Chapter 11: Healing and Letters

A/N: Here's a pretty long chapter for you all. Lots of characters and character interactions in this one that I enjoyed writing. Plus some maybe prophetic dreams :) Cause Game of Thrones loves its symbolic dreams.

To answer some commonly asked questions about the direction of this fic: Yes, eventually this fic will go all the way up to the white walkers. I'm changing the timeline of the seasons just a LITTLE bit so that the fic can take place over a longer period of time. But there will be white walkers. Also, yes, Nymeria will eventually show in this fic, but not for some time. For people asking about Gendry: He is alive and well. I'm not sure if he will be showing up in this fic. There may not be space for him or a place to work him in. But he did not die.

Without further ado, let's get to the fic!

Healing and Letters

Arya faded in and out of consciousness for the first few days, though she would much rather be asleep. Being awake meant pain every time she even breathed. She would rather be lost in her dreams.

She had many strange dreams. In one she found herself racing through the forest at top speed. All around her, wolves howled. She was running with them, and they followed her as if they belonged to her pack. Perhaps they did. She was running on all fours. Powerful. Unstoppable. She could have fought anything and won in that moment.

Give me a name, Jaquen Hagar's voice echoed from some distant place. And the man will do the rest.

She lunged at a deer and crushed its neck in her strong jaws. The blood tasted warm on her tongue.

She found herself at Winterfell in the crypts, staring up at a statue of her father. When she stumbled from the darkness and up to the surface, the snow had fallen deeper than she had ever seen. Flayed men hung between two towers. They all looked down at her with vacant eyes.

She found herself back at Harrenhal, surrounded by death. Bodies scattered the courtyard, all with different sigils on their armor. Wolves, lions, stags. Ravens looked down from the battlements, and high above, she heard the beat of great wings.

She found herself at the sept of Baelor, surrounded by the mob. Only this time she was standing on the platform beside her father. Joffrey held a sword out to her. Her father's sword.

Bring me his head.

She gripped the great sword, drawing in painful breaths and turned to face her father. He looked up at her as she raised the sword.

The crowd called for blood.

Arya woke with a painful gasp. Everything hurt, but this time she felt as if she were awake for good. She gritted her teeth, and rested her head back against the pillow.

I'm alive at least. Pain means I am alive.

"Lady Stark. Are you awake for good this time?"

Arya glanced to the side to see Tyrion sitting in the corner of her room. He was reading a very large book.

"I think so," Arya said. "Have you been… watching me?"

"Yes. Orders from my father. In case anyone comes to finish you, I'll be here to fight them off. I'm very fearsome in a battle you see."

"That's a lie," said another voice. Arya saw a man leaning against the wall. She had seen him with Lord Tyrion before. Ser Bronn of the Blackwater. "He pays me to do the fighting."

Tyrion smiled dryly. "Have you met Ser Bronn?"

"In passing," Arya managed. "Is he a sell sword?"

"An anointed knight now," Bronn smirked. "Notice the 'ser' in front of my name."

"You don't dress like a knight," Arya said.

"Aye. And I don't die like one either."

"Let's hope so anyway." Tyrion looked back at Arya. "How are you feeling?"

"Terrible," Arya said.

"That's to be expected after you fought with two kingsguard." Tyrion snapped his book closed.

"Fought? It wasn't much of a fight," Arya said. "They attacked me and I only got a few hits before I fell." She swallowed hard. "Has Joffrey been saying I attacked him first? I didn't. It's a lie. That would be-"

"Stupid, yes." Tyrion hopped off of his chair. "And you are not stupid. Never fear, Lady Stark. Joffrey did not claim you attacked him. Rather, he tried to say it was his right to abuse you. That explanation did not go over well with my father."

"Robb did say that if I was harmed he would raise his armies again," Arya said.

"My father won't let news of this incident reach your brother if he can help it," Tyrion said. "But his rage was quite the spectacle. You should have seen Joffrey quaking in his boots."

"I would have liked to see that." Arya forced a pained smile. "Joffrey is afraid of Lord Tywin, isn't he?"

"Everyone in the seven kingdoms is afraid of my father," Tyrion said. "Including the king. My father will be able to control him as long as that remains the case. Joffrey won't come after you for some time. Not until he gets brave again."

