who: @raviofthesun when and where: sunspear, upon the dornish court's return to dorne following the verdant concord in highgarden. context: dorne remains in obviously tense relations with the state of volantis, though a large amount of the dornish court still see them as a valuable partner, especially compared to the rest of westeros.
the gathered meeting that hosted the council of dorne had come to an end as the sky tinted a shade of increasing deep orange, with the sun soon sending its good wishes for the rest of the night and vanishing from sight. this time of day had always worked the best for them perhaps due to their nature of mostly being creatures of the night, and as the last door shut behind them, myriam allyrion found herself losing the last bit of tension within her shoulders and leaning back into the gilded chair, kohl lined vivd orbs glancing upward at the mosaic domed tiles above her, wine glass at her lips as she downed the remaining contents.
it was always easy to briefly lose oneself in the art work above her head, if anything for trying to spot the sequence of patterns rather than the genuine appreciation of the scene itself; she often found herself silently counting the amount of coloured squares in a sequence, only to internally end up multiplying it to figure out the exact succession chain.
it felt as though that was something she was good at, the ability to pick up patterns in a sequence - the very same way she was able to silently pick up patterns in those figures that sat around the room with her only some moments ago. some therefore the sake of genuinely wanting to serve the crown and the realm in a blaze of honour, some for the sake of wanting to increase their social standing, some wanting to keep their friends, foes and competition close and some merely to line their own pockets considerably.
there was something she could put upon each person who sat around the table, and it was for that very reason she found herself mostly disassociating and dazing during council meetings these days. it was hard to talk about things with a sense of greater purpose, when it felt as though there was no true greater purpose beyond securing the crown for her daughter; the crown had been secured. they had defended themselves against the dragons, but they and their ancestors in a hundred years would still have to continue to do so: how long would their agenda just remain the same, day in and day out? for as long as the dragons would exist, the dornish would remain vigilant. remain proud, and unbroken.
but surely, there had to be more.
"ravi, wait." myriam called over her shoulder, not entirely realising the urgency in which his name seemed to slip out of her lips until it came into fruition; it sounded as though she were ready to burst from the seams in a heated swirl of impulse, the dark cascade of hair that tumbled down her back whipping around as she turned her head to look upon her once brother through marriage, momentarily making eye contact as though to assure him she did not mean to sound as though the world was momentarily ending.
surely, there had to be more to what they cared about, and what they wanted to.
they were the most powerful people in all the realm, with resources at their disposal - what excuse did they have for not doing more? whatever more, was. she raised herself from the chair she was all but slinked across, leaning forward to put the goblet down; though she were entirely sober, the wine staining her lips no doubt made it appear as though she had enjoyed more cups than she had let on. she thought briefly, in sharp bursts, about how she wanted to say what she would say next. she had thought about it for the last few months worth of council meetings, she had thought about it as she lay in her bed, she had thought about it far more than she herself had even realised, until this moment.
there had to be more. this gnawing feeling in her chest, in the pit of her stomach....had to be a sign that there was more they could be doing. something. anything. or else, it was not the situation - it was her. and the fact that, due to the flip of a coin by the gods, she had found herself in a life she was never truly meant to live with the mind and soul of the girl who remained on the banks of the godsgrace.
and that just couldn't be.
"what are we doing?" she asked, her tome exasperated as her hand remained on the chair as she began to walk before it eventually dropped, numb to the sound of her own anklets as she walked towards where he was stood by the door. she didn't entirely expand for a moment, only keeping his gaze as she looked at him and he looked at her. there was one matter that got under her skin, beneath her eyelids, beneath her tongue whenever they spoke of it. "look...i..." and there was a slight huff that came from her, not aimed at him but herself and her inability to put matters into her own voice. why was her head always swirling? "it's the volantene. i don't want to associate with them anymore. i don't want their fucking gold in our coffers. i don't want their nobles sauntering around our halls whilst they've got...literal people in chains behind them."
"i can't just not look. at them. or pretend."
