❝ You and I against the world, my love. Let us bring it to it's knees. ❞
Even the gods were not able to defeat Lyra Stark and Joffrey Baratheon, for once they put their minds to a cause, the gods were forced to step aside and let them past.
QUEENS...
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{ Lyra }
✧✦✧
𝕿he sea breeze ruffled Lyra's hair, as she waited for Sansa to finish praying. Elia was curled around her legs, leaning into her side, as the elder girl watched Jaime Lannister, who had recently returned from his captivity, talk to Brienne of Tarth. Something was going on, and she had a feeling that they were speaking of her and her sister.
They were most likely discussing how to extract them from the capital, which would become near impossible in a fortnights time, for Lyra's wedding was almost upon them.
"I'm done, Lyra, we should leave," Lyra turned back to her sister, smoothing her dress out as she stood.
"Of course,"
Sansa hooked an arm through Lyra's, as the pair began the long walk back to the Red Keep, Elia shooting off into the undergrowth on a hunt for squirrels and other critters.
"You look paler than normal," Lyra looked over at Sansa with a smile. "Is everything all right?"
"Of course, Little One," Sansa tightened her grip on Lyra. "I am just having pre-wedding nerves."
"Why?"
"Well, I am finding it a little hard to comprehend that I am to be married next week," She began, her head tilted in thought. "and it is discomforting to know that I will not be allowed to have any of our Northern traditions, but that is the price to pay for marrying the King."
"But I will be there, and Elia, and Tylar," Sansa replied. "So, you'll always have a piece of the North with you."
"You're right, of course," Sansa smiled, as they turned into the gardens of the palace, as Elia reappeared, her fur on end. "Elia, what's the matter?"
The wolf growled, her fur standing up on end, as Lyra's eyes narrowed.
"Elia, find," The wolf ran off into the undergrowth, as the sound of barking and growling occurred. Lyra could hear someone crying in pain, and whistled for Elia to come back to her side, handing her some dry meant from the pocket sewn into the dress. "Good girl."
The would-be-assailant appeared, from the bushes, and Lyra sighed when she saw that it was only Dontos Hollard, the King's fool. He placed a finger to his lip, looking around nervously.
"It's all right, it's all right," Lyra wrinkled her nose, smelling wine from where she stood.
"You're drunk," Lyra stated, threading her hand through Sansa's arm to comfort her. Dontos stumbled a bit more before replying.
