Chapter 9: The Brothers Lannister

While Arya was a hostage, she was allowed a certain amount of freedom. She did not have a guard standing over her at every hour of the day, for instance. They guarded her door at night, but left her be otherwise. She had asked Tywin why this was shortly after her arrival.

" Why am I not under constant watch?"

" Would you like to be?"

" No, that's… that's not what I mean. What if I tried to escape?"

Tywin had gotten an almost amused gleam in his eye at this. "And put your family in danger? Would you really do such a thing, Lady Stark?"

Arya understood the message loud and clear. She was here to keep her family in line, but Tywin also meant to use them to keep her in line. If she did escape, he might decide to strike first before the North could rise up again. She would never give him an excuse to do that, so she would stay within the castle walls.

Besides her nighttime guards, she had a handmaid named Shae. She was pretty and her accent hinted that she came from across the narrow sea. She had served Sansa during her stay at King's Landing.

At first, Arya did not trust her. She thought she must be a spy from the queen, designated to keep an eye on any Stark girl within the keep. Sansa was gone and now her assignment was Arya.

But Shae was too free with her words to be one of Cersei's spies. Cersei would only employ those who acted like perfect ladies. But Shae spoke her mind.

"Your hair is too short for me to do anything," she said. "Short like a boy's."

"Then don't do anything to it," Arya said. "I can brush it myself you know."

"Then what work would I have to do?" Shae asked, picking up the brush and combing through Arya's tangles. She winced. "Will you grow it out?"

"I expect they'll want me too."

"Who's they?"

"The Lannisters," Arya said. "I'm a ward of their house. I'm sure they'll want me to play a little lady."

"Your sister had to do the same," Shae acknowledged.

"Sansa doesn't have to play at being a perfect lady. She is," Arya protested.

"She's a lady maybe. But it's hard to be perfect in a place where your family died." She raked her brush through a particularly difficult tangle and Arya winced. "Your sister had a difficult time here."

Arya glanced down from her reflection in the mirror, feeling a rush of guilt. Of course, Sansa had a difficult time here. Lady or not, she must have wanted to claw the kings eyes out or throttled Cersei with her bare hands.

"She's better at pretending," she said at last. "I've never been very good at it."

"Then learn," Shae said.

She could learn to play the role with practice, but that did not mean she had to be totally docile.

In her visit to the Chamber of the Hand, Arya made note of Tywin's many boxes and knew, in her heart, that needle must be somewhere in side. She memorized the times in which he went to the small council meetings with his guards. She memorized the opportunities when the chamber of the hand was left open.

He never left anything sensitive lying about. He finished his letters when he began writing them and sent them off shortly afterwards. It was not his letters that she wanted anyway, but a possession of hers that he kept safely tucked away somewhere. In the short window of time she had, she searched the boxes. When she found nothing, she was always careful to put everything back exactly the way she found it. Until one day, she clasped Needle's hilt in her hand again.

She let out a breath of relief and drew her sword from the trunk. Then she carefully shifted the other belongings to make sure everything looked organized again.

She scurried down the hall with needle stuffed down the back of her dress. She would have to find her own hiding place for her sword, but at least she could have it near. To hold Jon's gift to her again… it made her feel just a little closer to home.

Arya could not hide needle in her own room. That would be too obvious a place and she could not deny having stolen it then. Besides, her room was no place to practice swordplay. It was far too small to really drill without knocking into furniture. And she could not very well carry her sword with her every day when she practiced.

Fortunately, she knew of a place where few people went. That was why her father had chosen it for her dancing lessons-so that no one would know. Arya retraced the familiar halls back to the place where Syrio used to teach her. This room was large and empty-open to the air. There were gaps in the stone, just large enough to fit needle. She could cover the gap with some of the old crates that had been rotting in the corner for ages.

Then when she needed to practice, she could always find her sword.

Arya stepped carefully across the stone floor, turning needle in hand. If she closed her eyes, she could imagine Syrio standing before her, chiding her for her lack of practice.

You must practice every day, or your body forgets. When your body forgets, it stumbles when you need it most. And you die.

His voice was so clear in her head. She could remember almost every word he ever said to her.

What do we say to the god of death?

"Not today," Arya whispered.

