★

★

ruqaiyah's smile did not waver, though something within it shifted, like silk catching the light just so, revealing a different texture beneath; it were not one of anger, nor even of the sting of wounded pride, but rather one of feeling as though a blow had come to her stomach. "what, you think it a slight to look at me have a place for myself, and act as though it is not you that is the outlier between us?" as though it were dawn itself which had cut away the corset which seemed to hold her together, stitch by stitch; and ruqaiyah did not know what happened when stars burned. combusted, and yet, she felt it weigh heavily upon her at simple words. "do you understand i would have done anything for you? do you understand what it is you have lost?" the fervent loyalty and dedication of the daynes was a birthright; and somewhere along the years, ruqaiyah found herself thinking herself sworn. devoted. she were no knight, and devani was no princess; and yet, it felt like she should have been. in anoher life, perhaps.

and yet - i'm not talking about you and i, ru. just you - was enough to cause her mind to twist.

it were no revelation: there needed to be no sounds of hymns or mantras, nor the ringing of holy bells, or red powder placed between her brows. there was no moment of being awakened, nor no moment of realisation: for she knew. she had always known, and yet the words of devani toland had been made into something they were not in the mind of the grace of the evening...who held such little grace, in reality. there had never been a devani and ruqaiyah. her fingers brushed idly over the rings on her hand, turning them in place, a gesture of lazy indulgence. but in her mind, she were all but bubbling, spiraling; a concoction of toxic substances, brimming over, and there was no stopping the way it burned her hands too when it spilled.

"you speak of my betrothal as though you know of it. you don't. you speak as though it is me whose parents could not stand my presence, and shipped me between various vassal houses. it was not." she had just said it. whether devani noticed it, was something she was no longer privy to; no longer was she able to tell anything. and it angered her. "you return because this is home, devani. and no matter how far you ran, it was always waiting for you." she folded her arms across her silverish coloured blouse, amethyst encrusted bangles glittering as did the pink jewels in her dark tresses.

"you were never satisfied, always wanting more... everything you made for yourself, and in the end, you just...come back. to do what exactly?" she looked at devani there, her nose slightly twisting in judgement: as if to ask, is that supposed to be something special? was devani toland not always supposed to be more than the cage they had all decided to call home? what ever happened to you? "i do not wish to step away. i wish to watch what will become of you. you will end up hating what has become of your life each passing day, doing something you hate. and you know - i am glad for it." there was no anger in her voice, only the cool, effortless confidence of a woman who had never doubted her place in the world.

ruqaiyah dayne did not need to chase after meaning, after purpose—it had been bestowed upon her from birth, and she had embraced it with open arms. it were abundantly clear that, considering devai could not admit her wrongs and put aside her pride, there would be no way to recover the tense relations between the two women. so what now? would she open her mouth to ruin her chances? would she prove to be an issue for her at court? would she attempt to find her way into ravi's bed in an attempt to get in his ear? her mind started whirring, fixating. hating. craving. how could she just be done with her? how did it not bother her, as much as it made ruqaiyah wish to scream into her pillow? why had she not needed her the way ruqaiyah needed her?

"your destruction impacts none more than yourself. when i find you on your knees, i will find great pleasure in the silence you get from me. only then will i forget you."

devani's laugh was soft this time, warm as summer as untroubled. "you speak of me clinging to things that do not exist, but look at yourself, ru. what has changed for you since we were girls? you are still in the same place you were." there was no mockery in her tone - instead, something that danced closer to pity. devani may not have spent the last fourteen years in dorne, but she had not spent them idle. when age etched lines on her face and her body began to fail her, she could say that her youth was not one wasted. ruqaiyah was of the stars, burning stationary and untouchable in the heavens above, but devani was a comet, burning a fiery trail behind her to remind those whose lives she blazed through of her very existence.

