Chapter Text
King's Landing had been suspiciously calm when Tywin returned. When he entered the red keep, he expected to see the finger prints of the so called 'southern traitor' everywhere he looked. After all, the northern rebellion had drawn Tywin away from the capitol. If the traitor meant to work any mischief, his absence would have provided the perfect opportunity.
But there was nothing visibly wrong. Kevan had been advising Tommen properly, and his grandson had carried himself well as king, alongside his queen Margaery Tyrell. The people of King's Landing seemed to favor them, especially because of the short winter. The common folk said the gods had blessed Tommen's reign with an early spring. Foolish as that prospect was, it did decrease the repugnant incestuous rumors about Jaime and Cersei. After all, would the gods bless the reign of a king born of such sin?
The gods do not bless or curse, Tywin thought. They watch and do nothing and let the world run as it pleases.
Regardless, the southern traitor was clearly not trying to destabilize Tommen's reign. Rather, they were targeting Tywin, and though he had a rather long list of enemies, there were very few who would openly tangle with him.
He had considered the possibility that either Varys or Pycelle could be the traitor. After all, Littlefinger had proved treacherous. Why not the others on the small council? But Pycelle had always been particularly loyal to the Lannisters and had helped Tywin to overthrow the Targaryens. And Varys...he was too intelligent to place his hope in the Freys and the Boltons. If the spider wanted to move against Tywin, he would have picked a better horse.
Then there were the Tyrells. As the Lannister's principal rival in Westeros, it was not so strange to consider that they were trying to gain a tighter grip on the realm. Margaery Tyrell was queen, but Olenna Tyrell was not the type to settle for merely that. If the Tyrells wanted to expand their reach then Tywin was squarely in her way. Perhaps Lady Olenna had engineered this to make the Lannisters more reliant on the large and rested Tyrell armies. Or to get Tywin out of King's Landing for a time so that Margaery could dig her talons further into Tommen.
But that would be an extreme measure. Even if Olenna knew that Tywin favored Arya and guessed that he planned to match her to his son, he doubted she would target the Stark girl or the north. Still, he would not dismiss her as a possibility either.
The Brotherhood without Banners could have played a part, but they did not have the connections or the resources to truly help the Boltons in their foolish rebellion. So they were perhaps the most unlikely choice.
Then, the Dornish came to mind. They had refused to come to the royal wedding and had made no attempt to hide their hatred of Tywin ever since Robert's Rebellion. No one had more cause to hate him than the vipers of Dorne, and they were plotters by nature. They could have done this to provoke Tywin. But then again, would they have known to target Arya? Would they have known of the match between her and Jaime? That was unlikely. They also had no reason to target the north. The Starks had played no part in the deaths of their family. Ned Stark was the only one who had spoken against it.
No one quite seemed the perfect fit for the traitor, and the question of the culprit consumed Tywin's mind. Seven hells, he wished now more than ever that they were able to pull a name from one of the Boltons. It even crossed his mind that there was no southern traitor. Roose Bolton could have offered a name only to try to make peace with Tywin. But maybe he had acted on his own, with the Freys, with no aid at all from the south. Perhaps his spies had discovered Arya's betrothal to Jaime.
There was no way to be sure. Tywin would have to set the spider to the task of rooting out the culprit before it drove him mad.
He was thinking of that very issue when Jaime arrived in his office, his clothing still flecked with mud from the road. That was a relief at least. One less problem to occupy his mind.
"So, you've returned," Tywin said. "I hope that Arya is with you and not missing again."
"Yes, father, she's here, as promised," Jaime said. "But there are quite a few stairs to your tower. Climbing all of them would hardly be good for her health."
Tywin nodded once, not allowing himself to look relieved at all. Finally, Arya was back in King's Landing where he could keep a closer eye on her. "How is her health?"
"Better," Jaime said. "She can stand and walk now without much trouble. Within another moon's turn, I believe she'll be back to normal. Physically at least."
"Physically," Tywin repeated.
