dancingshores

Latest Posts by dancingshores

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.”

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.

zahra laughed, a full sound that cracked through the night like a spark, unexpected and honest. it spilled out of her without permission, the kind that bubbled up from somewhere deep in the ribs, where longing and relief sometimes collided. she ducked lower into the water, letting it rise to her chin, her knees bent and her arms drifting out like wings on the surface. it felt good to laugh. too good. dangerous, maybe. a little indulgent. but she didn’t stop. her eyes glittered in the moonlight as she looked at myriam, something soft blooming behind them. “you’re mad,” she said teasingly, tilting her head. “completely mad. and i’ve missed it.”

for a while, she simply floated, arms outstretched, staring up at the wide mouth of the sky. her hair spread out in slow waves around her head like ink in water. silence pressed around her, not heavy, not lonely. just present. the stars were watching as they began to peak through indigo skies, same as always. their light didn’t judge. it never had. she sighed, voice low when she finally spoke again. “you ever notice how it’s easier to tell the truth when you’re not looking at anyone?” her eyes stayed on the sky, the colors blurred slightly from the damp upon her lids. “maybe that’s why the stage never felt like a lie. i wasn’t with them. not really. i couldn’t see their faces, just the lights, the music. it was like… like i stepped into another world the moment the drums began.”

the words left her, and for a moment, the silence pressed in. her gaze lingered on the stars, but something else flickered behind her eyes. not regret, not quite. something older. something quieter.

she could have said it then. could have turned to myriam and told her the truth that had lived beneath her ribs since she was old enough to understand why she never asked too many questions. that they shared more than time, more than songs. that the woman who placed a baby in a basket to float down the greenblood, had mothered zahra too. but zahra didn’t speak. she couldn’t. instead, she took in a long breath, and when she turned her head, her smile was faint but real. “alright,” she said with mock solemnity, casting a sidelong glance. “but if i get scolded by some concerned reach lord, i’ll drag you down with me. fair?”

she swam in a lazy arc toward the stone ledge, fingers slicing the surface. myriam had pointed it out earlier, and now it called to her like something inevitable. her body moved with a dancer’s grace even in the water, deliberate and sure. she pulled herself up onto the stone, water clinging to her in rivulets. the air kissed her skin, cool and fleeting, as she stood there hugging her arms loosely around herself—not from cold, but from thought. her eyes drifted to the horizon, to where the mountains folded into shadow and the world felt far too wide for old griefs.

“jasveer’s name,” she said softly, almost to herself. “i’ve been carrying it like it’s a story i need to keep alive. but it’s mine too. i want it to be memory, not a weight.”

she bent her knees just a touch, toes curled at the edge, breath catching in her throat. she didn’t count to three. she didn’t shout his name. but she thought it, like a thread tied to her ankle, like a blessing, like a farewell.

then she jumped.

the splash was clean and sharp, and the water rose to meet her like an open mouth, swallowing her whole for a breathless moment. then she broke the surface, gasping and laughing, hair plastered to her face, eyes alight with something too wild to name. “gods,” she sputtered, wiping her brow, “that felt better than it should’ve. you win. but only this once.”

without warning, zahra surged forward and flung herself into myriam's arms, arms wrapping tight around the other's shoulders. it wasn’t a dive or a swim or anything graceful, just pure motion, unfiltered and reckless. she was laughing still, breathless, eyes bright as fireflies in the dark. “your turn,” she stated, nudging her shoulder gently against myriam’s. “no hiding.”

❂

myriam stayed still as zahra eased herself into the water, watching her friend with the kind of focus she reserved for dance or strategy or poetry written in someone else’s hand. there was reverence in her silence, not distance. she wanted to absorb zahra’s words as they came, one at a time, not risk misunderstanding them by rushing to fill the quiet. she’d always believed her friend’s voice was most beautiful when she didn’t try to make it so. when it stumbled a little, or paused too long between words. that was when it was real. her own silks were loosening slowly, methodically, beneath the moonlight.

the choli she’d worn earlier—a deep rust colour with fine threadwork down the spine—slid off first, caught briefly on her elbows before she tugged it away with a soft sigh.

the long skirts went next, peeled off like ripe fruit, careful not to wet the hem, and folded over the dry stone bench behind her. only the bindi remained, a dot of black on her forehead. “mmm,” she murmured in agreement, her first sound in some time, low and velvety as she stepped to the water’s edge. a quick, feline glance around the garden confirmed it—no children had wandered near, no stray courtiers, no highborn fools fumbling in hedges. they were alone, and she intended to keep it that way. and then she stepped in, as if the water owed her something. there was no hesitation. her foot slid down into the pool and then the rest of her followed—dark curls trailing behind her like seaweed, like shadow, her body gleaming and unapologetic beneath the moon.

she wore her nudity not like armour, but like inheritance: ancient, queenly, hers by right. the water surprised her—deeper than she expected—and she laughed softly as she began to tread, the movement making soft waves around zahra’s hips. “you were right not to strip the whole truth down,” she said, glancing over at her friend with a curl of amusement at her lips. “clarity’s overrated. blissful ignorance... that’s where the comfort is. if you don’t know it, you can’t ache for it. you can’t miss what never reached you.” she tilted her head back, letting the water creep along her collarbones, her dark hair floating like ink around her. “i used to think knowing everything was a kind of power. but lately...” her voice trailed off, the shrug more elegant than defeat.

“some things are lighter when left untouched, doesn't it?”

she floated closer then, her arms cutting little crescent moons in the water. she was watching zahra carefully—not for signs of weakness, but for signs of depth, of things unsaid. “you know,” she said gently, as one would speak to something precious, something that glowed, something they could not believe was with them. “you’re carrying all of it so beautifully, my girl." she let her foot brush zahra’s beneath the surface—just a touch, a nudge. “and don’t let them make you feel like you owe anyone ease. not the court, not the dancers, not even jassie's memory. you’re allowed to feel heavy. you’re allowed to sink sometimes - just trust another will catch you.” myriam's arms were long and bare as she drifted closer, water coiling around her like silk spun from ink.

the pool held them gently—two constellations untethered from the sky, bobbing in its quiet cradle. she watched zahra with a soft patience, chin tipped just slightly as if she were listening to a song only her friend could sing.

her lashes were wet, casting faint shadows on her cheekbones, and her bindi remained stubbornly in place, a single black truth clinging above her brow. “come,” she said suddenly, voice low and filled with something half-playful, half-sincere. “we’re playing a game.” myriam was already backing a few paces through the water, treading slowly until she was at the deeper centre of the pool. moonlight lacquered her shoulders, made her seem otherworldly—like some forgotten goddess of fresh water and difficult truths. she lifted her arms, held them steady before her like an invitation wrapped in challenge.

"climb up there, let's yell something to no longer carry, and fall back on me. i won't let you hit the water wrong." and there it was—that grin again. the one myriam reserved only for those she truly loved, the one that twisted her usually composed face into something far more mischievous. for suddenly, she were six and ten in the shallow waters of the greenblood, wading throguh reeds and doing the same with dastan and hasaryn. she remembers shrieking with a mouthful of water as hasa pulled her under, or the time dastan emerged with a fish. she remembered the time she ran from a snapping stray baby turtle. “if you fall wrong on your own accord, i’ll scold your form like some bitter auntie at a debut dance,” she teased, “so do it properly, or suffer my commentary forever.”

zahra paused mid-step as ser percival templeton appeared before her, his voice cutting through the warm, wine-sweet air of the great tent. the evening hummed around them, thick with the smell of roasting meats and the sharp tang of woodsmoke curling from the braziers. laughter pealed off in one corner where knights jostled shoulders, but here, the space between them felt quieter. thinner.

she turned toward him with a slow, easy smile, the kind meant to disarm rather than challenge. “a surprise?” she echoed lightly, the corners of her mouth tugging higher. “then i must be doing something right.”

her silks shifted as she moved, colors catching the firelight like the inside of a jewel box. she let him look, not flaunting, just unbothered, before her gaze flicked back to his with a spark of quiet humor.

“we hunt in dorne,” she said, tilting her head as if pondering. “but the beasts we chase tend to have sharper tongues than teeth.” her bracelets slid down her wrist with a soft jingle as she lifted her hand, as if brushing away some unseen dust. “still, a change of scenery is good for the soul... and the wit.”

she did not correct him. not yet. if he wanted to call her lady zahra, she would let him. the truth could wait until it was more amusing to reveal.

“your invitation reached farther than you might have guessed,” she said. “and i found myself... curious.” she let the word linger, almost lazy. “besides, there are worse places to be trapped with strangers and wine.” zahra leaned in a fraction, her voice lowering just enough to be heard over the din. “and i thought perhaps you owed me a rematch.”

she stepped back with a glimmer of laughter in her eyes, letting the scent of cardamom and leather trail after her. “shall we see if the knight of ninestars has grown any luckier?”

