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Carpe Diem: Seize the Day

Essos - Asshai

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a part of Carpe Diem: Seize the Day, by Amaranta.

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Amaranta holds sovereignty over Essos - Asshai, giving them the ability to make limited changes.

398 readers have been here.

Setting

Default Location for Carpe Diem; size the day
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Minimap

Essos - Asshai is a part of Carpe Diem: Seize the Day.

8 Characters Here

Crevan Syr'ren [0] "This...is wrong."
Loreley Rhys [0] "'Tis all naught but a masquerade."
Deimos Tamurlayn [0] "What's mine is mine and what's yours is also mine."
Lavinia of the Flame [0] "The night is dark and full of terrors."
Eskandir Rilyn-Ra'ir [0] "We'd all be better off if you just let me do what I want."
Delshad Adaire [0] "Is it wrong to want for you to be happy?"
Lyanna Adaire [0] "I do not wish to make my parent's mistakes."
Shirin Lasyar [0] "I know what I am--a dancer. But who am I?"

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Lyanna Adaire

Candles and lanterns cast flickering shadows on the stone walls inside the ballroom of Lord Fariel’s mansion. Chattering, laughing, and occasionally the sound of drunken yelling could be heard filling the air. An early supper was just about through being prepared in the kitchens and the guests were being seated in the dining hall connected to the ballroom.

At the main table sat the most influential and powerful of people within Asshai, among them Lyanna Adaire, who’s smile was a little less than forced upon her face. All of the chairs were lavishly decorated with flowers and colored ribbons.

“Mumma?” Darya tugged on her sleeve and Lyra turned to look down at her young step-sister, who was gazing up at her with her bright brown eyes full of a childish wonder that never ceased to astound Lyra.

“You should be in your seat, Darya,” Lyra told her as she reached out to fix a stray lock of the girl’s mahogany hair, “is there something you wish of me?”

Darya made a small whining noise in the back of her throat and lunged forward to wrap her arms around Lyra’s arm, clinging to her and sticking out her upper lip. “Mumma, I want to go dancing. I want to go dancing after dinner!” She tugged on Lyra’s arm and then proceeded to nuzzle her face into Lyra’s elbow. Lyra stifled the urge to giggle as Darya hit a ticklish spot on her body.

“Well, what is stopping you from dancing after dinner? I am sure Eskandir will be thrilled to waltz you about the ballroom,” Lyra gently pried the little girl away from her arm and then made tutting noises as she fixed up Darya’s slightly-ruffled dress.

“But won’t Uncle Esk be dancing with the pretty noble ladies?” She pouted up at Lyra again, as If trying to get her big sister to reach out her influence and make rainbows appear all around.

“Ask him, then,” Lyra could not help but quirk a smile, “even though proper ladies are the ones who get asked and not do the asking – you can go ahead this time. Go, go tell him Lyanna says so.” She let out a laugh despite herself and reached out to tweak Darya’s face. Darya made a face at her, leaning away from Lyra’s fingers, and then flounced off to go and pester Esk.

Lyra straightened back up in her chair and cleared her throat mildly, an indication of her going back to her general act of playing the part of the well-bred lady. She knew full well that her mother had never been a proper lady in her youth and had never put any effort into pretending to be so. She had no idea what it was that drove her to attempt to always act the part – but she knew it had much to do with her mother and real father. Lyra had always feared falling into the same trap her mother had. Though she at times as well felt as if she could use more freedom, she never allowed herself to be tempted by it – because she knew full well exactly what would occur. She would fall in love with someone and her life would become a disaster. No, it was better to keep herself ever on the guard and not allow anyone by her siblings and step-father within an arm’s distance of her emotions or affections.

And, even though she was married to a man who, by all standards, would be considered incredibly attractive and a very good match – she had no intentions of letting him close to her emotionally. Sex, of course, was fine. It was just a manner in which to procreate and ensure their family prospered. Love, however, she could do without. Lyra did not want to make her mother’s mistakes. Not in the slightest.

She listened to the announcement made by Lord Fariel – the one that opened the party up to dancing and feasting and a frisson of anxiety ran through her. She knew she would be expected to dance, and though she knew full well how to do so, it made her fear that it would be one more thing that would be forcing her closer to her husband, and in more ways than one.

---

Eskandir Rilyn-Ra'ir

“Will you dance with me later, Uncle Esk?” A demanding voice belonging to none other than Darya resounded by his elbow and Eskandir looked down in surprised at the five year old who was gazing up at him with determination in her eyes. “Mumma told me to tell you that she said you should dance with me.” She nodded her head emphatically and then broke out into a toothy grin.

“And who’s this lovely lady wanting a dance from me, hmm?” Esk grinned and reached out to tousle Darya’s hair – which probably had taken Darya’s maids a full hour to perfect. Esk made an apologetic face when Darya swatted his hands away.

“Darya Rilyn-Ra’ir is the name of this lady! And you mussed up her hair!” She stomped her little foot and stuck her tongue out at Eskandir. He was sure that it was Darya that had inherited near all of their mother’s wildness, as Eskandir was somewhere in the middle of that spectrum and Lyra was nowhere even near it.


“Run along now, then. Dinner first, then dancing!” Esk waved her off and she grinned at him once more in childish delight before skipping off. Darya nearly always got away with behaving like a little monkey – mostly because she was adorable and mostly because she could be a pain to handle if she did not get her way. Darya was, all in all, a very particular little child – but mostly adorable.

“My most gracious guests!” The voice of Lord Fariel suddenly boomed out as the man rose from his seat. Esk perked up in interest and turned to pay attention to what was being said – at times it could be interesting. “Welcome to the celebration in honor of our lives and happiness! After all, why need an occasion to celebrate when one can celebrate life at any day of the year!”

Many lifted their glasses to this in toast, Esk included. “And, without further ado!” Lord Fariel kept on saying, “let the dancing and feasting begin!” As he said those words, the dancers of his household – who had previously been made to maneuver about on the outskirts of the tables – moved in towards the great circle of the ballroom for all to watch as they feasted. And, whoever so wished, was apparently welcome to join in on the dancing as well.

Esk sat back in his chair and first considered eating something – mostly because he had little desire to dance with any of the ladies who would undoubtedly been schooled by their parents to win him over and get them to ask their hands in marriage. Honestly, Esk could care less about being wedded at that point of his life – though he was past due to be betrothed, something his father told him every single day.

As he gazed out to the dance floor, his eyes landed on the lithe figure of a scantily-clad dancer who moved her body along to the exotic Asshai’i rhythm as if she had been born to fill that role. He found himself watching every sinuous movement, every roll of her hips, every flick of the wrist and graceful swirl of leg.

Esk reached for his goblet and took a sip of wine, having felt his throat going dry much quicker than usual. What a fascinating creature
Esk could not help but wonder where Lord Fariel had come to possess such a wondrous dancer. He felt an inner twinge of wanting in his chest – Esk personally figured that this young woman would look much better in his own home, and clad in clothing less revealing – surely it must be uncomfortable to be so exposed.

Darya would adore to have someone dance for her and teach her to twirl about, Esk thought to himself as he smiled and beheld the dancer. By R’hllor, she was a gorgeous creature – all supple movements and serpentine grace that held him captivated. He was waxing poetic to himself and he knew it, though this was generally the way Esk got whenever a particularly beautiful girl caught his eye.

And this one, whoever she was and whatever her name was, was definitely beautiful. He made a mental note to himself to ask Lord Fariel about her.

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Delshad Adaire

Sometimes he wondered—actually, no—he always wondered what was on his wife’s mind. He could never tell. Her demeanor was always frosty and cold, but he knew that she had a soft side; the way she treated Darya was beautiful and motherly—which he thought that to be her real side. She was his wife, and he her husband. He wanted to get closer to her, get to know her better, but it seemed like she hated personal relationships (something he himself enjoyed thoroughly). He understood that this was an arranged marriage, but they were married—and he wanted her to be happy when she was living with him. Was that so wrong?
And yet she treated it like it was.

He knew they hadn’t married because they were in love. No, it was all about benefits and alliances. He knew, but it didn’t mean that they couldn’t be happy together. If they were going to spend the rest of their lives together (as that was what he assumed), they had to be at least on a stage where they would share inner thoughts—wasn’t that so? Delshad was a fiercely loyal man, and he loved his friends and family. He wasn’t asking her to love him back
just to give him a chance. That wasn’t too much to ask, was it?

Now Delshad was not angry with his wife—no, not at all. It took a lot to get him angry, though he might have appeared to be temperamental. Very few people knew that he was, in reality, a sensitive and gentle person. He treated people with respect, and was hurt that his wife didn’t seem to share his wish to get closer.

So Delshad had decided that he would do everything he could to get her to slowly open up to him—and since he really did not know a whit about his wife, he had to get information from others—mainly her younger brother, Eskandir. They were on better terms than Delshad was with Lyanna, anyways. Of course, the younger man usually asked for favors in return, but Delshad did not mind at all—as long as he got information about Lyanna.

Delshad turned his attention away from the lords he had been speaking to and towards his wife, who was sitting at the table not too far off. He watched with a smile on his face as Darya, his little sister-in-law, spoke to his wife with the most adorable expression. She was only five, and referred to Lyanna as her ‘mother.’ She was quite the wild child, nothing like his own deceased sister, but he was very fond of the little girl—and vice versa, thankfully. He often played with her when she wanted to be attended to, and he enjoyed it. He hoped that someday he would be able to have a daughter of his own, but he wondered if Lyanna wanted children—it was expected, for the city and for his lineage, but he wanted to know if she wanted a baby.

The amount he knew about her was woefully little.

Delshad had, however, more or less figured out that she did not like displays of emotion or affection—at least when it came from him (he had learned this the hard way). He respected her greatly; she was a strong, beautiful woman, something he admired very much.

If only she would give him a chance, he felt like they could be happier and more comfortable around each other.

He toasted the host of the party and walked over to where his wife was seated, coming to a stop next to her chair. “Are you enjoying yourself, Lyanna?” he asked, a smile on his face, then looked to Darya, who had come back from talking to Eskandir. “And you look like you’re definitely having fun.” He leant over and slipped her a wrapped sweetmeat, a rather indulging expression hovering on his face. It was before dinner, and technically you weren’t supposed to give children sweets before meals
but it couldn’t hurt too much, right? He winked at Darya, though Lyanna would have seen it despite the big show of it being ‘secret and stealthy.’

Delshad took a seat next to the dark haired woman, taking a sip of wine. “Would you give me the honor of a dance after dinner?” he asked cordially, as if they were not married. He would wait for her, be patient for her. Some people had trouble with opening up to others, and he understood that it was most likely hard for them.

He smiled warmly at her, though he guessed that he would be greeted with her usual coolness.

Delshad was determined to get her to give him a chance—a chance to prove that letting someone in was not a bad thing at all.



----


Shirin Lasyar

Step, twirl, sway. Dance. It was embedded into her; it was part of her—just like her blood, her bones. Dance. Her head spun with fatigue, hunger, thirst. But she pushed the thought of food and drink away, adding a burst of energy into her movements. Her arms moved slowly, her hips swaying in time to the music that was as loud in her ears as her own heartbeat.

Shirin smiled deliriously at her audience, her lips quirking almost teasingly. Her veil was like a dancing partner, hiding and revealing her body, her smile. When she was dancing, nothing mattered—her confusion, her insecurity—it was gone. Gone until the music stopped and her movements ended. And when they did, she was back to the lost girl she was.

But for now, it didn’t matter.

Her movements were smooth and quite sensual, every step and sway calling to her viewers; Come, come, let me erase your fears and worries.

Dizzy. Her mouth was dry, her stomach racking with acid eating away at her own insides. She had not eaten since last night—a whole day. Her master, the lord watching so obsessively, loved to watch her dance, perhaps a bit too much. He watched everything to be perfect, beautifully coordinated without a flaw. And when he saw a flaw, he lost it completely. She was doing her best these days to make sure that didn’t happen—that she would perform perfectly. But without food and water, she was not up to her full skill, and not to mention deprived of rest.

She wasn’t even sure if she could feel her legs anymore. Shirin wasn’t sure how she was still moving—and yet she still did. Her vision came and went, but she still danced as if she was the happiest girl in the world, as if she could conquer the world in a single breath. And then it was then she faltered—stumbled. Just once, just for a moment—but she knew that the damage was done. Most would not have even realized the mistake, but she knew her master saw, and had seen it well.

And she knew that she would be punished.

She swallowed the thought and returned to dancing, even though she could see her master’s face was already dark. It was not her fault, she was near fainting due to lack of food and rest, but it would not seem like that to her master, Lord Fariel. The man was a generous man, jovial, but the moment a thing went wrong he turned into a completely different person. When he became angry, there was no stopping him—he would do anything if it made him feel better.

It was okay. She was used to it—she could take it. She couldn’t retaliate because he was her master, and what a slave got if one rebelled against the master was not exactly pleasant.

The first piece of the upbeat music ended and she saw her master stand, his face reddened and his eyes a bit crazed. She glanced away as the other dancers looked at her with a mixture of pity and satisfaction—something she saw often. Many of them did not like her. She was the youngest of them all, and the one the master liked the best—and hurt the most. The others could be horribly jealous when it came to attention from the master. And to be honest, she did not want his attention; she did not want it at all. Another song started up and the rest of the dancers went back to performing, ignoring what they knew would happen to her.

She did not try to run or hide as he strode over to her and grabbed her, his fingers digging into her arm, and yanked her partly behind the curtain. “What do you think you’re doing?” he hissed, glowering at her as if he would snap her in two. Shirin swallowed, letting her gaze drop to the floor.

“My apologies, Master Fariel. It will not happen again
But
I-I haven’t eaten—” she started, voice small, but she never got to finish her sentence. He grabbed her viciously by the hair, sending hair ornaments clattering to the floor. The girl gasped, but otherwise kept silent; she would not cry out.

“So are you saying this is my fault?” her owner growled, shaking her by the hair. “When you are stupid and make bloody mistakes, you’re saying it’s my fault?!” Shirin bit her lip as her scalp burned, her neck yanked into painful angles by the much taller man. It was past begging him to stop—when he got like this, there was no point in doing so. It was best to just wait it out, endure the pain. It would pass—and another day would start again.

Day in, day out, she danced.

It was the only way she knew how to keep herself from falling apart.

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LYANNA ADAIRE

“Yes, I am enjoying myself. Thank you for your concern,” Lyra replied somewhat drily, keeping her tone as professional and reticent as she was capable of doing. While she could make herself more open and pleasant when in company from which she wished to extract tidbits of information, she had no such need or desire at present with Delshad.

She forced down the desire to smile as she watched Delshad slipping Darya a wrapped sweetmeat under the pretense of it being a secret.

“You are my husband – that alone makes you entitled to a dance were you ever to wish for one,” she regarded him through blue-grey eyes which expressed more than she ever wanted them to – her guarded reserve shattered by the glinting uncertainties presented there, “if you asked for a dance, it would not be my place to decline.” Lyra did not return the warm smile he had given her, acknowledging it with a small nod before diverting her attentions to the feast.

She did not eat much at dinner, not because she was watching what she ate, but merely because she was not all that hungry. Plus, she had almost too much on her mind these days to want to do anything except think things over to herself. Not only were political tensions within Essos slowly churning up in the least nice of ways – they had been ever on the rise since the Westerosi war nineteen years past.

Though, she had to admit that she was much more preoccupied with her family’s personal issues, as well as her own. Her mother was, of course, the biggest trouble there and Lyra did not even wish to start thinking of that – not that the woman did much mothering besides going about and switching back and forth between her two disjointed personalities. Did Lyra blame her for much? Yes, yes she did.

Then there was Eskandir and the fact that he had to be wedded to a well-bred woman soon so as to better continue the Rilyn-Ra’ir line and then ascend to running the Merchant’s Guild. So far, Lyra could see no good matches for her brother. Usually, finding a bride would be the job of a man’s mother, but since their mother was not in her right mind, it was Lyra who had stepped up to do the job.

It was not the lack of good brides that also plagued her – but also the fact that Esk did not wish at all to be wedded, something which Lyra knew she would have to convince him otherwise about. He would step up to the job that life had presented him, just as she had to hers. One way or another she would force that brother of hers to concede with the wishes of their father.

And that was when Lyra realized that the dinner was winding down to a halt for her and Delshad as the two of them were finishing up with their food. Soon would come the dancing, that she knew. Lyra felt that same frisson of anxiety again. On their wedding night, when most married couples consummated their marriage, Lyra and Delshad had not.

He had told her something along the lines of them only engaging in sexual activities when she was ready or when she wanted to do so, as apparently he did not wish to put pressure upon her. She had no idea what to say to him then, and had only rolled over unto her side and tired not to think about the fact that there was a man in her bed whom she did not know.

Lyra reached out to fix the collar of her dress, more a nervous tick than anything actually being wrong with what she was clad in. Out of the corner of her eyes she glanced over at Delshad, wondering if he was going to get on with it any time soon and just ask her to a dance so that they may get one over with. Alright, she admitted, she was being childish right there and there. She actually quite enjoyed dancing at times, but she still felt as if she had her reasons to not want to get close to her husband.

---

ESKANDIR RILYN-RA’IR

The dance ended and Esk found himself lightly clapping his hands together, so as not to disturb anyone around him but still make his appreciation known. But, as he watched, Lord Fariel suddenly left his seat and went over to the dancers. At first Esk was confused and wondered if the man was going to correct them on a routine – but then he saw Lord Fariel roughly grab the arm of the dancer he himself had been so infatuated with watching and pulled her aside partly behind a curtain.

Esk’s eyebrows rose up on his forehead and he could not help but try to figure out to himself what exactly had gone wrong. He found himself needing to interfere and find out exactly what was going on. Esk was a curious sort, after all, and often had a knack for sticking his nose into other people’s business.

He got out from his chair and made his way over to the edge of the dancing floor, his footsteps growing more silent as he approached so he could listen to what was being said.

He heard the last snippets of conversation of how the girl was being reprimanded for making mistakes in her dancing and her own defenses of how she had not eaten. Well, that was certainly the last straw for him as the sudden urge to step up bubbled up within him.

Esk pushed back the curtain and looked at the two of them – Lord Fariel and the dancer – with a smile that did not reach his uninviting eyes. “Lord Fariel!” Esk strolled over to the man and laid a hand on the man’s arm, his grip stronger than would have been considered a friendly social touch. “And here I was, enjoying so much the movements of the lovely lady – why take such a sight away from the people?”

He tilted his head to one side and then gave Lord Fariel’s arm a squeeze. “I would be very honored, as the heir to the Merchant’s Guild, to ask the lady to a dance,” he smiled and then let go of Lord Fariel’s arm, “that is, after she is properly clothed and fed. Would you allow me that honor, Lord Fariel?”

Lord Fariel glared at him for a few moments and then, with a deep clearing of his throat, let go of the girl’s hair and took a small step away from her. Esk’s smile deepened and he inclined his head politely at Lord Fariel before turning to the girl and offering her his arm to take.

“I am Eskandir Rily-Ra’ir, a pleasure to make your acquaintance,” that was how he was always to introduce himself, otherwise Lyra would carve him a new asshole. Though what was preoccupying him the most was how to have the girl not go back into Lord Fariel’s clutches after he had her taken care of and had his dance with her. Surely his intervention would most likely only have made the man more predisposed to hurting the girl, and Esk did not at all wish for her to bear the consequences of his own actions.

Lord Fariel dismissed himself with a jerky bow to Esk and left, anger clearly brewing within him. Esk glanced after the man for a few seconds, and then looked back to the dancer girl with a smile that this time did slightly pick up within his normally cold brown eyes.

“Did he hurt you?” He asked her, genuinely concerned for how she was doing. He wanted to reach out and inspect her scalp and arm for himself, but realized that this would not be a good thing to do, and thus kept himself from acting on his desires. Though he did take her arm and put it through his instead of waiting for her to take it, and motioned for her to follow along with him. Even though these were Lord Fariel’s estates, he was sure that he would be able to get this girl fed and properly clothed without worry. Plus, Lyra most likely had brought a spare dress with herself anyways and, though his sister’s hips were much wider than those of the dancer and she was generally taller, he figured it would fit just as well.

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Delshad Adaire

Delshad, despite knowing what her response would be like, could not help but feel slightly disappointed. But that would not stop him; he would never give up on her, he would never stop trying. Sometimes he fell into the doubt that perhaps she just hated his guts, but he tried his best not to think of it that way. He would keep waiting for her, wait until she was ready to come closer to him. “The fact that we are married does not mean that I should wish things of you that you do not want to do,” he replied to her cynical remark.

