Author's Notes: I believe this will be the last chapter. Maybe. I think. I'm in love with this AU quite a bit. I hate this site for deleting scene dividers.

Disclaimer: GRRM owns all of these characters and also my soul. Sucks to be me.

Reconstructed
Not in Blood, But in Bond

Arya grimaced as her handmaiden put yet another pin in her hair. She'd lost count what felt like ages ago, pins upon pins in her long, dark brown hair, and even a few blue flowers as well. She hated it, of course, but kept her mouth shut. Today was supposed to be a special day. It would be the day that Lord Tywin announced her betrothal to… Oh, she didn't know. Tywin had kept her informed on who her possible matches would be, but in the end, she had despondently told him that she did not want to know.

Another pin in her hair, this time pricking her scalp, and Arya jerked away, turning to glare heatedly at the handmaiden. "I think you're finished."

"But m'lady, your hair is not all–"

"No, I think it is." Arya stood from her seat, took one look at her hair which looked more than finished to her, and then walked out of the room without so much as a dismissal. She knew it was rude and that the girl was only doing her job, but Arya was tired and frustrated and had spent her entire morning getting ready for an event she did not welcome. She didn't care that the blue flowers in her hair matched perfectly with the blue gown she had been given or that she looked almost as nice as Sansa did on her bad days. All she wanted to do was run outside, ride her horse as fast as possible to loose her hair, play in the snow like a child though she was no longer one.

I am older than Robb ever was, she thought as she swept past the small council room that Lord Tywin used for the meetings.

Since she could not run off, she was fully planning on hiding in her mother's bedchambers until the ceremony began. Surely Lady Catelyn would understand Arya's pain. Her mother had been betrothed as well, and when her suitor had died, she had married a stranger, Arya's own father. They were both dead now though, and her mother had been forced to marry a stranger yet again. That had been years though and while things were still strange and her mother still had bouts of sadness things were…warmer between husband and wife. There was even a baby now, a half-brother to Arya and this one not a bastard. Her mother would be able to give her the best advice and a nice hug.

Instead, Arya rounded the corner and bumped into something smaller than her, something that made a sound like, "Oomph!"

"Watch yourself! You could ruin my dress!" she snarled, despite not caring one lick about whether or not her dress was ruined. When she looked up at the offender (who was really the victim here), she was startled to find that it was not a handmaiden or a child but actually Tyrion Lannister, the Master of Coin and Lord Tywin's second son. "Oh, I am sorry, my lord. I did not know it was you. Are you alright?"

"Not to worry, child," Lord Tyrion sighed as he awkwardly stood up and brushed himself off, "worse things than a young girl have tried to kill me and failed. I'm quite alright."

The nasty-looking scar on his face, complete with a bit of his nose missing, was proof enough of that, but Arya kept that to herself. It had scared her at first, seeing his face like that when she had first come to King's Landing, but years had allowed her to grow used to it, to the point where she barely seemed to notice it at times no matter its size.

Tyrion eyed her. "Perhaps I should ask if you are alright, my lady. You look…distressed."

"I'm just…excited, is all," Arya replied, somewhat lamely.

What would Sansa do? was the reoccurring thought, more and more as her time in King's Landing progressed. Sansa would know what to do; Sansa would know what to say. She had played all these people like a fiddle in the end. She had known all the right things to do when she had been betrothed and later married to Willas Tyrell. But thinking that did not help Arya one bit. She wasn't Sansa. She was Arya Stark and Arya was no better at playing the game in King's Landing than a dog was.

"Excited, yes, I'm sure," Tyrion deadpanned. "Every girl dreams about the day she's sold off like a cow."

Arya scowled. "I'm not a cow."

"Of course you're not," he said, a little smile on his face. "You've grown into a remarkably pretty young woman, most definitely not a cow. Boys will be lining up for you at the gate and fathers will greedily ask for you for their sons."

Despite herself, despite everything in her, her face fell. "Only because I am a Stark and my step-father is the Hand of the King and a Lannister. I'm not much of a match for anyone's son without my name."

"You must look on the bright side, my lady."

"And what's that?"

"Why think of all the lovely children you'll be forced to whelp!"

A smile broke out onto Arya's face. It was an awful thing to think of – her worth only being her name and the amount of children she had – but the grand way in which Tyrion had said it, how he'd thrown his hands in the air and smiled almost gruesomely, brought the smile to her face. He had a fancy way of talking sometimes, almost as if he enjoyed irritating his father, but Arya loved it. Everything was transformed into a story by Tyrion Lannister and she loved listening to him talk, just as Sansa had loved hearing all the songs and stories about knights and maidens. But Lord Tyrion's stories were dark and gritty and absolutely fascinating, nothing like the stories of her childhood. He never censored himself in front of her, except for when her mother and Lord Tywin were around, and then he would wink at her when neither were looking and whisper that he'd tell her more later.