"I may not survive the next time he gets brave," Arya said. "I only survived this time because…" She trailed off. How did she survive? She remembered the pain mostly. Then the pain had stopped.

" Come closer, and I'll cut through both of you."

"Ser Jaime," she remembered. "Your brother stopped them, didn't he?"

"Yes," Tyrion said. "The king is not particularly happy with him for that. It's a good thing he's family."

"Do you think they would have killed me if he hadn't come?" Arya asked quietly.

"It's possible. But you are made of stronger stuff, aren't you?" He grinned. "One good thing did come from all of this."

"And what's that?" Arya asked.

"You might have killed that fucker Merryn Trant," Bronn said. "The way I heard it, his wounds have festered. Idiot didn't have them looked at."

"No," Tyrion said. "He wasn't willing to admit he had been injured by a thirteen year old girl. Now he's feverish and the maester says he may not live."

Arya could not keep herself from smiling. Merryn Trant was a name on her list. He had killed Syrio once. How funny it would be if he died of an infection wrought by her and a simple fork.

Tyrion left her to retrieve the maester then, ordering Bronn to stay and stand guard. Arya stared up at her ceiling, breathing shallowly through the pain. News of Merryn Trant's possible demise brought her list back to mind. The list she once repeated in her sleep.

Cersei

Joffrey

Tywin

Illyn Payne

Merryn Trant

Polliver

The Mountain

The Hound

She could not hope to kill most of them at her current position. But Merryn Trant's own stupidity had killed him.

Maybe the others would join him in the future, one way or another.

Recovery was slow and began to drive Arya absolutely mad. She hated being confined to bed for so long, and as soon as she could, she forced herself to walk around her room at least. The bruising had begun to fade and while her torso was still sore, she could breathe without wanting to die. Her arm was still the worse, bound up in a sling. It was fortunate that she was left handed, but she needed Shae's help to dress. Shae kept her company often and helped tend to her wounds. Arya liked talking to her, but she still felt she might go insane from boredom, trapped in her room.

It was two month before she felt able to walk the halls again. Her arm would be fully healed in another few months according to Grand Maester Pycelle, and he insisted there would be no lasting damage. It was a clean break. The pain, at least, had abated. There was a persistent tingling in Arya's fingers, but that was meant to fade in time.

Unfortunately, she now had two Lannister guards flanking her wherever she walked. For protection, according to Tyrion, but she did not like them watching her. She wasn't able to do anything without them coming along, which meant she could not escape to practice with needle. It was truly a dreadful situation.

Sansa always excelled at everything "ladylike", but Arya did not know how the practice didn't bore her sister to tears. Proper ladies did not run or fight. They practiced walking gracefully and needlework, at which Arya had always been horrid. Now, as she was still healing, Arya read to keep her mind from going numb as well as her fingers.

The only book in her room was The Language of Flowers and after reading it twice through out of desperation, Arya never wanted to look at a flower again. In the confines her room, she once grew so bored that she balanced the book on top of her head to see how long she could keep it from falling.

She was doing just that when Tyrion entered the room to check on her progress. He was accompanied by a boy this time, just barely old enough to be a man. She had seen him before too. He was lord Tyrion's squire. Both of the men gave her an odd look.

"Trying to absorb the words through the top of your skull, Lady Arya?"

"She is practicing," Shae said. "So that she can walk like a lady."

"Do ladies walk around with books on their heads?" Tyrion asked.

"No. I'm just trying to entertain myself." Arya let the book slide off of her head. "I've read this volume twice now. It's not even interesting. I am so bored I've considered jumping off the balcony."

"I recommend against that," Tyrion said. "The Language of Flowers? That does sound like a dry read."

"Did you know that if you combine certain flowers together, they're supposed to mean something?" Arya sighed. "Why not just say what you mean? Why do you have to use flowers?"

"I've heard some women find it romantic," Tyrion said. "What do you think, Lady Shae?"

"I agree with Lady Arya. Men should say what they mean," Shae said.

"An interesting perspective. What say you, Podrick?"

The boy flushed. "Well I… I'm not sure… I don't think I know enough of flowers to say, my lord." He glanced at Arya. "I'm sure Lady Stark is right though."

"You see." Arya slapped the book down on her bed. "Please, you have to bring me some other books. It's the only thing I can do until I'm recovered."

