The Fire Crackled Softly, Its Glow Mingling With The Cold Light Spilling Through The Window. Zahra Stood

setting: flashback to the lockdown in dorne, after zahra's interaction with a mysterious volantene woman, she finds a comforting presence in an old friend ; starter for @opheliafowler

the cool stone walls of sunspear seemed to close in around zahra sand as she walked the dimly lit corridor, her footsteps echoing softly against the marble floor. the flickering torchlight danced along the mosaics, casting shifting patterns that normally brought her comfort. tonight, they felt as restless as she did.

she pulled her shawl tighter around her shoulders, her fingers trembling slightly as she smoothed the fabric. she had known this secret since she was old enough to understand its weight. her mother, an essosi beauty had come to Dorne long ago. a fleeting affair with the ruling lord of salt shore had resulted in zahra. but zahra had also learned, from the mouth of her father itself, that she was not her mother’s only child. the regent of dorne, proud and unyielding, shared her blood. the knowledge sat heavily in zahra’s heart, a truth she carried alone. her mother had made sure of that, until now. suddenly, everything zahra had tried to keep safely tucked away was threatening to come undone.

the sound of footsteps pulled zahra from her thoughts, a fleeting moment of panic it was the woman again, but relief washed over her features to see ophelia fowler. a kind smile came over her cheeks, flush with the frustration of her previous interaction, hopefully shadowed by the flickering of the lighting in this hall. "ophelia," she breathed. a welcome face. "how are things in the great hall? i can feel the tension in my bones."

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."

who: @dancingshores​ where: one of highgarden’s many bustling halls, within a night of celebration. there was feasting, dancing, and gambling; he noticed how women from the other courts did not seem to engage in the game, apart from their own. currently, armaan was involved in some sort of game of dice, with lyseni, tyroshi and reachmen. 

it was another hot summer night within the great hall of highgarden, ivy and vines creeping up stained glass and ornate white marble decor; and yet, after an evening of feasting, the surroundings was the last thing on his mind. this card game had gone on for far too long, thanks to a specific member of the party seemingly enjoying the conversation more than the actual game. unaware of the impatience that was only growing upon the table, the man continued to speak of matters across the narrow sea; matters that were not anything of significant importance. 

rather, building styles of villas and pavilions - and as the lord of yronwood put down his final hand, his hand seemed to come down hard upon the table top. almost in a way that caused whatever was on the table to shake.

it shut the representative up at least, or reminded him they were here to play the game, rather than engage in small talk for the sake of trying to get in one’s socialising. his dark orbs, stormy in essence, looked to the large crowd that was dotted around the rest of the room; there was dancing, there was one woman dancing specifically. by the sounds of the anklet, his first impression was to think it was the princess consort - only, it was not her. only someone with an uncanny resemblance to her, a woman he had come across before. she had stayed within yronwood with her lord father some years prior, for a brief amount of time; back when his uncle held the regency and armaan was to turn eighteen within the week. 

of course, she was once someone of far more importance to his friend, the ruling lord of the tor. she had stayed with the jordaynes; he was sure he had seen her during his visits to the tor, time after time.

there was much talk of him retaking yronwood that evening over the dinner, stepping into his father’s shoes that dinner; it was almost ironic now. for who knew what betrayal, bloodshed and butchery would come just a week later; crossbows shot into an empty bed, and he watched. her presence reminded him of a time where things seemed okay, but in reality, were truly not. their eyes met multiple times throughout the course of the night, and when he was finally able to collect his winnings once the game wrapped up, the man did not excuse himself. 

rather, moved his way through the crowd in his black kurta, still adorning traditional dornish attire. his hair longer than he usually kept it. moving his way through the crowd, he knew better than to interrupt her. he would not join her. and so, the bloodroyal just became another figure stood around watching. watching, alongside those andals who looked as though she were a piece of meat to be unwrapped. he was there, silently, as he felt as though he needed to be - she was dornish, she was one of their own. 

there was applause as she finished, in a spiral conclusion. he joined the claps, slowly; still keeping his gaze fixed on her. though in truth, his attention was on the people around them. dancers were not whores, not in dorne; he knew not elsewhere. “kya aapaka kaam khatm ho gaya, ya kya mujhe agale din tak yaheen rukana hoga?” (are you finished, or do i have to wait until tomorrow?) 

the grand throne room of sunspear shimmered in the soft light of the afternoon, its stone floors reflecting the muted gold and red of the setting sun. zahra sand moved through the crowd with practiced ease, her presence undeniable but never forceful. she was a part of the court, woven into its fabric of gossip and intrigue, yet never truly bound to it. her laughter echoed like a quiet melody, a sound that drifted above the low hum of conversation and reverberated through the hall like the call of a siren.

at the sound of her name, she turned to see the lord of yronwood's dark gaze cast over her. with a quick, graceful movement, zahra drifted away from the small cluster of nobles she’d been chatting with, making her way toward him. There was no hurry in her step, only the quiet assurance of someone accustomed to the court’s rhythms.