Closed starter for @dancingshores Setting: Semi-flashback, set during the hunting expedition in Ninestars. Percival opened the invitation to nobles, royals, and courtiers from all over Westeros in hopes of making opportune connections for himself and his family (And frankly, he wasn't actually expecting Dornish folk to attend).

The great tent was humming with the low murmur of voices, punctuated by the occasional burst of laughter and the clatter of goblets against the tables. Outside, the air was getting crisper and colder as the evening began to settle. It had been a great first day of the hunt, and some conversations the Knight of Ninestars had through the day settled the true purpose of the hunt. Not the chase of wild beast, not the skill to kill, but the connections and the maneuvering that came with it.

Percival Templeton sat at the head of one of the long tables, his posture composed despite the aches left by the day’s ride. The scars from the dragon's burns had healed, but some of the echoes of such pain still remained. His cup of wine was cradled loosely in his hand, though he had barely touched it, his attention instead drifting across the gathering. He took stock of who had attended, who had made their presence known, and who had taken the opportunity to ingratiate themselves. And then, his gaze landed on her as she walked.

The Dornish woman was draped in colorful silks, carrying herself as someone accustomed to being seen. Percival remembered her. How could he not recall such a face? He had played cards with her and the Lannister months ago, in a smoke-filled chamber during the dragon king's coronation celebrations. It had been her who had walked away with more coin than she arrived with. The Commander had not thought much of the Dornish lady then, but the difference now was that she was here at his hunt, eating his food and drinking his wine, and he wanted to know why.

The Knight of Ninestars took a slow sip from his cup before he got up from his seat and made his way to the woman. “I did not think the Dornish had as much love for hunting as we do in the Vale. But perhaps I misjudged,” he spoke as he appeared on her way. His gaze lingered, measured. She was a long way from home. “It is a surprise to see you again, Lady Zahra,” the lord added, offering a polite nod to her.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

❂

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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.

the sun filtered through trailing vines above the arbor, dappling the pale stone in shifting patterns of gold and green. the morning had yet to turn hot, but there was a hum in the air, of politics dressed in garden silks, of laughter that didn’t quite reach the eyes. zahra sand walked quietly, her steps unhurried, her silks a soft whisper behind her.

she noticed jalabhar before he spoke, poised beneath the shade like he was waiting for someone—or nothing at all. the way his eyes moved reminded her of sand cats in the dunes: still, but never truly still.

“you speak like someone who’s been keeping score,” she said, approaching slowly, voice as light as the breeze. “peace as a game… i wonder how many people forget they’re playing.”

she didn’t stand too close. instead, she found a low stone ledge nearby and brushed her hand along it before sitting. not presuming, just… present. she didn’t meet his eyes right away. instead, she let her fingers graze the carved edge of the low stone ledge before she sat, her bangles chiming softly as she adjusted the fall of her skirts. careful. calm. on the surface, she was only being polite. friendly, as anyone might be. but beneath it, her heart fluttered.

he knew her name. not hers, but myriam’s. but what else came with that knowledge?

“it’s hard to tell, sometimes,” she went on lightly, “who’s here to bloom and who’s here to root.” her gaze flicked back to him, curious. “but you already know, don’t you? you strike me as someone who sees more than most."

what: open starter where: the reach event

The scent of crushed mint and warm stone clung to the air in Highgarden’s upper court, where fountains whispered and butterflies floated lazily through shafts of morning light. There were no banners flaring, no horns blaring—just the hum of strategy disguised as civility, ideas wrapped in sweet wine and rose-scented diplomacy.

Jalabhar Mooton stood beneath the arch of a marble arbor, wine cup cradled loosely in one hand, his other resting lightly atop the pommel of his walking stick—not for need, but for style. He wore rich burgundy, white-gold thread curling like rivers across his chest and cuffs, dark silk trousers tucked into polished boots.

His eyes were moving constantly—watching, not just looking. He noted who entered the courtyard, who avoided whom, who drank too quickly, and who smiled too long. Beneath the surface of progress and peace, he could feel it—ambition with teeth. And he liked it. This was the battlefield he craved.

"Funny thing about peace," he murmured, more to the air than to anyone present. "Folk tend to forget it’s just another kind of game. Quieter, aye—but the stakes? Still sharp."

zahra had just barely made it out of the feast hall, the press of warmth and music still clinging to her like a second skin, her silks clutched in her hands, wine blooming like some tragic flower across her skirts. outside, the air was cooler, sweetened by the scent of night jasmine growing wild along the sandstone walls. the stars blinked overhead, indifferent and distant, and the moon threw silver light across the courtyard’s tiled floor.

she ducked into a quiet alcove tucked between two carved columns, where a small basin trickled water into a shallow bowl, and the only sound was the faint echo of laughter from within. barefoot children dashed past chasing each other, oblivious to her quiet crisis, and somewhere above, a windchime clinked lazily.

zahra was dabbing furiously at the stain with a stolen cloth, futile, of course, but she had to do something. the wine had soaked in deep, like it was meant to ruin the night.

and then came the voice, sharp.

she jumped, nearly dropping the cloth, and looked up with wide eyes. “seven,” she gasped, half-laughing, half-flustered. “you walk like a ghost, lady yronwood.”

the other woman had already snatched the cloth from her hands before she could say another word, moving with the kind of precision that made zahra stand back with her hands raised in surrender.

“i wasn't going to ruin it that much,” she muttered under her breath, but a smile tugged at her lips. she watched halima dab at the fabric like it was a battlefield, and for a moment, zahra said nothing, just listened to the quiet swish of cloth and the distant thrum of drums from the hall.

then halima spoke again.

zahra blinked, then gave a small snort of amusement. “i read the stars, not wine stains,” she said, placing a hand lightly over her chest as though she'd been accused of something most dramatic. “if i’d known that cup had it in for me, i would’ve danced on the other side of the room.”

she tilted her head slightly, studying halima as she worked. “you always did have interesting timing.” she grinned, the earlier fluster fading as easily as it had come. “but thank you. i rather liked this one. it makes me look like i belong in a painting.” a pause. “a painting without bloodstains, preferably.”

closed starter for @dancingshores

sunspear was alive tonight, aglow with warmth and light and laughter with the feast at the epicentre. people were beginning to peel away from their seats, having eaten their fill, to migle with one another in conversation or upon the dancefloor, but not halima. she remained firmly in her seat, alone, her posture stiff and her expression devoid of any trace of amusement. as she always did, she was watching, her cup of wine untouched before her. she was taking note, of who was talking to who, of who was entering and leaving the room, ensuring little that escape her notice.

it was then that she noticed zahra sand, moving from the dancefloor back to the tables. there was always two things that struck her when she took in the face of bastard girl of house gargalen - the first being that same face, but younger, speaking to halima as though they were friends, though that was so long ago it invoked only a faint stirring.

the second was a face that was similar - but not the same. the nose slightly wider, the cheekbones a little higher, which altered the look of eyes that stared without seeing, unblinking, and dead. she did not lose sleep over it, nor particularly care about what had been done, but she could clearly remember the sight of farah gargalen dead in the desert.

a misstep, a careless hand tipping a cup, and the contents were spilled in a slow, ruinous bloom across the embroidery of zahra's silks, the dornish red marking a deep stain in the fabric. halima did not react, her dark eyes tracking the spread of the blotch, but when zahra excused herself from the room, she found herself rising to follow, lifting a jug of vinegar to take with her.

she made no effort to make herself known, footsteps making no sound as she trailed after zahra. it was not until the other woman had a cloth in her hand, rubbing at the stain, did she make herself known.

"don't do that." her voice was sharp as she stepped forward, snatching the cloth from zahra's hand. "you'll make it worse." it was true that she had little experience lifting wine stains from silk, but it could not be so different to blood. it was the same colour, after all. she dipped the cloth in the vinegar, and then began to blot at the stain, her movements practical and efficient, if not particularly gentle.

"you are a seer, are you not?" she looked up at zahra, her movements continuing as she did. it was effective - the colour of the wine was beginning to fade. "you'd think you would have seen this coming."

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”

the flickering candlelight cast long, wavering shadows across zahra’s face, highlighting the soft set of her jaw as she exhaled, slow and measured. her fingers, adorned with rings that glinted like distant constellations, curled ever so slightly against the silk of her skirts. she did not meet ruqaiyah’s gaze immediately. Instead, she allowed the silence to settle like a fine mist, let it coil between them until the moment felt stretched thin.

then, she smiled; small, but warm, though her fingers trembled slightly as she clasped them in front of her. “the stars,” she said gently, her voice a touch quieter than before, “do not whisper of things that have already come to pass. they do not carve fates into stone, nor do they weave tragedies before they unfold.” her gaze flickered upward, as if seeking their guidance even now through the ceilings above. “they only guide, only point the way. they are not cruel, nor are they kind. they simply are.”

she exhaled, a small, careful thing, before finally lowering her gaze to woman before her. “i would have given anything,” fahra admitted, “for guidance. For even a whisper of where she had gone. but the stars do not work like that. and i do not claim to see what has not yet happened.”

the words were measured, but there was a quiet ache beneath them, one she could not quite mask.

a small smile, careful and unguarded, curved her lips—more a breath than an expression, something caught between sincerity and sorrow. “but you must already know that,” she said lightly, a gentle deflection rather than a challenge. “you only wished to remind me.”

