Zahra Had Just Barely Made It Out Of The Feast Hall, The Press Of Warmth And Music Still Clinging To

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?"

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.

Aditi Rao Hydari in Heeramandi (Netflix, 2024)

the fountains, for all their splendor, didn’t make for quiet, she thought as myriam’s figure slipped away, the soft click of her sandals fading into the night. the cool air felt strange on her damp skin, but zahra remained where she stood, the water swirling gently around her bare feet as if the fountain, too, had claimed her in some quiet way. she didn’t mind it. despite her love for the company of a woman bound to her by more than just friendship, but by blood, the silence that followed myriam’s departure suited her better than any words could, at the moment. in the distance, she could hear voices, laughter, murmurs of the court still alive with stories, distractions.

she exited the fountain, wringing out some of the water from her drenched skirts, hands deftly moving to her hair before she found her feet leading her towards a bench, one she would sit upon and gaze at the stars that began to peek through the last of the twilight stricken sky. until she heard a familiar voice. she hadn’t expected to run into armaan yronwood this evening, though she wasn’t sure why. perhaps it was just the strange sense that the world had a way of bringing the most unexpected things right to her feet.

“do i look like a lost wager to you?” she teased, taking some steps towards him, the grass dampening beneath her bare feet, her silks still clinging, but no longer dripping as the slight breeze dried them. “perhaps, but i assure you, no duck was involved. though, a fool might have been.” her fingers brushed the edge of the stone pillar, the soft scent of lavender and mint clinging to her skin.

“ordinary?” she echoed, the word rolling off her tongue like a question in itself. “no, i suppose this isn’t exactly what you might call ‘ordinary,’ armaan. but then, when have i ever been that?” her smile was wide, just a touch mischievous. "besides, drowning is far too dramatic a term, don’t you think? i was merely… cooling off.” she gave a little shrug, her damp hair glistening in the soft light of the garden. she wasn’t making a scene, but she was certainly not bothered by the fact that she was soaked to the bone. “sometimes, you just need to get your feet wet, see the world from a different angle.”

zahra watched him, that amused glint in her eye dimming to something quieter, more curious. she stepped around the lion statue, bare feet soundless on the damp stone, a petal or two clinging to her ankle. the moonlight caught in the water beading on her shoulders. “then let them overhear something else,” she said, flicking a little splash toward a cluster of reeds. her gaze slid sidelong toward him, unreadable but amused. “tell them you’ve traded fire for water. clarity. rebirth. all that.”

her gaze lingered on him for a moment longer before she gestured toward the fountain, a playful glint in her eyes. "perhaps it’s time for you to take a dip, get a little clarity. the water’s lovely, if nothing else."

who: @dancingshores when and where: the verdant concord, within the gardens of highgarden; armaan yronwood waits to hear back from his messenger he sent to try overhear a certain conversation with a certain lord of starpike, when he comes across dorne's court seer. soaking, from head to toe.

he found her between the carved lions and the marbled fountains, standing as though the garden had spat her out from the hedges themselves—soaking wet, from the slope of her hooded crown all the way to the hems of her silks that clung like second skin. zahra sand, the court’s seer, looked a vision entirely removed from prophecy - not like he would ever openly admit it so, after calling her odd multiple times over the years. just, wet. and smelling faintly of crushed mint and wet stone, like something dredged up from the godswood.

armaan paused mid-step, blinked once, then again, taking her in with the flat expression of a man not quite certain whether he was being toyed with or made party to a jest he didn’t recall agreeing to. his arms were crossed loosely behind his back, the sort of stance that allowed thoughts to sharpen without betraying their weight. it had rained earlier—lightly, briefly—but not enough to soak anyone. nor had the sky opened up since. and yet, there she stood, water trailing down her collarbones in delicate rivulets, her hair darkened to black and curling wildly about her cheeks. he tilted his head, slowly, eyebrows raising just a hair.

“...do i even want to know, zahra sand?” his voice came low, dry, carrying the faintest rasp at the back of the throat; no doubt he too had indulged in much drinking this night, after spotting what appeared to be the distant figure of a man who appeared so much like jasveer from the other side of the window. it had for a moment truly stunned him and rooted him to his place, but when it was over, he found himself fighting back memories he did not wish to process.