"i don't want to replant them." her words were firm. "i do not want to go back to the way things were before i left, or else i may as well have not left at all." she had never spoken to ruqaiyah, to anybody, about what had drove her decision to disappear, one of the many secrets she kept close to her chest. "your brother will kill mine. i'm banking on that. and when he is dead, ghost hill will look to his heir. he will pay the price for his actions. i'm just here to see what's left when he does."

it was more honesty than she had offered to anybody about her re-emergence. even dante uller had not managed to coax the truth of it from her like this.

"i'm not talking about you and i, ru. just you." because that was another truth that ruqaiyah seemed determined to bury. no matter how hard she tried to reduce devani's place in her life to that of a bedmate of her youth, it did not change any of it. "ravi martell is a good man." she said, finally. "and far sharper than you give him credit for by pretending there is nothing to tell. do you think it will take him long to note that you enjoy his title far more than his presence in your bed? to piece together why that is?"

she paused for a moment, shrugging her shoulders in a way that almost seemed as though she cared not. "because for all your talk, ruqaiyah, you aren't subtle. you're still here, because you don't want to step away."

★

why did he need a ball thrown for his return, as though his place was not starfall? were they truly throwing celebrations for a lord returning to his post after fulfilling his duty? the sound of her iridescent silks covering the path of the private, enclosed garden seemed to drape by it; truthfully, such an event was a time that ruqaiyah dayne would come into her own. she would flourish, and glitter, for she believed she could make the whole place shimmer; but this night was different.

all because the rays of starlight now had to be shared; she was no longer the single grace of the evening, the most beautiful woman of house dayne. now there was a new wife of his to take that title of lady of starfall, and that was easily managed. all she would need to do is prove the peasant girl from a basket was over her head. but a newborn baby, born under comet light? how was she supposed to compete against a baby that seemed to happily peer at everyone and anything that breathed? she detested the brat.

she puffed a cloud of smoke into the air behind this private garden, hidden within its private gates, not once considering that anyone would have the nerve to follow her on her own land. her own playing field. she held the smoke between her fingers, dark silky hair cascading down to her waist as she let out another puff, a dramatic sigh escaping her lips. then she heard it—the taunting, all too familiar sound of a jibe.

"every day is a celebration for someone like me. there are many who are grateful for me in starfall." she responded, dramatically rolling her darker lilac gaze as she stepped out into the stone pathway, illuminated by candles. she put out her smoke and carelessly tossed it aside into the gardens her brother no doubt cherished. some gardens they were, compared to the rest of westeros. she looked at him with a deadpan expression, almost feeling a vein throb. what did he mean, on the road?

"i am to be your princess, lord wyl. i have been, since i was a girl," she all but sneered. or was she?

ryon wyl always knew how to get under her skin. the arrogance, the casual jibes—she could hardly stand it. but ruqaiyah would not let him see her falter. no, she would remain the untouchable jewel of house dayne, even if it meant sparring with words that cut as sharply as her brother’s prized blade. “what, are you still trying to prove you’re something more than a nuisance?” she added, her voice laced with disdain.

her words were a weapon, wielded with precision, each syllable dripping with contempt. ruqaiyah dayne would not be outshone, not by some peasant girl turned lady, nor by a man who barely deserved her notice. she would reclaim her place in the starlight, no matter the cost.

who: @ruqaiyahdayne when: flashback; starfall what: an event is being held in starfall for the return of the sword of the morning, ryon wyl attends as the new wyl of wyl.

The last time he saw the Sword of Morning a disagreement rose between them. One that went so far the Wyl of Wyl demanded to duel the other. It was the breaking of his old sword that saw sense come through that day. Still, the tension that existed was a light one, one that Ryon would not dance on. He respected Armaan Yronwood and therefore he would respect Baashir Dayne. That and he respected being alive more than his own pride.

"Is that his sister?" Ryon asked the man who stood across from him. It was the great debate of the Wyl of Wyl, should he show the respect needed or should he play his game. He never missed a chance to play the game. So, he made his way over to her, walking down the smooth stone path, the sound of the sea crash against the shore meshed well with the cry of birds and far off music that filled the air.