"Fret not, Arya," Tyrion told her. "I know you are worried – and you have every right to be – but rest assured my father will not force some terrible and idiotic lad on you. While he may care little for me, he does not want any harm to come to you. He is…fond of you."

"Fond." Arya snorted at the thought.

"If he wasn't, you would have already been married off by now instead of just now being betrothed," Tyrion explained. When she gave him a puzzled yet curious look, he shrugged his shoulders. "There is a reason he has been holding off, keeping you here. It makes your mother happy and it makes you happy and gods be good he seems to actually like having you both happy."

Arya chewed on her bottom lip and looked to the ground, thinking of all the times Tywin had said that she was not ready to be betrothed and that she needed more time. To do what, she'd never had a clue, perhaps mature or just grow up and get over herself. "I suppose…"

Tyrion pat her on the arm. "When all the hubbub is done, we'll have a cup of wine to properly celebrate and drown out any sorrows you might have."

Truth be told, she wanted the cup of wine now, to calm her nerves, but she knew that wouldn't be the best thing to do. Her mother and Lord Tywin let her have a cup of wine every now and then, considering she was six and ten and quite old enough, but the only time she'd been drunk had been with Tyrion. She had been miserable and in an awful state after getting into an argument with her mother and Lord Tywin reprimanding her. Tyrion had shown up with a few sound words of advice and two skins of wine. By the end of the night, both of them had been drunk and laughing and made plans to go visit a whorehouse just to scandalize everyone.

They hadn't done that yet. And perhaps they never would. That made her terribly sad again just thinking about it.

Lunch was, as usual, a disaster.

Whenever she looked down at her soup, Arya was almost certain that she could see her doomed future being spelled out by noodles, just as Thoros of Myr had seen the future in his flames. She could barely eat, stirring the spoon around and around, picking at the bread and then nibbling on it until she suddenly realized that the bread in her hand was gone. Someone had also thought it a good idea that all the noblewomen of the court eat lunch together so they could talk about the news of her betrothal. And the Queen – or former Queen – was there as well, sitting at the opposite end of the table, looking far too pleased with herself.

All in all, it was a typical lunch and absolutely horrendous.

"You must be so excited!" one girl gushed. She was a cousin to Maegary Tyrell, the youngest and only one to not be betrothed yet. She would be soon, just as all her cousins and other girls in Maegary's court had been in the past few years, but she couldn't seem to contain herself. "I'm ever so jealous."

"You can have him then, whoever he is," Arya replied jokingly, a grin on her lips. It was only partly a joke. If it were possible to give her betrothed away to this girl, she would have done it in a heartbeat.

"Arya, you should be thankful for the opportunity my father is giving you," Cersei Lannister proclaimed as she sat back languidly in her seat. Even at her age, she looked stunning in her deep red gown. She was a queen to the bone. It did not stop Arya from shooting a tiny glare in the older woman's direction. "You would never have had the prospects you have now before he took you in."

"She is a child," her mother cut in, polite yet blunt. There was a magical way her mother worked her words, a way that Arya could not comprehend but Sansa somehow had. She had hoped that she would learn this ability in time, during her many years in King's Landing, if only to make things easier, but she did not. Perhaps it was something that people were born with and could not be taught or learned through practice. "Were you not frightened or nervous when you were betrothed to a stranger?"

"I was betrothed to a king," Cersei pointed out, a smug smile on her face. It must have taken everything in Catelyn not to roll her eyes because it took everything in Arya not to throw her spoon at Cersei. "Besides, she should count herself lucky. If my father was not so…soft on her, she would already be married."

There it was again – that concept of Tywin being soft and gentle and kind on her. But Lord Tywin Lannister was none of those things, certainly not to the sister of his dead enemy that he'd conspired to help murder.

Just like every other luncheon that had dissolved into a passive aggressive argument between Cersei and Catelyn, Maergary was there to smooth everything over with a lovely smile and a gentle hand on Arya's. "There now, my dear," she said, leaning in close to her, "it's perfectly normal to be frightened about your betrothal. I certainly was. My father only wanted the best for me, a king, and he was determined to have it his way, one way or another. It made things rather difficult for me to adjust, but I did in time. Lord Tywin only wants the best for you; and he's found it difficult himself to find you a good match."

"He should have just married you off to a Frey," Cersei said, waving a hand in the air.

"I'm not marrying a dirty Frey!" Arya snapped viciously.