"I have many books, fortunately," Tyrion said. "What do you enjoy reading, Lady Arya?"

"I enjoy books about the Targaryen conquests," Arya said. "And the Dance of Dragons. That's always exciting. If you have anything on the wars of the past, I'm sure I'll enjoy it."

"Interesting. Did your father let you read those?" Tyrion inquired.

"It was the only way he could get me to read," Arya said. "I wouldn't learn with books that didn't interest me."

Tyrion's mouth quirked. "Well, as it so happens, I have many books that should suit your interests. I pulled several volumes while preparing for the Battle of the Blackwater."

"Good. Bring me as many as you can carry," Arya said.

The reading helped. It kept her mind off of the pain of healing, and allowed her to drift away from the Red Keep, back to the battles of old. It was an age of heroes and dragons. A time that seemed rather like a fantasy to her now. How she would have loved to be a Targaryen princess, astride a dragon, wielding a valyrian steel sword. Who would dare to challenge her then?

At some point, Tyrion also brought her pen and paper, though not only for her leisure.

"My father wishes for you to write a letter to your brother," Tyrion said. "Assuring him that you are well."

"Of course he does," Arya said. "Would you like to dictate the exact words I should write?"

"No," Tyrion said. "Robb won't believe the letter if we do."

"Suppose I write the truth then? What will you do then?" Arya asked.

Tyrion raised an eyebrow. "Do you want your brother to return to war, Lady Arya?"

Arya sighed, running her fingers over the paper. No. She did not want that. She did not want any more northmen to die because of her. "I'll write the letter."

It took her the next hour to figure out exactly what she wanted to say. By the end she had penned a letter that Tyrion deemed suitable enough.

Dear Robb,

Lord Tywin insists that I write to assure you that I am not dead, which I suppose you have already guessed, considering that this is my hand writing. I hope this reaches you and that the Greyjoys are not giving you too much trouble. Please write when Bran and Rickon are safe and Winterfell retaken. Tell mother and Sansa that I miss them. I miss you all.

Until we meet again,

Arya Stark

She was reminded of the vast space between her and Winterfell as she wrote the letter and it nearly reduced her to tears. She held them back. Crying only made the pain worse, and she did not want any Lannister to see her tears. Not even Tyrion.

As her condition improved, she took more walks, though always accompanied by her new Lannister guards. They did not speak to her and she did not speak to them. She went out to the gardens for fresh air, and to spot some of the damn flowers she spent too much time reading about. It was not the same as practicing with needle and she missed the solitude, but at least she felt alive once again.

It was on the way back from one of her walks that she crossed paths again with Jaime Lannister. In fact, she very nearly collided with him when she turned a corner.

"My apologies, Lady Stark," Jaime looked her over. "You're up and about again."

"I… yes," Arya said. "Grand Maester Pycelle says there should be no lasting damage."

"That's good to hear. Fortunate that they broke your right arm instead of your left. It shouldn't affect your… practice near as much."

"Funny enough I haven't gotten much time to practice." Arya glanced meaningfully at her two guards.

Jaime's mouth twitched. "No I suppose not." He gave her a nod. "Perhaps when you're fully recovered. Excuse me."

He circled past her to continue on his way. She cursed herself twice before turning around to call after him. "Ser Jaime?"

He stopped, glancing over his shoulder. "Yes, Lady Arya?"

"Thank you," Arya said. "For your help. It's possible that I owe you my life."

"It's possible," Jaime agreed. "Think nothing of it. You do not owe me anything. Even if you did, there's nothing in the Stark words about paying debts." With that he turned and continued on his way. "I wish you a full recovery."

Arya exhaled. She did not want to owe the Lannisters anything. Not a single one of them. Lannisters collected on debts as much as they paid them. Even if Jaime claimed that she did not owe him, she felt the debt.

I'll have to save his life one day, she thought. Then perhaps I can call the debt paid.

Six months after her injury, when her ribs had long healed and her arm was finally freed of its sling, Tywin Lannister called her to the Tower of the Hand. He was writing letters, as usual. Arya had never known a lord to write quite as much as her captor. Usually they left that to the maesters.

