#c: baashir

[armaans]

who: @baashirdayne when and where: following the death of lady joy manwoody, armaan seeks out the first minister to ensure something is entirely clear with the rest of the council, and the law entirely.

lady joy of house manwoody was dead. succumbed to her infection some days following birthing twin sons into the world. it was too easy to believe that due to his ambition, the bloodroyal of yronwood was a man of court - one who was an able and skilled politician, silver tongued in his ability to speak with others. and then, all it took was one truly knowing armaan of yronwood to know that was falsehood in it's truest form: his nature had always been brash, blunt, and too impulsive for his actions to truly have any long term consequences.

his hands, which he had extended through the birth of not one son, but two; twin boys, ishaan and kabir of house yronwood and house manwoody - heirs to kingsgrave.

armaan would be willing to deal with the sisters of house manwoody should they try to insert their claim over the lands of kingsgrave, even if it were on behalf of their nephew; and that was the reason he had come to see baashir dayne today. only, the first minister was not in the apartments of the first minister; a wing within sunspear's grand palace that was within the centre of the keep, but rather, he was informed that the man would need to be called from the royal apartments. his brow furrowed slightly, in the way it always did when armaan was visibly unpleased to hear such news.

and he had a choice. either he sent a page to inform baashir dayne he was within the dayne apartments to see him. or, he make his way to the royal apartments, and hope he was not interrupting a special evening meeting between the regent and the first minister.

martell guards moved to locate baashir within the long set of apartments as armaan himself remained within an outer wing, leaning comfortably against one of the ornate pillars as he waited. and so the sword of the morning arrived, and it was already clear to armaan yronwood that something was, as he called it, blurry. still, he extended the declaration he had wrote of his heirs, and the fact he would be regent of his own sons: even within kingsgrave. "is this clear enough?" armaan asked, no doubt avoiding the obvious.

[myriamas]

who: @baashirdayne when and where: the gathering hall within hayford, prior to the noticed disappearance of lady mayya allyrion. the dornish courtiers finish up from an intimate dinner, each leaving the halls premises one by one. she is in a conversation with her brother when she notices the lord of starfall rising from his seat; they were the last three people in the room. soon two. context: following seeing lord jalabhar mooton's busted up face earlier in the day very briefly, myriam hears rumours of what has apparently happened, and spots the sword of the morning - it was time to ask upfront.

it was not rare or uncommon to hear the sounds of the lady of godsgrace's laughter bouncing from the walls in any room she stood within; most especially when she remained within the company of those she had always remained the most comfortable with. within the heart of hayford, a grand feasting hall that had dwindled in the number of their valyrian hosts and ended up being majority dornish folk, myriam allyrion had no way of knowing the darkness which occurred some passages away - and how life for house allyrion woudl change once again. at this moment, she remained seated closely beside her younger brother, listening closely to his experiences in encountering his previous lover's velaryon family; it was enough to cause her to grin, one that showed her teeth as she laughed over the rim of the goblet of her wine, almost pulling a face.

she would not say she had told him so, and yet still, never did she think there would have been an opportunity where they could have sat side by side and discussed such a matter together - not this one. it showed her that the world did go on, regardless of how much she lit it aflame in her words and in her actions; a slippery ideology nonetheless.

myriam reached forward slightly as a servant passed them by, continuing to hold goblets that would be of great convince to her: and whilst leaning forward, she almost slipped entirely out of the window seat she had comfortably nestled herself within. there was a rosy tint to her caramel kissed skin, reflecting in the burning of the hearth as the shimmer of her bindi remained in the middle of her forehead: and she reached forward to grab not one, but two extra goblets - presenting it to dastan almost as though she had secured a trophy for herself. for their house. for their parents. somewhere in the back of her mind, she wondered what her mother was doing in this very moment: the lady of godsgrace had refused to attend a summit within kings landing, going as far as to call her children deluded for doing so.

