★

High School Musical 2 (2007)

★

ruqaiyah dayne was never one to shy away from attention, but tirius rowan intrigued her more than most. he was nothing like the men of dorne, not quick to flatter or make overt gestures. instead, he watched her with a quiet intensity, as if trying to decipher her. she hadn’t expected him to be so... measured. most would be fawning, eager to please her. but not him. no, he had a different kind of arrogance, a controlled one, and that made him more interesting than the others.

she barely registered the words he spoke about wives and homes; they were empty, almost an afterthought. what struck her was the unspoken challenge beneath them. he thought he knew her kind, the dornish women who entangled men in their webs, yet she wasn’t quite so simple. men forget many things, he had said. perhaps that was true. but she wasn’t one to be forgotten easily. she didn’t have to remind him of that.

as he pulled the chair out for her, she didn’t wait for him to settle into his own place before she took the seat. his gesture was expected, and she had no interest in playing along with his courtesies. the chair was hers now, as everything was.

you wish to know my name, she thought, watching him with an impassive expression. she could tell him. give him the satisfaction. but names were so fleeting. even her own felt like it would slip from his mind before the evening was over. the weight of it would linger only for as long as it took for him to recall it when they next met. "the lady ruqaiyah dayne of starfall," she said at last, her voice assertive. it felt like nothing to her. her name had been spoken a thousand times before, yet here, now, it had a weight to it. she could see him digesting it, mentally cataloguing it alongside the others he’d forgotten so easily.

she extended her hand for him to kiss.

she didn’t care. she didn’t need him to remember her name. what was more interesting was how he looked at her, the way his gaze lingered just long enough to make her skin prickle with the subtle power of it. but there was something else too, something buried beneath his composure. a desire? or simply curiosity? she leaned forward ever so slightly, just enough for him to notice the curve of her neck, the slow, deliberate way she held his gaze.

"most you reachmen forgot your wives the moment you entered dorne."

Tirius didn't dawn a mask when he came here. He didn't want to take part in these games. No. He came down to the day because he wanted to speak with his very pregnant sister. And he was excited to see her doing so well in such a place. He knew the West was very different from the Reach. While she mentioned needing to speak to him, she assured him it didn't involve her feeling in danger and that mattered. He knew what happened to wives who displeased their husbands. He knew women lost their heads quite easily in the West.

The woman across from them caught his attention as he sat up in his chair and picked up the cup. His sister kissed his cheek and bid him farewell, her giant husband trailing behind her dutifully and perhaps drunkenly. He looked over his cup at the woman as she approached him.

Dornish. "I am." He found her to be quite pretty and he wondered to which she belonged and who unmasked her, if it meant she was claimed by another that would seek to pluck out his eyes for their offense. Tirius sat the cup down and almost smiled in amusement. Perhaps she too found herself as drunk as those around them.

"Men forget many things, their homes and wives are often not on the list." At least, many men did not forget their wives and those who forgot their home were the sort who turned traitor and exiled themselves. Exile was much easier than dealing with the Marshall of the Northmarch taking their head.

"May I ask for you name, my lady? I always wish to know who speaks to me of ships and my men." They were Lucrezia's men but she was not here to correct him, so why not entertain the beautiful woman. "There's a chair over here." He held her gaze and pulled the chair out beside him.

★

ruqaiyah let out a breath that came out more like a laugh—sharp, breathless, incredulous. "you weren’t made for one place?” her voice turned cold and lilting, as if she were entertaining a joke no one else was in on. “you weren’t made for it, so we were born to sit and wait for you to flutter off and find your next whim?"” her chest rose and fell rapidly now, but her posture was still perfect, held together by the sheer force of her ego and the fact she knew she looked good. she had lost inches on her waist, as seen by her newest dress; devani would eat her words.

“that's not FAIR, you make it sound like i had you CHAINED!” she continued, tone curdling into something mock-sweet as her voice continued to rise - and despite the fact she were furious, she also loved the fact she had devani here in this moment. arguing with her, giving her full attention.