"Nor would Lord Tywin force you to," Catelyn interjected. "He would not have any Frey blood mixing with his own."

At this, Cersei let out a little laugh, but there was an angry tint in her green eyes as they flicked over her. The disgust in them was enough to startle Arya, but she just kept her mouth shut. "Arya is not of his own blood."

"She is his daughter by marriage now."

"She isn't a Lannister."

"No, she is better than that," Catelyn said in the coldest voice that Arya had ever heard come from her mother. "She is a Stark of Winterfell."

The room went silent as Cersei and Catelyn glared at one another from across the table. Arya looked back and forth to both women while she could feel Maergary's gaze on her. The other noblewomen in the room just sat awkwardly in their seats, staring down at their food. No one more than Arya wished they could be out of this room though. She felt hopeless in this fight, wanting desperately to stand up for herself and her mother but not knowing how. These fights and games were fought with words, something she'd always struggled with. Give her a sword and she could fight back better than any boy her age, but this was… This was different. She hated it. She'd rather beat someone over the head with a blunt object than subtle insults.

Finally, Cersei Lannister stood up from her seat. "Arya should consider herself grateful that she has been allowed so much freedom," she said in a snarl. At this, she locked eyes with Arya, who refused to look away or blink. "I was not given so much leeway." And then she swept out of the room furiously, a handful of noblewomen tittering after her.

Edric Dayne.

The name was not so awful. And when he had taken her hand and kissed the top of it, she had not been horrified. He'd smiled, almost apologetically, reminding her when she had come across him all those years ago with the Brotherhood without Banners. Despite any "crimes" the little ragtag group of rebels may have done against the Lannisters, Ser Edric Dayne was still the Lord of Starfall. He had been graciously pardoned, with plenty of people reasoning that he had just been a boy doing his duty as a squire to his lord, as to be expected of him.

But the Daynes would always be a friend to the Iron Throne. They were famous for being tied with it so closely.

"I know I am not who you wanted," he had said quietly in her ear as they danced, "but I'll be good to you, Arya. I promise."

She knew that he would keep his promise. Besides, it wasn't even that he wasn't who she wanted that made her so upset. It was that he wasn't what she wanted. She didn't want a husband. She didn't want to be taken away from her mother. As much as she despised King's Landing and the Red Keep and most of everyone in it, she was loathed to leave her mother behind on her own in this den of lions and smothering roses.

Ser Edric was good-intentioned, attractive even, and also had little choice in the matter – but none of that mattered to Arya as she furiously beat a blunt sword against a dummy in the training yard.

"You must put the fear into every dummy you come across," a voice said from behind her.

Arya whipped around, wielding the blunt tourney sword in front of her, a wild look on her face, only to find Ser Jaime Lannister leaning against the archway. He was in the white armor of the Kingsguard, his remaining hand resting gently on the hilt of his sword. She straightened herself up, dropping the sword to her side and pushing her bangs out of her face. She'd managed to keep most of it pinned back all day until she'd stalked out here. Dimly, she realized that if she'd allowed the handmaiden to finish, it wouldn't have even come undone during her fit of rage.

"I have to admit; I am intrigued," Jaime started as he walked towards her. "Most girls wouldn't react so…violently after being given such joyous news."

"Joyous news," Arya spit out mockingly. "Yes, because every girl dreams of the day she'll be given to a rich man and taken away from her family and loses any freedom she could hope to hold onto and have a thousand children, any of which could kill her during childbirth."

"Would you rather be a knight?" he asked her, stopping when he was only a few feet away from her.

"Yes," Arya answered him.

In a flash, his sword was out and darting towards her, but she was able to parry it away with a smack of her sword and dodge to the left when he swung back at her. She knew that his right had been his sword hand, before it had been taken away from him right before his eyes, but he was fluid with his left after years of practice. Jaime Lannister was one of the most gifted men when it came to swordplay and while he was talented now, if she looked carefully, she could see the way he sometimes had to switch to left-handed stances and motions. The left hand always came more naturally to her though. Syrio had once mentioned how unique that made her, but he'd also taught her to practice with her right as well.

Jaime smirked. "Are you so certain of that?"

"Of course I am," she snapped. "Being a knight would be infinitely better than being someone's trophy wife."

"Ah, so now you're a trophy? You think highly of yourself."

"You know what I mean–"

His sword came suddenly, swooping at her low and on the left, and would have knocked her clean off her feet had she not jumped at the last minute. A loud tear burst in her ears, letting her know that she'd torn her dress somehow, but she didn't care. Instead, she was forced to fend off another attack, this time coming high and hard. She bent and slid so that the sword fell down and the weight and momentum carried him forward as well.

