(@sacrificeds + @eclipt1cs + @traegedys + open for 0/3)
"Your move, my liege." She had played more games of cyvasse in the past few years than she thought possible, and she always started the sane. Aggressive, and ruthless, willing to sacrifice any piece for the greater good. A greater reliance on water than was probably advisable. She had a tinge of a headache behind her eyes, hence the jug of water on the table next to her, one she was steadily making her way through. "The morning after a celebration is always so peaceful. Never a better time for a game or two, while half the castle lays abed and regrets half the cups they downed." Never mind the fact that she had been that noble more than once or twice, she judged freely and with no shame in her hypocrisy.
Cyvasse kept her still during her formative years, one of the few things that could actually manage such a feat, much to her father's chagrin and relief. It meant he could corral her long enough to settle and focus on something other than ruffling every feather in Blackhaven, but it also meant he too remained seated across from her until she played enough games to allow the restlessness to seep in again. Time afforded her skill and patience, something she showed now even as a headache thundered behind her eyes. Her own jug of water mirrored Gysella's, currently abandoned in favor of focus but no less drained.
"Mm," she hummed in response, light eyes flitting around the board as she mapped her options. Orianne had been one of those nobles, though thankfully she'd managed to escape the evening without a currently visible bruise or bite. Contrary to her opponent and perhaps surprising given her demeanor, she moved her pieces precisely and with great forethought, eventually moving a lapis piece after great consideration. "I certainly don't regret the cups--" she said, then winced at the sharp sound of a distant barking dog. "--for the most part," she amended, then sighed and straightened. "An invitation to a gala at the keep is never dull, however."
Sharp eyes and a sharper mind made quick note of the little entourage that gathered and followed conspicuously the second the eldest Martell stepped foot outside the keep, eager to leave the stress of the evening behind and utterly destroyed to discover it followed her as a white-cloaked shadow. The message was clear: you are not trusted, and you will remain in sight. She abandoned the endeavor almost immediately, the anxiety of a high-profile, heavy-handed guard outweighing the deeply-seated need to decompress. Once she returned to the keep, her following thinned to one guard now almost lazily following her, his steps distant and casual until they vanished entirely as she made her way into a courtyard garden, quiet enough to suit her needs for the time being.
The peace didn't last, however. Sabriye nearly lost herself in watching one a crownlands hummingbird flit delicately from flower to flower when steps drew her attention. At the sight of the Targaryen princess, tension crept into her posture again, shoulders raising as her features drew tightly for a moment before she schooled her expression to something more neutral. They'd been friendly for some time despite the razor-wire tension between their families, but the weight of the crown's hand on Sabriye's shoulder soured those memories somewhat.
"Hummingbirds here are different," she said by way of a greeting, dark eyes sliding to the colorful little bird feet away. She didn't meet Visenya's gaze. "More colorful."
"So few of them have met us, who could be certain?" It requires every ounce of what minuscule decorum she possesses to withhold the chortle that threatens to emerge. No one in their truest mind would ever inquire about the youngest Martell's hand in either courtship or marriage. Her reputation and generally unserious demeanor are both more than adequate when staving off legitimate suitors. "I'm sure you only spoke the kindest words about your sister."
Pivoting towards the crowd, she leans in to Sabriye and mutters conspiratorially, "Look at them all. They dress in silk and gold, smile like septons, and lie like snakes." A beat of consideration. "My sincerest apologies to snakes."
The truth of her words earns Selin a noncommittal hum in response, though Sabriye's dark eyes remain focused on her younger sibling. That was the truth of it, really; the northern nobility gave the Dornish houses wide berth, and none so much space as the Martells themselves. It made tentative flirtations and even overt inquiries as to her marital status sour immediately--no one ever seemed to care about her, simply what she represented, what sort of power a match might buy.
"I always speak of you kindly," she said finally, meeting her sister's playful sarcasm with her particular brand of blunt earnestness. Her own head tips slightly towards Selin's, a mirror of her sister's movement, and she grins into her drink as she sips again. "Well, gold is an obligate color for the evening," she teased, tiny grin broadening in a rare display of true mirth. "Despite the too much..." She trailed off, grimacing briefly before she gestured with her free hand. "...everything, I do enjoy watching them. It's like a game." Again she paused, then gestured with a tip of her head towards a sweaty, balding man dripping in a particularly tacky display of wealth. "Do you think he's compensating for something?"