"Aur betee ko aisa jashn kab milega? (And when will the daughter get such a celebration?)" Ryon smiled, it would be the game, "Surely you are on the road to betrothal."

★

ruqaiyah tilted her head, her earrings catching the low light as if to emphasize her. always her. the hubbub of the ball carried on around them, but in ruqaiyah’s mind, the room had narrowed to this singular, unwelcome confrontation. devani’s nonchalance was a far cry from the reckless, thoughtless girl she remembered. ruqaiyah didn’t know whether to find it amusing or infuriating. perhaps both.

“oh, how enlightening,” ruqaiyah purred, the sweetness in her tone so cloying it was venomous. “you don’t know why you’re here. typical devani, fluttering in like a moth to flame without thinking about what you might burn.” her lips curved into a smile so perfect it might have graced a painting, though her eyes remained cold.

she smoothed the silken folds of her gown, deliberately elegant, her nails glittering with gemstones as she waved off devani’s comment. “you speak of clinging as if it’s a fault. and yet here you are, circling back to things you claim to have let go.” she leaned closer, her voice dropping to a low murmur meant only for devani.

“you don’t really let go, devani. you just run. a habit, it seems, you’ve yet to break.”

she paused for a moment, dragging her amethyst orbs across devani's face and her frame. it were intentional; and if she had little pride or self respect, she would happily let devani toland take care of her in a range of manners.

pulling back, ruqaiyah laughed lightly, a sound utterly at odds with the tension between them. “but how silly of me. we’re not here to dig up old grievances, are we? we’re grown women now. mature, as they say.” her eyes sparkled with mockery. “so, tell me,” she continued, taking a sip from her goblet as if this were all a game she was winning, “what’s it like, proving you can still get it? how does my attention make you feel, fool of fools?"

"what can i say? i have always been a giver," devani smiled sweetly, though there was just as much sarcasm in her tone as in ruqaiyah's. her eyes followed the arc over ruqaiyah's shoulder, into the path of those stood behind her, and devani offered them an apologetic glance.

it was not true. for most of her life, devani had given little, but she had took, and she took, and then moved on before any could ask anything of her in return. the habits of a lifetime were not so easily broken. "and what is the alternative, ruqaiyah? to cling to everything that i have ever held in my hands and get dragged down under the weight of it all?" perhaps she was too quick to let things go, but at least she was letting go at all. looking at ruqaiyah, she knew how she would rather be.

she paused for a second, mulling over ruqaiyah's words. she was not privy to the coffers of ghost hill, her mother and brother trusting her not with such matters. was that why aditya had done what he did? no, she did not think so. he was an arrogant fool, but not utterly stupid. "that can't be it. even aditya knows that is no way to get a woman's dowry." she spoke not as if ruqaiyah was trying to insult her, but as though they were discussing this normally, rationally.

"it is amusing," she insisted. "and it's silly. all this fuss over something you will never wear again. why does it matter to you so much?" it was the question she had never quite gotten the answer to. the things that seemed so irrelevant, so meaningless to devani always seemed to be of the utmost importance to ruqaiyah. perhaps it was a side effect of living the life that was expected to live, and never broadening her horizons beyond that.

ruqaiyah posed a question of her own, and for a moment, devani struggled with the answer. there really wasn't one, or at least, not one that would satisfy. "i don't know," she admitted. "perhaps just to prove that i still can get it."

Spaceballs (1987) dir. Mel Brooks

★

lady ruqaiyah dayne’s smile never faltered as she listened to lord tirius rowan’s carefully measured words, her amethyst eyes gleaming with amusement. he was every bit the cautious noble, wary of her charms, yet drawn to them all the same. how delightful, she thought, to be the object of such scrutiny and yet remain untouchable. she basked in his attention, knowing full well the game they played. “oh, my lord rowan,” she began, her voice a soft, lilting melody, “you do flatter me with your attentiveness. it’s rare to find a man who truly listens, who considers every word as if it were a jewel to be appraised.” she let her gaze drift lazily over him, a fleeting glance that conveyed both interest and indifference.

