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First fic ^^

Title: Prolong the night
Author: maidwithglasses
Fandom: A Song of Ice and Fire
Pairing: Elia Martell/Ashara Dayne
Rating: PGish
Warning: Girls who love girls, if that's not your cup of tea
Word count: 325
Summary: The first meeting of Elia Martell and Ashara Dayne.
A/N: The title is from a poem by Renee Vivien. And many thanks to Tom, my wonderful beta and literary angel!

Ashara Dayne is the most beautiful woman Elia has ever seen. Her skin is creamy pale, so uncommon in sun-drenched Dorne, and her violet eyes glint like gemstones. Still, her delicate features are only a part of her loveliness. She charms everyone in the room without even trying; when she dances gracefully with Doran, or laughs at a joke Oberyn makes, or chats with Lady Martell, the Princess.


Elia marvels at how the girl presents herself at the Dornish court - behaving so naturally as though she has been born a princess. She feels somewhat jealous; not of Ashara but of everyone else, who gets to enjoy her company, to stand near her and listen to her laugh and look at her smile. Elia would like to approach the girl, talk to her, but she feels like her insides are made of foam. She’s always been shy; when there’s a court ball she mostly stays in a corner, smiling politely and trying to avoid dancing. For a while, she’s content to just watch the girl from afar.


After some time, Ashara, while still chatting with Arthur, her brother, starts looking around the room. Then, by chance, her eyes meet Elia’s. The Martell girl feels like she’s been struck by lightning. The girl smiles exquisitely at her, and Elia tries to calm herself down, but to no avail; she already feels her cheeks burning with a nervous (or perhaps excited) blush. Ashara, never taking her eyes off her, whispers something into her brother’s ear, then leaves him with a quick curtsy.


She approaches Elia, her extravagant skirts swishing as she walks. Elia feels an urge to bolt, but she stays where she is, determined to keep her dignity intact. Ashara Dayne curtsies before her, eyes sparkling with mirth. “My Lady Elia, may I have this dance?” 


As she takes her hand and lets herself be led to the dancing floor, Elia feels light as a butterfly.