Jaime looked away, his jaw tight. "She has...told me some of her trials when she was a captive. It will be some time before that bastard stops stalking her dreams."
Tywin's grip tightened on his quill and he tapped the dry tip irritably against the paper. Yes, he imagined that was the case. Ever since her rescue, Arya Stark had a new haunted look about her that she wore like a thin veil-barely visible but present.
"I have a request," Jaime said. "To postpone the wedding a bit longer. Just until she has more time to get her bearings. I can't imagine her being the center of attention right now. She might take out some poor nobleman's eye."
Tywin exhaled. "I already meant to postpone the wedding until Robb Stark regains a steady hold on the north. His presence is crucial to showing Westeros our new alliance. That will give her time enough to heal, don't you think?"
Jaime hesitated then nodded. "Yes...it should."
"Are you hoping to escape this match again?" Tywin asked.
"It isn't that. Though I'm sure Arya would be relieved if she could," Jaime said. "I was concerned for her. That's all."
Yes. Concerned. Jaime had been concerned about Arya for quite some time now. At one time or another, he had helped her out of obligation. Now there was something personal about it. Perhaps his son and ward both resented the idea of marriage but neither resented each other. Tywin would not have cared if they had, but he supposed it did help that their apparent friendship had warmed so much over the past few years.
"And the traitor?" Jaime asked at last. "Any ideas?"
Tywin shook his head, turning his gaze to the window. "No. Nothing certain anyway. Be on your guard. Tell Arya to do the same."
"I don't have to tell her," Jaime said with a wry smile. "She never takes her guard off."
It was warm and clear on the day that Arya returned to King's Landing, and she found herself wandering the gardens. If Bran was certain of a false spring, it did not show itself here. It was actually rather nice to feel the warmth of the sunlight, and after so many months of being locked in a single room, she preferred to be outdoors.
As she walked, she flipped her knife in hand. Grand Maester Pycelle had checked her wounds after she returned and recommended that she still not exert herself. But she could move her hands easily enough without causing any harm. So she twirled her knife between her fingers, trying to make up for all of the practice she had lost while she was captive.
It was comforting to have easy access to a blade again. At least if anyone attacked her, she would have a chance.
She rounded the corner and caught a flash of golden armor some distance away. Kingsguard. And with them, she recognized Tommen and Margaery, out for a stroll in the gardens. For a moment, Arya did not move, wondering if she should say hello. But then she stepped back, hoping to disappear into the shadows again. She was not sure she wanted to meet with them again when she was still recovering.
But before Arya could fully duck behind the hedges, Tommen turned and caught a glimpse of her out of the corner of his eye. A smile split his face. "Lady Arya!"
Arya stilled and swallowed hard. Well, seven hells. I should have been quicker. She forced a smile as he and Margaery approached, clasping her hands behind her back to hide her fingers and her knife. "My king. My queen. I...apologize for not already coming to find you."
"No need to apologize for that." Margaery rested a hand on her arm. "We are simply glad to see you well. We heard so many awful rumors when you were in the north. It was a relief to hear that you were alive."
"Yes," Arya said, heat rising to her cheeks at the idea of the court passing around rumors about her. She hated to think what those rumors might say. "I am alive."
"And King's Landing is welcoming you back," Margaery said. "Perhaps the gods created this beautiful day just for you."
"I rather doubt it, your grace," Arya said. "But I appreciate the sun none the less."
Margaery smiled. Arya never could tell what the woman really thought of her because she was so adept with her courtesies. "Well, you simply must join us for some tea. I know Tommen would be delighted to have you. Then perhaps you can set a few of these rumors straight for us."
Arya did not want to do that. She did not want to tell Margaery or sweet Tommen anything about what had happened to her. Neither one of them had faced much hardship in their lives. Neither one of them had really seen war. How could she bring herself to explain any of it?
And yet, she knew she could not refuse, and Tommen did look so pleased by the idea of her joining them. So she set her mouth in a smile and dipped into a sort curtsy.
"Of course. I would be delighted."
"There were rumors you lost all of your fingers," Margaery observed, pouring Arya some tea. "But I can see that is not true."
