Lyanna Strong, daughter of Ser Harwin Strong and Lady Malorie Darry, was born the same year as Prince Jacaerys Velaryon and across the realm, whispers were spoken about the likeness of the two babes. Both brown of hair with eyes to match and a like...
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The throne room within the Red Keep was not as great as the one in Harrenhal. Lyanna had come to that conclusion. The Hall of a Hundred Hearths could be called a ruin, but when all hearths were lit, their warmth would make up for the drafts that wisped through the hall. But the great hall was underwhelming, small, and the air stiff. The pungent smell from Blackwater Bay made its way into the room just as it did in every other place in the Red Keep. Lyanna still had not grown used to the smell, yearning for the scent of ash, earth, and freshwater that Harrenhal had throughout.
Yet all the lords, ladies, and young knights in the great hall did not seem to hold the same thoughts as she. They all kept their attention on Otto Hightower as he sat on the Iron Throne with smiles on their faces, happy to be welcomed in the hall. But Lyanna wasn't happy. She didn't like King's Landing. She missed her home, the smell of nature, and the people of Harrenhal she called her family.
Lyanna let out a small huff; she couldn't help but wonder if she could sneak out of the hall and try to find Helaena to spend the day with. But her uncle wouldn't be pleased with her doing that. He is the reason why she isn't spending the day with her friend. He had insisted that Lyanna stay in court all day to try and catch the eye of a lord or knight so that she could return to Harrenhal and no longer be his responsibility.
Aemond didn't know why he couldn't keep his gaze on his grandsire. Usually, when audiences were being held, he would take a break from whatever he was doing and stand by the throne to listen and watch his grandsire act on his father's behalf. Yet his gaze drifted away from his grandsire and Riverland lord, who was complaining. It kept drifting towards the soon-to-be lady of Harrenhal.
He noticed how she rocked herself on her feet, how her gaze darted to each face in the hall and towards the pillars in the room. How her eyebrows were pulled together, meaning she was in thought about something.
She would have the same expression while she read, Aemond noted.
Aemond didn't fail to notice that today, she was wearing a blue dress, the same strong blue he could remember from his childhood. A colour he thought he disliked, but he did not mind it on her.
Aemond did not mind that she was adapting the styles of the other ladies of the court. Wearing her hair in the same southern style as the other ladies, he couldn't help but wonder if she would soon wear the same green dresses that ladies often wore to show their loyalty to the throne. Lyanna had made it a point to wear browns, yellows, reds, and now blue. But never green, even if it was one of her house colours.
Aemond rolled his shoulders and puffed out his chest as he looked back toward his grandsire. It was inappropriate for him to be looking at her for so long. He reminds himself that. He reminded himself that he was a prince of the realm and should not be staring at a lady for so long. Yet, as Aemond looks up to his grandsire, he can't help the feeling that he should take one more peek at Lyanna.
