starasteri

[starasteri]

asteri of lys.

Near the end of the Prince’s life, Asteri of Lys vowed that she would oversee his passing into the next world. Guided by her faith, the foreigner vigilantly kept watch over the dying man, listening intently to his labored breaths as she muttered prayers late into the night and into the early morning hours. Asteri sat at his bedside, completely still, as servants frequently passed through with eyes fixated on the former Red Grace. Despite the bond she had developed with Nymeria in the short time she resided in Dorne, others were hesitant to fall behind the Princess on the matter. Inhabitants of Westeros, in their own strange values and traditions, maintained distrust of magic, foreign gods, and foreign whores. Despite some discouragement from the Prince’s council, Asteri defied their discomfort by seeking residence at his bedside.

“You,” the Prince wheezed, suddenly overcome by a violent coughing spell. The air around him was putrid, the sickly sweet stench of death lingered in his immediate vicinity. The air around him was hot, moist. His paled fingers were gripped around her wrist; they were frigid, his fingertips black from lack of circulation in his blood. The former priestess found herself on her feet instantly, startled. She instinctively whipped her hand back, only the Prince would not let go.    

“My Prince, please, don’t say another word, let me fe—”

Asteri, shocked out of her typically serene disposition, could not find it within her to call out for someone. Prince Elric’s eyes were wide, dulled to an almost greyish yellow hue, and glazed over with disease—locked on hers. Asteri remained fearfully still. Through his clenched jaw emerged a hoarse sob as he fell back onto the bed. He pulled her close. “Such eyes you have, my child,” he cried tearfully, and began to wail loudly. The servants rushed into the chamber, Asteri finally finding an opportunity to break free of him. She thought the man delusional, mindful that his time was drawing near. The god of death was awaiting him at the threshold.

“I-I’ll fetch Lady Nymeria,” she told a servant, trembling. She stumbled into the hall in a daze, pale as if she had looked into the eyes of the god of death himself. However, she composed herself and sauntered down the halls to Nymeria’s bed chambers.          

The Prince would lose his life that very day. And for weeks, Asteri resided at Nymeria’s beck and call despite her rather brief mourning period.

It was a peculiar time to say the very least. In the passing days and weeks, Asteri was plagued with the images of the night of Prince Elric’s passing. She would contemplate his final moments in her own time, quite frequently in fact. She grew quieter than usual, devoting much of her idle hours to her practice. There was a part of the young foreigner that grew quite detached; the privileged life Nymeria had so generously offered her soon became mundane, despite the small joys that seeped into the monotony of the days.

That is, until the day both she and Nymeria’s company were requested by The Queen in Blackmont. She saw the two alone. The Queen tucked a sealed note into The Princess’s hand, “I will leave you both with this. It arrived a few weeks ago in King’s Landing. I had my own letter which instructed me to not open yours. Again, my condolences, dear niece.”  

The silenced offered nothing to the passing minutes, until they were left alone in each other’s presence. Asteri sorted through her own emotions to find the right words to speak to Nymeria. Never had Asteri anticipated having audience with The Queen of Westeros… and, never in her greatest nightmares could she even fathom what followed.

She searched Nymeria’s face as she read the letter aloud, confusion overtaking her expression.  

“Asteria Sand, bastard daughter of Prince Elric Martell,” she uttered aloud, her mind toyed with the strange name, now hers. “My name is Asteria Sand.” There was grim laughter in her voice, all on account of disbelief.  “Asteria Sand…” Nym repeated. Nymeria felt numb and hollow. Memories of her beloved father were tinged a little differently now. He had never said anything. He had barely even seemed shocked when Nym had brought Asteri into their home and had her stay. Nym began, “I’m not quite sure how I feel. Father never—he loved my mother….and we are around the same age….I think I may faint.” Asteri echoed similar sentiments, fighting the tremors through her body at this realization.  “But this letter says that Sand is your name. This is Father’s writing and his symbol authenticated the letter. He just never told us….after all this time.”

Asteri had never known a father’s love; and such a circumstance brought her a sense of relief, though she was knowledgeable of what it meant for Nymeria, what it meant for her place in Dorne. She was a bastard, no doubt, though she still retained a place in Dornish court. The very idea of such a responsibility loomed over her head. She stared at the ground in contemplation. “No,” her voice riddled with dismay. “This name does not belong to me, it never belonged to me. It is not mine to claim.”

“We can go back to Sunspear and figure things out….look through his journals…” replied Nymeria.

