;; the healer

​​ophelia searched dastan’s face as he spoke, clinging to every word as if she might find a crack in his resolve, some space where she could wedge her own. his hands were warm on her shoulders, steady, grounding—but she felt anything but steady. the moment he cupped her face, her breath hitched, and she leaned into the touch instinctively. how cruel it was, the tenderness of it, when his words carried the weight of news she did not want to hear.

she shook her head, not in defiance but in quiet desperation. “i know my duty here,” she whispered, voice trembling with unspent emotion. “i know what it means to be the lady of godsgrace, to be hasa’s mother. i know all of that. but, dastan… i am not meant to sit and wait while people suffer. i am not meant to be here while you—” her voice caught, and she swallowed hard, trying to push back the knot forming in her throat.

her fingers curled around his wrist, pressing his hand against her cheek as if she could make him understand by touch alone. “i cannot just sit in these halls and pretend i do not know what happens beyond them. that i do not know what wounds will go untended, what lives might be lost because there weren’t enough hands to help.” her eyes, so often filled with laughter and light, were pleading now. “and if something were to happen to you—” the thought sent ice through her veins. “i would never forgive myself if i wasn’t there to help. if i wasn’t there to bring you home to hasa”

her grip on him tightened for a moment before loosening. she didn’t want to fight with him—not about this, not when he had only just come home. but she could not stop herself from trying, from hoping he would see that this was not simply a want but a need. the same way she knew he had to leave, she knew she had to go. but she wished she had his blessing.

ophelia had never been meant for stillness.

Dastan Allyrion had lived through too many farewells. “Ophelia,” he said at last, voice low and firm. He stepped back slightly, putting space between them as he became more resolute. “There is no part of me that doubts your strength, or your will, or your heart. You need not put it to the test,” the Lord of Godsgrace went on. “You will stay,” he added with a finality to his words. “I will not put you in a position that might mean I lose you. Or Hasa loses you. He will have his mother still, if anything happens to me”. Dastan's words were not edged with anger but with fear disguised as resolve. He had already lost too much, and the thought of placing Ophelia in harm’s way felt like daring the gods to wound him and his family again.

ophelia said nothing at first. just stood there, her heart thudding in her chest as if trying to push back against his words. she felt them settle around her like a net. gentle, loving, but still something that held her in place.

when he stepped back, her hands dropped to her sides, fingers curling slightly into the soft fabric of her gown. she blinked fast, chasing away the sting behind her eyes, unwilling to cry. not now. not when he was being so calm, so composed, while her soul felt like it was being told to sit still while it burned.

she took a slow breath, lifting her chin slightly. “i know what could happen. i know what war looks like. i’ve walked through the mud soaked with blood, held people’s hands while they begged not to die. ...and i’ve seen them go quiet when they realized no one was coming to help. i’ve seen it. and i still choose to go.”

her voice didn’t rise, but there was something ironclad in it now. not angry. never angry with him. just honest. 

heartbreakingly honest.

“but i hear you” she added softly, her eyes meeting his with a quiet ache in them. “and i understand, truly i do. you want to protect me. protect hasa. protect our home. and i will to honor that, even if my heart is pulling in another direction.”

she looked down for a moment, then back up at him with a weak smile. “you always were very good at saying the exact thing that would make me stay” she whispered. “just… promise me something?”

her hand reached for his again, gently this time. “if it ever becomes too much. if the healers there are too few, if the wounded outnumber the ones who can tend to them. please, send for me. don’t let pride or fear keep you from calling on me. promise me that and i will stay without any more arguments about it”

Hugo Vance stood at the edge of the garden, his bright green eyes flicking nervously over the array of guests scattered amongst the rose-filled hedges and marble fountains. He was acutely aware of every rustle of fabric, every low murmur of conversation, but he had one singular goal in mind: to finally take initiative in the matter his mother had so often raised. His hands trembled slightly, the fine fabric of his tunic itching at his wrist as he fiddled with the cuff again.

He was dressed in a rich, deep green woolen tunic, embroidered with intricate silver thread that depicted twisting vines along the edges of his sleeves and collar, symbolizing his ties to the Riverlands.

Initiative, he thought to himself. Initiative.

This was supposed to be the moment. Yet, as he stood there, his mind remained clouded with self-doubt. It was difficult to ignore the swirling doubts about whether he was ready to make such a step. His mother would insist, of course, that it was the right time. She had always been right.

And then he saw her.

Whatever her name was.

Her deep raven hair cascading over her shoulders in soft waves, moved with the grace of a lioness. She looked if she were woven from the very heat of Dorne itself.

