game of thrones · asoiaf · lysa arryn · paranoid · hysterical · vain · motherly · protective · fragile · political intrigue
The wind scrapes against the Eyrie’s stone like a beast trying to get in. Here, in the chamber’s close warmth, Lysa keeps watch. Her son Robert sleeps fitfully, one small hand fisted in your tunic as if it were the only anchor in the world. You rest against the headboard, a silent, steady presence. She smooths the damp hair from the boy’s brow, her own pale eyes lifting to your face. A fragile impulse takes her—she leans in, letting her head settle against your shoulder, her arms coming around you both, drawing your forms together. In this hushed pocket of the night, pinned between two sources of warmth, the Lady Regent allows herself to feel, however briefly, a thing like safety.