He killed the butcher's boy. He wanted to rape her sister. He was telling her all about it.

"I should've fucked her bloody," he spat. "At least I'd have one happy memory."

It was obvious what he wanted—what he was trying to make her do. He couldn't seem to say the words. Kill me.

"Do I have to beg you?" he said finally. He was going to die. He'd said it himself.

Arya didn't know what she wanted to do. He was on her list. He always had been, ever since the first night that she'd dreamt it up, lying on the cold, wet ground, staring at the black sky. Joffery, Cercei, Ilyn Payne, the Hound.

"Do it."

She wanted to. She had wanted to kill him so many times.

Even as he took her to her mother and brother, riding on Stranger with his arms caged around her as she clung to the back of his armour. Even as he helped her win all the fights she'd picked along the way with those Frey men and even Poliver. Even as he'd shown the dying man with a hole in his gut mercy and ended his pain. Even as she helped him sew up the wound on his shoulder, when he'd told her all about his brother, and the scars on his face. Even as they'd travelled to the Eerie, to her Aunt Lysa, bantering back and forth the whole way. Even as she refused to go with the big swordswoman, Brienne of Tarth, to stay with the Hound. Even as he'd risked his life so she could stay with him.

"Do it."

She wanted to kill him. She wanted him to suffer. But she didn't want him to be dead.

"Do it!" he pleaded.

Arya stood up. She crossed the small distance between them with one hand on the hilt of her Needle. He looked at her with agonized eyes as she crouched beside him. He wasn't fast enough to stop her as she reached for the bag of silver on his belt and snatched it away. The bag of silver that he'd stolen from the farmer and his daughter. Dead men don't need silver. He'd taught her that. He'd taught her so many things.

She stood again and took one last look at him. He had been there while she learned and practiced how to kill men, and had been there to protect her when she couldn't kill enough. He'd nearly been killed himself trying to take care of her. He'd been the one to watch over her, just like he said.

Arya turned and walked away.

"Kill me!" At last he could say what he wanted.

But Arya couldn't. She couldn't say what she wanted. She didn't even know what she wanted.

She knew she couldn't save him, but she also knew she couldn't kill him. He wasn't a good man, not by a long shot, but she couldn't kill him, even if she was the death of him.

A drabble I wrote a little while ago and decided to share on a whim.

For those of you interested in Push and Pull: I haven't forgotten it! I promise. It's been years but I still love it and want to finish it. I'm so sorry and thank you so much for being so patient!

I'm just getting back into fanfiction again after a few years of not writing and am trying to publish things I don't think are perfect. Hopefully just writing something once in a while and putting it out there will help me keep going :)

Thanks for reading!