Swallowing nervously, Hugo steeled himself and took a few hesitant steps forward. He cleared his throat, trying to steady his nerves, before speaking. "My lady," he began, his voice betraying a tremor, thick with the unmistakable lilt of the Riverlands own rhythm. "Aye, forgive me for...interruptin' yer enjoyin' th' garden." He hesitated, his hands twitching at his sides, as if uncertain what to do with them. "It’s a...lovely day, is it nae?" he added, his words heavy with an unshakable awkwardness. He gave a practiced, smile. "Temperate, even...for a garden luncheon, aye?"

His gaze darted away for a moment, heart hammering in his chest, the slight strain in his tone betraying his nerves.

ophelia moved through the garden with an effortless lightness, the flowing fabric of her dress—a vibrant blend of coral, gold, and deep blue—catching the sunlight with every step. the intricate embroidery along the hem and bodice shimmered like the warm sands of home. as she walked, she took in the little details of the gathering—the way a noblewoman toyed with the stem of her goblet while stealing glances at a distant lord, the way an older knight chuckled too loudly at a jest only he seemed to find amusing. she smiled to herself, enjoying the way people danced around each other in conversation, each interaction its own little story unfolding.

and then, a voice caught her ear—uncertain, polite, touched with the lilt of the riverlands.

ophelia turned, her gaze bright and curious, instantly drawn in.

“oh! it is a lovely day, isn’t it?” ophelia beamed, turning towards the unfamiliar voice with her usual warmth. her golden-brown eyes flickered with excitement as she clasped her hands together in front of her, the movement as light and effortless as the breeze that rustled through the garden. “though, i must admit, i was just thinking it could use a bit more sun. not too much, of course, just enough to really make the roses pop. but then again, i suppose if it were any warmer, the guests would be wilting just as much as the flowers, and that would be a disaster, wouldn’t it?”

she laughed, as if the thought of an entire luncheon of wilting flower nobility was the most amusing thing she had considered all day. “oh, but where are my manners?” she continued, turning her full attention back to him, her bright smile never faltering. her words easily flowing out of her like they always did. forgetting sometimes when to breathe “you must be from the riverlands! your accent is wonderful. it’s got that—oh, what’s the word—rolling sort of sound to it. i met a merchant from the riverlands once, and i think i made him talk far too much just because i liked the way he said things.”

her eyes widened realizing she had done it again—rambling. “i’m sorry if that was strange to say. oh! but i didn’t even ask your name! how terribly rude of me.” she offered a small, sheepish laugh. “i’m ophelia allyrion”, she continued, cheerful as ever. “and you are? oh, and what brings you to this luncheon? do you know many people here? oh, do you have a favorite flower? i always think that says so much about a person.” she paused again. “i’m sorry i talk a lot. ive been told too much. i apologize that was many words all at once” she said almost giving an embarrassed laugh. “please stop me from talking i’ll keep doing it all day” she tilted her head, eagerly awaiting his answer, as if this were the most important conversation she would have all day.

“a parrot with an oldtown accent?” zahra’s voice, low and lilting, carried a trace of amusement. “now that’s a sight i wish i’d seen. perhaps it could take my place in court—i’m sure it would charm the nobles more effectively than I ever could.”

her laugh was soft, but her usual spark flickered beneath it, subdued. she let the other's words wash over her like a gentle tide, grounding her in the present moment. when ophelia squeezed her arm, zahra tilted her head, glancing at her with a warmth that only deepened as her friend’s stories continued.

“you have a talent, you know,” zahra said, her voice smoothing into something more contemplative as they walked. “for finding the extraordinary in the ordinary. it’s a rare gift.” her fingers brushed lightly against the cool wall, as if the action steadied her.

she exhaled, her smile softening. “tonight feels… heavier than most. but your stories—they remind me that not everything has to carry weight. sometimes it’s enough to simply walk, to laugh, to hear of clever birds and bold parrots.”

her lips curved into a conspiratorial grin as she leaned closer, her tone lighter now. “but i’ll hold you to that promise of a treat. once we’ve had our fill of this peace, we’ll find something more lively. dancing, wine, music—i’m not ready to let the night end quietly just yet.”

ophelia beamed at zahra’s words, her smile bright enough to chase away the shadows flickering along the stone walls. “you think so? i like that—‘finding the extraordinary in the ordinary.’ it makes me sound like some kind of grand storyteller rather than someone who just cannot seem to stop talking.” she laughed lightly, but there was gratitude in her tone, touched by zahra’s observation.

as her friend spoke of the night’s heaviness, ophelia gave her arm another gentle squeeze, a silent acknowledgment that she understood, that she felt it too. there was a careful balance to be held between giving someone space and letting them know they weren’t alone. ophelia had always danced that line instinctively, always ready to fill the quiet when it was needed, or to simply be there when words felt too heavy.