★

ruqaiyah’s lips curled into a saccharine smile, the kind that never reached her amethyst eyes - eyes that were empty and devoid of any kindness or spark, unless there was the exception of someone speaking about her, giving her attention. "there is one more thing." she spoke, her hand resting beneath her chin as the shimmer of her pale pink silks reflected against the candlelight. she leaned forward slightly, her voice a blend of mockery and feigned curiosity, carefully pitched to carry just enough to be overheard by the lingering courtiers.

“well,” she began, her tone dripping with false sweetness, “i’ve always wondered, with all your vaunted gifts, how you manage to keep your composure. it must be such a burden, knowing the secrets of the stars and the future of us mere mortals.” her eyes sparkled with amusement, though there was an unmistakable edge to her words.

she paused, allowing her gaze to drift over zahra’s elegant form, her lips pursing slightly. “and yet,” she continued, her voice softening to a more contemplative pitch, “i can’t help but recall that unfortunate episode with your sister. such a tragedy, really. when she went missing for those dreadful days. the court was in such an uproar.” ruqaiyah’s smile widened, though it lacked any warmth. “i couldn’t help but wonder at the time—why didn’t you use your gifts then? surely, the stars would have spoken to you, given you some guidance, a hint, at the very least?” she tilted her head, a mock frown creasing her brow as though she were trying to understand.

“or were they silent when it came to something so personal? it does make one question the efficacy of your… abilities.” she leaned back, her posture languid and poised, the picture of dornish grace, her smile never faltering. but still, it were cold and it were entirely fake. her words were meant to hurt; she took enjoyment in seeing a flicker of pain and the realisation of insecurity crossing her face. to put it bluntly, she loved it.

“do not misunderstand me, zahra. your talents are... entertaining. and so many whisper such horrid things about you, that when they pay for your services there is more to what they are paying for. i personally don't think it is so serious - i've always said i think you are merely bored.”

zahra let out a soft hum, her fingers tapping idly against her arm as she watched him. armaan yronwood was sharp edges and coiled ambition, speaking of fire as though he could shape it with his hands alone. she had met men like him before—restless, hungry, eager to set the world alight. but he was different too, wasn’t he? not just all flame and fury. there was something deliberate in the way he spoke, in the way he watched her.

and oh, how she loved to be watched.

“you think fire is simple?” she echoed, amusement curling at the edges of her voice. “fire dances, armaan. it flickers, it tempts, it shifts before you can ever quite catch it. you think you hold it in your palm, and then—” she snapped her fingers, a playful grin flashing across her lips. “gone.”

she stepped closer, just enough for the light to catch in her eyes. “but i think you know that already. i think you like the risk of it, the not-knowing. you want to see what will burn, what will survive. you want to test the limits.”

her gaze lifted past him for a fleeting moment, drawn to the distant windows, to the sky beyond. the stars were hidden behind the golden glow of the throne room, but she knew they were there, burning just as they always had. eternal. untouchable.

when she looked back, he was still watching her, still waiting. his hand remained outstretched. an invitation.

she let the moment linger, stretching the space between them like a cat playing with a ribbon. and then, with a slow, deliberate motion, she took his hand. not submission, not surrender—just curiosity, just a game she wasn’t finished playing.

“i’ll walk with you,” she murmured, her thumb brushing absently over his knuckles before she turned toward the door. “but do not mistake me for one of your flames, armaan.” a smirk ghosted her lips as she let him lead her forward. “i do not burn for just anyone.”

as they stepped out into the warm dornish night, zahra tilted her head back, her dark curls shifting as she sought the sky. and there they were—her stars. scattered across the heavens like specks of silver on black silk, steady and shining, uncaring of wars or whispers. a soft smile curled at the corners of her lips.

"ah, always so focused on what lies ahead," she mused, her voice soft, almost teasing. she turned her head, her gaze meeting his with a glint of mischief in her eyes. "i wonder, when was the last time you looked at the sky? not for what it could offer, but just for what it is?"

꙰

armaan yronwood’s lips curled into a faint, almost imperceptible smile as zahra’s words wove their intricate web around him. her voice, smooth as silk, carried the weight of ancient wisdom and the intoxicating lure of chaos. he let the silence linger between them, the throne room’s warm light casting flickering shadows across their faces. the scent of burning incense mingled with the aroma of spiced wine, a heady mixture that seemed to amplify the tension in the air.

he let out a slow breath, his gaze steady and penetrating. “fire is fire, let's not complicate it with your poetry,” he began, his tone measured, as though each word was chosen with the utmost care. “it destroys, yes, but it also clears the way for new growth. sometimes, the old must be razed to the ground for the new to flourish. and sometimes,” he paused, a glint of something darker flashing in his eyes, “it is not about the harvest at all. it’s about the flame itself—the sheer, unrelenting power of it.”

he leaned slightly closer, his voice dropping to a near-whisper, though the intensity of his words remained. “great men must be the ones to set fire to the world, zahra. to watch it burn and to mould the ashes into something greater. it’s not enough to stand still and let the world turn around you. no, true greatness lies in seizing the reins of fate, in shaping the course of events, not merely reacting to them.” his gaze flickered to the doorway, the corners of his mouth curling in a subtle, almost predatory smile. the marches need defending, but more than that, they need to know where their strength lies.

the reach had grown complacent, and perhaps it’s time they were reminded of the fire that lies within dornish borders.

he straightened, the air around him shifting from contemplative to resolute. “i’m done with this conversation now,” he said, his tone carrying a finality that left little room for argument. yet, there was a spark of something else—an invitation, perhaps—in the way his eyes lingered on hers. he extended his hand, the gesture both commanding and expectant. “come walk with me, zahra. there’s more to discuss, about what is in front of us rather than whatever you are seeing in the sky.” he wanted her; he knew he wanted her. she knew he wanted her. he did not know why he was taking his time with it.

zahra watched myriam quietly for a moment, her dark eyes thoughtful, like she was piecing together the stars to make sense of the chaos swirling in her friend’s heart. her thoughts drifted back to those long hours of labor, to the way myriam had looked at her then—vulnerable but strong, fragile yet fierce. it had been a moment of pure trust, the kind of trust zahra did not take lightly. the firelight danced across her face as she finally spoke, her voice soft but sure.

“you’re not being too much, myriam. you’ve given life—endured more than most men could fathom—and now you’re feeling everything all at once. that’s not too much; that’s being alive.” she shifted closer, her hand brushing lightly over inaaya’s tiny foot, marveling for a moment at the miracle of her. “it’s easy to feel like the world is too loud, too close, when you’re carrying this much in your heart.”

her gaze lifted to myriam’s, unblinking and steady. “but this feeling—this ache? it’s not wrong. you just want what anyone would: to have the person you love beside you when you needed him most. you’re valid in that. it’s a heavy thing to do alone.”

she hesitated, the silence filling with the crackle of fire and inaaya’s soft breaths. when she spoke again, her tone held a thread of sadness. “but maybe... baashir thought he was doing what was right. maybe he stayed because he thought he was protecting you both. men like him—men like your husband—they think strength is about swords and shields, about fighting battles to keep their loved ones safe. they forget the battles we fight here, alone.”

zahra leaned forward slightly, her gaze piercing but kind. “you’re not broken for wanting him here. and he’s not unforgivable for failing to be. but ask yourself, myriam—when has a great man ever stayed still long enough to truly understand what’s in front of him?”

her hand lingered on myriam’s shoulder, a steadying touch. “you’re strong. and you’re not alone. let him see that when he returns. let him realize what he’s missed... and what he still has.”

❂

the room felt oppressive, though it wasn’t the size—it was the sheer presence of others. the dayne attendants moved quietly, their whispers blending with the crackle of the fire, but to myriam, every sound grated. she couldn’t place why their closeness irked her so, why her skin prickled at their nearness, but the feeling refused to dissipate. "no point telling them to leave, they'll come back." she uttered, her tone dismissive; she were sure at one point during her labour her mother in law had entered the apartments, no doubt wishing to put her directions in order to the midwives and look over what was happening.

myriam had been on all fours at the time, and had screamed for her to get out; the shock of her presence momentarily distracting her the most painful of pressures, which felt like her lower back was snapping. "thank you for getting her out."

she tightened her hold on inaaya, the soft weight of her daughter the only thing keeping her grounded. “it’s strange,” she began softly, her voice barely rising above the hearth’s murmurs, “to hold life in your arms and feel like your own is slipping through your fingers.” her gaze lingered on the baby, her tiny fist curled against myriam’s chest; this was her and baashir's baby. they had a baby. the whole idea of it still felt incredibly foreign and strange as she looked down at the round baby nestled against her chest, wrapped in blankets.