she wondered where her sister was, only for a moment though, before her thoughts became more fuzzy and hazy. she heard something about dastan knowing he should get himself to his chambers, and they kissed one another goodbye; though as she looked up, she noted another figure beginning to excuse himself from the social setting, joined with the bloodroyal of yronwood and the wyl of house wyl. how stern they all looked, myriam thought, the grin only spreading across her features more. "lord dayne!" her voice called, her mind suddenly going to something she had intended to speak to him of.

her voice was light and feminine as it carried over the hall, a renement of the passion that could be easily laced into her tone: gods knew jalabhar mooton had not deserved such a fierce beating. or he did. just not in front of many people, and how it could be argued to be traced back to her. she remained stood on one spot as he looked back over at her, and she merely raised one of the goblets with a cheeky smile on her features. he looked happy among his close companions, even if he did appear ever so stern; and when the spell broke, she began wandering her way over to him, purposefully taking her time. "i heard something of you this afternoon, my lord." and then she extended him the goblet, noting the way in which he looked at her. his smile was always enough to make her feel a fool.

how long would they be able to keep this up? how long would this bubble last before it was burst most horribly? she stepped forward, closing the distance between them slightly; her voice lowering now. "where were you this morning?" she asked, the smile making it apparent on her face that she was amused. as much as she should not have been. no doubt the wine had made her flowery, and yet she would have found it most entertaining, even if she were sober. but myriam allyrion sparkled and glowed like candlelight when she was intoxicated - until she did not. until the wax burned out, and the candle snuffed out.

[visxionaries]

who: @baashirdayne / @dante-uller when and where: before the venture to kings landing, some of the reach faction travelled to dorne. what: cedric speaks with the first and second minister of dorne, regarding a conflict of interest. the summer isles risks a regional conflict.

the summer air within dorne was heated, hazy; such was the aftermath of the death of the prince of house martell, the man who he had disagreed with a multitude of times. the man whose sister had once remained perfectly atop of him; such was the haze that was the intricate history between the reach and dorne. enemies, and yet it had been the reach who had first formally allied with dorne when they had opened themselves up upon the world stage; and that had all but dissolved, when cedric decided that he would need riverland troops to fight on his side of the uprooting of the roses.

the rhoynish would not perish for any andal. still, in the years that had passed since the breaking down of their initial alliance, it came to his attention that dorne had allied itself closer to the summer isles and the lyseni. the former were more his concern than the latter: and the beginnings stages of their plan had begun with the privateering that had been commissioned. altan ryams had made it his mission to cause distant rumours of the reach's prowess at sea to reach docks, their aggressive nature; a contrast to their apparent chivalrous nature. and now, cedric tyrell intended to damage their pockets closer to home: for there remained arbor ships closer to starfall and dornish waters.

the trade of the summer isles would not reach dornish shores, if he had his way; when he had his way. meaning dorne would be unable to send their trade to the summer isles, nor would the summer isles receive payment from dorne for their usual trade. for it would be at the bottom of the summer sea, or upon the decks of redwyne vessels. they would add the blackbars to the number should they need to. "my lords, thank you for agreeing to meet with me."

first minister, second minister. the system was foolish and unclear to the eyes of cedric tyrell, but it were not like he asked. he did not need the clarification, and so he looked between both the dornish lords. he could not pick up on if there were any tension between the two.

"may the gods establish a strength within your princess, and may her reign be prosperous." a three year old. the vultures would circle. cedric was one of them. it was the day following the arrival of highgarden's faction to dorne, and he noted the way in which the unpopular lady of oldtown had seemingly found herself easily in the presence of the princess regent. and then he stopped talking, considering he was not one to load discussion or information upon the others.

this was their land. and whilst he would do what he planned either way, he intended on at least attempting to get dorne to pull back from summer islander trade.

lest the reach enter dornish waters unauthorised, and sink trade. it would kickstart a greater region conflict, but when was there not? his gaze looked for the wyl and the yronwood, known for their aggressive stance on the march borders. the dornish had wiped out half of the peakes for cedric, before he could even get to them.