“then we won’t let it end quietly,” she declared, mischief creeping into her voice, mirroring the flicker of light returning to zahra’s expression. “dancing, wine, music—all of it! but first—oh! feeding the birds! zahra, that is a marvelous idea. the absolute best.” she nodded eagerly, as if it were the most important decision they had made all evening. “and if that clever little fig thief is there, i will have words with him! not scolding words, mind you. just a very serious discussion about sharing.”

she tugged zahra forward with renewed excitement, leading them toward the gardens, where the cool night air would be fresher than the heavy tension of the great hall. “and you know,” she mused as they walked, “i do think you would have charmed the parrot. i imagine he would have followed you straight home, and then where would we be? stuck explaining to the court why lady zahra sand has a new feathered advisor.”

she laughed at the thought, glancing at zahra with a playful glint in her eyes. “maybe we’ll find another one someday. until then, you’ll have to settle for me. not that i am feathered…..or a great advisor….but still just me”

ophelia had barely let dastan out of her sight since he returned the previous evening, her relief at his safe return mingling with the unshakable awareness that his presence at home was temporary. she had stayed close to him, soaking up every moment, fussing over the bruises and scratches she discovered with a healer’s instinct, even if he brushed them off as insignificant. her joy at his return was relief he was safe, but it could not chase away the shadow of war that clung to him once more.

this morning, as he spoke of his impending departure, her fingers stilled against the edge of the table where she had been tracing absentminded patterns. the weight of his words sank deep, but so did the quiet resolve that had always been her compass.

“you’re needed.” she repeated softly, though her expression remained resolute despite any worry she might have. how could she not worry when there was so much uncertainty on the horizon. "I understand you have to leave soon"

she glanced down briefly, as if grounding herself, before looking back up at him though there was something stronger in her gaze now. “i have been very honored that you trust me to run things here. i do…i just… i feel as if i need to go with you.” 

before he could interject, she pressed on, her words tumbling out in the rush of urgency that always filled her when she was trying to explain her heart. “dastan, i cannot stay behind. i know—i know it isn’t what most would expect, but i’ve always gone where i’m needed as a healer. and i am needed with our peoople. the soldiers need healers, and i’ve been on the battlefronts before! i’ve stitched wounds and set bones, held hands through the pain, and… and i’ve seen what happens when there aren’t enough of us there.”

her hands tightened into fists in her lap, not from anger but from passion. “i would not be able to rest, not truly, knowing i could have done something. that i could have helped. and you—you would be there, too. i need to help.” her voice softened with that last sentence, her gaze flicking to him, brimming with earnest emotion.

“You speak with the true heart of a healer,” he said with a subtle smile, for he knew Ophelia had become what she was out of truest conviction to help others. “It is one of the things I admire most about you. You see suffering, and you cannot turn away. You seek to mend what others would let break,” he said as he walked toward her. Dastan stood before her, letting his hands rest on her shoulders tenderly. His words were earnest, spoken with the utmost respect for her passion to pursue what she thought was right.

“You are doing much already. You’ve been the heart of Godsgrace in my absence. That is no small thing. It is a duty that carries just as much weight as mine,” his tone softened, though the concern in his gaze remained. “I need you to stay here, please”. He paused for a moment, letting the words sink in, one of his hands moving up to cup her face. “An Allyrion must remain in Godsgrace. And... Hasaryn's mother has to be here if anything were to happen to me”. War claimed lives, and Dastan understood the possibility of not coming back home each time he rode into battle. The thought of their boy losing both parents was a gamble he simply couldn't take.

​​ophelia searched dastan’s face as he spoke, clinging to every word as if she might find a crack in his resolve, some space where she could wedge her own. his hands were warm on her shoulders, steady, grounding—but she felt anything but steady. the moment he cupped her face, her breath hitched, and she leaned into the touch instinctively. how cruel it was, the tenderness of it, when his words carried the weight of news she did not want to hear.

she shook her head, not in defiance but in quiet desperation. “i know my duty here,” she whispered, voice trembling with unspent emotion. “i know what it means to be the lady of godsgrace, to be hasa’s mother. i know all of that. but, dastan… i am not meant to sit and wait while people suffer. i am not meant to be here while you—” her voice caught, and she swallowed hard, trying to push back the knot forming in her throat.

