A Subtle Grin Came Over Her Features Now, One That Was Night Quite As Bright As Before, Only Crossing

lips curled upwards into a sly grin at the lords response, the subtle swaying, moment of her body that seemed to be her natural state suddenly slowing at the intrigue began to creep over her. it had been many years since her time in yronwood and zahra found herself coming to the realization that rarely had she encountered armaan yronwood in such a way. that is, without the presence of others going about their business, in a more casual fashion that sitting over dinner listening to talks of trade and goods.

words were not wind, but a dance that zahra sand had, too, perfected in all of her years. she knew little of her fathers endeavors, though perhaps more than she let on, but it had always served her better to cloak herself in the ignorance, that seemed to give her a sense of safety in not knowing, or pretending not to know, if such things. zahra sand had always focused her mind and actions on other things, and truthfully her own craft took up enough of her time to worry about the dealings of salt shore.

head tilted slightly at his words, though features remained amused, light hues filled with curiosity, bordering on eagerness, as if the two of them had found themselves engaging in some game. “perhaps such a reason will come to me later.” later, she had stated, as if she very well knew this would not be the last encounter they would have during their time in the reach. “it’s simply that i do not need to know, lord yronwood. i tend to mind my own.” there was a casual shrug of her shoulders associated with the remark. there was a line between willful ignorance and a desire to remain in the dark that she delicately treaded upon. it made her own world a lot more simple, and detached.

eyebrows quirked up at the prospect of pleasure becoming business. zahra had always seen dancing as a sort of pleasure, though it was an art, too. passion that descended beyond pure dedication and skill and intertwined itself into her very life like vines upon a trellis, one of the very many in the very gardens in the reach. perhaps such a thing was based upon perspective. though pleasure and business was as elusive as a desert mirage, in her own world. “perhaps then such business would actually catch my interest.” she mused, the lips pulling into a grin. “what kind of business would that be, my lord? surely you must dabble in it yourself.”

dancingshores​:

“of course.” zahra replied, tone taunting as she gave a wave of her hands, as if to say that everything about her was on the surface to read, as if to imply that is all there was to her, but that really wasn’t the case, only what she hoped seemed to be. she thought she was likely predictable as she was flighty, but there was more that lie beneath the surface of the dancer of salt shore, should one decide to dig deeper.

frame floated nearer to him now, close enough to observe dark orbs more closely, one’s she found herself ogling at as a young girl in the halls of yronwood. she was not a girl anymore, but the intrigue with the man before her remained. there was some darkness about the man, no doubt a cloak of the tragedy of betrayal that befell him, but she was the sun, eager to shine her light, if only a moment.

“yah jaanane ka abhaav ki vah kab hoga, manoranjan ka hee ek hissa hai.” ( not knowing when that will be is only part of the fun. ) zahra insisted, head tilting slightly to the side, a half-smirk coming upon the corners of her mouth. a hand shifting the silk skirts of her golden lehenga, even standing still for a brief time seemed impossible for the woman who’s feet never touched the ground.

for that is what there was to zahra sand, she did not have roots, she had wings, and the woman never seemed to perch for long. where some believed it to be a downfall, she found to be a gift. not many had the opportunities she did, and while she was a bastard, there was privilege in her birth. she often had the opportunities to experience both parts of their world.

her arms folded over her chest now, suddenly stilling, the very cogs of her mind clearly seen moving behind hazel hues. “aur vah kya kaaran hoga?” ( and what reason would that be? ) her tone was on the brink of being almost challenging in her inquiry.

“he is well, and i am sure he would be glad to hear from you, my lord.” though zahra did not pay much attention to such business, she knew enough from the letters back and forth from her to her father. “i have been so busy i would not know much of his affairs. I prefer to deal in pleasures over business.”

꙰

truthfully, there was something about the woman that stood before him that reminded him of a kite: someone who held no roots to the ground, no place that called every part of her to submit to it, and it was something he had found himself pondering on silently over dinner so many years ago in the grand, ornate majesty of yronwood’s feasting hall. hearing his father and lord gargalan discuss matters so intensely and passionately, the men often on opposing sides of view and yet all would be cleared with laughter and drinking. armaan himself never found himself joining in, even at such a younger age as the one he were before his father was at the mercy of the true poison of dorne; not whilst the presence of his uncle remained on the table too.