“and yet, for all your careful weighing, i wonder if you truly believe what you say.”

her fingers toyed with the edge of her shawl, the delicate fabric slipping between her fingers like water. “pirates,” she repeated, her tone light, almost teasing. “is that not what they call men who roam too close to foreign shores, taking liberties under the guise of protection? the reach ships, so bold in their approach, appear to many as little more than corsairs, their sails casting long shadows over dornish waters.” she leaned in slightly, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “everyone says so, my lord. the court is abuzz with tales of reachmen turned pirates, their intentions as murky as the seas they sail.” her smile widened, a flash of perfect teeth.

“but perhaps you are right. perhaps it is necessity that drives them, a noble cause cloaked in the guise of opportunism. how very… convenient.”

her laughter was soft, like the tinkling of distant bells, her amusement evident but not overt. “and as for what brings me to these waters?” she straightened, her posture regal, her eyes dancing with mischief. “surely, you do not think a lady such as myself would come simply to hurl accusations. no, my lord, i am here for the court, for the intrigue, and perhaps, for a little fun.” she allowed her gaze to linger on him, bold and unflinching. “after all, what is life without a little adventure? without a touch of danger?” her smile softened, though the edge remained. “i enjoy the dance, my lord, the thrill of being desired but never caught. you see, i thrive in the knowledge that no matter how close you get, you shall never touch me.”

she reclined slightly, her hands folded neatly in her lap, her expression serene. “so, let us continue this game, my lord. you may play the cautious knight, and i, the untouchable jewel. but remember,” her eyes sparkled with challenge, “jewels, no matter how fine, are best admired from a distance.” there was a slight spark in her gaze now, one that seemed to dance with trouble. "lest you can admire dawn from anything but a distance. he's quick to anger, my big brother."

Tirius watched her with the same measured intensity he gave to reports of war and shipments of grain. Her every movement was deliberate, designed to draw attention, and while he could admire the artistry of it, he did not allow himself to be swept up in the performance. No, his admiration of beauty was tempered by suspicion—he had learned long ago that the most polished stones often hid sharp edges. One only need look east where his ex-wife lived with their son.

Her praise of Starfall was expected, and he allowed himself a faint smile, though it never reached his eyes. “I’ve no doubt Starfall is as you say, my lady. A jewel of Dorne.” His tone was polite, neutral, though there was a subtle weight in his words, as if testing hers for sincerity. “But jewels, no matter how fine, can only be appreciated by those who know how to value them.”

Her violet eyes met his, bold and unflinching, and he resisted the urge to look away first. It was not in his nature to yield. She spoke of beauty and her brother’s protectiveness, weaving words like silk. She was clever—he could see that now. Not simply the type to turn heads, but the kind to twist minds if one wasn’t careful.

Tirius Rowan was always careful if one ignored his weakness for women.

When she tilted her chin and questioned him, her voice soft, he allowed himself a quiet laugh, low and brief. “Pirates,” he repeated, rolling the word across his tongue as if testing its weight. “I assure you, my lady, the men of the Reach are many things, but pirates? That is an insult better suited to the Stepstones, not to the Northmarch.”

He leaned forward slightly, his gaze unwavering. “We come close to Dorne’s waters for necessity, not indulgence. A trade route must be safeguarded, lest others—not the Reach—take liberties where they shouldn’t. Surely, a lady of Starfall understands the importance of protecting one’s borders.” His words were calm, but there was an edge now, a subtle challenge. “And tell me, my lady, what brings a jewel such as yourself to these waters? Surely it is not simply to call men pirates.”

Tirius would have her.

★

she only theatrically shrugged.

bluntness was a cursed habit of house dayne; all members seemingly having short tongues, their affinity to wrapping it in lace, flowers and silver was what differed from individual to individual - the very opposite of ambiguity, of double meanings, and looking too close into something. it would be a lie to say ruqaiyah dayne was not one to make ambiguous comments in passing with the sole intention of making another feel nervous or insecure about themselves; it was in her early girlhood she realised ambiguity could be a weapon.