she stopped before him, her smile a soft curve, her eyes glinting with the knowing gleam of someone who could see beneath the surface. “lord yronwood,” she greeted, her voice warm with the hint of amusement. “it seems the winds of sunspear have called you back, though I suspect it’s not the festivities that keep you here.” she knew the kind of man armaan yronwood was, a seeker of chaos, a harbinger of disruption, and she found herself intrigued by it, more than she would have cared to admit.

her lips curved into a slow, enigmatic smile as she placed her hand lightly over his, guiding him toward a quieter corner. she swept her flowing skirts aside as she settled into a low seat, her movements graceful, almost theatrical, before patting the space beside her. “if the stars have called to you, my lord, who am I to deny them?” she teased lightly.

gently taking his hand again, her thumb traced the lines of his palm, her touch deliberate, almost languid, as though she were drawing out the story etched there. her gaze flickered down, studying the patterns and folds as her brow furrowed slightly in thought. “your life is woven tightly, like threads pulled taut,” she murmured, her words measured, soft enough that only he could hear. “you carry the weight of others’ needs and ambitions, though it’s not burden alone that stirs you. no, there’s something more…”

she glanced up at him through her lashes, the corners of her lips curving into a knowing smile. “you’re a man who thrives on motion, yet here you are, standing still. why?” her head tilted slightly as she studied his face, the heat of her touch grounding the moment.

zahra let her fingers linger briefly before releasing his hand, folding her own neatly in front of her. “the stars do not dictate, my lord, but they do suggest,” she said lightly, though her gaze remained sharp. “and they suggest that perhaps the restlessness you feel is less about where you are and more about where you want to be.”

who: @dancingshores when and where: the grand throne room of sunspear, the bloodroyal of yronwood has made his way back to court in order to meet with the first minister and be present for at least a short period of time in the celebrations following their victory. context: he sees the court seer, zahra sand; who inspires him for some chaos. she inspires him to burn down tion peake's granaries - accidentially.

the throne room of sunspear glimmered in the late afternoon light, a mixture of gold and red hues spilling across polished sandstone. armaan yronwood leaned against a column, his eyes scanning the room with practiced ease, noting the sycophants, the revelers, and those with the sharp gleam of ambition in their gaze. it was a place of games and whispers, one he had long since learned to navigate. yet, amidst the courtly pomp, his attention snagged, unbidden, on her.

zahra sand.

she stood near a cluster of nobles, her laughter like a ripple of water breaking through the murmur of conversation. her flowing dark hair tumbled over her shoulders, glinting like polished obsidian under the torches. her eyes sparkled with mischief, a thousand secrets reflected in their depths, and her movements seemed almost otherworldly, a dance that carried an aura of purpose and enigma. but it was her figure—full hips swaying beneath her robes, the effortless confidence of her stance—that stirred something base and undeniable in armaan.

he clenched his jaw and pushed away from the column, making his way toward her with measured steps.

“zahra,” he greeted, the low timbre of his voice cutting through the noise. the corner of his mouth curled upward, though the smile held its usual edge of calculation. “your reputation precedes you. they say your insight shapes sunspear’s fate as much as the sword.” he acted as though she had not been in her chambers some months ago, sharing a smoking pipe and speaking of everything and nothing. he had not thought of that night until this moment, perhaps because she had the same look in her eye.

he let the words settle, watching as she turned to face him. her smile was a thing of subtlety, poised and knowing, and the way her robes clung to the curve of her hips sent a flicker of heat through him. he ignored it—or tried to. “you,” he continued, “are spoken of even in yronwood these days. they say the stars themselves bend to your will." he watched her closely as he spoke, searching her face for any crack in her composure. but zahra was a fortress, her expression offering nothing more than a faint amusement. it only made her all the more infuriatingly captivating.

he took a step closer, leaning slightly forward as he spoke, his voice dropping to a near-whisper. his fingers curled against the pillar, his grip tightening, but he didn’t let his thoughts stray too far. instead, he straightened from the pillar after clearly eyeing her up and down; and he extended the palm of his hand out for her. "do mine." he found himself lacking a sense of purpose in these days, on the great come down following the rush of war. there were nobody to kill, no reason to chase or to hunt; and he found himself growing increasingly bored.

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?” 

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

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

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

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

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

꙰

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

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

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

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

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

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?"