her fingers curled around his wrist, pressing his hand against her cheek as if she could make him understand by touch alone. “i cannot just sit in these halls and pretend i do not know what happens beyond them. that i do not know what wounds will go untended, what lives might be lost because there weren’t enough hands to help.” her eyes, so often filled with laughter and light, were pleading now. “and if something were to happen to you—” the thought sent ice through her veins. “i would never forgive myself if i wasn’t there to help. if i wasn’t there to bring you home to hasa”

her grip on him tightened for a moment before loosening. she didn’t want to fight with him—not about this, not when he had only just come home. but she could not stop herself from trying, from hoping he would see that this was not simply a want but a need. the same way she knew he had to leave, she knew she had to go. but she wished she had his blessing.

ophelia had never been meant for stillness.

she tilted her head, offering a faint smile. “you have impeccable timing, as always. i was just debating whether staring at these walls long enough might inspire some grand revelation.”

her gaze flicked back toward the hall, her lips pressing into a thin line as ophelia described the stifling tension inside. zahra nodded faintly, her expression softening as she met ophelia’s eyes. “you’re not wrong. it’s like every word spoken in there has to be coated in honey or daggers, and i’ve had enough of both for one night.” her fingers traced the edge of the cool stone beside her, an absent motion that betrayed her lingering unease.

when ophelia’s tone shifted to concern, zahra hesitated, the flicker of a frown crossing her face before she shook her head lightly. “i’m fine,” she replied, her voice low but steady. “just... the weight of it all, i suppose. the lockdown, the waiting. it gets to everyone eventually.” she straightened, brushing invisible creases from her skirts. “but enough about me.”

ophelia’s expression softened as she saw zahra’s faint smile, though the shadows and tension in her words didn’t escape her notice. the flicker of unease in her friend’s motions—the way her fingers lingered on the cold stone—was a language ophelia understood well. still, she didn’t press further. instead, she offered one of her radiant smiles, like the warmth of the sun breaking through a cloudy sky.

“i don’t know about grand revelations, but staring at walls does sound dreadfully dull,” she teased lightly, looping her arm through zahra’s as they began to walk. her steps were unhurried, her voice brightening as she spoke. her eyes glanced down the darken hallway then back to her friend “you know normally i would say let’s find somewhere with a bit more life to it but perhaps the quiet will do us some good”

she glanced over at zahra, her lips quirking into a small, conspiratorial grin. “and if i must provide the entertainment to keep your thoughts at bay, then you’re in for a treat! let’s see… oh! did i tell you about the time i saw that merchant parrot who actually talked? truly, zahra, he had the most delightful accent. he sounded like he was straight out of oldtown, if you can believe it. he was trying to sell spices, of all things. i nearly bought some just to keep him talking, but i got so distracted i walked away without buying anything!”

her laughter was soft but genuine, echoing faintly in the empty corridor. “and, oh! the birds in the water gardens have been terribly entertaining lately. one of them stole a fig right out of a servant’s hands yesterday. i swear it was cleverer than half the people in the great hall tonight.”

ophelia squeezed zahra’s arm gently, her voice softening as she added, “see? far removed from all of this. and if you’re lucky, i’ve got a dozen more ridiculous tales to share before we reach wherever we’re going. unless....is there something you would like to share?" she said gently not wanting to push her friend. she would happily jump back into telling her stories but she didn't want zahra to think she wasn't willing to listen.

the cool stone walls of sunspear seemed to close in around zahra sand as she walked the dimly lit corridor, her footsteps echoing softly against the marble floor. the flickering torchlight danced along the mosaics, casting shifting patterns that normally brought her comfort. tonight, they felt as restless as she did.

she pulled her shawl tighter around her shoulders, her fingers trembling slightly as she smoothed the fabric. she had known this secret since she was old enough to understand its weight. her mother, an essosi beauty had come to Dorne long ago. a fleeting affair with the ruling lord of salt shore had resulted in zahra. but zahra had also learned, from the mouth of her father itself, that she was not her mother’s only child. the regent of dorne, proud and unyielding, shared her blood. the knowledge sat heavily in zahra’s heart, a truth she carried alone. her mother had made sure of that, until now. suddenly, everything zahra had tried to keep safely tucked away was threatening to come undone.

the great hall had felt suffocating. every glance, every carefully measured word, every shift in posture weighed heavy with unspoken tension. it was the kind of atmosphere that made ophelia’s skin itch and her heart yearn for air untainted by suspicion and formality. she had done her best to linger quietly—quietly for her, anyway—nodding when needed, offering a fleeting smile here and there. but even she could only endure so much of the heavy air before she needed an escape.