her tone was almost challenging in her inquiry, and it was enough to cause a smile to cross over his features. it were laced in something else. “kyonki mein kar sakata hoon.” because i can, was his response to her question on reasons why he would wonder her way as she danced. his words were characteristically blunt, and he almost expected her to look at him with an irritated look. or perhaps she would find ways to dance around the topic with him, until she spun herself into a frenzy; there was a time where words became fickle. became useless, when it came to matters of action. “kyonki tumhen yah pasand hai.” because you like it. he dropped his words like a trap, remaining fixed comfortably in his position against the wall as she seemed unable to stand still. always moving something. “aap mujhe teesara kaaran bataiye.” you can tell me the third reason.

he thought on that time in his life with mixed feelings, including regret; regret for not realising the plans of his uncle far sooner, the only feeling he was able to obtain was that of being weirdly unsettled at the sight of him. there had never been a reason, and yet, over the sounds of lord gargalan and the dancing his bastard daughter did was some of the ladies of yronwood, armaan found himself unable to break his stormy gaze from his uncle. like a shadowcat, with his eyes locked on prey. of course, were the words she uttered as he asked whether she had continued to dance all of these years: it were a disciplined art form in dorne, that which took hours of perfection. the feet of dancers often bled and bruised due to exhausation; their art was their war.

“surprise surprise.” were the only words he uttered in her direction, amusement in his dark orbs: it were obvious she were doing some dance here, like a peacock. everything about her was utterly theatrical, even the way she playfully shook the golden skirts of her lehengha. she belonged upon the stages of the tor’s productions, so it seemed; though it were not his place to budge her to such a direction. there was an ease in knowing she would understand the way his accent wrapped huskily around his words, as whilst he did not lessen the accent for others in westeros, he knew she would at least understand him. “mujhe sandeh hai ki aap jaanana nahin chaahate.” i suspect you simply do not want to know.

it were not as though her father would not have her involved in matters should she simply ask; for she had managed to wrap her father around her fingers, and all of dorne knew it. she chose to stay out of such business, to continue to dabble only in the pleasures of life. there was beauty in ignorance, and safety in it too, especially in dorne of all places. “and what if pleasure becomes business?” he asked, his tone not accusatory or questioning for a change - but almost like a hook.

brows rose at the air of confidence that seemed to emit from his very being. zahra did not mind a partner who didn't know the specific steps, only that they had enough rhythm to follow the lead she eventually would take to, but this lord was different and that alone intrigued her. bangles upon her wrist rang softly as her hand gently gripped his own, allowing him to guide her to the dance floor.

"if you are as good a lead as i suspect, then i do believe my success will be owed to you." she replied, a smile finding itself upon her lips as the music began. while zahra felt somewhat out of place amongst the nobles on the dance floor, she also felt entirely in her element. even if those looked at her in curiosity, or perhaps some, in hatred, there was a strange feeling of yearning for eyes upon her, anyways. years of perfecting her craft had certainly created such a desire within her.

the music began and so did the steps, hers delayed by half a second at first as she observed those around her as well as the lord in front of her, before she fell in step with the rhythm. while they initially began across from each other, the dance soon brought them together again, a hand finding itself upon his shoulder, and the other clasped within his own. "i suspect you are a reachman. i hear you are most chivalrous." she also believed that he were not of the west as she did not believe a westerman would dance so publicly with her, those of the so called new valyria despised her, and the vale seemed far to prudish for his type. "though do correct me if i am wrong."

The lady stood out brightly amongst the sea of silken dresses, wearing an attire that clearly indicated her origin. He didn't think he'd intentionally singled her out in the crowd of dancers because she was Dornish, he'd only focused on her because of the vibrant energy she radiated, her graceful motions, and yes, because of how beautiful she looked. Perhaps something unconscious in his mind would remain inevitably drawn to what never was meant to intersect with him and his house.

Gael couldn't deny there was a certain allure to wearing masks, to the questions and the mysteries. And at least for now, the shedding of duty and concerns that existed for the unmasked version of him. He was no actor or performer, but as a playwright, he certainly understood the power of adopting a character. Tonight he was willing to play with those blurring lines and forget the wife who appeared to despise him so.

“I may not be as accomplished a dancer as you are, my lady,” the lord said, easily giving away that he had been observing her move before, “but I do know these dances very well”. It was part of court life in this region and the Reach, and for once, he was grateful he'd been pushed to learn the steps by the tutors employed by his mother and father. And so Gael Hightower held out his hand, a smile and a subtle tilt of his head inviting her to take it. “Worry not, you will outshine us all,” he murmured as she held his hand, and the Master of the Arts led the Dornish beauty to the dancefloor.

