i can't help that i need it all.

lady ruqaiyah of house dayne, lady of starfall, the evening's delight. sister of lord baashir dayne, first minister of dorne.

[ruqaiyahdayne]

♛ → DORNE present(s) RUQAIYAH DAYNE, the LADY of STARFALL. when the dragons danced in the sky they hoped ALL would still die. the TWENTY NINE year old CISFEMALE who was RELIABLE & MATURE before they saw the first of the flames, is now CONTROLLING & EGOTISTICAL after seeing the last. they’re often associated with the sound of classical dance within the halls of starfall, the sight of a shooting star, and the rigid adherence to ancient dornish customs - both good, and bad. bio / pinterest / spotify

ruqaiyah or qaiyah (known strictly by her friends and family) is the secondborn child of house dayne - the perfect child, the one who has never made a mistake. her entire life has revolved around the will of her father and mother, dornish society, and the betterment of her family.

she is the dornish barbie - she is always wearing shades of pink or purple somewhere in her outfit, and is always seen with glossy lips. she is always overdressed, always late, and is never embarrassed about it.

due to the ancestral lineage of house dayne, ruqaiyah truly believes them to better than all the other dornish houses - and this is reflected in the size of her ego, and her head. she will act like servants are not in the room, and is known to go off on them often; she always has had a history of being a bully to girls who came to starfall to learn classical dance.

finds great enjoyment in rejecting men's advances, will embarrass them; if it is in public, that is even better.

does not believe in the concept of equality - some people are simply better than others, and thus, are in the positions they are in. poor people are poor because they do not work hard enough. social mobility? not a thing. stick to your own.

she truly believes she is a princess already in waiting, having already been betrothed to prince ravi of house martell since they were early teenagers. ruqaiyah truly believes she is worthy of such a title, as house martell looking at any other but house dayne would be nothing but a slight. she is already jaded she was not chosen to marry the eldest ruling prince, but considering how that turned out, guesses it was for the best.

due to the conservative nature of house dayne compared to the rest of dorne, ruqaiyah is very private about being a lesbian and being an atheist. she has known for years, though does not speak on such matters: she believes the rest of dorne is hedonistic in ignoring family responsibility such as child bearing, and wrapped up in superstition and ritual.

a serial smoker; though this is something she is hiding from her family. she smokes far too much, and probably needs to stop asap.

hobbies: a custom couture girl, she has a wicked eye for fabrics and designs and is known to design the best dornish outfits. it is canon in dorne that she designs the trendiest outfits, and her style remains very traditional. she enjoys collecting rare jewellery pieces and has a vast collection of her own she is very proud of. she also enjoys singing in a traditional indian style, though is not actually very good at it; she is far better at reciting ancient poetry.

[betweencloakandcrown]

Baashir Dayne hated going to the Sept and reliving the memory. Eight years and he still could not shake the place. For one night every year his mother and sister would have the sept cleaned and prepared for prayers and the visits from old lords, landed knights, and the smallfolk who wanted to their respects or so they said. Bash thought they came for one reason, and it was to get a glimpse at the Daynes and get their hands on the food baskets that would be given out to them.

He didn't want to be there and he'd been lucky enough to miss many of these gatherings because of his duties and then he grew frustrated when he had to be there and he had to stand up there and listen. He had to deal with his mothers devastation and the heartbreak of his sister and it just weighed him down. There was guilt. And he would never not feel guilty, he didn't miss the man. He just wished that it happened different. That it happened somewhere else. Perhaps disappeared in the Boneway, The Red Mountains or maybe he drowned at sea. But instead it happened in a way that would haunt them forever. That every time they walked in here and looked at the floor they would remember what they found.

He had delayed as long as he could, taking the longer way through the keep as though that might somehow change where his feet were meant to carry him. It had not. Starfall had a way of delivering a man to the places he least wished to stand. By the time he rounded the corridor that led toward the old sept, he could already feel that familiar tightness in his chest, the faint dryness at the back of his throat that always came before he stepped through those doors. Even the air was different there, heavier.

Then the doors flew open and his sister emerged from within it like she had been spat out by the place itself. Her voice struck him before anything else did. And he knew immediately it had been a long day for her. And yet, he felt that she brought it on herself. She should have let their mother do it, she would be able to cry and wail as she always did and get things done.

Ruqaiyah was angry, which was to say she was wounded, and he had long since learned that with her the two things often wore each other's face. "I came, didn't I?" he answered, more tired than sharp, though there was still enough edge to it to show he had no stomach for being scolded before he'd even crossed the threshold.

"Yes, I will have someone look over the windows. Perhaps I will have some come down and look over it with me. Some times the windows stick when you don't open them for a while." It was always an issue when they date came up, once he suggested opening the windows sooner and his mother looked at him with such wide, sad eyes that he considered jumping out of the window all together and being done with the entire day.

He ran his fingers over his hair and walked around the room as he inspected seats and the floor, the walls. Perhaps they needed to keep this place open. They needed to maintain it and not let it fall into disrepair. Maybe it would make his mother happier. Make it easier on his sister for this place to stop being a tomb. Or the scene of a murder. "Whatever broke sounded expensive. We should have started earlier, there's a lot to be fixed." And soon as he said it he knew that he shouldn't have because he should have just done it.

It needed to be him. He was the ruling lord. His bloodline would carry on the line of the Starfall Daynes and perhaps he cursed them by letting the house of the Gods look this way. Or maybe he damned him because of the blood that stained his hands for the last eight years. With ever step he took, with every creak he could hear the sound of a bone's fragmenting and breaking. He closed his eyes and sat down putting a smoke between his lips. He dragged the fire stick and in lit the end, inhaling deeply.

"How bad is she?" Bash looked in her direction, blowing out a stream of smoke, "And what about you. You seem angry enough to take down a battalion of men. Just point me where you need me; I made sure to make today about this."

[ruqaiyahdayne]

★

dark amethyst orbs flickered toward the steady stream of smoke that exhaled from the lips of her oldest brother, the gnawing edge that seemed to eat at her from the very back of her throat threatening from her own lips in the form of an irritable sigh. "congratulations?" she spoke, her tone dripping in sarcasm when he said he was here. he had come. she desperately craved a smoke of her own in this moment, if anything even to just briefly cut the increasing pressure from the front of her temple - but she could not do that.

not since baashir had briefly caught her upon his early return to starfall, insistently he had seen what he had seen due to the small glow that had come from her balcony; it were not that she was afraid of baashir.

rather, he was not always there as he had the ability to go wherever he wished; and in the end it was her who needed to deal with her mother's suffocating hand on a day to day basis. the last thing she needed, or wanted to hear, was her mother's incessant clucking like some idiotic hen. her eyes then shifted away from the smoke, using a bangled hand to wave the smoke away and stare at him with a face that expressed clear disgust and irritation, as though the smoke being blown in her direction was somehow at risk of ruining her face.

"must you do that in here?" she whinged, not from a place of moral standards, but more from the worry that the smoke would end up tangled in her hair and make it smell. nothing could ever ruin her face, especially before the wedding. as much as ravi martell appeared understandable and a suitable partner, he was a man at the end of the day - and men only wanted to be seen with women who were attractive. "well, you can see her, can't you?" ruqaiyah indicated her hand, somewhat dismissively and rudely, to the direction of their mother on the otherside of the lengthy sept. from here, she seemed so very far away, as this whole thing seemed so very far away.

"she always gets like this. she needs a maester to put her to sleep." how long would she need to live like this, at her mother's beck and call? they didn't see her the way she did. it was tiring. perhaps the maester's condoction would put her to sleep forever, so ruqaiyah could do whatever she wished without hearing the incessent babbling of a woman who refused to let go of the past. "she's been talking about how she wants to bring in that astrologer in sunspear to try and find the best time to reach out to father's spirit." in truth, it was that which had truly set ruqaiyah off: the last thing she needed was zahra sand waltzing around in starfall. she did not want zahra sand anywhere near her, not after that strange letter she had gotten.

"i told her they are all frauds, and she started going on about how she needed answers." what was there to answer? the lord of starfall had been battered to death by a guard who had gone mad, following being dismissed from his role and station. ruqaiyah had insisted he had stolen from her. he was newly married, and he was the one who had walked her to her chambers that night. newly married men wanted to spoil their wives with gifts they could not afford - where better than ruqaiyah's jewellery box?

"i don't understand - was he not tried and found guilty for beating father?" she never used the man's name on her tongue. he had hung, and she knew he was nothing more than bones in the dunes now, as his corpse had been given to the animals to indulge in. "what answers does she need from a non existant spirit?"