“i thought when she came, it would all make sense. that i’d finally understand my place. instead…” she exhaled, her shoulders sagging, “it just doesn't feel right...not her. it's not her.” inaaya stirred, her tiny mouth working instinctively, and myriam adjusted her position, ensuring the baby remained latched; the movement was so natural, leaning forward to inhale her unique smell. the sensation was grounding, though it did little to dull the ache that lingered in her body, a constant reminder of what she’d endured. “and he wasn’t here,” she said, the bitterness in her tone sharper now. “baashir. he should’ve been here.” her fingers brushed over inaaya’s delicate hair, her touch trembling as she allowed zahra to softly trace her own hand over her baby's small feet. "that's why i'm upset isn't it? it's got my head so fucked."

“i know there’s a war. i know there are men who can’t be spared. but he knew, zahra. he knew when my time was nearing; they had told him in advance and he knew how long it would take to come home. she wasn't early.” her voice wavered, but she pressed on, feeling herself falling back into that spiral again. “what if i’d died? what if she had? would he have mourned us from the battlefield, too late to even say goodbye?” the thought coiled tight in her chest, threatening to choke her. did he even know what he’s missed? those first moments… they’re now gone, and he’ll never have them. he'd never have heard his daughter's first cry, and for all the way myriam thought she would understand, the feeling of abandonment crept in each time she turned her head to see her bedside empty.

aside of course, from the voice of the stars, the one who listened and danced with them; her starlight.

"he could have come back. the others would have continued, one man missing from the front lines won't decide the fate of the war." a tear welled in her eye, and she blinked it away before it could fall; allowing the thickness of her hair to momentarily hide her face as she remained as still as possible, trying not to disrupt her daughter. another daughter; it made her heart glow, it made her wish to kneel down and thank the mother endlessly for the blessings. “you make it bearable, you know,” she murmured, her gaze flicking to zahra before dropping again. “even when i don’t say it. even when i’m too caught up in my own chaos to see straight.” she leaned closer, resting her head against zahra’s shoulder for a fleeting moment. “i just… i thought he’d be here for me.” she closed her eyes, the weight of exhaustion pressing down on her.

“but i suppose i should’ve known better. baashir belongs to the fucking battlefield, not to me. the sword of the morning.” a slight laugh slipped from her lips as she looked at zahra, as though she were trying to laugh off the situation. even if she had torn apart her entire world for him. the fire crackled softly, filling the space between her words. "tell me, okay?" inaaya’s tiny breaths were a steady rhythm, a fragile constant in a world that felt anything but steady. "am i being too much?" she asked, desperate for some sense of honesty from her friend. to reawaken her, if needed. was she being too clingy? why was she being like this?

zahra's fingers traced the lines of his palm slowly, her gaze never wavering from his face. hte flickering light from the torches above seemed to dance in the depth of her eyes as she considered his question, taking a moment to let the silence stretch between them like a taut string.

“fire," she began, her voice smooth and deliberate, "is like a field of grain. the earth yields it, and the flame can spread across the entire harvest in the blink of an eye." she paused, watching him closely as she spoke, her words deliberate and full of intent. "at first, it’s nothing more than a spark, a small flame. but then, it catches, sweeping across the land. the fields yield not just grain, but discord. where the smoke rises, so too will resolve be tested, and bonds will be unmade.”

her eyes glinted with the hint of something deeper—something unspoken—as she let her words settle. she shifted slightly, moving a fraction closer, the air around them thick with the weight of her meaning.

“the stars do not always offer simple answers,” she continued, her voice lowering to a more intimate tone. “in the heat of fire, one may forget the fragility of what’s grown—what is harvested—until it is too late. you can grow strong from fire, yes, but it often leaves the land barren in its wake. and the thing with fire... is that it has a way of spreading when no one expects it. you may plant your seed with intent, but you may not be the one who reaps the harvest."

the seer's fingers lingered on the lines of his palm a moment longer, her gaze flicking up to meet his. "and how long, armaan," she asked with a soft, almost teasing tone, though laced with curiosity, "do great men stand still before the world catches fire around them? long enough to watch it burn, or just long enough to strike the match?"

꙰

the question she posed him made his expression change, dark brows furrowing as he looked downward in her direction; she always held his gaze, no matter how much he tested to see whether he would break it. matching his intensity with a level of calm, like the surface of the ocean itself. "because great men need to stand still." his response was one filled with his usual sense of arrogance, not even blinking when considering the way he spoke about himself. he knew what he thought of himself. the greatest.

the throne room of sunspear shimmered down on them in the late afternoon glow, its golden light painting the sandstone walls in hues of amber and crimson. armaan yronwood leaned against a marble pillar, his gaze fixed on zahra sand as she moved through the gathering. her dark hair cascaded over her shoulders, glinting in the firelight, and her sparkling eyes held a liveliness that drew every glance her way. "you've sold dreams." her hips swayed with unhurried confidence, and armaan found himself watching, caught in the effortless rhythm of her steps.

he pushed off the pillar, closing the distance with a measured stride. when he reached her, he allowed a smile to ghost his lips, his expression carefully calculated to convey both charm and intrigue. his dark gaze flickered over her, before a slight scoff slipped from his mouth. “you’ve stirred something in this court,” he said, his voice low, his tone somewhere between admiration and amusement. “not just their imaginations but their ambition. even the most placid faces seem alight with schemes when you’re near. - thinking they could be something they never will be.” as much as he believed in the concept of astrology and vedic timing, he also believed some simply were. and some were not.

he straightened, letting his eyes flicker over her once more, lingering on the curve of her hips before returning to her face. for all the ways in which her alluring presence constantly called to him, he found himself unwilling to cross the line drawn in the sand: a line that was not a line at all. “and what do the stars say of fire, zahra?” his voice held a teasing edge, constantly trying to seem as though he were attempting to catch her out on some element of her readings, though there was an undeniable intensity beneath it. because something began to shift together in his mind.

great men thrived on ambition. they were driven to seek more, to strive for improvement, always yearning to shape the course of events rather than merely be carried by it. to feel as though they turned the wheel, rather than being turned by it—this was their purpose. this was his purpose.

the quiet of the corridor wrapped around them, the flicker of torchlight casting the two women in a dance of light and shadow. zahra’s steps were measured, slower than her usual lively gait, but her grip on ophelia’s arm was steady. her lips quirked upward as her friend recounted the story of the parrot, though her gaze lingered briefly on the cold stone wall.

“a parrot with an oldtown accent?” zahra’s voice, low and lilting, carried a trace of amusement. “now that’s a sight i wish i’d seen. perhaps it could take my place in court—i’m sure it would charm the nobles more effectively than I ever could.”

her laugh was soft, but her usual spark flickered beneath it, subdued. she let the other's words wash over her like a gentle tide, grounding her in the present moment. when ophelia squeezed her arm, zahra tilted her head, glancing at her with a warmth that only deepened as her friend’s stories continued.

“you have a talent, you know,” zahra said, her voice smoothing into something more contemplative as they walked. “for finding the extraordinary in the ordinary. it’s a rare gift.” her fingers brushed lightly against the cool wall, as if the action steadied her.

she exhaled, her smile softening. “tonight feels… heavier than most. but your stories—they remind me that not everything has to carry weight. sometimes it’s enough to simply walk, to laugh, to hear of clever birds and bold parrots.”

her lips curved into a conspiratorial grin as she leaned closer, her tone lighter now. “but i’ll hold you to that promise of a treat. once we’ve had our fill of this peace, we’ll find something more lively. dancing, wine, music—i’m not ready to let the night end quietly just yet.”

she paused mid-step, her expression softening as she turned to ophelia, her dark eyes glittering with newfound enthusiasm. “why don’t we go feed the birds?” she suggested, her voice taking on its usual lively cadence. “it’s quiet, it’s simple, and i’d bet you’ve a knack for charming them with all your tales. perhaps we’ll even spot this infamous fig thief.”

.

ophelia’s expression softened as she saw zahra’s faint smile, though the shadows and tension in her words didn’t escape her notice. the flicker of unease in her friend’s motions—the way her fingers lingered on the cold stone—was a language ophelia understood well. still, she didn’t press further. instead, she offered one of her radiant smiles, like the warmth of the sun breaking through a cloudy sky.

“i don’t know about grand revelations, but staring at walls does sound dreadfully dull,” she teased lightly, looping her arm through zahra’s as they began to walk. her steps were unhurried, her voice brightening as she spoke. her eyes glanced down the darken hallway then back to her friend “you know normally i would say let’s find somewhere with a bit more life to it but perhaps the quiet will do us some good”

she glanced over at zahra, her lips quirking into a small, conspiratorial grin. “and if i must provide the entertainment to keep your thoughts at bay, then you’re in for a treat! let’s see… oh! did i tell you about the time i saw that merchant parrot who actually talked? truly, zahra, he had the most delightful accent. he sounded like he was straight out of oldtown, if you can believe it. he was trying to sell spices, of all things. i nearly bought some just to keep him talking, but i got so distracted i walked away without buying anything!”

her laughter was soft but genuine, echoing faintly in the empty corridor. “and, oh! the birds in the water gardens have been terribly entertaining lately. one of them stole a fig right out of a servant’s hands yesterday. i swear it was cleverer than half the people in the great hall tonight.”

ophelia squeezed zahra’s arm gently, her voice softening as she added, “see? far removed from all of this. and if you’re lucky, i’ve got a dozen more ridiculous tales to share before we reach wherever we’re going. unless....is there something you would like to share?" she said gently not wanting to push her friend. she would happily jump back into telling her stories but she didn't want zahra to think she wasn't willing to listen.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

zahra sand.