" The bells rang long in a kings old keep, a chime for dawn, a dragons sleep - blood of flame, a child of dawn ... Hmm. " He murmurs prose in his cups, tranquil beside the eldest's side and turns with a smile as he grabs a fresh goblet to pour tonight's offerings into; he wasn't much for drinking, but graciously, he would not deprive his sister of her enjoyments. He holds it out for Lady Orianne, head quirked, " is it not quite perfect ? All this, I mean. "
Orianne listened with a look of gentle amusement to the string of words murmured into a goblet, light eyes on the glittering crowd of nobility before them. These were the sort of events she lived for--enough wine to fill the Trident, the pulse of energy that came with so many of them gathered in one place, the stories--all of them charged her as though a cat in a sunbeam. Only when her younger brother pressed a drink into her hands did her gaze shift to him, her grin broadening from one of contentment to outright sunny joy. "Very nearly," she agreed as she took a sip. "Admittedly a little dull thus far," she added a moment later with a playful wiggle of her eyebrows. "You don't seem too out of your element, though."
Parting from her sister amidst a Dornish party was rather common, if not expected, considering Selin’s proclivity for socializing and merriment. In this nest of vipers, however? It seemed a grander feat, the boldest of undertakings for a princess who so rarely left their southern shores. "One of the nobility addressed me as you,” she mutters teasingly upon returning to Sabriye’s side. "Fear not, I made no efforts to convince them otherwise and my impression of you was rather well done. You’re now betrothed to someone from The Reach.” Tapping a finger against her lips, she feigns confusion about this nonexistent scenario. “Or was it The Riverlands?”
Too loud, too many people. Dorne so rarely hosted events of this magnitude, given the long history of their open distaste for their Targaryen rulers, and so this... this was a bit much. To make matters worse, Selin evaporated from her side nearly the moment they arrived, leaving Sabriye to fend for herself among nobles whose idle banter and simpering attitudes she had excruciatingly little patience for. Just when she thought she might slip out and onto a balcony, Selin materialized at her hip again. Listening, Sabriye took a long, measured sip from her goblet, dark eyes assessing over the rim. After a long pause, she shook her head minutely and exhaled a long-held breath.
"You're too short, that would never happen," she deadpanned, as though that were the only reason reason for the scenario's implausibility. "Someone from the Riverlands did ask me about you, however," she returned, expression still flat.
࣪ᰋ𓈒 ֶָ 𝑤𝑒𝑠𝑡𝑒𝑟𝑜𝑠𝒕𝒗 ⁝ hazal filiz küçükköse, 35, cis woman, she/her. announcing the arrival of SABRIYE of house MARTELL, the PRINCESS of SUNSPEAR. whispers among the court name them to be both OBSERVANT and ALOOF in disposition, and those closest to them speak to their interests in astronomy and falconry. If we bards could compose a song for them, it might tell stories of a sea of star strewn across an endless field of midnight ; cool sand under bare feet ; the sting of an eagle’s talons where they bite through leather ; the ill-at-ease feeling of being closely watched ; dusk fading to night and the sigh of relief as the sun takes the desert heat with it. the seven whisper to their most devout queen as she sleeps, making her question where their loyalties truly lie. are they right to whisper? for their thoughts have lingered close to treasonous of late.
# basic information.
official name: sabriye martell nicknames: sab, typically only with family noble title: princess and heir of sunspear date of birth: twenty first day of the ninth month age: 35 birthplace: sunspear home: sunspear nationality: dornish gender: cis woman pronouns: she/her orientation: demisexual + biromantic monikers: tbd languages: common tongue and high valyrian, though she has experience with a wealth of others. accent: dornish, smooth and even. she tends to speak quietly, though her tone is not remotely meek.
# physical information.
faceclaim: hazal filiz küçükköse ethnicity: rhoynar. hair: dark ash brown, mostly straight, typically worn free down to her mid-back, but braids are not uncommon. eyes: dark brown. height: 5’10” build: lithe but strong. scent: sandalwood, bergamot, salt. dominant hand: right allergies: none scars: a tracery of tiny scars on her left forearm and right fingers–a litany of bites taken from skittish birds and fumbled knives alike. features: a sharp, appraising gaze; statuesque in height and posture. clothing style: despite what her controlled, cool demeanor might suggest, sabriye has a great love of fashion and clothing and takes pride in looking nice. her favorite colors tend towards those of a dying sunset, the last rays of gold and orange and red giving way to the deeper purples and blues of early evening. furthermore, she views her body as more of a vessel capable of doing the things she requires of it and she likes to feel pretty, so in her eyes, it’s everyone else that ties themselves in knots over how much skin she shows and when. if she can, she’ll go barefooted.
