The Dark Hues Of Zahra Sand Fluttered Back And Forth Between The Two Lords - Almost Reminding Her Of

zahra leaned back against the stone wall, her long, dark braid spilling over her shoulder as she watched myriam cradle inaaya, her heart soaring at the sight, a mother who would split herself in two for the love of their child. the moonlight spilled softly through the open window, casting faint shadows across the room, but zahra's eyes were drawn to the purple comet hanging in the sky, a reminder that fate was never quite as distant as one might hope.

she exhaled slowly, her gaze steady as myriam voiced her worries. zahra had always been attuned to the undercurrents of the people—whether they were in the courtyards of the palaces or in the markets, their whispers always carried truths untold. the comet, the stirrings of marriage proposals, the alliance with volantis—it was all too much. too fast. too heavy.

"you are not drowning, myri," zahra said softly, her voice soothing despite the weight of the truth in it. "but you are being pulled under by the current. that’s the weight of leadership. it will try to drown you, to break you, but you will always rise again. you’ve done it before." a gentle hand went to touch the other's arm, a gesture to know that zahra would be there to see her through it, too.

she watched myriam as she rocked inaaya gently, her eyes filled with that familiar sorrow—the kind that came with decisions not of her making. “as for the comet… it brings change, yes, but we are not strangers to change. It is the nature of things.”

at the mention of Volantis and slavery, zahra’s face tightened for a moment. “the people," she repeatedly softly, her voice steady, “they speak of necessity. they do not like volantis or lys—no one truly does. but many see these alliances as the price for survival. they want peace, they want prosperity, and they believe the cost is small compared to what we might lose without them.”

eyes drifted out of the window again. "perhaps the comet is a sign, myri, a sign that change must be had. it is scary, but they will follow you." she looked to her friend now, her sister, "many trust you and your heart, and that is your power."

who: @dancingshores when and where: flashback to the hours after inaaya's birth, in starfall.

myriam sat up in bed, cradling inaaya in her arms. the purple comet had left an eerie glow in the night sky, and she couldn’t shake the feeling of unease it brought. “can you believe it? a comet...like giving birth wasn’t dramatic enough,” she muttered, glancing at her friend. it wasn’t just the comet or giving birth without baashir; it was everything.

the responsibility of being regent, the constant whispering about her remarriage, and the thought of volantis and their practices weighed heavily on her mind. seeing them leave did not bring her relief; for they would continue engaging with them.

“...i feel like i’m drowning in all this,” she admitted for the first time, her eyes fixed on inaaya’s peaceful face as she smoothened over the tuff of jet black hair. “i’m supposed to lead dorne, but..." she trailed off, not knowing how to finish her sentence. finish her words. also because she still felt a sharp, aching pain pain and felt herself bleeding, as she knew she would continue to do. she did not even feel as though she could enjoy the moment of having a new baby. not with all the stress.

“how the fuck can we ally with a place that supports slavery? it makes my skin crawl. how are we any different to them?” she looked back at zahra, searching for some sort of reassurance; uncharacteristically teary. by them, she meant new valyria.

she could feel the weight of her responsibilities pressing down even more. she knew she had to be strong, not just for herself, but for her daughters and for dorne. but for now, in the quiet of the night, she allowed herself a moment of doubt, hoping that tomorrow would bring some clarity. "they're too powerful an ally to lose but i just...i feel fake continuing to entertain it. the lyseni too."

"what are the people saying of it? be honest with me."

the flickering candlelight cast long, wavering shadows across zahra’s face, highlighting the soft set of her jaw as she exhaled, slow and measured. her fingers, adorned with rings that glinted like distant constellations, curled ever so slightly against the silk of her skirts. she did not meet ruqaiyah’s gaze immediately. Instead, she allowed the silence to settle like a fine mist, let it coil between them until the moment felt stretched thin.

then, she smiled; small, but warm, though her fingers trembled slightly as she clasped them in front of her. “the stars,” she said gently, her voice a touch quieter than before, “do not whisper of things that have already come to pass. they do not carve fates into stone, nor do they weave tragedies before they unfold.” her gaze flickered upward, as if seeking their guidance even now through the ceilings above. “they only guide, only point the way. they are not cruel, nor are they kind. they simply are.”

she exhaled, a small, careful thing, before finally lowering her gaze to woman before her. “i would have given anything,” fahra admitted, “for guidance. For even a whisper of where she had gone. but the stars do not work like that. and i do not claim to see what has not yet happened.”

the words were measured, but there was a quiet ache beneath them, one she could not quite mask.

a small smile, careful and unguarded, curved her lips—more a breath than an expression, something caught between sincerity and sorrow. “but you must already know that,” she said lightly, a gentle deflection rather than a challenge. “you only wished to remind me.”