“...you look as though you lost a wager to a duck,” he said at last, slowly, blinking once before letting his gaze drift from her drenched hair to the darkened hems pooling at her ankles.

he didn’t move closer yet, wary of the puddle forming around her bare feet, for he appreciated the silks he were currently adorning. “or are we pretending this is ordinary now?" he should have gone back to the alcove where he’d sent his man. the messenger would return soon—hopefully, with word of that starpike snake and whatever it was he dared mutter in shadows. but this? this dripping omen standing among the lilies? it pried his attention away from the games he had set in motion. too strange not to.

he tilted his head, a short, humourless laugh escaping through his nose. “new dedication to aquatic pursuits?” he gestured vaguely toward the puddle she was forming. “though i confess, i did not expect the prophetic arts to involve recreational drowning.” it was then he had a distant idea, one based on their previous conversation and how he could stitch it together so it could paint him in a certain light. zahra sand would not realise, but she could be of much use to him in this moment. too many people believed him to be responsible, he knew it; the suspicion, it was something he simply would not be having.

he paused, arching a brow. “this isn’t another metaphor about fire and fields, is it? because if you say the word harvest, i shall walk directly into that hedge. people overheard our conversation some months ago, and i haven't heard the end of it since.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

the 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

setting: at the verdant concord, a hidden courtyard with a reflective pool said to grant “clarity of thought” to those who sit beside it at sunset ; @myriamas

the courtyard held its breath, the light fading into a soft, silvered hush. zahra moved at myriam’s side, her steps easy but slower than usual, her usual brightness dimmed into something quieter, more inward. her bangles shifted with her movements, the faint music of them delicate in the still air.

the memory pool stretched before them, darkening as the sky deepened above. zahra stood at its edge, gazing down without quite looking at her own reflection.

for a long moment, she said nothing, a silence that myriam would surely notice. she folded herself gracefully to sit by the water, resting her arms loosely over her knees, her fingers drawing idle patterns on the stone.

“they say it shows you clarity,” zahra said at last, her voice softer than usual, thoughtful rather than teasing. “not in the stars, not in signs… but here. close enough to touch.”

she let her words trail off, eyes fixed on the ripples where a falling leaf had touched the surface, her hand poking the surface softly in answer. zahra stilled her hand, watching the pool return to its perfect calm, as if it, too, was waiting for something. she felt the familiar tug of curiosity, the same pull that had guided her steps across a thousand desert nights, chasing stars and stories.

but this was different. this was not a distant constellation, not a path marked in the heavens. this was close. immediate. and maybe harder to run from.

“i’ve always read the skies for others,” she added after a beat, glancing at myriam with a small, almost self-mocking smile. “but maybe the water knows something about me that the stars won’t say.”

zahra didn’t sound afraid, only contemplative, as if weighing a question without rushing to answer it. she leaned forward slightly, her reflection meeting hers at last, blurred by the soft stirring of the water.

quiet settled again between them, a comfortable thing, as zahra stayed there by the pool, not turning away. just… waiting. wondering.

zahra’s laughter, lighter now, danced in the cool evening air, blending with the soft rustling of leaves in the garden. the flickering torchlight cast shadows that seemed to stretch like living things, but the warmth of ophelia’s presence kept the chill at bay, like the first rays of dawn chasing away the dark.

“you’re too kind,” zahra replied, her voice playful but gentle, a soft smile curling at her lips. “i only speak the truth. you make everything feel... alive. even the quietest of moments become something worth remembering when you’re near.” she shifted her weight slightly, her fingers brushing against ophelia’s, a silent reminder of how much she appreciated her friend’s steady warmth. “besides, who else could make feeding the birds sound like the most important thing we could do tonight?”

as they walked together, the night seemed to loosen its hold, the tension in zahra’s chest gradually easing. she took a deep breath, letting the cool air fill her lungs, and for the briefest moment, she could almost forget the restless unease that clung to her. she could forget that this evening, like so many others, felt like a fleeting moment, an escape that would slip through her fingers before long.