"did you ever try to reach out to your childhood friend?" ruqaiyah asked, amethyst hues flickering away from a vivid dark gaze toward the food that was now cold on the plate before her. "perhaps he did not adjust well to your vanishing act."

one she felt now, sitting on the opposite of this damned table, and she found herself doing mental gymnastics attempting to work out what it was devani was truly saying. how she hated it, when she was on the receiving end. hypocritical to her very core; her hand remained beneath her chin as she merely looked upon the woman opposite her with a torn look. one of scathing judgement, as though she were vermin beneath her shoe; and the other side being one rooted in fractured insecurity.

"then again, why would you? that would require you to be able to admit when you've done wrong, and both of us do not have the time to unwind the length of that scroll."

dying for answers of questions she had always buried deep within her for years, though was never able to ask them - for she never had an address of where to write. the letters never came with any confirmation of identity, never came with any inclination of where she could write anything back: even across the narrow sea, devani toland had some control over her ability to open her mouth and say anything.

her gaze narrowed when she mentioned baashir; baashir did not get angry. he was the perfect knight, and he was doing his duty. so he beat a man to a pulp, who gave a shit when the man was a traitor? his life meant nothing anyway. "well, some of us have brothers who actually protect their families. you know baashir, devani - considering you stayed some time with us." to be away from whatever hell hole ghost hill was.

how it had taken time for ruqaiyah to be willing to open her mouth and speak on the truth of who she was: how she was ready to tell devani she would sit both of her parents down and speak the truth to them - that she did not wish to marry, that she did wish to set foot in a sept she did not believe in. that devani toland would not be a secret. and with a gust of wind over sails, that came to a sudden, screeching end. instantly, the rose hue faded to black and white, and the bubble burst: it had all been in her own head.

a foolish, naive girl believing none other compared, that she stood alone. "are you intending on staying, lady toland?"

she wasn't sure why she hadn't anticipated this, why it had taken her so by surprised when the subject of dante was broached. she had been lucky, thus far, that nobody else had approached her so pointedly. conversations about dante had been few and far between, usually accompanied by offers of condolences from them, and assurances from devani that she had no idea what her friend had been up to. that wasn't a lie. dante had kept her in the dark - and she was eternally grateful that he had.

but if devani had forgotten the depths to which ruqaiyah could stoop, she had forgotten how resilient devani could be. was she not the girl who had left dorne with nothing, who had flitted from place to place, building a new life for herself each time? the silence was a sign of her displeasure, but she would not remain quiet.

"i do not know what curse gripped dante uller's heart in my absence," the words were more for the benefit of anybody still listening to the conversation than ruqaiyah, a simple statement that washed her hands of any guilt, and addressed the lady of starfall's words without ambiguity, without shame. devani toland would not be cowed.

"but i mourn the friend i've known since my childhood." and there, she moved back into ambiguity, because those words could apply to dante uller - but they could just as easily be affixed to ruqaiyah dayne, because devani had mourned her, and thought of her, and wanted her. even when she hated her.

"yes, i hear your lord brother's fury was a sight to behold. tell me, does he often lose control of himself like that?" it was a dangerous hand to play, and yet, devani chose to throw that card on the table regardless, a reminder that the daynes of starfall were not as perfect, as infallible, as ruqaiyah was painting them to be. "let us all be thankful that we have our first minister to dispense justice upon the wicked, hmm?" and there, she retreated back into what was safe, a place where nobody could twist her words and paint them as a slight on baashir dayne. they were blessed to have him, a shining star of the dornish court.

devani hated this game.

"i suppose we do," devani's eyes burned as they met ruqaiyah's once more. try again. her lips twisted into a mirthless smirk. "there is nothing sadder than someone who holds on to hate for things they can't control, is there?"

★

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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