"of course." zahra replied, tone taunting as she gave a wave of her hands, as if to say that everything about her was on the surface to read, as if to imply that is all there was to her, but that really wasn't the case, only what she hoped seemed to be. she thought she was likely predictable as she was flighty, but there was more that lie beneath the surface of the dancer of salt shore, should one decide to dig deeper.

frame floated nearer to him now, close enough to observe dark orbs more closely, one's she found herself ogling at as a young girl in the halls of yronwood. she was not a girl anymore, but the intrigue with the man before her remained. there was some darkness about the man, no doubt a cloak of the tragedy of betrayal that befell him, but she was the sun, eager to shine her light, if only a moment.

"yah jaanane ka abhaav ki vah kab hoga, manoranjan ka hee ek hissa hai." ( not knowing when that will be is only part of the fun. ) zahra insisted, head tilting slightly to the side, a half-smirk coming upon the corners of her mouth. a hand shifting the silk skirts of her golden lehenga, even standing still for a brief time seemed impossible for the woman who's feet never touched the ground.

for that is what there was to zahra sand, she did not have roots, she had wings, and the woman never seemed to perch for long. where some believed it to be a downfall, she found to be a gift. not many had the opportunities she did, and while she was a bastard, there was privledge in her birth. she often had the opportunities to experience both parts of their world.

her arms folded over her chest now, suddenly stilling, the very cogs of her mind clearly seen moving behind hazel hues. "aur vah kya kaaran hoga?" ( and what reason would that be? ) her tone was on the brink of being almost challenging in her inquiry.

"he is well, and i am sure he would be glad to hear from you, my lord." though zahra did not pay much attention to such business, she knew enough from the letters back and forth from her to her father. "i have been so busy i would not know much of his affairs. I prefer to deal in pleasures over business."

dancingshores​:

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

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

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

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

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

“it is nice to see you, lord yronwood.”

꙰

“is that what you have been doing all these years? dancing your heart away?” he asked, arms crossing over the breadth of his torso. flighty, as flighty as the golden silk threads upon the skirts of her lehenga which twirled as joyously as the small slip of a smile that crossed over her features. he heard the sounds of her anklets jingling, and for a moment there was something abut her that strangely resembled the features he saw of the princess on a day to day basis. the lord of yronwood merely looked upon her, and there was a hint of a challenge within his own dark orbs: they were devoid of the storm that usually lived within them, swirled and thrived within them. a different type of darkness as he looked upon the half smirk upon her full lips; though he said no words. 

“ek din tum itana ghoomoge ki ruk ​​nahin paoge.“ (one day you’ll spin so much you will be unable to stop.) these dancers all seemed entirely flighty, wishing to find their purpose in their life - looking for something to make them feel alive, whilst walking away from a sense of stability. hedonistic were some, and perhaps that was because they could be.

in recent months this woman had made multiple trips into the fortress of sunspear, directly into the apartments of the princess and the future heir of dorne: dancing lessons, were what he supposed the important business was. in years prior, she was the spoiled, pampered daughter of lord gargalen; dressed in the silks he acquired as a result of his hand in the clothing and textile trade. the bloodroyal took his money seriously, even in his youth: he looked at what trades would be the most beneficial, where would be worth investing his coin. 

“koee bahaana nahin. kisee kaaran ke baare mein kya?“ (not an excuse, but what about a reason?) he remained stood to the side of where she had stood in the middle of a circle that clapped and applauded her; the sight amused him. the sight made him want her. 

it were as though nothing had changed when he looked upon her: to live life weight free, to live life as it was supposed to be lived. he did not envy her. for things that were light were easily swept away. they needed something to hold their weight, something to keep their feet firmly upon the ground: armaan had realised that he was entirely content with his position in life. stepping down from the council in which he only but clash with the prince in all but name, disagree with certain methods: and yet now, dorne was taking the time to heal. finally. “how is your father doing? i have been meaning to reach out to enquire as to the textile trade. whether it has been impacted by movement across the narrow sea.” he asked.

they toyed between their own tongue, and the common tongue. as though what else was spoken between them was to only be understood by them, and those who knew it. 

the melodic sound of anklets jingling echoed quietly within the great halls of sunspear, a place that she had found herself wandering in and out of in more recent months as she had become a teacher to the very heir of dorne herself, an achievement she would've only imagined acquiring years ago. while the dancer of salt shore had many privileges in her life, for a bastard, zahra had worked tirelessly to secure her own name and her own way in this life. it was, perhaps, the most important thing to her, was her fierce sense of independence and self-reliance.