[halimayronwood]

closed starter for @ruqaiyahdayne

in the feminine hues of ruquiyah dayne's apartments, halima yronwood could not have looked more out of place, the sole streak of black cocooned in pink and lilac. if she was uncomfortable in her incongruity, halima did not show it. she sat there as though she was not a surprising sight, back straight, expression caught somewhere between bored and haughty, as it often was.

or at least, it had been, before ruqaiyah had shown her what it was she wanted to talk about. halima's braid had slipped over one shoulder as she bent to read the letter upon the table, the ink-black of her hair shining where it caught the light, the smallest of creases appearing between her brow while her eyes roamed the page. in her gut, there was a sinking feeling, and once she had finished, her gaze found ruqaiyah's, and she was silent for a long moment.

"are you sure?" she asked, though ruqaiyah had not yet shared any suspicions about what the letter referred to. halima was certain that their minds had both gone to the same place, transported back years ago to the girl in the desert they had taken to torment, and fled when she lay bleeding and dying. halima thought of farah gargalan only sparingly. it had been so long ago that she had assumed there was little chance of it ever rearing its head.

and yet, now it had. the thought of it made halima almost want to laugh. farah was not the only body she had buried, nor was she by any stretch the most important. if, after all she had done, this one was the one that came back to bite her? the thought almost disappointed halima. and yet underneath that was a burning anger, that somebody would dare cast their shadow on her, would think that they had the right to scrawl threats under the cover of anonymity.

"if they knew anything worth knowing," she began, slowly, forcing her mind back to logic and away from rage. "then they wouldn't have wasted their time with this," she slapped a hand against the paper, the sound sudden and sharp. "not unless they wanted something from you." from ruqaiyah, because it had been she that they sent their cryptic words to. not halima. that was interesting, she thought. if it was money, they could have sent a letter to both. it was not as though the daynes were less threatening than the yronwoods, not as long as they had baashir. perhaps it was influence, then, given the daynes were now linked with dorne's regent.

"when did it come?" whatever they wanted, they would have to reveal themselves eventually, whether that be by another letter when they made their demands. halima did not want to wait for that to happen, though. to do so would be to accept that the sender was the one holding all the cards. "is this the only one?"

[ruqaiyahdayne]

★

there was the sound of sniffling as ruqaiyah stayed entirely still, as though any sudden sharp movement would alert the shadowy woman that she was in the brink of breaking down; and yet, the sniffling was all too obnoxious as she put a hand dramatically to her own forehead, having to push aside the jewellery that cascaded through her silky hair. even at the lowest points of her life, ruqaiyah could not help but look upon the choice of attire worn by halima and resist the urge to complain about how halima had a good enough figure to dress better than this, or to wear her hair out of her braid for once.

she knew it was bad when she said nothing, ignoring the throbbing pain at the forefront of her brain - sharp, and she wondered what enemy she had managed to obtain that dared to threaten her. and only her. "it's not fair." she complained as though she were a spoiled small child, dragging out the final word as though it were a whine, a hand moving to point in the direction of halima as she stood in the cascade of pink and purple stained glass; her voice couldn't help but raise in her emotional distress, and all that was missing was her stomping her feet on the marble floor beneath her.

"why is it i am the only one who this happens to? why does everybody want to target me halima?" ruqaiyah demanded to know, and she would get the answers she so desperately needed. especially as the world was ending. she wished to throw the letter into the corner of the room, but she knew halima would not allow her to. "i know what you did that summer." ruqaiyah's voice copied the melodrama one would see in a theatre production at the tor, before she put both of her hands to her forehead. "oh my god, i'm being stalked! who would do such a sick thing?"

this was worse than the world ending; she would rather a shooting star find itself in the middle of her chambers, she would rather wear nothing but silks two years out of fashion, she would rather never gloss her lips again than find herself losing the opportunity to become what she was always meant to be. and the princess of dorne could not a murderess, especially of the court seer's sister. "who would even care about the gargalen so many years later? who? nobody thinks of the house, they are so unimportant. where are they even from?" she demanded, her hand slamming down upon the table she was sprawled upon; for whilst halima remained stood, ruqaiyah was slouched across the chair, her head on the table in front of her.

"does someone want me dead?" there was emphasis placed on the final word, she all but sobbed it from the bottom of her chest as the melodrama finally begun. her hand went to her chest, as though that would somehow calm her utterly frayed nerves. "it is not my fault the prince wishes to marry me. we've been promised since i was a girl." accusations of jealous swirled in her mind, and she knew it was someone who wanted to bring her down. to be her ultimate end. they wanted her gone, because she stood in there way.

"is it zahra? does she know?"

[nick-nellson]

Wicked (2024) dir. Jon M. Chu

[ruqaiyahdayne]

who: @devanitoland context: set before devani toland's conversation with armaan yronwood, ruqaiyah dayne decides to push a few buttons. as per usual. what: good luck babe ft attention seeking.

there were multiple things ruqaiyah dayne could not care to stand for in this wide world; when the tailor did not get her measurements exactly correct, or the state of her hair after the third day without washing it. not being the centre of attention was entirely one of those things, something that very quickly caused the room's surroundings to sour as she devised a plan to once again become the centre of attention; and right now, that spotlight was once again being taken by devani toland. she was never that funny, so she could never fathom to understand how it was she managed to get so many people to surround her in these social situations, and laugh as though they were going to explode from their sides.

she also did not understand why, or how, her laugh still remained so utterly pretty, even so many years later and even when she could stand her - but still, ruqaiyah stared from the side of the room as though she had vengeance on her mind.

there was one thing she could always do better than her, and that was her outift; and truthfully, there were elements of devani's style that inspired ruqaiyah's outfit this night, knowing it would possibly get her attention. or, she simply was too daft to notice it - still, the halter neck style she wore draped over her body as her silks moved like the stars at twilight. it did not take her long to slip her back into the centre of the room, lips glossed as she made brief eye contact with the lady of ghost hill - only to roll her orbs away from her, wanting to ensure the other knew all too well how she felt. it did nothing, for the other still did not approach her.

the night rolled on, and the wine no longer enticed her; the slight buzz and tingle she got had slowly crumbled during the evening. now, instead, she found herself growing increasingly more pouty - despite how attractive she no doubt looked this night, the one person she wanted to approach her had still not. how long would she wait around before having to exercise her absence in devani's life? did none of it matter to her? the click of her fingers meant that she was given more gloss to apply to her lips, silver bangles ringing as she looked within the mirror, ensuring to move her hair from her face.

it was then she noted the other slipping behind her, shades of bright orange and yellow leaving the grand doors - she swept over, carefully prying through the door to look. was she meeting with another?

no - she was reading a letter. and whilst she knew she should turn around and slip back into the hall, she found herself overcome with the intense urge to have devani's attention in any form - whether it be positive, or whether she made her vexed with her. there was also a small, jealous flame ignited in her stomach: who did she receive love letters from now? why was there always some other? she did not want devani back in her life, but she wanted devani to miss her in her own - was that too much to ask? she watched as devani opened the letter fully, and began reading - and the conceited lady of starfall did not even notice the other's expression fall slightly.

"ugh. it's you." ruqaiyah said openly, her mouth remaining in a slight o shape as she knew that was how her lips looked best - it appeared as though she only now had walked through the doorway. of course she'd known all along devani was there.

again, she was not happy with the other's reaction. not enough happiness to see her. "the party is inside, don't you know that?" she asked her, her voice sarcastic as she remained fixed on her spot - her eyes darting to the letter that devani then moved. to try and fold. hide. what was she hiding? she did not like not knowing things. and suddenly, like a misbehaving feline, ruqaiyah had moved forward with a speed most unnatural except that of a nosy woman, and grabbed the letter from the other. there was a flurry of movement and the sound of bangles as she ran to go behind the pillar, ensuring her laughter was heard as she hid from the other.

"what's this then, hmm?" she called over her shoulder, the sound of her heels against the marble beneath their feet. "new lover already? who is it." she asked, her gaze sharpening as her brows furrowed, but her question sounded more like a command - and for a moment, her hands made to reopen the letter and begin to read. if this meant she had the attention she craved, wanted, needed, then this would be it.