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

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

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

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

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

the hum of the hall’s conversation and music seemed to drift away as zahra sat gracefully across from ruqaiyah. the lady’s sharp words, deliberately loud enough to be overheard, hung in the air, but zahra met them with the calm patience she had honed over years of navigating moments like this. her fingers lightly smoothed the edge of her gown before folding neatly in her lap.

“my lady,” zahra said softly, her tone steady and warm, “the stars speak only of what is, not of what may not be. and in what they show, i see no uncertainty in your place beside prince ravi. your union has been spoken of as fact, a bond that seems as secure as the foundations of starfall itself.”

her gaze held the other's, kind and unwavering, as though she could will the other woman to feel the assurance she offered. “but the stars also reflect the weight of responsibility you carry. to stand at the side of a prince is no small thing, nor is it given lightly. what i see in you is strength—a strength both to endure and to lead. such qualities do not go unnoticed, not by the stars, and certainly not by the prince.”

she leaned forward slightly, her voice lowering just enough to add a layer of sincerity to her words. “if there are decisions before you, they are not matters of doubt, my lady, but of opportunity. i see paths that lead to triumph, not uncertainty.” she smiled, small and kind, letting her words linger.

her touch light, zahra traced ruqaiyah’s palm briefly, as if to underline her point. “the stars say nothing of rivals or questions of loyalty. they show only that you are destined to wield great influence, whether it be within the halls of starfall or beyond them.”

she allowed herself a softer tone as she finished. “uou are more than ready for this, my lady. and while the stars may guide, it is your own radiance that will truly illuminate the way forward. have faith in what you already know to be true, i apologize if i cast any misunderstandings.”

her smile lingered, gentle and composed, as if she hoped to ease the tension with her calm. “if there is anything more you seek, my lady, i am here to assist you,” zahra added, her voice imbued with quiet resolve.

★

ruqaiyah leaned back slightly, her glossy lips curving into a slow, calculated smile. the torches cast a golden light over her pale lavender gown, their glow playing across the delicate white gold embellishments that shimmered as though stars themselves adorned her. her hands remained extended, palm up, though her posture was anything but open.

“the stars are willing to speak, you say?” her voice lilted with amusement, soft and melodic, though laced with something sharp beneath. “how convenient for you, zahra. they always seem to have just enough to keep people intrigued, don’t they?” she tilted her head, dark hair cascading over one shoulder like a waterfall of silk. her amethyst eyes, so renowned in the courts of dorne, locked onto zahra’s with an intensity that made lesser women falter.

as zahra’s hands traced hers, ruqaiyah feigned a contemplative expression, though her thoughts were less charitable. strength to lead? to endure? how utterly unoriginal. does she think this is what i wish to hear? she resisted the urge to snatch her hands away, opting instead to let her fingers twitch, an unsubtle display of impatience.

“great responsibility,” she repeated slowly, her tone a perfect mimicry of zahra’s gentle cadence. the girl then let out a cruel giggle, a jewelled hand resting upon her jawline as she looked upon the woman who sat across from her. such beauty, it woud be enough to turn her green someday. ruqaiyah’s smile faltered for the briefest of moments as zahra’s words settled into the air between them. “a decision that weighs on me?” she echoed, her tone deceptively light, though her fingers tensed slightly in zahra’s grasp.

her amethyst eyes narrowed, studying the seer with the intensity of someone probing for a hidden insult. does she think to pry into my betrothal? does she dare to insinuate that the choice is not already made? she resisted the urge to strike the seer that sat across the table from her. the thought rankled her more than she let show. ruqaiyah was a master of poise, after all, and the court of sunspear was no place for a crack in one’s armor. but still, zahra’s words lingered, needling her like a thorn caught beneath her flawless skin.

"what do you have in that empty head of yours?" ruqaiyah asked, her voice purposefully getting louder, as though she sought to embarrass her by ensuring others would hear their conversation. a fake, poisoned smile was still plastered over her glossed lips. "do you suggest that prince ravi would seek to marry another but me?" they were both stupid; zahra and that foolish sister of hers, that did not know how to take a joke. that did not know how to let go of her shawl.

zahra’s gaze lingered on myriam as she spoke, her voice raw, her vulnerability laid bare in the flickering firelight. the weight of her words hung in the room like a heavy curtain, but zahra let the silence settle before speaking. she leaned forward slightly, her hands clasped loosely in her lap, the calm she projected at odds with the churn of emotions beneath the surface.

“you’ve been through more than anyone should, myri,” she said softly, her voice as gentle as a lullaby. “you’ve carried so much on your shoulders, and you’re still standing. that alone is a testament to your strength.” she reached out, her fingers brushing against myriam’s arm in a gesture that was steadying but unobtrusive. “but you don’t have to do it alone. no one expects you to have all the answers, not even the stars are always clear.”

her eyes shifted to the baby nestled in myriam’s arms. “inaaya is proof of something bigger than court politics or strategies. she and leila are reminders of why we endure all this—the alliances, the games, the endless calculations. it’s for the world we want them to live in. and you are shaping that world, even if it feels like chaos now.”

zahra paused, her gaze returning to myriam’s face. “as for the volantene woman,” she said, her tone measured, “she’s a risk, yes, but sometimes risks are necessary. you’re right—she could be a thread that leads to something greater. and if you want, i’ll help you untangle her. i’ll speak with her, test her motives, and see what she might offer. together, we can make sure she doesn’t become a threat.” her heart pattered rapidly in her chest, but she would place herself in such a position for myriam's sake.

the fire crackled softly behind them, its warmth filling the space between zahra’s words. “but for now, myri,” Zahra continued, her voice dropping to a near whisper, “take a moment. just breathe. the weight will still be here tomorrow, but tonight, inaaya needs her mother to hold her, and you need to let yourself rest. let me carry some of this with you. you don’t have to trust everyone—but you can trust me.”

her smile was small, but it held a quiet determination.

❂

myriam tightened her hold on inaaya, her fingers brushing over the baby’s soft hair as zahra’s words sank in. the fire crackled in the hearth, casting wavering shadows over the room, and for a moment, myriam let herself get lost in their dance. she didn’t respond immediately, her thoughts pulling her in a dozen different directions. "of my making," she echoed finally, her voice quiet, almost brittle. “i’ve heard those words before. from baashir, from courtiers, even from myself when i’ve tried to convince myself i belong here.” she shook her head, a bitter laugh slipping out.

“but what kind of world am i shaping when i don’t even know where my fucking footing is?”

her gaze dropped to inaaya, the baby’s soft breathing a steady rhythm in her arms. “i sit in that hall, i listen to them speak of dorne like i understand every nuance, every geographic position, all talk defence, every alliance that spans back generations. but i don’t. and they know it.” her thoughts churned, dragging her back to the endless days spent listening to debates that seemed both urgent and incomprehensible. and how she tried to keep up, but she simply could not.

“i rely too much on others—on baashir, on the courtiers, even on you. it is shameful, for a leader. we spoke of mors being weak, and now what?" she rested her hand upon her forehead, momentarily resting upon it; but in reality she briefly leaned her head downward to avoid continued eye contact with zahra, knowing it would somehow bring her to floods of tears. the exhaustion, the bleeding from between her thighs, and the sense of feeling utterly alone. "i'd give it all to ravi, if that was enough...but i trust none with my daughter. i trust none." she repeated, her voice becoming all but strained as she shifted in her bed.

all because she had a single conversation with the dragon king, that ended in madness. it were all but spit in her face. the firelight caught the edge of a tear as it welled in her eye, but she blinked it away, forcing herself to steady. “i don’t know how to be what they expect of me."

she looked up at zahra, her expression raw and unguarded in a way she rarely let herself show. there was not a single crumb of confidence or sultriness, but rather for a split moment, it appeared as though a girl freshly turned eight and ten held a baby to her chest. “and now there’s this volantene woman. dangerous, you said. poison wrapped in silk. it sounds like the kind of game i should be able to play, doesn’t it?” she let out a dry laugh, shaking her head. “i've got a feeling about her. i don't know what, but....i think she's a start. even if that start goes no place, i'll obtain connections and names from her. doran uller can do it.” her mind began to move quickly.

the warm hum of conversation and music around them felt distant as zahra faced ruqaiyah, her words cutting but absorbed with quiet resilience. the dancer's fingers lightly smoothed the edge of her gown, grounding herself as she stood before the high lady. she had long learned that responding to remarks like these, no matter how sharp, was a path fraught with trouble. her smile was small but steady, a shield against the sting of the words.