Asteri hesitated before speaking, sighing deeply. “Forgive me, Princess Nymeria, for what I am about to do.” Tears began to pool in her eyes, her voice shaken through clenched teeth. “I thank you for taking in a stranger, a whore from a foreign country… for giving her a home and an opportunity to serve at your side.” Asteri couldn’t bare look at her sister, her eyes downcast. “I do not belong in a court, nor Sunspear—nor Dorne. I am, and will always be Asteri of Lys.”

“Asteri… you’re not leaving. Of course you belong in Dorne. Even before all of this—or rather along with all of this. You’re Asteria Sand—”

“A name which does not separate me from any other Dornish bastard—” She swiftly tore the letter from Nymeria’s hand. The Red Grace ripped the parchment in two, then again—and again. “—wait, what are you doing Asteri, that’s the last thing my father possibly wrote—”

“What of a document when his blood courses through your veins, through our veins? You are the rightful heir to Sunspear; this piece of parchment serves you no purpose.” Her voice was raised, as she stepped toward her.

“Eventually my memory will fade, Asteri. I’d like to keep everything of him I could. He is my, our father. This is everything.”

“How sad for you,” Asteri began, her voice somber, “that your memory must be defined by things. Will you erect a palace for everything The Prince has touched, then?” Asteri instantly regretted what she had said, however she bit her tongue. She wouldn’t take it back, conscious it would be the final push she needed to sever the ties which bound them.  

“How—” Nymeria shoved her, her voice filled with rage. “We took you into our home. We made sure you were entirely comfortable. That you would not have to spread your legs like the whore you’ve been. All I’ve ever asked of you is to keep one sheet of parchment and you insult me? Me?” There was a pause, and suddenly, Asteri’s head whipped sideways from the force of Nymeria’s palm as it struck her face. A hot sting lingered and dulled. There was a moment of silence. “Forget it. Do what you will.” Asteri remained frozen, her eyes locked on the ground with brows furrowed as tears streamed down her face. She grazed her burning cheek with her fingertips, then stood straight, and strode past her.

“Until we meet again, my dear sister,” Asteri murmured as she passed.

At sunrise, she departed Blackmont on foot, with only the clothing on her back and a pouch full of coin.

weeks later, king’s landing.

The streets were astir in King’s Landing from the moment she set foot onto the Street of Silk.

Asteri, for the life of her, could not call to mind the occasion. However, the bustling cavalries with their noble banners flown overhead signaled the coming of new clientele. In her time at King’s Landing, Asteri found her place, a brothel known as Chataya’s which upheld quite the reputation discreetly catering to highborn ladies and lads from all reaches of the seven kingdoms; with a carefully curated selection of foreign beauties and their exotic talents. Why, the Madame hadn’t even looked twice before extending an invitation to join their collective. The wages were promising, though the gentleman and lady-callers were of a particular demographic Asteri possessed little interest in.

The Red Grace followed the sea of the city’s inhabitants toward the Red Keep, armed with curiosity of the events at hand—a grand tournament of the great houses was among the day’s topics. Still, she remained on guard, as the emblem of Sunspear danced in the distance—and only gods knew what Nymeria would be planning in retaliation for her destroying the last confession of Prince Elric. She imagined the outcomes could be grim. However, Asteri had no interest in such interactions, far removed from the frustrations she experienced last she saw the Princess of Dorne.

Clad in a barely-there gown, she settled within standing room among the commoners and drunkards near the jousting pit. “How much for you, two-bit Sally?”, a drunk called out, his breath and sweat wreaking of stale alcohol, piss and shit. “Not for sale, bugger off,” replied Asteri with venom in her tone. “C’mon, fancy a copper?”

“Fuck off and let me work,” she replied listlessly, jabbing the man in the ribs with her elbow as she made her way toward the front of the crowd.    