“you were in my house, you wore my clothes, you sat on my bed. you let me braid your hair while you told me—promised me—that i was the one person who understood you. and you’re telling me now, that you left because you were sixteen and had stuff on your mind?” she took a step back, her arms crossing tightly over her chest. her nails dug into her own arms, but she didn’t care. she wanted to feel it. wanted to ground herself in anything other than the ache that was pulling at her ribs. there was something in her voice now that even she could not quite contain. a tremble, brittle and buzzing with humiliation.

"you don’t get to call me dramatic when you made me feel like i was mad. like i had imagined the whole thing. you said you’d never leave me. you said—” she bit the words back like they were acid. “you said i was the only one who saw you.” her voice cracked, just once, and she swallowed hard, eyes narrowed in fury at her own weakness.

“and don’t you dare stand there and call me a child when you ran off like some storm-chaser desperate to be anywhere but with me.” her mouth twisted, lips gleaming like lacquered anger. “you wanted me, devani. you chose me. you told me things—things you didn’t have to say. and then what? you got bored? you spotted a guardsman and thought, oh, let me just vanish like i was never here?” she tilted her head, eyes glinting, voice rising suddenly. “I SAW YOU. THAT IS WHY YOU LEFT. BECAUSE OF DANTE ULLER AND THAT GUARD.”

devani's head was shaking. she was never a woman prone to anger. there was much that could be said to her, and she would simply laugh it off, make a joke of it, adopt it as part of her persona, if she found enough flattery in the unflattering. getting her to this point, where impatience took over, where irritation flickered in the dark hue of her eyes, took a particular skill that only ruqaiyah had ever seemed to have mastered. she wielded words as her brother did his sword, giving no space in the conversation for devani's words to settle, and so devani did not either. she would not stop to give ruqaiyah's words any consideration, would not do anything beyond dig her heels in, and refuse to see anything beyond her own point.

ruqaiyah demanded submission, and devani would not give it to her.

there was no more deflection, no more poking and twisting. instead, devani made a sound in the back of her throat, dismissive and derisive. "would you listen to yourself, ruqaiyah," she snapped, her exasperation bleeding into her tone. "you think i dream of a life like yours? get real." it was her own arrogance showing now, the knowledge that the life ruqaiyah claimed to want could have been hers, many times. if not in dorne, in essos, where lovers had come and gone so often she had lost track. she could have had it, only to devani, it was not an honour, but a shackle around her ankles.

and she saw it clearly, now ; that ruqaiyah would have chained her, too, if she had chosen to stay. it would have suffocated her, would have made her chafe against the commitment she had made to her as much as it had rubbed her raw when she had been married. in that moment, she had never been more certain of her choices. "yes, i do expect you to accept it," she said, a hand going to her forehead in her frustration. "perhaps that is too much to ask, though, since that would involve you coming to terms with the fact that people have more going on in their lives than you, ruqaiyah, and that is something you will never do. it's like talking to a child."

ruqaiyah closed the gap between them, the two of them practically nose to nose, and devani's hands dropped to her side. there was no humour in her expression, the laughing mockery absent from her eyes. "i left," she confirmed. "because we were sixteen years old, ru. and even then, it was obvious..." she trailed off, what exactly was obvious never making it passed her lips. she had meant what she said, at the time, but she had always been flightly, the unloved child of house toland, unable to ever commit to any bond she had ever made. "i wasn't made for any one place." was all she offered by way of explanation. any one place, any one person. she had always grown restless in the end.

she could have apologised. it would not be the first time she said something she didn't mean, driven by self-preservation. there was no pride in devani toland, and she did not mind making herself look the fool. it would be easy to beg forgiveness, but she wouldn't, because for ruqaiyah dayne, it would never be enough. "keep wishing," she said, simply. "the worst is long behind me."

who: @halimayronwood what: semi-flashback thread set before the dornish court depart for casterly rock when and where: sunspear, the first time halima and ruqaiyah cross paths since ruqaiyah arrives with baashir from starfall.

ruqaiyah of house dayne did not think about the death rattle anymore; that which had come from human lips rather than the ominous sound that came from the most fearful of serpents - she did not think about the facial expressions that crossed over each of the gargalens upon hearing the news that there had been a body found some leagues away. she only remembered her own body becoming very still that moment, her gaze daring not to meet the gaze she knew would not be looking in her direction.

the indifference was numbing, and it came not from a place of desperate guilt and repression, but rather an avoidance and refusal to take even a hint of responsibility for her actions. ruqaiyah dayne did not think of the blood of farah gargalen upon her hands, because she did not think the blood was ever upon her hands. rather the skirts of her dress at the hands of the girl's own foolishness, how they had called for her to remain in the carriage - how she had reminded her that the terrain this far from the tor was rocky.

