Ruqaiyahdayne - I Can't Help That I Need It All.

★

it had only taken a moment for the lady of starfall to find herself regretting the half compliment she had been kind enough to throw in the direction of devani toland, the same way one would throw scraps from their dinner table for their dogs remaining at their feet. the gaze she felt upon her was one that simmered with a sense of heat; a look she had forgotten in feeling, but not in appearance - the slight twinkle of dark orbs, and words that said nothing but everything all at once.

the west side of the east. even her answers were complicated, vague, and ambiguous. and it frustrated her so. still, more like; and that only made her more irritated with herself. her amethyst gaze flickered over the garments once again, in a gaze that was tainted with both judgement, and curiosity. as though there would some clue, some piece of her map that remained upon her. "not quite up to date though."

she used a hand to wave toward the other women on the table, who no doubt were going in and out of listening to their conversation. it was also a move to gain attention, considering her bangles clinked. she wanted eyes fixed upon them for the next conversation. "everyone knows we all wear dornish fabrics now."

and yet, it had always been her very complication that had always drawn the starlight of starfall to the all encompassing what-if that was the ghost of ghost hill. her ability to question everything, and do things because she wanted to; rather than being because of expectations, of tradition and of culture. her being a walking question mark, in contrast to the finality of a period that was ruqaiyah; the haunting of what ifs.

ruqaiyah dayne in her essence was vain, and enjoyed the feeling of eyes upon her; whether it be for the clothes she was wearing, or for other things. her looks, her manner, her lineage that was the matter of myth. many likened themselves to stars across the length and breadth of westeros; and yet, she was the brightest of stars in the sky.

and then came an amused smile, mirrored with a feminine laugh; a scoff. a brush off. "oh, people change devina." a wrong name, in front of multiple eyes. ruqaiyah's gaze seemed lit with something. was it attention? was it finding herself twirling into a trip? was it enjoyment in her mean spirit? "people who claim otherwise are those trying to find some connection with people that have long since forgotten them."

and then their gaze locked.

"so, what gossip have you heard about people who do not change? i heard it got quite messy in sunspear."

looking upon ruqaiyah's face once more stirred something strange in the pit of devani's stomach, feelings long buried, even if thoughts of her had refused to stay shackled in the graveyard of devani's memory. she had forgotten what it was to stand close to her, to stand in awe under the glow of starlight and feel blessed that it chose to shine on her.

the way ruqaiyah spoke to her now was not shining or glowing, and yet, the craving within devani to feel that once more worked its way up her spine regardless. time and distance had not been enough to rid her of her addiction to the lady of starfall. it did not matter that ruqaiyah chose to greet her under the guise of an acquaintance, a stranger, even. she was speaking to her with something that resembled civility, and that was enough for now.

"the years have been kind." to both of them, in physicality if nothing else. she knew little of what exactly ruqaiyah had been doing in the years that parted them, and did not want to talk about the stains they had left on her own soul.

"hmm," devani looked down at her attire. of course, her ru would notice the fabric was not westerosi in origin, but she couldn't for the life of her remember where it had came from. "myr, maybe? could have been pentos. definitely the west side of the east." it was an non-committal answer. the kind devani was very, very good at.

she raised her cup to her lips and drank, but still, she did not look away. she had been so nervous, so frightened to face ruqaiyah again, and now, she wanted nothing more than to look at her, to take in what she had denied herself for far too long.

do you find sunspear much different?

i do now my best friend's brains have decorated it's halls.

it was the response devani wished to give, and it was on the tip of her tongue, but she bit it back. what good would it do her to crusade for vengeance for dante uller in a court that had already condemned him? what could she gain, except to be consigned to the afterlife alongside him?

instead, devani shrugged. "not so," even if ruqaiyah would not look at her for longer than a second, devani would not avert her gaze. it was almost a silent dare at this point, a will for the woman to meet her eyes and look. "some things do not change." plenty had, but dorne was still dorne. in many ways, her return had been like stepping in back in time. "people, especially, are usually much the same, no matter how much they think time has effected them. don't you think?"

who: @raviofthesun when and where: two days following lady ruqaiyah dayne's arrival to sunspear from starfall, she crosses paths with the oldest surviving son of house martell - also being her betrothed from their early youth. context: these two have known one another for many years, considering there was some time where ravi lived at starfall to train with baashir during the time of him being a second son.

feigning exhaustion and borderline sickness from the journey across the breadth of dorne had worked in the favour of the lady of starfall; even if she had needed to put her ability to dramatise anything and everything into good use, as though the journey was not one that was done regularly both in the past and the present. the daynes had ventured to the great sept of sunspear alongside the other courtiers of those who swore to be unbowed, unbent and unbroken; a moment of respite from the close monitoring she had been dealing with by her mother and brother alike.

and so the moment the door had shut behind her quarters, an entitled amethyst gaze had immediately turned toward the guard that remained in her room…who now remained a watchful eye on this golden sandy beach in the shadow of the fortress of sunspear and the shadow city itself.