[devanitoland]

devani's anger was still there, too close to the surface she normally liked to wear it. ruqaiyah had drawn a reaction from her she hadn't intended on giving, not for the pleasure of denying her it, but simply because she had not anticipated that it could be so easily dragged from her. but then, this was ruqaiyah dayne she was talking to. if ever anybody knew how to get under devani's skin, it was her.

she had to take a moment to steady herself - to take a deep breath and focus only on the air in her lungs until she could feel that anger ebbing out of her. she had never spent much time around children, but this was how she imagined it would be dealing with a particularly hysterical toddler. "when did i say you were supposed to wait for me?" she asked her, a knot appearing between her brows as they furrowed together. "i never asked that of you, ruqaiyah. what everyone else does when i am not there is not my problem." she did not say the words to be cruel, did not even register that they were. it was the mark of a woman who had never in her life made the effort to maintain a bond over time and distance.

for a brief moment, she allowed herself to think, for the first time, on where they would be had she stayed, had she fulfilled promises a different version of herself had whispered in secret. she knew not why she had said such things, save for the fact devani toland had always been prone to bending the truth. when she thought of it, though, there was the realisation that ruqaiyah may not have bound her with chains, but it would have felt like that eventually. it was how it had been when she had wed. no matter how ruqaiyah protested that she wasn't shackled, devani knew in her bones that they would have got to that point.

"not chained," she spoke lightly. "not yet." and on the matter, she said no more.

it was something she had gotten good at over the years, picking up and leaving when it felt like the walls were closing in. perhaps that had always been something she could innately do, and at the time she left ruqaiyah, she had already sensed the binding forming, soft and silken and meant to feel like a gift.

and yet, she still stood here, still listened as ruqaiyah flung back into her face the ruins she had left behind her all those years ago. she didn't flinch, not even when the crack in ruqaiyah's voice came. she simply stood there, taking in what should have been resolved a decade and a half ago, had she given it half the chance to. "stuff on my mind," she could not help but scoff at the way ruqaiyah had boiled it down to something that sounded so trivial. "i was wrong about that one, wasn't i? you didn't see me at all." her head was shaking.

she did not understand why it was so hard for ruqaiyah to see it from her perspective. the world was small when you were sixteen. it was easy to take something good, and make it the centre of all things. but they were women grown now, and devani's world had broadened, across seas and plains and cities the girl who had loved ruqaiyah dayne had never even heard of. "i did mean it," she spoke almost casually. "when i said it, i meant it. that does not change the fact i needed to go." because when she had made her plans to leave westeros, her promises to ruqaiyah had not factored in at all.

she was about to open her mouth to snap then, to tell her to keep dante's name from her mouth, but then she paused, the words ruqaiyah had actually spoken sinking in, and realised she had no idea what she was talking about. dante uller had no impact on her choice to leave westeros. "what does dante have to do with anything?" she was utterly bewildered, and that was to say nothing of the guard. "what guard?" she continued her questioning. whatever hurt ruqaiyah was nursing, devani could not remember it. "i don't know what you're talking about."

[ruqaiyahdayne]

★

the consistent reference to being chained was one that seemed to sound like nails upon a chalkboard within the dizzying, spinning mind of ruqaiyah dayne: chained, locked up, as though she were some twisted fool that would have in any way made devani unhappy, or forced her to be some person that she did not want to be. "because it was always about dante." ruqaiyah all but burst from her seams, and if they were talking about chains, it was ruqaiyah who wished she could fling the chains devani had put on her in her face. "all of it, was always about dante uller. and i'm glad he's fucking dead, and i'm glad my brother was the one to do it!" there was not a moment of breath. no inhale. no pause. just, screeching. a tirade.

"because you always chose him, because you always would rather have been with him. isn't it? the whole time, you always wished you were with dante rather than me. the inside jokes that you would never explain, the way you two would always go off and never even bother to ask me if i wanted to come? or when we were together, the way you'd not even turn around to see if i was still walking behind you?" she wished to shake the woman in front of her. she wished to shake herself, for even saying any of this. she could not help it. "or when i would tell you, ask you, beg you to stay longer, and you went on about how you promised you'd visit hellholt according to this date - like you were ever on time for anything, ever. or when you would cut your time short with me, for the sake of him. did you ever cut your time short with him for me? no." she exclaimed, her hands going in the air momentarily.

to reference her as being chained to the other was greatly insulting in her own mind, to the point where ruqaiyah's mouth was unable to hold back from opening as devani only double downed on it - not chained. not yet.

"no, you don't get to do that." ruqaiyah reprimanded, pointing her finger in the other's face, not caring for politeness or what was seen as being too much. she was always, too much. but she would not be made to seem as though she were the unhinged one in this. "you can imagine all the chains or shackles on you all you want - that doesn't change the fact it's you that imagined them!" she did not know if her words even made sense in this moment; only that she seemed to be finally spewing it all up from wherever she had buried it so many years ago.

"the only one here who is chained, is me. you have chained me to you, because i took pity on you. and now you use, and you take, and you..."

she let out a shaky laugh, her hands moving to the waist she was all so proud of which felt like the only thing she could grip onto in this moment; in all the ways she imagined this conversation happening time and time again in the crux of her mind, it was never meant to go like this. never, was it supposed to resort in them throwing things in the other's face, or pretending as though whatever it was, was nothing. "no, no. i see you. and i wish i didn't, because it disgusts me." her voice broke again, feeling as though the childish fantasy she made in her mind had all but tumbled upon her. there was no way to look upon devani toland in the same way. "you are still stood here lying to me. thinking i cannot bare the truth from you. it is pathetic."

she found herself unable to speak on how the whole thing made her feel in that moment, and so instead she merely moved a hand of hers to her temple, raking it through her hair anything but carefully - to say she felt distressed, was an understatement.

"but why wouldn't you have even wanted me to wait for you?" she asked, now wounded at the prospect devani would not have even wanted her to wait. if there were some chance where ruqaiyah would be happy to have waited for her, to remain where she had always been - it made her want to scream that devani did not even want that of her. she felt as though her world was being pulled from beneath her, and whilst most, including devani herself, would say she was being dramatic, in this moment it felt like anything but dramatic.

"just tell me why, when all i ever done was try to make you happy - try to make you forget." she felt as though she had driven a knife through her very side, the side that was sat, lay, laughed and talked beside devani. now, she felt as though she were bleeding from that very same side. was she being dramatic? perhaps, but in this she deserved to be. she was the wronged party here. the scorned one. there were so many questions. so many answers. and she knew she would keep going, because she simply did not like the answers of those questions. she would keep going until she heard something she wanted to hear. "without even telling me? or saying goodbye?" she asked. she would keep going until she heard devani say she did not care about her. that she never did. that she enjoyed playing with a lady of starfall, and seeing what the evening's delight could truly offer her.

"what ever is that urgent that you could not have even said goodbye to me?" there was one answer. nothing. nothing was more important than saying goodbye. than seeing her. nothing could ever close. but she needed to hear something, anything, to try and give her own mind answers. "why are you still lying? just. tell. me."

[raviofthesun]

ravi did not bristle at her sharpness. if anything, it drew him into a stiller kind of focus, as though her confusion deserved clarity rather than deflection. he regarded her for a long moment before speaking, expression open and unguarded in a way that felt intentional, almost careful. “then let me stop dressing it in riddles,” he said quietly. “i forget, sometimes, that not everyone finds comfort in circling a thing before stating it outright.” there was no rebuke in his tone, only a gentle yielding, a step toward her rather than away. “you deserve plain words. especially from me.”

he set the slice of orange aside, untouched now, and folded his hands loosely before him, as if anchoring himself in the truth of what he was about to say. “essos was not an escape,” he continued, more directly than before. “it was a punishment, one i earned.” his mouth curved faintly, not with pride but with wry self-awareness. “i kept company with men who liked danger for its own sake, who mistook recklessness for courage, and who believed a prince could borrow their habits without ever paying the cost.” his gaze did not leave hers. “a duel went wrong. not honour, not glory, just blood, consequence, and the sudden understanding that i was not invincible, nor interested in becoming a cautionary tale whispered to children.” he drew a measured breath. “so i was sent away. not to be free of duty, but to endure it somewhere my name held no weight, to learn what remained of me when all the titles were stripped away. and only then to return.”

for a moment, his eyes drifted, not away from her but inward, as if measuring a version of himself that no longer quite fit. “there was shame in it,” he admitted, quietly. “not only in the mistake, but in how easily i believed i could outrun its consequences.” his jaw tightened, then eased. “i came back changed. not always for the better. i am slower to trust my instincts, quicker to doubt my own certainty.” a pause, thoughtful rather than regretful. “but i am more deliberate now. more aware of the weight my choices carry, not just for myself, but for everyone tied to my name. if that is the price of maturity, i accept it. i would rather be careful than careless again.”

her question lingered between them, and he did not rush to fill the silence. when he spoke again, it was slower, more deliberate. “what i want from a wife is…” he paused, then sighed, not in exasperation, but in thought, knowing the answer mattered enough to be handled with care. “i am not looking for blind obedience, nor for ornament. i have seen what loneliness looks like when it wears a crown and is surrounded by courtiers.” his voice lowered slightly. “i want partnership. someone who will speak when i am wrong, stand when i am tired, and walk beside me rather than behind me.” there was quiet firmness beneath the warmth now, conviction shaped by absence and return. “someone who understands that duty is not a chain, but a weight you choose to carry, together, so it does not hollow you out.”

his eyes softened then, just a fraction, the earlier flicker of mischief giving way to something steadier, more sincere. “i do not expect perfection,” he said warmly. “i do not even expect patience, despite my teasing.” a faint smile touched his mouth. “i expect honesty. resolve. and the willingness to build something that lasts longer than either of us.” his gaze held hers, unwavering. “my house deserves that much from me. and so does my niece, when she inherits a world shaped by the choices i make now.”