"how is having your own space away from armaan?" ruqaiyah asked, a goblet of wine upon her lips as she sat across from the lady halima of house yronwood; if one was the crack, the other was the whip. an endless, vicious cycle of narcissism that continued to swirl, even as they sat across from one another. she were referring to the regency of kingsgrave the lady across from her now held, in the name of two sons of house yronwood - ishaan and kabir.

"a household of your own made up of manwoodys and servants…the same thing, in reality."

"your subjects seem keen to try and listen to our conversation." her tone was louder now, loud enough to ensure the manwoody party and their associates would hear her - calling them subjects, equating halima to their sovereign. it only made her smile more, a callous, immature one. "it is a good thing the heirs of kingsgrave look to a yronwood for their regent. that way, kingsgrave will never be sacked by a vulture king again." and she raised a toast. gods knew joy manwoody only spoke of all the work she needed to do to fix the lands that had been pillaged.

"is it as awful as she made it out to be?"

★

ruqaiyah dayne’s smile curved slowly, a perfectly practiced arc that revealed nothing of the thoughts stirring behind her violet eyes. she allowed lord tirius rowan to take her hand, his lips brushing it with all the decorum of a reachman’s chivalry. his restraint amused her, though she made no effort to show it. instead, she tipped her head slightly, letting the shimmering folds of her white shawl catch the sunlight, her every movement deliberate, her every angle framed as if for a portrait.

“my lord rowan,” she said, her voice as smooth and honeyed as the wines of arbor. “you honor me.” her tone was light, almost playful, the words brushing the surface of their conversation without delving into its depths. she could feel his gaze lingering on her, but she refused to meet it too directly, instead letting her lashes lower just enough to seem demure.

“new to joining the court, you say?” she let out a soft, breathy laugh, a sound like bells. “i suppose you could say that. sunspear’s court is...well. it is no starfall.” her lips, glistening with gloss, curved just a touch more. “starfall is unmatched, the very jewel of dorne. you must see it someday, my lord, if only to understand what it means to live surrounded by true beauty.” she let her words hang for a moment, savoring the way they seemed to catch him off guard.

ruqaiyah had long since mastered the art of making men fumble, not through overt advances, but by pulling their focus and tilting their world just enough to make them aware of her control. and yet it never went anywhere, for she would rather sit back and look upon their sisters or wives.

“but yes,” she continued, her tone light once more, as if brushing away the matter entirely, “it is my first time at court. my lord brother has always insisted that starfall required my presence, though i suspect he simply wished to keep me hidden away.” she lifted her gaze to meet his now, bold and unflinching, her violet eyes gleaming like polished amethysts.

her words danced around the obvious tensions between their kingdoms, careful not to reveal too much. instead, she tilted her chin slightly, allowing her hair to spill like a cascade of silk over one shoulder. “tell me, lord rowan,” she said, her voice almost a purr, “what brings the men of the reach so close to dorne’s waters? surely it is not merely the promise of silks and sweet smells.” her smile returned, sharper now, a blade hidden within silk. "many call you pirates."

The Dornish were people of questionable character and low repute. House Rowan themselves held an ages long animosity with those of House Wyl and by extension the Martells who fostered such barbery in in their kingdom and allowing those people to thrive and continue to grow. They also had the fortune of being the Principality with the second most beautiful women in Westeros, the Reach holding their position at the top secure in his mind.

She was proud to be a lady of Starfall, he took note. Tirius didn't know if the Dayne's followed the same birth order of Dorne, or if they picked their sons. What he knew of the Daynes, they were closer to the Old Way than the Dornish. Even their mother was of the Reach. Perhaps it aided in the beauty of the woman who presented her hand with a confidence that woke up something in the Hand of the King.

