This Is So Late But Didn't Want To Leave This Thread Unfinished! - Blog Posts
lips curled upwards into a sly grin at the lords response, the subtle swaying, moment of her body that seemed to be her natural state suddenly slowing at the intrigue began to creep over her. it had been many years since her time in yronwood and zahra found herself coming to the realization that rarely had she encountered armaan yronwood in such a way. that is, without the presence of others going about their business, in a more casual fashion that sitting over dinner listening to talks of trade and goods.
words were not wind, but a dance that zahra sand had, too, perfected in all of her years. she knew little of her fathers endeavors, though perhaps more than she let on, but it had always served her better to cloak herself in the ignorance, that seemed to give her a sense of safety in not knowing, or pretending not to know, if such things. zahra sand had always focused her mind and actions on other things, and truthfully her own craft took up enough of her time to worry about the dealings of salt shore.
head tilted slightly at his words, though features remained amused, light hues filled with curiosity, bordering on eagerness, as if the two of them had found themselves engaging in some game. “perhaps such a reason will come to me later.” later, she had stated, as if she very well knew this would not be the last encounter they would have during their time in the reach. “it’s simply that i do not need to know, lord yronwood. i tend to mind my own.” there was a casual shrug of her shoulders associated with the remark. there was a line between willful ignorance and a desire to remain in the dark that she delicately treaded upon. it made her own world a lot more simple, and detached.
eyebrows quirked up at the prospect of pleasure becoming business. zahra had always seen dancing as a sort of pleasure, though it was an art, too. passion that descended beyond pure dedication and skill and intertwined itself into her very life like vines upon a trellis, one of the very many in the very gardens in the reach. perhaps such a thing was based upon perspective. though pleasure and business was as elusive as a desert mirage, in her own world. “perhaps then such business would actually catch my interest.” she mused, the lips pulling into a grin. “what kind of business would that be, my lord? surely you must dabble in it yourself.”
dancingshores:
“of course.” zahra replied, tone taunting as she gave a wave of her hands, as if to say that everything about her was on the surface to read, as if to imply that is all there was to her, but that really wasn’t the case, only what she hoped seemed to be. she thought she was likely predictable as she was flighty, but there was more that lie beneath the surface of the dancer of salt shore, should one decide to dig deeper.
frame floated nearer to him now, close enough to observe dark orbs more closely, one’s she found herself ogling at as a young girl in the halls of yronwood. she was not a girl anymore, but the intrigue with the man before her remained. there was some darkness about the man, no doubt a cloak of the tragedy of betrayal that befell him, but she was the sun, eager to shine her light, if only a moment.
“yah jaanane ka abhaav ki vah kab hoga, manoranjan ka hee ek hissa hai.” ( not knowing when that will be is only part of the fun. ) zahra insisted, head tilting slightly to the side, a half-smirk coming upon the corners of her mouth. a hand shifting the silk skirts of her golden lehenga, even standing still for a brief time seemed impossible for the woman who’s feet never touched the ground.
for that is what there was to zahra sand, she did not have roots, she had wings, and the woman never seemed to perch for long. where some believed it to be a downfall, she found to be a gift. not many had the opportunities she did, and while she was a bastard, there was privilege in her birth. she often had the opportunities to experience both parts of their world.
her arms folded over her chest now, suddenly stilling, the very cogs of her mind clearly seen moving behind hazel hues. “aur vah kya kaaran hoga?” ( and what reason would that be? ) her tone was on the brink of being almost challenging in her inquiry.
“he is well, and i am sure he would be glad to hear from you, my lord.” though zahra did not pay much attention to such business, she knew enough from the letters back and forth from her to her father. “i have been so busy i would not know much of his affairs. I prefer to deal in pleasures over business.”
꙰
truthfully, there was something about the woman that stood before him that reminded him of a kite: someone who held no roots to the ground, no place that called every part of her to submit to it, and it was something he had found himself pondering on silently over dinner so many years ago in the grand, ornate majesty of yronwood’s feasting hall. hearing his father and lord gargalan discuss matters so intensely and passionately, the men often on opposing sides of view and yet all would be cleared with laughter and drinking. armaan himself never found himself joining in, even at such a younger age as the one he were before his father was at the mercy of the true poison of dorne; not whilst the presence of his uncle remained on the table too.
her tone was almost challenging in her inquiry, and it was enough to cause a smile to cross over his features. it were laced in something else. “kyonki mein kar sakata hoon.” because i can, was his response to her question on reasons why he would wonder her way as she danced. his words were characteristically blunt, and he almost expected her to look at him with an irritated look. or perhaps she would find ways to dance around the topic with him, until she spun herself into a frenzy; there was a time where words became fickle. became useless, when it came to matters of action. “kyonki tumhen yah pasand hai.” because you like it. he dropped his words like a trap, remaining fixed comfortably in his position against the wall as she seemed unable to stand still. always moving something. “aap mujhe teesara kaaran bataiye.” you can tell me the third reason.
he thought on that time in his life with mixed feelings, including regret; regret for not realising the plans of his uncle far sooner, the only feeling he was able to obtain was that of being weirdly unsettled at the sight of him. there had never been a reason, and yet, over the sounds of lord gargalan and the dancing his bastard daughter did was some of the ladies of yronwood, armaan found himself unable to break his stormy gaze from his uncle. like a shadowcat, with his eyes locked on prey. of course, were the words she uttered as he asked whether she had continued to dance all of these years: it were a disciplined art form in dorne, that which took hours of perfection. the feet of dancers often bled and bruised due to exhausation; their art was their war.
“surprise surprise.” were the only words he uttered in her direction, amusement in his dark orbs: it were obvious she were doing some dance here, like a peacock. everything about her was utterly theatrical, even the way she playfully shook the golden skirts of her lehengha. she belonged upon the stages of the tor’s productions, so it seemed; though it were not his place to budge her to such a direction. there was an ease in knowing she would understand the way his accent wrapped huskily around his words, as whilst he did not lessen the accent for others in westeros, he knew she would at least understand him. “mujhe sandeh hai ki aap jaanana nahin chaahate.” i suspect you simply do not want to know.
it were not as though her father would not have her involved in matters should she simply ask; for she had managed to wrap her father around her fingers, and all of dorne knew it. she chose to stay out of such business, to continue to dabble only in the pleasures of life. there was beauty in ignorance, and safety in it too, especially in dorne of all places. “and what if pleasure becomes business?” he asked, his tone not accusatory or questioning for a change - but almost like a hook.