“of course, my lady,” shesaid gently, her voice calm and even. she let her gaze drift briefly to the glow of torches illuminating the grand hall before returning to the other. “the stars are always willing to speak, even when we may not wish to hear them.” ter tone held no malice, only quiet patience.

she stepped closer, now, lowering herself gracefully onto the cushioned bench opposite the lady of starfall. taking the other's outstretched hands, zahra felt a familiar mix of uncertainty and resolve. though the night’s tension tugged at her, she forced herself to focus on the task at hand. reading palms had always been a comfort—structured, almost meditative. a way to find meaning, even when her own questions remained unanswered.

“the reach has been kind to you,” she murmured, her touch light as her thumbs traced the lines of ru's palms. “there’s strength here—strength to lead, but also to endure. i see someone who carries great responsibility, and with it, great expectation.”

a faint crease appeared on zahra’s brow as her focus deepened. “but there’s something else… a decision that weighs on you, perhaps. something you must choose, though the choice isn’t clear yet.”

looking up, zahra searched ruqaiyah’s face, her expression kind despite the edge in the woman’s earlier words. “does this sound familiar, my lady?” she asked softly. a flicker of unease brushed the edges of her thoughts, though she pushed it away. Whatever weighed on the other wasn’t for the dancer of salt shore to know—unless ru chose to share.

★

truthfully, the grace of the evening found herself entirely zealous each time she looked upon the facial features of the court seer: there was something youthful and glowy about her features, as though she had remained untouched by the hardships of life and it showed on her face. it were only natural she would know nothing of the hardships of life, considering she had no real responsibility; what could she know of the weight of duty? of how it truly caused the world to go around, rather than the planets or whatever else she found herself calling upon?

"do i truly need to remind you?" any who knew ruqaiyah closely would know she was entirely a skeptic; she did not believe in astrology of any form, including birth charts - there was no motivation for this conversation apart from keeping herself entertained. "you serve us, zahra sand." ruqaiyah spoke, her voice light and antagonising; almost as though she were singing along to the sound of the musical instruments. her attire was pretty, a certain golden glow to her; it made her hate her even more.

"most would take this position seriously, considering it brought you out of whatever squalor you called home." the same way a cat played with a mouse before devouring it; there was no hint of guilt or remorse in her eyes as she looked toward zahra sand, she thought not of the rock nor the sound of an innocent girl's head smashing against it in the heat of the dunes beyond the borders of the tor. she had always been dismissive and mean toward zahra, and to change it would only come across as suspicious - besides, that happened years ago.

"no. i want to see what you can do." ruqaiyah sat down, extending her hands out to the woman.

the dim corridor was lit unevenly by flickering torches, casting long shadows that seemed to stretch and shift with every movement. the faint murmur of voices from the great hall echoed distantly, a reminder of the oppressive atmosphere they had both fled. zahra leaned back against the cold stone wall, arms loosely folded, her face an unreadable mask until ophelia came closer.

she tilted her head, offering a faint smile. “you have impeccable timing, as always. i was just debating whether staring at these walls long enough might inspire some grand revelation.”

her gaze flicked back toward the hall, her lips pressing into a thin line as ophelia described the stifling tension inside. zahra nodded faintly, her expression softening as she met ophelia’s eyes. “you’re not wrong. it’s like every word spoken in there has to be coated in honey or daggers, and i’ve had enough of both for one night.” her fingers traced the edge of the cool stone beside her, an absent motion that betrayed her lingering unease.

when ophelia’s tone shifted to concern, zahra hesitated, the flicker of a frown crossing her face before she shook her head lightly. “i’m fine,” she replied, her voice low but steady. “just... the weight of it all, i suppose. the lockdown, the waiting. it gets to everyone eventually.” she straightened, brushing invisible creases from her skirts. “but enough about me.”

she gestured toward the darker end of the corridor, where the torches cast fewer shadows. “a walk sounds good. somewhere quieter.” she stepped closer, her hand briefly brushing ophelia’s arm. “lead the way, and maybe tell me what you've been up to, lately, anything far removed from all of this.” zahra’s smile returned, faint but genuine. “i'd much rather hear your stories than get lost in my own thoughts right now.”

.

the great hall had felt suffocating. every glance, every carefully measured word, every shift in posture weighed heavy with unspoken tension. it was the kind of atmosphere that made ophelia’s skin itch and her heart yearn for air untainted by suspicion and formality. she had done her best to linger quietly—quietly for her, anyway—nodding when needed, offering a fleeting smile here and there. but even she could only endure so much of the heavy air before she needed an escape.

slipping out unnoticed wasn’t exactly her forte, but she managed, darting down a side corridor with a brief glance over her shoulder. the cool air in the hallway was a relief, and she let out a quiet sigh, smoothing her skirts and brushing back a strand of hair that had slipped loose. perhaps she could walk off this restlessness, at least for a moment.

it was then she spotted zahra further down the dim corridor, her silhouette lit by the soft flicker of torchlight. “zahra!” ophelia called softly, quickening her steps to catch up. her skirts swishing lightly against the stone floor. the flickering torchlight played across her features, softening her usual effervescence but not dimming it entirely. her hands fluttered for a moment, as if she wanted to reach out but wasn’t sure if zahra would welcome the gesture. instead, she clasped them in front of her. her expression brightened as she approached, though it was gentler than her usual exuberance, subdued by the lingering tension from the hall.

“oh, it’s dreadful,” ophelia admitted, lowering her voice as if afraid the shadows themselves might overhear. “everyone’s either scowling or whispering like their secrets might sprout wings and fly away if they’re not careful. i couldn’t take it anymore. i felt like i’d burst if i stayed another moment.”

she tilted her head, studying zahra more closely now, her healer’s instincts stirring. “you look troubled too. is everything alright?” her smile softened, a mix of care and curiosity. “you don’t have to tell me if it’s too much, of course, but i can’t help but notice you seem…” burdened was the word but she wasnt sure if it was best to say that. “well…something. if there’s anything i can do—or even just a listening ear—you know i’m always here.”

there was a pause, the faint sound of distant footsteps echoing behind them,opelia only gave it a glance before remaining focused on zahra. “i thought i might go for a walk to clear my head. perhaps you’d like to join me? i promise i can keep the conversation brief if you need a break—or, well, as breif as i’m capable of.” maybe somewhere a little more private would be best for them.

Aditi Rao Hydari in Heeramandi (Netflix, 2024)

zahra took a deep breath, steadying herself as she met myriam’s eyes. the weight of the conversation, of the very woman they discussed, pressed on her chest like a stone. she was careful, always careful, but there was no denying the tension in the air now, thick with the lingering presence of a past neither of them had ever fully embraced. the volantene woman was a thread she hoped would remain unraveled, but it had been tugged, and now they were caught in the weave.

“myri,” zahra said, her voice soft, almost soothing, as she took a scooted closer, the firelight casting shadows that flickered across her calm face. her posture was relaxed, but inside, her thoughts spun in anxious circles. she had to guide this conversation carefully, avoid the tightrope of truth that stretched between them. "i understand your hesitation. that woman, yes… she can be dangerous. but sometimes, danger is something we must face to get what we need. if that’s what this is, if it’s poison we need to counter poison, then perhaps she’s the only one who can help us.”

the dancer placed a hand gently on the other's shoulder, grounding her friend as much as she tried to ground herself. she could feel the weight of the moment—the future of the child in myriam’s arms, the fragility of peace, the unspoken history between them and the woman they knew only as a shadow in the distance.

“i know her, yes,” zahra continued, her voice steady and smooth as if she were telling a simple fact. “heard whispers, firstly, but I’ve only met her once. just once, and it was brief.” she let the words settle, watching myriam’s eyes closely. "she has a way about her, myri. she’ll never be an ally in the way you want her to be, but she might help us, perhaps our cause will resonate with her." her gaze softened, but there was something unreadable in her eyes. "there may be a price to it, but we can handle that. i'll get in touch with her, i promise." she swallowed.

gently, zahra placed a hand on myriam's arm, her voice soft but steady. "enough about her for now," she said, trying to shift the conversation, to ease the tension that had tightened the room.

her gaze dropped to the baby cradled in myriam’s arms, so small and delicate, her little face peaceful as she slept. the sight of inaaya was a balm, a reminder of everything that mattered. “look at her,” ahra said with a soft smile, her eyes warm as she looked at the newborn. “she’s a reminder that there’s still hope. you’ve just brought her into the world. you’ve done something no one can take away from you. she’s going to grow up in a world of your making. and you’re already shaping that world with everything you’ve done and will do." she offered a reassuring smile. "and i will always be here to help you."

❂

myriam’s fingers curled tighter around the bundle in her arms, her daughter’s warmth grounding her amidst zahra’s words. her eyes flicked to the fire and back to zahra, narrowing slightly at the mention of cost. everything had a cost—she knew that well enough—but there was a part of her, stubborn and unyielding, that hated to hear it out loud. clarity? peace? how much would those cost, too?