Chivalry, it's true nature, was a Reachly idea. He took her hand in his own and kissed the back carefully, not allowing his lips to linger of his touch. Still, his gaze stayed on her. "My lady of Starfall."

"Is that so?" Yes, his countrymen went to Dorne and lost themselves in silks and sweet smells. Tirius buried the temptations lust turning deeper to his Gods and papers. The Gods who failed him and the papers that continued to pile up around him. And as his wife left him and his world fell apart, Tirius descended. A darkness that was strangling the light. A side of him he tried to hide away.

"I've not seen you before. Are you new to joining your court?" As he looked at her, he understood why her brother would have her hidden in a tower. There were many snakes in the rose bush.

SABRINA CARPENTER Espresso (Behind the Scenes)

★

ruqaiyah blinked, once, twice, as if trying to process whether the noise entering her ears could possibly be real. she did not deign to respond at first. instead, she turned fully around again—this time with the deliberate, theatrical elegance of a stage-trained courtesan—just to face the girl properly. the girl in question, with her feathered sleeves and painfully under-accessorised neckline in her own opinion, had the gall to smile. smile, as if this were some quaint misunderstanding between friends and not a textile crime punishable by exile.

“you think—” ruqaiyah began, then laughed. not the sweet kind. the sort that was brittle and glittering and unmistakably cruel, like glass breaking under a jewelled heel.

“oh, she’s one of those, is she? sweetling, if you genuinely believe my outfit is the issue here, then i fear we’re dealing with something more severe than clumsiness. we’re talking... mental defect.” she smiled sweetly, venom curling in every syllable. “and here i was thinking the reach only grew bland herbs and boring men. but no—they’re harvesting delusions now.” her tone had risen with each sentence, enough that a few girls nearby glanced over nervously, but ruqaiyah was not done. her blood was humming now, giddy with spite.

she gave a loud, emphatic tch and turned back to the stage, swiping her silky hair over her shoulder in the most pointed manner imaginable and not caring if it perhaps gets in the way of her face. her bangles clinked with regal finality. the concert, she decided, would now belong to her entirely. and so, as bard bieber launched into what do you mean, ruqaiyah lifted her voice. it was high. it was nasal. it was deliberate. “WHEN YOU NOD YOUR HEAD YES, BUT YOU WANNA SAY NO—” she all but began to bellow, slightly off the beat, swaying with renewed vigour - as though she could be the only one who deserves bard bieber's attention.

her hips collided with the girl’s side as though by accident, her perfume—jasmine, oud, something expensive and cloying—billowing like an attack. “WHAT DO YOU MEANNNN!” she sung again, louder, and tossed a look over her shoulder with a smile that was all teeth.

ruqaiyah shifted slightly to the left, blocking more of the girl’s view. a subtle manoeuvre, perfectly executed. she raised her hands dramatically as if summoning the gods themselves. the pearls on her sleeves caught the torchlight, blinding in their beauty. “oh, you can see?” she called sweetly, not bothering to turn this time. “how marvellous. perhaps next time you’ll look before you trample a legacy. if you know anything about real pearls.” because that was what it was, wasn’t it? not a dress. not merely fashion. dornish couture. the height of design, the apex of taste. stitched in starfall, where sun and salt kissed the hands of women more talented than anyone in this room could comprehend.

it wasn’t a gown—it was lineage. it was blood and silk and status. and she—whatever her name was—she had stepped on it like it was laundry. less fabric. hmfsh. ruqaiyah sniffed. she sang louder. the girl didn’t exist anymore. she was no longer relevant to the evening’s story. ruqaiyah had reclaimed the spotlight—and in her mind, it had never left her to begin with.

the music at the verdant concord was nearly deafening, a fever dream of strings and stomping feet and shrieking girls—matilda tyrell among them. she had not intended to get close to the stage, truly, but one glass of arbor wine had turned into three, and bard bieber’s return was, after all, a cultural event. a moment. and matilda was nothing if not timely.

she was mid-step, hands lifted slightly as she swayed in rhythm, gracefully, of course, when her heel caught on something soft and unfamiliar. there was the telltale sound of silk straining, the faintest tug beneath her boot, and then: a voice, sharper than a sandstepped blade.