That was exactly what he had said to her on the night of their wedding—that he would wait for her. Normally that sort of talk would have been ridiculed—one did not wait on the frivolity of a woman’s decision. That would have been an unthinkable, but Delshad was not like most men. He truly did respect her, and didn’t want to force her to do anything she didn’t want to do. Had he had some sort of say in their marriage, he would have declined if he had known that she would not be happy with him.

Maybe he was being a romantic sop. After all, marriage could be based around love, but most were about politics, money, advantages and alliances, not love. He knew many lords with wives who each had their own lover on the side—and being the future ruler of Asshai, he would have no one to answer to even if he had multiple lovers. But that was not what he wanted—he just wanted to have a warm family with one wife. He wanted to be faithful to her, and to provide for her and make her happy, even if the marriage had not occurred because of love.

He saw that she had no interest in speaking with him any further and so decided to eat instead—the food did look quite appetizing. Delshad patted at the seat next to him for Darya, smiling as she skipped over and joined him. Eskandir and Darya didn’t have any problems with him—but Lyanna was still very much closed up to him. Speaking of which, where was Eskandir? He looked about, and then out of the corner of his eye he noticed him lead one of the dancers out of the main ball room. He quirked an eyebrow—that was not one of those high-class girls he was supposed to be socializing with. What would Lyanna say if she saw? Or more importantly, his mother?

Leliana Rilyn-Ra’ir was his mother-in-law, a woman with beautiful red hair. Unfortunately, she wasn’t exactly stable in her mental aspects—she had dual personalities that she jumped from and to quite rapidly. He knew that it must be hard on the siblings, especially Lyanna, to have an unstable mother and a busy father. Lyanna and Eskandir had practically raised Darya themselves, to the point where Darya called Lyanna ‘Mumma.’ He would have been willing to listen to Lyanna—had she been willing to talk about the things that plagued her mind (something she did not do).

She rarely spoke more than a few sentences to him at a time, unless it was about finances or something of the sort. He tried many times to start casual conversations with her, but it never went as smoothly as he would have liked it to. At bedtime, he would usually read or write in his notebook, recounting the events of the day, allowing her to have her personal time. They slept in the same bed, but it was quite big and they ended up sleeping on the far sides of the bed, each to themselves.

He realized that they had both finished their food and were just sitting there. One by one, couples were rising to dance to the music, and he knew that technically, as the heir to Asshai, he should honor his host by dancing with his wife. He looked to her with a mild smile, his words as considerate as always. “If you don’t want to dance, you do not have to, Lyanna.” He really did mean that. “If you do wish to, then I would be more than happy to dance with you.”

Delshad knew that his wife did not want to get close to him—but he wouldn’t just let her distance herself. She could do as she pleased, but he wouldn’t let her isolate herself like that.


-------

Shirin Lasyar

She froze as the curtain was swept aside, her eyes wide and shamed. For anyone to see her in a vulnerable state was a thing she hated so much
and this in front of the whole roomful of people
it was downright mortifying. Thankfully most of the dancers distracted the other guests from seeing them, but right now there was a young man with dark, cold eyes in front of them. The young man promptly grabbed at her master’s arm tightly, obviously with the intent to stop him from hurting her further. Shirin swallowed, not sure of what would happen now. Who was this? Wouldn’t Lord Fariel grow angrier? Indeed, her master’s face was as pleasant it would have been if he had eaten worms instead of his fine cuisine.

Shirin was stunned when her master let her go, albeit grudgingly. He glared at the young man, who had identified himself as the heir to the Merchant’s Guild, and stepped away. She had never seen Lord Fariel do something against his own will, seeing how he outranked everyone in his house. Apparently this person, a boy that didn’t seem much older than herself, outranked him. Shirin looked up at the young man with guarded incredulity in her eyes. Why would someone like him bother to come to help her, an enslaved dancer? She didn’t understand. The rich did not care about those that they owned, and they certainly did not treat them like someone of their higher status. Especially merchants.

He introduced himself as a Rilyn-Ra’ir and Shirin immediately dropped her gaze to the floor, recalling just how powerful that family was. The dancers and servants talked and gossiped about the things that went on in the city, and his family was, as he had said, the head of the Merchant’s Guild, and alliance with the ruler of Asshai, the family Adaire.

He wanted her clothed and fed? And then he wanted to dance with her?


Was he out of his mind?

He smiled at her, but Shirin did not smile back—eyes wary and mistrustful, refusing to meet his gaze. She did not trust people, because no one had trusted her. Why should she trust, anyways? It wasn’t as if trusting had gotten her anywhere better. He sounded sincerely concerned when she asked whether she was hurt, but she did not exactly find it touching. In fact, she found it uncomfortably foreign and strange—no one ever worried or cared about her. Besides, she had taken worse before. Once she had ended up with a bloody scalp, another time with bruises all over her body. She didn’t have to be saved. It made her feel like she was being viewed as some weak, pathetic creature.

And being weak was one thing she hated to be.

“I am fine, ser,” she answered guardedly, not taking his arm. “I am not hurt.”

But she would be when he was gone after the party and Lord Fariel had let his anger fester. With him, it was really better to just let him expel his anger as soon as possible—it came back heavier if pushed to a later time.

Shirin nearly flinched and yanked her arm away when he took it and slid it into the crook of his arm, but barely restrained herself. What was she supposed to do? She really didn’t think she had a choice here—he was the son of the richest merchant in Asshai. And she, she was next to nothing, a piece of property to be used and displayed. She didn’t have a say. Shirin allowed him to lead her away, following his steps.

However she started to get nervous when he took her away from the rest of the audience and into another corridor without many other people around. Where was he taking her? Her eyes wandered nervously about—perhaps she really had been correct to be wary of him and his motives. Why would a young man of his status step in to help her unless he wanted favors? Shirin took in a silent, shuddering breath, her mind forming very bad possibilities. Why the bloody hell did her master keep her in such skimpy clothes? Oh yes, because it was pleasing to the eye. She felt the urge to wrap her arms around herself, but did not stop walking as he had motioned her to do, lips pressed shut in silence.

She stole a glance at his face, which could have been considered very attractive. He didn’t look like he was planning anything bad to do to her, but she knew well how looks could be deceiving. After all, was that not what she did on stage? Did she not dance as if she was joyful; did she not dance as if she was a different person altogether? Shirin took another cautious look at him when she thought he was not looking.

Whatever was on his mind, she could not tell what it was—and whatever deed he was planning for her, she did not get a choice, because she was a slave and he was someone with power.

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Lyanna Adaire

“Doing what one wants and doing that which needs to be done are two entirely different things,” she told him plainly, regarding his smiles and sincerity with a detached look on her face. The familiarity of his gaze was chafing her in all the wrong ways and she could feel her jaw tensing. “As the future Lord, and I the future Lady, of Asshai – it would be courteous of us to grace our hosts’ ballroom with a dance.”

She spoke the words out slowly, almost as if she was trying to get a point across to a small child rather than a man older than she herself. Lyra had no intentions of losing face while in at a party which, as all social gatherings in Asshai, had political undertones.

“Will you be rising to ask me to the dance or shall we disgrace the Lord Fariel and ourselves?” She asked, her gaze boring daggers into his eyes. As the man, it was his job to rise first from his seat and ask her to the dance. She could, of course, take things into her own hands and do the damned job herself – but that would not look well in public.

Though, now that she considered it
as a woman who had been trained by Red Priestesses, she was technically allowed much more lenience in societal affairs. Red Priests and Priestesses of R’hllor were revered in Asshai and each held the same power and rank as the other. It was neither unheard of nor uncommon for a Red Priestess to be named the heir to her family’s estates or to have high rank within society without being wed.

Come to think of it, there were almost more Red Priestesses than there were Priests, as it seemed as if women took better to shadowbinding. It was much the opposite with the Warlocks of Qarth. Different magics for different sexes – it made sense. She allowed herself to muse for a few more seconds, not wanting to get too cooped up by her own thoughts, as she had a duty to do at that party – and that duty involved acting the part of the future Lady of Asshai.

She was about to say something else when suddenly Esk showed up by their side of the table with a scantily clad dancer girl in tow – Lyra recognized her as being one of the dancers that had been performing before the guests only a few moments ago. She was curious to find out as to how and why the girl was suddenly with Esk and what he was intending to do with her. It was not as though Lyra feared that her brother would do anything scandalous with her – he really was not the sort for such things, but she was curious nonetheless.

She just hoped that he had not involved himself in anything foolish or something that could have a potential backlash. Then again, this was Esk, and the best she could hope for was that he did not set anything on fire or offend anyone with a well-intentioned word.

“Is there something you wish of, brother?” She asked him as he approached, watching both him and the girl he was leading with him with cautious eyes. To say that Lyra was uninviting would have been not too far from the truth – but she deigned to present herself as merely closed-off. Though she could not help but quirk a smile at Esk and the look in her eyes softened considerably from what they had previously been depicting while she had been tensely conversing with Delshad.

~

After Esk had left, along with his dancing girl, Lyra reverted her attentions back to her husband and her previous mask of composure slid flawlessly back into place. She felt a little ill at ease with whatever it was that Esk had just whispered to Delshad, as she was quite sure it involved something about her. She knew quite well that her brother had the tendency to barter out tidbits of information about her in exchange for favors – and that did not sit quite so well with her. In fact, Lyra was not frowning quite deeply.

“We ought to dance lest Lord Fariel think us bad guests,” she suddenly said, her tone edging towards irritation.

---

Eskandir Rilyn-Ra’ir


“Nonsense, you must have been hurt.” He told her and waved off her words with one hand. Esk was now hell-bent on seeing her well taken care of. And then he would have his dance – because none of the snooty Asshai’i noblewomen were appealing to him and this dancing girl had caught his eyes.

The girl was most definitely acting hesitant and tense, but Esk either did not notice it or did not want to. He simply went about as if there was nothing wrong and led her along with him over to the table at which his sisters and Delshad were seated as if nothing was wrong at all.

“Lyra?” He butted into whatever conversation his sister was having with her husband without so much as an excuse. Lyra looked over at him with a few seconds of irritation before acknowledging his words with a nod of her head.

“You have a second dress that you brought with you, yes?” Esk inquired of her – she must have had, just in case something happened to the one she was wearing now. It would, without a doubt, have been waiting for her in one of the guesting rooms. Lord Fariel’s manor was a sprawling estate filled with everything that a nobleman would ever need and dream of – including spare furnished rooms for any guests who felt the need to freshen up or take a roll in the sheets with a serving girl.

Esk, of course, had no intentions of taking a roll of that sort with the dancing girl. Sure, she was beautiful and near naked in her exposing outfit, but the thought had never even once crossed his mind.

“Yes, why – do you wish to dress the dancer in it?” Lyra asked him and looked past him at the girl whose arm was slipped through his. Esk watched as his sister’s eyebrows knotted together into a faint frown. “I cannot see Lord Fariel being too content of this. Ah, but it is your affair to deal with. Yes, you may go ahead.” She gave him another inclination of her head and he grinned, leaning down to kiss her cheek. She laughed at that and tilted her head to kiss him back on the other cheek – a wordless accordance with whatever he wished to do with that dress of hers.

Esk was about to go and whisk the dancer girl away when he suddenly recalled that he could exploit Delshad’s social standing right then and there. He briefly let go of the girl, motioning for her to stay there, before moving close to Delshad and bending down to whisper in the man’s ear so that only the two of them could be heard what was being said. “This girl, I saw Lord Fariel mistreating her and I did not like it one bit,” Esk began, thinking as to what exactly he would say of it next.

“If you find a way to buy her out for me – either ask for her as a gift or something else of political worth – then in return I will let you ask three things of me about Lyra,” Esk knew that if he had something to bargain with, then it was information about his sister, “and I will answer all three question truthfully.” There, that ought to be payment enough, right? Esk grinned and straightened up, clapping Delshad on the shoulder once and then went back to the dancer girl.

He had not even bothered to hear what Delshad had been meaning to reply, because he figured that he and Lyra would be dancing soon – plus, if Delshad agreed to his terms then he would buy the girl out and that would be the end of things.

“Do you like the color blue?” He asked her as he led her away from the main rooms of the party and into a secluded corridor that would take them to the guesting rooms. “Personally, I daresay blue would look stunning on you, considering your hair. I am sure Lyra has a few amber earrings to compliment your eyes as well. She will not mind much, do not worry.”

He grinned at the dancer. “You have not told me your name, by the way. I’ve told you mind, have I not?”

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Delshad Adaire

Delshad suddenly perked up at Eskandir’s proposition, suddenly seeing another chance to squirrel little bits of information about his closed off wife. Esk did not wait for him to reply and he suppressed a laugh; he knew him all too well. He gazed after his brother-in-law and the dancer girl he had asked for—he supposed she was pretty. Lord Fariel had mistreated her, eh? He glanced towards his host sitting at the table, who had apparently lost his appetite, not too interested in masking his annoyance.

Three things about Lyanna—three. That was more than usual, Eskandir must have sincerely wanted to get the girl away from this place. Well, to Delshad, three things were totally worth more than anything that girl was worth. It was true—Esk really did know him too well. He had walked away, most likely because he had known exactly what he would say.

He turned to his wife, suddenly in a much lighthearted mood than before. “Of course,” he said pleasantly, getting out of his seat and holding out his arm to Lyanna. “Lady Adaire, may I have this dance?” he asked properly, with the slight bow at the waist. She was annoyed because of him, he knew, but he was not sure what else he could do besides be honest with her.

--

Their host seemed to be in a much better mood now that they had graced him with dancing. Delshad approached the lord, a refilled glass of wine in his hand. “Milord, I hope you are finding things satisfactory?” wheedled the man, seeking to curry favor.

“Indeed, this is a magnificent gathering,” Delshad told him, not at all being untruthful. The feast had been plentiful, the dancers beautiful, the dĂ©cor (as much as he did not care about it) had been most fitting. The lord beamed as if he had been told that he would live forever in splendor. “But I found myself interested in something in particular,” Delshad added, leaving the rest for the lord to snatch up.

“You honor me—what you I have that milord does not?” the man purred, making Delshad smile inwardly. One step closer to finding out more about Lyanna.

“Your dancers—they were most captivating. My house does not have any that skilled or stunning.” Delshad personally had not paid much attention to the dancers, as he had been occupied with Lyanna, but he saw that it was true. “If I may be so bold to ask you for one of them
? For that you would have my thanks and a place next to me at my table for the next banquet of mine.” His voice remained mild, but it was still firm; it would not do to have him refuse him.

Not that any lord in their right mind would refuse the future ruler.

Delshad swore he saw the man’s piggy eyes sparkle like the multiple jeweled rings on the lord’s fingers. The banquet was an occasion that was hard to attend without favor bestowed—and especially at a table of an Adaire. “Why, it would be my pleasure and honor,” the man smiled demurely, nodding to him in respect. “I have the best dancers in all of Asshai—I shall escort you to inspect them for choosing, I—”

“That won’t be necessary,” Delshad cut in mildly. “I already know which one I wish to request for.” There was a flash of surprise on Lord Fariel’s face, but it passed quickly underneath the sickly sweet mask.

“Of course, of course! May I inquire which girl it is?”

“The wench with the red-brown hair—the youngest, I should think. She is quite the skilled dancer.” 
Or that was what he assumed. Delshad almost felt a bit of amusement as the shorter man fidgeted—he knew who he was asking for, and if Eskandir was correct, he treated her badly. “Why, is there a problem?” Delshad asked, his face calm.

“N-no, milord, none at all—”

Delshad clasped the man’s hands. “You have my deepest appreciation,” he told him, knowing that there was no way for the man to refuse now. “I will not forget your generosity, Lord Fariel. I’ll see to it that one of mine takes the girl along when we depart.” The older man laughed nervously, smiling. Delshad could tell that had it been any other man he would have been furious.

He guessed that sometimes being of high status was a good thing. At least now things were done and he would have his three questions.

And that, Delshad decided, was payment enough.



_______________

Shirin Lasyar

Shirin looked up at the young man, confusion lingering on her face. What in the world was he trying to do? She grew even more uncomfortable when he led her to one of the tables, where she knew the important guests were sitting. And indeed, he plunged right into the middle of their conversation—the conversation of Delshad and Lyanna Adaire. She went briefly wide-eyed, then turned her gaze downwards again, even more so than before. This couple would be the rulers of Asshai, the highest of the high.

The girl stood by rather awkwardly as he spoke to his sister about an extra dress—so he had been serious about putting her in ‘proper clothes’? And she silently agreed with the Lady Lyanna—Lord Fariel wouldn’t be happy about that.

She thought she could smell a fragrance coming off of the Lady Lyanna—a pleasant one, not too pungent or strong like the perfumes other people used. A flower scent, clean with a hint of sharpness to it—Lavender? She suddenly thought that she remembered someone else that smelled like flowers; a sweet scent that came with familiarity and comfort. But as soon as she thought she could actually link it to something real, the young man was at her side again and leading her off. Frustration briefly flooded her mind; had that been a real memory? A real person with that smell?

Sometimes she got these fragments of things she thought she remembered. Maybe it wasn’t real, maybe it was. Those little bits seemed too happy to be genuine. If she lingered on those thoughts that could be nothing but creations of her desperate, love-deprived mind, she would only be all the more wretched. How pathetic was she that she would make up false memories? She was sure she did not remember at all.

When she woke up, it was dark.

“Mumma?”

The space was small and tight; uncomfortable. The air was thick and scarce, and the surface of whatever she was lying on, hard.

“Papa?”

They were
moving. She could feel the up-and-down, hear the rumble.

She didn’t like it. She started to cry, beating and clawing at the wood she could feel with all the strength and stamina a three year old could manage. Her energy ran out quickly but she resorted wailing, screaming for her Mumma and Papa. She kept it up until she fell asleep, exhausted and sticky with tears.

When the box opened, it was so bright she woke up right there and there, for a moment thinking she was home. But it was the face of a strange man, who promptly towed her to a strange, unknown place.

This is your new home now.

“
Papa?...Mumma? Where are you?”

Her earliest memories were of crying—crying for her mother and her father in a little crate. But that was all—she didn’t remember anything else, how she had been taken from home, where home was, what her parents’ names were. She didn’t remember anything from before the kidnapping but her name. Many would have said in her defense that someone abducted at the age of three wouldn’t remember—but Shirin herself hated that she couldn’t.

It was like being a tree without any roots.

“Blue..?” she repeated after him as he inquired whether she liked the color. “I am not sure, ser.” She was near certain that she had never worn blue before (Lord Fariel hated the color). Her small pieces of clothing were usually of gold or silver color, as that represented wealth
and Lord Fariel did love his wealth. He really did intend to dress her up like some lady of his status? Not only would Lord Fariel not be pleased, her fellow dancers would not think highly of that either. Perhaps he thought he was being kind to her, but this would only cause more trouble for her
not that he would care, right?

He grinned at her as he asked her for her name, one that would have given any woman heart palpitations, but Shirin only glanced away, as if afraid to look him in the eye. “I suppose you have
My name is Shirin.” She said haltingly. “Shirin Lasyar.” Lasyar, a word that meant ‘dancer,’ not a real last name. She would have said that she was honored to meet the heir of the Merchant’s Guild, or something of the sort, but she did not.

“What do you intend to do with me?” she finally asked, her tone turning sharp for the first time she had spoken to him. She might as well as get it over with. She was not a spineless creature by nature, and she was no fool. “Why would you do these things for me? There’s nothing for you in it.” She might as well as ask if he was intent on doing whatever was in that head of his.

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Lyanna Adaire

Every step about the dance floor felt as if it was taking up an eternity. All that Lyra could think of was the fact that she was being held close by the man that she was wedded to and that she had to do her utmost to prevent anything from developing between herself and him. This up close it was not at all easy to forget about how tall and handsome he was – it was hard not to admire the dark and rugged look of this man who she shared a bed with every night but never dared to reach out and touch.

It all felt too intimate and, for a brief moment in time, Lyra was not sure if she wished the dance to stop or if she wished to lean closer into him and feel those strong arms encircling her tightly. Her mind momentarily lapsed to wonder just how it would be to have him pressed close against her, his hard chest bearing down upon her.

She flushed a deep red and tried to focus on something – anything – apart from the sudden warm sensation that had raced its way up and down her spine and finally settled itself in the pit of her stomach. It was almost hard to breathe, almost. And her heart felt like it was trying to rip its way past her ribs and out into the open for all to see. She felt the blood rushing through her veins with every bone-shattering thud.

The problem was that she was all too aware of everything – and especially of the warm hand on her mid-back. Sometimes she could not help but wonder what it would be like if she allowed him to do to her what a husband did in bed to a wife. Yes, Lyra did have her moments of sexual frustration. She knew full well that she would not be allowed to stay a virgin for forever – certainly not when she had to produce an heir to continue the Adaire name.

