ruination

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.

but then ru began her caterwauling, and halima forgot she was trying to tune her out. she dropped the letter back on the table, and shot her a glare from across it. "would you shut up? i'm trying to think." she snapped. her hand itched to slap her out of her hysterics, but she kept it by her side. she did not know what the letter meant, nor who had sent it, but losing their minds over it would only play into the hands of whatever would-be blackmailer that saw fit to send notes to ruqaiyah dayne.

still, the question uttered by ruqaiyah was one that halima was wondering at herself. why her? "that is a good question," she squinted at ruqaiyah, head tilted, assessing her from the roots of her shiny hair to the soles of her shoes. "it was what we did, after all. not just you. if they know what happened, they'd know that." as far as anyone else in dorne knew, farah gargalen had fallen in a tragic accident, having abandoned halima and ruqaiyah to explore on her own. it was both of their names linked to the events of years ago. it didn't make sense.

"who are your enemies, ruqaiyah?" she spoke matter-of-factly, though she wasn't sure if ruqaiyah paid attention to that sort of thing beyond the petty gossip of court. she was not like halima, who saw enemies in every shadow, who spent her life on the lookout for threats to extinguish. "because if they are only writing to you, and not to me, then this," she tapped a finger against the letter. "this is personal. it is either someone who hates you, or someone who thinks of the two of us, you're the softer touch to tap up for money."

her gaze swept the room, decorated exactly to ruqaiyah's tastes, her own figure the sole streak of black amongst pink and purple hues, and her lips curled. it was all too plain why someone might think ruqaiyah would be easier to blackmail than halima was. "but if someone means to extort you, it doesn't make sense that it would be now. they must have learned about it ages ago. it's not like they'd find any evidence after all this time." her gaze found ru's severe and unblinking. "so yes. they might want you dead."

Amita Suman posted these pictures on her instagram and I forgot to breathe.

he stepped a fraction closer, the polished stone cool beneath his boots, yet kept a respectful distance, mindful of the barrier she raised. “and yet,” he continued, voice low and deliberate, “even the strongest steel is tempered best when it knows it is watched, tested, not simply thrown to the world blindly. perhaps i speak too kindly of dorne, which is why there are those like you who remind me where our weaknesses lie.”

his gaze softened further, resting on her with steady attention before drifting briefly to the corridor beyond, lost in thought. “survival is everything, yes,” he said, “but it is not living. i would not hope the people of dorne feel the need to endure each day merely to survive, without the chance to take in the lives they have, what this kingdom can offer.” he shifted his stance slightly, deliberate. “perhaps the challenges we face will not all be resolved in my lifetime, but i intend to see their solutions take shape, however long it may take.”

"you would do well not to forget the dangers just because they look like home." was it presumptuous to say? likely. no matter what familial they shared, ravi was still a prince by birth and blood. he did not need the likes of halima to remind him what was wise, and what was not. the look she wore was nothing short of haughty, but for the steeliness that still lay in her gaze. ravi had not asked for her advice, but still she would give it. "and we will both pray that our steel finds its target. tempered or not."

there was a hum that escaped her at his next words, a sound both noncommittal and steeped in doubt. "i think that may be optimistic." there was less bluntness in the way that she spoke than one may have expected. it was not gentle, not in the way that one might perceive gentleness to be, but for halima, it was practically soft as silk. "the challenges we face have endured for generations before us. it will not take a single one to see them forgotten to time."

"Quite a shame, perhaps their Gods protect them after all." Ryon was growing bored with agitating men that would rather stand offended than to respond to the offense. Reachmen were not weak, perhaps soft, but not weak. Deep within himself he knew he was instigating something that could lead to issues but he always knew who to push. Do not push the dragon for they were hot tempered, perhaps more so than the Dornish nor test the Westermen for their Prince was a rabid dog but the Reachmen, the were learned men, and book readers were always the sort to think first.