“i beg your pardon?”

matilda turned, startled, brows lifting as she came face to face with a vision in lavender and lip gloss, radiant and wrathful, the embodiment of stage-front devotion. matilda blinked, instantly registering the horror. her heel had found its way to the trailing hem of the other woman’s gown, and judging by the way the other was glaring at her, one might think she’d torn the fabric with her teeth.

“i promise you, it wasn’t carelessness. i was just… using my eyes for the concert, not for my feet.” a faint, almost rueful smile tugged at her lips. “a poor strategy, as it turns out.”

she stepped back, careful now, hands lifted slightly, not dramatic, just deliberate. “i didn’t mean to step on you. or it. i swear that wasn’t, i wouldn’t.”

her gaze flicked down to the train, a scatter of tiny pearls catching in the folds of silk. matilda’s brows knit together, lips pressed briefly before she spoke again. this time, softer. “it really is beautiful. i should’ve been more careful. if it’s damaged, i can have it mended. i know someone in oldtown who does embroidery so fine it could fool the gods themselves. it’ll be returned to you better than it was, if you'd like.”

a pause, then a small laugh. “though if this is how crowded it gets for a bard bieber return...perhaps next time, something with less fabric to endanger?” her brows lifted, teasing, but her tone stayed warm. “not that I’d dream of telling you what to wear. only that I’d prefer we both make it through the next chorus dancing, without incident.”

★

"too pretty for the likes of you. even a mask can't be fixing all that." and for a woman who believed herself to have all the grace of the stars that appeared in the evening, there was absolutely no hint of grace in monitoring the way in which ruqaiyah reached forward to grab hold of her mask again. her hands were like vipers, and snatched it back from the silver string, her face one of utter bitchy contempt as she watched the lady of house toland swing the mask around on one of her fingers.

she tugged it back from devani then, like a bratty spoiled child rather than the oldest daughter of the illustrious house dayne. "you seemed proud enough. not a hint of shame on you." it was the closest thing to a veiled reference to what it was ruqaiyah had witnessed so many years ago: how she had quietly gasped, and how it had struck and punctured an already wounded ego.

"now let go and go speak to whoever it is is willing to be your friend, before i send you into that fountain behind you." she all but hissed beneath her breath, stepping forward to close the distance between the pair. it appeared to outsiders as though they were standing closely together, both holding onto the pale pink mask. she was so sure people were watching, and the strap of her dress was all but pressing into her bare skin; it made her purse her lips, entirely unsatisfied.

she wished to push her over, like they were mere girls again. she instead continued to play tug of war over a mask of all things. "or maybe you were watching and waiting to unmask me. you always had the desperate urge to be the first." there was a double meaning there, kissing her teeth and rolling lilac orbs that no other woman in all of dorne held. "oh, get some sleep and stop thinking of me at night." and she finally managed to tug her mask back from devani, only for it to break.

she stomped beneath the skirts of her pale pink dress, throwing it down onto the ground in a huff. "why would you do that? do you know how much time i spent on the detailing? it's chikankari. and you BROKE IT."

her prize in her hand, devani poked her finger through the eyehole of the pale pink mask, swinging it around in careless circles. she was unphased by the venom in ruqaiyah's glare - if anything, it only made her own expression all the more smug. "pretty mask," she taunted. "different." her own mask was not quite so delicate, a gaudy display of colour and embellishment, and her grinning, mocking mouth revealed where it stopped upon the bridge of her nose.

"oh, i am not so proud. you know that." her voice was almost cheerful in tone. this time, she would not let ruqaiyah get the better of her. why was it she could not leave this woman alone, let her have the distance she so desperately craved from devani? but then, surely there had been enough distance between them already. she could not change the past, could not rewrite what had already been written. and yet, how easy it was to fall into old habits.

ruquiyah wished to act as though she did not exist, and that, to devani, was the worst insult of all. the ire, she could take, even the insults, but to be ignored? no matter where she had gone in the world, she had never been unnoticed. always a delicate balancing act, she liked to be seen, to push that which she wanted people to know to the forefront to conceal that which she didn't.

