What Are You Still Hoping To Accomplish?

as the dance concluded zahra flashed a grin to the young lord who had accompanied her, though she had no clue what his name was at this moment in time, she already decided she quite liked him, and would enjoy conversing with him more this evening. of course, just as quickly as the thought fluttered into her mind, the glass shattered with the sound of clapping from the lady ruqaiyah dayne herself observing nearby.

round eyes looked from the lady, back to her partner for a moment as the exited the dance floor, she gave a subtle nod of thanks, and hoped perhaps he could see her intentions to find him again when she were done, though she had a feeling she would be occupied for some time, and so she let the idea of reconciling with the other fade from mind as she offered ru a sweet smile, zahra's more genuine than the lady's before her, but she could see right through the other woman's facade. it were hardly being disguised.

zahra had known the other for quite some time, of course not in any personal way. she recalled the ladies callous nature, in the tor she were entirely unapproachable, so she thought, and yet she had recalled how farah seemed to grow on her, at least so it seemed, before that fateful day.

the dancer allowed ruqaiyah to lead her away, though she would not have fought it, anyways. despite her court-appointed position, despite her status in dorne not being seen as lowly as most of the continent, she knew house dayne's ideaologies were different, the westerlands views were different, even if she wanted to protest, she had no ground here. and yet, she would not have, even if she did. for that was simply the nature of zahra sand, to let the winds take her and face the next moment in her life in stride.

"i apologize, had i known you were in search of me, i would not have taken to the dance floor." she replied, simply, feeling a flush of frustration prickling at her cheeks and eyes, hopefully hidden by the mask upon her face. zahra gestured to a seating area, just out of the great hall, a quieter place for conversations to be heard "is there something you are concerned about?"

who: @dancingshores when and where: lann's day celebrations within casterly rock, ruqaiyah dayne comes across a nobody who has been climbing the ranks of importance within the court of sunspear. how she hates it.

she had noticed it briefly first, orbs passing over the scene as she found herself engaging in conversation with the hand of king cedric of house tyrell, and then her gaze snapped back to it again.

a familiar figure and voice, all sweetness and honey with long thick dark hair behind a mask; and a head of blonde hair she did not recognise, dancing upon the floor. it was enough to cause her to look upon it, making no attempt to even be subtle; what a scene. this was hardly a surprise, was it? the woman had seemingly given up on her mission of being the most unreliable, detached string in the realm and had instead decided to climb the ranks of court - and climbing the cocks of reachmen.

the music came to a slow as the dance began to end, and she found herself winding her way toward the woman she suspected, and the man that would later be confirmed to be lord gael hightower. and when the dance ended, ruqaiyah had no issue with a slow, sarcastic clap for the duo; slipping right to the side of zahra sand, the dornish court seer.

"amazing." ruqaiyah spoke, her tone gushing in falsehood; and yet, she maintained the gaze of them both. would the reachman see her deceit? no doubt zahra sand would, instantly.

and then she switched to their native tongue, a smooth and seamlessly transition as she feigned a friendly move of putting her hand on zahra's forearm, as though to usher her away. "is the court seer too busy planning on spreading herself on the white man to do the ridiculous job given to you out of pity?" myriam allyrion's favourite pet, was what ruqaiyah called her. all the while, not once did she think of the sister she had left for dead on the borders of the tor. the blood that was never upon her hands.

"i want my palm read. save embarrassing us for later and do your job."

the warm hum of conversation and music around them felt distant as zahra faced ruqaiyah, her words cutting but absorbed with quiet resilience. the dancer's fingers lightly smoothed the edge of her gown, grounding herself as she stood before the high lady. she had long learned that responding to remarks like these, no matter how sharp, was a path fraught with trouble. her smile was small but steady, a shield against the sting of the words.

“of course, my lady,” shesaid gently, her voice calm and even. she let her gaze drift briefly to the glow of torches illuminating the grand hall before returning to the other. “the stars are always willing to speak, even when we may not wish to hear them.” ter tone held no malice, only quiet patience.

she stepped closer, now, lowering herself gracefully onto the cushioned bench opposite the lady of starfall. taking the other's outstretched hands, zahra felt a familiar mix of uncertainty and resolve. though the night’s tension tugged at her, she forced herself to focus on the task at hand. reading palms had always been a comfort—structured, almost meditative. a way to find meaning, even when her own questions remained unanswered.