He did not look up as she entered. He kept on scribbling, leaving her hovering in the center of the room. She made an effort to stand absolutely still. Tywin had a way of making people feel nervous in his presence, and though Arya was not immune to it, she did not want to admit weakness by fidgeting. She imagined she was completing one of Syrio's exercises.

Stand absolutely still for as long as you can. This brings focus. Calm. If you cannot be calm in the stillness-in the silence-then your weakness will be more obvious.

At last, Lord Tywin looked up. "I see your injuries have healed."

"I would not have been able to climb the stairs if they weren't, my lord," Arya said.

"No. Likely not." Tywin glanced at her guards. "Leave us."

They both nodded, silent as ever, and left the room. She exhaled. "Are they really necessary?"

"I'd think your past several months of recovery would make that answer obvious," Tywin said. "They're for your protection."

"I don't feel protected. I feel watched," Arya said. "With them always around I can't…" She stopped herself. "Move… as freely."

"You mean you can't practice with your sword which you stole back from me," Tywin said, almost casually.

Arya paled. "I… what?"

"You are aware that I keep a close watch on you even without the guards, yes?" Tywin set down his quill.

"How long have you known?"

"A long time."

His expression was unreadable, and she could not tell exactly how angry he was about her retaking her sword. She raised her chin, pressing her closed fist against her thigh. "I'm not sorry. I only took back what is mine. And it's not as if I've hurt anyone with it."

Tywin regarded her for a long moment. "You're nervous."

It was a statement, not a question. Arya swallowed hard. "I'm not."

"You are. You always lift your chin like that when you're nervous," Tywin said. "You ought to correct that or soon everyone will be able to tell."

Arya lowered her chin, looking straight at him.

"Good," Tywin said. "If I was worried about you and your sword, I would have done something about it a long time ago. If you wish to play with that toy, your guards will not stop you. That's not why I called you here today."

Arya's shoulders relaxed. "Then why did you call me here?"

Tywin indicated the chair in front of his desk. "Sit."

Arya obeyed, taking a seat. She sat on her hands, but made an effort not to lift her chin again. Nerves still buzzed through her body. What had Tywin called her here for?

"Your brother replied to your letter." Tywin tossed a letter on the desk. "I thought you might want to read."

Arya eyed the letter cautiously. "Good news or bad?"

"I'll let you decide for yourself," Tywin said.

Slowly, Arya took the letter from the desk. The seal was broken of course. Tywin would not let her read anything that he had not already read himself. She took a deep breath and read.

Arya,

I am glad to hear you are well. We think of you every day. I write this from the halls of Winterfell. The siege is at its end. The battle was not without its costs, but Bran and Rickon are safe. We are home.

The rebellion is not over and will not be over until the Greyjoys surrender. But it should please you to know that all of our siblings are no longer in danger.

I hope that you will stay out of trouble as well. As best you can.

-Robb

Arya covered her mouth to hold back a gasp of relief. Bran and Rickon were okay. Winterfell belonged to the Starks again. It was perhaps the best news she had heard in a very long time. War or not, for now, everyone was safe.

She composed herself again and placed the letter back on the desk. "You could have told me it was good news."

"I could have," Tywin agreed. "It seems your brother continues to succeed on the battlefield. His handling of the Greyjoys makes things much easier for us."

"Does that mean you will protect him when he bends the knee to Joffrey?" Arya asked.

"I gain nothing from your brother's death at this time," Tywin said. "I could lose a great deal if Joffrey kills him. Your brother will leave King's Landing alive."

"You're sure you can control Joffrey?" Arya asked.

"I controlled the Mad King for a time. I can control Joffrey," Tywin said.

"For a time?" Arya asked. "So when did he get to be too much for you?"

Tywin regarded her for a long moment. There was a coldness in his eyes. A warning. She knew when she had pressed too far, but she did not lift her chin this time. She kept her gaze steady.

I will not be afraid. I am a wolf. I have no need to fear him.

"You may leave," Tywin said flatly after what seemed like an eternal silence. "I have nothing more to discuss with you today."

Arya inclined her head. "My lord."

Lord Tywin would allow many things from her that most captors would not. He allowed her to speak freely and he allowed her to practice swordplay. But he never allowed her to question his strength. He did not show his weakness, not just to Arya, but anybody.

But she was beginning to learn his tells too, just as he had learned hers. One day, she just might be able to use that against him.