and what was it that she wanted ruqaiyah to know? everything, and yet, nothing at all.

the gold collected, she held it up for a moment, nodding at ruqaiyah over it, as though to say thanks, to an onlooker, though she knew ruqaiyah enough to know that she would see it as a taunt. perhaps it was. there was a satisfaction in knowing her actions still had some power. if she could not coax words of affection from her again, then this was the next best thing. there was a finer line between caring for someone and being driven mad by them than most people realised.

laughter followed the words, a shake of her head sending her hair flying over her shoulder. "oh, ru. those aren't the rules of the game. if you wanted someone to unmask you, then they should have been quicker about it, anyway." but curiosity nipped at her. who was it that ruqaiyah dayne wished to lower her mask?

she could not help but ask. "who did you have this little arrangement with, then? was it ravi? safeerah jordayne? who else is it you spend your time with these days?" who has your attention? who is in your bed? the questions she did not ask lingered on her tongue.

★

"oh, you think persistence pays off?" ruqaiyah scoffed, her eyes flashing with disbelief as she leaned back slightly, hands on her hips. "you may have the persistence of an insect crawling towards its doom, but i don't think your persistence has quite the intelligence to back it up, do you?" she let out a little laugh, as though she were humoring him, her fingers lightly tapping on the sleeve of her blouse, as though her patience were thinning in the most delightful way.

"and as for laying myself down for sunspear—well, my darling, i think your ideas of what happens in sunspear might just be as delusional as your self-image. who needs to prove themselves to a fool like you?" she flicked her eyes over his face, no doubt relishing in the rise of her own words. but beneath it all, she was visibly bothered, her cheeks flushed with irritation, her brows furrowed in mock disgust. it was clear she found his very presence annoying—though she would never admit it aloud.

"you call yourself a man of persistence," ruqaiyah continued, her tone dripping with condescension, "and yet, i see you standing here, talking circles, hoping your wit might impress me into lifting my skirts for you. persistence without substance is just... noise." she laughed again, this time with more force, letting it hang in the air between them. her laugh was one of girlish nastiness. "you may try to stand tall in your own little world, ryon wyl, but you'll never stand taller than me. don't flatter yourself." when he mentioned her mother and her life in starfall, ruqaiyah's jaw clenched.

"a girl in her tower, is it?" she repeated with a raised brow, her voice suddenly dripping with venom. "my tower. my home." the more he spoke, the more ruqaiyah realized that he could hardly be taken seriously. what a laughable attempt at a challenge. he was like a child pretending at something he could never achieve, and yet, for reasons unknown to her, it irritated her beyond measure. she had to put him in his place—quickly and without mercy. "i do not need to understand the military conditions of this land, idiot. look at me."

"Well, if a man must lay himself down for the honorable and high house of Dayne." Ryon bowed dramatically, and then looked at her, stepping closer but still keeping the distance between them. She was a bitch by all counts, a charmingly cruel woman and that got his attention. Ryon liked antagonizing people as often as possible, he liked to see how fair to push people and then see how much further a man could go until the other could no longer take it.

"It's true, isn't it?" He spoke to her with the same tone, mirth dancing in his eyes. "One must prove themselves worthy for the positions they seek. Whether they be positions on the bedding of Sunspear or standing here in Starfall." They were the most arrogant house in all of Dorne only rivaled by Armaan Yronwood, though, clearly, he found Armaan to be more worthy of the arrogance considering the great history of his house, a Dornish king.

But, all of these Dawn Aged houses were the most arrogant of their regions.

"I don't know." And tis time he closed the distance, half smiling as he looking toward the sky and then over at her. "Persistence pays off for men like me."

But ego, ego was a dangerous thing. And for the Wyl of Wyl to be called a mere bannerman was an affront he wouldn't stand for from her or anyone. "I wouldn't expect you to understand what men do. A girl in her tower for so many years. Staring down over the vastness of Starfall. One must be exhausted fetching their mother's pitched learning to rule."

"I'm sure the sister of the Sword of the Morning and the one with Valyrain steel in the mountains, evening or night or something," HIs disrespectful was casual, barely careful in his wording, "appreciates the military strength of the realm. If you understand such things."