Lyarra sighed softly and ran a hand over her skirts to straighten them. She once again checked to see if her hair had remained securely tied. A hum of pleasure made its way past her lips at the discovery that not a single strand was out of place.

The door of her bedchamber opened to admit her husband. Lyarra offered him a smile by way of greeting. She felt his eyes roam her form, but did not acknowledge it with anything more than a rather long blink. Having added the last touches to her appearance, Lyarra, pleased with herself, turned fully towards Tywin for one last inspection.

"Very good," her husband said, his appreciative gaze sliding to the curve of her waist. "I shall see you later." Not a demonstrative men, Tywin could do with just touched his hand to hers briefly and then returning to his duties. But Lyarra would not let him go until she had curled her fingers around his hand and squeezed it with affection.

Having no words to give him, Lyarra allowed her husbands to be on his way. She herself was to meet the Queen in Maegor's holdfast and keep her company. Lyarra did not mind it much, truth be told. Rhaella Targaryen was not outgoing, not cheerful, but with a husband like hers, one needn't wonder why. The poor dear was abused frequently and visibly and no one could do a thing for her. Not as long as her madman of a husband clung to life as tightly as a rat would to a piece of cheese. Eventually, one cat or another would catch that rat. The thought put a smile upon Lyarra's slips as she walked through the corridors, making her way to where she knew the Queen could be found.

The stern Septas that never left her side were ever-present, their frowning faces sour enough to curdle milk. It had to be the fact that they were dry husks inside which accounted for their general unpleasantness. Lyarra did not acknowledge them even with a nod. The Queen might be too weary to show any disrespect, but she would double her efforts to vex those hateful, spiteful creatures.

"Your Majesty," Lyarra greeted the other woman softly, falling into a deep curtsey. She would also strive to show Rhaella that she mattered. "May I join you?"

Looking up from her embroidery, the Queen dared a small smile and a nod of her head. Her eyes were red and puffy. Lyarra had to wonder if the King had availed himself of his husbandly rights the previous night. She didn't dare ask the question though. It was one thing to show kindness and quite another to be foolish. Instead of offering comfort, Lyarra began discussing various subjects, from the latest fashion to the famine predicted by some Maester or another whose name she could not recall.

It was likely the only news the Queen ever got, as her two gaoler did not seem much inclined to make conversation with her. "I have heard," she began, a small smile playing on her lips, "that Your Majesty's son has turned nine and ten. Congratulations." She went on to recount that she had heard the Prince was skilled with the high harp.

"Indeed. He much enjoys playing that instrument," Rhaella confirmed, beaming proudly at the other woman. "Have you had the chance to hear him?"

"Unfortunately not." Lyarra had made the acquaintance of the prince, but there had rarely ever been any occasion upon which to linger by his side. But as she spoke, a seed was planted in her heart. "But perhaps, if Your Majesty were to visit at my lord husband's seat, we might make a concert of it." She dearly hoped that Lyanna and Cersei had been practicing like they'd been instructed.

"Oh, I know not," the Queen said, an unsure look upon her face. "His Majesty might not permit it."

His Majesty would not permit it indeed, Lyarra found later from her husband. At least not at first. But, due to some miracle – Lyarra was suspicious of ant any rate – the King did bend his will. He would permit his wife to attend as well as his son, but he himself would preside over the small gathering.

For the next few days, Lyarra could be found running from the godswood to the Sept and praying, praying, praying. Not only for her daughter, but for the Queen and the realm also.

"I should like to have fish," she told her lord husband as they retired for the night, just a few days before they were to depart. "At the banquet, my lord. Fish is very good." It also had bones, Many tiny bones. Well, a lady could hope.

"We shall see," Tywin replied. But as his hand slid to her slightly rounded middle, Lyarra knew that her wish would not be completely disregarded. And that was quite enough to put her in a good mood.

"I have written to let them know of our return and the minimal preparations which must be made," she assured her husband as his fingers stroked her waist. She shifted slightly as he brushed over a ticklish spot. "It is wise though?"

"Even it weren't, the matter is settled," Tywin offered. He soon left her to her rest, insisting that her state required long hours of sleep. But Lyarra could not find her peace. Something churned inside of her and it was most definitely not the fruit of her labour between the sheets.

Yet, as there was naught to be done, she had little choice but to close her eyes and forced herself to drift off to sleep. She had done the best within her power and that ought to be enough, she thought just as she was falling into a deep slumber. A mother's duty, Lyarra would remind herself later, in a congratulatory manner too, was to ensure the happiness of her children, no matter how she went about it.

Waking with the dawn, while not pleasant, was very efficient in that it allowed Lyarra many hours to think on her options and considers what steps were to be taken. And so she did.