★

ruqaiyah’s lips curled into a saccharine smile, the kind that never reached her amethyst eyes - eyes that were empty and devoid of any kindness or spark, unless there was the exception of someone speaking about her, giving her attention. "there is one more thing." she spoke, her hand resting beneath her chin as the shimmer of her pale pink silks reflected against the candlelight. she leaned forward slightly, her voice a blend of mockery and feigned curiosity, carefully pitched to carry just enough to be overheard by the lingering courtiers.

“well,” she began, her tone dripping with false sweetness, “i’ve always wondered, with all your vaunted gifts, how you manage to keep your composure. it must be such a burden, knowing the secrets of the stars and the future of us mere mortals.” her eyes sparkled with amusement, though there was an unmistakable edge to her words.

she paused, allowing her gaze to drift over zahra’s elegant form, her lips pursing slightly. “and yet,” she continued, her voice softening to a more contemplative pitch, “i can’t help but recall that unfortunate episode with your sister. such a tragedy, really. when she went missing for those dreadful days. the court was in such an uproar.” ruqaiyah’s smile widened, though it lacked any warmth. “i couldn’t help but wonder at the time—why didn’t you use your gifts then? surely, the stars would have spoken to you, given you some guidance, a hint, at the very least?” she tilted her head, a mock frown creasing her brow as though she were trying to understand.

“or were they silent when it came to something so personal? it does make one question the efficacy of your… abilities.” she leaned back, her posture languid and poised, the picture of dornish grace, her smile never faltering. but still, it were cold and it were entirely fake. her words were meant to hurt; she took enjoyment in seeing a flicker of pain and the realisation of insecurity crossing her face. to put it bluntly, she loved it.

“do not misunderstand me, zahra. your talents are... entertaining. and so many whisper such horrid things about you, that when they pay for your services there is more to what they are paying for. i personally don't think it is so serious - i've always said i think you are merely bored.”

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 crossed her arms in front of her chest at his comment, feigning her displeasure for his remark with expressive features, one's often seen in her dancing, for she never seemed to stop presenting her whole self for the world to see. it was for that very reason she dove so deeply into her art, it was truly part of her. "well, i'd like to see them try. shall i go back down to the great hall and challenge one of them?" she answered, a soft giggle of amusement at her own quip.

she were no fool to the thoughts running through their heads as they looked upon her, just as she were no fool to the lord of yronwood's clear disbelief in the cards he held in his hands, or the very stars in the sky - despite how greatly she believed in them. despite the things she noticed, it never seemed to affect her own demeanor. zahra continued on as she always would. "no matter if they knew me, they would still see me for what they believe i am." she stated, almost nonchalantly. she didn't think it mattered if she tried to convince them she were more than just warm flesh and foreign beauty. "but it is not one of their chambers i find myself in tonight." she added, almost to make a point that, despite her charade, it went no further than that for her.

"if it were not me they thought of, it would be another. many beauties from all over here in the reach." zahra insisted, reaching for the three cards he handed her with one fluid, graceful movement. "let's see if i can finally make a believer out of you." she winked, placing the cards face down in a row in front of her.

she flipped the first card. "the six of cups - this one represents innocence, childhood, memories. perhaps you've been dwelling on the your childhood, or past, lately, and seek comfort in an old friend." hand moved to the center card. "the tower - this reprehents a sudden change in life, upheaval, perhaps you're experiencing something unexpected?" she questioned, with a shrug, she turned the last card and a bright smile came over her face. "the star." zahra stated, "hope and healing, your future is filled with something brighter, a renewed optimism. perhaps whatever disruption is occuring is necessary for the future."

zahra waited a beat, not quite looking up at him from the cards just yet, until she did. "well? wrong again?"

꙰

"im sure even your reach men could outdance you, if you managed to put on the right music for them." his words were taunting now, light in the message rather than the normal seriousness that was in his tone of voice. armaan yronwood hated reachmen; both andal and old rhoynish, no doubt a reflection of the tensions that came with remaining on the borders with the other region.

then again, he detested even the stormlanders to the north, and their dragon overlords - he could still not fully understand how was it the mighty storm lords had accepted such a conquering; they had truthfully surprised the bloodroyal, in their ability to play the submissive partner and take the dominance of the dragon king.

"they were doing more than gawking." he responded, his tone pointed now, his gaze meeting her own knowingly; it was not hard for zahra sand to illicit lust from men. especially when they looked at her as though she were a kite they would try to master, some mythical being from a land far away. all dornish women were looked at in such a way: sexual deviants, and inherent threats due to their willingness to cross what was considered their norm.

"no doubt some poor woman was completely unaware of who her husband is thinking of in their marriage bed tonight." truthfully, a part of him expected that he would have discarded of her skirts by this point, with their bodies doing the talking for them: and instead, they sat lazily upon such velvet pillows, inhaling the smoke before exhaling it. he could not quite pinpoint where the change had happened: only, that it had.

her laughter at her blunder caused the first crack of a smile to cross his own features, finding amusement at the entire situation, rather than laughing at her directly. it was the confidence that had thrown him, and was enough to illicit chuckles coming from him as he leaned forward to take three more cards, one by one. "three cards for the fraudulent stars.' he responded, placing down them on the carpet.

truth serum "how did you learn what it truly meant to be a bastard?"