her mind wandered now, knowing that, while her perseverance had been crucial, it had been her time spent in the tor that had seen her greatest period of growth in her skill - not in just dancing. she found herself now quietly humming the tune that had played during practice, her feet practically floating upon the very floor itself as a hand moved to the beat of the music that played only in her own head. she had a way of immersing herself so much in the dance and music, that the world around her seemed to fade away. though singing and acting had consumed much of her time as well while she was in the tor, it was always dancing that had held her greatest interest.

as dark hues looked at the pattern the suns rays made upon the floor now as it illuminated through the many grand windows that were lined together, she felt a sense of bittersweetness come over her. how that time in her life probably halted her wandering feet for the longest she had stayed in one place in quite a while, and perhaps it only pushed her to further fly away before she ever settled anywhere. there was no anger, but peace as her mind settled back down on the thoughts of her time there. her time with him.

her thoughts seemed to will the image of rashid jordayne to appear now, and though she thought she imagined him entirely, he was there, just some paces away from her. she hadn't even noticed him at first, or perhaps she did and didn't realize it until now. the ever-expressive face of zahra sand did not hide what lurked within her mind, and right now it was surprise. surprise that he was there, despite the fact he had ever reason to be. her feet paused now. paused. in times past they would fly towards the man before her, but now they halted all together.

the shock wore off after a few beats of silence and her features stilled entirely, he had clearly noticed her, too. what was one to say to fill the years lost between two souls? there was no animosity between them, only a connection lost after they parted ways. certainly there were times where they were in the same vicinity, but yet worlds away.

a warm smile naturally crept on her lips now, for zahra was never one to sit in silence for very long. "rashid." she said, for she could not think of any other greeting that would suit the situation as of now. she wanted to ask him many questions, but she wouldn't. she didn't need to. she opened her mouth again to speak, but the words did not come as quickly as she expected, leaving a woman who was always found loudly conversing or laughing within a group, unusually silent.

a few more beats passed before she finally thought of one thing to say. "i....heard of your marriage to the princess loreza, congratulations." there was a genuine tone in her words, for zahra knew what rashid had yearned for, or one of the many things, and certainly the princess would make a fine ruling lady of the tor.

who: @dancingshores when and where: following zahra sand's audience with the princess myriam of house allyrion, rashid jordayne comes across a memory in the hallways of sunspear.

it was not often rashid qamar of house jordayne thought of midnight: it was not often the man was even awake to see midnight, if not attending formal events within the great domed mirrored halls of sunspear's fortress, and it was not often the man thought of the moon he had been named after. there was once a time in his life where he and midnight were old friends, companions even; as though the middle of the night was the middle of the day, for that was when the sun seemed the most like she shined. it was not often rashid qamar of house jordayne thought of rain; those ancient ancestors before them learning to survive with what little of it there was, and that still meant he was unable to deny the beauty of the first rain of the harvest.

rare as it was, and yet, most things that truly mattered in life were incredibly rare, were they not?

the transition into lordship was one he had undertaken some years ago, following the slow and painful death of a father that deserved so much better than the end that was given to him. visiting him day after day to see his immobile condition only worsen was enough to stir and swirl what peace the man seemed to hold within his own chest, locked up under secret lock and key; his transition to lordship came with carrying the heavy burden of grief, as the transition does to all who take the mantle. it had taken him time to understand how to grieve for someone who continued to live. and live, and live, and live, as she had always done; swirling skirts and the sounds of laughter ringing from atop a stage, or the time her ankle twisted and he found himself needing to carry her on his own back.

it made him realise there was no grieving for what could have been; only acceptance. for the what if remained very much alive.

it was that same acceptance he knew all too well as he walked the halls of sunspear following a conversation with the soon to be future ruling prince, if rumours were correct, considering the movements he would make as a lord. he thought of how he wanted to be remembered, knowing the genuine weight of his actions: he was not a man who spoke for the sake of speaking. he was not a man who did not consider all options deeply, before settling. but he was a man who followed through on his word: it could bloom, or it could rip away what there could never be. that same feeling of acceptance seemed to slowly wash over him as he looked up within bustling halls, filled with such a stark variety of colours: and yet still, his eyes immediately fell to her.

her face remained the same. her walk remained the same. there was a time where it was he that was too much the same, and now he felt as though he were changing; only to look upon her and see she truly was just the same. as though she remained entirely where they had left one another, a part of him almost went to look at her ankle to wonder whether she were able to walk on it properly now. there were no words that came out of his mouth, though he felt a slight exhale come out of him; so subtle it was hard to notice. once he held his breath when he saw her, and felt a thudding deep within his heart - and now? now he exhaled.

it was relief he felt in her presence. what words were there that could even be echoed within such a time, when it had been years and somehow felt like it had not all at the very same time?

he said nothing. he didn't need to.