[ruqaiyahdayne]

★

there was little noise as the prince of house martell spoke, only the slight sound of jewellery moving as ruqaiyah shifted herself, as though to appear overly engrossed in the words of the man sat across from her; to the point where the palm of her hand moved to sit below her chin as she fixed her orbs upon him, as though she were hanging on to every word. the martell family dynamic was one that made her so entirely curious, one that she wished to crack and to understand; who was closest to who? was there any sibling who was no doubt seen as the favourite amongst their parents, when both were alive? who is the one who holds the most sway, at least in front of everyone and behind closed doors? it was imperative a new daughter in law worked such things out in her future household, to know where and how to place herself: she had watched her own aunt do it when she married into the tor, as well as other cousins.

and so, whilst she hung on to every word to learn more about ravi, it was ultimately about how it would come back around to her. "a punishment?" she echoed as he spoke, as though she urged him to continue speaking - as though he could fully trust her with what it was he was about to say.

and then he spoke of company with reckless men, of duels that went too far for no little cause that were without honour, and then being sent away: and though she would never be willing to admit it openly, that era of who ravi martell once was had seemingly fascinated her. she wondered how bad he must have been to be sent away to essos to learn self correction, and whether a part of him resented any in his family for letting it happen. for ordering it. "but who did you duel?" she asked, her hand still placed comfortably beneath her chin as her jet black silken hair framed her face; there was not an expression of disgust on her face, or even that of fear. it was one of curiosity, of wanting to know what many did not - as it made her feel special, and as though she were privy to something about ravi martell that most others did not.

"did it truly go so wrong you needed to be sent away as punishment?" her questions were poised to make it clear to him that she was listening - his future wife, that was so lucky to be marrying, was listening to him. that she would be a good wife.

"duels are duels, and everyone knows the risk - it is not something you should have been sent away for." he would hear words that protected him, defended him, took his side: and if there were no sides, she would wonder how soon there would become sides. as he spoke of being more deliberate and careful, she nodded, as though she were entirely impressed and engrossed by him - but within her, there was a sense of growing disappointment. he was less volatile now, meaning he would make her think about her actions and her wishes. meaning he would think about his own more often than not, rather than listen to whatever it was she quietly suggested and put forward. "well…it is good you are mature now. and i will help you be careful." she offered him a smile, one that was meant to make him feel as though she saved it only for him; ruqaiyah dayne was mature, too. so that would work…wouldn't it?

would he not ask her questions about herself? was she so predictable? no, her maids told her she came across illusive and mysterious, they told her so when she ordered them to tighten her corset more. and then, she pressed her lips together as he spoke about partnership, about someone who would support him - it all sounded so terribly dull. where was the excitement? the fun? she blinked as he spoke, and then finished; slowly moving her hand from beneath her chin as she peered over at him. "and do you think i would be a good fit for that?" she asked him, as though she were being earnest and honest - in reality she was looking for more praise. fishing, her brothers would say: wanting to hear something good about herself and about why she was his top pick for a wife. "what did you hear about me?" she asked, giving him a knowing, playful look.

the mention of his niece made her face falter slightly, perhaps in a way it should not - especially considering her own brother considered the girl an important part of his life. still, the memory of it all and the social backlash house dayne dealt with was an embarrassment to her - she did not want to think about it right now. why should ravi fix dorne, only for it be handed over to leila martell the moment she becomes of age? what if she sends it into the dragon's belly, for all she knew - the girl was a brat. perhaps ravi did not know that, but ruqaiyah knew the girl was a brat considering her own mother was far more than that. what about the children she would have with ravi? what would they get? scraps? she was irritated, and she pressed her lips in a thin line at the idea of it all - but she knew there was nothing she could say or do. for now, at least.

"yes, the martells have faced some misfortune recently. but that can all be rectified with the right bride." she leaned back in her seat a little, allowing her shawl to drape from her shoulders; she wished to see whether he was the type to be easily swayed by beauty. by skin. he did not seem the type. still, it was worth giving it a go. "and whatever children you have one day." she added, almost as a reminder.

[ruqaiyahdayne]

who: @baashirdayne when and where: the dayne sept of starfall, which has been out of use for many years due to it being the location of a family tragedy. many years, eight to be specific. except for one night a year, where the widowed lady dayne carries out prayers for her husband. context: some tense prep for a tense family day.

the curtains were heavier than the last time she had pulled them open, that she was sure of; and as she pulled them aside with all the strength she could muster, she saw the dust from a year of being sat in a single position in the hued reflected light of the stained glass before them. it were the first time the sept had seen the sun in a full year; in all twelve of the lunar cycles and three hundred and sixty five sunsets, there was finally time to beam across the statues of the gods. they too had dust upon them, she could tell considering the mother had appeared to develop a moustache upon her upper lip; she clapped her hands of the sight as she turned, moving to pull open another set of curtains.

one by one she finally allowed for the sept to be illuminated, as though to wake these mere idols from their year long slumber of uselnessness - it were time for the day where they would serve a single purpose for a mourning family, before they would be put away again for the next year. her mother swore the sept was haunted with the sounds of his voice, or something even worse considering the blood that had been shed within the hallowed halls; it were no welcoming place, but then again, no sept ever was. she allowed her heels to click against the marble stone as she stood in the middle of the circle, staring up at the idols with a sort of defiance that almost made her wish to throw something and crack one - how was it this had been the sight of the day that had changed their lives?

it were right in the middle, beneath the pulpit, that her father had bled out and the supposed gods had merely watched.

never even considered, or wondered, whether they may send an inkling to the many souls living beneath the same roof to go and check on the lord's private prayer session. instead, the mighty lord of starfall, bled out on the floor like an animal that were to be cut down. it were no befitting death for a lord, let alone the man she had been blessed to call father; but here they were, in this damned place once again. she had her smokes within the pocket of her skirts that she had forced her maids to stitch, and knew that she would need one by the time this day of preparation was done. the sounds of her mother's incessant rambling in the background regarding the litres of milk needed for the offering, and how the coconut was not at the correct ripeness, and that the bell was not loud enough to help their father's soul continue to rest and cross over if he had not yet reincarnated.

it were delusion, at it's finest; a method of madness for a woman to cling, and to try and process all at the very same time. "gods sake woman! the windows will not open, i told you. get someone to see to it." she snapped, unable to withstand her patience nor her irritability any further in the direction of her mother, who had the most irritating of habits of telling her to do something she had already done, or seen to, as though she were still nothing but a childish girl. "try to push it open and you will break it." she had flounced off now, jet black straight locks trailing to the bottom of her waist as she walked, intent on slipping out of the sept before she bumped into any other of her family members. the door of the sept slammed behind her as she had not watched how carefully she needed to close it, and she heard something shatter on the other side - the place. was falling apart, because it was neglected. unused.

except for one twisted day a year, where all of starfall was invited to join in on a prayer that lasted hours, to help shepard a soul that had long since left them.

she agreed with the notion of remembering her father. remembering him for the man he was; a loving, doting father who protected his own and ensured his family were left a secure legacy. he did not waver in the face of despair, nor did he ever let himself slip to stain their family name. it were he, who was and always would be the true lord of house dayne - as opposed to the two they had been left with. one too busy playing hero for all of dorne whilst not realising what he had done to his own house, and the other sulking in high hermitage expecting to be contacted, all whilst intending on rejecting all forms of contact. she was ready to leave from the other side of the door when baashir turned the corner, alone thankfully - at least this meant she did not need to go and find him, which could mean she would need to venture all around the keep. he did not like remaining inside, she had noticed.