When the dance ended, she allowed Delshad to escort her back to their seats at the high table and did her best not to be too flustered by the experience. “Thank you for the dance,” Lyra said, her voice sounding more strained than it had before. Her cheeks were still burning and the flush that had crept up her shoulders and neck from before had yet to fade. She was sure that he would be able to tell that her levels of discomfort had risen through the roof.

She did not want to meet his eyes as she sat down in her seat and cleared her throat, smoothing her skirts over her knees to try and get rid of her anxiety. Finally she forced herself to glance up at him and her lips quirked into a strained smile. “I am sure that Eskandir asked you for something,” she said and looked back away from him, averting her eyes and pointedly choosing to ignore his presence from then on.

There was too much on Lyra’s mind all of a sudden for her to want to deal with any of it and she certainly was not going to be able to handle speaking with her husband for much longer – not if she wanted that flush to go away, at least.
---

Eskandir Rilyn-Ra’ir

“Shirin Lasyar,” he repeated her name, letting it flow off her tongue and then gave her a nod of acknowledgment, coupled with a crooked grin. “I must say that I am fond of that name now.”

Her questions caught him off-guard and Esk only stared at Shirin for a few moments, blinking his eyes then and again to try and figure out what exactly she was getting that. He was sure that there was a double meaning to her question, but he just could not even begin to wrap his mind around what had just been said. Slowly, almost like a confused child, Esk tilted his head to one side and stared ever the harder at Shirin – as if his staring could improve his abilities to comprehend.

The sharpness of her tone confounded him even more and he figured that he should at least reply to her words without making a further fool of himself and gaping like a moron. “What I intend to do?” He repeated after her, frowning once more. “Well, I assume I made that clear for you – did I not?” His tone was suddenly just as sharp as hers as Esk felt a surge of courtly pride rise up in him.

“I said that I would see you dressed, bathed, fed, and then you will grace me with a dance,” he repeated slowly, as if now it was she the dumb child and not he. “Unless you know not the meaning of that, then I will not explain them to you. I do not see how you would think I have nothing to gain – do they not teach that kindness is good to express to others? Plus, I will be gaining a dance with a partner who is not a prissy noblewoman and that is good enough for me.”

He was about to turn around on his heel and motion for her to follow him, but made himself remain there and wait for her to come into her senses. “Shall we get going? I am sure you are chilly in those barely-concealing clothing,” he said and gestured at her dancer’s outfit in a manner which held no lechery. Sure, Esk knew full well how to admire the body of a food-looking woman, but he also knew that it was not always appropriate to do so. Clearly, it would not be polite to be doing so now.

He offered her another smile, hoping that she would become less strained around him as the evening went be. Truly, he could not see what her issue here was. All that he had done was offer her kindness and for some reason she was figuratively scratching at his offered hand like a hostile cat. Or, at least, that was what Esk was comparing her behavior to at that moment in time. What an odd young woman this one was.

He paused for a few moments and then followed up with another question for her, just because he was unable to keep his curiosity in check. “What exactly did you mean?” He went on to inquire – referring to her previous questions directed at him as to what his intentions were.

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Delshad Adaire

Delshad himself was not exactly the type to be tremendously excited about a dance (he had participated since he was very young, after all), but being able to hold his wife in his arms sent his mood soaring whereas it sent hers plummeting. She was nothing but a wife in name, he realized. She had none of his children, as they had never consummated their marriage, and she had no love for him. But at the moment there was no time for him to be feeling wistful—because he was closer to her right now than she would ever let him. He drew a little satisfaction from that, and also from the fact that her face was quite flushed. He thought she looked much prettier and alive like that, but he did not say anything, as he knew she was uncomfortable as she was to begin with.

--

Not finding anything else to say to the lord, he smiled pleasantly at him and excused himself. He was in a most jubilant mood—he had gotten Eskandir what he had wanted, and now he would get three—three things about Lyanna. It may have been rather pathetic to see how excited he could get over those things, but he was an easily interested person—on the inside. Even a passage about the most meager of insects made him marvel and wonder, finding ways to explore without ever having to leave his duties.

He walked back to the table where Lyanna was sitting alongside Darya. “It seems like Uncle Eskandir is busy. Would you like to dance, little lady?” he asked playfully, bowing to her just as he had to Lyanna. He took her plump hand that was of a child’s and led her out to the circle, a satisfied smile lighting up his face at the sight of the small girl. Darya was much different than Gita, but he was very fond of her nonetheless. Gita had been a fragile and delicate girl, prone to coming down with illnesses—not like Darya, the robust and healthy one that seemed to run about, full to the brim with energy.

--

“My son, you will be the crown on our heads and your sister the flower that blooms beautifully.”

The last year of Gita’s life had been painful for her—it must have been. She had been confined to bed, her legs slowly losing their lean muscle and dissolving into nothing but nerves that couldn’t be of any use. His mother kept flowers around Gita all the time, whether they were roses, daises, tulips or wildflowers. He had watched her skinny form on the oversized bed, her breaths shallow and slow, surrounded by flowers of every color and shape. Seeing her like that had almost been like seeing a funeral, a still body covered with flowers, her skin pale as wax.

The last time he had gone to visit her, she had briefly awoken, her dark eyes strangely focused for the first time in months, and smiled at him. “Brother. Read me a story.” Delshad had complied, though she would have been considered a bit old to be reading a fable to. He picked out her favorite and sat on the edge of her bed, and when he had finished she was still smiling, eyes half open as she watched him. Then she had turned to the vases and vases of flowers in her chamber and said with clarity; “The flowers are dying, Del.” He examined them, but they only seemed to be healthier than ever—not even a sign of being sickly. Though he told her that, his little sister of eight had contradicted him, already fifteen and considered a man. “No, brother. They are dying.” Her voice was calm and strangely mature for her, but he had simply bade her good night and kissed her forehead and gone to bed himself.

The next morning, he went in and saw that her breathing had stopped and she was as stiff as a statue. And all around her, dead flower petals littered the floor.

The flowers are dying, she had told him.

She had been right.


_____________________


Shirin Lasyar

She had expected him to be surprised—angry, even. Any other man would have disliked her sharp tone and disapproved of her—but no, that was not his reaction. Instead, he stared at her so hard one would have thought he was attempting to count the freckles on her face, the freckles that her master hated so.

She stared back as his confused visage with equal amounts of confusion. What, had he been dropped on his head as a child or something of the sort? Was he but a pretty pot, elaborate on the outside but totally empty on the inside? He would know
would he not? It wasn’t as if he was only a child—he had to be around her own age—or were rich brats not taught about things of ‘corruption’? She found that hard to believe, as corruption was spread by the nobles themselves, in her opinion.

Shirin sucked in a silent breath as he frowned at her, his voice clipped; she expected for him to tell her that it was obvious that she would please him, for him to drop all false pretenses of kindness and become the monster that nobles were so prone to becoming. Instead he repeated his innocent intentions, slowly, as if she was hard of hearing or soft in the head. The girl looked away from his intense gaze, getting the feeling that he thought she was terribly slow.

This young man seemed quite convinced that he would not do anything out of the ordinary, and Shirin swallowed her accusations, not about to contradict him. She did not trust, and because she did not trust, she was still alive. She would have to be daft to trust this
whatever he was. She would go along with him because he had demanded it, but she would be inwardly prepared for anything that could happen. She began to walk after him, but then he asked her what she had meant before, which momentarily left her speechless. Was he taunting her? Teasing her? He must be playing at something, no? Yet he smiled charmingly at her, and Shirin felt even more confused.

She could not figure him out.

At last Shirin fixed him with a meaningful gaze before averting her eyes once more, slightly flushed at having to explain. She would keep it as vague as possible and hope that she would not have to go into explicit details. “Some men are not as
well-meaning as you are, ser. They take what they want.” And that was the truth of it. Dancers weren’t much different than flexible whores in the heads of the people that they entertained—they were owned, after all. They were to entertain their guests and satisfy their masters, whether it was with dance, words, charm, or their bare bodies. They never mattered; the audience was all.

She did not like that. It was actually why she had been recently sold again to Lord Fariel—she had fought the man who had tried to have her. He had shoved his tongue into her mouth after dragging her to a guest room, his dirty hands grasping her silks, and Shirin had bitten and clawed at him until he had howled and she could taste blood. Fortunately for her, he had not been anyone of very great importance—the son of a Master of Arms—but she had still been well punished for that and sold.

Abducted at a young age to be a servant, a slave—taught and raised to be one too. But she knew that she was not born as one. She did what she had to get by, to live, but she was no common whore—a dancer, no more.

However, she knew that if he decided that he did want to have her, she could not bite him as she had done with the other man. He was too important; her punishment would be severely harsh if she was allowed to live after harming the heir to the Merchant’s Guild—not to mention the brother-in-law of Lord Delshad Adaire. She had no intentions of dying quite yet, thank you. She would survive, no matter what.

She would survive and live—but to what end and for what, she knew not.

Tree with no roots.

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Lyanna Adaire

Lyra had been watching Delshad dancing with Darya with a wistful smile playing across her lips. As she was rather deep in through, the sudden arrival of a messenger boy nearly caused her to jump. However, Lyra quickly regained her wits and looked over at the messenger who had come to the side of her seat, his demeanor meek and humble – as it should be.

“Lady Lyanna,” the messenger bowed low before her and only rose up again when Lyra nodded her head that he may speak. “There has been ill news, milady.” The way he said it troubled her, causing her to shift a bit.

“How so?” She asked, keeping her tone composed even though a sudden flash of anxiousness crept up her spine. To be disturbed during a party by ill news must means that whatever the messenger had been sent to tell her must be dire. She could not quite begin to guess at what it may be – something personal appertaining to her family or even something more widespread?

The messenger took in a sharp breath, sounding almost as if he was afraid of the news he was about to deliver. Lyra had to wait only for a few more moments before he finally spoke out. Had he dallied with his words for more time, she would have most definitely snapped out at him to get on with his words. “The High Priestess. She is
gone.” The boy told her softly.

Lyra’s head snapped up to stare at the messenger with hard blue-grey eyes. He balked a bit under her stare and she did nothing to lesson his distress. Lyra wanted him to spit out those damned words already. “Gone? Explain yourself.”

“She fled, milady. She left behind a note – it has been sent to you,” the messenger stammered as he handed the parchment over to her before she had to ask for it. The seal was, of course, broken – as the Temple of R’hllor would have undoubtedly been the first to read it amongst themselves.

“Thank you, that is all,” Lyra said in dismissal and waited for the messenger boy to bow once more and then carefully opened up the envelope so that she may read what was written within.

“I know not who will read this first – though I assume it will be Alcides. I can’t stay here anymore. I’ve seen it in the fire. He will come for me and, if I stay here, Asshai will suffer. I must leave now and I will not say where I am going. Pray he does not find me. Pray that he hunts only me.
The night is dark and full of terrors.
Lavinia”


The letter was indeed scribed in the hand of the High Priestess – Lyra recognized the chicken-scratch of the woman’s writing that drawled all across the parchment. It was nearly impossible to decipher in some parts, as Lavinia must have been writing hastily.

Lyra’s fingers crinkled the paper as she folded it back up and shoved it into the envelope. Her jaw was tensed and the previously put together expression that she had been wearing throughout the whole party had faded into a look of discontent. She rubbed her forehead with one slender-fingered hand and then looked out unto the dance floor where Delshad was still waltzing about with Darya.

She would have to inform him of this. As a Red Priestess herself – albeit not the best of them as her shadowbinding abilities were passable at best and she had left the Temple in favor of courtly duties – it would be her job to give the news of the High Priestesses’ abandonment of Asshai to its Lord.

She focused her eyes on Delshad, hoping to catch his attention with her gaze rather than be forced to leave her chair and cross the dance floor to interrupt him and call him over to speak with her. Lyra chewed on the inside of her cheek. This could potentially by very bad for them politically. And, especially with all that was occurring in Braavos – she had heard strange rumors about the Sealord’s family – Essos seemed to be sinking deeper and deeper into something that would bring them all naught but strife.
---

Eskandir Rilyn-Ra’ir

“I take what I want as well,” he told her with a shrug of his shoulders as he reached for the door of the guesting room which his sister had been presented with back when they had first arrived at the party. “This has nothing to do with well-meaning.” He shrugged once more, not quite sure exactly what she was attempting to get at.

‘Why can women not speak plainly? Esk wondered to himself as he glanced over his shoulder at her and then pushed open the door to step into the lavishly-furnished chambers. A soft breeze flitted through the room, coming from one of the wide open windows. Soft curtains billowed inwards, giving the place a soft sort of feeling and Esk found himself rather at ease.

There was a built-in bathing tub in the far corner of the room and it was steaming – clearly having been kept hot just in case any of the Adaire family wished to take a bath.

His eyes swept across the scene before him until they landed upon the spacious bed, across which were spread many changes of clothing – amongst them was Lyra’s dress. Lyra had plenty of gowns in blue; it was her favorite color after all. This particular one was the color of copper that had been exposed to the air, a lovely blue-green silk court gown with silver detailing of lilies and mother of pearl along the neckline.

It would be laced in the front and a little looser than most dresses. It was not only for comfort – someone in Lys had made it all the rage to show off one’s chemise down the centre of the boned bodices women wore. The teal bodice only joined properly at the waist, with the silver laces holding the bodice taut so as to show off the fine snow white chemise beneath. More mother of pearl finished off the gown’s details in the petticoat and sleeves.

He strolled over to the bed with an easy saunter and picked up the gown in both hands, lifting it up and then turning about to face Shirin with the light garment of silk in his hands. “Would you like me to get maids to help you or would you prefer to attempt to dress yourself?” He walked over to her and held the dress out towards her, “certainly, I can lace a corset – I have done so for Lyra at times when she did not wish to be bothered by her maids.”

He pressed the dress against her body and tilted his head to one side in order to imagine what she would look like once she was dressed in it. Finally, Esk gave an approving nod of his head – his mental image having pleased him. “Yes, this color would definitely look good on you,” he said with a tone that sounded almost forceful. Esk was feeling rather pleased with himself at that moment.

Not only had he gotten away from the silly noblewomen who had been hounding him previously that evening, but he would be walking back into the ballroom with a pretty and properly garbed maid upon his arm.

“There is food on the platters,” he added and jerked his chin over at a table upon which were set platters of fruit and sweetmeats, as well as some savory cut slices of meat and cheeses, as well as a good amount of fresh bread. He hoped that she would eat her fill, as he was certain that she must be famished after all she had been through that day alone.

Once he was sure that she had a proper hold on the dress, he let it go, allowing her to feel and look over the garment for herself. Esk went over to the table upon which the trays of food were set, figuring that she ought to have some space to dress and some privacy to do so. Or, as much privacy as she could get with him in the room. Esk was not entirely stupid – he did not quite trust her on her own to carry out that which he had asked her to – so he would be keeping an eye on her of sorts.

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Delshad Adaire

Delshad (being the rather tall man he was) had some difficulty dancing with the petite little girl, but they managed; sometimes sweeping her up to his height, sometimes crouching rather comically to match her size. He grinned as she laughed in delight, not minding one bit about who was watching. Gita had loved dancing, but she had been unable to after her sixth birthday, and been unable to walk at all after her eighth birthday—but before then, he had often danced with her when she had been learning her dances. She had not laughed as loud as Darya, or had so much energy like her, but it was more than enough to make him think of her and smile. Delshad was beyond grateful for this young girl that kept things bright no matter what sort of situation it was.

It was during his second dance with Darya when he felt a gaze fixed on him rather intently. He discreetly turned to meet whoever’s gaze, all the while twirling the small girl. Much to his surprise, it was his wife—but unfortunately it didn’t seem to be any good news in particular. She held a letter in her hand, and she wasn’t beaming in joy—rather, she looked more distressed than he had ever seen her.

He figured she wished to speak with him about the contents of the letter, and swept Darya into his arms, leaving the dance floor as if she had asked him for something to eat or another normal excuse. When they reached the table he let her down and offered her a candied chestnut. “Go have fun, Lyanna and I have to talk about something, alright?” Delshad winked at the girl and watched her skip off before sitting next to his wife, his face pleasant despite knowing that this must be something serious. At these parties, he was surrounded by friends, subjects, and eyes. He had been taught from an early age to always be careful of what he said and did.

“It must have been an urgent matter for them to send you a letter while we were at a banquet,” he murmured, noting the broken seal on the envelope. “The High Priestess?” he questioned, his eyebrows lurching upwards warily. If it was something from the High Priestess Lavinia, sent during a party, with such an effect that made Lyanna’s face sour, it must be something grave indeed. “What does it say?” he asked her, her demeanor serious this time. Delshad knew his duties well—and though his father was the current ruler of Asshai, he would manage that burden in some years. What happened now was just as important as something that happened during his own reign. “Is she well?”

His wife was a Red Priestess as well, a shadow-binder. He wondered if the High Priestess had fallen ill, or perhaps even worse. But he knew guessing about the even would only make things seem worse than they were, and so calmed his mind.

Asshai had yet to be involved on serious conflict, but Delshad was well-aware of the fact that things would not remain that way forever. He saw the way his stoic father frowned and let out a sigh without even realizing it. Things were slowing brewing, coming to fruitage; he could only hope it would not be as bad as the turmoil that had gone with the Damians, Winslers, and Greyhardts.

He had been taught to be the next leader, pressured to be the best at everything he had set his hands on. But as he gained more and more responsibilities, he knew more and more that he wasn’t exactly cut out to do this. By no means was he a coward or a spineless creature—but he could see that he would not be happy being the ruler of Asshai. He would have rather been a normal man, a man that earned respect and money with hard, honest work. And yet he knew that men would kill for the position he held without much joy—life was that way, was it not? You wanted what others had, and others wanted what you had, but it was always be unfairly set.

He was born an Adaire, the heir to Asshai. And as unhappy he would be ruling it, it was the way it had to be.


------------

Shirin Lasyar

Shirin looked at the dark-haired young man with disbelief (once again). He didn’t get it! Maybe he really was soft in the head
 But his curiosity seemed sated for the moment, so she didn’t press the issue any further. Let him think what he would think—perhaps he truly didn’t have any objectives to harm her, as he had said. But did she actually believe that? No.

Though she had told herself that she was prepared, she couldn’t help but cringe inwardly when the door to the guest room opened. It was well decorated as she already knew—this was one of the best rooms. She had to say, this was leagues better than her own place to sleep, though it wasn’t all that bad. Lord Fariel like to make a statement about his wealth by giving even his servants richly decorated quarters (not that they were very comfortable). All the dancers had one single large room they shared, which in her opinion looked more like a harem than housing for dancers.

She made herself stay still as he pressed the gown to her body, as if he was her tailor instead of some rich noble. Shirin felt the material under her fingertips; it was made of fine silk—one that felt like water. It was finer than her own silks, the ones that Lord Fariel considered the best of the best. They really must outrank him. The dress was indeed a piece of work, beautiful with details that were not too over the top as a lot of her own outfits were (more jewels than actual cloth, she often thought). She hadn’t worn a proper dress in a very long time, she realized, noting the length of the skirt. “I can dress myself, ser.” She said simply. Usually dancers helped each other dress and adorn themselves, but Shirin was left to do it on her own the majority of the time, as they weren’t too fond of her.

She stared at him until she told herself to mind her manners, and resorted to shaking her head a no. Did he seriously offer to lace her corset up for her? Shirin didn’t understand what in the world he was thinking to do. She knew exactly what he had said he was thinking to do, but it still did not make sense in her mind.

Her eyes shot to the platters of food, her hunger quite sharp and painful. Had she been alone she would have positively thrown herself at the food—ah, but she was not alone. In fact, he was standing right next to the food. She would have bathed and dressed first, but the feeling of her guts digesting itself wasn’t a pleasant sensation she wanted to suffer and longer. She hesitantly laid down the dress and cautiously walked to the platters of food. Shirin grasped a slice of bread, as if unsure whether to eat in his presence or not, but the sweet, homely scent of the bread overtook any other inhibitions. She began to eat eagerly, adding meat and cheese on top of the bread, though her eyes never left him, watching warily for any signs of ill-will.

That was gone soon enough and she glanced up at Eskandir almost nervously, as if he would tell her to stop eating. Seeing no disapproval, she bit into a sweet plum, allowing it to quench her thirst—and at that moment, it tasted better than anything else in the world. She abruptly stopped eating afterwards, feeling awkward that she was eating and he was
not. She was still hungry, but she felt much better than before—it would be able to last her for a bit.

Shirin stepped away from the food and towards the steaming bath—standing still for a moment, waiting for him to leave the room so she could do as he had asked and bathe. However after a few moments it seemed that he had no intentions of leaving and she had to speak up. “Will you
You wanted me to bathe, and
” she gestured haltingly at herself, praying to the gods that he understood what she was trying to get at. The bath had a rather see-through curtain surrounding it, but Shirin wasn’t exactly about to rely on that flimsy cloth to shield her from anybody’s eyes.