Aditi Rao Hydari - Tarun Vishwa (2022)

ADITI RAO HYDARI in Hey Sinamika (2022)

the garden had stilled around them, as if even the ivy and jasmine were listening. only the faint music from the distant festival threaded through the hedges now, soft and broken, like a half-remembered song.

zahra stayed seated for a long moment, fingers smoothing over the fabric pooled in her lap. she heard the plunk of myriam’s jewelry being shed, the rustle of cloth loosened from skin, but she couldn’t move just yet. her eyes drifted over the courtyard, checking the slant of every shadow, the murmur of the leaves, the glimpse of stone paths winding into the dark.

still no one. at least, no one focused on anything but themselves. here, it was only them. only this small, secret moment.

slowly, her shawl slid from her shoulders in a whisper, pooling forgotten on the stone. she reached up and unclasped her bangles, one by one, the metal cool against her warmed skin. she set them beside her, neat and careful, then unpinned her delicate earrings. the night air whispered over her arms, bare now except for the sleeveless choli that clung to her ribs and shoulders, the deep burgundy silk catching the stray lantern light like a secret.

her skirt shimmered slightly when she shifted, the intricate embroidery swallowing the colors of the dusk. she hesitated again, her hands brushing the ties at the back of her choli, thoughtful. myriam had shrugged out of her own jewels so carelessly, laughing and half-ready to strip the night from her skin without a second thought. zahra almost followed her lead, the temptation of that wildness stirring, but she caught herself, fingers lingering a moment too long before she let the ties be, for now.

zahra stepped lightly to the water’s edge, pausing for a heartbeat to glance back through the gardens, a watchfulness she could not quite lay down. then, gently, she dipped one foot into the pool. the water was cool and clean, a sharp little kiss against her skin. a breath escaped her, more a sigh of relief than surprise.

"I have been quiet," zahra said, her voice a low murmur that barely stirred the air between them. she wiggled her toes in the water, sending shy ripples outward. "i think...at court.." she paused, choosing her words with care, "...it's heavier than i thought it would be. i’m grateful. i’m glad for the work, the music, the dance... i love it."

she looked up at myriam then, her expression open and unguarded, the way it rarely was anymore. "but sometimes," she continued, dipping her other foot in, skirts floating up like soft petals, "there are little things—voices, glances, songs half-heard, that remind me of things. of jasveer. of the volantese. the borders. other kingdoms, that perhaps i feel better if i didn't know."

zahra let herself sink until the coolness lapped just beneath her ribs, arms floating loosely at her sides, face tilted toward the ink-blue sky. the stars seemed closer here, reflected in the trembling surface around them.

she opened one eye, peeking over at myriam with a faint, crooked smile. "the water must be working already," she said, playful but warm. "i’m spilling secrets like wine at a wedding."

❂

myriam was holding her heels in one hand and a bruised plum in the other, and somehow neither seemed more dignified than the other. the stone was cool beneath her bare feet, but she liked it that way—it reminded her she was still warm. in her mind, she heard the sounds of quickened breath in the distance: the third set of lovers they had come across this night in these mazes. she quietly whistled as they walked by, still holding her heels but glancing at zahra, about to open her mouth to disrupt them but the whistle was more than enough.

"oh, he's found her button." she whispered to her best friend, giggling slightly in a way she usually did not - a hand resting over her lips as they continued to wak quicker, considering the whistle brought the couple to a sudden stop.

she had taken to walking barefoot through the mazes of highgarden this night after being on the dance floor, as if they belonged to her, weaving through whispering hedges and lingering jasmine with zahra at her side, the scent of wine still on her breath but her mind entirely lucid. she wasn’t drunk. she was in bloom. “clarity,” she said, repeating the word with a touch of disdain and mischief, the way one might say virtue at a brothel. “if i wanted clarity, i’d ask one of those no-lipped septas to shriek it at me from a pulpit, not come whispering for it at a pool.”

the water shimmered as if offended. myriam didn’t care. she was grinning. she wandered a little closer to zahra, her hips swaying lazily with each barefoot step, her long skirts brushing against her calves like whispers from an old lover. “you talk as though you think this pool knows you?” she said, voice curling low and affectionate, the sound of her anklets jingling as she walked with a spring in her step. “i’d like to see it try.” she stepped up onto the rim of the pool, arms stretched a little for balance. the surface reflected the bruised dusk above and the halo of torchlight around her limbs. the water trembled at her feet, a pale sliver between stillness and chaos.

“if this thing really grants clarity,” she continued, glancing down at zahra with a breathy laugh, “then gods help it. i’ve half a mind to dive in and make it mine.”

the wind stirred her thick cascade of hair, carrying with it the sweet, faintly fermented breath of fruit wine and garden blooms. she tilted her head as she looked down at her friend, her dark eyes narrowing with a sultry warmth that was not flirtation but devotion, of the sort only shared between women who had known each other long enough to see through most masks. zahra was thinking too much again. myriam could see it in the angle of her shoulders, in the way she folded herself like parchment—something once danced upon, now waiting for ink.

“you know,” she said softly, stepping down beside her, sinking gracefully onto the stone edge of the pool with legs folded like silk, “you’ve gone quiet lately. it’s not your silence—it’s what you aren’t saying in it.”

and still, as they spoke, myriam's hands moved to unclasp the jewelery from around her hips, shimmying out of it as well as what was around her neck. whilst she fancied a swim, she would not get her gold wet. she then moved to unclasp her blouse's halterneck style, half tempted to at least strip her top half bare if she were to go swimming. "come in with me? we can float and yap away."

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.