the wonders of giving instructions with no falter or stammer, with the sound logical reason of fresh air helping her fight off the impending sickness she felt at the back of her entirely clear throat. truthfully, her stay in sunspear had been tarnished by a certain ghost's reappearance across from her at a circle table - and this trip was an important one, for a multitude of reasons. the daynes would need to cement their position, in more ways than one. one of such ways would end in her and ravi of the sun circling the marital flames a total of seven times.

but things were different; and as much as she wished to simply be able to navigate herself into his sphere to find a way to close the distance that was some months of business and distance, sunspear and the dornish sun were his halls. and he somehow seemed more of a prince here than in any other place. a part of her grew irritated with the fact she could not smoke under the gaze of the starfall guard, though now she knew this place existed, she would no doubt find some way to slip here.

and when a distant figure appeared upon one of the sand dunes, she narrowed her amethyst gaze, using her hand to shield herself from the glare of the sun behind it to try and see who it was that was walking toward her. feet remained in the sparkling intense blue of the ocean, silver anklets submerged, and pastel pink silk swirling at her feet. the sun continued to blind her, and she began to step forward from the sea kissing at her feet, when the dots connected.

"skipping the sept too, your highness?" she asked, her voice trailing over the soft sound of the waves as she walked too. and whilst she could comfortably refer to ravi as her friend, he was her prince too; especially in such a setting, and so she dropped into a graceful curtsy, not deep enough for it to be strange, but enough to signify respect and a comfort in doing such things. they knew the way their worlds worked - and whilst she complained of many things, he was not one of them. "i have been meaning to ask you what time you were born."

"but you are surrounded each time i see you." she had not realised how much the political situation had changed until she had seen it. rav was not a second son anymore, and a small part of her began to wonder. wonder what she had not wondered before. would marrying another, that was not her, make more sense?

who: @raviofthesun when and where: the royal apartments of prince ravi martell context: following her little temper tantrum, ravi followed through with the promise of a dinner.

she arrived precisely ten minutes early - expecting everything to be set up and perfect, as no man in his right mind would leave anything of this nature so last minute. she did not knock. ruqaiyah had never once announced herself like a servant waiting to be received, and she would not start now, least of all at the threshold of the private martell apartments, where history had already decided she was to one day belong. and she very much agreed with that rhetoric.

and so, the guards glanced at her, but none dared question her entrance; what could they say, with the sun itself stitched into her lehenga and a gaze that did not ask for permission?

the corridors glowed amber beneath the sconces, but they paled against the pink heat of her attire, the silk whispering against her skin with every step, embroidered thread catching the candlelight in glimmers of gold. each anklet, each bracelet, each chain at her waist and glittering around her neck added to the crescendo of her presence—she moved, and the world jingled in acknowledgment. her heels clacked unapologetically, arrogant and sharp, the kind of sound meant to precede news.

ruqaiyah could see herself walking these halls everyday. telling the governess to tell the children to be quiet. making the servants display her outfits lined up.

she had worn pink—not rose, not blush, not any dusty rose, but pink—hot and commanding, like the inside of a pomegranate freshly torn. it clung to her waist, her sleeves sheer and beaded, the skirts full enough to swallow entire population of smallfolk girls whole. her lips were glassy, unapologetically reflective, and her long hair—every strand straightened to a blade—cascaded down her back like a curtain of ink.

she stood now in the outer solar, though no servants were in sight. fine. let him find her here, composed, statuesque. she smoothed a nonexistent wrinkle from her sleeve and let her gaze drift to the arches and pillars carved with sandstone vines. the martell taste for excess was more subdued than dornish fire might suggest—peach marble and muted earth tones. it made her seem even louder by comparison, a gem mistakenly placed in a bowl of stonefruit. "so this is it," she murmured aloud to herself, fingers trailing lightly along the edge of a table carved with sun motifs. "the belly of the beast."

she had imagined it before, of course. had imagined countless evenings where he would finally remember the promises laid out for them before they could even speak in full sentences. imagined him, not as he was—cool and absent and impossible—but as he might become, if only he would stop stalling. "tell the prince i am here." she did even bother to introduce herself - in what world would she need to? the most beautiful in dorne, on the continent; the sister of the sword of the morning, and the oldest lady of house dayne.

"for our private dinner." she did not want them stood inside.

