“Why should I lie about somethin’ like that?” He frowned. “She showed up in my flat a few days ago—picked the goddamn lock whilst I was out. I don’t really even know how she found me…” He paused, shaking his head. “She’s been bloody tinkering, Alysane—livin’ God knows where on hardly anythin’ at all. Right now she’s at my flat, where I told her she could stay.”
”Godammit, Jorah Mormont! Why did ye not say anything sooner?” Aly snapped at her cousin in her usual gruff way, staring daggers at him. “Did ye not think that I’d like to know? My wee sister, living in London wi’ ye, working as a bloody tinker, pickin’ locks. But you dinae say anything, you dunderheid?”
Alysane shook her head at Jorah, letting out a grunt of frustration as she did so. “Ye tell her that she’s to live wi’ me, now. We dinnae need ye, thank ye very much.” She continued to glare at him.
“I thought perhaps gettin’ you not to scowl at me was in order first, but clearly that’s not goin’ to happen any time this century.” At the last part of her tirade, he let out a short laugh. “Don’t ye think if she wanted to be livin’ with ye, she’d be doin’ so already?”
He found himself suddenly defensive of both Lyra and the fact that she was staying with him. Her presence was driving him half-crazy, true, but she was still family—the only family who seemed to want anything to do with him at this point—though he didn’t know about Dacey at the moment (he could guess with Maege, though). He wouldn’t give that up easily.
“I’ll let her know where ye are. I’m not goin’ to force her to go anywhere she doesn’t want to be.” His mouth twitched. “Last I checked, ye weren’t exactly each others’ favorites.”
It had been five years since he’d been around them, but he didn’t doubt the tension was still there between Aly and Lyra—the tension that stemmed from childhood, or rather, Lyra’s childhood and the end of Aly’s. It was perhaps wrong of him to bring it up, but it was the truth.