Setting: A Terrace Upon Casterly Rock, Where Guests Mingle And Dance Indoors During A Great Feast Being

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.

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?"

lithe fingers tapped in her lap as she observed him shuffled the cards, a raise of her brows and grin as he kept his gaze upon her, knowing he, was at the very least, indulging her at this moment. despite the stony persona he seemed to have, there was something strangely comfortable in his presence. “always.” she responded, a mock look of surprise on his features that he would suggest there wasn’t. “there’s never a performance i have given that i didn’t think something could be better.” hand moved to tuck loose strands of chestnut hair behind her ear. eyes shifted up and she thought she caught his gaze, one that held a lot more to it than just simply looking upon her, almost as if he analyzing her.

she instead focused on the cards, observing as he continued to shuffle the deck in his hands. perhaps he believed little in what he held in his hands, but she knew the power that were held within the stars themselves, the answers they held to one’s true self, even if one never found such a thing in this life. “certainly you can understand, in some way. there must be something you wonder if you’ll ever perfect.”

perhaps not, but zahra would inquire anyways, enjoying the way such a thing could either cause one to think more deeply about themselves, or dismiss such an idea all together. she would find some insight with the cards, however, and as he handed her his selection, she moved to smoothly grab it, a smile on her face, dimpling her cheeks, as she turned it to face herself to read to him.

“well, well,” she teased, “karta - the emperor.” she used the fingers in one hand to turn the card to face him now, as if to prove that was what he drew. “you seek some economic endeavor, but be careful not to let your assertive nature become aggressive. now is a good time to pursue a strategic investment or risk.” zahra reached the remainder of the deck now. “perhaps you will find such an opportunity here in the reach. there are many other wealthy lords who may be interested in your business.” she insisted, though her tone gave way to the very fact she did not pay mind to such things. “you were once master of coin, weren’t you?”

꙰

there came a sense of confidence that came over the dancer of salt shore as she momentarily looked downward in shuffling the cards that remained within her hands, with a sense of excellency and swiftness one would see in the way warriors wielded their weapons; the sound of a scimitar must have felt the same as the rush of the cards being placed down to be played.

her gaze momentarily looked downward, strands of hair moving over her shoulders, and for a moment armaan found himself noting something distantly familiar about the way her features looked in the candelight - his brows furrowed momentarily, in a way that made it obvious he had noticed something, and nothing, all at once.

and then her gaze flickered up, and she no doubt caught him looking at her in such a way. "you know there is always room for improvement." he responded, his tone remaining cool and casual in response to the brightness of her own as he leaned forward to accept the cards she offered him: truthfully, he did not believe that these readings would be able to truly alter anything. he, the master of his own being, could alter his own life whenever he wished to - changing the plans of the gods and the stars all alike.

"are dancers never truly happy with their performances?" he asked, referencing the fact that they were artists at heart - dornish dance was a form of story telling, and included more than just movements that needed to be remembered. it was an ancient art and tale in itself.

he shuffled the cards, keeping his gaze upon her own to make it clear he was not attempting to cheat in anyway; there was no need to toy with such matters, especially when they meant nothing in the long run. what did armaan yronwood wish for? her words almost caused him to scoff, and as serious as his persona seemed to be, there was no denying the fact he was comfortable in this very moment: as seen in the way he reached forward to take the hookah from her and smoke it himself. armaan yronwood wished for power. he wished for wealth.

and for power and wealth, the security of his lineage needed to be made clear: he had not one heir, but two. twins of one another, born when the sun was at it's highest point of the sky. he selected the card, and handed it over to her wordlessly.

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.

the dance swirled around them, the music wrapping around their bodies like an old, familiar friend. zahra’s steps were light, her movements fluid, yet her mind was occupied with the challenge before her: guess his house. she kept her eyes on Gael, studying his posture, the way he carried himself with a mix of grace and precision. there was something about him that felt distinctly noble, yet oddly out of place among the rigid expectations of his house. “your words are gracious, my lord,” zahra replied with a playful smile, her fingers tightening ever so slightly on his hand. “but I suspect you’re not quite as humble as you would like me to believe.”

“well, you’re from the reach, that much is obvious,” she said with a teasing smile, watching him carefully as they glided across the floor. “your posture, your elegance—there’s only one house that exudes that level of… polite grandeur.” her fingers tightened around his as they moved together, her eyes narrowing slightly as she formed her theory. “you must be from house tyrell. a cousin, perhaps? you certainly aren't the king unless you've mastered the art of disguise." truthfully, zahra was well-traveled, but house names were not her forte, if they were not dornish.

