(OOC: The brackets << >> denote Valyrian, in this case lysene dialect.)
The ambience felt as heavy as the bones of the late Balerion. Lysara of Lys stood perfectly still, not making eye contact with the sovereign. She could hear the subtle shuffling of his brother's limbs, fists clenched in tension. But she needed to dare risk herself in this given opportunity. Through his brother, her words could reach one of the most influential women of the world and her king. Even if King Jon was a great individual, it was no doubt that it was she, the Mother of Dragons, the true head of the Seven Kingdoms.

What she heard made her felt reassured, and in the same span of time, dread. "Your Grace is well informed." She answered to Queen Daenerys answer. "Indeed, our mother was a Rogare." [i]Even if I never met her myself.[/i] She continued mentally. What were the chances of the Queen knowing the rest of her...peculiar family story? Mayhaps even they could even feel the need to enact justice by blood.

But no, the rulers of Westeros had other plans. Plans she could abide by, and that rowed in her direction. She performed an elegant curtsy. "You are most generous, your Grace. I shall serve her to the best of my humble skill." Lysara added. After all, catering to the wishes of a princess was probably as close to the Targayens and the legends of dragons as she would ever be. Her eyes rested on Seran, who no doubt had been cast an unfavorable lot. Perhaps this was the manner to claim back their generosity. 

But if there was doubt and concern in Seran's soul, he chose not to show it, simply nodding. "Stepstones shall it be then, your Grace." He added, by offering a curtsy. Other people, many people would join him in the campaign, and the prospect looked glum, but the silver thread that her sister had caught invigorated him. Even if the Queen had a fit of the proverbial Targayen madness and ordered him to march upon the Doom of Valyria, he would not have minded.

After all, the egg and Lysara were safe. Sort of.

Once they were dismissed, Seran walked half in a daze, with tired small steps. The tiredness of the fights, and the fast pace of events stunned him. It was only when a pair of hands grabbed his forearm, and tugged from him. Spinning almost without resistance, his face met that of his unmasked sister.

<<"That turned out alright.">> Lysara said, giggling slightly. <<"Step by step, we're doing our thing, aren't we?">>

Seran just offered a tired smile. <<"You're not going to the Stepstones. I have an inkling even Ser Aerion Goldfyre has doubts about the place.">> The Essosi replied as both of them went to the side of a hallway of the keep, to have a little chat.<<"Many of these Westerosi are thrilled about the glory of the fight, but I can see it being a huge mess.">> 

It was then when the hand of the younger sister reached for her brother's face, caressing one of many scars. <<"Try to survive brother. Don't...chase after the glory. There will be more chances.">>. The younger of the Lyseni siblings frowned.<<"This will be the first time we will part. Will you be okay?">>.

<<"It will be fine. Despite that tool of Master-at-arms, we still have Aerion and his troop. He has fought there before aswell. But I could say the same about you.">> Seran added, voicing his concern. <<"I can see this is a place of hidden daggers">> Seran added, clasping his sister's hand in his own.

<<"We are from Lys, brother. This can't be worse than that.">> Lysara giggled, as she let go of his brother. <<"Now shoo, we've got many things to do. Get the things out of the inn. Even that stupid magpie of yours.">> Lysara added, as she hurried her brother, who then started to distance from her sister.

Lysara sighed, and rested in the hallway, thinking on how was the best manner to present herself to the princess. Leaning against a solid wall was nice. Due to her former mercenary trade, tents could rarely be used for such purposes.