slipping out unnoticed wasn’t exactly her forte, but she managed, darting down a side corridor with a brief glance over her shoulder. the cool air in the hallway was a relief, and she let out a quiet sigh, smoothing her skirts and brushing back a strand of hair that had slipped loose. perhaps she could walk off this restlessness, at least for a moment.

it was then she spotted zahra further down the dim corridor, her silhouette lit by the soft flicker of torchlight. “zahra!” ophelia called softly, quickening her steps to catch up. her skirts swishing lightly against the stone floor. the flickering torchlight played across her features, softening her usual effervescence but not dimming it entirely. her hands fluttered for a moment, as if she wanted to reach out but wasn’t sure if zahra would welcome the gesture. instead, she clasped them in front of her. her expression brightened as she approached, though it was gentler than her usual exuberance, subdued by the lingering tension from the hall.

“oh, it’s dreadful,” ophelia admitted, lowering her voice as if afraid the shadows themselves might overhear. “everyone’s either scowling or whispering like their secrets might sprout wings and fly away if they’re not careful. i couldn’t take it anymore. i felt like i’d burst if i stayed another moment.”

she tilted her head, studying zahra more closely now, her healer’s instincts stirring. “you look troubled too. is everything alright?” her smile softened, a mix of care and curiosity. “you don’t have to tell me if it’s too much, of course, but i can’t help but notice you seem…” burdened was the word but she wasnt sure if it was best to say that. “well…something. if there’s anything i can do—or even just a listening ear—you know i’m always here.”

The Master of Laws had been absent for some days, setting aflame the rat's nest where his sister had gone missing, where Mayya had been set on a path for death or worse. Dastan had never been one to enjoy the sound of screaming or the sight of a world reduced to ash. He didn't enjoy what had been done but through it all, Dastan Allyrion had definitely felt it was justified. As serene and polite as he was, the lord did have it in him to become a different man when retribution, duty, and survival were on the line. He had embodied that side of him then, and knew he would have to do so again very soon.

Dastan had reunited with his wife and son under the Dornish night sky, thanking his lucky stars for another chance to be with his family. This morning, however, was filled with the weighty mood of knowing Dorne was at war and the Lord of Godsgrace would continue to serve as one of its soldiers.

“I will depart for Sunspear tomorrow morning. I talked with Lord Baashir Dayne before I left for Hayford,” he began, his tone serious, for there was no other way to speak of matters like this one. “I am needed”. Hayford had been only one part of the plan. The First Minister had orchestrated much more alongside Ravi, and Dastan had his part to play in it as well. “You will continue to be the head of Godsgrace longer,” he added. His lady had done so well in his absence, gaining confidence in her position as ruling lady with the advice and support of Dastan's mother. What was more, Ophelia continued to care for Hasaryn as her own. They were son and mother in the same way Ashara and Myriam were mother and daughter, with love and devotion being stronger than blood.

ophelia had barely let dastan out of her sight since he returned the previous evening, her relief at his safe return mingling with the unshakable awareness that his presence at home was temporary. she had stayed close to him, soaking up every moment, fussing over the bruises and scratches she discovered with a healer’s instinct, even if he brushed them off as insignificant. her joy at his return was relief he was safe, but it could not chase away the shadow of war that clung to him once more.

this morning, as he spoke of his impending departure, her fingers stilled against the edge of the table where she had been tracing absentminded patterns. the weight of his words sank deep, but so did the quiet resolve that had always been her compass.

“you’re needed.” she repeated softly, though her expression remained resolute despite any worry she might have. how could she not worry when there was so much uncertainty on the horizon. "I understand you have to leave soon"

she glanced down briefly, as if grounding herself, before looking back up at him though there was something stronger in her gaze now. “i have been very honored that you trust me to run things here. i do…i just… i feel as if i need to go with you.” 

before he could interject, she pressed on, her words tumbling out in the rush of urgency that always filled her when she was trying to explain her heart. “dastan, i cannot stay behind. i know—i know it isn’t what most would expect, but i’ve always gone where i’m needed as a healer. and i am needed with our peoople. the soldiers need healers, and i’ve been on the battlefronts before! i’ve stitched wounds and set bones, held hands through the pain, and… and i’ve seen what happens when there aren’t enough of us there.”

her hands tightened into fists in her lap, not from anger but from passion. “i would not be able to rest, not truly, knowing i could have done something. that i could have helped. and you—you would be there, too. i need to help.” her voice softened with that last sentence, her gaze flicking to him, brimming with earnest emotion.

where and when: towards the end of the visits to new valyria for the celebration of the new king's crowning. within the chambers set aside for the dornish visitors. set after a certain visit between willow and armaan. context: ophelia had received a letter ealire that morning asking if she could see someone that afternoon, however the note was no signed and the messenger would not tell her who.