"why are you so late?" she demanded to know, her arms crossing over her blouse before he commented it were too short or revealing for a sept, or to be worn in front of their mother. that, and also out of pure indignation and irritation, she shot him a look. "she wanted you there a full hour and a quarter ago." their mother had not been keeping count, but rather ruqaiyah had been; for the golden son would face no chastising. no pressure. but ruqaiyah would remember small things, and cling to them; to see how their mother cherished one far more than the other. "one of the windows won't open, can you send for someone before tomorrow to do it. i won't deal with her having a breakdown over a window too." she did not know why baashir allowed her to keep doing this.

[cat-tully]

[raviofthesun]

he listened, letting her words pour out without interruption, the laughter, the pride, the lie dressed like silk, he heard all of it. his gaze remained steady, not piercing, not judging, simply present, as though he had all the time in the world to let her circle around the truth. when she said she had been patient, that little gleam of humor sparked at the edge of his expression again, but he didn’t call her on it. for all her fire, she did not like being cornered. he knew that then. he knows it now.

“if you had been patient,” he said finally, voice low, unhurried, “i think i might have missed it.” a small shrug, almost too casual. “you were impossible. gloriously so. i think half the reason i listened in those days was because no one else made silence sound like a challenge.” there was no accusation in it. if anything, there was a quiet sort of fondness, a recognition carved into the space between them, she had raved, and he had endured, and neither of them had been entirely wrong for it.

her bangles chimed again, and his eyes flicked briefly to the movement, then back to her. “and now you want me to believe you’re patient,” he mused, amused but not unkind. “you’re asking more of my imagination than my faith.” the corner of his mouth lifted, but his tone shifted, softer beneath the surface. “but if you want me to believe it… i will.” and there it was, not quite surrender, not quite agreement, but something gentler. an offering.

when she accused him of duty, he inclined his head as though accepting a title. “duty keeps me here,” he admitted. “but it didn’t take me away.” he reached for his own slice of orange, not eating it yet, simply holding it between his fingers, as if weighing what to say next. “i didn’t leave dorne to escape it. i left to understand it. and by the time i did… there wasn’t much of the boy you remember left to bring home.”

the slice of citrus touched his lips then, and he paused before taking the bite, meeting her gaze fully. “you ask where i went,” he said, a hint of something unreadable moving beneath the calm. “i went where silence was the only company that didn’t ask anything of me. and when i had nothing left to argue with… it started answering back.”

then, quieter, a thread of warmth drawn through his words: “but i’m here now. and if duty must be endured… then yes. let it at least be in interesting company.” a beat, and then, lighter, a flicker of mischievous life returning to his eyes, “and i went to essos for a little while. purely for the scenery, of course.” he leaned back, letting the faintest smirk curve his mouth. “then i returned, and all at once i was prince again. and as for the rest…” his gaze lingered on her, steady, unreadable. “well. even i have to leave something for the bards to wonder about."

[ruqaiyahdayne]

★

lady ruqaiyah felt the words tumble over her like silk slipping through her fingers, and she stiffened slightly, a sharp edge to her composure. she tried to place them, to catch the meaning beneath the measured calm of ravi’s tone, but it seemed to elude her entirely. what was he talking about? his sentences meandered like a river curling over stones, flowing somewhere she couldn’t follow, and for the first time she felt her sharp confidence falter into a sense of being unmoored. she narrowed her thin, penciled brows, pressing her lips into a line as though to hold herself steady, as though keeping herself composed could make sense of him.

she did not, could not, understand, and she hated that she did not. if duty had been too much for him and he craved the relief of freedom, why was he sat here across from her now?

the mention of essos hit her next, subtle at first, then prickling into something hot and bitter beneath her skin. why did it always have to be essos? why did everyone charged with keeping her, or watching over her, vanish there as though she were something to be left behind? first devani, now him. it was infuriating, and a little humiliating; the protective veil of those who were meant to care for her had always been ripped away by distant shores. she felt herself bristle, a sharp, almost imperceptible flare in her chest, and yet she forced a small, brittle laugh from her throat, masking the jealousy she did not want to show. "i hate essos. and i hate the essosi."

she could not allow herself to soften, not now, not with the way he watched her with that infuriating calm, that patience she had claimed she had, and yet he seemed to find amusement in her indignation. he laughed lightly, the sound flicking against her nerve endings, and she instinctively tightened her posture, crossing her arms in front of her chest though the motion was half gesture, half instinct. too forward, she realised briefly, for a fleeting moment admitting to herself she might be impatient, but immediately she bristled again at the thought, the flare of pride rising. he would not know her. they had barely spoken.

he had not endured the countless small rebellions of her youth, the sharp words spat in anger, the whispered mutinies of her own mind. he could not presume to judge what she was or had been.

“sorry - i don’t even know what you are saying,” she said, the words clipped, precise, her voice lifting just slightly as if volume could enforce clarity. “you speak in riddles as though it were a game, and i have no interest in playing.” her bangles chimed as she shifted, fingers brushing along the rim of her goblet, anchoring herself in something tangible. and yet, she could not stop the tiny flicker of unease from settling in her stomach, the way his calm presence filled the space around her, pressing lightly against the edges of her certainty. she had prepared herself to challenge him, to dismiss him with sharp words, and instead she found herself uncertain.

why did it matter that he went to essos? why did it matter that he spoke so deliberately, almost as though every word were a brushstroke on a canvas she could not comprehend?

she hated the vulnerability it forced upon her, and she hated, too, that she noticed it. her bangles tinkled once more as she reached for the honeyed orange on the table, her hand deliberate, protective, a small anchor to her own composure, and she let a soft, almost imperceptible sigh escape. she would not surrender to confusion, not yet, not entirely; and yet she could not entirely deny the subtle, growing disquiet that his calm, his slow words, his unexpected humour stirred deep within her. "i am not a bard. i don't wonder. and the way you speak makes me need to wonder." her bangles tinkered again, this time louder for her movement to push silken jet black hair back behind her ear was sharp. "do you need me to ask you directly, my prince? what is it you want from a wife?

a beat. oh, why not.

"what exactly do you expect from your wife? if your wife was me, of course." she gave a sickly sweet smile, hands beneath her chin. "hypothetically."

[raviofthesun]

ravi’s mouth curved, not quite into a smile, something quieter, smaller. “that depends who’s telling the story,” he said, voice even, low. “people like their legends theatric. they like to think exile makes monsters or martyrs. something worth whispering about.” his thumb turned his goblet absently, the gesture unhurried. “but truth’s never usually so interesting. i didn’t vanish to build a kingdom. just to stop mistaking noise for purpose.” his eyes lifted to hers then, steady, the candlelight catching in their dark edges. “turns out silence teaches better than praise ever did.”

he leaned forward slightly, the distance between them narrowing by instinct rather than intent. “and as for anger...” a faint, wry sound escaped him, not quite laughter. “i had plenty before i ever left sunspear. i only learned how to carry it better. to choose what deserves its weight.” his gaze flicked briefly to her hand, to the fig held so precisely between her fingers, before returning to her face. “so maybe they’re right, in part. i changed. not by fire or fury, just by finally stopping long enough to see what i’d become.”

he took a slow sip of his wine before continuing, tone softening. “you remember me too kindly, i think. i was too proud to know i was being polite. too young to realize obedience was just another way of surviving. your father was a man who filled every room he walked into, i only learned how to breathe again after he left it.” the admission came without bitterness, only reflection, and in a way, fondness. “if i bowed too low, it was because i thought loyalty looked that way.”

he tilted his head slightly, the corner of his mouth lifting now in genuine amusement. “and you, ruqaiyah, thought i was boring because you, if i recall at the time, hadn’t yet learned what patience looks like.” a beat, his tone light but threaded with something deeper. “though i won’t hold it against you. most people mistake stillness for sleep, until it stirs.”

he set his glass down, the movement slow, deliberate, a faint glint of mischief flickering in his eyes. “you keep saying they,” he said softly, “but i’m far more interested in what you think.” his gaze lingered on her, steady and unhurried. “so tell me, now that i’m no longer polite, obedient, or dreadfully dull… what is it you see?”

[ruqaiyahdayne]

★

ruqaiyah laughed, the sound light but edged, as though she’d been waiting for him to ask. it spilled out of her before she could catch it, that rich, slightly theatrical laugh of hers that filled the space between them, brushing against the quiet calm he carried like it were silk meeting stone. “oh, you played the role very well then,” she said, setting her goblet down and leaning back, her bangles clinking, like wind chimes - but they chimed with a sense of pride, as though she wanted them to be heard for the heaviness of them. “the serious knight, all honour and temper. very dornish. what every man ought to be, according to the songs.” her smile twitched wider, a glimmer of mockery—at him, or perhaps at herself. her laughter faded into a small hum as she adjusted her dupatta, the silk slipping again from her shoulder as if deliberately testing her patience. she fixed it with a precise flick of her fingers, sitting straighter, chin lifted.