[ruqaiyahdayne]

who: @baashirdayne when and where: baashir dayne returns from kings landing, deciding to divert to starfall first. his sister has little inclination of the idea, expecting not to see him for some time longer; that was until a sudden flurry of dayne guards came into the courtyard right beneath her balcony.

the smoke was between her fingers, against her lips as she inhaled and exhaled into the night sky; the sound of her bangles gently twinkling in the night sky. the eldest lady of starfall had been desperate for a smoke for the majority of the evening, and considering her mother had only left her chambers some moments ago, she practically flung herself onto the balcony. first ensuring none were in the courtyard, she used a candle to ignite her smoke, and relished in the peace. finally. why did her mother bother asking her for her opinion if she would not take it?

she was exhaling again, when there was a sudden flurry of horses stampeding through the smaller courtyard; horses, the flag of house dayne, and she found herself practically faltering backward at the sudden movement.

"shit." she muttered, her eyes briefly meeting with baashir dayne's for a split second: what was he doing back here? was he not supposed to go straight back to sunspear as first minister? had he seen her with the smoke in her hand? it was now lowered at her side, and as he entered into the grand keep, she knew her mother and the household fawning over him would buy her some time.

when he entered, she took the opportunity to drop the smoke - if anyone asked, she would blame one of the guards travelling onward to sunspear. slipping her lilac robe over her rose coloured nightgown, she opened her door, beginning to make her way down the halls. the peacocks were calling, almost as though they knew he was back. and then he turned a corner, where she met him half way.

"bhaiya!" ruqaiyah exclaimed, her voice feigning excitement. it wasn't that she wasn't happy to see him. but had he seen her smoking? "why did you not tell us you were coming back?" she asked, placing her hands together in the symbol of peace before reaching forward to embrace him, kissing his cheek.

"i would have ensured dinner would be served later. it is too late now, you need not put on even more weight for eating at this time." her words were casual, looking up at him. "you must be so tired."

[gcuienveres]

who: @baashirdayne when and where: random wheel spun starter, using a random prompt as a sentence starter. this is a flashback thread, back to when the realms met in the kingdom of the reach.

there was a figure stood within the garden, dimly lit by the flickering embers of candles that lined the gravelled path of one of highgarden's seemingly endless amount of land. in the distance she knew there would be endless fields of golden roses beneath a starry night; the hues of the sky had long since turned pink and light blue, and soon they would turn even darker. the figure was dressed in shades of champagne, if not for the threads of gold and crimson running through the borders of her skirts; it was rare to see this specific lioness adorned in shades of gold, for where there was the most gold was in the tresses of a mane.

pinned, somewhat loosely, where there was enough ringlets to come loose to frame her face; only startling emerald hues were fixed upon something that was entirely beautiful.

beautiful, in a way that was not natural. it were not the seemingly endless amounts of natural beauty one could find within the reach, superfluous at best: there was no sense of beauty needed for true human survival, and yet the gods had bestowed a land that were naturally beautiful in a show of their benevolence. to create a sense of fascination and peace for their creation. this were no beautiful flower, or natural pool which glistened with shades of blue - it were a canvas. manmade beauty, which perhaps at times, even rivalled the beauty of the gods.

an easel had been left within this section of the garden, perhaps left unattended by another who had decided to attend the excessively extravagant ball within the feasting hall. the sound of music continued to play from the distance, a tune she had known since she were a girl: only the nightingale no longer sung, and the cage had become more of a home than the top of the world ever was.

upon the canvas, were figures; only she could barely see it, considering the darkness that stretched over the garden. taking a step toward one of the candles that were lit up to illuminate a path, she swept it within a dainty hand, careful to hold it by the base rather than where the wax would burn her: using the flames to look upon the image. there were two figures, seemingly clad in lavish dress, holding empty bowls; in the background, there seemed to be a world on fire. and yet, their plates remained high, bountiful, with fruits. all bright crimson fruits. her gaze flickered toward the seven pointed star that both the figures wore, though she were unable to tell if they were meant to be men or women. and finally, at the bottom, there was a title.