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.

@xialigreenleaf

Their friendship was as intense as it was sudden. They found relief in each other’s personality.

Toni Morrison, from ‘Sula’

the dancer had stood nearby to the side, just out of sight of the princess consort, but within sight of leila, should the young princess seek her teacher's encouragement. zahra smiled, softly muttering a step-count to herself as she watched, though her gaze often drifted to the woman who sat nearby, who's smile could rival the very sun in this moment. zahra felt a great sense of pride in such a thing, to not only see the beaming features of myriam, but to see her pupil shine just as bright.

yet, there was a small sense of longing, how different it might be if they knew who she truly was. she quickly put that to the back of her mind, as zahra maintained her focus on the reason she was here. to know that it was she who was sought out for this opportunity was a great honor, and she would not squander it with the hope that her sister would believe what she knew to be true. she heard of the fire that burned within myriam allyrion, and she could see it now even as it was tame, there was still some small flame, providing warmth to those around her, as could be seen in her very demeanor.

and as the thoughts crossed her mind, leila had completed her routine, and zahra exhaled, realizing in all that time she had held her breath, though it was not for worry that the young girl would not do well, but that dancing, performing always had a way of capturing her completely, she may very nearly drown in it.

zahra joined in, lightly clapping her hands, offering leila a bright smile and nod before she ran off to the other group of girls. and suddenly the princess consort was approaching her, the very way she walked spoke to her power and confidence. the dancer of salt shore maintained her composure, thankful that the excitement of what had just occurred was further heightened than any anxiety she may feel in this moment.

she gave an airy laugh, shrugging her shoulders in response to the question. "truly, she's a natural, your grace. and she certainly inherits her skill from her mother." zahra added, knowing very well of the other's own skills in dancing, while a sense of joy came over her for being in the princess consort's good graces. why would she ever risk such a thing?

"i am honored to have been her teacher. thank you for allowing me such a privilege."

who: @dancingshores​ where: one of the gardens allocated to the dornish quarters within highgarden, in the final few days of the dornish court’s stay within highgarden. there is privacy within the gardens, and martell guards stationed where entrances are located between the bushes. why? because the heir of dorne was in the middle of something incredibly precarious and important. presenting her mother and zahra sand with her kathak skills, an intricate dance skill.

there came the sounds of leila’s ankles with each move she perfected, with a sense sharp of perfection; her movements were sharp, concise, and clear. and yet it were her expressions that caused the sun to beam across the face of myriam allyrion, to watch the girl channel the theatrics that truly made dornish dance different to other forms of dance: each move was almost a piece of theatre. she had never heard of the name zahra sand before, and yet, it seemed as though leila had heard of the woman amongst her own circle of young dornish girls, with the world at their feet and on their shoulders. 

and it were like a wonder had played out before her very eyes; for as much as the princess of dorne would clap and encourage the girl who knew herself to be the ruler of dorne, kathak had never been her strength. if anything, she had been some of the weakest amongst her group of friends all her same age; children, unaware of the realities of the world. and here she was now, with a sense of concise movement that myriam had been unable to install within her old child, regardless of how many demonstrations she had showed. 

regardless of the times the two had grown irritable with one another, they always ended up trying and trying and trying again. 

zahra sand had been working with her daughter for some weeks, and this was the first time she watched it. she heard the woman was very gentle in the way she interacted with children, and ensured to thoroughly run through the woman’s background before granting her access to the very future of dorne. she had found nothing to be worried of, only that the woman engaged in travels with her lord father years ago, as so many of them had. dorne was the only place to go, and thus, so many truly travelled it length and breadth. there was clapping as the girl finished, her face clearly excited; and in one go, she had flurried off to the other girls who watched. 

they spoke excitedly with one another, and myriam watched with a sense of joy, of happiness, and of bittersweetness. there was a time where her daughter would come to her instantly. she truly was growing up. 

turning toward the lady in question, myriam rose from the ornate chair she had placed herself upon, approaching the woman. her face was bright, brighter than it had been in some days; though her altercation with her brother remained hanging heavy in the hair, she was able to find joy in the reality of her life. how she wished for another, and whilst she was not entirely sure, here they were. “what need i say to you?” she asked, the sounds of anklets jingling as she crossed the grass. she was barefoot upon it, feeling the warmth of the sun beneath her soles. “what magic do you use, zahra?” 

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

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

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

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

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

❂

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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?

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

Julia de Burgos