“yes, of course. house tyrell. you have that whole ‘roses and knights’ air about you, don’t you?” she leaned in just slightly, her voice low with amusement. “the modest humility of a tyrell lord, always so humble, yet always the center of attention.” she teased. the quiet reverence in his tone when he spoke of dorne didn’t escape her, nor did the subtle wistfulness in his expression. her eyes, dark and lively, twinkled with amusement as she met his gaze. "is it so obvious?" she asked with a playful tilt of her head. “yes, i am dornish,” she replied with a soft laugh, her voice laced with pride.

There was confidence in him, though he was mindful not to come off as arrogant. That was a trait that had been associated with his house thanks to his father and brother, and the youngest Hightower did not wish to keep that vile inheritance alive in himself. “I cannot —and will not claim your talents as my own, my lady,” he stated simply. With or without a partner to dance with, he'd already witnessed the majesty of her talent in gracefully moving along with the music. It almost seemed like the music followed her rhythm and not the other way around.

On the dancefloor, Gael began leading the Dornish woman in the familiar courtly dance. She was quick to match to the music like one effortlessly matched the inner beat of the heart. “I am. What gave it away?” Was it truly chivalry that made her guess his origin correctly, he wondered. The Master of the Arts posed his question as the dance brought them close together again, one palm landing on the small of her back while his other one clasped her hand. “Will you try to guess my house as well, my lady?” he asked with a hint of a smile before he guided her to spin as the music queued him, gently guiding her to land back in his arms.

“You're Dornish, correct?” he asked then. There was a cultural identity that was so distinct about the people of Dorne and he saw elements of that in her attire, the bangles around her wrist. Based on political conflicts, As a Reachman he wasn't supposed to have much reverence for Dornish folk, but he did. Visiting Sunspear some time ago, he'd been marveled by the culture, the art, the vibrancy of it all. He'd even loved a Dornish lady once. The artist madly in love with beauty sometimes triumphed over the lord in him, as it were. The artist in him was far more present now than the dutiful lord who had a wife who'd expect to see him return to their quarters later.

“my flowers?” she questioned, brows furrowing in confusion a moment before a grin spread over her lips. “do you mean those gawking reach lords?” zahra asked in clarification before laughter emitted from her, head shaking causing golden earrings to swing side to side. perhaps he mentioned them only because she had just earlier that evening been dancing before them, and if asked she would admit she enjoyed people watching her, whether gawking at her beauty, or enchanted by her dancing, it was certainly one of her vices, though she found little wrong in it. it seemed a natural reaction, even. "and why would you tell them such a thing? unless you believe that?" she questioned, a raise of her brow accompanying her inquiry, though she would hardly believe his answer even if he did think so.

eyes averted him for a moment at his remark, shifting the skirts of her golden lehenga as she adjusted her seat, tucking her legs to the side. certainly he did not mean the princess, did he? he spent more more time with the other than he ever had with zahra, but perhaps it could be settled as merely coincidental. "certainly there are other women in dorne who i resemble, sure." she brushed it off.

crossing her arms over her chest, she gave a look of disappointment. "well you chose the card." she insisted, a quick wink at the quip as she gestured to the cards again. "it is a simple reading, based on your intentions. the cards were right then, after all." her words held the semblance of a challenge, almost, having caught on to his likely disbelief in her small trade. "nothing is certain, not even the stars, it's meant to guide you. pick three more, if you wish to indulge me again."

hand came over her face as she realized her blunder, a slight flush of her cheeks in a moment of embarrassment, though the dancer had always managed to shrug off such things. she never paid good enough attention to remember what position belonged to who. "well, even more fitting, then." she insisted. "see? i knew nothing, the cards told me." zahra laughed.

꙰

the bloodroyal only looked upon her with a sense of ease as she looked back at him, raising her brows and adorning her features with a grin: there was no denying the fact that zahra sand of the salt shore was beautiful, in every way that a woman should be beautiful; he would feel easily able to believe her to be the most beautiful woman in all of dorne, merely from her physical appearance alone.

and yet still, there was some carefree and impulsive about her nature that only seemed to draw more in; and how she did, as exemplified by the fact her westerosi fans were clearly captivated. it was admittedly something he thought, laced with judgement and pride; that a dornish woman, should only be with a dornish man. it was they that could handle one another, and understand.

"i was tempted to tell your flowers you are below average compared to the other dancers in dorne." and despite it being a joke, the delivery remained unwavering and serious: not even a hint of a smile on his face to lighten the atmosphere between them. no, he liked the fact he could simply be as he was, and there was no lecturing of how he ought to be.