“the reach has been kind to you,” she murmured, her touch light as her thumbs traced the lines of ru's palms. “there’s strength here—strength to lead, but also to endure. i see someone who carries great responsibility, and with it, great expectation.”

a faint crease appeared on zahra’s brow as her focus deepened. “but there’s something else… a decision that weighs on you, perhaps. something you must choose, though the choice isn’t clear yet.”

looking up, zahra searched ruqaiyah’s face, her expression kind despite the edge in the woman’s earlier words. “does this sound familiar, my lady?” she asked softly. a flicker of unease brushed the edges of her thoughts, though she pushed it away. Whatever weighed on the other wasn’t for the dancer of salt shore to know—unless ru chose to share.

★

truthfully, the grace of the evening found herself entirely zealous each time she looked upon the facial features of the court seer: there was something youthful and glowy about her features, as though she had remained untouched by the hardships of life and it showed on her face. it were only natural she would know nothing of the hardships of life, considering she had no real responsibility; what could she know of the weight of duty? of how it truly caused the world to go around, rather than the planets or whatever else she found herself calling upon?

"do i truly need to remind you?" any who knew ruqaiyah closely would know she was entirely a skeptic; she did not believe in astrology of any form, including birth charts - there was no motivation for this conversation apart from keeping herself entertained. "you serve us, zahra sand." ruqaiyah spoke, her voice light and antagonising; almost as though she were singing along to the sound of the musical instruments. her attire was pretty, a certain golden glow to her; it made her hate her even more.

"most would take this position seriously, considering it brought you out of whatever squalor you called home." the same way a cat played with a mouse before devouring it; there was no hint of guilt or remorse in her eyes as she looked toward zahra sand, she thought not of the rock nor the sound of an innocent girl's head smashing against it in the heat of the dunes beyond the borders of the tor. she had always been dismissive and mean toward zahra, and to change it would only come across as suspicious - besides, that happened years ago.

"no. i want to see what you can do." ruqaiyah sat down, extending her hands out to the woman.

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

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

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

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

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

★

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

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

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

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

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

Aditi Rao Hydari - Tarun Vishwa (2022)

setting : the coronation events of jaehaerys ii, a pair of lords and unlikely third party play a game of cards together ; @nicholaslannisters @percival-templeton

the coronation events of the new valyrian king had been intriguing, to say the least, for the dancer of salt shore did not often find herself beyond the borders of dorne, unless she needed to be. though she was not necessarily needed here, she enjoyed the opportunity to see places outside of her own homeland - a kite drifting wherever the wind should take her. curious, hazel hues scanned the great room before her within the red keep, it was not quite obvious in the open, but not hidden away, either. tables were set up, with nobles sat around them playing various games.

zahra hadn't a clue what the rules of any of these games were, she saw dice thrown, cheers and jeers, laughter as wine seemed to flow through all of their veins. she tended to indulge in her curisosity, especially in such a, what seemed to be, relaxed environment. bangles rang as if they were signaling her approach as she stood near the table where only two lords sat with cards in hand, perhaps preferring the more intimate game, though she would inquire anyways. "is there room for another at this table, my lords?" lips pulled upwards into a friendly grin as she looked between the two, awaiting their response only a brief moment before taking the empty chair, anyways.

“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."

ADITI RAO HYDARI in FITOOR (2016)

zahra didn’t flinch at the word bastard. if anything, her fingers stilled on the stone. not in shame, she’d never quite felt that, not for a long time when she realized there were some who did not see it so kindly, but in calculation. not many said it aloud with that kind of ease. the sound of it felt less like insult and more like a knife laid flat on the table. not yet turned. not yet bloody.

“people call me zahra,” she said easily, her fingers resuming their idle trace along the stone. “some call me lady, if they’re guessing. or trying to be polite.” her eyes flicked back to him, unreadable. “i don’t always bother to correct them.” a small shrug. not defensive, just honest. that was the thing about dorne. names meant something, but not everything. blood mattered less than what you did with it.

she followed his glance toward the laughing knight, watched the awkward tilt of shoulders, the way the florent girl’s smile was all performance. zahra had danced for crowds like that. crowds that wanted to be delighted, not seen. she turned her gaze back to jalabhar, catching the echo of the smirk that wasn’t quite charm.