"i didn't realise i needed to earn it," a ghost of a smile crossed her face, brow raising in something like a challenge. "but i'll consider it earned now. i'll await it eagerly." there was something sardonic in the way she said it. she would visit if he sent for her, but would not be sitting in kingsgrave on tenterhooks.

he was playing games with the reachmen. there was almost a theatricality to it, and though a part of her found it funny, the strategist in her questioned the purpose of it all, if it truly served him to do it. she saw not just the jests he so casually threw out, but the ripple they left in their wake. "you do not need me to tell you that dragons, lions and roses can't be trusted. not by us, and not by each other," she shrugged one shoulder. "i would not write the rivermen off so quickly, though." they thought them weak for crowning a woman, whereas if iona tully had been born into dornish customs, the crown would be hers by rights anyway. the weakness was in those who had overlooked her claim in the first place.

he drew in a soft breath, leaning lightly against the carved column nearest him, the polished stone cool beneath his palm. “sunspear has changed,” he agreed, though there was a faint, almost wistful curl to his mouth. “or maybe it’s me who has. the halls don’t feel smaller, but i walk them differently now. every corner carries a ghost i didn’t notice as a boy. every shadow feels older, heavier.” his shoulders shifted slightly, as if settling the weight he named. “still, there’s a kind of welcome in that. at least i know i’ve come home to something real, not a painted memory.”

he let his eyes return to her then, steady, the hint of fondness beneath his calm impossible to miss. “and though i’ve missed much, i see that dorne has not bent in my absence. you, least of all. whatever else has changed, i’d call that a comfort.” a pause, deliberate but gentle. “you are what you are, yes. but that doesn’t mean you carry it alone.”

but he looked at her as though they had been friends once, and that was enough to unsettle her, because she could recall him very little. "survival is everything," she agreed, though almost immediately, something tugged at her train of thought, reminding her that it wasn't. there were greater things than survival to her, desires that ran deeper in the blood than the simple will to survive. "though i do think you are looking upon dorne far too kindly. steel that's been tempered badly is brittle, and brittle things shatter." there was an irony in her words that she could not deny - it would not be a stretch to say halima herself was brittle, but not yet broken.

she nodded her head, her expression taking on something that rang a little like understanding. it was easy to take for granted that the halls of home were a place of safety, but not so when you realised the weight that it pressed on you. sometimes it took leaving, and coming back again. others, it took a monumental shift in the trajectory of your life. "that," she said, the twist of her lips almost rueful. "sounds like the words of a man who expected the memory, and is trying to convince himself reality isn't a disappointment."

kate's 365 days of female characters:

And briefly he paused in kicking to stare at those who watched them. He imagined these men thought too highly of themselves to strike a woman and he would wager they would find themselves embarrassed before the thought entered their small minds. It was an other weakness. An inability accept their ways were anything but perfect. They tore their own realm apart through small, petty weakness and he and his flourished in the raiding parties and abductions, so much the coin made during the dance came to House Wyl's coffers through ransom.

"i am still awaiting my invitation to nightsong," she drawled. she had not seen the lands since ryon had taken them, though they now bordered those she was sworn to guard until armaan's son came of age. the prince's pass led out into the marches where nightsong stood, and she would like to see it now that it had been claimed for dorne. "though, i suppose, you are still awaiting my congratulations. let me offer them now." she did not take his words about claiming the marches of the reach with any sort of seriousness. if that was his plan, he'd be a fool to speak it with so many in earshot. likely he just wanted to give them something to fret over.

halima’s comment about the stars earned a small tilt of zahra’s head, her smile returning, slower this time, touched with something reflective. “they didn’t warn me,” she said, voice low, “but i think they led you.” her gaze flicked to the cloth in halima’s hand, then back up, steadier now. “just in time to see. just in time to know what to do.” a pause, not long, but enough to let the words stretch. “maybe it isn’t always the stars we read,” she added, “but who they choose to show the pattern to.” she’d grown used to being doubted, tolerated with polite nods and knowing smiles, but halima’s gaze, cool and cutting as it could be, didn’t dismiss her. it watched like it meant something. and that, more than belief, felt rare.

“do you see me often, lady yronwood?” she repeated the title with just a touch of playful reverence, though her voice softened with the question. “i hadn’t realized i was so easy to spot.” but maybe she had. zahra was never the type to fade quietly into a room, and she knew it. still, to be noticed by halima, intrigued her more than she realized.

hands dry now, she held the cloth in her hands, unblinking eyes returning to zahra. a miracle worker. it sat uncomfortably on her shoulders, for she could not remember the last time she had received any sort of praise for erasing a mistake or removing an obstacle. she didn't seek it, either. "save your gratitude for the washer-woman who will need to get the smell out," she shrugged, though she still clutched the cloth, holding it before her like a barrier between them, as though there mere being was not barrier enough. zahra reminded her of some sort of elegant water-bird, all bright feathers and curved neck, swooping over a moonlit river with wings spread wide and mouth open in song. and then there was halima, the panther in the bushes, shadowed and concealed, clawed paws making no sound when they pressed against the ground. "most things come out with the right pressure." a shrug, and she folded the cloth, putting it back where she had found it.