the stranger's mercy.

her brows furrowed slightly, finding herself fixated upon the image of the burning world on the other side of the window in the painting, though when she heard the sound of gravel, she turned. only, the way she turned did not imply surprise, or even shock, or alarm. almost as though she were ready to accept, acknowledge, or cast away whatever it was the world had brought upon her now. instead, she found a man stood before her she did not know in the slightest. her hand wrapped around the candle, silently bringing it between them. she knew not this man - and she would have no qualms with setting him on fire if she needed to. "does this illustration belong to you, my lord?" she asked, ready to make it clear she were not planning on torching it.

[shukrsabrrs]

who: @baashirdayne when and what: continuation of this thread because i have truly been done dirty by tumblr too.

it were not often that the ruling lord of the tor was so steadfast and concise when making a decision: it were not as though he struggled to make decisions, considering how important they were as a part of everyday life from the most minuscule of matters to the most serious. it were that he would sit and take the time to truly contemplate each option, rather than go with his gut, or with sheer instinct, and that in itself took time: only this were the exception.

perhaps that were the only indication that something was not quite right or as per usual for rashid jordayne; the fact that he had come to this decision in an instant so swift it were over within moments.

"he will fight you lest he decide his house will come under siege." rashid spoke, his voice steadfast as he looked toward the sword of the morning: there was no use in him pretending to be something he was not, in adorning a warrior's persona, when he knew the best warrior within all of dorne closer than he perhaps knew himself somedays. "and he cannot afford such a thing. none of them can."

rashid did not wish to annex ghost hill for himself, for he had no ambition in such a way: his ambition was focused solely upon the lands of the tor themselves, rather than expansion and outstretching. this would make it appear otherwise, and he needed to ensure he remained grounded and focused enough to remember he were not doing this to gain an advantage. it were resettling the scores, balancing what had gone so dangerously out of balance. for they had made a fatal mistake in thinking they could put a hand upon a lady of house jordayne, a lady of his care - his own little sister.

he thought geographically of the lands surrounding ghost hill and the tor; godsgrace and allyrion lands to the south. it would be easy to surround them wholly, considering they would be without ships: if he needed to plan and orchestrate an attack on their small number of vessels, that could easily be done.

"i am sure i can speak to dastan allyrion, and have him see any route i take through his lands would be for passage and nothing else. i have developed good relations with the man. they would be entirely surrounded." and then, almost in his blind, calm panic, he noted the way in which the room was moving around him. bustling, with so many people moving around. it were unlike baashir dayne to try and avoid a fight, and it would be impossible for him to persuade him to stay. but he knew something had to have triggered him to leave.

and then, as though he had forgotten all of his own issues entirely, he looked upon the sword of the morning. "are you okay, baash?" rashid asked, realising he had clearly missed the signs that something had happened. he had walked in here in his own blind fury, missing something equally important.

[jalabharmooton]

It happened so quickly. Jalabhar Mooton, Lord of Maidenpool spoke with a small group of people, charming the lords and ladies with an ease expected from the ruling Lord. Something about that smile as he turned his head and looked to left landed him in trouble he didn't see coming until he saw the face of the First Minister of Dorne, Baashir Dayne, standing before.

"What are you smiling at?" "Nothing and everything."

A normal response from the spy master, witty and vague laced with some hidden jest though there was none. Jalabhar Mooton knew enough to know that men didn't trifle with the sword of the morning, unfortunately for him he'd already trifled with the Lord through his cruelty to Myriam. Though Bash doesn't know the finer details of Jalabhar's cruel words to Myriam Allyrion, seeing the pain she was in was enough to ensure that even if Jalabhar hadn't smiled in his general direction Baashir would have laid hands on him at some point.

Outcome: The maesters had to stitch an open cut over his left eye, bled the wound over his right eye which will allow the swelling to go down and for the eye to reopen, the blood vessels in this eye will have to heal so from his right eye he will see red for a few weeks.