"No. I only lost two. It seems the rumors exaggerate," Arya said.
"Two is a lot, when it comes to fingers," Tommen said. He studied her mangled hand. "Does it...still hurt?"
"No, not anymore," Arya said. "This is one of my oldest wounds. It healed some time ago, and I am beginning to get used to it's new shape."
"If it would help, we could have some false fingers made for you," Tommen said. "Perhaps you could wear them like a glove. Uncle Jaime has a fake hand, why shouldn't you have fake fingers?"
"As long as they aren't golden, I wouldn't object," Arya said.
"No, not golden. Silver," Margaery said. "That would suit you well."
"Or simple metal. Steel perhaps," Arya said. "Something practical would suit me fine. But to be honest, I hadn't thought of getting new fingers. I use my left hand more than my right."
"That is lucky," Tommen said. "Are you still good with your knife?"
"Of course I am," Arya said. "And ready to protect you if ever you need my help again, your grace."
Tommen smiled. "Lately, I have not needed much protection. The people are in good spirits. Much better spirits than when Joffrey was king."
"Because Joffrey was a terrible king," Arya said. "Of course they are happier for you. You are a kind person."
Tommen flushed slightly and looked down at his lap. "Kind people do not always make good kings either."
"That sounds like something from your grandfather," Arya sighed. "I can almost hear it in his voice."
"It is," Tommen said. "I hear you two are speaking again. Did you resolve your conflict?"
Arya pulled at the fingers of her right hand. "Well, we both quietly agreed to forget that it happened."
Tommen raised an eyebrow. "And that counts as solving it?"
"Like you said. We're speaking," Arya said.
"That's good," Tommen said. "He was very worried about you. When he received the letter from the Boltons he was absolutely furious. He requested permission to leave the capitol but he would have gone if I said 'no' or not." Tommen shivered. "Not that I would ever tell him no."
"The Boltons and the Freys challenged him," Arya said. "He doesn't like being challenged."
"No. And he didn't like them threatening you either," Tommen said.
Arya nodded once, sipping her tea. It was a strange thing that Tywin did seem to genuinely favor her, even after their great argument. It was so strange that it had been easier for Arya to deny it. But how could she really do that after everything that had happened in the north?
"And how is your sister?" Margaery asked. "She may have mentioned her correspondence with my grandmother."
"She did," Arya said. "Your brother Willas...what is he like?"
"Oh, he's a wonderful older brother. Very kind and gentle," Margaery said. "He used to be quite good at riding before the accident. Now everything physical is a bit more difficult for him. But he's still as good as he was before it happened."
"That's good," Arya said. "If he is to marry my sister then-"
A shadow fell over Arya and a sudden burst of panic shot through her body. The teacup slipped from her fingers and she whipped around, drawing her knife in one smooth motion. But she found only a handmaid behind her, bringing more cakes. The young woman's eyes widened when Arya started and she backed away a few steps, curtsying in apology. "Forgive me, my lady."
"No," Arya said softly, relaxing her grip. "Forgive me."
Slowly she looked back at Tommen and Margaery, who were looking at her with the same surprised expression. Shame flushed through Arya's body and she stood abruptly.
"I...I'm feeling ill. I think I should return to my room. I'm sorry."
Then she started away before they could reply.
Arya really did feel sick as she walked away. For all of the time she had spent healing and coping with her terrible memoires, there was still so much weakness in her. She had flinched a simple shadow, and in front of Tommen and Margaery no less.
No. She wasn't going to accept this any longer. Perhaps she could not yet fight, but there were other ways that she could train. And she would train as much as she needed to feel strong again.
Arya forced herself up the steps to the tower of the hand. She stopped once near the top to catch her breath, but other than that, she felt no real pain at the walk. It gratified her to be able to do that much and she could not wait for the day when she would be able to run and fight again.
She stepped into the chamber of the hand and closed the door behind her. Lord Tywin was writing, like he often did, and it took him a moment to notice her. When he did, he carefully set down his quill.
