of the month is a better time for rest, than preparation. that is all i can see for the near future." she stated.

"would you like me here for their arrival, first minister? in case they are in need of my insight?" zahra was unsure if it was really necessary, but the stars might provide some semblance of peace and comfort. she did not desire to be glued to one place longer than necessary, but she felt obliged to offer.

Baashir looked at her, watching the way she spoke to him and he tried to pick up on anything that would give him peace and instead he decided everything about her was suspicious and he would have to work on something else. Though, he looked at the woman and decided they looked too much alike. There were differences but what was the same was enough to make him feel as though there was something he knew that he didn’t and he didn’t like that feeling. Though, he wished he didn’t say so much at once, probably pay his hand a bit better but he didn’t have anyway to take it back so it would just set the tone.

“Her grace is stunning and incomparable. Yet, you look like her and I find that distracting.” His voice stayed in that same even tone, the seriousness clear on his face. Bash furrowed his brow as he tried to think of something related to the dates around them so she could think of something else other than his questioning.

“Where do you come from? You’re a Gargalen Bastard, correct? No one else in your house looks like here.” The lord stopped himself and landed on an idea. “I want to know if there are any dates that arise to you in concern? We’ve many things to plan as we prepare for the princesses new roles and I’m sure for the other Martell siblings to arrive.” Bash sighed, and one or both of them would be headaches.

TRUTH SERUM: It's time to make the 8! What one person would you bed from all the different regions of Westeros?

the dancer rose a brow at the inquiry, but shrugged. “well, for the north, certainly i would choose xia-li, again. the vale? i suppose percival templeton is the only one i really know, so him. definitely no stormlander.” she made a face. “for the westerlands, i found nicholas lannister charming, in an air-headed way. i think he’d be fun.” a finger tapped upon her chin. “ah, for the crownlands, well, i’ve no real interest in any of them, but the youngest velaryion lady is quite pretty. the riverlands, i think the frey lord, and for the reach, the hand is quite handsome, don’t recall his name, however. lastly, for dorne, well, i think i would choose lord yronwood.”

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?

zahra paused mid-step as ser percival templeton appeared before her, his voice cutting through the warm, wine-sweet air of the great tent. the evening hummed around them, thick with the smell of roasting meats and the sharp tang of woodsmoke curling from the braziers. laughter pealed off in one corner where knights jostled shoulders, but here, the space between them felt quieter. thinner.

she turned toward him with a slow, easy smile, the kind meant to disarm rather than challenge. “a surprise?” she echoed lightly, the corners of her mouth tugging higher. “then i must be doing something right.”

her silks shifted as she moved, colors catching the firelight like the inside of a jewel box. she let him look, not flaunting, just unbothered, before her gaze flicked back to his with a spark of quiet humor.

“we hunt in dorne,” she said, tilting her head as if pondering. “but the beasts we chase tend to have sharper tongues than teeth.” her bracelets slid down her wrist with a soft jingle as she lifted her hand, as if brushing away some unseen dust. “still, a change of scenery is good for the soul... and the wit.”

she did not correct him. not yet. if he wanted to call her lady zahra, she would let him. the truth could wait until it was more amusing to reveal.

“your invitation reached farther than you might have guessed,” she said. “and i found myself... curious.” she let the word linger, almost lazy. “besides, there are worse places to be trapped with strangers and wine.” zahra leaned in a fraction, her voice lowering just enough to be heard over the din. “and i thought perhaps you owed me a rematch.”

she stepped back with a glimmer of laughter in her eyes, letting the scent of cardamom and leather trail after her. “shall we see if the knight of ninestars has grown any luckier?”

Closed starter for @dancingshores Setting: Semi-flashback, set during the hunting expedition in Ninestars. Percival opened the invitation to nobles, royals, and courtiers from all over Westeros in hopes of making opportune connections for himself and his family (And frankly, he wasn't actually expecting Dornish folk to attend).