# personality.
label: the scholar, the aloof. mbti: istj. enneagram: perfectionist-improver/analyzer-thinker. element: earth. star sign: virgo temperament: phlegmatic. character inspirations: temperance brennan (bones), spencer reid (criminal minds), amy santiago (b99), jess mariano (gilmore girls). deadly sin: envy. heavenly virtue: patience + justice. godly parent: nyx + athena.
# drives.
hobbies: aviculture, falconry, horsemanship, astronomy, reading, knife combat. religion: faith of the seven. alliance: martells, dorne as a whole. personal goals: to see dorne out from under targaryen rule, and perhaps then to live an uninteresting life. would they choose family or power? Family.
# familial ties.
parent one: doran martell. relationship: doran dotes on her and expects the world of her in equal measure. sabriye wants nothing more than to make him proud. parent two: carynne martell nee tbd. relationship: tense, though carynne is mostly unaware of it for her part. she tries to run interference between carynne and selin, and in doing so sometimes her frustration bleeds into her behavior. spouse: unwed, unbetrothed. relationship: n/a. sibling: selin. relationship: she’s sabriye’s favorite sibling and doesn’t bother hiding it. selin is brilliant and full of life, everything she feels she herself lacks. sibling: toren sand. relationship: despite the similarities between selin and toren, she adores the former and loathes the latter. though not one to pick fights, she treats him with a cold indifference that extremely few others ever experience. sibling: eren martell. relationship: younger brother, missing!
narrative...
minimum two paragraphs
# wanted connections.
connection name: connection type.
info.
connection name: connection type.
info.
# headcanons
There are few things Sabriye loves more than birds, and throughout her life, she's collected and continues to acquire a great many of them. There's a pair of peafowl--the hen being albino--a little flock of zebra finches, a pair of enormous, foul-tempered swans, and a collection of raptors she uses for falconry. Her favorite is a massive female golden-brown eagle named Aydınlık who has nearly taken fingers from anyone who has come close enough except Sabriye herself. Sabriye dotes on her as though she were a puppy.
Sabriye doesn't do well with expressing emotion. Though it's often a point of personal frustration for her, it serves her well in political matters, giving her the appearance of icy control. She doesn't remember the last time she cried or lost her temper, and for the most part, a smile does not come easily.
࣪ᰋ𓈒 ֶָ 𝑤𝑒𝑠𝑡𝑒𝑟𝑜𝑠𝒕𝒗 ⁝ kathryn hahn, 46, cis woman, she/her. announcing the arrival of ORIANNE of house DONDARRION, the LADY of BLACKHAVEN. whispers among the court name them to be both PASSIONATE and OBSTINATE in disposition, and those closest to them speak to their interests in writing. If we bards could compose a song for them, it might tell stories of humid summer nights ; storms rolling over the plains ; ink-stained fingertips ; golden sunbeams strewn across stone floors ; tangled braids in a horse’s mane. the seven whisper to their most devout queen as she sleeps, making her question where their loyalties truly lie. are they right to whisper? for their thoughts have lingered close to treasonous of late.
dondarrion ruling lord and lady: you may marry for love, as is our tradition and gift to you as our child.
orianne, age thirteen: i need to kiss so many girls immediately
what's more, there's two of them. where her twin went, orianne was sure to follow. in her opinion, she received the better end of the deal--all that responsibility and the weight of impending leadership missed by the eight minutes that passed between his birth and hers.
orianne has never met a scandal she hasn't wanted to kiss on the mouth, her own or otherwise. a prolific writer, she pens most of her family's official correspondence as well as a lady whistledown-esque gossip-rag about the happenings within the nobility as she travels, though the latter is under a pseudonym with several layers of obfuscation between it and herself because she possesses at least some sense of self-preservation.
baratheonpilled
stormborns
turnnoffyourmind
yousharknotpass
pixelskylines
kaledo-art
gummygunk