“i was very patient with you back then, you know. painfully so.” the words came out smooth, practiced. a lie wrapped in lace. “and i still am.” she met his gaze, defiant and composed, as though she hadn’t just contradicted every inch of her own history with him.

of course she hadn’t been patient. she had been impossible—stormy, proud, a girl convinced the sun should rise when she said so, he would have heard all the outbursts and the arguments and perhaps seen the small orange glow from her balcony when the sky was darker. and yet, looking at him now, she almost wanted him to believe the lie. to think her changed. composed. like him - if that was what he wanted from his consort.

his eyes didn’t waver. of course they didn’t. that was the thing about him—he saw everything, but said so little. it made her uneasy. no, not uneasy—curious. as if there was a riddle carved into his stillness, one she hadn’t quite deciphered yet. she had spent the better part of her life being looked at; rarely was she the one looking. and yet here she was, trying to read him like a script written in a language she didn’t yet know. “what do i see?” she echoed at last, brows lifting slightly, as though tasting the question before deciding what to do with it. she could have lied—easily. said something charming, clever, something to make him smirk that little half-smirk she’d already learned to anticipate. but instead, the words caught somewhere between her throat and her pride. she took another sip of wine to buy time.

when she finally spoke, her voice had softened, just a touch - not out of genuine softness, but a sense of uncertainty. it was better to be honest rather than him realise she did not know what she was saying in the slightest. “i don’t know what i see,” she admitted, fingers tracing the rim of her goblet again. “you were gone for so long, ravi. i used to wonder what you were doing out there. we all did.” her lips curved faintly, not in humour this time, but something else; rather the feeling of embarassment that came in not undertanding if her betrothal had remained or not. in not knowing what was happening with her future. she was a prideful girl, and an even more prideful woman; it had scalded her. “and now you’re here."

she caught herself then, a flicker of surprise crossing her expression—she hadn’t meant to sound so earnest. she tilted her chin again, covering the slip with a brighter tone. the candlelight danced across his face, softening the sharpness of his jaw, making him look younger for a heartbeat. she wondered then—what had silence really taught him? and why did it make her feel like she’d missed something vital, something that might have explained him, if only she’d been patient enough to listen? ruqaiyah straightened, her bracelets chiming as she reached for a slice of honeyed orange. “you’re a man trying to do his duty,” she said finally, with the confidence of someone who had decided that was the safest answer. what had he been escaping from? was mors martell the golden son, and ravi the forgotten second? was that all it had been? had he been deeply in love and it had broken into less than nothing?

“nothing more complicated than that. that’s what i see.” it was the safest answer, wasn't it? “and duty, as we both know, can be terribly dull… but perhaps, with the right company, it might not have to be.” she bit into the orange, sweet juice catching the corner of her lip, and laughed softly again—not because anything was funny, but because she could. because it was the only armour she had left. "where did you go, anyway?"

[raviofthesun]

ravi’s brow quirked at her declaration: “lady ru is never early. everyone else is merely late.”, but he didn’t challenge it. didn’t need to. there was a softness to his stillness, the kind that came from years of learning which battles were worth choosing. and this? this was ruqaiyah being ruqaiyah. sharp-tongued and entirely certain of her own timing.

“then i’m glad i was late, this time,” he said easily, a flicker of a grin tugging at one side of his mouth. “would’ve been a shame to miss your entrance. though it certainly won't happen again, i'd hate for our dinners to cease."

she stepped past him then, her lehenga whispering against the cool stone, and he caught the mild jab about the sundial with a quiet laugh. not loud, low, warm, like a shared joke between friends in on something no one else could quite grasp. “i’ll have it turned,” he said, half-serious. “the sundial, the hourglass, the stars if you like. better to be out of step with time than out of step with you.”

he followed her in, catching the faint scent of rose and saffron trailing behind her. when she paused at the chair, not sitting, just waiting, he understood. not a test, exactly, but something close. he didn’t hesitate. he stepped forward and pulled the chair out with a grace that didn’t draw attention to itself.

her hum, satisfied, unmistakable, made something flicker behind his eyes again. amusement, maybe. or just the quiet thrill of playing a familiar game after too long apart. he took his seat only after she had, and before he could even reach for the wine, a servant stepped forward and poured it without a word. ravi offered a small nod of thanks, but his attention never quite left ruqaiyah.

when she told him he should always wear gold, he let the moment breathe before answering. her eyes lingered, and he let them. didn’t flinch. didn’t preen. “i wear it when i know who’ll be watching,” he said, finally lifting his goblet. “i think, gold only matters if someone remembers it.”

he leaned back slightly, one elbow resting on the arm of his chair, the other hand draped over the stem of the glass. relaxed, but attentive. the look he gave her was amused, yes, but also curious. open in a way he did not often allow himself to be.

“is that so?” he said, as if she’d mentioned the weather. no stiffness, no surprise. just a calm tide lapping at her bait. “strange and intriguing, dangerous combination. i suppose it's far better than being called dull. unless they say that about me, too?” his gaze flicked down briefly to where her finger traced the rim of the goblet, then back up. not lingering. just enough to let her know he noticed everything. especially when she meant for him to.

“you can’t just dangle a mystery like that and expect me to be gracious about it,” he said, voice low and amused. “you brought it up. which means part of you wants me to know. and i’m curious by nature, ask anyone.” a pause. “well. don’t ask everyone.”

his hand lifted in a small, careless gesture, dismissing the hypothetical. “but go on,” he coaxed, tilting his head toward her.. “tell me. i won’t be offended. i promise...unless you're worried it's true."

[ruqaiyahdayne]

★

ruqaiyah’s smile widened at his response, slow and deliberate, though it did not reach her eyes—not entirely. her face shimmered in the candlelight, the gold pressed to her cheeks catching against her high cheekbones like sunfire on marble. she took a sip from her goblet, unhurried, and watched him over the rim as she did so, the curl of his mouth and the quiet confidence in the way he leaned—reclined, really—as though the whole world were a comfortable thing he could stretch into. so unlike her.

she, who had spent years learning to sit just so, to hold her chin at the precise angle that made her look proud rather than petulant. he had never needed such precision. his carelessness came gilded with charm.

“they would never dare call you dull, for fear you'll decide to reawaken whatever it was you put to sleep and smite them.” she said lightly, swirling the wine with idle elegance, the garnet liquid catching a glint from the chandeliers above. “it’s far more fashionable to pretend you’re dangerous. to wonder what you might do, rather than what you might say. i imagine it keeps them entertained, whispering behind fans. better to be a rumour than a bore, don’t you think?” she leaned forward slightly, not enough to betray the rigid grace of her posture, but just enough to suggest interest—of a kind, though what interest she was not sure of.

the table was strewn with little details she barely noticed: fine meats, orange blossom honey, toasted almonds. none of it mattered. not yet. not when the real feast sat before her, golden-skinned and languid, waiting to be pried open like a fruit too long left unsliced. “and yet,” she murmured, lashes lowering just slightly as her gaze drifted over his face, “i remember you differently. from before.” she tilted her head then, the heavy, ruby-encrusted earring catching the light. “you trained in starfall, obviously. i was sixteen. you were... what, all elbows and defiance?” she gave a laugh, short and soft, the kind that curled like smoke.

“i remember thinking you were dreadfully boring then. polite. obedient. far too eager to please my father.”

she reached out to pluck a fig from the silver platter between them, nails glinting like tiny polished mirrors. “but now?” her brow arched. “now they say you vanished, years ago. left sunspear without a word, turned your back on it - and your patience shortened. angrier, like you carved a kingdom for yourself in the dunes.” her voice dipped there, not sultry but inquisitive, as though she were leafing through a book with half-torn pages. “i want to know if it’s true. if you truly changed, or if everyone else is simply trying to explain why you no longer bow as low.” there was no accusation in her tone. if anything, there was admiration—however reluctant. ruqaiyah had grown up believing that the world ought to move for her. that men should fall into orbit as if she were a planet, not a girl. but ravi… ravi was infuriatingly unmoved.

not indifferent—she was far too brilliant for indifference—but unchanged by her sharpness. steady. grounded. as though he had been forged in fire she had never touched. "how true is it?"

[cfthornsandroses]

the music at the verdant concord was nearly deafening, a fever dream of strings and stomping feet and shrieking girls—matilda tyrell among them. she had not intended to get close to the stage, truly, but one glass of arbor wine had turned into three, and bard bieber’s return was, after all, a cultural event. a moment. and matilda was nothing if not timely.

she was mid-step, hands lifted slightly as she swayed in rhythm, gracefully, of course, when her heel caught on something soft and unfamiliar. there was the telltale sound of silk straining, the faintest tug beneath her boot, and then: a voice, sharper than a sandstepped blade.

