❝ 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 atrium of the Stark residence was glowing amber in the mid afternoon sun, slowly heating up. Lyra's legs were curled beneath her, as she sat on the padded seats of the balcony, basking in the glow. It was much warmer than the North, but the heat was not as oppressive as it had been the first time they had come into King's Landing.
Septa Mordane clucked her tongue, and Lyra reluctantly opened her eyes and turned back to her sewing. They had new dresses made to combat the summer heat, and now, Lyra had the boring task of sewing the wolf insignia of the Starks onto the dresses.
Arah appeared moments later, a plate of tarts in front of the trio of Northern women, before she joined them with her own sewing.
"You wear your hair like a real Southern lady now," Septa Mordane barely looked up from her stitches as she spoke to Sansa. The auburn haired woman bristled, before nodding. Over the past few weeks, it seemed that Sansa became more and more adapted to the South in both her hairstyles and clothing. Lyra had yet to make that transition, her hair still in the traditional braids of the North.
It made her feel better, and closer, to her brothers and mother.
"Well, why should I not? We are in the South," The indignant tone in Sansa's voice made Lyra come to the realization that her younger sister was aiming for an argument. It had been too quiet as of late.
"It is important to remember where you come from. I am not sure your mother would like these new styles," Lyra caught eyes with Tylar, who was trying to discreetly turn on his heels and disappear back into the corridor. Lyra met his eyes, shaking her head as Tylar scowled.
"My mother is not from the North," Sansa seemed to be being especially annoyed that day, as Tylar scowled and slumped back against the wall. It seemed to have only taken Tylar Cassel three weeks to become completely bored with the arguments that Sansa and Arya like to instigate with one another. It had taken Arah four, though she hid it better.
"I am aware of that," Septa Mordane had placed her embroidery down to talk to the auburn haired teen.
"Why do you care? Do you even have hair under there?" Lyra's eyes widened, as she spun around to look at her sister.
"Sansa!" The auburn haired girl sent Lyra a mildly regretful look, dropping her head. "Mind your tone."
Sansa reluctantly apologized, before starting to talk with Septa Mordane about hair and where the older woman was from.
