a gentleness against the storm.

xiomara dondarrion, lady of blackhaven, six and twenty.

[thunderandmoonlight]

♛ → THE STORMLANDS present(s) XIOMARA DONDARRION, the LADY of BLACKHAVEN when the dragons danced in the sky they thought he BLACKS would still fly, but in the blink of an eye, they would all die. the TWENTY SIX year old FEMALE who was ARTISTIC & EMPATHETIC before they saw the first of the flames, is now CAUTIOUS & SHY after seeing the last. they’re often associated with hints of silver, lavender, or pearl, like moonlight cutting through clouds, windows always thrown open to let in the air after storms, her curtains fluttering in the drafts, slow-melting beeswax candles. ( priscilla quintana. )

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[gael-hightower]

The Verdant Concord was an indisputable hub for artists and creators to gather, for inventions and new creative endeavors to flourish. With the Reach as the host of such a gathering, the Master of the Arts of King Cedric's realm was inevitably one of the figures that was under the spotlight more often than not. Gael cared little for that sort of attention, especially when it was just for posturing and the attempts of others to make advantageous connections. What the Hightower lord focused on instead was the discussions around artistic and aesthetic approaches, about new projects that could come to life, about new artists showcasing their creations.

So many new ideas had been brewing in his mind, and the poet was quick to write down notes on the small notebook he slipped in and out of his pocket every now and then. After an enthralling conversation with a sculptor from the YiTish region of Wan about capturing the spirit of nature rather than mere physical likeness, Gael scribbled some of those ideas. It had been a while since he last sculpted something, having focused so much on his writing. But he'd grown intrigued to try the approach the YiTish sculptor spoke about.

He slipped his notebook back into his pocket when the familiar voice of Xiomara Dondarrion spoke his name. “Xiomara,” he greeted with a smile, much less formally than he probably should. It had been some time ago, and yet Gael still felt that tender bond that formed between the two of them years ago. The lady's presence in the halls of Oldtown had been a blessing, truly. She had been a kind companion for him in a household that lacked nearly all forms of familial warmth. “Of course. Gods, I'd love to hear how you've been. It's been a long time”.

[thunderandmoonlight]

his smile in response came easily, and something in xiomara eased at the sight of it. it were a quiet reassurance, as though no time had truly passed between them at all. she dipped her head gently in greeting, the corners of her lips softening further as she stepped to fall into pace beside him. “it has,” she agreed, her voice light but warm, touched with something thoughtful beneath it. “though i think… i am glad it is now, and not sooner. it feels right, seeing you here.” the words were almost poetic, tragedy had struck gael through his family, though perhaps his lady-wife brought comfort in that regard.

her gaze flickered briefly to the notebook he had just tucked away, a familiar detail that brought a faint, knowing fondness to her expression. “you have not stopped writing, i see and hear,” she added, almost quietly, as if it were something she had always expected of him. her hands shifted slightly, and after a moment’s hesitation, she extended the small bundle she carried. “i brought this for you. it is nothing grand, only parchment and a bit of lavender. i thought… you might still like such things.” 

as they walked, she kept her voice soft, but steadier now, more certain in his presence. “i have been well,” she continued, glancing briefly toward the gardens around them before returning her attention to him. “blackhaven is quieter these days, though i have found ways to fill the hours. painting, mostly… and small things besides.” a pause, truly the quiet was due to the tension thick in the air one might cut it with even a dull blade. she wondered how long the quiet would last. a gentler note slipped in then, almost curious. “and you? i imagine you are busy writing your grandest work yet, no?”

[queennymeria]

PRISCILLA QUINTANA IN PANDORA (2019-2020)

[thunderandmoonlight]

setting: the verdant concord, the reach // starter for @ryonwyl

the verdant concord unfolded around xiomara like a painting come to life, music drifting through the hedges, laughter spilling from shaded tables, the air sweet with crushed herbs and blooming roses. she lingered near a stone balustrade where ivy climbed patiently, a cup of watered wine held in both hands more for grounding than thirst. gatherings like this were meant to celebrate peace and renewal, and she tried to let that spirit settle in her chest, breathing slowly, counting the soft notes of a harp somewhere behind her. she didn’t realize how much she missed the elements of the reach since she was warded with the hightowers, until she got to enjoy it again. 

it was only when she shifted her weight that she noticed him. not looking at him, not truly,  just aware, in the way one becomes aware of stag stilling on a hunt, or in this case, a wolf stalking it’s prey. ryon wyl stood only a short distance away, his presence cutting a sharp line through the serene atmosphere of the gardens. it was the same feeling of the nearness of nightsong, now ruled by a historical enemy, to blackhaven. xiomara’s fingers tightened slightly around her cup, knuckles paling, though her posture remained composed.

she did not turn her head. instead, she focused on the petals scattered at her feet, on the careful stitching at her sleeve, on anything but the pull of his nearness. she told herself she had no cause to fear him, she was not a warrior, nor a lord, nor a voice in councils, and yet her heart betrayed her, beating too quickly, a storm rising where she had wished for calm. she wondered if he felt it too, this tension humming low beneath the music, or if it lived only in her.

a breeze passed through the garden, cool and sudden, lifting a loose curl at her temple. xiomara drew a steadying breath and lifted her chin just enough to look anywhere else, her expression calm, but strained, like glass under pressure. she remained where she was, neither retreating nor advancing, a quiet figure caught between courtesy and unease, hoping, perhaps foolishly, that the moment would pass without requiring her to meet his eyes.

[thunderandmoonlight]

setting: the verdant concord, xiomara spots gael hightower amongst the crowd and greets an old friend ; @gael-hightower

context: xiomara was once warded with the hightowers during the dance.

the gardens were alive with soft music and the rustle of silk, every corner bright with garlands of green and gold for the verdant concord. xiomara moved through the crowd with a quiet grace, fingers still faintly stained with ink from the artwork she had been finishing that morning. she kept close to the edges of the festivities, where the shade of the trellises offered a moment's peace from the chatter. laughter rang out nearby, but her attention lingered instead on the distant towers, pale against the sky. they reminded her of another place, white stone rising from old water, the halls of the hightower where she had once walked beside a boy with a kind face and an unexpectedly gentle humor.

she held a small bundle in her hands, tied with a slender ribbon, a packet of parchment and dried lavender, something she had meant to give him when she arrived, though she had hesitated, unsure if he would remember such small tokens. gael hightower had been a quiet harbor in unfamiliar tides back then, steady and kind in a way few noticed unless they were paying attention. xiomara always did.

spotting his familiar figure just beyond, she paused, her breath catching with a flicker of something warm and steady. she approached slowly, not wanting to intrude, but the moment his profile turned toward the light, recognition kindled in her eyes. she did not raise her voice to call for him, instead, she simply stepped into his view, hands folded before her, the faintest smile forming upon her lips.

“gael,” she said, softly, but no doubt with an edge of excitement that laced her words. “it's been too long. perhaps you would walk with me a moment, if you’ve the time, of course.”