location: ophelia’s chambers in sunspear, after the announcement was made of her engagement to dastan.
the chamber was filled with the enticing aroma of sweet, spiced tea. kneeling beside a small fireplace, ophelia tended to the teapot, her mind awhirl with the sudden turn of events in the past few weeks. initially, her purpose had been to offer aid mor’s father in his declining health, but now, much more was unfolding before her.
her father had acted swiftly, arranging the match soon after their return home. ophelia couldn’t help but wonder if something had troubled him during their journey to the reach. maybe fearing she would not return home at all. perhaps he feared the charming poet would sweep his daughter off her feet and she would be stuck there.
things had changed so much that she was no longer merely in the company of her princess, her mentor, and her friend, but soon to be her good sister. completing the brewing process, ophelia presented a cup of tea to myriam. reaching down ophelia took myriam’s hand and brought it to her forehead—a time-honored gesture of respect passed down through generations in skystead. it symbolized reverence for those above them, elders, or those deserving of profound respect. the act silently sought a blessing of wisdom and guidance, fitting for someone as revered as myriam in their present circumstances. with a warm smile, ophelia shared, “i made one of your favorites. actually i think it may be the same blend i first prepared for you. only, i’d like to think it has improved since then.” her laughter filled the space, lightening the mood.
returning with her own cup, ophelia settled beside myriam—her confidante, mentor, and now, something more. throughout her time as a near-ward of the martells, myriam had been ophelia’s guiding light, helping her navigate the intricate challenges of womanhood in dorne. there remained much to learn and understand, and now, a new path to tread.
“are you alright? with the prince’s health declining, i can only imagine the weight on your shoulders.,” ophelia inquired, her voice tinged with genuine concern, reaching out to ensure myriam’s well-being amid the unspoken weight of their current situation. though the topic that lay before them was yet untouched, ophelia chose to dance around it, not quite ready to broach it just yet.
truthfully, her mind was not on the declining health of prince nymeros martell; their return to the sunspear had been plagued by the apparent steady decline of her father in law. the woman had stopped in the mechant centre of the tor first, in order to address the merchant class that were growing increasingly concerned. the issue with the riverlands and lys had many wondering whether their lyseni imports would be negatively impacted, and the trade that ran through their: she was sure there would be some retaliation, for summer would turn to winter. as ophelia mentioned the declining health of the prince, myriam made a small noise of acknowledgement.
she was alright, truly. for what felt like the first time in some time.
the reason why was stood before her. brewing her tea. it was enough to make myriam stand, quietly taking the tea cup from the hands of ophelia fowler, and putting it on the side. she continued to wordlessly navigate the woman to sit down, rather than faff around her as though she were simply some attendant; she was not some attendant. she was so much more than that. “enough of this now.” she spoke, her tone serious; for a moment she wondered whether she had come across angry, and looked toward ophelia as if to silently reassure her. “i will not have my future good sister and the lady of godsgrace floating around serving me tea. sit down.”
for she was to be the lady of godsgrace. she was helping mend a great wrong, quite frankly, a great stain upon their household. it was not the baby boy that was the stain, a natural product of a natural act between a man and a woman: the great stain was trying to act though it could be anything more. the presence of shedded skin would be wiped from godsgrace, and just as myriam had assumed, selene was selfish enough to not only take dastan from his son, but take a bastard to the parts of the world where he would forever be treated as a bastard. that was why it was important to consider who one set up their lives with. love was not enough. love was blindness.
“i do not wish to speak of anything but us.”
she looked at ophelia, and felt a strange sort of lump in her throat. this woman could have put up a fight and insulted dastan, insulted house allyrion for their recent scandal: and yet, she too quietly put aside whatever she had with a hightower lord for the sake of bettering both of their houses. she was no stranger, and in reality, there had been multiple times where myriam had wondered about making a comment or two regarding ophelia’s unmarried status. but then sofina died, and dastan grieved, and then dastan...she did not even want to think about it.
“thank you for willingly choosing to help.” it was all she could really on the matter. her words felt somewhat choked, and she wished to be in more detail, but she would not be. “i know it helps you as much as him, but you have no idea of the relief the news brought me. if there is any i trust with being a companion to my mother, and to him, it is you.” she paused, her hand resting upon her skirts. her leg bounced slightly, her anklets jingling.
“the place is...so precious to me. i want light itself to walk in its halls. and it’ll be you.”