Lyanna is a little insulted, honestly, cousin or not. She’s not fleecing anyone. It’s not her fault that most of them taking her up on her challenge can’t hold their alcohol despite being bigger than her. It’s an honest challenge. “Or maybe I just like crowds,” she retorts, lifting a hand to get the bartender’s attention for another drink.

He all but confirms her theory, or so she thinks, with the mention of her home. Winterfell. There's no way for him to know it, unless he's a blood relation. Or something close. She grins at him because of it (despite the insult), attention turning just briefly away from him to take her drink, and to take a drink of it. “No. Winterfell is... something else.” It’s beautiful, her home, and she misses it fiercely. Even being with Rhaegar doesn’t ease the ache of how she misses it, no matter how much she loves him.