"you look like someone." he could not put his finger on who exactly, and yet, there was something of her features that reminded him of another face he saw. nobody of great importance or personal connection, nobody with memories. it made him only continue to look in her direction as she proclaimed proudly what card it was she had drew, and whilst he recognised it, he did not understand the entire concept of how this somehow related to him individually. "hardly specific, zahra. you speak of me and use what is generally known rather than something only the stars would know of."

and then came her question, which had a sense of great excitement; as though she had caught onto something great. a major piece of the puzzle. it made a low chuckle come from his lips as he stared at her, and then the chuckle grew louder. and louder. "i am master of coin."

Kinda in the mood to be carnally desired and intimately known

the hum of the hall’s conversation and music seemed to drift away as zahra sat gracefully across from ruqaiyah. the lady’s sharp words, deliberately loud enough to be overheard, hung in the air, but zahra met them with the calm patience she had honed over years of navigating moments like this. her fingers lightly smoothed the edge of her gown before folding neatly in her lap.

“my lady,” zahra said softly, her tone steady and warm, “the stars speak only of what is, not of what may not be. and in what they show, i see no uncertainty in your place beside prince ravi. your union has been spoken of as fact, a bond that seems as secure as the foundations of starfall itself.”

her gaze held the other's, kind and unwavering, as though she could will the other woman to feel the assurance she offered. “but the stars also reflect the weight of responsibility you carry. to stand at the side of a prince is no small thing, nor is it given lightly. what i see in you is strength—a strength both to endure and to lead. such qualities do not go unnoticed, not by the stars, and certainly not by the prince.”

she leaned forward slightly, her voice lowering just enough to add a layer of sincerity to her words. “if there are decisions before you, they are not matters of doubt, my lady, but of opportunity. i see paths that lead to triumph, not uncertainty.” she smiled, small and kind, letting her words linger.

her touch light, zahra traced ruqaiyah’s palm briefly, as if to underline her point. “the stars say nothing of rivals or questions of loyalty. they show only that you are destined to wield great influence, whether it be within the halls of starfall or beyond them.”

she allowed herself a softer tone as she finished. “uou are more than ready for this, my lady. and while the stars may guide, it is your own radiance that will truly illuminate the way forward. have faith in what you already know to be true, i apologize if i cast any misunderstandings.”

her smile lingered, gentle and composed, as if she hoped to ease the tension with her calm. “if there is anything more you seek, my lady, i am here to assist you,” zahra added, her voice imbued with quiet resolve.

★

ruqaiyah leaned back slightly, her glossy lips curving into a slow, calculated smile. the torches cast a golden light over her pale lavender gown, their glow playing across the delicate white gold embellishments that shimmered as though stars themselves adorned her. her hands remained extended, palm up, though her posture was anything but open.

“the stars are willing to speak, you say?” her voice lilted with amusement, soft and melodic, though laced with something sharp beneath. “how convenient for you, zahra. they always seem to have just enough to keep people intrigued, don’t they?” she tilted her head, dark hair cascading over one shoulder like a waterfall of silk. her amethyst eyes, so renowned in the courts of dorne, locked onto zahra’s with an intensity that made lesser women falter.

as zahra’s hands traced hers, ruqaiyah feigned a contemplative expression, though her thoughts were less charitable. strength to lead? to endure? how utterly unoriginal. does she think this is what i wish to hear? she resisted the urge to snatch her hands away, opting instead to let her fingers twitch, an unsubtle display of impatience.

“great responsibility,” she repeated slowly, her tone a perfect mimicry of zahra’s gentle cadence. the girl then let out a cruel giggle, a jewelled hand resting upon her jawline as she looked upon the woman who sat across from her. such beauty, it woud be enough to turn her green someday. ruqaiyah’s smile faltered for the briefest of moments as zahra’s words settled into the air between them. “a decision that weighs on me?” she echoed, her tone deceptively light, though her fingers tensed slightly in zahra’s grasp.

her amethyst eyes narrowed, studying the seer with the intensity of someone probing for a hidden insult. does she think to pry into my betrothal? does she dare to insinuate that the choice is not already made? she resisted the urge to strike the seer that sat across the table from her. the thought rankled her more than she let show. ruqaiyah was a master of poise, after all, and the court of sunspear was no place for a crack in one’s armor. but still, zahra’s words lingered, needling her like a thorn caught beneath her flawless skin.

"what do you have in that empty head of yours?" ruqaiyah asked, her voice purposefully getting louder, as though she sought to embarrass her by ensuring others would hear their conversation. a fake, poisoned smile was still plastered over her glossed lips. "do you suggest that prince ravi would seek to marry another but me?" they were both stupid; zahra and that foolish sister of hers, that did not know how to take a joke. that did not know how to let go of her shawl.

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

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

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

and then came the voice, sharp.

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

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

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

then halima spoke again.

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

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

closed starter for @dancingshores

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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.