#baashir 001

[intothewylde]

setting: the reach, the verdant concord, just outside of highgarden, morgan is birdwatching and runs into someone unexpected / @baashirdayne

morgan moved with the quiet ease of someone who preferred the company of things that asked nothing of him. he stood at the edge of a copse overlooking one of highgarden’s many winding streams, his bow unstrung at his back, not for hunting today, but for the excuse of wandering without being spoken to. above the reeds, a flash of pale wings cut the light, and he stilled, head tilting slightly. a marsh harrier, gliding low, patient and unhurried in its purpose. he tracked it with his eyes, a faint hint of contentment settling in his expression. the reach was loud in its gathering, nobles arranged like bright plumage on display, and yet out here, the air was cleaner, full of birdsong instead of politics.

he hadn’t expected to find another soul who sought the same quiet, but a few paces down the bank stood a man draped in dornish colors, his gaze lifted skyward, thoughtful rather than guarded. morgan watched him for a moment, assessing not with suspicion but with that soft, observing manner he reserved for living things that did not immediately threaten him. despite the tension that so often sat between their peoples, he felt no urge to turn away. instead, he shifted his stance just enough to make his presence known, but not so much as to startle.

"reachfolk make enough noise to send every feathered thing flying from here to oldtown," he said, tone dry but absent of malice. "didn’t figure one from dorne would bother standing still long enough to watch a thing that doesn’t draw blood." his eyes flicked to the horizon where the harrier had vanished, then back to the man. "you’re not looking for game,” he added, more a quiet observation than a challenge. “so. you tracking wings too, or just enjoying the view?"

a lark trilled somewhere high above, cutting through the stillness. morgan glanced upward once more, then back to his unexpected companion. he nodded toward the sky, where another bird wheeled lazily over the water. “stormlanders don’t come out here for the view either,” he remarked. "between the two of us, which one looks more out of place?"

[raviofthesun]

setting: starfall, after the marriage ceremony of baashir dayne and myriam allyrion, a notably tense evening ; starter for @baashirdayne

tradition and culture were inherently important to many, ravi saw the importance of the sooner in the implementation of the latter, and while he would deem the latter the most important, he understood many upheld tradition as the pinnacle of what made their society as it was. the ceremony was at it should be, intimate, and even the prince did not look to hard into the face of the elder women in attendance, for he feared they may haunt him down and question why he did not do more in his power to stop such things.

but ravi saw little use in halting something that was taking it's natural course, he respected it, even. and as the member of house martell in attendance, he thought it even more important he show his own face - as a way of stating there was no issue taken on his behalf, and he only hoped that whatever was to come for the newly weds was not too harsh.

as the small reception commenced, ravi found a moment to approach baashir, a man he had always looked up to as a mentor and friend. "bahut badhaai ho." many congratulations. he stated, in the warm way in which he worded things in these circumstances. it was genuine, however, for ravi did hope they were happy, and would continue to be, though he also, notably, avoided eye contact with ruqaiyah, as well, who was no doubt infuriated by the occasion. he intended to seek her out later, and try to level on the circumstances, but he also wondered if that was his place, as the boundaries of their relationship, to him, seemed entirely indefinite.

[visxionaries]

who: @baashirdayne / @dante-uller when and where: before the venture to kings landing, some of the reach faction travelled to dorne. what: cedric speaks with the first and second minister of dorne, regarding a conflict of interest. the summer isles risks a regional conflict.

the summer air within dorne was heated, hazy; such was the aftermath of the death of the prince of house martell, the man who he had disagreed with a multitude of times. the man whose sister had once remained perfectly atop of him; such was the haze that was the intricate history between the reach and dorne. enemies, and yet it had been the reach who had first formally allied with dorne when they had opened themselves up upon the world stage; and that had all but dissolved, when cedric decided that he would need riverland troops to fight on his side of the uprooting of the roses.

the rhoynish would not perish for any andal. still, in the years that had passed since the breaking down of their initial alliance, it came to his attention that dorne had allied itself closer to the summer isles and the lyseni. the former were more his concern than the latter: and the beginnings stages of their plan had begun with the privateering that had been commissioned. altan ryams had made it his mission to cause distant rumours of the reach's prowess at sea to reach docks, their aggressive nature; a contrast to their apparent chivalrous nature. and now, cedric tyrell intended to damage their pockets closer to home: for there remained arbor ships closer to starfall and dornish waters.

the trade of the summer isles would not reach dornish shores, if he had his way; when he had his way. meaning dorne would be unable to send their trade to the summer isles, nor would the summer isles receive payment from dorne for their usual trade. for it would be at the bottom of the summer sea, or upon the decks of redwyne vessels. they would add the blackbars to the number should they need to. "my lords, thank you for agreeing to meet with me."

first minister, second minister. the system was foolish and unclear to the eyes of cedric tyrell, but it were not like he asked. he did not need the clarification, and so he looked between both the dornish lords. he could not pick up on if there were any tension between the two.