“you don’t seem like the sort to mistake laughter for peace,” she said quietly. “or silk for safety.”

his words stuck with her, peace not found in flowered halls. she wondered, not for the first time, what he was doing here. what kind of game he played, and why it led him to know more than he should. myriam’s name. not the one used in introductions or behind fans. the old one. the one zahra had only discovered when told from myriam's own lips.

she didn’t ask. not yet. instead, she tilted her head and asked something else.

“and what of dorne, lord mooton?” she asked, using his name in return, for he clearly knew who she was already in some form. “you speak of peace like you’ve known the price of it. do you think we’ve paid enough?” she said we without thinking, but it wasn’t an accident. she may not be a dornish woman with a true name, perhaps, but the sun, the heat, the land, it was all there, in her. the pride, the defiance. she claimed it as her own, whether or not the world understood.

“or do you think we’re still playing?”

Jalabhar turned toward the sound of her voice, slow and measured, the way one turned to greet a familiar current—expected, but still needing to be felt. He didn’t answer at first, letting Zahra settle herself nearby. His eyes followed the motion of her hand along the carved edge of the stone bench, the way her bangles caught the light, the silk of her skirts pooling like quiet water. She was poised, yes, but no less deliberate than any man here wearing brocade and ambition.

“I wonder,” he said after a beat, his voice low, the cadence of the Maiden’s Tongue slipping through—each word rolling and clipped, like salt-worn driftwood smooth from travel, “if in Dorne, they call bastards lady out of courtesy… or title? Or do you go by Zahra?” He didn’t speak in riddles, not yet. That was a game for lords with something to prove. His questions were always sharper when they were plain.

The faintest tug of a smirk played at the corner of his mouth as he looked back toward the garden path, watching a knight in Reach green try too hard to laugh with a Florent cousin. Then his gaze returned to her.

“Peace be its own game,” he said, echoing her words with the same dry rhythm he used when speaking to fishmongers and ferrymen. “That’s what they say, anyway. I think peace’s not found in debates in flowered halls."

He studied her openly now. Searched for a weakness before deciding the weakness was in her riddles.

“Eyes are for seein’,” he said with a shrug, glancing lazily toward the courtyard before turning back. “Never heard of a man who didn’t look to see.” And there it was—the smile. Not flirtatious. Just part of the package. A little charm, just enough to grease the gears. This wasn’t pleasure. This was work.

the dark hues of zahra sand fluttered back and forth between the two lords - almost reminding her of an eager puppy and a unamused cat in the way they greeted her and subsequently in the moods they exuded. it caused her to wander where the stars fell in the sky upon their births, she was fascinated. when the golden-like lord asked her name, a grin spread over her features. "zahra." she answered, her name rolling off her accented tongue. "you are too kind to allow to join. i know not what we play, but i am quick to learn." she interlaced her fingers on the table in front of her, sitting comfortably upon the velvet seat as if she were in her own home.

the dancer reached into her pocket and placed a velvet pouch on the table. "so, what are the rules, what's the bet?" head tilted to the side as she awaited an answer from either. "and no need to go easy on me, i shall win or lose fairly." she gave a nod of affirmation, a semblance of natural pride upon her features, now.

@nicholaslannisters

It was a card game, one with shuffling and gambling. Nicholas was a gambler, sure -- but with his own life. People bet on him in the lists, the battlefield, his horses. This was… similar to battle, in a way, with having to strategize one's wager and cards, but…

He was loosing. But each time his hand had failed him, it had been met with a thunderous laugh and another round of drinks delivered to the table. It preyed on his pride, and when one had Lannister gold, well… he was determined he'd be on the winning side eventually. It was all fun, after all -- and after his mother's attempts in Riverrun… though the lord across from him was no comrade, there had been no reason not to play a few rounds. Win or lose, it was a coronation.

There were people to meet, people to… find.

But now there was a chance he wouldn't lose -- and so he greeted the beautiful woman with a wide, bearded smile.

Ever the chivalrous knight, he stood, gesturing to an empty seat. "You do not mind, Percy?" Use of a nickname, despite barley knowing him. Titles, despite carrying a heavy one of his own, floating completely over his head. "We could level the playing field, with lady…?"

@percival-templeton

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

Julia de Burgos