@opheliafowler / @dancingshores

MEAN GIRLS (2004) dir. Mark Waters

who: @dancingshores when and where: lann's day celebrations within casterly rock, ruqaiyah dayne comes across a nobody who has been climbing the ranks of importance within the court of sunspear. how she hates it.

she had noticed it briefly first, orbs passing over the scene as she found herself engaging in conversation with the hand of king cedric of house tyrell, and then her gaze snapped back to it again.

a familiar figure and voice, all sweetness and honey with long thick dark hair behind a mask; and a head of blonde hair she did not recognise, dancing upon the floor. it was enough to cause her to look upon it, making no attempt to even be subtle; what a scene. this was hardly a surprise, was it? the woman had seemingly given up on her mission of being the most unreliable, detached string in the realm and had instead decided to climb the ranks of court - and climbing the cocks of reachmen.

the music came to a slow as the dance began to end, and she found herself winding her way toward the woman she suspected, and the man that would later be confirmed to be lord gael hightower. and when the dance ended, ruqaiyah had no issue with a slow, sarcastic clap for the duo; slipping right to the side of zahra sand, the dornish court seer.

"amazing." ruqaiyah spoke, her tone gushing in falsehood; and yet, she maintained the gaze of them both. would the reachman see her deceit? no doubt zahra sand would, instantly.

and then she switched to their native tongue, a smooth and seamlessly transition as she feigned a friendly move of putting her hand on zahra's forearm, as though to usher her away. "is the court seer too busy planning on spreading herself on the white man to do the ridiculous job given to you out of pity?" myriam allyrion's favourite pet, was what ruqaiyah called her. all the while, not once did she think of the sister she had left for dead on the borders of the tor. the blood that was never upon her hands.

"i want my palm read. save embarrassing us for later and do your job."

★

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

★

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.

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.

Katrina Kaif behind the scenes for Kalyan Jewellers

★

the seat in which baashir now sat upon their grand table had been years in the making; it was constantly referenced that someday he would be the next ruling lord of starfall, spoken about more than any other thing in their family. her marriage, and his lordship, and his marriage: only one of those things had happened, and yet there was often a picture that was painted. that life was as it should be, like there was not someone missing at the table: she had always struggled to see the portrait of her father upon the wall behind what was once his seat.

this change was hardly new, and yet, she thought of it each time baashir sat down in the chair. what was missing, what once was, and whether this was all it was supposed to be.

her amethyst gaze looked over to the sight of her mother trailing behind a message boy, something about a message from their cousin safeerah; she could still hear their mother's voice ringing from the halls as he uttered his next words. so he had not seen her, but he had smelt her. "smoke?" she allowed a puzzled expression to cross over her features that appeared as though they had been chiselled from marble, from glass, from the stars itself.

"do i?" she asked again, her hand resting upon the chair; and yet, she was inwardly cursing at herself.

of course he would smell it, because he knew the smell all too well. there was little use in becoming angry and defensive, because he would see that. instead, she feigned genuine confusion - not even denying smoking herself. she did not want him to think that was the first thing on her mind. "i do not smell it, but maybe it was the incense i had burning in my room, or the new fragrance could be using too much sandalwood. serves me right for trying out new ones."

she almost mirrored his actions, folded arms coming upon the table stop, white gold bangles shimmering beneath the crystal chandelier that hung above them. a silent challenge, that he could read too much into. she would pretend to be upset if she needed to, and get their mother involved. "you've arrived just before safeerah - she'll be so happy to see you too." they had not been able to see her since the funeral of their rashid.

"are you staying long?" how much will you be around to be on my head and monitoring me?

The Sword of the Morning was 1 and 10 when he first tried one of the smokes that were growing in their popularity as the countries separated and other regions increased their trade with the East or perhaps, he knew nothing about who smoked where and made broad assumptions. Baashir Dayne would never admit to the latter, so he supported the former. And while he didn’t smoke often, he still enjoyed smoking after a meal. Smoking after a particularly rough day or when he finished his games with Rashid. But Rashid was dead, and he was in constant need of reminding everyone he remembered. How could one forget? One couldn’t.

Baashir Dayne was familiar with the smell of smoke. The smell of the dried, brown leaves burning within its place. Could be anyone was his first thought. But when he entered his mother was there, as she always was, greeting him. There was excitement, arms thrown around his neck and brief whispers of how she missed him and wished he stayed home even longer. And this would be a lengthy stop but not one long enough for her, that he knew. But, soon, the son of the Starfall would return and all would be right. If he believed his mother.

“Bhaiṇa.” Bash greeted her, returning the hug, he then paused as he looked at her. The smell caught him first. Smoke. She smelled like smoke and if anyone noticed the subtle changes in his expression it was always Ru that noticed and tugged at mother’s skirts. She was too old to tug at skirts now. And clearly believed herself old enough to take up some smoking but then she mentioned food and him being fat. “No I’m not. I didn’t eat because I knew there would be …”

And before he could finish his mother was giving orders for trays of fruit and cheese, trays of raw veggies and hard meats, and anything could be made hot. Bash didn’t try to stop her. It was their jobs to make sure the lord of the house had a full belly before bed.

“Sit down.” Bash look at her as he allowed his cloak to be removed and then he removed his own sword belt, lying it down on the chair directly across from them. Sitting as he always did, stiffly, forearms resting against the tabletop.

“You smell like smoke.” He said as their mother left the room.