[baashirdayne]

| @dastan-allyrion | | setting :: bash meets with dastan to talk to him about his concerns with the lord's child and his connection to the dragons | | banter length |

"I hope your child is strong. I won't beat around the bush, you know I won't. I am worried. With the Prince murdered and his 3-year-old daughter being his heir we have much to keep our eyes on. Your sister is in a powerful spot and I'm sure you're aware there are those who will disparage her and whisper she had some involvement in this incident. I won't hear it." While he knew the other would never say such words, he wanted to ensure they were on the same page for handling those who spread such tales. Swift correction. And then a deadly one. Two warnings, 3 were for children.

"Will you be keeping the child? You should. His mother, regardless of her occupation has no house. No lands and lest she is gifted something by the dragon king or her seadragon kin, the child runs the risk of being on the streets and with your honorable blood it is a shame. At least in Dorne it matters not that he's a Sand. He can be anything." Even his Valyrian blood could be ignored. It was better for him to be Dornish.

"Also, I wanted to talk to you about prisoners and their use. We make use of them in Starfall, not all must be shipped off to Ghaston Grey. Roads, more structures. What do you think?"

[myriamas]

who: @baashirdayne when and where; flashback thread following baashir and myriam's huge argument in which he left dorne. during his time away, his mother invites myriam to the starfall ball; where baashir did not know she would also be attending. at this point time, mors is still alive.

she did not know what irritated her the most. the invitation that had come on her desk, a personal slight from the bitch that had once considered her too dusky of complexion for her son, or the fact that her origins remained what she deemed questionable. or the look of utter deadpan shock and exhausation that came over the face of baashir dayne when he saw, after so many years, myriam allyrion adorned in shades of saffron and tangerine. amidst a sea of shades of purple.

she did not run through the crowds through crowds of colour now; now she sat, and looked the ruling lord of starfall in the face with wide, kohl lined orbs within his own home. when he came to her and quietly asked in her ear for them to talk, she felt a strange blend of emotions. hurt, still. she remembered the way their voices had raised at one another, when she begged him not to fault her for what she had to do. and he had said the same. and now they were here.

the pair wandered from the hall, and she followed him up the spiral staircase she hadn't climbed up since she was seventeen. her anklets jingled. she did not dress conservatively as was common in starfall: thee was no shawl covering the curves of her cinnamon coloured skin where her choli and her skirts did not meet. she continued to hold the goblet in her hands as they walked, feeling the anger seeping from him. it only made her angry too, but she tried to act as though this did not bother her.

only it did. she would be forced to watch him marry another. the thought sickened her. she cared not for the hypocrite she was. myriam was a scornful woman, wrathful; and jealous. possessive. she had no right to be, but even in their distance, she saw a story beginning she would end up by ripping out the pages. he slammed the door behind him, no doubt a result of his strength rather than pure lashing out. she stood in the middle, taking a drink, before offering him her goblet.

"you seem tense." she spoke, her tone deep. velvety, as it always was in his presence. she walked around him, having no issue with being in his gaze. just some moments ago he had been talking to other women. talking. and she was married. and she did not care. "between the two of us, i'm the one who can give some marital advice. avoid the bores." her voice was almost taunting, and it was in result of the cups of red wine she had been drinking. "baash."

[myriamas]

who: @baashirdayne / surprise flashback thread. when and where: starfall, 124ac. both myriam allyrion and baashir dayne are seventeen years old

she had not been expecting for the future ruling lord of starfall to come to her chambers this evening; meaning she was entirely in a state of relaxation both in appearance and nerves when the ladies informed her that she had a visitor. as beautiful as every corner of starfall truly remained, perhaps the most beautiful she had seen in all of dorne, she found their ways different to the ways of home where the greenblood delivered her.