The great tent was humming with the low murmur of voices, punctuated by the occasional burst of laughter and the clatter of goblets against the tables. Outside, the air was getting crisper and colder as the evening began to settle. It had been a great first day of the hunt, and some conversations the Knight of Ninestars had through the day settled the true purpose of the hunt. Not the chase of wild beast, not the skill to kill, but the connections and the maneuvering that came with it.

Percival Templeton sat at the head of one of the long tables, his posture composed despite the aches left by the day’s ride. The scars from the dragon's burns had healed, but some of the echoes of such pain still remained. His cup of wine was cradled loosely in his hand, though he had barely touched it, his attention instead drifting across the gathering. He took stock of who had attended, who had made their presence known, and who had taken the opportunity to ingratiate themselves. And then, his gaze landed on her as she walked.

The Dornish woman was draped in colorful silks, carrying herself as someone accustomed to being seen. Percival remembered her. How could he not recall such a face? He had played cards with her and the Lannister months ago, in a smoke-filled chamber during the dragon king's coronation celebrations. It had been her who had walked away with more coin than she arrived with. The Commander had not thought much of the Dornish lady then, but the difference now was that she was here at his hunt, eating his food and drinking his wine, and he wanted to know why.

The Knight of Ninestars took a slow sip from his cup before he got up from his seat and made his way to the woman. “I did not think the Dornish had as much love for hunting as we do in the Vale. But perhaps I misjudged,” he spoke as he appeared on her way. His gaze lingered, measured. She was a long way from home. “It is a surprise to see you again, Lady Zahra,” the lord added, offering a polite nod to her.

the dancer of salt shore sat with her back to the fire, her silhouette outlined in gold as she met her friend's gaze. she could feel the weight of the unspoken stretching between them, as tangible as the heat on her skin. myriam’s words hung in the air, sharp and deliberate, cutting through the quiet like a blade. she hadn't expected the evening to bring the weight of such a conversation, but looking at the babe sleeping soundly in the other's arms, she knew why myriam's heart pulled her towards a solution, towards peace.

zahra took a slow breath, her fingers brushing idly against the fabric of her tunic. “you’re right,” she said, her voice calm but threaded with something heavier. “volantis is a labyrinth of power plays and hidden motives. the wrong move could cost us more than we can afford.” she leaned forward slightly, her eyes reflecting the firelight. “but the right one… that could change everything.”

she leaned forward now, resting her elbows on her knees, her fingers loosely intertwined. the volantene woman—their mother—was a risk zahra couldn’t fully calculate. she had seen firsthand how that woman moved through the tangled web of politics, manipulating the threads to her advantage. bringing her into this could open doors, yes, but it could also pull them into her orbit, where trust was currency and loyalty a fleeting thing.

but myriam wouldn’t let this go. zahra knew her well enough to see the resolve beneath the questions, the quiet determination in the set of her jaw. if zahra tried to divert her, it would only deepen the cracks forming between them.

after a brief moment, she sighed, her eyes flickering back to the fire. "if memory serves me right, she seemed to be a favored paramour amongst them,” she said finally, her voice low but steady. “she sees more than most, and she knows how to use it. people like her… they deal in power, not kindness. if we involve her, we have to be prepared for the cost.”

her hands tightened slightly as she glanced at myriam. “but clarity is something we can’t afford to ignore. i’ll get her name,” zahra said, her tone carefully neutral. the fire popped again, sending a small burst of sparks into the air. zahra leaned back slightly, her face shadowed. not every door that opens should be walked through. the words formed in her mouth, but never made a sound, only uttered in her mind as the babe began to stir again. zahra used the moment to redirect the conversation, a hand reaching towards inaaya, fingertips gently brushing her hair.

"you did so well, myri-jaan. she's so beautiful." she looked up at her friend, now, her didi. "we'll find peace again, for her. for leila."