[starasteri]

bio

asteri never had the pleasure of knowing her father, and only knew her mother for a brief time. the moment she was weened from her mother’s breast, she was taken to the temple of the graces in meereen, where she would be raised by the graces as a priestess. her mother—a courtesan renowned for her otherworldly beauty—knew that such was not a life for her daughter, nor could not be troubled with a child in her line of work. while the circumstances were far from ideal, her mother knew it would be a better fate than that of a bed-slave. 

her life was marked by humble beginnings, groomed from infancy as a white grace in the temple of the graces. much of her youth was dedicated to study of sacred texts and practice in the art of healing. her aspiration was to one day be a healer, to be clad in blue garments and tend to the sick and wounded. however, her ascendance out of girlhood and into womanhood was greeted with a red veil—in the words of a westerosi visitor “a glorified temple whore”. she willingly accepted her duties without complaints and a blind willingness to serve their god. 

with every bedded slaver grew her curiosity of the world outside of temple walls. in addition to seducing the wealthiest men in essos, she solicited their knowledge. her mind wandered outside of the sacred texts, and ventured into the unknowns of scrolls under the watchful guard of the green grace. she fell into the habit of drugging her patrons while the green and blue graces slept; finding time during twilight hours to fill her head with knowledge of blood magic and the ancient world. 

that is, until she was caught. typically, the punishment for violating the sacred law was death. however, by the compassion of the green grace, asteri was stripped of red robes, banished from the temple, and thrown into the streets of meereen to the mercy of slavers. the green grace left her with these parting words: “go to lys, your mother waits for you there. ”

she was fifteen when she set foot in her homeland, and sought refuge in the only thing she knew—in the lysene pleasure gardens. there, she sought out her mother, all while honing her skills as a blood maegi. in addition to her body, she offered her services in magic.

upon meeting her mother again, the woman has not even recognized her own daughter. asteri, disheartened by the interaction, returned to life in the pleasure gardens. 

she was approached by a wealthy lord (a frequent patron), who begged for her to save his dying daughter. asteri humbly accepted this challenge, having never performed such a ritual. she cautioned him that one life must pay for another, and in her naivety carried on with the ritual. he approached her several weeks later, red-faced and crying. while the magic had saved his daughter, his wife had lost her life. with his fingers wrapped around her throat, he vowed that he would return to end hers.

desperate for an out, she sought out her mother once more. only this time, she lay dying in a rugged brothel outside of lys. the woman was sick, and delusional. she repeatedly whispered that asteri would find herself in dorne. and so she embarked by the reason of faith, and faith alone.     

in dorne, she was fortunate to cross paths with nymeria martell. the two found an immediate connection, and an invitation to the palace was extended to her. soon, she found a position in dornish court, something asteri never dreamed of.

[starasteri]

What Arianne would wear in her tower, Valentino

[starasteri]

What Nymeria Sand would wear, Roberto Cavalli

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What Nymeria Sand would wear, Valentino

[starasteri]

blood magic

potential abilities

blood tasting : intuition ; tracking, foresight \ retrosight

healing : 

curse : 

life for a life : resurrection in exchange for  another life ; could devolve into fucked-up necromancy later

protection ritual : 

[starasteri]

characteristics

personality traits.

whimsical \ ˈ(h)wimzik(ə)l \ : playfully quaint or fanciful, especially in an appealing and amusing way.

unashamed  \ ˌənəˈSHāmd \ :   expressed or acting openly and without guilt or embarrassment.

empathetic  \ empəˈTHedik \ :   showing an ability to understand and share the feelings of another.

flamboyant \   ˌflamˈboi(y)ənt \ :   tending to attract attention because of their exuberance, confidence, and stylishness.

cultured  \   ˈkəlCHərd  \ :   characterized by refined taste and manners and good education.

even-tempered \ ˌēvənˈtempərd  \ :   not easily annoyed or angered.

assured \  ˈblədˌTHərstē \ :  confident ;  protected against discontinuance or change.

reticent \ ˈredəsənt \ :  not revealing one's thoughts or feelings readily.

perceptive    \  pərˈseptiv \ :   having or showing sensitive insight.

serene  \  səˈrēn  \ : calm, peaceful, and untroubled; tranquil

unwordly \  ˌənˈwərldlē  \ :  not seeming to belong to this planet; strange; not having much awareness of the realities of life, in particular, not motivated by material or practical considerations.

[starasteri]

[starasteri]

A risque Dornish costume 

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[starasteri]

A noble woman of Norvos - Schiaparelli Haute Couture Fall 2019

[starasteri]

Bracelet Daenerys would wear in Qarth, Elie Saab

[starasteri]

What a noble woman of Norvos would wear, Guo Pei

Norvos, called Great Norvos by its people, is one of the nine Free Cities. Norvos is a theocracy. While it has a council of magisters, its members are chosen by the bearded priests, who speak for their god. Among the Norvoshi only the bearded priests are allowed beards. The freeborn of the city, both noble and lowborn, favor long mustachios and Norvoshi women also shave off all of their hair, though noblewomen don wigs, specially when in the company of men from other lands and cities.