“peace,” she repeated, her voice quiet but crackling with a tension she couldn’t quite mask. “they always say it’s for the children, don’t they? for leila. for inaaya.” her gaze dropped to the baby’s tiny face, soft and unburdened. “but when has peace ever come easy in dorne? when has it ever come without someone taking more than they’re owed?” and for a moment, she found herself thinking about the reality of her life. the scandal which swirled around her name, the backlash; how she had chosen to be with someone for an attempt at happiness.

and in the end, she had birthed their child in his home alone; with only zahra by her side. had that been for dorne too? how that could have ended up being the end of her story truly made her sit and disassociate - would her possible death, a cold corpse on bloodstained bedsheets, have been the ending she deserved? an anticlimactic, quiet death.

she shifted inaaya in her arms, her free hand brushing against the baby’s hair, dark like baashir’s. like her own. a storm of thoughts swirled in her mind, zahra’s measured tone clashing with her own fiery impulses. trust, power, cost—she hated the way those words hung in the air, heavy and inevitable.

“i don’t want her,” she said suddenly, her voice sharper now. “that volantene woman, whoever she is, she sounds like poison wrapped in silk. but maybe that’s what we need. poison to counter poison.” she let out a harsh breath, her frustration spilling out like water over stone. her chest tightened at the thought of leila, her firstborn, who carried the weight of a legacy myriam had only started to understand. and now inaaya, so small and fragile, already bound to a world of politics and war she couldn’t escape.

"do you know her?" myriam asked, her question direct as she looked upon her close friend. her closest friend, by the navigation of life. "for some reason i thought you did." somewhere in her mind she could have sworn she saw the two talking, though she could be wrong. she was probably wrong.

the dance swirled around them, the music wrapping around their bodies like an old, familiar friend. zahra’s steps were light, her movements fluid, yet her mind was occupied with the challenge before her: guess his house. she kept her eyes on Gael, studying his posture, the way he carried himself with a mix of grace and precision. there was something about him that felt distinctly noble, yet oddly out of place among the rigid expectations of his house. “your words are gracious, my lord,” zahra replied with a playful smile, her fingers tightening ever so slightly on his hand. “but I suspect you’re not quite as humble as you would like me to believe.”

“well, you’re from the reach, that much is obvious,” she said with a teasing smile, watching him carefully as they glided across the floor. “your posture, your elegance—there’s only one house that exudes that level of… polite grandeur.” her fingers tightened around his as they moved together, her eyes narrowing slightly as she formed her theory. “you must be from house tyrell. a cousin, perhaps? you certainly aren't the king unless you've mastered the art of disguise." truthfully, zahra was well-traveled, but house names were not her forte, if they were not dornish.

“yes, of course. house tyrell. you have that whole ‘roses and knights’ air about you, don’t you?” she leaned in just slightly, her voice low with amusement. “the modest humility of a tyrell lord, always so humble, yet always the center of attention.” she teased. the quiet reverence in his tone when he spoke of dorne didn’t escape her, nor did the subtle wistfulness in his expression. her eyes, dark and lively, twinkled with amusement as she met his gaze. "is it so obvious?" she asked with a playful tilt of her head. “yes, i am dornish,” she replied with a soft laugh, her voice laced with pride.

There was confidence in him, though he was mindful not to come off as arrogant. That was a trait that had been associated with his house thanks to his father and brother, and the youngest Hightower did not wish to keep that vile inheritance alive in himself. “I cannot —and will not claim your talents as my own, my lady,” he stated simply. With or without a partner to dance with, he'd already witnessed the majesty of her talent in gracefully moving along with the music. It almost seemed like the music followed her rhythm and not the other way around.

On the dancefloor, Gael began leading the Dornish woman in the familiar courtly dance. She was quick to match to the music like one effortlessly matched the inner beat of the heart. “I am. What gave it away?” Was it truly chivalry that made her guess his origin correctly, he wondered. The Master of the Arts posed his question as the dance brought them close together again, one palm landing on the small of her back while his other one clasped her hand. “Will you try to guess my house as well, my lady?” he asked with a hint of a smile before he guided her to spin as the music queued him, gently guiding her to land back in his arms.

“You're Dornish, correct?” he asked then. There was a cultural identity that was so distinct about the people of Dorne and he saw elements of that in her attire, the bangles around her wrist. Based on political conflicts, As a Reachman he wasn't supposed to have much reverence for Dornish folk, but he did. Visiting Sunspear some time ago, he'd been marveled by the culture, the art, the vibrancy of it all. He'd even loved a Dornish lady once. The artist madly in love with beauty sometimes triumphed over the lord in him, as it were. The artist in him was far more present now than the dutiful lord who had a wife who'd expect to see him return to their quarters later.

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?"

the fire crackled softly, its glow mingling with the cold light spilling through the window. zahra stood by the glass, her silhouette framed against the night sky. her eyes were fixed on the comet, its long, pale tail cutting through the darkness like a wound in the heavens. it should have been a sign of hope, a beacon. but to zahra, as much as she resisted the thought for one that was a good omen, it also felt like a warning, its silent passage stirring unease in her chest. it made her wonder is signs like these brought upon different answers: for myriam she prayed it was a sign of the change she desired to create, but for zahra, she wondered if it was a sign of change that she feared from a secret yet unknown.

“volantis is complicated,” zahra began, her voice steady but measured. she unfolded her arms and stepped closer, her movements deliberate. “you’re right to be cautious. the last thing we want is to sow chaos where we mean to bring change.” she knelt by myriam’s side, her eyes finally meeting her friend’s. “but speaking to the right people could guide us. carefully. thoughtfully.”

when Myriam mentioned the volantese woman, zahra’s pulse quickened. our mother. the words echoed in her mind, heavy and intrusive. she tried not to think of that meeting, had pushed it down where secrets could breathe but not speak. her mother’s face flashed in her memory—sharp, calculating, but with a tenderness that lingered in her smile. zahra masked her hesitation with a slow, thoughtful nod. “that woman…” she began, her voice even but her thoughts racing.

zahra shifted, buying herself a moment. “yes, i remember her too. she seemed… well-connected. maybe she could help.” The words felt like stepping onto thin ice. “but we’d have to tread carefully. people in her position often have their own agendas.” and hers? even I’m not sure.

she placed a hand on myriam’s arm, grounding herself in the present. “i can try to reach out, see if she’s willing to meet. but…” zahra’s gaze flickered toward the fire, the weight of unspoken truths pressing against her ribs. “we need to be ready for whatever her intentions might be. allies can come from the unlikeliest places, but trust…” her voice softened, almost breaking. “that’s harder to earn.”

❂

myriam listened to zahra, her friend's words cutting through the haze of her doubts. the shadows of the room seemed to deepen, creating an intimate cocoon around them. she gazed down at inaaya, the baby’s tiny fingers still curled around her own. a small sigh escaped her lips. “speaking to the merchants sounds like a smart move,” she began, her voice tired but thoughtful. “but what if by doing that, i’m stirring up internal issue in volantis? it’s not even our realm. i don’t want to ignite more conflict or cause harm in a place we don’t control."

she gently rocked inaaya, the baby’s warmth providing a small measure of comfort. “it’s just... i want to believe there’s a way to make a difference without compromising who we are. it’s hard to see how when everything is so tangled.” her eyes met zahra’s, searching for reassurance. “the comet... i want to trust it means something good, but it feels like just another issue, zahra.”

drawing a deep breath, myriam tried to push away the lingering doubts. “do you have any connections in volantis?” she asked, her tone suddenly curious. “i remember seeing you speak to that lady once. can we start there? maybe she can point us toward the right people.” the thought of reaching out to someone specific gave her a sliver of hope, even if it was a tentative one.

the flickering firelight danced across the room, casting fleeting shadows on the walls. myriam held her baby close, drawing strength from the tiny life in her arms. “i don’t want to betray our legacy or our values. but we need to find allies who believe as we do, who see slavery for what it is.” she paused, feeling the weight of her words. she looked at zahra, gratitude and determination mingling in her gaze. “thank you for being here, for helping me see things a bit clearer. even if the path isn’t obvious yet.” the room’s quiet settled around them, the bond between friends a small but steady beacon in the uncertain night.