Especially not some strange noble boy.

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Lyanna Adaire

“It is grave news indeed – the messenger was in the right to have come to interrupt the party. The High Priestess is gone,” Lyra said in a voice which did not hold much emotion at all. She handed the note over for Delshad to take and then ran a hand through her hair, her jaw as tense as it was when she had first read the note. These were not good times to be losing high-ranking members of their city – and certainly not those who belonged to the Temple of R’hllor.

“She gives nothing away – nothing about whom, only a brief reason why,” she blew out an irritated breath and shifted rather uncomfortably in her seat. One of the most influential women in Asshai – gone; though Lavinia had always been a very passive and non-confrontational woman, she was one of Asshai’s top shadowbinders – and now she was being hunted.

Step by step, Essos was heading towards war; a revolution, at the very least. If Asshai did not start to movie its own chess pieces soon, they would soon be facing certain onslaught. One way or another they would have to fortify their defenses against the others. Lyra had little desire to expand Asshai’s dominion over all of Essos and she did not doubt that Delshad was of thre same mind. However, there had been rumor of other cities whose rulers had such ideas implanted into their minds ever since the latest Westerosi war.

Though
if they could besiege and take control over the Shadow Lands beyond Asshai
then things would tilt in their favor. That would certainly give them much more force – not that Asshai was weak on its own, but extra weapons in one’s arsenal never hurt. She would have much preferred to not have to deal with the possibilities of a war, but she was not so much a fool to not recognize its signs.

For once she did turn to Delshad with a look on her face that was not just a polite mask to hide her lack of desire to interact with him. The two of them would have to lead Asshai through the times ahead and they could not afford to be having their Priests driven out from before their very noses. At least the High Priest Alcides had not sent them any such letter – they still had him to vouch for the Temple and the shadowbinders.

“I fear for the worst,” she found herself saying to him in low tones, not quite sure why she was choosing to confide to Delshad her inner feelings on the matter when she could have merely kept things impersonal and spoken of them as such. “If the situation boils down to war, then there is nothing I would not be willing to sacrifice to save Asshai.”

Involuntarily, she glanced over at Darya and something in her features softened to melancholy. “Absolutely nothing,” she mouthed the words and knew them to be true. If there was the need, then she would pay the price in the blood of her kin. That was the silent promise that she had sworn to Asshai upon being wedded to Delshad and taking her place amongst the Adaires.

Land and people first had needs that neither she nor Delshad could deny. It pained her more than she dared to let on to think of such things, but Lyra had always been of a practical and logical mindset. She knew that value of things and she knew that the value of some things as a collective whole were greater than others. To think in that manner was both a blessing and a curse.

‘I can only pray that it never comes to that.’ She thought to herself as she picked up her goblet of wine and took from it a sip. The alcohol tasted too sour in her mouth. She really was not in any mood to appreciate it anymore, not after having such thought plaguing her. She looked back over at Delshad and managed to make her expression less guarded than it usually was. “We must not lose sight of that which has to be done,” she said, almost more to herself than to him, “I only pray it will not come to anything drastic.”
---

Eskandir Rilyn-Ra’ir

The way she was shoveling food into her mouth made him grin. He felt happy that he could have given her the opportunity to eat. Esk felt rather accomplished at that, thank you very much. He nodded with approval as she ate. As he himself was not hungry, he merely stood there, though he did eye the wine that stood to the side of the food platters. He made a mental note of drinking some of it at some point – Esk rather appreciated good wine. He rather hoped that it would be a good vintage like had been the one at the feast.

And then she stopped eating (and so soon! – perhaps she just had a small stomach
) and stepped towards the bath – but then she halted and turned back to him. Esk watched her as she made hand motions at herself and repeated to him that he had wanted her to bathe. Esk nodded his head, as if to say, ‘yes, that was exactly what you should do’. He wondered if she did not know the concept of bathing for a few moments, before a thought struck him. What a silly, considerate girl she was!

“Ah!” Esk let out a laugh and waved his hand at her in an unconcerned gesture. “You need not worry about me, Shirin. I know full well what a woman without her clothing looks like – and it is not as if what you are wearing now leaves anything for the imagination.” He rolled his eyes at her and motioned for her to get on with her bathing and changing.

“If you have any need of me, I will be here,” he turned back about and poured himself a goblet of wine, figuring that he might as well have a drink while she was getting on with things.

Then a sudden thought struck Esk and caused him to put his goblet down before he had even the time to raise it to his lips. It was as if a sudden realization had struck him. Now it occurred to him why she had gestured at herself in that rather discomfited way. Esk slowly turned back around to face her, one of his eyebrows raised questioningly. He took one more look at her and then nodded his head rather curtly.

“I see what you mean now, pardon me for not comprehending it sooner,” he dallied only a moment longer before grinning and shrugging his shoulders in that devil-may-care way of his. He walked over to her and then swiveled so that he could slip in behind her, his body half a foot away from hers.

He felt rather much like a caring person as he made up his mind for this task. It was, of course, not something that he would usually do for anyone – and certainly not someone who was not a member of his family – but Esk was feeling very generous and helpful that day.

Without a word, Esk’s hands went to the clasp on the back of her bejeweled top. After all, many women needed help undressing themselves – what with all the reaching around the back that they had to do to get their clothing off – men’s clothing was so much more practical, though not nearly as pretty. Esk figured that Shirin must have been much too embarrassed to tell him outright that she needed help undressing – perhaps she only knew how to dress herself.

This was understandable to him. He himself did not often dress and undress himself. That was what his maids were there for. He had helped Lyra undo the lacings of her dress a few times (though he had never helped her strip down before, as that would have been quite awkward) and Esk saw no problems in helping Shirin undo that silly clasp that held her top together.

“There!” Esk exclaimed with self-satisfaction as it snapped open after some more fiddling from his fingers. Happy with his handiwork, Esk stepped away and back around her, coming about to face her once more. He tilted his head to one side and gave her a look that meant ‘well, go ahead, get on with it’. He did not fancy himself a nursemaid, but undoing one clasp had not been in the slightest bit difficult.

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Delshad Adaire


“Gone?” he echoed, his voice sharp despite the low volume of it. “Gone as in
?” Delshad’s features clouded over into a tense frown as he took the letter from her, skimming over it once and then reading it thoroughly again. It was from the High Priestess Lavinia indeed and not some forgery—which brought very uncomfortable questions into mind. That woman was not High Priestess without the skills to back her title, and to think that she had fled because someone was after her—it was not a pleasant thought. “The people will become restless if they hear of this,” he said slowly. “Who knows about this other than us and the priests?” If this got out to the masses, things would not be any better—the stirrings in the minds of the people of Asshai would become outcries of rebellion itself. If that happened, their families would be in danger because of their status. “We need to take measures to make sure the public does not find out until absolutely necessary.”

Delshad ran a hand through his hair briefly, trying to think. There wasn’t much to do at the moment, as things had not developed enough. It was too soon to make a move, but he knew they would have to start preparing to make a move. If things came to war


Neither he or his father were the type to go out and war to steal land, but sometimes the others did not have the same mindset. They needed defenses and offenses alike to make sure that they would not be at a disadvantage and lose Asshai.

He glanced at Lyanna as she declared with determination that there would be nothing she would not sacrifice for the sake of Asshai—and felt almost ashamed. It felt like she would have been better suited to rule Asshai—her mind set was admirable. Would he be able to do that? Sacrifice anything and everything for the sake of protecting the city he had responsibilities over? He wasn’t sure
he didn’t think he could. He would be able to sacrifice himself—but he did not think he could sacrifice something precious to him or another. Perhaps
perhaps he was too soft to be the future ruler of Asshai. He found himself wishing he could have been born as the second child instead of the first—and now only. His parents depended on him and expected many things of him.

His thoughts went to his father—who had declined the invitation to this very party with the excuse of being too busy. But Delshad knew why, he had known when he had seen the worry lines on his mother’s face crinkle a bit as he left; his father was feeling ill again. He was a strong man, but it was not like he was getting any younger. One day he would pass and Delshad would have to hold the weight of Asshai on his own shoulders. He could not help but pray that that day would not come soon—not only for the sake of family, but for the sake of Asshai too.

His father had become the ruler of Asshai when he was one year younger than Delshad—and he had done very well. His rule was strict, but not tyrannical. Or at least that was how he saw it; he didn’t know what the people living under his rule thought. He wanted to be a strong, kind ruler, but his father always told him that subjects often could not be trusted, even when one wished to be kind to them. Was that really the case? He wanted to ask, but he knew what sort of response his father would give him—disappointment. He wanted him to be as a strong leader as he, but Delshad thought that perhaps he was not cut out for the job. He secretly found it better when he was not the one doing the leading, lest he botch the whole process up.

He took a long draught of wine as his wife did as well, letting the liquid flow down his throat and rest in the pit of his stomach. He suddenly understood why his father drank so much though he always said that he was not partial to the beverage. Delshad looked at Lyanna, a slightly worried look that was tender nonetheless crossing his face.

“You and I both,” he said quietly to her words of hoping that such a situation would not come upon them. By R’hllor, he would not be prepared for it if things fell to him.


------

Shirin Lasyar


I wasn’t concerned about you, Shirin thought drily as he laughed that he didn’t have to worry about him. More like my own modesty. She stood awkwardly in from of the bath tub, hoping he would just find some urge to do something else and leave the room. She was not about to take her clothes (of lack of it) off in front of him. She sighed and looked away as he poured himself some wine—maybe she’d get lucky and be too drunk to notice anything
or maybe she’d be unfortunate enough for him to be lewd drunk. Either way—

Her attention was wrenched away from the subject when he suddenly turned to her with the strangest look on his face, and then a slow grin. Her stomach flipped a bit; what was going on in that head of his? He then apologized for not understanding earlier and Shirin felt herself relax a bit; finally, he would leave her be so she could undress. Instead, he slipped in behind her and without any hesitation, undid the clasp of her top.

Shirin let out a shocked yelp, quickly pressing the jeweled top to her chest before it could swing completely off. Her cheeks burned hot, her eyes flashing mortification as she hugged the garment to herself and turned her head to shoot an embarrassed glower at the boy. “T-That wasn’t what I was
” she choked out, sheer incredulity catching on her voice. “That wasn’t what I was asking
”

But she decided that it would be best to just undress herself before he got any different ideas or suddenly think that she had asked him to take her skirt off as well. She grasped the curtain to the bathtub, tugging it around herself as she slipped out of the rest of her garments as quickly as she could, face still red with embarrassment. Thank R’hllor that there had been this curtain, as see-through as it was—at least it was something. Then she got into the water without another word—suppressing the small gasp at how hot it was. Her skin rose to goose bumps at the sudden heat, making her shiver briefly. She turned around to glance anxiously at the curtain, as if to expect it suddenly combust and expose her bareness.

Shirin told herself the quicker she got it done, the better. She immersed herself under the hot water, not hearing the music from afar, not the chatter and laughing of guests—nothing but peace. She resurfaced after she had run out of breath, a burning of her lungs that was both pleasant and unpleasant; a strange mixture of both sensations. Grasping the vial of perfumed oils and soap, she washed herself and her hair, just as meticulously as a mother her own child. She was used doing things on her own, after all.

Perhaps a bit too much.

--

After somehow being able to dry herself and put on her thin silks in the closure of the flimsy curtain (she had to congratulate herself for that; she really was flexible), she peeked out from the cloth, eyes wary as always, trying to find out exactly where that noble boy was so she could maneuver herself to the dress. She flushed red when she did spot him and tightened the towel around herself, reluctantly letting go of the curtain. The towel was probably more modest than her dancing clothes had been, but something about walking out of a bath in such circumstances seemed more embarrassing than the other option.

She quickly went to the bed where the pretty dress was laid, trying to salvage her dignity (or what was left of it) by not running. She stepped carefully into the silken garment; it was probably very expensive, and she had intention of accidentally ruining it and having Lord Fariel angry with for having to pay it off. The chemise was easy to put on, and the dress was thankfully laced in the front (the gods forbid that she would have to turn to him for help with her clothes). She could see that the dress was a bit long for her, Lady Lyanna being taller than her, but it wasn’t terribly off. And to think, she was wearing one of the dresses of Lady Lyanna
she wasn’t sure if she was supposed to be honored or horrified.

She reluctantly turned to the noble boy, her gaze slightly nervous. “Do I please you, ser?” Her hair was brushed, she had bathed and dressed, not mention eaten too. Now all he had left for her would be a dance and this would be over with. Somehow she was relieved and dismayed at the closure of such events. She was relieved because this hadn’t been the most comforting event of the day (though eating had been nice) and embarrassing to boot, but she was also dismayed because a lowly dancer on the arm of the heir of the Merchant’s Guild would be
less than formal, not to mention the earful she would get from the other dancers as well as the punishment from her master.

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Lyanna Adaire

“None know but you, I, and the red priests. Alcides will make sure none talk – he is not fool enough to let others speak of this,” Lyra momentarily looked in the direction that the messenger boy had gone. “And the boy who sent the message, he will be reporting back to Alcides to say that the message had been delivered – if he is not an apprentice to the priests, consider that he will be taken care of.” And by ‘taken care of’, she knew the boy would be killed. Though Lyra did feel a pang of remorse for the sure taking of that life, she was aware that it would have to be done if they wanted things to be kept away from the knowledge of the general populace.

She picked her goblet back up again and swirled the contents, watching the last dregs of wine swish about at the bottom. Well, that message had certainly ruined her entire evening and she did not even want to begin to think of what must be churning in Delshad’s mind. She sucked in a breath and reached out, her hand breaching the distance between them. Cautiously, as if she was about to touch hot coals, she gave his arm a consoling pat before quickly withdrawing her hand. His arm had been warm – heat seeping up through the cloth of his sleeve – and she had felt the muscles beneath.

She swallowed the lump that had formed in her throat, shifting in discomfort at the fact that she had just been so familiar with him. It was true, he was her husband, but that did not mean that she wished to get emotionally entangled with him. No, such things would be silly and dangerous. All Lyra had to think of to convince herself that such was the truth was her mentally unstable mother.

“I wish to retire early this evening,” Lyra said as she put her goblet back down, unable to decide if she truly wanted to finish drinking or if she was merely swishing the wine about just to have something to preoccupy herself with. Would they be able to handle a war if that was what things went down to? She dearly hoped so. R’hllor help them all if they would not be able to pull Asshai through the turbulent days ahead.

She blindly reached out again, grabbed Delshad hard by the hand, clutching unto him out of a need to have something to hold. Her expression grew ever the darker as she continued to mull those thoughts over in her mind, unconsciously squeezing and releasing Delshad’s fingers with her own.

She realized what she was doing and let go of his hand quickly, dropping it back into her own lap and cleared her throat out of embarrassment. “Forgive me, I got carried away in my thoughts,” she told him – a poor explanation, but an explanation nonetheless. At times, when she was thinking and someone like Esk was sitting near her, she would reach out and hold on out of a need to ground herself while she allowed her mind to wander. Maybe it was some inner need to physically keep herself at bay, almost out of some unbidden fear that her mind really would wander away and she would be left to be like her mother.

“We will have to meet with High Priest Alcides on the morrow, I know he will wish to speak with us,” she said and chanced looking over at him. She wished she had not. The tender look on his face made her flinch and she immediately looked back away from him, not wanting to think about the connotations of that facial expression. If she got too close
no, that would not do anyone any good, and certainly not the two of them.

She was sure that Alcides would suggest that a new priestess take Lavinia’s place. The highly ranked red priests all wore masks and it would not be hard to pass off another priestess in the place of Lavinia – the people of Asshai would never know the difference. That really would be the best way to go about things, as they could not afford having the citizens be ill at ease. Not in such times
not when war was watching them from afar.
---

Eskandir Rilyn-Ra’ir

Esk did not watch as she bathed and clothed herself. He kept his back turned all while she was in the bath and then all throughout her getting out and dressing herself. He was not so stupid as to openly gawk at a naked girl – that would denote him as some sort low-bred ruffian. Esk was not so deprived as to exercise his power to take advantage of servants. As far as he was concernced, such things were beneath him – but apparently not beneath Lord Fariel. Esk felt a flash of distaste for the man.

“And you do not have to worry about going back to that foul little man,” Esk said in reference to Lord Fariel as he looked over Shirin with appreciation. Blue really did suit her – Esk decided to himself that when Shirin came to live at their estate, he would buy for her every blue dress that he could find in the city – that is, only if she liked it. “I asked y brother-in-law to buy you out and now you no longer have to go without food for prolonged periods of time nor exhaust yourself.”

Esk bowed to her, a courtly and sweeping motion that would be appropriate only if he was greeting nobility. Esk did not mean to be disrespectful or mocking to her, he was merely showing his own good manners. And, with that done, he offered her his arm and smiled – the usually hard look in his eyes melting into warmth. He usually only ever reserved such expression for his close family members and friends, but somehow Shirin seemed to be someone who he wanted to take care of. There was something about her – be it the fact that he had seen her being mistreated or that he had simply taken a liking to her.

“You look as if you are feeling better. And now, will you be so kind as to grace me with a dance?” He tilted his head to one side and waited for her to accept his arm, not wanting to force contact with himself upon her. Esk could be considerate at times – though he did not always realize when it was the right time to be as such.

He hoped that she would appreciate the news about no longer having to work for Lord Fariel and be forced to dance without being fed – in essence, being abused by a man who should not even have the right to employ her, much less own her. “We would be good to you,” he said with a smile and let out a soft laugh, “Darya would love you. She always enjoys watching people dance. Plus, Lyra already seems to like you – she wasn’t opposed to you wearing her dress. She’d let you keep it if you wanted it.”

He was not sure what else to say right then and there, so he resolved to just standing there and waiting for her to either say something or take his arm. Esk cleared his throat, suddenly feeling very awkward. He scratched the back of his neck with his other hand – maybe he was looking for her approval or for her trust. For something.

He felt the sudden need to take care of her in the way that his mother had never been able to take care of him or Darya. “I won’t hurt you, you know,” he told her gently, “you really don’t have to be scared of me or anything. I didn’t watch while you were bathing and dressing yourself and I would appreciate it if you did not think me the sort to do something so lowly. Had I need of a whore, I would go and get myself to a brothel.” He shrugged his shoulders for lack of anything better to do.

His expression was still warm, but it had sobered up into something more serious now as he was watching her intently, the corner of his mouth quirked upwards. “There’s really nothing to worry about at all,” he assured her, wishing that she would just stop being so apprehensive while around him. He had never really had to deal with cautious people before – at least, none so cautious as was Shirin. “And please, don’t call me ‘ser’, it makes me feel old. I much prefer Esk.”

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Delshad Adaire

He nodded, though he was suddenly struck with the awful possibility of the messenger being killed. That grated on his nerves more than it should have—and the boy, not even a man yet
 “Tell Alcides,” he took a breath, calming himself down. On the inside he could be emotional, but he had duties. “Tell Alcides to only send one of his own when sending important messages,” he said evenly. He truly did not want to see any like that boy possibly getting killed for such a thing. “If he sends another, I will not receive the message.”

Delshad blinked at the contact Lyanna initiated herself; a cautious pat on the arm. He found himself rather touched by the simple gesture, especially when it came from his distant wife who rarely let emotions influence her in any way. She withdrew it quickly, but he suddenly felt—well, he felt as if there was really hope for him to continue and try to get closer to her. He smiled at her and thanked her, making sure not to appear as surprised and happy as he actually was. “Are you feeling alright?” he asked when she told him that she would be retiring early. Was she feeling sick? Or was she stressed as much as he was about the situation dropped in their laps all of a sudden? “If that’s what you wish, I would not stop you,” he said simply. He had never kept her from doing as she wished and he wasn’t going to start now.

He rarely retired early. He had many things to do these days, with his father’s weakening health—he could see how it hard it was for him to stay up late and go through suggestions, complaints, reports. Sometimes he would take a portion of the paperwork and complete the ones he could for his father—not that he told him about it. He didn’t like doing it very much, but his love for the stony, strict man was greater than his distaste for paperwork. Delshad was not going to let him down—he was going to do his best to be the son his parents liked to be proud of. After Gita had died, he had been their only child—and the only one ‘carrying their future.’

Speaking of children, Delshad knew many would see his willingness to let his wife choose for herself whether she wished to be bedded or not a stupid and ridiculous decision. What about heirs? He, the heir to the Asshai throne, should have known better than anyone the importance of healthy children. His father silently disapproved and his mother fretted over the thought of their bloodline ending with Delshad. The throne would have no rightful heir and Asshai would come to state of turmoil when Delshad came to die without a child. He knew it, but he still was stubborn about this matter.

