❝ 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...
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
{ Lyra }
✧✦✧
𝕬rah remained quiet as she helped Lyra get ready for the day. It did not take a Maester to conclude that something bad was going to happen at this hearing today, in fact that was written all over Lyra's face. She could barely hide it, no matter how much she tried.
"My Lady?" Lyra looked up, her face sunken and pale. Arah sighed, before placing the hairbrush down, as she patted some rouge onto the teenager's cheek. The queen would not want her to seem like a corpse. "It will all work out in the end, you'll see."
Lyra attempted a smile, before standing up and smoothing her dress out. She could not wear black, as it would alert all that she knew of what was going to happen, so instead she had to pick a colour that showed that she was hopeful for her father's release. The pale yellow was the opposite of all her thoughts. Tylar opened the door for her, gnawing his lip in worry as he watched the teenager. Lyra just swept past him, waiting for Sansa to emerge.
The auburn girl appeared moments later, sliding an arm through Lyra's, as Tylar led them down to the main courtyard of the Red Keep, and then down into the centre of the city. The great Sept of Baelor loomed above them, as they ascended the dais to stand next to Cersei and Joffrey.
Joffrey also looked like he had not slept at all, but he was hiding it infinitely better than Lyra was. There were dark circles beneath his eyes, but he stood calm and strong in the centre of the writhing crowd as if nothing fazed him. Lyra managed to catch his eye, but found that her betrothed's face did not change.
Lyra turned at that, looking back out across the sea of people, trying to focus on something other than the mob beneath them that screamed for her father's head. Glancing at the statue of Baelor the Blessed, Lyra did a double take at the sight of a young girl crouching at the bottom of it. She could recognize that face anywhere.
Arya Stark was holding onto Baelor the Blessed's legs, watching what was going on with wide eyes. The girl did not look too badly bruised, or bloody, but she seemed terrified. Lyra locked her gaze with the girl, shaking her head slowly. Arya didn't want, or need, to see this. The girl's eyes widened, before Lyra watched as she disappeared from view.
The crowd had gotten louder, as Lyra watched her father be dragged onto the dais. Sansa reached down, threading her hand through Lyra's, as the pair tried to bring some comfort in one another. Their father looked horrible, with dried up blood on his head, and his cheeks sunken in. This was not the father that Lyra knew and love. This was a mere ghost of that man.