Good. Begin.

Arya started with the basics. The footwork. She practiced all of the forms again. Her body had not yet forgotten the stances, even though some of them were clumsy. She had little time to practice as a prisoner. When the footwork felt sound again, she added needle to the mix. She lunged and stabbed, then retreated. She blocked one strike, then a second. She imagined she was fighting Merryn Trant, the man who had killed Syrio. She was back in this room on that day, but this time she did not run. She fought with Syrio and beat the soldiers back.

Not today. Not today.

She stabbed out at another opponent, then spun around. Her blade clanged off of another sword. A real sword, with a real owner.

Ser Jaime Lannister smirked down at her. "Should you have a sword, Lady Arya?"

Arya paled and stepped back a few feet, hiding needle behind her back, as if he hadn't already seen it. "It's mine. I didn't steal it."

"I believe you. You're clearly familiar with the weapon," Jaime said. "But it must have been taken from you when you were caught."

Arya swallowed hard. "Please… don't tell your father."

"Ah," Jaime nodded knowingly. "So you stole it back from him."

"I didn't steal-it is mine ."

"Yours or not, he's going to notice eventually."

"Then let him find out eventually and not now ."

Jaime laughed once. Laughter came easier to him than it did to his father. "What do you want with a sword, my lady? Planning to skewer someone with it?"

"No, that would be stupid," Arya said. "Everyone would know it was me. I just…" She lifted her chin. "I wanted to practice again. It's been too long since I practiced."

"I see." Jaime circled around her, turning his sword in hand. "And what would you do with all of this practice? Do you plan to become a knight?"

Arya's eyes narrowed. "Don't mock me, ser."

"I'm not. You know, I was returned to my father by a woman who was close to a knight," Jaime said. Arya wondered for a moment if he was referring to Brienne, her sister's new guard. "Of course… she was taller than most men by quite a bit. You're much… smaller."

"I can be quick," Arya retorted.

"Undoubtedly," Jaime stopped in front of her again, raising his sword a bit. "Well, let's see how good you are."

Arya's grip tightened on needle, fearing some sort of trick. "I… I'm not sure…"

"I won't cut you," Jaime promised.

The slight challenge banished Arya's uncertainty. He doubted her skills. She could hear it. Her eyes narrowed and she raised her sword. "I won't cut you either."

Jaime grinned and stepped to the side. She mirrored him, keeping light on her feet. When he suddenly stepped in the other direction, she changed course.

"Your footwork is good," Jaime said.

"My teacher said footwork was one of the most important skills," Arya said. "It could make the difference between living and dead."

"Your teacher was right," Jaime said. His eyes seemed to flash and he flicked out his sword. Arya parried just in time. He struck out again and she blocked again. "He taught you reflexes too."

"Yes," Arya said. She realized Jaime was testing her abilities. He inherited that from his father at least. Everyone in this place always seemed to be testing her. "He also taught me never to underestimate an enemy, my lord."

Jaime raised an eyebrow. He heard the challenge loud and clear. "Best take his advice then," he said. He struck again.

This time, Jaime did not pause between blows. He rained strike after strike down on her as she blocked and dodged as fast as she could. She knew he was still holding back quite a lot, but at least he was giving her a challenge. The Kingslayer made it all look so easy. He was backing her up toward the wall.

Never let your enemy back you into a corner. That corner will become your grave.

She used her small size to her advantage, ducking under his next blow and spinning around him, away from the wall.

"Smart," Jaime said. "But do you plan on ducking and dodging forever? You won't win that way."

Arya's eyes narrowed as she avoided his next blow. Then she went for a lunge.

It was a mistake. Jaime was expecting the move and he caught her wrist, twisting her sword from her grasp. In the same motion he knocked her flat with the hilt of his blade and she gasped for breath as she hit the ground. The next thing she knew, he stood over her, his sword aimed at her neck.

"Don't let your opponent bait you into an attack," Jaime said. "Especially when you know they have more experience."

Arya released a breath. "My teacher said something similar once."

"You clearly had a good teacher." Jaime inspected needle. She felt nervous not having it in her hand. What if he took it? "You're quick and you're a small target. It helps make up for your weakness."

"It's not my fault I don't grow," Arya said.