He wanted her to be happy—perhaps, pathetically so.

If Delshad had been surprised by her careful pat on his arm, he was shocked when she grasped his hand with the strength of a small iron trap. He wordlessly looked at how her slender fingers squeezed and released his own hand, and felt a rush of warmth for the secluded woman. Her expression was dark—with worry, he knew. All of a sudden she realized what she had been doing and let go as if he would burn her, apologizing with a clearing of her throat. This time a good-natured chuckled made its way out of his throat, a fuller smile on his lips. “There’s nothing to be apologizing about,” he told her.

Then carefully, carefully, he brushed back her neatly done hair aside and kissed her on the mouth. It wasn’t a particularly long one, and more chaste than lewd, but it was still a kiss. He sucked in a breath as he drew back from her, the beginnings of a frown on his face. “Maybe I shouldn’t have done that,” he said quietly. He didn’t want her to be uncomfortable by a small impulse of his. No, that was foolish. He was the one to clear his throat this time, and he leant comfortably into his chair. “Perhaps it will be wiser of us to travel to the temple instead of having Alcides bringing an entourage to us,” he said thoughtfully, willing to change the topic for her. “We could go under the pretense of going to pay our respects and prayers.”

This had to be handled carefully—very carefully. He was not sure how he was to tell his father that the High Priestess had fled Asshai. Perhaps her true intentions were to protect this city, but the people may not think so at all. There would be those who thought she had abandoned the city and deem it a cursed place. A headache for all higher ups and especially the Adaire family.



--------------------


Shirin Lasyar

Shirin stared at the young man as if he had told her his grandfather had been a horse and his grandmother an elephant. Bought her out? That was insane. But then she recalled who exactly his brother-in-law was—Lord Delshad Adaire. How had he persuaded Lord Fariel to agree to sending her off? She knew he wouldn’t have been happy about it. Most likely Lord Adaire had pulled rank on him.

“I
am to live in your household?” she asked, eyes conflicted. By his promises to be good to her she gathered that she was his property now, and understanding began to dawn on her. That was what he had whispered to Delshad Adaire beforehand—about her. Was this young man so taken with her that he wanted was willing to do that? She guessed that was not much different than what her former owners had done. However Shirin had never had a master so young—he was probably not more than two years older than her. That was sure to be a
different experience. Shirin nodded solemnly at him in a wordless acknowledgment at the change, eyes lowered in respect. She wasn’t quite feeling the impact yet—to be away from Lord Fariel, to be with another owner.

She was nothing less than startled when he swept a courteous bow to her, like one would do for a proper a lady. And she was not a proper lady. Suddenly she was nervous again; she had never been treated like this before. Perhaps with dismissal, perhaps with contempt, and perhaps even with lust, but never in such a polite manner. She didn’t know what she was supposed to do in a situation like this. Nobody asked her to do anything—they commanded and demanded. Shirin did not take his arm, though it seemed that it was what he wanted her to—and as her new master, it was her part to obey his wishes. So why didn’t she?

I won’t hurt you, he told her. That’s what they all say, she responded in her head. That’s what they all say. But some part of her wanted to believe him—not that she would. However she supposed she appreciated the words and his warm expression. At the mention of her apprehension about the chance of him having taken a look at her when she was not decent she couldn’t help but feel embarrassed again—Shirin flushed, averting her eyes from his gaze. Perhaps he was not so dull in the head to have picked that up
or maybe it had been too obvious not to be able to tell. But it was not as if she was jumpy for no reason, she had plenty of reasons.

Shirin dared to look up into his warm eyes, staring as if she was trying to see through him and find his true intentions. Her eyes appeared like those of a cat’s; steady, soulful and thoughtful—Shirin took after the feline creatures she adored so. Besides the warmth in his eyes, she thought she saw a genuine concern—concern for her, of all people. He didn’t know her, and in fact she was not anyone worth enough for him to want to know—but he was not trying to take advantage of her. That much was creditable; there had been plenty of chances for him to do that just in the past while and he had not. That had to mean something, right?

He surprised her again when he asked her to call him merely ‘Esk,’ an obvious nickname. This time she actually fidgeted a bit. “My apologies, but
I could not. It wouldn’t be deemed appropriate in the eyes of others
” she said, hoping that he would not insist. A dancer girl, calling the heir of the Merchant’s Guild and the brother-in-law to the ruler of Asshai by a pet name? It was quite unthinkable. “W-Would it be alright if I addressed you as Master?” That was what he would be if she was to be he a servant in his household, no?


Somewhat reminiscent of a stray cat cautiously approaching a human, Shirin let her hand rest on the crook of his arm, lightly as a feather. She glanced up at him under her lashes, as if to gage his mood. “I would be honored to dance with you,” she said softly, her poise one of a proper lady despite the humbleness of her voice. She was not nervous anymore, even though she would be seen out there, a mere dancer girl passing off as a real lady—after, she would be dancing. She had never been taught how to waltz or the other dances that nobility indulged in—she had only been taught the fluid, sinuous movements of the Asshai belly dancing. But Shirin had a sharp eye, and an even sharper mind for dance steps. She had seen enough parties to know the steps, though she hadn’t ever actually tried them out herself.

It didn’t matter what sort of dancing it was, because it was still and dance and there was a stage. And on stage, she was vibrant and charming, everything she was not off of the stage. She shot a quick look at the dark haired noble boy once again almost shyly. “
Thank you,” she said, her voice even softer than before, a hushed whisper of thanks.

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Lyanna Adaire

His lips against hers made her fingers clutch hard at the silks of her skirts, knuckles white. She had half an impulse to lean into the touch, to allow her tongue to slip out from between her lips and through his – but she stopped herself before she could so much as part her lips. Instead, Lyra sat there rigidly, her limbs tensing as she inwardly fought with herself as to decide how exactly to react.

“Yes, maybe that was not the best of things to do,” she said, rubbing her lips against one another as if she was tasting the aftermath of the brief contact of his mouth to hers.

“That would be very much like Alcides – to send an escort,” Lyra glanced over across the ballroom as she spoke and caught the eye of her brother. For a few moment she watched as Eskandir waltzed about with the dancer girl from before, the one who was now dressed in her teal gown. Lyra did not mind. She liked the dress, but she had to admit it looked well on the dancer girl too. No, she did not mind in the slightest.

Her and her brother exchanged an odd look and his expression changed a look – hers was still filled with the worry she felt and his soon darkened to match hers. He must have thought to himself that something was wrong, but he did not stop his dancing with the girl to approach Lyra, and for that she was glad. It would not do well to have people’s attentions taken from the party, lest anyone find out any details. That was a good thing about Eskandir – he knew when to ask when something was wrong and he knew when to wait.

Lyra turned back to Delshad, briefly reaching up to touch her lips and then letting her hand drop back down into her lap. “We should leave as soon as possible. I will make an excuse to Lord Fariel about being ill – he will not keep me if he thinks that I am suffer from
” she blanched for a moment as her hand spread across her belly, “from child.” It was past due for her to be pregnant. She could not go on in this way for much longer, lest people begin to gossip about the Adaire family, and she could not afford for that to happen either.

Her and Delshad would have to consummate their marriage soon – as soon as possible. She had to get with child and bring forth an heir to the Adaire line.

“And when we get to the temple, there I will tell Alcides of your preference of message-delivery,” she said almost as a second thought. Though she could understand why Alcides had sent a boy who was not of the Temple – for purposes of secrecy, of course; red priests were much more noticeable than some boy who did not wear the robes of red that designated a priest of R’hllor – Lyra knew that his word was as good as law to her.

She rose from her seat and, keeping one hand on her lower belly and the other fanning at herself, made her way over to where Lord Fariel was seated. When she got closer, she inclined her head to the man as appropriate and took in a long and shuddering breath.

“Lord Fariel, my esteemed host,” she began, her tone of voice quivering ever so slightly as she played at being a woman suffering from the symptoms of early pregnancy, “the party has been much too much excitement for me and I fear that I have been feeling less than my best.”

She glanced downwards and then back up at the man and watched as the dawn of realization blossomed across his face. Lord Fariel stood at once and bowed to her.

“Lady Lyanna, but of course!” He flustered over her, all pomp and pretense, “I could not keep you in such a state! By all means! It has been an honor to have you present, milady. You and your husband both.”

She smiled in appreciation and genuine relief – and now more important matters could be attended to, matters which could not be ignored.
---

Eskandir Rilyn-Ra’ir

When she said that word, his face contorted in a grimace of displeasure. “No, I would rather not have you call me that either. That makes it sound as if you are my property, and you really are not. You’ll be paid as any servant is and would be free to leave the household if you wished to.” Eskandir shifted in discomfort when she asked him if it would be alright to call him Master. To him that word sounded even worse than ‘ser’ and he knew that he would flinch every time he heard her use it in reference to him. “If you want to call me anything, I would rather prefer you called me by my name
”

She must not have been comfortable to use a nickname, having been bred and schooled to use honorifics when addressing those of higher societal rank. “Eskandir, then. Or, if it would make you more comfortable – and me less so – then you could refer to me as ‘milord’.” He shrugged his shoulders to indicate that he did not care much for the title. “That’s what I am most often called, though I really would like Eskandir better. Ah, but it’s your choice. Just not ‘ser’ or ‘Master’.” He made a face at the two titles.

“As for Lyra and Delshad, those two would be best referred to as Lady Lyanna and Lord Adaire – I doubt they would be kindly predisposed to being nicknamed,” he let out a chuckle at the thought of anyone but close family referring to Lyanna as Lyra. And then the chuckle transformed back into a smile when she took his arm and told him that she would be honored to dance with him in the way that a well-bred lady would. Eskandir had to say that he was impressed. Though her tough on his arm was light, it was still something.

He led her back through the corridors, happy that she was finally not put on display like some prized cattle, but rather looking the part of a proper island. Eskandir was rather looking forwards to having her join the Adaire household, though he was not quite sure exactly what role she would take within it.

When she thanked him, he could not help but be startles for a moment, but then let out a booming laugh that made his shoulders heave good-naturedly. “Ah, no need – I know, I am very generous,” it was a rather pompous thing to say but, then again, Eskandir could at time be rather pompous. It was much due to the fact that he had been quite spoiled as a child and was still spoiled to this day. But, he truly could be nice when he wanted to and he really did want to be kind to Shirin.

He led her back into the ballroom, sweeping her past the other guests and the table at which they had feasted. He did not care for any looks that the two of them must have been getting, and certainly not from any that were being shot at them by Lord Fariel. Quite frankly, Eskandir could give less of a damn.

“I am not sure if you have waltzed before, or done much partner dancing,” he said to her quietly as they took their position on the dancing floor, “but if you have not, then all you must do it follow my lead. It’s not too difficult and I won’t push you – you’ve had a rough day. A simple waltz would be best, I think. Just something easy.” He smiled at her and took the first step, gently leading her along in the beginning steps of the dance.

The music slowed down in its pace to match them, as they were one of the few couples still dancing. So far she was doing really well and he found himself smiling as he took her around the ballroom floor. At one point Eskandir glanced up at the head table to see if he could meet Lyra’s eye – and he did – the two half-siblings exchanged a look. His smile faltered for a second as he saw the expression on Lyra’s face, but he was sure that it was not because he was dancing with Shirin. Something had happened, Eskandir realized, and he was also sure that it was not really his business either.
---
Crevan Syr’ren

In general it was one of Crevan’s favorite rooms in the palace. It was small enough to be considered cozy but large enough that if he really wanted, he could practice sword exercises in it, which he had on numerous occasions before. On one side there was a wide window seat, looking over the tilting yard, which was usually a great distraction for Crevan. However today, there was no one jousting and Crevan was rather inclined to busy himself with some reading, anyways.

Bookshelves lined the sides of the walls, every one of them filled to the brim and near over-flowing with heavy tomes of history, military strategy, and other works of non-fiction. Crevan rarely ever read anything that was fictional – what use was something of that sort to him? He leafed through the pages of the book that lay in his lap, his eyes skimming over the words to search for the most important and interesting key facts.

He let out a groan of a sigh and stretched out his legs, feeling the muscles tense and relax elicited him to expel a further groan of pleasure. He had been sitting there and engaging himself in reading for the whole of the morning, as well as half of the afternoon – Crevan decided that perhaps it was time to do something else now, something that would involve him moving about some more. He looked down at the book in his lap with a guilty frown.

Essos was facing times of strained politics and unsure alliances and here he was, growing tired of looking over military strategy. He ought to be putting out more effort into broadening his education. He ought to be getting everything together so that when he ascended to become the Sealord, he would lead Braavos well. His father would need him to be a strong heir and Crevan knew that he could not fail the man. Their family had lost much already, what with two sisters and a brother lost to the plague – only he and Aileen had survived it.

It was up to them to ensure that the Syr’ren line prospered. It would be his job to rule the city, while it would be her job to marry well – quite possibly to a rich merchant, to strengthen alliances in these less-than-stable times.

But finally he could not take it anymore and found himself closing the book and setting it aside on the table. Crevan ran a hand through his tousled hair and stood up from his chair, taking one more moment to stretch and rub the back of his neck. Maybe it was time to stretch his legs a bit – he considered finding Aileen and going to ask her if she wished to go out riding or even for a walk around Braavos.

He was presently dressed in dark shades of blue – as appropriate to denote his high rank amongst the Braavosi, and walking about in the streets as such would ensure that nobody would bother him nor his sister. Plus, people would recognize them as the Sealord’s children, so there really was no worry anyways. Honestly, sometimes Crevan thought he worried too much.

He exited the room and went strolling down the corridors, on the lookout for his younger sister. He was not sure exactly where she would be at this time of day, but there were two places he was sure he may find her – and that was either in her rooms or out in the courtyard. Crevan felt guilty for having spent so little time with his family as of late and maybe it would do him good to extend more effort and time to interacting with them.

Crevan’s feet took him up the staircase and down another corridor which led to his sister’s quarters. Something had changed within her ever since she had recovered from that illness – in a way Crevan thought that it had been an experience to make her stronger. He was proud of her for that, proud of her for having recovered. He knocked on the door when he got to it and called out in soft tones, “Aileen? Aileen, it’s Crevan. May I come in?” And then he waited for her to reply, and politely at that.
---

Lavinia of the Flame

Her hands trembled as she tried to unhinge her mask. Her fingertips slipped against the lacquered wood and she found herself scrabbling at it rather than anything else. With the mask, she was a Red Priestess. Without it, she was just another woman. She had rarely, if ever, taken it off around other people – but she knew that if she wanted to go about in public now, she would have to do so unmasked.

She was being tailed and she was fully aware of it – by spies or soldiers, or something equally unpleasant. The moment she had fled Asshai they had been following her, and no matter where she had gone or what she had done to dissuade them, she was certain that they followed her still.

Ah, but she was exhausted. Weariness gnawed at her bones like a famished wolf at the carcass of a rotting deer – a sickly sort of feeling which left her to sit slumped back against the trunk of a fallen tree. The grass she sat on provided for some softness, but apart from that she was quite sore. She had been travelling for a few days now, and it had been slow going. Had she been capable of riding horseback, she would have gotten farther away by now, but alas she could not even get into a saddle, much less ride.

To put things frankly, Lavinia was bordering on lost. She had no map and no idea which direction she was going for most of the day. The only times she could ever check to see where she was where the evenings when she could light a fire and sit in front of it to send prayers to R’hllor and scry.

She heard the crack of a tree branch somewhere to her right – maybe a few dozen meters away. Lavinia froze, not even daring to breathe. There was silence. Dark, empty, oppressing silence. The sort of silence where one knew that one was being watched. It was then that her instincts kicked in, screaming inwardly at herself to get up and run. Lavinia scrambled up to her feet, forgetting her lacquered mask in the grass, and ran as if she was doing so for her very life.

The pounding sound of feet behind her spurred her onwards and she did not even dare to look past her shoulder to see what or who it was that was gaining on her with every step. At least whoever was chasing her was not on horseback, though she expected that there must be horses somewhere farther off, and she had been tracked into the forest on foot. Soon enough she could feel the growing stitch in her side as she weaved through the trees, skirts billowing behind her as her travel boot-clad feet made their way across the rough forest terrain.

She tripped once or twice, but managed to keep herself from tumbling over. She was not sure what exactly was aiding her in her desperate attempts to get away, but somehow she had so far been able to keep herself going. She had never been much of a runner. The only sorts of physical activity most priestesses did involved series of stretch-like movements to help tone the body and allow for deeper meditation – nothing overtly strenuous.

Lavinia burst out through a thicket of trees and a shriek burst from her throat as she suddenly found herself teetering on the brink of a cliff that led down to the turbulent waters of a fast-flowing river. Had Lavinia been capable of fending for herself in the water, she would not have thought twice before jumping – but she could not swim and were she to go underwater, she would surely drown.

She found herself reeling forwards and her heel slipped off in the mud. Her body flew of kilter and the raging water suddenly seemed closer. Another shriek tore out from her throat and her arms flailed and grasped out for something to grab a hold of when a sudden and rough tug jerked her torso backwards. For a moment she felt a surge of relief – she would not drown – but soon that gave way into dread, because it was then that she realized she had finally been caught.

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Delshad Adaire


Delshad felt guilty about kissing her; she seemed distracted and restless now. He had been an idiot to think that such an action might comfort her! How stupid could he be? As he inwardly continued to berate himself, he tried to act normal on the outside. “Indeed,” he said simply, thought to whether he was agreeing with her view of the kiss or the part about Alcides was unclear, even to him.

The young man nodded at his wife, deciding it really would be best to leave as soon as possible and inform his parents about this matter. It would not be a fun event, but this was a serious thing and not to be delayed. However when she suggested that Lord Fariel would not attempt to stop them if she pretended to be pregnant, his jaw nearly dropped. She would pretend to be with child to leave? He saw how it discomforted her—why would she use that particular excuse? Delshad would have attempted to persuade her otherwise, but he had lived with her long enough to know she did not shrink back from any task if she thought it was necessary. She had an iron will stronger than his own, something he admired and yet still felt guilty about. If only his parents had a son like Lyanna to be named heir! He was not suited to the task, he thought for the hundredth time that day.

Once again he wondered if she actually wanted children—a stupid question. Women were expected to give birth; it was not a matter of desire to be a mother. But he felt that if she were to be a mother, she would be a kind and lovely one. He saw the way she was with her little sister, and if it were to a babe of her own flesh and blood in her arms, she would treat it even more tenderly. That sort of a thought almost made him want to smile; he had always wanted a normal family, with a lovely wife and pretty little children to crowd about the dinner table. He didn’t want to teach his sons about politics, he wanted to teach them to be a real man who knew the feel of honest hard work. He didn’t want his daughters to be raised in the mindset of ‘being seen and not heard’ and to be used as political pawns, but for them to be able to make their choices and have a sensible head on their shoulders.

He watched as she left to find Lord Fariel, and he couldn’t help but feel like he had somehow failed her by not thinking of something better and excusing themselves from the part instead of having her to put on some act. Heavy-hearted, he tried not to look glum and looked to the dancer girl and Eskandir waltzing—and for a second, he saw her strangely colored eyes meet his as if to see what was inside his head. Though she averted her gaze, Delshad looked away first. He could not have people finding out about that
weakness inside him. And yet he did not despise the weakness, just wished that he could have had better luck in the roulette of personality traits. He didn’t want to be calculating or willing to make sacrifices, but it would have made his job a hell of a lot easier.

He caught Esk’s eye as the first dance ended, shooting him a look that he knew he would understand. It was not as if they had to leave at the very moment, but he figured he should give the younger boy a notion to start getting ready. He honestly didn’t know what his brother-in-law wanted to do with that girl; he figured that it was very kind of him to try and help her out when she was being mistreated, but what was she even to be doing in the household? Delshad then promptly decided that it was not his business. He had gotten her for him, but at a fair price, he thought.

He got up and looked for Darya; he found her not too far away among the other tables. He scooped her up to a loud laugh from her. “We’ve got to go home, princess.” He said good-humoredly, winking at the small girl. “Don’t pout like that. Lyanna’s tired, and there are things I have to do. I’ll read you your favorite book at bedtime, if you’d like.” Most likely they would be leaving first thing in the morning, so he would have to squeeze time for her no matter how serious the situation was right now. She was a child; she deserved to be oblivious for now. Soon, she’d be forced to see things and learn to adapt, but he couldn’t help but wish she would never have to see the bad things in the world.



--------------------


Shirin Lasyar


Shirin bit her lip when his facial expression turned into a grimace—had she disrespected him somehow by telling him she could not call him simply ‘Esk.’ For a second she wondered if he was going to hit her or slap her, even though he had told her he would not hurt her. But he did not, merely telling her that he didn’t want to be called master because that made it sound as if he owned her. She stared at him slowly, confused. Why wouldn’t he consider her as property? In the eyes of others, that was exactly what she was. She had never liked the concept but she didn’t quite get choices in this life.