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

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

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

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

zahra sat across from myriam, the shadows of the room weaving around them, but she could feel the weight of her friend’s words pressing on her. she could hear the conflict in myriam’s voice, see it in the tight set of her shoulders as she cradled inaaya close, the baby’s tiny hand still curled around her finger. zahra understood the weight of that burden—had carried something similar herself. but there was something else now, something she could not ignore. she had known myriam for years, and this was different. this wasn’t just about power or strategy; this was about the core of who they were.

the seer's gaze lingered on myriam, her mind working swiftly. “perhaps if you want to find those in volantis who oppose slavery,” she said thoughtfully, “start with the trade guilds. the merchants, the people who don’t rely on slaves for their wealth—many of them resent the practice, seeing it as outdated and inefficient. if you can find a way to speak with those who hold influence in those circles, you might uncover allies who share our values."

zahra leaned back in her chair, folding her hands in her lap. the moonlight on the walls seemed to deepen the shadows, lending an air of intimacy to the quiet room. her eyes glanced briefly toward the window where the comet’s faint light bathed the night, a reminder of the uncertainty they all faced.

she glanced at myriam, her heart aching for her friend’s inner turmoil. “you are not betraying your legacy by seeking peace, not if that peace protects your people. you’ll find a way to balance it, like you always have. I believe that.”

zahra stood and moved to the window, her silhouette framed against the starry night, her eyes flicking up to the comet that myriam had spoken of. "the comet," she murmured, "it’s an omen, yes. but not a bad one. don’t mistake the sign of change for one of destruction. trust that it means something new is coming—something that may not be clear yet, but it’s coming. it doesn’t mock you, myri jaan. it’s just… a sign that things are never as they seem."

turning back, she met her friend’s gaze once more, her expression resolute, yet gentle. “you are not alone in this struggle. and sometimes, it’s okay not to trust your heart fully… as long as you trust those around you, those of us who see your heart from the outside looking in."

❂

myriam listened to zahra's words, a mix of comfort and frustration gnawing at her. the room was dimly lit, moonlight spilling through the open window and casting soft shadows. the air was cool, carrying the faint scent of night-blooming flowers from the gardens outside.

"i know you're right," she said, her voice steady despite her inner turmoil. "it's just… it's hard to see the bigger picture when everything feels like it's crashing down around me. we are currently at war...i've brought us to war." she looked down at inaaya, the baby's tiny hand grasping her finger.

"i don't want my daughters to grow up thinking that we have to compromise our morals to survive. we were supposed to be better than slaver states. how are we? is there no other way?"

the room felt smaller with each passing second, the weight of responsibility pressing down on her. myriam glanced at zahra, hoping for reassurance in her friend’s eyes. "do all volantenes agree with the practice of slavery? is there really no one there who sees it for the horror it is?" the alliance with volantis gnawed at her conscience, the thought of aligning with a state that endorsed slavery a bitter pill to swallow. "how can we support them when they stand for everything we’re supposed to stand against?"

her gaze drifted to the intricate tapestries on the walls, each thread telling a story of dorne’s rich history. she felt a pang of guilt, wondering if she was betraying that legacy by allying with volantis. "i just need to find a way that doesn't force us to betray who we are." she said softly, her voice barely above a whisper.

the room’s quiet was punctuated only by the crackling of the fireplace, the warmth a stark contrast to the cold uncertainty that gripped her heart. looking out the window at the comet, myriam silently vowed to keep searching for that elusive path, hoping that one day she would find it. she kissed inaaya’s forehead, drawing strength from the tiny life in her arms, determined to be the leader her daughters needed her to be.

her eyes wandered to the comet outside, its purple glow still visible in the night sky. it seemed to mock her uncertainty, a cosmic reminder of the changes she couldn't control. "i'm trying to believe in your comet, to trust that it means something good. but right now, it just feels like another bad sign. what is it you call it? an omen? you say people trust my heart...but i don't even trust it."

zahra leaned back against the stone wall, her long, dark braid spilling over her shoulder as she watched myriam cradle inaaya, her heart soaring at the sight, a mother who would split herself in two for the love of their child. the moonlight spilled softly through the open window, casting faint shadows across the room, but zahra's eyes were drawn to the purple comet hanging in the sky, a reminder that fate was never quite as distant as one might hope.

she exhaled slowly, her gaze steady as myriam voiced her worries. zahra had always been attuned to the undercurrents of the people—whether they were in the courtyards of the palaces or in the markets, their whispers always carried truths untold. the comet, the stirrings of marriage proposals, the alliance with volantis—it was all too much. too fast. too heavy.

"you are not drowning, myri," zahra said softly, her voice soothing despite the weight of the truth in it. "but you are being pulled under by the current. that’s the weight of leadership. it will try to drown you, to break you, but you will always rise again. you’ve done it before." a gentle hand went to touch the other's arm, a gesture to know that zahra would be there to see her through it, too.

she watched myriam as she rocked inaaya gently, her eyes filled with that familiar sorrow—the kind that came with decisions not of her making. “as for the comet… it brings change, yes, but we are not strangers to change. It is the nature of things.”

at the mention of Volantis and slavery, zahra’s face tightened for a moment. “the people," she repeatedly softly, her voice steady, “they speak of necessity. they do not like volantis or lys—no one truly does. but many see these alliances as the price for survival. they want peace, they want prosperity, and they believe the cost is small compared to what we might lose without them.”

eyes drifted out of the window again. "perhaps the comet is a sign, myri, a sign that change must be had. it is scary, but they will follow you." she looked to her friend now, her sister, "many trust you and your heart, and that is your power."

who: @dancingshores when and where: flashback to the hours after inaaya's birth, in starfall.

myriam sat up in bed, cradling inaaya in her arms. the purple comet had left an eerie glow in the night sky, and she couldn’t shake the feeling of unease it brought. “can you believe it? a comet...like giving birth wasn’t dramatic enough,” she muttered, glancing at her friend. it wasn’t just the comet or giving birth without baashir; it was everything.

the responsibility of being regent, the constant whispering about her remarriage, and the thought of volantis and their practices weighed heavily on her mind. seeing them leave did not bring her relief; for they would continue engaging with them.

“...i feel like i’m drowning in all this,” she admitted for the first time, her eyes fixed on inaaya’s peaceful face as she smoothened over the tuff of jet black hair. “i’m supposed to lead dorne, but..." she trailed off, not knowing how to finish her sentence. finish her words. also because she still felt a sharp, aching pain pain and felt herself bleeding, as she knew she would continue to do. she did not even feel as though she could enjoy the moment of having a new baby. not with all the stress.

“how the fuck can we ally with a place that supports slavery? it makes my skin crawl. how are we any different to them?” she looked back at zahra, searching for some sort of reassurance; uncharacteristically teary. by them, she meant new valyria.

she could feel the weight of her responsibilities pressing down even more. she knew she had to be strong, not just for herself, but for her daughters and for dorne. but for now, in the quiet of the night, she allowed herself a moment of doubt, hoping that tomorrow would bring some clarity. "they're too powerful an ally to lose but i just...i feel fake continuing to entertain it. the lyseni too."

"what are the people saying of it? be honest with me."

Aditi Rao Hydari in Heeramandi (Netflix, 2024)

TRUTH SERUM

feel free to ask anything, in character or anonymously, and my character will be forced to answer truthfully.

Send a question to:

zahra | katherine | ayca | laena | mari | saella | rhys | matilda | ravi

brows rose at the air of confidence that seemed to emit from his very being. zahra did not mind a partner who didn't know the specific steps, only that they had enough rhythm to follow the lead she eventually would take to, but this lord was different and that alone intrigued her. bangles upon her wrist rang softly as her hand gently gripped his own, allowing him to guide her to the dance floor.

"if you are as good a lead as i suspect, then i do believe my success will be owed to you." she replied, a smile finding itself upon her lips as the music began. while zahra felt somewhat out of place amongst the nobles on the dance floor, she also felt entirely in her element. even if those looked at her in curiosity, or perhaps some, in hatred, there was a strange feeling of yearning for eyes upon her, anyways. years of perfecting her craft had certainly created such a desire within her.

the music began and so did the steps, hers delayed by half a second at first as she observed those around her as well as the lord in front of her, before she fell in step with the rhythm. while they initially began across from each other, the dance soon brought them together again, a hand finding itself upon his shoulder, and the other clasped within his own. "i suspect you are a reachman. i hear you are most chivalrous." she also believed that he were not of the west as she did not believe a westerman would dance so publicly with her, those of the so called new valyria despised her, and the vale seemed far to prudish for his type. "though do correct me if i am wrong."

The lady stood out brightly amongst the sea of silken dresses, wearing an attire that clearly indicated her origin. He didn't think he'd intentionally singled her out in the crowd of dancers because she was Dornish, he'd only focused on her because of the vibrant energy she radiated, her graceful motions, and yes, because of how beautiful she looked. Perhaps something unconscious in his mind would remain inevitably drawn to what never was meant to intersect with him and his house.

Gael couldn't deny there was a certain allure to wearing masks, to the questions and the mysteries. And at least for now, the shedding of duty and concerns that existed for the unmasked version of him. He was no actor or performer, but as a playwright, he certainly understood the power of adopting a character. Tonight he was willing to play with those blurring lines and forget the wife who appeared to despise him so.

“I may not be as accomplished a dancer as you are, my lady,” the lord said, easily giving away that he had been observing her move before, “but I do know these dances very well”. It was part of court life in this region and the Reach, and for once, he was grateful he'd been pushed to learn the steps by the tutors employed by his mother and father. And so Gael Hightower held out his hand, a smile and a subtle tilt of his head inviting her to take it. “Worry not, you will outshine us all,” he murmured as she held his hand, and the Master of the Arts led the Dornish beauty to the dancefloor.