Myriam 002 - Blog Posts

the tone in the voice of the woman beside her sent a wave of comfort over the dancer - a thought that hadn’t even crossed her mind at the fact that the gods had blessed her with closure she didn’t realize she so craved after so many years. while her mind would yet be filled with why’s and what if’s she could feel the relief begin to slowly wash over her, as if she were taking a dip in cool water on a warm day. with the shawl grasped gently in her hands, almost instinctively taking to the others offers of comfort, a thing she never really knew much of, a faint smile crossed her lips.

"i needed to hear that." she admitted, with a sniffle as she used the back of her hand to rub at her nose. zahra was suddenly all too aware of the mess she presented herself in front of the princess regent. despite the closeness that seemed to bond them as of late, she felt the slightest sensation of bashfulness.

and she nodded at the mention of the sword of the morning, though she did not know the lord of starfall well, she knew of his closeness with rashid, and it seemed, myriam as well. a conversation she would not question now, though curiosity picked at the back of her mind. "i know he must be heartbroken, too." she stated with a shaky resolve, before giving a soft clear of her throat. "he made the most of anything, he was..." good. he was purely good. of course, no man could be the subject of godliness, but she thought rashid jordayne's demeanor certainly came close. she would miss the simple conversations they would have, the smell of incense swirling about them in a dimly lit room. even if such moments were not recent, it was comforting to simply know this world had someone like him.

"and i needed to hear that, too." zahra answered with a gentle laugh, a small lift of her spirits as it seemed the woman before her, who held so much weight upon her own shoulders, whilst comforting the dancer of salt shore, read her own very mind in all of this. "i've never grieved in such a way, before." she admitted. the favorite daughter of her father's, a motherless child save for the woman his father took as his wife, who never dealt with very many hardships, despite the lack of status she held, she held something that many would yearn for, many died for - freedom. "it almost seems like there is a wrong way to do it, but you are right." she inhaled. "perhaps if i share my grief with the jordayne's, we can all bear the weight of it, together."

she looked at the shawl in her hands now, wrinkled and damp, a felt a small flush come to her tear-stained cheeks. zahra gently lifted it. "i must wash this before i return it to you, or perhaps i owe you a new one." she insisted, a hint of jest, even in mournful spirits. "thank you, myri. i am grateful for your words and your company, eternally."

❂

there was the slow dawning realisation within the mind of myriam allyrion, the idea that what she was seeing sat before her was what the court would have expected to see from her upon the murder of her own husband: and yet, myriam's own tears had come from a place of shock and empathy for her daughter, rather than about the actual loss.

a feeling of detachment had come over as she stood within the room surrounded by her martell family, the diligent daugher in law that had completed her duty; and would now remain part of the royal family as was expected for royal widows. "you did?" there was audible relief within myriam's words; she was glad zahra had the chance to speak to rashid, and put aside whatever pain had occurred between them years ago. "thank the gods; and you were meant to see him. whatever was said was a gift; your last conversation was not one filled with pain, or hurt. it was years later, in sunspear's hallway. everything seemed okay, didn't it?"

and yet still, the feeling of dread continued to come over her at the prospect of knowing the bridal bangles she adorned at seventeen had become shackles; her mangalsutra weighed upon her, now more than ever before. this was what grief looked like, this was how a woman that loved a man grieved. all myriam grieved for was her daughter's innocence, a childhood she would try to stitch together but she knew it would never be the same.

"i didn't know him well." myriam spoke, her hand resting upon zahra's back, rubbing it up and down as the woman allowed herself to cry on the steps of sunspear's throne. how it felt as though sunspear's throne was built on the tears and sacrifices of women. "but baashir did…he was basically his brother, so." and those words were a quiet admission of what many thought, but did not speak of. that there was something between the princess regent and the first minister of dorne: that there always had been. "you're not the only one wishing for more time."

zahra sand was just a woman who brought joy to leila's face, allowing girlish giggles to fill the courtyard over the sound of the fountains - she did not know when she had found herself latching onto her in such a way, but here she was. there was something utterly maternal about the way she wound her shawl from her own body, moving aside strands of thick chesnut hair and allowing zahra to wipe her tears with it; almost insisting she do so. the same way zahra was basically on her shoulder, with how close they sat beside one another.

and now, she grieved for the concept of goodness: whilst she never felt as though she could be, or would be, good, she had always found herself quiet in awe and in comfort in the space of rashid jordayne. now he too was gone, and she found herself wondering what plans the gods had. "you're not wrong for grieving, zahra. okay? even if you've taken different paths and found different people. you are not stepping on or undermining the grief of the jordaynes with your own." and how she knew the jordaynes would be grieving; safeerah especially, considering how close she was to her brother.