At his notion that her calling him Milord, though an option, would make him less comfortable, her mind quickly scrambled to find a point where it could be considered more like a compromise. “I will think about it,” she said. “For it is not for my comfort but for yours that the others are concerned about.” Her eyes widened a bit at his words about Lord and Lady Adaire. “Of course, I could never think to address them with such impudence.” She guessed that he called them by nicknames—he was their family, after all—and family often called each other by pet names. She suddenly wondered if she had ever had a pet name. What was it like to call family by endearing pet names? She would never know, and she couldn’t imagine it very well either. Had there been a time where she had been happy with a ‘family?’

However the moment they left the room to rejoin the guests, she pushed those thoughts away. Those thoughts were no use to her. Those thoughts made her weak, and just before a performance—it just would not do.

Shirin was not accustomed to moving to such
proper music. The music that went along with belly dancing was exotic, sometimes slow and sometimes uplifting, but all around
different. She felt her nerves tremble for a moment as she felt eyes on them, but began to feel much better as he guided her through the steps. She realized how simple the steps were—much less complicated than her elaborate dances. She felt a particularly hard stare, which she took it to be Lord Fariel. The other barbed gazes she felt prickling her skin would be the numerous dancers about—but as the music played on and she slowly became more and more used to the repetitive movements, she did not feel them anymore. She was dancing. Her eyes lit up and her lips curved; this ‘waltzing’ was not as boring as it had often appeared to her eyes.

Did she remember being led about in such a dance, but with more exaggerated movements, giggles and shrieks of delight? Strong arms on her torso and swinging her about, his laughter ringing about in her ears along with her own? And from far away, a woman’s amused laughter as she watched them, weaving a wreath of flowers that was supposed to be hers. If she thought she remembered it, she told herself it was a lie. Her mind was playing nasty tricks on her again.

Then she looked up at him and remembered herself, her wary demeanor having returned to her. “If I called you Milord, you would not be as please if I called you by your first name,” she said slowly. “Milord Eskandir,” she said simply, though there was a note of caution in her voice, “Would that be adequate?” She looked up at him with her amber eyes almost apprehensively as they danced. That way he could hear his name and she didn’t have to worry about being disrespectful—would that not do?

Shirin watched out of the corner of her eye as the Lady Lyanna suddenly approached her former master, looking uncomfortable and hot. Perhaps she was feeling ill—which meant that they would be leaving sooner than later. She began to feel uneasy again; sure, this place wasn’t a pleasant one, but she had just managed to adapt to this household. Getting a new master (and he was still considered as one to her) was always a nervous thing. Shirin suddenly got the urge to list the things that she had been trained to do, just like she was supposed to do when lords were interested in buying. “I
” she started, feeling that chill that came across her whenever she was being inspected to be bought. She had only gone through those inspections three times, but they were
frightening.

“My skills are basic needlework, laundry and tidying—I’ve been taught to read and write, a-and
” She tried to keep her voice from trembling. Maybe this was a bad time to inform him of her skills, especially in the middle of a dance, but her new masters always asked her. He had not, and it was almost disturbing for him to turn her definition of lords and masters so upside down. “I have moderate experience in cooking and other chores
I’ve taken care of children before
My specialty is dancing, and
” She trailed off, suddenly realizing she had reached the end of her list. “But I can do anything,” she blurted out quite uncharacteristically. She needed him to instruct her somehow, to tell her what she was to do. She was not used to this sort of gentlemanly treatment he was giving her.



-------------


Deimos Tamurlayn


Let Me Soar. Those were the words that the Tamurlayns lived by, the words that they died by. And Deimos was probably the one in the whole house of Tamurlayn that fit those words most—he was ambitious and had indeed soared. Another reason was that the rest of the main Tamurlayns were dead. His father had died of natural causes when he had been a young man, and his mother of frail health when he had been but a boy. His three siblings, Caryen, Freida, and the most despised sibling, Thanatos, were dead by his hands. He had been born last and lived in a shadow, like the runt of a gryphon’s babes. Oh, but how he had soared—how far and how beautifully. The road of ambition was not a pretty one, but Deimos didn’t care about how it appeared to the eyes of others.

In his eyes, it was a wonderfully perfect tale.

But ambition never dies out; it feeds and grows and rages to grow higher and higher. It was the same way with Deimos. Five years he had ruled Quarth as its unchallenged ruler—there were none of the Tamurlayn blood left but him. He had slaughtered his brother’s children and his whores and wife, just to see that none of his spawn would exist—ever. Now he had plans to rule all of Essos, and Asshai would be a nice beginning stepping-stone. His ambition knew no ends, but there was one thing about ambition only the broken old and the wise young knew of. The higher you climbed, the harder you fell. Ambition was a fickle lady and hard to be played; a double edged sword.

Deimos was smart enough to know that he couldn’t conquer all of Essos on his own, even with a large army (which he still had to gather more of). He need useful people to use and throw away, and he had already done that so many times. He had used those fools who had helped him poison his two sisters, and then he had let them die. There were always more like them, more idiots to take advantage of. He had no qualms about that whatsoever.

And at the moment, he was looking for a most certain talent. A scryer and a shadowbinder, someone valuable enough to be a good hostage as well. The High Priestess of R’hllor, But she had seen him in the flames and run—not that it mattered at all. She was like a little mouse and he was the golden gryphon, powerful and with sharp talons. To be honest, he wondered if she was even trying to get away. Who tried to run away on foot? He could already tell, as he patiently followed wherever she stumbled to, that she was hopelessly lost. Hopelessly so. No wonder, she had most likely spent her whole entire life in that temple—she didn’t know the terrain; and neither than he, but he was by far at a greater advantage.

A wicked smile slowly spread on his lips as a raven carrying a message tied to its leg landed on his outstretched arm. The thread about the bird’s ankle was red, a signal in itself—the elusive little mouse-woman had been found in proximity. He allowed himself to throw his head back and laugh, one that had not one trace of warmth in it, the sort of laugh that made you want to shiver and edge away. “We ride!” he fairly shouted, kicking his black stallion into a furious gallop.

Deimos crept silently about the woods. The woman was on high alert, no doubt—it was the reason he had told them to dismount the horses and hide amongst the trees. He was going to capture her himself; the cruel joy he would feel was a high like none other. He accidentally stepped on a stick that had been covered with leaves and scowled. He could see that she had heard and now looked very much like a deer that had heard the predator. There was silence, and then all of a sudden she scrambled up at began to run. His scowl turned into a wild, feral grin. Yes, do run. It feels more like a hunt that way. He immediately streaked after her, the wind whipping his face as he made sure to chase her fast enough but not too fast.

He chased her further and further, and from behind he could hear his men struggling after him to keep up. For a ruler, he did not mind getting his hands dirty at all. His predatory thrill turned into momentary fear as she, in her desperation, had not seen exactly where she was headed. She teetered on the edge, a fearful scream ripping through the air. He lunged at her at grabbed her torso roughly, not about to let her break her neck or drown. He didn’t care about the life of others, but he needed this bloody priestess. When he had used her and was done with her, she was welcome to fling herself off a cliff.

He yanked her against him, one hand tight on her arm and the other one her neck. He could feel her erratic pulse and grinned, whispering in her ear. “The lengths I go to obtain you, High Priestess,” he smirked, his voice mocking as he called her by her proper title. “But I can forgive that—because I have you now.”



------------------------


Loreley Rhys


She stabbed herself with the needle again and let out a string of curses, only to look up at the stunned face of her maid. By R’hllor, had none of these ninnies heard curses before? She looked at the girl coolly, setting her needlework down. “Leave me,” she said simply, which sent the maid scattering out of the way. When the door had shut, she cursed again and licked the pinprick of blood on her fingertip.

She had certainly not lived in such a sheltered environment like this. How had this Aileen girl she was supposed to be stood it? Apparently she had been very good at embroidery—she didn’t how she could have been. Her thumb and not to mention fingers were dotted with little red stab marks; the peony on the square of silk passable but not all that ‘wonderful.’ This was
boring. Really, really boring.

Loreley hated boring things. She blew out a sigh, abandoning the cloth and knelt to fumble underneath the bed. There was a beam that she had carved out to be a compartment, and it served her well. The feeling of cold steel comforted her as she drew Senka and Psyche, the thin, delicately shaped chain that held them together clinking softly. These were her beauties; crafted by the best of the best to fit her perfectly. They were light to increase her speed and hardly ever needed to sharpened, though Loreley always took good care of her weapons all the same. She grasped Psyche with her right hand and flung Senka outwards, the gravity and blade making a spine-chilling noise as it sliced through the air, arcing out and swinging back towards her. She deftly caught the lethal thing by the engraved handle, her movements just as smooth as the weapon. Technically one could behead oneself by handling the connected scythes the wrong way, but they were her favorite.

She placed the scythes back into the hollow wood, this time drawing her dagger, the one that had once been her mother’s. Its name was Nimue, and Loreley had chosen it out of the ones her mother had offered her for her fifteenth birthday. To be honest, she had wanted the very cutlass she had been named after, but she knew her mother would never part with that thing, just like she probably would never part with Senka and Psyche. She flipped it into the air and caught it with a faint smile, but was interrupted when she heard footsteps approaching the chambers. Loreley stopped and slipped the dagger away into the folds of the absurdly richly decorated dress, composing herself. If it was that old woman who scolded her every day about her needlework, she swore


But it was not the voice of the nursemaid she heard after the knock; it was a young man’s—Crevan’s. She paused, a slow smile spreading on her face; her ‘older brother’ had come to call on her. How sweet. They had not spent too much time together after she had taken Aileen’s place, but she had spent enough time with him to know that he was close with his only remaining sibling. And who was she to break that bond he had? It was always fun to see what could happen in a family when an imposter was among them.

Though she held the skills of the Faceless Men, she did not have their beliefs or training per say. The Faceless Men were trained to leave behind their sense of ‘self’ and erase their own identity to become whoever they needed to become. Contrary to that, Loreley had a sense of self, a rather strong one, and she had no intention whatsoever to change her thoughts and mind for a charade. That was right, this was all just a game to her. A comedy—that was only for her own entertainment.

She stood in front of the door, placing her hand on the knob. “
No, you can’t,” she said teasingly, perhaps the way a young sister would speak to her older brother, then opened the door to smile sweetly at the tall young man. She had only seen the true Aileen for one week, the week of her death. There hadn’t been a lot of time to garner information about how she acted normally when she wasn’t on her deathbed. She had still managed by scavenging bits and tidbits from servants and what other people said to her. Supposedly Aileen had been a good girl, though with tendencies to be playful—and that was good enough for her to go on.

“Good day, brother—what brings you here?” she asked him as she walk back into the room, prodding at her despised needlework before looking up at him. “You should lay off on the studying; that’s no fun.” She smoothed the skirt of her sky blue dress, pretending that she didn’t want to rip the thing off and stomp on it. “Besides, without you, I can’t even get around as I please. I’m to have an escort at all time.” She frowned slightly, the beginnings of a pout on her lips. “And the other escorts are all boring as a rock.”

Loreley approached him, inwardly smirking. By R’hllor, she did love these games—and what she loved as well were good looking men. And her darling, darling ‘brother’ was most certainly more than just good-looking. And what wouldn’t be more satisfying than playing a bit with his mind and reaping the benefits?

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Lyanna Adaire

The moment Lyra and Delshad stepped through the marble archway which led to the ground of the Temple, they were accosted by High Priest Alcides himself. The High Priest was a man of medium stature, and yet still managed to look imposing while decked in the traditional billowing crimson robes. Alcides was in his late thirties, but the well-groomed cut of his hair and beard made him appear to be younger than he truly was. He was one of the higher ranking priests who did not often wear his ceremonial lacquered mask, preferring to allow people to look upon his face instead of at a slab of wood. That was one of the reasons so many held Alcides’ trust – because, when one could see the face of a man, one could much more easily judge his character.

“High Priest,” Lyra sank into a low curtsy, as was appropriate in front of the man who, alongside the High Priestess, ran the Temple. And, as Asshai and R’hllor were near synonymous with one another – Asshai being one of R’hllor’s most sacred cities – the High Priest deserved utmost reverence. Asshai was widely known for its shadowbinders and its Temple and Lyra felt humbled to have been graced by the chance to lead it alongside Delshad.

She felt a heavy hand on the top of her head and stayed still as Alcides gave his blessing, the soft murmur of his voice oddly heavy as it flowed through the morning air. Lyra did not look over to see if Delshad was submitting to the same – she did not have to, as she knew that, by custom, he would be. When Alcides was finished, he removed his hands, and Lyra rose back up to her full height.

“Thank you,” she inclined her head in genuine reverence and was comforted by the smile that crossed Alcides’ face. He was a kind man, and a just one – she had studied under him for a few months back when she had been receiving training at the Temple, and had found him to be someone worthy of respect.

“There is much that must be spoken of, Lord Delshad and Lady Lyanna,” Alcides said as he too, bowed before them, a recognition of authority between theoretical equals. They followed Alcides along the slab-marble walkways which led through the vast Temple gardens. The morning air was sweet from the smell of blooming flowers and Lyra found herself enjoying the day, though she knew that all today had in store would be grave meetings couples with graver decisions.

~

The meeting was being held within the private chambers of the High Priest himself – rooms which few ever saw in their lives. Around a circular table fashioned out of redwood and polished to a glossy sheen, stood several high-backed chairs – each one of them occupied by a prominent Asshai’i figure. Amongst those assembled there were Delshad and Lyra, as well as Delshad’s parents (who technically still ruled Asshai), as well as High Priest Alcides and a motley of other high-ranking members of the Temple.

“First and foremost,” Alcides said, beginning the meeting, “I wish to introduce you all to Priestess Padme, who will be taking the place of Lavinia as High Priestess, as a pretense to be her, until the time we can get Lavinia back safely to us.”

Priestess Padme, her face covered by a mask, lowered her head for a few seconds in acknowledgement of the introductions, and then raised her chin back up. Behind the mask Lyra glimpsed a pair of dark blue eyes. She knew Lavinia’s eyes to be of the same color, but there was a glint of steel present in those of Padme’s which Lavinia had never possessed.

“We are inching towards the brink of war,” Alcides did not hesitate to continue speaking, “I have seen it in the fire. If we do not assemble our forces, we will lose Asshai.” The words fell like heavy stone and Lyra felt a knot of worry clenching itself in the pit of her stomach. Could they afford a war? Certainly they needed more men for their armies, as well as better defenses – but such things took time to amass
and would they even have that time?
---

Eskandir Rilyn-Ra’ir

“For my comfort?” Eskandir let out a sardonic laugh, “Oh please, don’t lie to me. I would be more than comfortable with being called by my name – really, it’s you who would be more comfortable calling me by titles. So, really, it’s not my comfort we are discussing right now.” The whole inability of coming to some sort of decision as to what to call him was beginning to chafe Eskandir the wrong way and his urge to be snappy rose up in him.

He tried to shove it back down, not really wishing to ruin a perfectly good dance by acting an ass. They danced in silence for a while, moving along with the music as Eskandir guided her across the floor. His own thoughts drifted to tomorrow as he wondered to himself what exactly he was going to be doing. Going through stocks of goods and putting together a list of financial expenses and profits in the afternoon, as usual, but as of yet he had no plans for either the morning or the evening.

Shirin’s voice broke through his thoughts and Eskandir looked back down at her as she spoke again on the subject of what to call him. He scowled again – but the scowl lessened when she combined her preference together with his, coming up with ‘Milord Eskandir’. He shrugged his shoulders, “Ah, why not.” He doubted he would be able to get her to call him by his first name at any point soon. Ah well, he’d take what he could get.

Eskandir nearly lost his footing, but was able to regain himself and move into the next series of steps before making a fool of himself. The reason for his near stumble was the fact that Shirin had just then decided to begin listing off things that she was good at doing. He cocked an eyebrow at her as she ended the list with saying that she could do anything – almost as if she was looking for a job to be given. Quite frankly, Eskandir really had no idea what he was going to do with her, but he was sure that she would fit into the household in one way or another.

“Well, that all sounds lovely,” he said, chewing on his bottom lip in thought, “based on that I think I can find something for you to do – I’m sure Lyra will have suggestions.” He paused for a few moments, and then a grin came over his face as an idea struck him, “actually, I could use another maid! The old one pilfered some jewels and we had her hands cut off, so that position is free for you to occupy.” There, that ought to do. Eskandir figured that that should bring her some comfort – for now she had some sort of set out job to do, right? He decided that he was being very generous indeed.

After the first dance had ended with the drawn out cry of the violin and Eskandir was about to inquire as to how Shirin was doing when he caught Delshad’s eye. The look that the older man passed to him was a clear statement that Eskandir was expected to finish dancing and take his leave as well – as it was quite visible that Delshad and Lyra were already vacating the party. Eskandir’s eyebrows knitted together in a frown – the revelry ought to be continuing for much longer, but for some reason they had to be leaving right then and there.

‘Strange
’ was all that Eskandir could think to himself as his eyes followed Lyra for a few moments – he was speaking to Lord Fariel and gesturing in a manner that implied she was feeling ill – Eskandir felt worried by that prospect, but knew that if Lyra did have some sort of trouble, she would be more capable than he at fixing it. Finally, Eskandir allowed his eyes to turn back to Shirin.

“We should be leaving, as well,” he said as he stepped out of the waltzing position and motioned for Shirin to follow after him. “If you have any belongings here which you cherish, they will be sent over in the morning, do not worry.” With that said, Eskandir strode off, looking back over his shoulder to make sure that Shirin was coming along.
---
Crevan Syr’ren

“My need for something to do that does not involve sitting around all day with a musty tome brought my here, sister,” Crevan said with the beginnings of a smile as he followed his sister’s movements as she walked back farther into her room to tend to her needlework. Though, it was not really tending at all, but more of a half-hearted prodding at it. He raised an eyebrow, but said nothing. Aileen used to adore her needle-work, but maybe today was just not a good day for her – just like today was not a good day for him to be cooped up in his study with a heavy book in his lap.

Crevan shut the door behind himself – but not fully, really only moving it back so that only a few inches of an opening could be glimpsed. He could not help but feel a bit like he was stepping into the quarters of a stranger – nowadays at times it felt that he almost did not know his younger sister at all, though they had always been so close. But in the end he knew that it was still his little sister – still the same girl he had chased around in the streets of Braavos, still the same girl who had enjoyed being tickled and playing games.

“There is nothing wrong with your other escorts, Aileen,” Crevan said, one eyebrow raised as he listened to her light complaining. But, the sight of her pouting lips made him crack a grin, “though I must agree that not all of them are
riveting company.” He was deeply considering setting off his work for the day and spending the rest of it alongside his younger sister. Truth be told, he felt like he owed her some companionship, having not spent much time with her ever since the sickness had struck and taken three other siblings away from him.

He had receded more into himself since that day and filled his time with pouring over documents and his studies, forcing himself to strive towards perfecting and honing his knowledge. Crevan had never really been much of a sentimental man and lately he had become even less so – but he did feel a growing sense of guilt for neglecting his family for so long. He really should be putting in more effort to be with them, but he had always felt that his studies were leagues more important.

Ah, but for this once he would allow himself to take some time off and spend the day with Aileen. Yes, for once he would do such a thing instead of locking himself in the library and coming out only to eat, sleep, or spar down in the courtyards. Crevan rubbed his chin in thought, mulling the possibilities over in his mind – he was not quite sure where exactly Aileen would want to go to, and neither did her really have any suggestions on the matter. Crevan decided to just let her choose for herself, as he really did not mind at that point.

“Was there anywhere in particular you wished to go today, Aileen?” He asked her as he went over to the nearest chair and sat down on its edge, arranging his body in such a way so as to allow himself to prop an elbow on his knee and rest his chin in the palm of his hand. He watched her with green-blue eyes as she smoothed her hands over the sky blue of her dress – in an odd motion
as if she almost did not want to have it on. “Is there something that is bothering you about the dress?” Crevan frowned, wondering if it was itching her or something of the sort.

Crevan got back up off the chair with a groan and stretched out his shoulders, rubbing first one shoulder with one hand and then the other with the other hand. He had been craning his neck too much again while reading, and it had made his shoulders sore – as well as his neck, which he had just then moved unto rubbing. He would honestly not mind going for a swim right about now
it was rather hot outside as well, the sort of day to make one long to jump into a cold lake.
---

Lavinia of the Flame

Her hands closed immediately around the first thing she could grab a hold of to prevent herself from possibly falling back downwards over that cliff and drowning herself in the raging river water. Her hands first clutched at the chest of the man who had pulled her away from the ledge, but soon enough she found herself wrapped her arms around his broad chest and pressing herself closer to him. He was warm – warm and safe and not about to drown her.