“maybe you’re right,” she said softly, her gaze turning to ophelia. “maybe the parrot would follow me home, and we’d spend hours explaining to the court why i’ve adopted a feathered advisor. though i do think he’d be more trouble than he’s worth. you, on the other hand,” she added with a wink, “are far more useful, even if you might steal all the fruit.”

zahra’s fingers brushed nervously against her dress as she watched the gentle sway of the trees in the breeze. the question had been on her mind for some time now, and she couldn’t shake the feeling that it was something she needed to ask.

“you know, ophelia,” she began slowly, her voice softer now, “we’re similar, in a way, aren’t we? we both travel, chasing different things, different causes. you heal, and i dance, but we both leave pieces of ourselves behind wherever we go.”

she paused for a moment, her heart fluttering with the weight of her own thoughts. the garden seemed to hold its breath around them, and she felt a fleeting sense of quiet before speaking again.

“i sometimes wonder if… i should stop,” she confessed, her voice quiet, almost hesitant. “not because i want to, but because it feels like i’m always going. like if i could just settle, just once, maybe i would find something more.” she smiled softly, but there was a trace of uncertainty in her eyes. “but...i don’t think i actually desire to stop. it’s like a part of me is afraid of what might happen if i ever did. i don’t know if i’d be content with it, or if the restlessness would eat at me, like it’s always been there, underneath.”

she let out a small sigh, her fingers grazing the petals of a nearby flower as if seeking grounding in something so simple. “i think it’s more the idea of being still that’s hard to hold. i don’t know what i’d do without the movement, without the dance, without the road ahead. but sometimes… i wonder if there’s a place, a time, when that feeling would fade. when i could simply be, without the need to go anywhere else.”

.

ophelia beamed at zahra’s words, her smile bright enough to chase away the shadows flickering along the stone walls. “you think so? i like that—‘finding the extraordinary in the ordinary.’ it makes me sound like some kind of grand storyteller rather than someone who just cannot seem to stop talking.” she laughed lightly, but there was gratitude in her tone, touched by zahra’s observation.

as her friend spoke of the night’s heaviness, ophelia gave her arm another gentle squeeze, a silent acknowledgment that she understood, that she felt it too. there was a careful balance to be held between giving someone space and letting them know they weren’t alone. ophelia had always danced that line instinctively, always ready to fill the quiet when it was needed, or to simply be there when words felt too heavy.

“then we won’t let it end quietly,” she declared, mischief creeping into her voice, mirroring the flicker of light returning to zahra’s expression. “dancing, wine, music—all of it! but first—oh! feeding the birds! zahra, that is a marvelous idea. the absolute best.” she nodded eagerly, as if it were the most important decision they had made all evening. “and if that clever little fig thief is there, i will have words with him! not scolding words, mind you. just a very serious discussion about sharing.”

she tugged zahra forward with renewed excitement, leading them toward the gardens, where the cool night air would be fresher than the heavy tension of the great hall. “and you know,” she mused as they walked, “i do think you would have charmed the parrot. i imagine he would have followed you straight home, and then where would we be? stuck explaining to the court why lady zahra sand has a new feathered advisor.”

she laughed at the thought, glancing at zahra with a playful glint in her eyes. “maybe we’ll find another one someday. until then, you’ll have to settle for me. not that i am feathered…..or a great advisor….but still just me”

a bag was slung over the shoulder of the dancer as she stood within the first minister's solar, no doubt wanting to converse about important dates to come. the stars often foretold what the gods had planned for them, and zahra had spent much of her life studying them under the guidance of her own father. the stars themselves led ships across the seas, and sailors back to their own homes, it was practically in her blood to find herself in a position where many questioned what the very sky itself had paved for them.

the formalities presented by the first minister brought a faint smile to her face, though she tried to play the part of refined lady, zahra had always though the lord of starfall to be incredibly serious in all matters, though she certainly appreciated the effort and niceties. "my lord." she responded.

his next words, however, struck her, and she could not hide the slight widening of her eyes at the observation. of course, she knew why that was, but no one had much such a bold statement. "i have never been compared to her grace, but she is a beautiful woman, so i will certainly take that as a compliment." zahra stated, purposefully being vague. "what dates do you have concerns about, my lord?" she questioned, hand dipping into her bag and pulling out a small journal and charcoal to write them down for future use.

| @dancingshores | | setting :: her faces freaks him out, he demands to know why. | | banter length |

Baashir wanted to talk to her about dates, it was why he called her there and set up this meeting but it wasn't going to work. He looked at her and he felt a strange since of familiarity and discomfort. The first time he glimpsed her, he couldn't recall when, he recalled turning and walking away from her and wondering why she had Myriam's face and now she couldn't be avoided. She was apart of court. She was in their court and it would be rude to ignore a member of court these days. No longer was he Myriam's personal guard, he was the first minister. The bridge between those around them and the stewardess or the little princess.