"speaking to them may help you feel some sense of peace. be with the people that have so many memories of him - it'll prepare you for the funeral."

it was not usual to see the dancer of saltshore in such a state, one might call it pitiful, but it could easily be summed up with one description: broken. perhaps it were zahra's on fault for feeling everything, and yet, she would push away the bad, the negative things that she did not want to spend her energy upon. it served her well for most of her life, and then there was now, this moment, where she practically melted into the steps that the princess regent had sat upon - wearing her grief with the grace she so naturally possessed. zahra would envy the other if she did not care for and respect her so much, beyond the connection that only she knew between the two of them.

the floor was cool and hard, she tried to grasp onto her senses so she would not entirely crumble. what did she feel, hear, smell - the sweet fragrance of citrus emitted from the other as she welcomed her to lean against her. zahra naturally found herself doing just so, it were a silent motion of the two of them, as if they so often supported one another in such a way.

zahra did not want to wet the beautiful fabrics the other adorned and so quickly ran a hand over her face, as if that would make much difference for they only continued to flow no matter what she desired. "it is, most certainly." a faint smile crossed her lips at the thought of rashid's soul at the end of it's cycle, escaping the pains and difficulties of the mortal world.

the dancer quietly contemplated the others words, comforted by the fact that others felt as she did, that while the grief was heavy, it was not entirely her own. of course, zahra was entirely aware he left behind his own wife, a princess of dorne, and it was in that awareness that she did all she could to maintain herself to a degree that matched the sorrows of those around her until it were an appropriate time to release it as one who shared many cherished moments of her life with rashid jordyne.

brows furrowed gently as she dug into her memory, a tired laugh slowly escaping her. "i did, recently actually." the years had separated the two of them, unintentionally. they simply continued on their own paths after the natural end of their relationship, and it were not long ago when their paths crossed yet again in these very halls. and she suddenly realized the conversation offered the sense of closure she so desired - not that she felt he was missing, but perhaps, she wanted to think they had made the right choice all those years ago. and they had.

"and i suppose looking back now it was such a gift. to be given that small bit of time to speak to him again." hand moved to brush chestnut strands away from sticking to her tear stained cheeks. "and yet, selfishly, i want more time. i can only imagine i am not the only one who feels such a way." she shifted slightly to look at the other woman, now. "did you know him well?"

❂

for a woman who was the epitome of the radiance of the moon itself, zahra sand was able to hold her rays in a way that was enough to cause one's entire body to tremble, before letting tears roll down wide, doe-like orbs. the sort of constraint that meant one's entire body reacted before the eyes, regardless of how much they swam; and yet, she held a great respect for maintaining her composure before rashid jordayne's royal widow.

it were notable that there was more to the story that myriam was not entirely aware of, considering the outpour that came in the moon's eclipse was more than the initial shock and tears most courtiers felt upon hearing of the murder of the justiciar of dorne. "if there is any whose soul will reach enlightenment, it is him." was that not what any dornish soul would want? the escape of their soul from the cycle of samsara, and to be reunited with the gods?

if there was any that lived as his role before it were even in existence, it was and always would be him. many looked up to him, despite the fact he stood by their side rather than stood above: the sort of man any young woman prayed she would be married to someday. such goodness, being ripped away, was enough to cause air to even get stuck in her own throat: let alone those who knew him far better than in a professional capacity. it took one look at zahra to see that she had.

she mourned for rashid jordayne the way the courtiers would have expected her to mourn for mors martell. what myriam mourned for, however, was her own life; her own fate, as a royal widow. "neither do i." myriam spoke in agreement; she too, did not understand it.

there had always been something that drew myriam to the other; the sun and the moon, the moon and the sun; and yet, as she turned to look upon her figure climbing up sunspear's throned steps in a manner which made it seem as though she were dragging her feet, she extended her arms as though she were expecting the woman to collapse. how it felt as though she were looking in a reflection of some sort, though myriam did not know what it was she would be mourning for in such a way - or perhaps she did, and did not want to address, or even think on it.

"because he would have wanted it to be so." it was then myriam reached out, each of her movements as maternal and warm as the sun's rays: she scooted closer, moving her dupatta from her side to allow zahra to rest against. sometimes, collapsing was what was needed. grief was physically exhausting in itself. she used her dupatta to wrap around the frame of zahra sand, one that had the scent of myriam within it: sandalwood, citrus.

"did you speak with him, pyari?" myriam asked, her voice soft.

the eyes of zahra sand remained entirely fixated on the marbled floors beneath her feet, glistens of rainbow shimmering on them from the light cast through stained glass windows that surrounded them in the great room, and yet, everything felt entirely gray, dull, for the moon had gone down, and it were not the sun that greeted his departure, it were darkness, void of even the stars scattered in the skies above that she read so easily. even they did not prepare her for this. the entire court seemed to feel at an utter standstill, the effect that rashid jordayne had upon every soul in this room, as she had always known he would. the optimistic demeanor of the dancer of salt shore fell entirely flat in the wake of such a tragedy, and for perhaps the first time in her life, she felt a sort of primal anger and despair welling within her chest.