“lady blackwood i am glad i was free to meet with you today.” ophelia smiled as she welcomed the lady into the chambers. they were rooms that dastan had kindly allowed her to take over to conduct her business in.. it was simple enough she but had maintained it with all the supplies and stock she might need to help anyone during this visit. she understood most outside of dorne might wish to go to one of the maesters if something was wrong, but she still found that there was always a handful of northerners who would find their way over to her. sometimes with things they wished to keep more secret. another handful coming to look for an elixir or poultice that she was able to make for them.

there was no one too big or too small to be helped in ophelia’s eyes. that morning she had given a small jar of a balm to help a nasty kitchen burn for one of the servants who had come to her. everything was completely confidential. that was her promise.

ophelia motioned towards a small area with chairs. over her dornish attire she donned the healing apron of the sand sages, the colorful pleated of the arpon denouting her high ranking as a healer even for someone so young “i received a note i believe from one of your messengers i am assuming. now, what can i help you with?” she asked her.

when they came back with a name, she hesitated as it was another deal with the dornish. but she also knew that she could not travel all the way back to raventree hall speculating that a seed might have taken root. and it could also serve another purpose down the road if she should need it. a witness. willow wanted the assurance that it had been taken care of. it was very unlikely, yes, but there was still that trace of fear that somehow it had still happened. an old ghost perhaps from her very first pregnancy. and so when the dowager lady stood before ophelia, she decided to be blunt about her purpose. this was not a courtesy call after all. “we do not need to sit, i will be quick.” she had no intention of staying too long in the dornishwoman's company. “i require moon tea.” there was no point in lying about her true intentions. she wanted ophelia to know she required moon tea. while it was still frowned upon for a lady to have an affair, she was a widow, and it was less scandalous than if she had been simply been unwed. after all, was she not a grieving and lonely widow in the eyes of the people? who could blame her for seeking company? her stubbornness to keep wearing black helped create that image. “i was told you could assist me with that ― and that you would be discreet.”

carrying moon tea in a place where it was strictly forbidden was a dangerous gamble, but ophelia had slipped it among her other healing remedies in her bag. the tea was carefully concealed, nestled between bottles of tinctures and herbs, its presence disguised by the mundane clutter of her medical supplies. there was little reason for anyone to rummage through her belongings, and she had taken care to ensure it was unlabeled, blending into the mix. if anyone did happen to find it, she could feign innocence, claiming she had simply forgotten to remove it before her journey. still, she was keenly aware of the risk. she always was.

but today, that risk seemed justified. the woman sitting across from her had asked for it, her voice steady but laced with urgency. ophelia’s eyes held no judgment, no hint of curiosity to pry more into what wasnt her business, just a quiet, attentive calm as she listened. she had heard many stories in her time as a healer, from whispered confessions to tearful pleas, and she knew when her patients needed more than just medicine. sometimes they needed to talk, to have her help to unweave the tangled threads of their worries. but this woman was different, reserved, composed. she spoke plainly, with no need for embellishments.

“i can assist you,” ophelia said, her voice soft but firm, reassuring. “i will be discreet. whatever happens within these walls remains between us. i swear it.” she met the woman’s eyes, her tone carrying the weight of her words.. “given where we are, though, it wouldn’t be safe for me to give it to you to take away. i can prepare it here, and you can drink it before you leave. it will be safer that way.”

the young healer moved around the small, dimly lit room, her hands deftly gathering the tools she needed. she reached for a kettle, filling it with water, and placed it over the small, flickering flame to boil. as she worked, her movements were fluid and practiced, the actions of someone who had done this many times before as she prepared the tea.

“you may sit if you’d like,” she offered, glancing back at the woman with a gentle smile. “it will only take a moment for the water to heat.” her smile was warm, a practiced gesture meant to soothe anxious patients, to ease their fears. but this woman didn’t seem nervous or distressed. there was a quiet strength about her, a resolve that stood out, and ophelia found herself admiring it.

as the water began to steam, soft wisps of vapor rising into the air, the room filled with the faint scent of herbs. the silence between them was not uncomfortable; it was patient, like the pause between one breath and the next. ophelia prepared the tea with careful precision, measuring out the herbs, her hands steady and sure. she knew the risk she was taking, but she also understood the necessity.

When he finally located Ophelia, Dastan stood by the door in silence, leaning against the frame. She was with his son, sitting on the floor with him, all smiles and excitement. It was a beautiful image, frankly, and that was what kept him from walking in immediately. He didn't wish to interrupt them, he wanted to let such a moment of affection and playfulness stretch for as long as possible.