a brow raised in a wry sort of amusement, and yet despite that, when she spoke it was with a deathly seriousness laced in her tone. "i see most things, lady sand." and that was the truth of it, even if the words were spoken with more than a touch of the yronwood arrogance that lived at her core. "i see which lords are going to be a nuisance before they've even decided to be. i see the tremble of a hand about to spill wine. and i see you." she shook her head, the glossy-black of her braid swaying slightly as she did. "the stars did not grant me my sight, and they are not the reason you shine."

for that was the truth of it, wasn't it? not bird and beast, but shine and shadow. "you are hard to miss," and she knew it, halima thought. "perhaps it is intentional, or perhaps it is simply that you know you are allowed to take up space and so you never thought about it." there was no malice or judgement. it was an observation, neutral in its assessment of her.

her tone might have brushed like steel, but the words themselves lingered longer than they should have, softer at the edges than it seemed she had truly intended. ravi caught it. he always had a way of hearing what wasn’t said.

“just you,” he echoed, a hint of a smile catching at the edge of his mouth. “somehow, i doubt you’ve ever been just anything.” there was no challenge in it, only warmth, and a quiet acknowledgment of the weight her presence carried. he understood what she meant. and what she didn’t say.

the corridor around them hummed with quiet. no servants, no courtiers, just the heat trapped in stone and the old sunlight slanting through the narrow windows. a memory bloomed, unbidden, of them as children running through these very halls, voices echoing like birds through the sandstone arches. but memory was a slippery thing. he didn't always trust his own these days. perhaps it had never happened like that. perhaps it had.

his gaze flicked over her, noting the belt she touched, the formality she wore like armor. not unfamiliar. not unwelcome, either. “my return has been...interesting to say the least.” he said, feeling the weight of all that befell him in one breath before shrugging it off. “but no one tried to poison me at the gates, so i’m counting that as a success.”

a beat. then, more gently, “though i admit, i wasn’t sure who i’d see here. and what kind of welcome i'd stumble upon.” a breathy chuckle escaped him.

there were memories stirring somewhere in her mind that halima wasn't sure belonged to her. she didn't stop to ruminate on them, did not examine them beyond the faintest flicker of acknowledgement before shutting them away, locking herself up tight.

"no poison is quite the victory. harder to avoid than you'd think." her tone was dry, but in her mind, there was enough truth in her words to serve as a warning rather than a jest. he may not have been poisoned yet, but there was still time. "dorne has a way of striking when you least expect, so you can never be too certain."

it was easier to give her warnings than it was to answer questions. halima had always been something of a closed book, a woman who rarely talked about herself and didn't want to now. "dorne treats no one," she retorted, flatly. "you either survive it, or it breaks you." and she was still here, not yet broken. that should be all the answer he would need.

what else was there she could say to him? she had raised her blades in the name of dorne, for house yronwood, but that was hers to keep hidden. she would not speak of dead septons, dead gargalens, the price that loyalty had cost her, for that was for none to know but her.

"I hear they weep into their flowers after battle." Ryon kicked the ball over to her, stretching his arms above his head as he waited for her to kick the ball back over. Ryon Wyl was unapologetic in the way he carried himself, proud to come from the lands where men and women did not bend their knee and remained unbroken. They could even claim themselves to be dragon slayers. Again.

"What are you making of this faff? Everyone walking around, floating back and forth with stupid arguments about peace and unity." Ryon thought it was just a display for the Reach king to demonstrate to the realm how much smarter they were than everyone else around them. Ryon never liked Reachmen, he thought they looked down their noses at everyone. Soft men, fat with fields of food and smallfolk to shield them from a real fight. Still. It wasn't worth fighting them. They were important. Something about bread.

she scoffed, returning the ball to him with a kick that was clean, if not particularly skillful. peace. the very word felt foreign to her, a lie told by others who had nothing they needed to fight for. "it is theatre. as much a display as if king cedric decided to gather us here to parade his armies before us, just of a different kind," she said, eventually. "so that when we return to dorne, this will be what we think of when the reach comes into conversation." she would not say more on the subject, that in her suspicious mind, this was all intended to get people to look the other way. for if the king could craft a conspiracy such as the one she had been part of, what else was taking place under the shade of floral canopies?