❂

the firelight danced across the polished floor, reflecting faintly in myriam’s wine-dark eyes as she listened to zahra speak. the comet burned in her mind, as vivid as it was in the sky, a reminder of both possibility and peril. a sign of change, she thought, her lips pressed into a thin line. but change for whom? and at what cost? zahra’s voice was steady, measured, but myriam could feel the tension threading beneath her words. there was something unspoken there, a careful avoidance that pricked at myriam’s senses. she had known zahra long enough to read her silences as well as her speech, and tonight they spoke louder than the fire between them.

or was she overthinking it? was she overthinking everything? did she just wish to appear as though she understood something of the greater political sphere?

“volantis is always complicated,” myriam said finally, her voice low but sharp, like the edge of a blade hidden in silk. “their alliances are as tangled as their politics, and their promises as slippery as sand through fingers. but you’re right. we cannot act rashly, not with so much at stake. our people are defending our order...perhaps even pushing into it.” she briefly remembered the conversation she and ryon wyl had so many months ago, where he had showed her a map. nightsong, had been circled. he wanted it.

“that volantene woman, the one with the bright eyes.” myriam repeated, glancing toward zahra, her expression thoughtful. “she was sharp, wasn’t she? shrewd. i remember thinking she could see through a person with just one look.” a faint smile ghosted across her lips, tinged with something darker. “but you’re right—people like her always have their own agendas. if we approach her, we do so carefully. no promises, no commitments.”

can she even be trusted? the question lingered in her mind like a stone in her gut. the volantene woman might have information they needed—routes, connections, whispers of plans across the sea—but myriam knew better than to believe help would come without a price. her fingers tightened slightly on the chair. “still… she may offer us clarity. even if not her help.”

but even as she spoke, myriam couldn’t shake the feeling that zahra knew more than she was saying. there was a distance in her friend tonight, a shadow of something hidden. what are you not telling me, zahra? the thought came unbidden, but myriam pushed it aside. there were already too many secrets between them—and too little trust to uncover them now. "can you get me her name?"

midnight rain + pierre-auguste renoir

the eyes of zahra sand remained entirely fixated on the marbled floors beneath her feet, glistens of rainbow shimmering on them from the light cast through stained glass windows that surrounded them in the great room, and yet, everything felt entirely gray, dull, for the moon had gone down, and it were not the sun that greeted his departure, it were darkness, void of even the stars scattered in the skies above that she read so easily. even they did not prepare her for this. the entire court seemed to feel at an utter standstill, the effect that rashid jordayne had upon every soul in this room, as she had always known he would. the optimistic demeanor of the dancer of salt shore fell entirely flat in the wake of such a tragedy, and for perhaps the first time in her life, she felt a sort of primal anger and despair welling within her chest.

the departure of the ruling lady of the tor, the princess of house martell, caused the crowd to break from the statuesque forms, and begin shuffling out of the hall, followed by the closer advisors of the princess regent herself, who found herself stood above all, remaining stoic as ever, though zahra knew it were unlikely that was her feeling in regards to this at all. she felt a sense of admiration for the woman before her, for she was unsure, even now, how her feet managed to move in the direction of myriam allyrion. feet that were normally found in many motions, felt entirely still until that moment.

zahra did not even notice the tears that were clearly welling within her eyes, the smudge beneath one of them from a mindless swipe, some subconscious attempt to remain as collected as the woman who ruled over all of them, though she had never been one to hide emotion. in her art, in her everyday life, zahra sand was entirely herself, every feeling felt was clear upon every fiber of her being.

she stilled as the other spoke her name, hands crossing in front of her as myriam approached now. zahra nodded, knowing her state were entirely not prepared to face others, who would surely cast looks her way. she were not ruling lady of the tor, she were not rashid jordayne's wife, but there were some who knew of her connection to the lord, enough to cause her to be wary of managing her emotional state, for the time being.

bangles rang softly as she shuffled towards the woman, mirroring her movement to sit upon the steps, only far less gracefully as zahra felt the utter exhaustion weigh her down as she sat upon the cool floor. moments of silence followed her movement as the tears began to flow down her cheeks like the current of the greenblood.