the departure of the ruling lady of the tor, the princess of house martell, caused the crowd to break from the statuesque forms, and begin shuffling out of the hall, followed by the closer advisors of the princess regent herself, who found herself stood above all, remaining stoic as ever, though zahra knew it were unlikely that was her feeling in regards to this at all. she felt a sense of admiration for the woman before her, for she was unsure, even now, how her feet managed to move in the direction of myriam allyrion. feet that were normally found in many motions, felt entirely still until that moment.

zahra did not even notice the tears that were clearly welling within her eyes, the smudge beneath one of them from a mindless swipe, some subconscious attempt to remain as collected as the woman who ruled over all of them, though she had never been one to hide emotion. in her art, in her everyday life, zahra sand was entirely herself, every feeling felt was clear upon every fiber of her being.

she stilled as the other spoke her name, hands crossing in front of her as myriam approached now. zahra nodded, knowing her state were entirely not prepared to face others, who would surely cast looks her way. she were not ruling lady of the tor, she were not rashid jordayne's wife, but there were some who knew of her connection to the lord, enough to cause her to be wary of managing her emotional state, for the time being.

bangles rang softly as she shuffled towards the woman, mirroring her movement to sit upon the steps, only far less gracefully as zahra felt the utter exhaustion weigh her down as she sat upon the cool floor. moments of silence followed her movement as the tears began to flow down her cheeks like the current of the greenblood.

"i think i will wake up tomorrow and it will all be a horrible nightmare, you know?" she asked the other, arms folding over her knees that instinctively tucked inward towards her, as if she would crumble entirely if she did not quite literally hold herself together. "he was the best of us. i don't understand it." words quivered as she spoke them, a hand clenching at the skirts of her lehenga as she managed to hold in the sobs that were clearly wreaking through her chest. "how? how is there a world without him in it?" the question, itself, set free the grief the she attempted to burrow inside her, and forehead found itself on her knees as she attempted to muffle her cries.

who: @dancingshores when and where: semi-flashback thread to a day following the news reaching from volantis, regarding the murder of lord rashid jordayne, ruling lord of the tor. myriam remained within the grand domed throne room after receiving the princess loreza martell from the tor, recently widowed. the departing foot steps of her good sister brought an end to the audience session which remained heavy, and she tried hard not to focusing on the retreating figure of the sword of the morning alongside the bloodroyal - no doubt both needing a moment with one another.

there was a certain sense of heavy grief which lingered in the halls of sunspear: the mournful flutes announcing the arrival of their princess. something about her arrival made the entire thing far more real, as though there was no way this could ever be explained as some mistranslation or misunderstanding that had suddenly become all too real. and she remained within the chair upon the dias, her eyes looking upward to the mosaic tiles on the golden dome above her, that would be seen from all of angles of sunspear; and she exhaled, in the way she had been taught to breath when she was bordering feeling overwhelmed. because the murder of rashid jordayne was as tragic as it was horrific; it was all too clear that one of their own, one who had a bright future and would have a great deal left to do in the world, had been taken from them too soon.

she did not know rashid jordayne as personally as some others in the room would have done, but she felt the severity of the matter. this was not merely anyone. he would never be, merely anyone.

and the hardest of all was perhaps needing to remain neutral before the eyes of the court of sunspear as the sword of the morning announced his departure to her, lowering his gaze momentarily; she would not see him break in his stoic nature, not here of all places. and yet, she understood that due to the differences in their duty, she needed to watch him leave the grand hall alone: after looking in the face of the woman he had intended to start a family with. there was no way she could rise from the throne of dorne to comfort him; she needed to remain in such a position, still clad in silks of white. one more month until she could once again remove such shades from the figure of her body. as the figure of the sword of the morning retreated, she heard the sounds of anklets chiming; quieter than the ones she wore, ones that almost sounded like water.

her kohl lined gaze fell upon the court seer, who seemed to be rooted all to heavily to the ground in this moment: it were obvious to see the pain etched upon every inch of her expression. the tears that filled her gaze swam within wide, doe-like orbs that were usually filled with mischief and life itself; such a thing looked strangely wrong upon her. the sight of zahra in such a state was easily enough to make her rise to her feet, an instinct in her gut that made her wish not to allow the woman to leave alone in such a state. one that was clearly a person desperately trying to hold it in, before bursting at the seams. the kite of salt shore had been caught in the most tragic of storms, it seemed.

"one moment, zahra." myriam called, though her voice was soft, as though she did not wish to startle the woman. she approached her, ensuring her body language made it clear she was not planning on overwhelming or smothering her. "you need not have to walk through the halls in such a way. we can stay, and sit on the steps." myriam did not like anyone seeing her cry - and she always cried in the aftermath of seeing red. myriam quietly lifted the bottom of her skirts as she sat on the steps leading up the throne of door, patting the space beside her. "it is not the comfiest, but allow me to stay with you for a while, and then i shall go when i am due to speak to lord uller." she not specify which one.