"coming!!!" she called, her voice echoing around the chambers, the sounds of her anklets jingling loudly as she picked up the pace into a light run.

the people of starfall were more traditional thinking, more rigid in their approach to matters: and so, she had slipped on a simple orange lehengha when she came to the door, thick dark hair remaining slightly unkempt. "one moment!" she found herself particularly on edge around lord and lady dayne, feeling as though there was something in their gaze, even in their kindness to her. even in the way lady dayne would fix her stance, or where her foot had landed. the door opened, and her mouth opened slightly in surprise to find him stood there.

"arey, you could have said something, na?" she asked, a slight laugh slipping from her lips as she looked upon him. how she looked at him like it was the first and last time she ever would, every time she did look at him.

and it was him. it seemed as though they would cross paths within the keep, whether she found herself by the shore surrounding the island or along the multitude of courtyards; she saw him, perfecting stance after stance, swing after swing. there had been a moment where she had watched with curious observation, what it was the sword of the morning done: mythical, the name sounded. and he would be hers, as she would be his. of all the mornings, she had decided she wanted to spend hers with him; mornings and evenings. beginnings and ends.

"do they know you are here?" she asked, her tone lowering as her eyes glanced around the hallway.

a small smile came over her features as her head remained poking from the door, head resting against the wooden frame. a part of her wondered quietly whether he had come to speak to her of something, something serious; another part of her hoped that the sword of the morning had come to see his own sunrise. "a password for entrance is required. my lord."

"how many chances should i give you?"

[myriamas]

@baashirdayne this letter is delivered to lord baashir dayne's chambers within the eyrie, within the period of time he ventured to the vale to pursue a betrothal with lady yesenia egen. myriam has remained at home within sunspear, following their return to dorne from the reach. the pair have not spoken for over two months at this point. just some hours ago, the death of mors martell was revealed by the high commander, lady joy manwoody.

baashir,

you need to come home. please..

i cannot write of it. trust i don't ask you for no reason.

myriam.

[armaans]

who: @baashirdayne where: the chambers of baashir dayne within sunspear, prior to the sword of the morning's departure to support the crusading forces in alayim.

house yronwood had personally sent no forces in the crisis across the narrow sea: though upon hearing the news, he knew exactly just who would be arranging to send himself forward across the narrow sea. the diversification of their form of worship had made the dornish's faith of the seven seem like an entirely different faith altogether, one he knew was not supported by the starry sept - dedication to the faith remained difficult. and yet, if he knew anything of the sword of the morning, it was the fact that he would throw himself head first into any form of conflict, as though he were burying his head under the sounds of men's dying gasps.

all without an heir of his own line, living as though he were a walking sword: living as though he were nothing more than the sword he wielded. it was a sorry state to see what dorne had become: willing to allow the sword of the morning to walk away and sail over the narrow sea. nobody was utilised to their strengths. only preferences. it were obvious.

as he stepped into the series of chambers designated solely to house dayne upon their arrival to sunspear, the amount of movement that was occurring only seemed to confirm his suspicions. servants walking the length of the chambers, seemingly in the midst of packing up belongings to be sent forward to starfall.

armaan merely stood there for a moment, taking in the sight of movement around him: there would be no point in trying to speak to him of this idea. his mind had been made, he would be better of talking to a wall. they were similar in that regard, too similar; their stubbornness meant they would set themselves aflame rather than admit something was wrong. not as though they would truly ever talk about: only something simmering quietly there. "inform your lord i have come to see him." he spoke to a servant, his hands crossing over his chocolate brown kurta.

and when baashir dayne emerged from his chambers, he looked as he always did. only, he did not, all at the same time. there were no obvious signs, only the sight of him: even armaan himself could not entirely guess what was up. still, the movement of the servants were enough of an indication that baashir dayne was not intending on being around for longer. he needed to clear his head, from something. he could only silently suspect what. what a way to wish death upon yourself; one may as well cut themselves open. "is your brother taking on starfall then?" he asked.