“i beg your pardon?”

matilda turned, startled, brows lifting as she came face to face with a vision in lavender and lip gloss, radiant and wrathful, the embodiment of stage-front devotion. matilda blinked, instantly registering the horror. her heel had found its way to the trailing hem of the other woman’s gown, and judging by the way the other was glaring at her, one might think she’d torn the fabric with her teeth.

“i promise you, it wasn’t carelessness. i was just… using my eyes for the concert, not for my feet.” a faint, almost rueful smile tugged at her lips. “a poor strategy, as it turns out.”

she stepped back, careful now, hands lifted slightly, not dramatic, just deliberate. “i didn’t mean to step on you. or it. i swear that wasn’t, i wouldn’t.”

her gaze flicked down to the train, a scatter of tiny pearls catching in the folds of silk. matilda’s brows knit together, lips pressed briefly before she spoke again. this time, softer. “it really is beautiful. i should’ve been more careful. if it’s damaged, i can have it mended. i know someone in oldtown who does embroidery so fine it could fool the gods themselves. it’ll be returned to you better than it was, if you'd like.”

a pause, then a small laugh. “though if this is how crowded it gets for a bard bieber return...perhaps next time, something with less fabric to endanger?” her brows lifted, teasing, but her tone stayed warm. “not that I’d dream of telling you what to wear. only that I’d prefer we both make it through the next chorus dancing, without incident.”

[ruqaiyahdayne]

★

ruqaiyah blinked, once, twice, as if trying to process whether the noise entering her ears could possibly be real. she did not deign to respond at first. instead, she turned fully around again—this time with the deliberate, theatrical elegance of a stage-trained courtesan—just to face the girl properly. the girl in question, with her feathered sleeves and painfully under-accessorised neckline in her own opinion, had the gall to smile. smile, as if this were some quaint misunderstanding between friends and not a textile crime punishable by exile.

“you think—” ruqaiyah began, then laughed. not the sweet kind. the sort that was brittle and glittering and unmistakably cruel, like glass breaking under a jewelled heel.

“oh, she’s one of those, is she? sweetling, if you genuinely believe my outfit is the issue here, then i fear we’re dealing with something more severe than clumsiness. we’re talking... mental defect.” she smiled sweetly, venom curling in every syllable. “and here i was thinking the reach only grew bland herbs and boring men. but no—they’re harvesting delusions now.” her tone had risen with each sentence, enough that a few girls nearby glanced over nervously, but ruqaiyah was not done. her blood was humming now, giddy with spite.

she gave a loud, emphatic tch and turned back to the stage, swiping her silky hair over her shoulder in the most pointed manner imaginable and not caring if it perhaps gets in the way of her face. her bangles clinked with regal finality. the concert, she decided, would now belong to her entirely. and so, as bard bieber launched into what do you mean, ruqaiyah lifted her voice. it was high. it was nasal. it was deliberate. “WHEN YOU NOD YOUR HEAD YES, BUT YOU WANNA SAY NO—” she all but began to bellow, slightly off the beat, swaying with renewed vigour - as though she could be the only one who deserves bard bieber's attention.

her hips collided with the girl’s side as though by accident, her perfume—jasmine, oud, something expensive and cloying—billowing like an attack. “WHAT DO YOU MEANNNN!” she sung again, louder, and tossed a look over her shoulder with a smile that was all teeth.

ruqaiyah shifted slightly to the left, blocking more of the girl’s view. a subtle manoeuvre, perfectly executed. she raised her hands dramatically as if summoning the gods themselves. the pearls on her sleeves caught the torchlight, blinding in their beauty. “oh, you can see?” she called sweetly, not bothering to turn this time. “how marvellous. perhaps next time you’ll look before you trample a legacy. if you know anything about real pearls.” because that was what it was, wasn’t it? not a dress. not merely fashion. dornish couture. the height of design, the apex of taste. stitched in starfall, where sun and salt kissed the hands of women more talented than anyone in this room could comprehend.

it wasn’t a gown—it was lineage. it was blood and silk and status. and she—whatever her name was—she had stepped on it like it was laundry. less fabric. hmfsh. ruqaiyah sniffed. she sang louder. the girl didn’t exist anymore. she was no longer relevant to the evening’s story. ruqaiyah had reclaimed the spotlight—and in her mind, it had never left her to begin with.

[victoria-pedretti]

10 THINGS I HATE ABOUT YOU 1999 — dir. Gil Junger

[raviofthesun]

ravi didn’t bristle. he didn’t laugh, either. he simply watched her—chin tilted ever so slightly, eyes warm, patient, amused in the way a man is when a storm meets him at the door and he decides to let it in.

“i see,” he said softly, as though she hadn’t just dressed him down in a tone that could curdle milk. “then it’s a good thing you came early. gives me time to make a proper greeting.”

he let his hand fall without frustration, merely folding it behind his back with the other, as if to say: very well, try again later. his smile, however, remained—slanted, thoughtful, a touch brighter than it had been moments ago. the flutter of her lehenga had caught the sun through the archway and thrown a kaleidoscope across the tiles. and here she was, unimpressed and luminous. of course she hadn’t taken his hand.

his gaze flicked toward the archway again. “bring the gold kurta,” he called, voice smoother now, low and even. “and sandals. not the ones with the jade buckles, plain leather.”

in mere moments, the servants appeared. one draped the fine gold kurta over his shoulders, a rich silk that caught the candlelight with a quiet shimmer, while the other knelt to slide soft leather sandals onto his feet. their movements were practiced, reverent. ravi stood still for it all, gaze still on her, unbothered by the ritual, as if it were no more personal than donning armor before a battle he didn’t intend to lose.

when they finished, he gave a single nod. they bowed low, and without a word more, slipped from the room, the sound of their departure hushed like a turning page.

he rolled one shoulder, adjusting the fall of the fabric. “acceptable?” he asked, not without a flicker of mischief. the gold brought warmth to his skin, the embroidery subtle but deliberate, fit for a prince, yes, but also for her.

“now, i’m ready,” he said with a soft chuckle, his tone a touch lighter. ravi stood still, watching ruqaiyah as she considered him, her posture still as a marble statue. the silence stretched between them, thick with the weight of her coolness, and ravi’s expression softened into something quieter, more genuine.

dark gaze drifted over to the small sundial perched in the corner of the room. the shadow had shifted just enough to catch his attention, and for the briefest moment, he studied it, the subtle arc of time catching his eye. his expression shifted into a quiet amusement as he realized the truth.

"well, it seems i was on time after all," he said, glancing back at her with a playful glint in his eyes. "it’s exactly the time we agreed to meet, you know." he gestured to the sundial with a soft chuckle. “i suppose i’m not as tardy and unprepared as i made myself out to be.”

he cleared his throat, his smile warm, a little teasing. “i didn’t mean to offend you,” he said, his voice low but light. “i suppose i’ve gotten a little used to this,” he gestured to the room around them, and the pipe still resting on a nearby table, “.would you prefer i not smoke at all tonight? i never imagined it would bother you.”

he motioned toward the doorway that led into the next room, where the meal would be set. “as for the meal.” he continued, “spiced lamb, roasted vegetables, honeyed dates... all served with a wine from the hills of dorne. i think you’ll find it quite delightful.” his eyes met hers, “though, if you had something else in mind, i would have been happy to prepare whatever you preferred.”

[ruqaiyahdayne]

★

ruqaiyah did not reply at once, though her silence was anything but demure. instead, she blinked—once, slowly—and tilted her head the way one might when presented with a painting one could not yet decide was genius or simply grotesque. he stood there, now in gold, his silhouette haloed in the buttery candlelight, and for the first time this evening, she allowed herself to consider him properly. not just ravi, the boy who once stained her favourite sandals by kicking mud into the lilies, but prince ravi—taller than memory, and with that particular manner of standing that suggested he knew exactly how to command a room. even barefoot. even smug.