"I didn't say it was. It's not your fault you were born a woman either." Jaime offered her a hand. She took it and he pulled her back to her feet. "You're about as good as I was at your age."

"Really?" Arya asked.

"Yes," Jaime said. "Smaller… but good. I didn't see a real battle until I was fifteen."

Arya dropped her gaze. She had already killed twice. And arranged the deaths of two others with Jaquen.

Jaime did not miss her look. "You've already had your first kill, haven't you?"

"Yes," Arya said. "A boy who wanted to turn me in when I first escaped from the keep. And a soldier who tried to take advantage of me while I was cupbearer to your father."

"Well…" Jaime offered her back needle. "Being willing to kill is half of the game of fighting. If you're not willing to take a life, your opponent will take yours. Simple as that."

Arya gratefully took her sword. He wasn't going to keep it then. She worried he might take it back to his father. "How… how did you find me here today, ser?"

"Oh I wasn't looking for you," Jaime said. "Actually, I was looking for somewhere quiet to practice. My skills have gotten rusty since I spent so long as your brother's prisoner. I didn't want to practice for everyone to see, so I came here."

"You don't seem rusty," Arya said.

Jaime smirked. "That's because I'm very good. Even out of practice, I'm better than most men. At my best, there are only a few men in the seven kingdoms who can match me."

"My teacher said arrogance is a costly flaw in battle," Arya said.

"It's not costly if it's true," Jaime paced around her, flipping his sword in hand a few times. "You know, your father could nearly match me. He killed Ser Arthur Dayne. He was very good."

"He didn't like you," Arya said.

Jaime smiled bitterly, slicing twice at the air. The sword seemed to weigh nothing in his hand. It was like an extension of his arm. Arya had always wanted to see Jaime Lannister fight up close when she was younger. She wanted to watch all of the great swordsmen of Westeros in battle. "No. Lord Eddard made that very clear."

"He said you were a man without honor."

"So have many others. That is why so many call me kingslayer."

"I didn't understand it," Arya admitted.

Jaime stopped in the mid swing, glancing over his shoulder. "What didn't you understand?"

"In the war, my father was fighting against the Mad King. He wanted to kill him for hurting our family. That's why the war started," Arya said. "But he said he did not like you because you killed the Mad King. It never made sense to me. He said I was too young to understand."

Jaime lowered his sword slowly. "And how did your father explain it to you?"

"He said you made a vow," Arya said. "A holy vow to protect the king. Which meant that was your duty no matter what, even if the king was mad. A man who breaks a vow cannot be trusted."

"That does sound like him," Jaime said. "Tell me, Lady Arya… were you in the city when your father was killed?"

Arya swallowed hard. Memories of that day welled up inside of her, burning through her chest. She was there and remembered every detail of the sept. Of the mob. Of Joffrey screaming for her father's death.

Bring me his head.

"Yes," she said at last. "I was watching from the statue of Baelor. Hiding amongst the mob."

"It must have been an awful day for you," Jaime said. "Imagine for a moment you were standing on that platform with your father. What would you have done if the king gave you the executioner's sword and bid you to bring him your father's head?"

Arya barred her teeth at the mere suggestion. "I would have killed the king instead. In an instant."

"What if you made a holy vow to do as the king said?" Jaime asked. "To protect the king… would that have made a difference?"

"No," Arya muttered. "If anyone had asked me to kill me father I would have cut them down. Vow or no vow."

Jaime smiled bitterly. "Then I suppose in my position… you would have made the same choice." Then, without another word, he turned and left her there.

Arya watched him go, confused by his response. Her father had said nothing of why Jaime killed the king. She assumed that he just didn't like Aerys and decided he did not want to serve him anymore.

Had the Mad King threatened his father? Had he asked Jaime to kill him?

She shook her head. It really didn't matter why Jaime Lannister killed the mad king. Her father was a good judge of people. If he said Jaime was dishonorable then he was. After all, he was a Lannister.

She could not allow weakness around him or anyone else.

She would learn from her father's mistakes.

Arya continued to accidentally run into Jaime over those next few months-sometimes in the halls and sometimes when she was practicing. When she did, it was hard not to speak to him. Her hatred of his family name mixed with her childhood fascination with great warriors, and her desire to learn from someone so gifted at swordplay. He did not discourage her practices, and in fact seemed intrigued by her dedication. Sometimes he sparred with her to test her out.