“Paapa!” exclaimed Hasaryn when he looked up and saw his father by the door.

ophelia turned towards the door as hasa looked up and called out for his father. his excited little voice always brought her so much joy. this wasn’t how she had envisioned how or who she’d be getting married. but then again, who could ever truly predict the future? there was a time when she yearned for a love straight out of a fairytale, where two people met and knew they were destined for each other. love at first sight, perhaps. she even believed she had found it once, with a charming poet.

but not everything could be like a storybook. and nor should it be in some ways, she supposed.

despite not having what she once thought was the only thing she’d ever want, she was happy.

dastan was a kind man, had always been since they were children. she’d never known him to be otherwise. he had his flaws, certainly, but who didn’t? none of them could claim to be without faults or troubles. but at his core, he was a good man and a good father. she hoped he would be a good husband.

“we’ve been getting everything set up, haven’t we?” ophelia smiled down at hasa, who was now eagerly placing his toys into his father’s lap before toddling off to grab more from the chest. her heart warmed at the sight, and she glanced over at dastan, feeling a quiet contentment.

the room was bathed in the soft glow of the evening light filtering through the window, casting a golden hue over everything. the scent of fresh linens and the faint aroma of the herbs ophelia used in her practice lingered in the air. the scene was a peaceful contrast to the bustling preparations that had consumed their day.

“i believe i have almost everything set up in our chambers. or at least, everything is as set up as possible for now,” she said, motioning back towards their rooms. “i haven’t even begun to arrange my medical supplies. i think that will be a task for tomorrow morning.”

she had only intended to say hello, to force a grin on her face and hope the moment of normalcy pulled her from her melancholy, but the moment ophelia wrapped her arms around her, devani froze. she wasn't sure what it was about it that broke her, that made her want to cling to ophelia even tighter, and push her away at the same time.

she forced herself to listen, a tale that would normally bring a smile to her lips and a laugh of mirth at ophelia's unintended mischief now eliciting nothing but concern from devani. "dastan is right to be cautious." there was a solemnity in the way that devi spoke that sounded foreign, even to her own ears. it could not be more obvious that devani was not all right.

and of course, ophelia would notice. because she was a good person, because, for some reason devani could not fathom, for she knew in her heart that she didn't deserve it, she was her friend. devani thought she had done a good job so far of holding everything in. she had not spoken to anybody about how joy manwoody had really died, about what she had found herself tangled up in a mess in king's landing. but the moment ophelia uttered those words (are you alright?), devani crumpled.

"it's dante." the passing of her oldest and closest friend was, of course, weighing heavily on her. his absence left all too big of a gap in her life, and a host of complicated feelings around the how and the why, sorrow and guilt and anger that he could be such a fool all at once. but dante had given her one last gift in choosing to be murdered exactly when she needed a convenient excuse to be out of sorts. "whatever he was - whatever he did - dante uller was my friend, ophelia." tears pricked at her eyes, and she rubbed them roughly with the heel of her hands. "i just can't stop thinking about it all."

ophelia was taken aback by the words, her brow furrowing slightly. "right, right, of course. i know that," she replied, her voice carrying a hint of guilt "and i am being cautious, as much as i can be. it just slips my mind, i suppose. i'm not used to still being in a ruling lady position. it feels a little odd. i never thought i would ever be in this position. and with everything happening, it's just... right, sorry. yes, i am being cautious and listening to dastan on those things" she reassured her friend.

the air was thick with tension within sunspeare with everything happening. they were navigating treacherous waters, unsure of what lay ahead or who they could trust. it seemed clear: trust no one outside of dorne, and even those within were to be regarded with suspicion until the allyrion sister was safely returned home.

but amidst the turmoil, ophelia's thoughts were consumed by her concern for devani and her peculiar behavior. it was heart-wrenching to see her friend in distress. "devi," she said softly, enveloping her friend in a comforting hug. gently, she guided her over to the stone ledge by the pool, wanting to offer her unwavering support.

taking devani's hands in her own, ophelia listened intently as her friend poured out her worries. she could sense the weight of dante uller's death still lingering heavily on devani's shoulders, the mourning palpable in her every word. over the years, ophelia had observed the deep bond between devani and dante, even as devani distanced herself from them. she had heard dante speak of her, recounting the letters she sent him. at times, a pang of jealousy had flickered within ophelia, wishing she received the same attention from dante.