"when i realized that i wouldn't be upheld to the constraints of higher society." zahra shrugged, for sure rather liked her life the way it was. "truthfully, as a young girl, it became far more apparent when talks of marriage came for my sister and not for me. it used to bother me, not anymore." perhaps it is why the bastard of salt shore had constructed her life to fit something else entirely, so that way it would be more desirable in her mind than having a title.

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 subtle grin came over her features now, one that was night quite as bright as before, only crossing over her features at this time due to the satisfaction she felt in his response. perhaps he saw little in her reading, but she believed she saw much, and perhaps there was more to it than he let on. zahra also believed in free will - though the stars would always hold their fates in their hands, free will could alter the path to what led them there. whatever choices he made, however, lead to the star - to healing, and she hoped, true satisfaction in wherever he found himself.

but perhaps that was simply the hopefulness that seemed to be her very nature. though zahra were not a fool to the realities of their world, being a bastard herself she knew that her place was a strange one even in dorne, one that toed the line between nobility and the common person, especially in lands such as the one they were currently in. she knew, ultimately, her power lie in her own mind, and the way she interacted and reacted to the world around her. it were likely in this that she took so keenly to reading the stars, to understanding them, and therefore, those and the world around her.

a hum of a laugh emitted from her as she reclaimed the cards once again, hands neatly packing them together one more time before slipping them back into a pocket within golden skirts. "well, i am glad i did not. the star is my favorite to reveal." hands fell to her lap, fingers interlaced as she observed the man before her. "i hope to see it unfold for you." she added gently, though there was little more to read into with those words, only that zahra genuinely hoped to see the lord of yronwood find some semblance of peace and contentment - knowing even vaguely what he endured in his past.

the dancer ran a hand through chestnut curls, wondering how to begin to answer such a question. it were not difficult, but she disliked such things regarding the stars - they were not always kind to everyone. the outcome were not always one that led to positivity and fruitfulness. "yes, i had a lord, or rather, some sailor who though it'd be fun to have his cards read." she shrugged. "i thought perhaps he would be open-minded, being well traveled and all." index fingers tapped together in her lap, as if to help her recall the memory. "i revealed the ten of swords, explained it's meaning - suffering, betrayal - and well, i've certainly become selective of the kind of readings i do for strangers."

there was a slight bit of anxiousness from her now, not entirely within her nature, so when he offered, she were not hesitant to accept it. "yes, please, unless you are overdue for rest soon. i tend to lie awake with the stars." she jested.

she inhaled a moment, wondering how to phrase a question that lingered in her mind. "i take it you do not believe much in the cards, the stars." zahra observed, "forgive me, if i am wrong, but may i ask what you hold your belief in, then? do you look to anything else for guidance?"

꙰

there was a radiance of positivity that seemed to come from the dancer of the salt shore: one that was not insufferable, or even unrealistic - a sense of optimism that came across as legitimate and true. it was not needed in the form of constant cheery chatting, or grins that were more false than true. it was for that he held a quiet respect for her efforts, and her art, regardless of his own personal belief: as much as his own skepticism was clear on his face, he did not interrupt or speak over her but rather allow her to fully explain where it was she was coming from.

it was not uncommon for those in dorne to find such importance in astrology, for even his own mother held great value and respect to the gurus of yronwood, able to read into what she could not. he had heard that his mother had been attempting to find marriages for him, utilising the positioning of the planets of his own birth to assess for compatibility. the reject listen was apparently a feat in itself. "not far off." the short words he gave her regarding her predictions and supposed guidance, for truly, they were not as far off as he had initially expected.

only, such thoughts were not rooted in the optimism of the court seer, but rather the harsh realities of life for the bloddroyal. new beginnings needed to be made, and it was something he was reflecting on more than ever before as he noted the increasing distance between himself and the lady of kingsgrave. "i will spare you my attempt to do so, lest i draw cards of gloom and misery." he leaned forward to shuffle them together once more, helping the woman collect and reorganise her belongings that slipped back into the pockets within the skirts of her shimmering golden lehengha. still, his comment made him think.

"have you ever had a bad experience in doing such things?" he asked, leaving his question purposefully broad - though it could allude to the drawing of cards that were rooted in tragedy. it could also apply to the strange antics of the people whose cards she had read, no doubt the westerosi above them have a far more traditional view on such matters. witchcraft, is what they would deem it to be: the easiest way to shoot down what one did not understand. he wordlessly handed her over her deck of cards, watching her tuck it away once again.

he noted the slow extinguish of the coals of their shisha, the room continuing to be filled with a haze, scented with the smell of sandalwood and jasmine. "want another one?" he asked, rising from the pillows they had been sat upon, no doubt an offer to set it up once again - watching as she continued to hold onto the pipes.

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."

I was one of the lucky ones. Moonlight was always flowing within my sea-like heart.

Julia de Burgos

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.