"may the gods establish a strength within your princess, and may her reign be prosperous." a three year old. the vultures would circle. cedric was one of them. it was the day following the arrival of highgarden's faction to dorne, and he noted the way in which the unpopular lady of oldtown had seemingly found herself easily in the presence of the princess regent. and then he stopped talking, considering he was not one to load discussion or information upon the others.

this was their land. and whilst he would do what he planned either way, he intended on at least attempting to get dorne to pull back from summer islander trade.

lest the reach enter dornish waters unauthorised, and sink trade. it would kickstart a greater region conflict, but when was there not? his gaze looked for the wyl and the yronwood, known for their aggressive stance on the march borders. the dornish had wiped out half of the peakes for cedric, before he could even get to them.

[ruqaiyahdayne]

who: @baashirdayne when and where: baashir dayne returns from kings landing, deciding to divert to starfall first. his sister has little inclination of the idea, expecting not to see him for some time longer; that was until a sudden flurry of dayne guards came into the courtyard right beneath her balcony.

the smoke was between her fingers, against her lips as she inhaled and exhaled into the night sky; the sound of her bangles gently twinkling in the night sky. the eldest lady of starfall had been desperate for a smoke for the majority of the evening, and considering her mother had only left her chambers some moments ago, she practically flung herself onto the balcony. first ensuring none were in the courtyard, she used a candle to ignite her smoke, and relished in the peace. finally. why did her mother bother asking her for her opinion if she would not take it?

she was exhaling again, when there was a sudden flurry of horses stampeding through the smaller courtyard; horses, the flag of house dayne, and she found herself practically faltering backward at the sudden movement.

"shit." she muttered, her eyes briefly meeting with baashir dayne's for a split second: what was he doing back here? was he not supposed to go straight back to sunspear as first minister? had he seen her with the smoke in her hand? it was now lowered at her side, and as he entered into the grand keep, she knew her mother and the household fawning over him would buy her some time.

when he entered, she took the opportunity to drop the smoke - if anyone asked, she would blame one of the guards travelling onward to sunspear. slipping her lilac robe over her rose coloured nightgown, she opened her door, beginning to make her way down the halls. the peacocks were calling, almost as though they knew he was back. and then he turned a corner, where she met him half way.

"bhaiya!" ruqaiyah exclaimed, her voice feigning excitement. it wasn't that she wasn't happy to see him. but had he seen her smoking? "why did you not tell us you were coming back?" she asked, placing her hands together in the symbol of peace before reaching forward to embrace him, kissing his cheek.

"i would have ensured dinner would be served later. it is too late now, you need not put on even more weight for eating at this time." her words were casual, looking up at him. "you must be so tired."

[gcuienveres]

who: @baashirdayne when and where: random wheel spun starter, using a random prompt as a sentence starter. this is a flashback thread, back to when the realms met in the kingdom of the reach.

there was a figure stood within the garden, dimly lit by the flickering embers of candles that lined the gravelled path of one of highgarden's seemingly endless amount of land. in the distance she knew there would be endless fields of golden roses beneath a starry night; the hues of the sky had long since turned pink and light blue, and soon they would turn even darker. the figure was dressed in shades of champagne, if not for the threads of gold and crimson running through the borders of her skirts; it was rare to see this specific lioness adorned in shades of gold, for where there was the most gold was in the tresses of a mane.

pinned, somewhat loosely, where there was enough ringlets to come loose to frame her face; only startling emerald hues were fixed upon something that was entirely beautiful.

beautiful, in a way that was not natural. it were not the seemingly endless amounts of natural beauty one could find within the reach, superfluous at best: there was no sense of beauty needed for true human survival, and yet the gods had bestowed a land that were naturally beautiful in a show of their benevolence. to create a sense of fascination and peace for their creation. this were no beautiful flower, or natural pool which glistened with shades of blue - it were a canvas. manmade beauty, which perhaps at times, even rivalled the beauty of the gods.

an easel had been left within this section of the garden, perhaps left unattended by another who had decided to attend the excessively extravagant ball within the feasting hall. the sound of music continued to play from the distance, a tune she had known since she were a girl: only the nightingale no longer sung, and the cage had become more of a home than the top of the world ever was.

upon the canvas, were figures; only she could barely see it, considering the darkness that stretched over the garden. taking a step toward one of the candles that were lit up to illuminate a path, she swept it within a dainty hand, careful to hold it by the base rather than where the wax would burn her: using the flames to look upon the image. there were two figures, seemingly clad in lavish dress, holding empty bowls; in the background, there seemed to be a world on fire. and yet, their plates remained high, bountiful, with fruits. all bright crimson fruits. her gaze flickered toward the seven pointed star that both the figures wore, though she were unable to tell if they were meant to be men or women. and finally, at the bottom, there was a title.

the stranger's mercy.

her brows furrowed slightly, finding herself fixated upon the image of the burning world on the other side of the window in the painting, though when she heard the sound of gravel, she turned. only, the way she turned did not imply surprise, or even shock, or alarm. almost as though she were ready to accept, acknowledge, or cast away whatever it was the world had brought upon her now. instead, she found a man stood before her she did not know in the slightest. her hand wrapped around the candle, silently bringing it between them. she knew not this man - and she would have no qualms with setting him on fire if she needed to. "does this illustration belong to you, my lord?" she asked, ready to make it clear she were not planning on torching it.