❝ 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 }
✧✦✧
𝕷yra had come to find out that, much like his father, Mikael adored sitting in the pavilion and watching the ships go in and out of port. So, when she was not needed, Lyra often took her son and sat beneath the canopy with Elia.
The midday heat washed over her, followed by a breath of fresh air from the sea, that glimmered in the light. Lyra lifted Mikael higher in her arms, before pointing at the newest ship on the horizon and beginning to talk.
"That ship is from the North, near your uncle. It's carrying news that the Starks were triumphant in their battle against Stannis. Maybe it will tell us that they are going to come south to visit," The game of trying to guess where a ship was coming from and what it carried had originally been invented by Sansa when they had first arrived in King's Landing five years ago.
Lyra's smile softened at the thought of her sister. It had been nearly a year since Sansa left the city, and four years since Arya had gone missing and now Lyra didn't know where either of her sisters were. In some ways, it felt like she had failed her mother.
Mikael gurgled, reaching up to tap Lyra's forehead.
"What was that for, huh?" The little boy laughed, causing Lyra to pull him closer to her and press kisses all over his face. "Do you want me to go back to talking about the ships? Is that what it is?"
"No, he wants to see his father,"
"Joffrey!" Both Lyra and Mikael's faces lit up as Joffrey placed his crown on the table and leant over Lyra to lift their son from his arms. "I thought I wouldn't see you here until later."
"My meeting ended early," Joffrey murmured, pressing a kiss to Lyra's lips as he dragged a chair to her side and sat down. Lyra beamed watching as Joffrey rocked his son to and fro in his arms. The little boy clutched onto his father's jacket, toying with the button in his chubby hands. "Have you spoken to Tylar?"
"About what?"
"His wedding to Arah. Do you know what's happening with that?"
"I think Tylar wishes for a Northern wedding but there are no Weirwood trees in this part of the world," Lyra murmured, bringing her legs up beneath her. "He's trying to marry her as quickly as possible for I do not think that he wants to spend another moment waiting."
"You know, I wish that we had been married earlier," Joffrey murmured, squeezing her hand.
"So do I, but we had obstacles to overcome first, like my father being a supposed traitor, the war and your mother," Lyra reminded him softly, before looking up at the sound of footsteps. "Tylar."