"he was important to you. i know how special he was to you," ophelia murmured, her voice soft and understanding. "despite what he did, that doesn't change the fact that you still cared for him. i'm sorry," she said, giving her friend's hand a gentle squeeze. despite dante's transgressions, he had been devani's friend, and that loss was not easily brushed aside. Ophelia understood the depth of Devani's grief and was determined to stand by her side through it all.

there was a gray aura that seemed to wrap around the golden court of sunspear this day, though it seemed to have been everyday since the night the moon went down. the wound felt as raw as the day she had heard the word's uttered from the princess regent's lips regarding the fate of rashid jordayne. and ever since that day, the dancer who floated about like a kite in the wind had remained utterly still, fixated, as if a storm had rolled over the sunny day that was her normal demeanor, and had not quite cleared. even attempts to move through her grief, at times, only intensified it. and so there were times where feet did not move at all, where the sound of bangles had ceased entirely.

zahra hoped that would change today, was certain the stars had showed her justice and peace would be achieved. it was written wasn't it? she had thought, until what was to be a trial, was suddenly an execution, and the court of sunspear collectively raised a brow at the assumption of their guests. then the prince called for the palace to be locked down, and the dornish court began to engage in intense conversation with those of volantis.

the dancer of salt shore had moved from her father's side, who had uttered words into her ear that sent a shockwave down her spine, eyes unable to stop glancing towards a particular volantene woman, a paramour of one of the lords engaging with the martell prince. hazel hues were still fixated on her when she accidentally bumped into someone.

there was a tension in the air of the dornish court. all of them were tip toeing around their new guests and the new announcement given. all of them were already on edge after a loss of someone so important. a man who wanted peace, who wanted to bring the court together and make the lives of everyone better. it seemed more than cruel to have him taken from them so soon. 

now justice wasnt even being given but a swift execution. that would help no one. none of them would be any closer to finding out what happened if it went this way.

ophelia weaved in an out of the crowds unsure of where to go or whom to speak with. she flittered between her guardian, armaan, and other trusted people at the court. she felt uneased by what was happening and like most she was not her normal cheerfu and talkative self

she glanced over to see who had bumped into her when she saw zahara. “no apologies needed.” she said, offering her a small but kind smile. “i too am feeling very uneasy about this whole thing. it seemed they do not want to have any room for discussion at all on this.” she said glancing around the room. “but i have faith we will find a way to come to an agreement or a way through this…misunderstanding.” ophelia said trying to keep on the lighter side of things. trying to keep her thoughts positive.

“forgive me for asking if this is out of line but, are you alright?” she asked her, her voice low as they walked towards the edge of the crowd. “a habit from the sand sages, to survey everyone. i couldn’t help but notice you seem…distracted? or at least a little worried about something more than what is happening.”

location: ophelia’s chambers in sunspear, after the announcement was made of her engagement to dastan.

@myriamas​

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. 

in the midst of the tea ritual, ophelia's vocal protest, a gentle symphony of reluctance, was hushed by myriam's insistent hand, leading her away from the ceremonial duties to the appointed seating. it was an unfamilar transition into a role that ophelia had until now reserved for myriam. but she understood the look myriam gave to her as soon she would be a lady of godsgrace and a good sister to the very woman before her.

a mantle of weight descended upon ophelia's shoulders — a cloak she was familiar with, yet now draped with heightened significance. the responsibility to uphold the venerable name of godsgrace, to carry forth the storied legacy of house allyrion, resonated within her. a desire, a silent promise to myriam, to not falter in this newfound role, to be the steadfast companion the family would need. 

myriam was a woman who allowed herself the range of emotions all of them would feel, unlike others of the court who closed themselves off completely. but still it was rare for ophelia to see this emotion so close to the surface. ophelia reached across the subtle gap between them, taking myriam's trembling hands into her own. a gesture, both tender and solemn, whispered of solidarity. "i feel a great responsibility and honor to know that." she uttered, hoping to provide solace amid the tumult that must be engulfing her good sister. “to have your trust and your families trust means everything to me.”

in the span of that shared moment, ophelia traced the contours of the complex tapestry ahead. myriam, a steady guide, and dastan, a familiar companion of her youth, now a man she was destined to see through new lenses. the uncharted waters of marriage lay before them, and she couldn't help but wonder how this rearrangement of bonds would unfold. would he be able to see her other than just a friend. as something else?

ophelia wished for a companion in her life but yearned for love. real unwavering love.

"i wish for the light of your home to endure, much as it did in the days when you and dastan were growing up," ophelia expressed, her gaze a reflection of genuine warmth. she yearned for that enduring sense of belonging, a home where echoes of laughter and shared stories resonated much as her home did in skyreach. "it will always be your home, even as sunspear embraces you. my mother says, we leave a piece of our heart in every home we have."