#devani 001

the streets of gulltown are thick with bodies, the press of merchants, sailors, and festival-goers moving in slow, uneven tides. the air is heavy with the mingling scents of roasting meat, salt, and damp wool, the heat of so many people packed into narrow streets making it stifling. edrick moves steadily, his gaze shifting over the vendors and their wares without much interest. bright silks flutter in the breeze, cheap steel glints under torchlight, voices rise and fall in a ceaseless hum of barter and boast. he has no use for any of it. he is here because duty demands it, nothing more.

his hand moves to his belt, fingers seeking the familiar weight of his coin purse. nothing. he stops, his chest tightening with slow, simmering irritation. he glances back, eyes sweeping over the crowd, but it is a fool’s errand. too many faces, too many hands, all moving, shifting, vanishing into the press of bodies. he should have noticed. he should have felt it. a mistake, however small, is still a mistake.

he turns to move, stepping back into the throng, and nearly collides with a woman in red silk. she is close, the scent of citrus and spice catching in the air between them as she halts, gaze flicking upward to meet his.

it were impossible to not have heard of the name devani toland in recent months: her return shortly followed by the reveal of lord dante uller as being the one responsible for the death of her former husband, lord mors martell, seemed to mean that the lines blurred and responsibility was placed on the other. she did not know devani toland enough to dislike her, and whilst myriam's temper was known throughout dorne, she was also not one to look down upon another woman of dorne lest she make her own judgement of her.

the recent months had been blurry, as had devani in the faces of sunspear's courtiers - incident after incident seemed to occur, and she continued to feel a sense of burning pride in the face of jaehaerys targaryen's actions.

the last the rest of westeros had seen her, she had been the princess regent of dorne; standing before the dragon king, and their altercation had resulted in a greater conflict between dorne and the era of new valyria. she was a widow, a mother of a three year old princess with a new political landscape to learn - that had been what her life had been shaped for her as. myriam had all but set fire to the path that had been paved for her; not again, she remembered telling herself.

now, the continent saw myriam once again; newly wedded to the sword of the morning, and judging by the light swell of her stomach, reinforcing a permanent link between house martell and house dayne by making their heirs half siblings. she had tossed aside the expectations that a rouyal widow was not to remarry, and instead she were here; adorned in dornish outfits and gold in the conservative land of the west, her thick hair straight on either side of her.

her visit to sunspear would most likely be permanent this time, and it was something she had not fully thought through until the wagon was already days into the journey - she found herself wondering whether that had been intentional, to make the change of setting as easy and minimal as possible. ruqaiyah hoped not, for she wished her departure from her home to be full of emotional theatrics, with elephants adorned in colourful fabrics and colour filling the air.

now she was here, back in the capital city: where she had been before, though it felt like each time she arrived, there was some update. someone had died.

there was assigned seating at this table, and she noted there were multiple notable women of various houses of dorne: and she did not pay enough attention to one of the names that would have been enough to cause her to get up and demand to sit at another table. perhaps because she was too engrossed in gossip about what the princess loreza martell was wearing, she was within such conversation when another face appeared before her.

"my eyes are increasingly fixed on one person." "don't say that." "but i did." "who?" "you've run out of questions now, ru." she had seen it, and heard it, through a rose coloured haze.

one would be able to see her expression change ever so slightly as she looked upon devani toland for the first time in over a decade, as though she had risen from the dead: of course she had heard of her return and all the rumours attached to them. a flicker of realisation, her words slowing for a moment, before she simply looked away; acting as though she was not at the table at all. none would have noticed the way her heart was thumping, and how suddenly increasingly numb she began to feel.

a door slammed. "you said your eyes were fixed on one person. one. person." "did you take it seriously? we were drinking." "but you said it." "so?" "do you tolands know how to count?" she had seen it, and heard it, through no haze.

how she wished to get up and demand to be sat elsewhere. she found herself looking anywhere but at her, speaking to women and aunties of various social circles as they walked by her; and still, she had not said hello. she would not say hello first. she refused to say hello first.

the banks of the rushing currents of the mander this night had become the scene of merriment personified; under the glow emitted from lanterns that were soon going to flicker out, there was a group of individuals sprawled across the muddy banks that had no doubt been in more sober states before. the scene was not one of danger or anything that made passers by peer anxiously; no, for one of the men had taken to sitting closest to the bank and ushering away any who had danced too close to the edge. the last thing they needed was this night to end in tragedy, with the current dragging a member of their group away - who would have to take on their shift in the morning? mir slapped the mud from his hands as he paid no attention to the mud on his clothes, using his foot to kick away the particularly rambunctious braavosi woman who had all but adopted them from the river's edge.

"what did i tell you about the edge, eh?" he called from his comfortable position, sprawling back on his elbows as he accidentally sent an empty bottle of wine to slip from the bank and into the river; he half went to try and grab hold of it before realising halfway through it was not worth it.

he was done dancing for the night, and pretended not to notice two of his coworkers at the pottery stall sneaking away from behind the trees; as though she had not insisted that she would go and look for him upon him announcing his need to pee at least half an hour ago. it was then he heard more joyous whooping and his somewhat blurred gaze followed to find the sight of more workers bringing some instruments, a range; yet there were two that caught his attention almost immediately. the sitar and the tabla, both originating from across the narrow sea opposite his homeland of volantis, and instead from the rolling dornish dunes. they appeared of interest to him, and whilst the dancing continued and the sounds of laughter rung through his ears in the best of ways, he left his defensive spot by the river bank to move toward them, wanting to see them closer.

the strings of the sitar appeared normal, and when he tapped the back of the tabla and checked the tightness of the chhavani against the base, he knew they were instruments of good condition.

"...these are expensive?" mir stated, yet his words ended up sounding more like a question - this would have belonged to merchants at least, and if not, nobility. the set of mischievous twins before him shrugged, rambling something about selling them to make money from them; and it was only then his gaze lifted to the sight of the barge on the mander itself - a different sort of party. for those who lived in the world above them, always above them, needing even the water to separate them from their lessers having their own celebrations on the bank of the river during their one night off this week. it was then his half drunken mind realised the both of them were soaking wet, and it had not taken long for him to put the dots together - the impish fool had all but managed to swim to the pleasure barge and hoist himself up, somehow bringing back with them not one expensive instrument, but two.

"you'd drown over some goat skin and strings? you idiot." he asked one, cleanly slapping him around the back of the neck, however it was then he wondered just how the twins had managed to bring them back dry. had they held it over their heads as they swam? how did the river not kill them?

the other bolted before he could give him a whack, laughter echoing - and when the pleasure barge grew closer, he noticed the silhouette of a woman rummaging through something, only being able to tell it was a woman due to the length of her hair. he suddenly found himself knowing he needed to spin some tale, or be accused of theft - whilst being completely dry. it was obvious he had not swum across, especially because he was not the best of swimmers - but gods knew what these nobles could do. "my lady!" mir called from across the currents, hoping his voice carried both over his music and her own - but he waved both of his arms as though he needed saving. she did not see him, and so he began waving more.