"How did the stairs treat you?"
"They didn't kill me," Arya replied. "Soon I will be able to return to my practice with my swords."
"I'm sure you will," Tywin said. "But you clearly came with a purpose today."
Arya lifted her chin. She aware of doing it, but she didn't lower her head again. Just for today, she would allow herself the nervous tick. "You want me to marry Jaime...which means you want me as the Lady of Casterly Rock after you die. Correct?"
"Correct," Tywin said.
"Well I know little to nothing about the west or its lords or its people," Arya said. "I know the north like the back of my hand, and all its families and sigils. But the west is foreign to me. If I become its lady, I have little knowledge of how to rule it."
"Perhaps I am depending on Jaime to rule," Tywin said.
"Then you could have given him any wife," Arya said. "But you didn't. You chose me and you seem very set on that choice."
"I don't make a habit of changing by decisions," Tywin said. "Why this sudden desire to learn?"
Arya's jaw clenched. "I...When I was a prisoner..." She paused for a moment to gather her thoughts. "When I was a prisoner I realized that my power has always rested on the power of other people. When my father was alive, people treated me well because I was a Stark of Winterfell. And after I became your ward, people mostly let me alone because they did not want to insult you. When I met with someone who didn't care about that...my strength failed and I couldn't do anything. Because the Boltons didn't fear me. Just you." She clenched her fists. "I'm not willing to rest on that anymore. If people respect me or fear me...I want it to be because of my name and my abilities alone. Not because of my father. Not because of Jaime. Not because of you. I need to find my own power."
Tywin was silent for a long while as he considered this. He tapped one long finger absently against the desk and Arya felt her nerves rise in the silence. Why was he so damn fond of silences?
"I always intended to teach you," Tywin said. "But it happens that soon after I engaged you to my son, you came to my office to shout at me and then did not return for the better part of a year."
Arya's eyes narrowed. "You were ignoring me too."
"I didn't say I wasn't," Tywin said. "Fortunately, that...disagreement is behind us." He steepled his fingers. "I have many other responsibilities as hand of the king and they occupy most of my day, but in the free hours...I will teach you what you need to know."
Arya exhaled. Good. This was exactly the sort of distraction that she needed until she was well enough to fight. "Thank you, my lord." She shifted from foot to foot. "Can we start now?"
A shadow of a smile passed over his face and he nodded at the bookshelf. "Fetch the book with the golden spine on the middle shelf. It contains a detailed history of the Westerlands. That's where you start."
Arya nodded and hurried to fetch the book. Then she settled herself in the corner of his office and began reading.
So long as she was forced into this position, she would train to do it well. And she would train to one day surpass even Tywin Lannister. Right now, people did not harm her because they feared him. But she wanted people to fear her for her name and her name alone.
It was time to find power of her own.
Cersei was furious by the Bolton's failure. Whether or not they won their little rebellion was of no consequence to her. But they could have, at the very least, made Arya Stark useless to her father. They could have married her to a Frey or a Bolton. It didn't matter. All that mattered was that she couldn't marry Jaime. They could have killed her, and Cersei would not have cried a tear.
But Arya Stark lived on, unmarried, injured but recovering. The only bright spot in all of this was that the Boltons had not given up Cersei's name. According to her sources, Roose Bolton had only told her father that there was a traitor in the south. She did not like him having even that much information, but there were plenty of snakes in the capitol.
Still, even that small bit of knowledge meant that she had to keep quiet for a while. If she acted so soon after the Bolton's failure, she would become a suspect. It was better that her family forget she exist for a while as they scrambled to find the traitor. Perhaps another unfortunate fellow would be blamed.
Her father wouldn't suspect her easily. He had a blind spot when it came to his children. He didn't understand a single one of them, but he also didn't want to believe them capable of moving against him. That was the only reason he had never discovered her affair with Jaime. Willful ignorance. She could count on that to protect her here if she did not do anything stupid. She merely had to save her other plans for the right moment.
And when the time came, she would pluck the Stark weed out of her family. Then everything would be as it should again.