[myriamas]

who: @baashirdayne what: continuation of this flashback thread, set during the time a seventeen year old baashir and myriam are attempting to work out when they can wed...once the daynes give their permission.

there was no denying the strange, apprehensive feeling that settled within the gut of myriam allyrion each time they mentioned the lady of starfall, or her future good mother someday. it was never anything she said, but rather how she said, which always made myriam wondering where they stood: a short term ward of starfall with the specific focus on the starfall style of dance, no doubt they did not expect her to be something more permanent. was that an issue?

"did i do something?" she asked him, no doubt referring to his mother; and as much as she masked it with a humoured laugh that slipped through her lips, there was no denying the naivety and anxiety in her voice. all respected the lady of starfall, her son most of all, despite their differences. "do you think it was because i kindly denied the skin lightening ointment she offered me?" myriam asked again, looking over at his comforting presence; she remembered feeling quietly stunned when it was offered over the breakfast table.

and suddenly, she realised all in starfall were of much lighter complexion than her. it seemed the higher caste you were, the fairer you were. there came another nervous laughter at his words, words he would say so casually then swear upon everything he was no poet, watching his thumb trace circles upon her own hand, she thought of her own mother in godsgrace. soon she would return home for some time to attend the wedding of their cousin, and in that time, there was no denying the fact her mother would approach the subject of marriage to her daughter. where else was the perfect place?

as he denied their keeping of secrets was lying, she extended her hand to take his own, letting her fingers clasp with his own almost playfully. "it is lying, you chor. surprise or not."

"maa has been wanting to get me married for a year now...you know she'll use cousin neelam's wedding as an opportunity. i want to be able to return home and tell them i've found someone they'd approve of." she expressed her concerns, hoping, desperately hoping he would understand them. but they were only seven and ten, were they not? and he rambled on about his mother's slurping. "a man with many peacocks and many turtles. and a decent sword." she watched him readily begin to pace, almost as though he were excited, and she found herself mirroring his excitability.

"the untouchables? why are they untouchable?" she asked, calling over her shoulder and suddenly, there was a flurry of bright orange skirts as she gathered her cloak, placing it over her head playfully as the hood were far too large for her. it covered her eyes entirely, and she turned almost comically to walk back over to him. "is this your strange caste system again? what if i am an untouchable?" she asked him, her hand playfully going to her mouth as she began to lead the way.

before realising she did not know where she was going. "but you've touched me. no such thing." she spoke after a beat, her hood remaining over her face as she approached him, almost letting him hold her momentarily before moving her along the hallway. not in that way. never in that way.

[armaans]

who: @baashirdayne what: a continuation of this post because tumblr has it out for me and quen's threads gahdamn

if there was a line, it were something that armaan and baashir had never abided by; lines drawn into the sands of the dunes was easily blown away, smudged over, blurred and no longer existed in itself. they had always spoken loosely and bluntly with one another, a strange mirroring of one another that put the other on a side where it felt as though they were either talking to a wall, or looking at some distorted version of themselves.

"i think it of starfall." he spoke, his tone blunt as he took a seat upon the velvet recliner. his movement was irritating in itself, as though he were getting himself comfortable amidst the packing and the movement. he knew baashir was busy, and still took a seat, as though to tell him he would not simply be able to walk away from this situation and this conversation. "i think it of you."

armaan merely fixed a dark, stormy gaze upon the sword of the morning with a look that almost told him to keep his bullshit to himself as he spoke of how the dornish spat upon the treemen of the frozen waste; as though armaan would spend a minute considering the northerners of all people. money was money, but money did not mean they would care for one another, that they saw their equal in the others. armaan only saw his equal in the dornish, and none other.

"the treemen of the north are of no concern to me. you leaving the realm to clean up the mess of a faith that does not accept us is what concerns me. in refusing to pass up a fight, you have become a little better than a begger, than an untouchable. go to alayim, and they will see you as a dornishman before a follower of the seven."

he looked upon baashir, knowing that in his heart, the man needed distance and time to remember who he was. or even to decide who he was now, if he could not remember who he was once. space away from what had inevitably crash and burned, for something that could and never would be. what sins he had committed in fury, the dancing of peacocks and the colours hiding what boiled in plain sight within starfall. even the stars wept that night.