Try as she might, she could not hate him.

The same could be said for his younger brother Tyrion. The dwarf always made conversation with her when they happened to cross paths, always with a friendly smile on his face.

"Lady Stark. I see that you're still alive. My father has not bored you to death yet?"

He offered to teach her how to play Cyvasse, a game popular Dorne, in order to keep her entertained. He said it grew boring only playing against Bronn, his sell sword for hire who often traveled with him. Arya turned down the invitation the first time, but she longed for something else to fill her days and she accepted his second offer.

Better to know all the Lannisters well if I want to survive, Arya told herself.

Cyvasse was a game of strategy-a game of calculated risks and great rewards. One had to be smart in how they placed their pieces and be willing to make smart sacrifices if they wanted to win. It was something like a game of war but without the real bloodshed. Arya found it very stimulating and frustrating at the same time. Stimulating because she loved strategy-frustrating because Tyrion beat her every game.

"You are improving greatly, Lady Stark," Tyrion said after her latest defeat. "The matches last much longer now."

Arya sighed, plucking one of the extra pieces from the box. It was a king piece with a cracked crown. She wondered why he even kept the extra piece when it was damaged. "I still lose. Just more slowly."

"Because you need more practice. Be patient," Tyrion grinned. "I expected you to be quite terrible at this game, but you're already exceeding my expectations."

Arya glared at him. "And why did you expect me to be terrible?"

"Why, because you're a Stark. Starks are a straightforward lot and candid people do not do well at this game."

Arya's eyes narrowed. "My brother was beating your father quite soundly in battle until your father used me against him."

Tyrion raised his wine glass. "Very true. I think I like this new generation of Starks."

"Why? We're the enemies of your family," Arya pointed out.

"Well, I only faced the Starks in the field once and I was knocked out for much of it," Tyrion said. "In any case, we're at peace now. We're not technically enemies. And I like anyone who can show up my father every once and awhile."

Arya studied Tyrion. "You don't like your father… do you?"

"No. And he doesn't like me. You've probably noticed. He's very honest about it," Tyrion said.

"Lord Tywin does not seem to like anyone. But yes I have noticed." Arya observed him carefully. "Why does he…?"

"Hate me so much?" Tyrion finished for her. "I'm a big disappointment, you see. I'm a dwarf. That's quite a crime in the noble family of Lannister. To make matters worse, my mother died bringing me into this world. He never forgave me for that, and he's been gathering other reasons to hate me ever since so he makes himself seem more reasonable. But everyone knows why he truly despises me."

Arya sighed. "For something you can't control. My mother was like that with my half-brother Jon."

"Ah yes. Jon Snow," Tyrion said. "I wondered how welcome he was in the house."

"Father was always kind to him," Arya said. "So were the rest of us. Well… Sansa was not very kind to him but… but I was. Robb was. Bran and Rickon adored him too. My mother hated him. Not because he had done anything wrong but because he wasn't hers. My mother is a kind woman, but she couldn't pretend even for a moment, that she did not loathe Jon."

"Yes. Your mother is a kind woman," Tyrion agreed. "My father doesn't even have that going for him. You can imagine my situation."

"At least he doesn't particularly like anyone else," Arya said. "I'm not sure if he's capable of liking anyone."

Tyrion's mouth twitched. "Oh, lady Arya. I know you're new to this place, but you'll learn to tell the difference in time. My father likes some people. He's just not obvious about it."

Arya nodded once. "I would be interested to see that."

"I'd say you already have multiple times," Tyrion said.

Arya gave him a look. "What do you mean?"

"Never mind," Tyrion said. "Let's play another game. I'm in the mood to beat you again."

Arya sat forward in her chair. "Perhaps this will be time that I win."

It was not the time that she won, but she didn't mind. Tyrion, of all the Lannisters, seemed the easiest to like. If his father rejected him, he couldn't be all that bad. And he hadn't done any plotting against her family.

She did not want to become complacent in this place. But as time went on, she was adapting. She was learning, just as Shae suggested.

Could she really be blamed for that?