The sudden tickle of breath in her ear as the man spoke to her made her wriggle and shudder, but she found herself unable to move much as he held her close. Lavinia stifled a giggle, her shoulders shaking as she tried to bite back the need to squirm – she was rather ticklish in the neck area and his hot breath on her skin made her want to dissolve into squeals of laughter.

“How odd, you’ve put so much effort into things, as you say – and yet I have no idea who you are,” Lavinia said in non-confrontational tones which gave away her discomfort, “someone of some importance?” She tilted her head upwards as best she could, what with his hand being on her neck, and looked up into his dark eyes with a polite smile filled with expectation. She really did not know his name, nor anything else about him. All she had seen of him was what the fires had shown her, and it was from those images that she had pieced her judgments together.

This really was him. This was the man she had seen in the fire – his face just as she had recalled it. “You’re much taller than I expected,” she said in attempt at making light conversation and tried to crane her neck as much as she could.

“What is it – what exactly are you planning on doing now that you have managed to acquire me?” She asked, her voice wavering with a hint of fear. She had no idea what his intentions were for her, but she knew that it would not be something she would be willing to do. If he was the Lord of some nearby city and wished to march upon Asshai, she would have to do anything and everything in her power in order to foil his plans.

It scared her to think of the possibility of her beloved city – the jewel of R’hllor, her wonderful Asshai – falling or being conquered. No, surely R’hllor would spare them of something so horrendous. But there were ways; surely, there were ways in which Asshai could defend itself. Alcides knew of them and Lavinia knew that she could count on the High Priest to do what had to be done to save the city. Allying themselves with the Shadow Lands beyond Asshai was the safest and surest way to make certain that few would dare and raise up arms against them. The Shadow Lands were widely known as a place of uncharted terrain and mystical inhabitants – a place few ever wanted to go near – and, if the bond between the Shadow Lands and Asshai could be renewed, as it had once been in time long past, then they would be safe.

‘The night is dark and full of terrors
’ she thought to herself, swallowing the lump in her throat as her prayers reached out to the city she had left behind out of fear for its safety. “Alcides
you did not go after him because,” she paused, the realization having crept into her mind like an unwelcome visitor barging into one’s home, “
because you need a woman. No man can birth a Shade.” It was only in the womb of a Priestess that a Shade could gestate, and she was sure that this was one of the many purposes that this man had taken her for. She wondered if he knew the intricacies of such a ritual – including the fact that it would be his seed that would aid her in giving rise to such a creature, as was customary.

She shuddered in his arms and was not sure if she wished to lean in closer for bodily comfort or lean away out of inner revulsion. But he was so warm and she was tired – her limbs ached from all the days of running and trekking through rough terrain, and she would herself slumping into him with a soft sigh.

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Delshad Adaire


Delshad prodded at his temples, holding back a sigh that was bound to find its way out sooner or later. Telling his father that the High Priestess was gone was more painful than he had expected—and stressing too. His father, though ill, had stubbornly pretended he wasn’t when he entered the room, trying to seem strong in front of his only child. But when he had told him the news, something seemed to crumble in his eyes and suddenly his father seemed to have aged. “We will head up to the temple with you on the morrow,” he had said to him. “Now leave me, I am tired.”

He had been so
surprised. Never in his life had he heard his father say or even imply that he was tired. He guessed that things really were changing; his father was getting old and soon, soon he would have to shoulder the burden of Asshai on his own. His mother had tried to persuade his father not to go—that he needed to rest, but Delshad and Lady Adaire both knew there was no swaying the stern man when he had made up his mind. His mother folded her hands into her lap and held her tongue, but he could see that she was worried. He wasn’t sure just how sick his father was—and he wasn’t sure if even his mother knew. His father had a tendency to hide all of his weaknesses.

He succumbed to the sigh, letting it out and opening his leather book. After some thought he placed the quill to the paper and began to write, his brows furrowed and jaw tense. He wrote in his little book every day, and not just once a day either. He wrote things both important and inferior, as if to record events to look back upon when he needed to. Today was not a very fortunate day, he thought.

He looked up at the sound of a knock at the door of his study, and a well-dressed maid curtsied at the entrance. “My apologies for my interruption, milord, but Lady Darya has requested your presence.” He felt the beginnings of a smile twitch at his lip, mainly because he could see the little girl’s form ‘hiding’ behind the maid.

“Tell her that I cannot keep my promises tonight. I am busy,” he said with mock severity, trying to keep his face straight. At those words a wail erupted from behind the maid, and Darya showed herself, dressed in her nightgown and her hair braided.

“But you promised!” she cried, her lower lip pushed forward in a pout. She rushed into the study, trying to clamber into his chair as if she had a mind to drag him there. Delshad couldn’t hold back and he grinned, chuckling as he lifted her into the air and giving her a little spin.

“My my, I guess I can’t say no to you, little princess,” he said, pretending to be reluctant. “Come, let’s away.” Darya smiled widely back at him, clinging to his neck with her arms. He carried her out of the room and down the corridors, taking her to the room furnished for Darya to sleep in when she stayed at their estate. Since her mother was not much of a guardian and her father very busy, Darya stayed with Lyra most of the time. However she always went back to her home to visit her father and brother, as it was proper. He was sure it didn’t matter where she went; she was spoiled silly in both households. One could not help but love the small, demanding girl. Delshad watched quietly as she fell asleep, reading the book in his hands in a gentle tone. She was a precious child—some part of him wished that if he ever had a daughter, she would be like Darya.

--

Delshad felt as if something heavy landed deep in his stomach when he heard the word ‘war’ coming from Alcides. He had known it would happen, but to hear it with such certainty—it was a hard blow to take. He could see that it was the same with his parents; his mother was slightly pale, his father’s mouth set in a grim line. He looked at Lyanna, and then to the priestess Padme, and last to Alcides. “What would you advise?” he asked, his voice heavy despite his attempt to make it sound determined. They could not lose Asshai—they could not. But how would they be able to fare in a war?



----------------------------


Shirin Lasyar


Shirin watched almost anxiously as he pondered her position in the household, half-relieved that he was finally going to give her instructions and half-nervous for the same reason. When he finally settled on the position of a maid, something relaxed inside of her, though one part of her dwelt on the old lady’s fate. Had she really been stealing, or had it been some unfortunate hag that had been blamed for something else? Things like that happened all the time the higher the nobility became, and she would be serving in what was now the second most powerful house in Asshai. With the marriage of Lady Lyanna to the heir to Asshai, they had certainly risen high.

How would she fare in such a place? Shirin wasn’t sure.

She nodded respectfully at his decision; being a maid didn’t seem bad. Yes, it would most likely be more cleaning and serving than dancing, but she would be in a proper frock (something she had been unable to wear in a very long time). Shirin wondered if she would still be allowed to dance as a maid. It had been her job all along, and she enjoyed dancing very much. Hopefully her new owner would not mind too much—and if he did not like it, then she would find some discreet place to dance. It was a part of her that couldn’t be torn away, something that defined her.

She looked down at the fine dress she was wearing, the pretty color the cloth held. She decided that she liked the color ‘blue.’ It was the color of the open sky and the vast waters—and that meant freedom. So Shirin decided she liked the color blue; the color of freedom.

Though ‘freedom’ was a thing she longed for, she was sure that if she ever got it, she wouldn’t know how to handle it. Already she was uncomfortable without being given instructions—she could only imagine if all of a sudden she had to make all the decisions. She would be lost at all the opportunities and things she could do. It wasn’t as if she agreed all the time with decisions others made for her, but one either learned to deal with it or were beaten into submission. What was freedom like? She didn’t know. She supposed it would be this
wideness. What would it be like to speak your mind without having to worry about offending an important person and being punished? She wasn’t sure of that either.

The dance ended and she was nearly disappointed; waltzing was rather entertaining as well. It was almost nostalgic, as if she had done it before—but that wasn’t a plausible idea. She had only been taught to belly dance, she knew that.

Shirin caught the look given to Eskandir by Lord Adaire as well, but she pretended she had not seen it, blinking apprehensively up at the dark haired young man as he mentioned that they would be leaving. Shirin blinked; leaving so early at a party was rare—the revels were designated to go on for a long while from now. Then she recalled the way Lady Adaire had looked and assumed that they were leaving because she was ill.

He then added that any of the things she cared about would be sent in the morning, so she didn’t have to worry. But
cherished things? She didn’t have anything like that. The only thing she had that was particularly important was the simple necklace she wore all the time. It had been a pendant originally, but now it was shorter on her body. Indeed—it had been on her when she had been kidnapped, the one thing she had. But it was nothing special; the pendant was a small charm that was not particularly unique in shape or design. It was in the shape of a water lily, made of a pretty rose gold.

The young noble began to walk away, but then glanced over his shoulder expectantly. Shirin quickly followed after him, not much different from a bumbling duckling tottering after its mother. He was her master now, and she was at his leisure and command. She felt her former master’s hard gaze on her back, but she did not look back or pay him a mind, focusing on following Eskandir, a respectful three steps behind him.

She wasn’t sure what sort of a master he would be, but for a moment she felt relief as she walked away from the ballroom she would have danced her life away in had he never found her.



--------------------------


Deimos Tamurlayn


He had expected her to fight or scream, but instead she squirmed in his grasp and almost seemed to be holding back giggles. His eyebrows went up questioningly; what had the fear driven her mad? However something in him grew infuriated when she mentioned she had no idea who he was—how dare she not know! She was like every other person in his childhood who never knew his name and only knew him as ‘Thanatos’ little brother.’

How he had strived to pass that scoundrel. He had despised every bit of that man, every single particle of him. And so when he had killed him, every single reminder of him went; his belongings, his servants, his friends, his lovers, his children. All done without the tiniest shred of remorse, ruthless as if his heart was made of stone. It probably was.

As the youngest, no one depended on him, expected anything from him. But he had showed them that he had a name, oh yes; he was somebody that was stronger, more powerful than his brother, and everyone would know it. Everyone, from the lowest of street urchins to the highest of kings. They would fear him and know him. And yet, even when his brother was murdered and rotting, gone from this world at his own hands, his curse was not gone yet. He would always end up living in that damn man’s shadow unless he was known everywhere.

“And what a silly priestess you are, to not know from who you are running from,” he retorted in dark tones. “I am Deimos Tamurlayn, ruler of Quarth, and soon to be ruler of all of Essos.” His eyes glittered madly at the thought of being the ultimate ruler; the supreme and unchallenged leader of all.

A cold smile spread on his mouth and he stared her down as if she was an ant under the shadow of his boot. She seemed to be at a loss for a reason he had hunted her down, but soon enough the realization came upon her. “My my, I see that the temples teach common sense as well as magic tricks,” he said to her sardonically. “I’m glad we’re on the same page, priestess.” A Shade was a powerful weapon, one that could be birthed by a priestess alone—and he intended to have that up his sleeve.

He scowled as she leant against him as if she did not mind so much and grasped her by the arm. He yanked her away from himself, almost as if he had intentions to toss her off the cliff and watch her hit the water below. He was not a giver of comfort, and he would have her know that well. He shoved her towards a group of his men, eyes steely and unfeeling. “Get her on a horse. We can’t have her collapsing.” He had had no intention of letting her become sickly when he needed to use her as much as he could. He did not mistreat his tools
too much, that was. A tool became useless once they broke, and once they broke they needed to be disposed of. Deimos did not care what happened to them after completing what he demanded of them, but if any of them could no longer function before the job was done, he had to go through the trouble of finding a replacement—and he had no patience to just re-obtain what he had just acquired.

He turned and one of the men handed him his own stallion, large and powerful. He leapt easily into the saddle, grasping the reins. They had a while to ride, and he wanted to get back as fast as he could. The ride would not be leisurely or peaceful; a hard, merciless way of travel without many stops. His drive was to get back to his domain and think of more ways to stretch out and seize all that was around him to make it his own.

The people called him the Seizer, taker of lands and lives. That was certainly true. Though none would ever call him the ‘Seizer’ to his face, he did not mind the title. He secretly thought it quite a handsome title.



-------------------------


Loreley Rhys


“No, really—it is like talking to a wall,” she insisted lightly, speaking of the companions she was offered whenever she wanted to stroll down a bloody hallway. What, were they afraid that shed topple over and get a little bruise? Tch. Idiots. Her annoyance towards them was mostly made up of the fact that they were dumb young girls, nagging old hags, or pompous old men. That was no fun at all. Now, if her escort had been some attractive young bloke, perhaps she wouldn’t complain as much. She kept her complaints to herself when she was around ‘family,’ but they were very well in existence.

Loreley wasn’t used to being unable to go places as she pleased. After all, all the while she was growing up her family had moved about as their interest called—and this restriction was something new altogether. She had been on her own for three years now, impersonating all sorts of people, but this was the first time she had been able to take the place of someone particularly important. Sure, she was just the daughter, but she was still the daughter of the Sealord.

She looked up, a trace of wariness in her mind when he asked her if her dress was bothering her. Perhaps he was more perceptive than she had thought him to be. A proper student of the Faceless Men’s teachings would have thought to be more careful around one who knew the person well, but Loreley thought most oppositely. Well, the more he knew about Aileen, the more she could mess with his mind when she did things she would have never done. Oh, things only got better! “Yes, I think some of the stitches one the inside have come undone,” she said casually. “Perhaps I should have worn another dress
”

She glanced into the mirror mounted on her wall, taking the image of the girl in the glass. That was Aileen, though her body was more toned than a noble girl’s should have been. That had been the best she had been able to do with such short notice—or perhaps it had been a shred of vanity inside her. She knew she had a beautifully shaped body and a full chest; maybe she didn’t want to add baby fat and a smaller chest to herself. Maybe. She mentally shrugged. Aileen was not done growing yet—or, at least, she wouldn’t be, if she was still alive. Alas, that lass was somewhere in the vast waters surrounding Braavos; it had been the quickest way to dispose of her corpse.

Her eyes lit up as he stood and stretched, asking her if there was somewhere in particular she wanted to go. “You’ll spend the day with me?” she asked, a mischievous glint that was disguised to look like simple happiness in her eyes. But then again, she was happy too—finally, out of this damned room! She was not used to being so pampered—her muscles itched to move, to prove their strength. She approached the older man, as if in thought. “I’d like to do something active,” she mused, poking at his chest. “It’s too hot for riding. How about a swim?” she smiled, one corner of her lips tweaking in a teasing smile; Loreley’s smile, not Aileen’s. She had too much fun being herself to completely give herself over to some noble girl would couldn’t even handle a kitchen knife. “Oh, let’s. Let’s go swimming, say you will.” She said, switching back to a sweet pleading tone of a certain younger sister. “We haven’t gone swimming together in a long time, with the illness and all. Don’t say no
!” Loreley tilted her back at fixed him with a charming stare that would have even had a rock succumbing to her will.

Actually, they had never gone swimming together, Crevan and Loreley. But there was no harm in letting him believe that she was his goodly younger sister, one who just wanted to spend more time with him—after all, she had her face, had her looks. However Loreley knew that in time she would see her own face in the mirror once again. Little by little, Aileen’s face disappeared to reveal hers in such a slow process that by the time it was over no one would notice. It was quite genius, she had to say—and she knew her parents would have approved of the thought. She figured they were having the time of their lives (as they always were), traveling as they pleased, something that made her want to grin. They would never mature, it seemed—but they were her beloved parents.

And she was their darling Loreley; no one else’s. No man could have her for who she was, no, they had to have her for who she was pretending to be.

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Lyanna Adaire

Upon being asked as to what he would advise to be done, Alcides fixed his gaze upon Delshad. The High Priest’s expression may as well have been a lacquered mask all on its own. “Our hope lies in the Shadow Lands beyond Asshai – the ties of old must be forged anew,” Alcides said, a frown momentarily crossing his face and making him appear his age. And then it was wiped away and the man looked serene once more. “None would be so foolish as to march against Asshai-the-Shadow.”

A hush settled in the room. Priestess Padme looked over at Alcides and it was clear that she was surprised by the High Priest’s sudden announcement. “The only way to create the bond is by sacrifice
”

Those words left a bitter taste in Lyra’s mouth and she was not even the one who had spoken them. She felt a shudder ripple through her and the hard glint in Alcides’ eyes did nothing to dissuade the feeling. She recalled having read texts which spoke of the old bonds between Asshai and the Shadow and only vaguely did she recall any mention of a sacrifice being required to forge the bond. She was sure that whatever was needed must have been dire.

“What is required, High Priest?” Lyra found herself asking, her mouth feeling dry as her mind began to rush through all of the horrendous possibilities. She was being hypocritical at that moment then. Had she not only yesterday been thinking to herself of how she would do anything in her power to ensure that Asshai was safe? That, as her duty called, she would give up and forfeit anything and everything if there was ever the need? She had. She had had those thoughts exactly.

And now it was as if fate had heard her thoughts and decided to play the situation out before her. “A member of the ruling family, one of Asshai and one of the Shadow, must come together to forge the bond,” Alcides spoke slowly and without emotion, holding off any sort of bias on what he was about to make them all aware of.

“Each of them must bring with them one of their own city – whose importance to them would designate the extent of their desire for the bond.” Alcides took in a deep breath, aware that he would have to clarify. “And, since Asshai will be in great need of the bond, then a member of our ruling family must willingly give up someone close and dear to them in order to ensure the bond is made. And it will be he or she who wields the knife.”

He would not do it. She knew he would not the moment she glanced over at him. Lyra reached out and put a hand on Delshad’s knee beneath the table, unseen by anyone else. Her nails dug hard into the flesh of his leg, a wordless indicator to him not to simply throw this possibility away and look for less difficult ways.

From the way that Alcides had made it sound, the one who ought to be sacrificed had to be kin – a relation of blood to make the bond between Asshai and the Shadow exceptionally strong. Lyra withdrew her hand and looked across the table at Alcides. Their eyes met and he gave a near imperceptible nod of the head in her direction. A mutual understanding, of sorts. This would be the one situation in which Lyra would openly disregard her husband’s wishes and carry out what had to be done – that is, only if Delshad did not agree to the task.

Her head was aching again and Lyra reached up to rub at her temples, feeling the dull throb echo through her forehead – a faint promise of the further aches to come. She had always been prone to headaches, not sure if it was something to do from inheritance from her parents, or merely a result of stress. But the headaches came back time and again – as they had done from back when she was a young girl.

It was such times when Lyra wished she could just leave the room and go to her step-father for counsel. The man often knew of the right things to say, but she was aware that she would not be allowed to share with him the things that she had learned.
---

Eskandir Rilyn-Ra’ir

Eskandir awoke to the feeling of sunlight burning against his left cheek. He let out a soft groan and his fingers crept upwards to rub at his warm skin, wishing that the bloody sun could just go away already and let him sleep further. Eskandir had always been one for sleeping in until the lazy hours of the afternoon, but something in the back of his mind told him that today was an important day and that he should be getting up and out of bed lest he miss some sort of merchant meeting, or something other, at which he would need to be present.

With another groan, this one more audible than the previous one, and much more frustrated at that, Eskandir cracked open both his eyelids. Staring up at the tiled and gilded ceiling of his bedroom gave him no relief from the desire to fall back asleep, but he forced himself to keep his eyes open. Slowly, and with not much of a want to do so, Eskandir stretched his limbs out, his body shifting beneath the covers as he first tautened his muscles and then let them relax.

Sitting up, Eskandir rubbed the sleep out of his eyes, muttering a curse or two to make himself feel better at the prospect of having to awaken. And then, with another motion, he flipped back his covers, wearing nothing but a cut-off pair of cotton sleeping britches which sat rather precariously on his hips.

Eskandir took in a deep breath, filling his lungs with as much air as he could muster, and bellowed, “SHIRIN!” After all, it was not as if he was going to dress himself, now was it? Eskandir was feeling particularly contrary at that moment in time and the way his eyebrows and lips were set into an irritated frown did nothing but underline that very fact. She had only begun to work at the Rilyn-Ra’ir household since this morning, as he had brought her into it last night – but Eskandir already expected for her to settle into her duties.

Plus, when he was feeling particularly crabby, he was not about to put up with anything sub-par. Eskandir walked bare footed across the pleasantly cold surface of his room’s wooden floors and made his way over to a side room which opened into his private bath. The water here was tended to by other members of the Rilyn-Ra’ir’s vast amount of servants and was kept hot throughout most of the day.

Eskandir unlaced his britches and let them fall off his hips. He then kicked them aside and stepped into the bath, taking a few moments to relish the feel of the hot water on his skin before he stepped deeper into it and slowly sank himself down to sit on one of the inner ledges of the gigantic pool-like tub. It would be Shirin’s duty to dry and dress him when he got out – as had been the job of his last maid, of course.