"Lady Sand." Baashir looked at her, studied her, watched her closely. He didn't think that was her title but the conservative Dornish lord would never feel comfortable with such familiarity. He already felt stranger speaking to her in a solar where only the two of them stood there, sat in a space as unmarried people. It made him feel ... it was hard to understand. Hard to work with.

"You have the same face as Princess Myriam Allyrion and I don't understand why. Do you know you share her face?" He furrowed his brow as he took a seat, he gestured to the chair in front of him. He didn't mean to start so bluntly but he needed to clear the air. Perhaps she would say the looked nothing alike, she would be a liar but he would let it pass. Or, or she also saw it and would pretend to not see it.

"Oh, and dates. I have questions about dates..."

the court seer of dorne took to traveling only when it seemed like it contained opportunity, or perhaps it was asked of her by those within sunspear, who no doubt perhaps would like to have some insight as to what this next gathering would bring. zahra did not believe she need read the stars to believe that the west would not bring much great opportunities for their homeland, but she respected the efforts to make this travel and form whatever alliances they could. she were not entirely privy to the intricacies of the political sphere, but she knew enough to know that an ally to the north was likely being sought, for having partnerships only across the sea would not always do them good.

tonight, however, she indulged in the masquerade, picking out one of her finest lehengas, purchasing the most colorful mask she could find, zahra felt entirely in her element this evening. it were a show, an act, and she put it on very well. despite not often dancing as the westerosi did traditionally, she knew enough of the steps to take to the dance floor on more than one occasion, the ringing her her anklets liking causing some surprise to whatever partner she happened upon.

the music ended and she gave a nod of her head to her most recent companion, before turning to pluck a drink from one of the serving trays. it were then she had spotted a young lord she had seen earlier, as well. she need not remove his mask to believe he was handsome, and zahra had always enjoyed an air of mystery.

"my lord," she responded, head tilting slightly as she grinned. "you certainly may, if you are a good lead. i'm afraid i am not always familiar with these songs." her accent rang, giving way to some of her identity behind the mask.

Closed starter for @dancingshores Setting: Lannisport, The Westerland's. The celebration of Lann's Day is in full swing, with music, dancing, and competitions.

It was a day of celebration and yet he couldn't celebrate anything with the person he'd attended Lann's Day with. He'd asked if Talia wished to dance, and she'd rejected his proposal. He'd asked if she wished to listen to some of the stories being performed, and she'd said she was in no mood for it. Perhaps it was a form of protest from his wife's side, who no doubt saw her marriage as a prison in which both Harlon and him were to blame for her oh-so-horrible fate. She was not the first woman to endure an arranged marriage nor would she be the last. And for gods' sake, she was a Lady of Oldtown now. There were far worse fates to be had in this world.

“Well, I do want to dance, my dear,” Gael stated in a polite tone, a forced smile crossing his lips —no effort going into making the gesture anything else other than what it was: fake. He ought to be more patient, he knew, but at least for the day he'd grown tired of his wife's antics and wished to enjoy something. And so the Hightower lord left Talia in the company of her guards and ladies, disappearing into the crowd.

The Master of the Arts readjusted his mask and headed for the area where lively music was playing. He got himself a drink, feeling some of the tension he'd felt minutes ago begin to dissipate gradually. There was something exciting about seeing masks all around, no uncovered faces. It was a theater performance, almost. Individuals giving themselves permission to let go of certain inhibitions, the chance to feel somewhat freer, all because no one knew who they were. He could relate to that desire today.

Gael took a long sip of his drink, finishing the contents and marched to the dance floor as a song ended and partners were changing. “May I have the next dance?” he asked as he stood before a young lady. He'd spotted her earlier, his gaze inevitably drawn to her for the way she danced.