"it will not be this way for much longer." armaan commented, his tone blunt, as though he were explaining the most obvious of matters. his words were ominous, and were dangerous in themselves; suggesting of something he knew baashir would pick up on. "it is only about time. we are not the minority. numbers talk." he fell silent for a moment. it were something he had not spoken of. it was the lord of the tor that tried to speak to them both of their emotions. armaan would readily drown in them before speaking of them.

"you need not leave the kingdom itself to distance yourself from her. and you need not avoid the majesty of home to forget what happened there."

[shukrsabrrs]

who: @baashirdayne where: the chambers of the sword of the morning within sunspear, soon before the man's departure from sunspear for starfall.

the morning after the storm that never came saw the ruling lord of the tor walking through hallways he knew entirely well; well enough he was sure he would be able to walk through them blinded, using only his hands to find himself before the chambers of the man who was his brother. it were years ago rashid had come to understand that comparing baashir to a brother simply did not serve; for the man was his brother, as much as the bloodroyal of yronwood was - though the three of them were as different as the elements, they were bound in some way to one another. and it was why his first instinct was to reach out for help from the lord of starfall - if there was one thing rashid understood, it was being entirely comfortable in who he was as a man. and that included asking for help when it was needed.

baashir had always been baashir, before he had been the ruling lord of starfall or the sword of the morning to him. baashir dayne, who once enjoyed to dance though swore he would rather be found anywhere but the dance floor. baashir dayne, who held an interest in the animals one could find within starfalls lands and geography, almost as though it were a mini-climate in itself. over the years, he had saw less and less of baashir dayne and more of the sword of the morning, the ruling lord of starfall: the only signs of what remained was the door he chose to guard night after night, and the glimpses two gazes gave one another across rooms. heartbreak was infectious, it was addictive, and it seemed to have finally ran it's course: he heard rumours.

he knew the rumours were true. it were normal for the man to dive headfirst into conflict should he be able to, rather than dealing with what there was to deal with at home. what there was to deal with within whatever remained of a heart. there was a heart, he knew it; he only wondered the state of it. "baashir!" the man's voice bellowed across his chambers in a way that was entirely unlike the ruling lord of the tor: the voice of justice for all of dorne. it would too narrow minded and emotive to declare offence against house toland instantly, moving his men forward - for rashid had the scales of justice and the importance of dorne's wellbeing to consider too.

there was movement in these chambers, much movements; his suspicions were correct. it seemed as though the holy bells that had rung in alayim had been enough of a cause for the lord of starfall to rise from his seat, and return home if he could. if he made it. he would always make it; rashid only feared there would come the day where he stopped truly trying. where he no longer wanted to make it back. the man looked around at the servants packing, and knew it were not as though the man would vanish without having sought him out: he had no reaction to it. there was no stopping him. souls did what they needed to do to heal, whether it helped or whether it only tore them apart.

his usual composure was somewhat more frayed than usual now. as though he fully contemplated on what it was that was happening. that it was he who would sway such forces, it felt as though no matter how much he worked towards peace in the aim of being released from the cycle of reincarnation, they would find themselves here time and time again. on the brink of chaos. "i need you." his words were pointed, blank. there was not desperation in them, but there was only earnest truth: he was not a man that was insecure in his abilities nor in his character. he knew his strengths, and he knew the strengths of others.

"toland has crossed a line they are unable to sway back from, regardless of talk." it was unusual for rashid of all people to say such things, to be so final in his refusal to see matters or at least try. but there were options he would consider, options he would weigh up. "i have demanded a trial by combat. i see you mean to leave, but i ask you plainly - stay until it is done. represent the honour of house jordayne. the honour of my sister." he would not go into details on the matter. the mention of his sister would be enough of an understanding between the two men to know a dangerous line had been crossed. "i will not stand in your way once this is done. i swear to you."