Honestly, Eskandir did not see any issues with the job and was expecting Shirin to undertake it without any problem when she decided to show up and do the job in question. Eskandir leaned back against the edge of his bath and drew out his arms to rest them on the ledge, drumming his fingertips against it as he waited for her. She would also have to hand him the soap and wash his back, come to think of it, as Eskandir was not about to strain himself first thing in the morning to reach it.

“SHIRIN!” He yelled again, tilting his head back so that he could see through the open door behind him. He rather hoped that she would hurry up and get there already, lest he be forced to sit in the water and turn pruney. By R’hllor, he would not be in a good mood at all if such a thing was to occur. He shifted about in the water, the cleanness of it doing nothing to hide the extent of his naked body – not that he really cared about that, anyways.

He was sure that Shirin would soon enough fall into the routine of things and wondered that maybe he was being too expectant of her on her first day. Ah, well. She would learn soon enough.

---
Crevan Syr’ren

“You’ve been acting as if you wish to claw your way past these walls,” Crevan observed as his sister poked him in the chest. He watched her hand as she withdrew her finger and then raised his eyes back up to her face. Their parents had become leagues more restrictive ever since the sickness since it had taken three of their children and left them with only two – and Crevan understood their reasoning. All they wanted was to ensure that their remaining two children would be as safe as possible.

The restrictions must have taken on a greater toll on Aileen then he had thought in the first place, as he himself had been rather unaffected by the stricter rules. He usually locked himself away in the library or spent obscene amounts of time out training in the courtyard, and the new curfews and need for escorts had gone by unnoticed for him.

In any case, Crevan had never needed to go about with any escorts – as those were only required for young women. But he could not handle the look Aileen was giving him that implored for him to go with her and help save her from the boredom and sheer excruciating annoyance of some of the escorts.

“Swimming?” He cocked an eyebrow as he beheld Aileen pleading to him with her head tilted to the side. He saw the glint in her eyes as she spoke of going to swim and nearly cracked a grin, but it only registered as a slight half-smile on his face. “Alright, then. Swimming, it is.” He reached out and tweaked her cheek, his smile fading away into the serious face which Crevan was usually prone to wearing. It really would do him well to get out more.

---

The day truly was stifling as the two of them walked outside through one of the manor’s side doors and out into the courtyard. Crevan walked arm in arm with his sister, leading her about as a proper escort should. The guards and servants they met along the way curtsied and greeted them as was proper.

The courtyard led them forth to a cobbled pathway, one which would take them both out towards the open sea. The sprawling mansion of the Sealord of Braavos had been built within a five minute’s walking distance to the warm beaches and open sea which their family had been intimately tied to for thousands of years.

“It has been long since we have had an outing,” Crevan said as he led Aileen down the steps out of the courtyard and towards the beach. Soon the cobbled steps beneath their feet gave way to sand. The sound of the waves rolling in and out of the beach was as familiar to him as the back of his own hand – as well as the cry of the gulls overhead. Crevan took in a deep breath and relished the breeze that swept by them, lulling them out towards the open water.

For a moment he thought it to be improper to be about to go swimming along with his sister – as it would involve him to be undressing in the presence of a lady. Then again, Aileen was his sister and he should not be embarrassed in front of her. They were just family, after all. The two of them stopped a few meters short of the edge of the water.

Crevan let go of her arm and moved to begin to unbutton his navy blue vest. “A perfect day to be going swimming, you were right,” Crevan said rather absentmindedly as he let the vest slip off his shoulders and drop down to the sand beneath his feet. He glanced over at Aileen and saw in her face the sister that he had known for so long
and perhaps a glint of something which he was not sure he had ever seen before. At times it felt as if he did not know her at all.

“I’m glad you convinced me to get out of the manor today,” he told her as he moved on to the buttons of his long-sleeved undershirt, his fingers moving deftly down the length of his torso. “Otherwise I really would not have seen the light of day.” He cracked the joke without the slightest hint of a smile, or anything of the sort.
---

Lavinia of the Flame

He jerked her away to hold her at arm’s length and Lavinia made a small sound of protest in the back of her throat. She made a face, her delicate features coming to form an odd expression. She was by no means a woman worthy of being called beautiful – cute, perhaps, with an awkwardly pert nose and small chin – but not much more besides that.

“Of all Essos? Oh, I do doubt that,” Lavinia said with a warm smile, no hints of mockery anywhere remotely near it. “You seem ambitious, certainly, but you’ll not take Asshai. Or the Shadow, for that matter.” She meant only to inform him, nothing more but that. She figured he should be aware of that fact – after all, Asshai had not been taken over by anyone for centuries – and even the one time it had, the occupation had not lasted long.

Maybe that was the wrong thing to say to him and Lavinia could not help but let out a nervous sound. To make up for her words – maybe they had offended him – she reached out to pat his arm in the way she would do to someone she knew fairly well. But then she was showed away and he went off to mount his stallion and she was apparently supposed to be placed upon a horse as well.

Lavinia opened her mouth to protest that, to say that having her ride horseback would not be the best of ideas, but it was too late – one of the men had already brought a horse out for her. “Oh, thank you,” Lavinia said for lack of other words, “would you
uh, help me?” She pointed at the saddle and made an awkward gesture with her hand which more or less signified ‘help me up’. The man grumbled something under his breath and cupped his hands together and crouched down. Lavinia stared at this odd positioning – and slowly came to the realization that she was supposed to use that as a foothold.

Lavinia gathered up her skirts and placed her foot firmly down into the man’s cupped hands and then reached out to grab at the saddle. She let out a squeak of surprise as he quite suddenly pushed her upwards, and she ended up scrabbling to swing her leg over the side of the saddle. After a few moment of awkward flailing and arranging of her skirts – and after some more of Deimos’ men had joined in to help settle her – Lavinia was finally sitting in the saddle, and feeling like she was in a rather precarious situation.

She was not sure how to get the horse to start moving, but she had seen some of the men flicking the reigns. She figured to copy them and did just that. The horse did, indeed, begin to walk and Lavinia found herself slowly slipped to the side. She did her best to clutch at the saddle and the reigns, but only ended up tugging sharply on the bridle and forcing the horse she sat astride to move quite suddenly to the left.

She could not help herself but let out a frightened yelp as her body tumbled downwards, her hands grasping at the saddle in vain attempts to hold on. But Lavinia did not have the strength to hold herself up and all her efforts only ended up with her falling off the horse in jerking motions rather than all at once.

Lavinia let out a soft whimper as she struggled up to prop herself into a seated position and, to her great despair, found that she had managed to twist her ankle – most likely having accomplished that when her foot had been jerked out of its stirrup.

“I don’t know how to ride.” She announced for all to hear, just in case anyone had missed her rather graceless tumble to the ground. She had never before had any reason to learn how to ride horseback – and neither had she ever had reason to learn how to swim. If Deimos was planning on riding quickly back to Qarth, he would have to seat her with someone who would make sure that she did not end up falling off the horse again.

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Delshad Adaire


“The Shadow
” Delshad did not like where this was going. Things of old and things of shadows never was cheap. Everything
had a price. A heavy price for something important. He couldn’t help but feel that he would not like the answer. The silence was broken by the substitute High Priestess stating that a sacrifice was needed for the job. Delshad felt his mouth go dry—he was right, he did not like this at all. A sacrifice meant something offered up that did not deserve to be used in such a way.

He wasn’t going to ask about the conditions, but it seemed that Lyanna had other ideas. She asked—and somehow Delshad was not surprised by that. It was very much like her to be so
strong. If only he could be that way. Even his father seemed to approve of Lyanna’s will and strength. If only


His face darkened more and more as Alcides continued to talk about the conditions and necessary things for such a
wrongful event. A member of the ruling family. His own. One of his? But
he looked at his father and his mother. And then at Lyanna. There was no way that was ever going to happen. Never. And suddenly he felt nails in the skin of his leg, deep and hard. Lyanna. He knew it was her before he really needed to think about it. And she was telling him to consider it. He wouldn’t. He couldn’t.

He valued her advice, and he wanted to make her happy. But he could not, not this.

“My apologies, High Priest Alcides,” he said quietly, but in his voice there was icy steel. “There is no one even available for a sacrifice. And I will not let that happen. I will find another way. The day I have to sacrifice one of my own people is the day I have failed as both a future ruler and as a man.” His jaw clenched. “I thought I would never say this, but I’m glad Gita died before this day.” Because if she was alive, he knew well she’d be the first choice. He heard his mother gasp and felt a twinge of guilt for saying such a thing; his mother had been thoroughly crushed by her death and he knew it. It had been years since then, but he knew her wounds were deep and painful. But
it was still true.

“I will take my leave, friends, father, mother.”

Delshad bowed his head courteously at all who were present, and strode away with a rare anger coursing in his veins. He didn’t get mad often. In fact, he didn’t like to get mad—he didn’t. It was the truth that he was meek in nature, but this, this was crossing the line. He would not fail Asshai, he would find a way, a different way to protect his beloved city. One that would not involve the death of one of his citizens; he’d rather be the sacrifice himself. It didn’t just mean his family—he would not allow the sacrifice of even the youngest street urchin.

It was probably one of his largest flaws.

--

He had resorted to going out for fresh air, not there was any fresh air around here. The air was full of the smell of burning incense and such things. Usually he considered the scent calming, but today it gave him a headache beyond measure. He prodded at his temples, his lips a stern line as he leant against a pillar and fiddled with his book. To save Asshai, a life was required? A life, huh. That wasn’t such a light thing to ask for
 For a second he became uneasy—surely his parents would not agree to this. His father might, but Delshad knew that he was trying to let Delshad learn to be a leader. His mother would never consider sacrificing one of her own, either—he supposed he had inherited her gentle kindness. However while gentle kindness befit a woman, it didn’t do him any good when leaders were sometimes required to make ruthless decisions. Delshad knew that an alliance to the Shadow would be the certain way to saving Asshai, but he knew better than anyone that he did not have it in him to carry through with such a heinous deed.


------------


Shirin Lasyar


Sleep. She never knew it could be so sweet. She dreamed about laughter and flowers; flowers everywhere, in her hair, in the folds of her dress, whirling around her like a friendly whirlwind. The scent was sweet and comforting; an embrace of something beautiful and wanted. It was so familiar. She woke up with the memory on her mind and tears in her eyes. Why? She blinked and wiped them away. She didn’t cry—this wouldn’t count. She hadn’t been awake when the tears had filled her eyes, so it didn’t count. She kept telling herself that, because she hated crying so much.

She would never forgive herself for not remembering her past.

It was still early; she could see that the sun was rising, a glorious red staining the sky with the sunrise. Shirin glanced around the room, her gaze more thorough now that she could see properly. Yesterday she had been too nervous and tired to really take in her surroundings. She saw that it was a well-decorated room, small but still her own, which she appreciated. No other dancers could harass her here—and it was so
quiet. It was so strange that she found herself a bit bewildered.

She strode to the large window and pushed the wispy veil-like curtains to the side, admiring the sky and the view this large building gave her. This place was even larger than Lord Fariel’s—which was to be expected of the most influential and powerful merchant family in Asshai. She turned to the rest of the room, clean, well kept. Her bed was bigger than the one she was used to, and had been soft and welcoming; the wardrobe a nice size and made of fine polished wood. Simple but tasteful. It was not over-decorated or studded with jewels all over, and Shirin decided that she liked this room much better than her last.

And what of her new master? Shirin crept to the door that led to his quarters, holding her breath as she listened for any sounds that would imply that he was awake. She heard none and carefully slid the door open, hesitantly poking her face into the large elaborate room. His was much more decorated than hers, and
huge. 
Was he already up and gone? She took exactly three small steps inside, her bare feet treading silently like those of a cat. She then spotted him in his oversized bed, sprawled under the covers, his eyes closed in slumber. His dark hair was mussed, a bare arm thrown carelessly to the side—a sight she was not used to. She immediately felt awkward and retreated hastily into her room, careful to shut the door as quietly as she could.

He looked different when he was asleep like that. More
she wasn’t sure.

Shirin halted the thoughts and moved on to a different subject. It didn’t seem like he was going to wake up anytime soon—she would have some time to herself. But
what in the world was she supposed to do? She was not used to having spare time to spend for herself. She stepped into a small washroom to the side and decided that she would simply get herself prepared. And then maybe she would dance.

What else could she possibly do?

--

Dancing in proper clothes was different, she thought. But it was still dancing—and she was content with that. She was clothed in blue again, this time a simpler frock. It seemed to be made for a bit more rough use than party dresses, and lighter and certainly easier to move in. Dance. Step, twirl. There was no music, but it was not needed. Her heartbeat thudding in her ears was the drum, her bated breath was the flute; patch of sunlight her stage. It was all that she needed.

Dancing defined her. Without it, what was she supposed to be? So she danced. She—

“SHIRIN!”

The young woman jerked to a stop so suddenly that her muscles screeched out in complaint. Give us a warning! they cried. She suddenly didn’t know what to do. What should she do? He was calling her. She hastily looked about the room. Where were her shoes? Where were her bloody shoes!? She found them in the corner and shoved them on, and did her very best not to somehow trip up as she rushed through her door and into his. She heard him calling again, and she could tell he was annoyed. Actually, he had sounded annoyed to begin with—now he just sounded more so. Where was he?

Shirin found him in the spacious washroom, looking quite impatient and lounging in the giant bath. “My apologies for being unpunctual...I-Is there anything you need, Mas—” she quickly checked her words. “
Milord Eskandir?” She accidentally caught a glimpse of his bare form under the water and colored, quickly averting her eyes to the tiled floor. Sure, perhaps he knew what a woman was like without clothing, but she herself didn’t quite
well. She tried to stay away from them in general.

But
what did he need? She didn’t see a problem—he was in the bath. The things needed to wash oneself were right there, fully stocked. Did he want some water?


----------------


Deimos Tamurlayn


A feral growl spilled out from between his clenched teeth as she smiled brightly and told him he would never be the ruler of Essos. He drew back a hand to strike her—how dare this
this
woman! But then he stopped himself and slowly dropped his arm, his features nevertheless twisted with a terrible scowl. He would not hurt her before he had what he wanted. “I swear, woman, if you ever are brainless enough to mock me, I will gut you and find another of your precious temple to put my clutches on,” he hissed. He would not be made a fool—not by his dead brother, not by any of the rulers, not by his men—and certainly not some wench who only had prayers stuck in that head.

“You will never beat me, little brother.” That cursed voice rang in his head and Deimos’ hand curled into a tight fist, so hard that his knuckles turned a strained white under his dark gloves. Everyone had looked down on him back then. But now no one would dare, and to have this priestess laugh at his obsessive plans as if she was humoring a child—no. He turned his back on the group that was trying to get her on the horse, irritation flooding through his mind. What was taking so bloody long?! It was a simple task, getting into a saddle.

Deimos was not a patient man. He snapped at one of the men and he brought over his great black stallion. He leapt into the saddle with a predatory grace, easily and almost carelessly. Riding was second nature to him by now, and a fierce rider he was. Just as his horse had begun to canter he heard a feminine yelp and something that sounded like a fool had fallen out of the saddle. Irked, he jerked his stallion to a stop, turning it around to face the situation. That damned priestess sat on the ground like some lackey, announcing that she didn’t know how to ride. Deimos began to get more and more frustrated; this woman was going to ruin his snappy schedule.

“Get her up,” he spat, adding several of the curses what should have never been spoken in the presence of a lady. But he didn’t give a damn—this woman was provoking him! His men stared stupidly at him, and he found him temper growing even fouler. “NOW!” he thundered, his eyes blazing murder. Half a dozen men jumped and stumbled off of their horses to grasp at the woman as he watched, his chest heaving with rage.

“Stenald, put her on your horse. Ride with her,” he commanded snappily and faced the forest, away from the frustration. “If she falls off, just run her over.” He said coldly, finding no humor in anything at the moment. The portly man lumbered over and lugged the woman, who seemed to have sprained her ankle, over to his horse. He was known as the dumbest and smelliest of the group, and Deimos couldn’t quite say he hadn’t chosen him on purpose. Let her suffer. He really was in a foul mood now.

“We ride to Quarth!” he shouted, his voice cold enough to freeze hell over. He kicked his stallion and it reared back before it went straight into a hard gallop, a black streak amongst the woods. The other men pushed their steeds into motion, albeit trying to catch up with their lord. He had a tendency to speed when he was angry, and no one was about to be blamed for hindering his progress.

--

Deimos stood amongst his men as the horses drank water from the river, quenching their thirst. They had rode hard for a good three hours, trekking over all sorts of terrain. Now that he had rode as fast as the wind and to his content, he was feeling a bit better. Many men were taking out their traveling packs and eating dried meat and mixes of berries, nuts, and roots to keep them nourished. He figured that the priestess would be hungry—he approached her, his demeanor not unkind. It was still frosty, but he wasn’t in that dark haze he had been in earlier. He wordlessly threw a small pouch of the dried provisions into her lap and walked away. It didn’t mean anything. Tools couldn’t be used if they were weak, after all.



------------


Loreley Rhys


“Ohh, thank you, thank you!” she cried happily as Aileen would have, getting on her tiptoes and kissing the young man on the cheek. A most sisterly kiss, actually. She smiled and rushed about the room, as if to get ready for the outing. Oh, this would be fun, indeed.

---

Loreley walked with Crevan, her walking delicate and befitting of a gentlewoman though there was that lingering hint of a seductive sway in her hips. She glanced up at her escort as he mused about how long it had been since the last time they had been out like this. “It’s been so long, I hardly remember the last time,” she answered, her voice secretly coy. That was true enough. She did not remember that last time they had been on an outing because she hadn’t ‘been’ Aileen yet.

The screeches of gulls were like songs of welcome to her ears. How suffocating it had been, cooped up in that dreadful room! This was more like it.

She subtly watched the young man undress, her lips secretly curving with amusement. Indeed, he was well built, her darling ‘brother.’ She appreciated a fit man, one that trained—after all, their stamina wouldn’t be so good otherwise. Loreley nonchalantly stripped off her dress as if it was a hindrance, letting it fall to sand as if it was nothing but a rag. In her eyes, it was the same thing—a useless thing that got in the way. She set onto her corset and tugged at the strings, using her flexibility to struggle out of it herself after loosening it. She could hardly care at all about undressing in front of a man, even if he was not her actual brother.

How many times had she undressed for a man? She wasn’t about to count—she wasn’t her parents’ daughter for nothing. Unlike her mother, she did not have a favorite bedmate, though Loreley did not care for that. She moved about lands and places as she wished—and once the charade was up, she left. She was never found out, but she got tired of it sooner or later. She guessed she was like her father in that aspect (her mother was the only wife he didn’t murder). After all, a constant lover would only tie her down.

Soon she was left in her shift made of plain white silk, which didn’t do much to hide her form underneath it; in the bright, warm sun, it was near transparent. Loreley grinned at her ‘brother,’ a suggestion of a teasing in her smile before she rushed to the water, her excitement genuine and overflowing. How she loved the ocean! It was like home. She glanced over her shoulder at Crevan, and with another mischievous smile, she backed up a couple strides, the slim muscles under her fair skin tensing up. She dashed towards the water and dove straight into the waves, disappearing into the deeper waters.

How long had it been since she had swum like this? She opened her eyes and was welcomed with the fiery sting of the salt in the water. It did not bother her—she would get used to it soon. She smiled, a bubble of air escaping her mouth and rushing towards the surface. Speaking of which, she had better resurface before that ‘older brother’ of hers panicked and thought her drowned. Had Aileen been as good at swimming as she was? Loreley doubted it—little princesses had to sit and do their needlework (which was boring and horrible, she swore). She had been raised on the go, but always around some large body of water to swim in; a lake, the ocean, the rivers. Loreley was as comfortable in the water as she was on dry land.

She propelled herself upwards, promptly popping up from the waters, throwing her head back as she filled her lungs with air. Her wet hair stuck to her face, a breathless laugh escaping her as she deftly tread the water towards the shallow edge, towards the sandy beach. “Come in, it’s wonderful,” she breathed, her smiles genuine. Her wet shift clung to her body like a second skin, hardly leaving anything to imagine. “You do need to get out more,” she said, as if she was chiding him in a sisterly way. “You need to study less
and play more.” The last sentence was nearly a purr as she took his hand and drew him towards the water, her eyes exerting their overwhelming charm once again. “Wouldn’t you agree, brother?”

It should have been obvious that she liked to mess with people’s minds. But she couldn’t help but find this one particularly delicious—being seduced by your younger sister! Did that mean she felt bad? Not at all.

She would be there to watch every step of his downfall with sweet smiles and laughter. She
would be his downfall.