"i think i will wake up tomorrow and it will all be a horrible nightmare, you know?" she asked the other, arms folding over her knees that instinctively tucked inward towards her, as if she would crumble entirely if she did not quite literally hold herself together. "he was the best of us. i don't understand it." words quivered as she spoke them, a hand clenching at the skirts of her lehenga as she managed to hold in the sobs that were clearly wreaking through her chest. "how? how is there a world without him in it?" the question, itself, set free the grief the she attempted to burrow inside her, and forehead found itself on her knees as she attempted to muffle her cries.

who: @dancingshores when and where: semi-flashback thread to a day following the news reaching from volantis, regarding the murder of lord rashid jordayne, ruling lord of the tor. myriam remained within the grand domed throne room after receiving the princess loreza martell from the tor, recently widowed. the departing foot steps of her good sister brought an end to the audience session which remained heavy, and she tried hard not to focusing on the retreating figure of the sword of the morning alongside the bloodroyal - no doubt both needing a moment with one another.

there was a certain sense of heavy grief which lingered in the halls of sunspear: the mournful flutes announcing the arrival of their princess. something about her arrival made the entire thing far more real, as though there was no way this could ever be explained as some mistranslation or misunderstanding that had suddenly become all too real. and she remained within the chair upon the dias, her eyes looking upward to the mosaic tiles on the golden dome above her, that would be seen from all of angles of sunspear; and she exhaled, in the way she had been taught to breath when she was bordering feeling overwhelmed. because the murder of rashid jordayne was as tragic as it was horrific; it was all too clear that one of their own, one who had a bright future and would have a great deal left to do in the world, had been taken from them too soon.

she did not know rashid jordayne as personally as some others in the room would have done, but she felt the severity of the matter. this was not merely anyone. he would never be, merely anyone.

and the hardest of all was perhaps needing to remain neutral before the eyes of the court of sunspear as the sword of the morning announced his departure to her, lowering his gaze momentarily; she would not see him break in his stoic nature, not here of all places. and yet, she understood that due to the differences in their duty, she needed to watch him leave the grand hall alone: after looking in the face of the woman he had intended to start a family with. there was no way she could rise from the throne of dorne to comfort him; she needed to remain in such a position, still clad in silks of white. one more month until she could once again remove such shades from the figure of her body. as the figure of the sword of the morning retreated, she heard the sounds of anklets chiming; quieter than the ones she wore, ones that almost sounded like water.

her kohl lined gaze fell upon the court seer, who seemed to be rooted all to heavily to the ground in this moment: it were obvious to see the pain etched upon every inch of her expression. the tears that filled her gaze swam within wide, doe-like orbs that were usually filled with mischief and life itself; such a thing looked strangely wrong upon her. the sight of zahra in such a state was easily enough to make her rise to her feet, an instinct in her gut that made her wish not to allow the woman to leave alone in such a state. one that was clearly a person desperately trying to hold it in, before bursting at the seams. the kite of salt shore had been caught in the most tragic of storms, it seemed.

"one moment, zahra." myriam called, though her voice was soft, as though she did not wish to startle the woman. she approached her, ensuring her body language made it clear she was not planning on overwhelming or smothering her. "you need not have to walk through the halls in such a way. we can stay, and sit on the steps." myriam did not like anyone seeing her cry - and she always cried in the aftermath of seeing red. myriam quietly lifted the bottom of her skirts as she sat on the steps leading up the throne of door, patting the space beside her. "it is not the comfiest, but allow me to stay with you for a while, and then i shall go when i am due to speak to lord uller." she not specify which one.

What are you still hoping to accomplish?

"oh, but there's still so much out there, isn't there?" zahra asked in return with a coy smile. "i'd like to be known everywhere, not just dorne. perhaps instruct those in the east, learn more. but i do love home, very much. i don't think my heart could handle being away from sunspear for long."