"lady ru is never early. everyone else is merely late."

she nodded, eventually, just once, a gesture so small it could have been missed were one not watching her the way he was. that flicker in his eye—was it amusement? something fonder? ruqaiyah wasn’t sure. she didn’t like being unsure. she preferred certainty. absolutes. like the perfect shade of pink for her lips, or the fact that no man who arrived without fanfare could be considered properly on time. “that sundial is skewed,” she said mildly, stepping through the doorway as he held it open, her lehenga whispering across the polished stone floor. “besides, a man should prepare for the unexpected. if you are ready only at the appointed hour, then you are already late.”

she glanced back over her shoulder as she passed him, pausing just by the chair. she didn’t sit. not yet. she waited, lips curled ever so slightly as she looked at him from beneath thick lashes. would he remember his manners? would he understand that power, real power, often lay in the smallest of courtesies? he did. when he pulled the chair open, she gave a satisfied hum and lowered herself onto it with grace that could curdle queens. she propped her chin on her hand and looked up at him. “you should always wear gold,” she said with mild approval, letting her eyes linger a little longer than necessary. “it reminds people you’re important. even if you forget it yourself.”

then, as if moved by nothing more than a passing breeze, she added, “by the way… someone said something rather strange about you the other day.” her tone remained light, idle even, but her eyes sharpened, subtly, like a blade hidden in satin. she let the sentence hang between them for a moment, watching him through lowered lashes. “quite strange, really. almost… intriguing.” she patted the table, a smile crossing over her glowy features, a hint of shimmer reflecting upon as the sun rays hit her face. she found it important, to ensure not only her outfit, but her face shimmered too.

her finger idly traced the rim of her goblet. “but perhaps i shouldn’t repeat it,” she mused. “you know how people are—always whispering, always inventing. and yet…” she trailed off with a shrug, elegant and unbothered, “...every rumour starts somewhere.” she wasn’t sure if there was truth to it—whatever it was. the rumour had been half-formed, little more than a sliver of gossip overheard through silkscreen partitions and perfume-drenched courtyards. she didn’t even care what it meant, really. what mattered was the reaction. did he have something to hide? or was his poise simply that: a performance refined over years, polished until even discomfort gleamed like calm?

[ruqaiyahdayne]

who: @cfthornsandroses when and where: the verdant concord. context: bard bieber is performing his first show in years.

ruqaiyah had never been more radiant—at least, not this week. the great hall of highgarden had been draped in ivory silks and strewn with floral garlands that hung like lazy serpents from the beams, but truly, the decoration was incidental. the true centrepiece was her. ruqaiyah dayne stood near the front of the crowd, surrounded by sweating, desperate girls and the occasional knight too proud to admit he knew every word to bard bieber’s ballads. she, of course, did know every word. bard bieber was an institution. a cultural reckoning. the last time she had cried tears of joy, it was because he had winked in her direction during a performance in sunspear. and now—now—he was singing baby, and ruqaiyah was transcending.

the moment the minstrels plucked out the opening chords of sorry, she let out an excited gasp that would’ve embarrassed anyone who didn’t already think she was the centre of the realm. her bangles jangled as she lifted both hands dramatically to the ceiling. “you gotta go and get angry at all of my honesty—” she wailed, completely off-key and completely unbothered.

her silk was lavender tonight, barely-there and stitched with tiny mother-of-pearl beads. it shimmered like moonlight, the train pooling behind her like a spilled potion. she danced in place, twirling slightly to the rhythm, her hips swaying far more suggestively than the tempo required. “i know you know that i made those mistakes maybe once or twice,” she half-sung, half-declared, eyes fluttering closed. she tilted her head back, lip-glossed mouth open in heartfelt sincerity. "by once or twice, i mean maybe a couple of hundred times,” she crooned.

and then - disaster.

her heel stopped short. a jolt tugged backwards through her skirt. her eyes snapped open, fury already flooding her veins. she spun. someone—some painfully reach looking, dreadfully mannered girl—was standing directly behind her, her own heel planted on the silk like she’d confused it for a wine spill. ruqaiyah's jaw dropped in disbelief. “i beg your pardon?” she snapped, voice as sharp and clipped as the edge of a broken mirror. “do you—do you have eyes in that sweet little head of yours, or are they decorative?”

the girl blinked, clearly startled. ruqaiyah narrowed her eyes. “you just murdered a train of imported silk from lys, and you’re standing there like a startled sheep at a harvest fair.” she clicked her tongue, tugging the fabric back with a flourish. she yanked her train free with a dramatic flourish, setting her clutch down on a nearby table as if ready to get into a catfight. “this is bard bieber, not a barn dance,” she muttered, fixing the girl with a stare sharp enough to sheer wool. “if you’re going to hover, learn to hover with grace.”

[raviofthesun]

ravi heard her before he saw her.

the soft chime of jewelry, the crisp tap of her heels, the imperial hush that followed her into a room. ruqaiyah. he didn't look up from the open book in his lap, not yet. there was a certain joy in letting her simmer, the kind only an eldest daughter of house dayne could manifest with a lift of her brow and the faintest curl of her lip. she expected the world to keep time with her, and so, he made it a point now and then to remind her that he was not the world, he was the sun, too, and suns did not rise early for anyone.

he shifted in his seat, lounging not in the dining room, where a table had, admittedly, only just begun to be set, but in the adjoining room, low on cushions, barefoot, still in a half-loose tunic the color of smoked amber. incense curled lazily toward the ceiling, and a small tray of pomegranate seeds and sugared dates sat beside him, untouched. the air smelled of sandalwood, citrus peel, and something sharper: expectation.

"you’re early," he called out, his voice warm, bemused, and deliberately languid. "which means i’m technically on time."

he rose slowly, with the kind of unhurried grace only a man absolutely certain of himself could wield. he did not come into view immediately, just allowed his voice to roll through the solar like the wind curling through desert canyons.

"tell the prince i am here," he mimicked softly to himself with a grin, crossing into the room at last. and then, louder: "consider him told."

ravi’s gaze swept over her, thoughtful, appreciative, just a little amused, like he was deciphering the difference between invitation and challenge. she was a vision in pink, yes, but also a storm wrapped in silk and fire, and gods, hadn’t he always known she’d arrive like this? not just beautiful, but inevitable.

“you wore war paint for dinner,” he said, mouth tilting into a lazy smile. “should i be flattered… or concerned?”

his bare feet padded over the cool tiles, and he stopped just short of her, not too close, but close enough for her perfume to make him want to forget every plan he'd half-laid for the evening.

then, with the offhanded authority of a prince too used to being obeyed, he glanced toward the archway where two servants lingered at a distance, still, watching. “leave us,” he said quietly.

a bow, a shuffle of sandals on stone, and they were alone.

his voice softened as he turned back to her, now entirely hers. “come,” he offered, reaching a hand out in invitation, fingers adorned in rings, palm open and warm. “they're setting the table, but we can talk here until everything is prepared for us."

[ruqaiyahdayne]

★

ruqaiyah raised a single brow at the audacity of it—calling out to her from the other room like she were some girl summoned from the kitchens, like her heels hadn’t just sung her arrival down the corridor with the clarity of temple bells. she stood perfectly still for a moment longer, letting silence stretch in reply to his voice, her lip twitching with disbelief. you’re early, he’d said. which means i’m technically on time. technically, he was technically a nuisance. he had not come to greet her. not risen, not bowed, not offered even the pretence of preparation. and worse—he dared to mimic her.

and there he was: barefoot, lounging, still in loose garments like he had just woken from a nap rather than risen to receive her. "excuse me, put some shoes on. i hate feet."

if he had been anyone else—anyone less—she would have turned on her heel without so much as a word and left nothing but the memory of her scent clinging to the doorframe. but no. he was ravi. prince ravi. and unfortunately for him, that just saved him. when he called it war paint, ruqaiyah blinked. slowly. deliberately. her head tilted ever so slightly, lips pursed in disbelief as though she hadn’t just spent two hours ensuring every element of her appearance looked effortless. war paint?

“war paint,” she repeated, tone dry as sunstone. “it’s called gloss, actually,” she corrected, setting her small jewelled clutch down with a loud thunk on the nearest marble surface. the sound echoed, sharp and petulant. “hydration, you may have heard of it if you were not here smoking all day.”

she didn’t take his offered hand. not yet. let him stand there a moment longer, reaching—just to remember she was not his to summon like some courtier in need of favour. instead, she let her gaze travel the room as though assessing its worthiness. she was bored, she decided. utterly unimpressed. and she would act as such, even if the flutter in her chest betrayed something more viciously alive.

“i feel you’ve made no effort,” she observed plainly, gesturing vaguely to his tunic with the sweep of her eyes. “unless the brief was ‘freshly roused from a sand nap.’” she turned, just slightly, so the back of her lehenga swished and caught the light again. “do you greet all women like this, or only the ones you’re legally promised to?” she finally moved toward him, slow and disdainful as a cat, stopping just before his hand but not taking it. instead, she raised one perfectly threaded brow again and asked, “what is for dinner? or is that also arriving late, princely style?” she clicked her tongue softly, folding her arms.