Jaime let out a laugh. "Nicely done." There was no mocking tone to his voice to suggest that he was teasing her. She furrowed her brow at him, irritated and tired, but her blood was singing and she felt more alive and bright than she had in days. No one fought with her here, except for the new teacher from Braavos that Lord Tywin had found her a few months ago. He wasn't Syrio, but he was someone. Everyone else just avoided her, especially other noblewomen. And boys were either too frightened that they'd get in trouble by sparing with her or that they might accidentally hurt her. Ser Jaime clearly cared not about either. "But you should think twice about wanting to be a knight. You think there's freedom in being a knight, but there isn't. There's just as many vows to be taken in knighthood as there is in marriage. You lose yourself either way."

This time, Arya did not wait for his attack. She leapt at him, feigning a right side attack and then going for the left. He stepped back quickly, evading the dull blade, as if he'd seen her coming from a mile away. "How would you know?" she demanded as she pressed him back, their swords kissing and singing in the air each time they touched. She could tell he was being gentle with her, which only angered her further, and she fought viciously. "How would you know anything about what it's like to be a woman or to be married? You've never been married. You joined the Kingsguard when you were my age."

"And I lost all my freedom and gained impossible vows at your age," Jaime pointed out, digging his feet into the ground as their swords came together. He pushed against her, hard enough to send her reeling back from his weight and strength. She stumbled over her dress, nearly tripping, but managed to catch her balance. Had this been a real fight, she would have been dead right then had Jaime jumped on the chance to attack her. Instead, he held his ground, waiting for her, holding his sword up. "I married my duty and vows, not so much different from a man. They both fuck you in the end."

"You killed the king," Arya said, not unkindly. "You're the one that fucked your vows."

Jaime only smiled though. "I had other vows to keep that I deemed more important – and truth be told, I loved others more than I loved the king. The things we do for love aren't always rational or even right. And I decided that love was more important than my honor so I besmirched it."

Arya hesitated, the sword pointed towards him trembling, and then, she dropped the sword in the dirt. "I'm never going to love."

"You don't know that," Jaime told her. "You may grow to love Ser Edric Dayne in time. He is a good lad – a better man than most. And it took my father a lot of time and patience to convince the Daynes of Starfall that you would be the best match for him."

"And what if I'm not? What if I'm more trouble than I'm worth?"

"Oh, there was plenty of worry about that. You've got wolf blood in you; the North is too strong in you and makes you wild; even a few slanderous words about you having traitor's blood, despite the Daynes' own weak stance in the entire war…"

Arya didn't know whether to feel furious or proud. She was glad to be of the North and quite proud to be a Stark, no matter what people whispered of her family in King's Landing. She didn't care. What did Southerners like the Daynes know about her or her family? They knew nothing.

"But I'll let you in on a little secret, just between us," Jaime added in a quieter voice. She strained to hear him, so she stepped closer to him, until she was close enough to his face that she could see flecks of gold in his green eyes, just like Lord Tywin's and Cersei Lannister's. "I think my father settled on Edric Dayne because he was the only one close to being good enough for you. I don't think there's a man in the world that my father thinks is truly a perfect match for you."

"I don't…" Arya shook her head. "I don't understand."

"You are unique," Jaime told her as he stood up straight. "Maddening, frustrating, and terrible at any court games – but refreshing and honest and true. I think, somehow or another, you gave my father the chance to be the father he could not be to Cersei, Tyrion, or me, though he'll go to his grave without admitting it." He gave her a look that looked strangely endearing and even a little sad. "It drives Cersei up a wall, seeing the way he treats you and spoils you. He never did any of that with us, I can tell you."

"Lord Tywin does not spoil me," Arya said.

The smirk returned to his face. "It might not seem like spoiling to you, but take it from somehow who was raised by the man – he spoils you by giving you more freedom than what is expected of women. What do you think your dancing lessons are? An attempt to repay all the wrongs he has done to you and your family? He has no debts to repay you in his eyes."

Ser Jaime had offered to walk her back to her bedchambers, but she'd waved him away, telling him that she could find her room on her own. While most would have protested and followed her anyways, he had merely shrugged his shoulders and let her go on her own. She was silently thankful to him, but hadn't said it. The trip to her room was sullen and silent, except for the soles of her shoes smacking against the stone. Tears welled in her eyes as she hung her head, thinking more and more about how she would soon leave King's Landing, just as Sansa had done right before her wedding. They'd had their wedding at Highgarden since Willas was the heir. No doubt Arya and Edric would have their wedding at Starfall.

Jaime's words struck a chord with her though. She was angry and upset now, but maybe she would grow to love Edric in time, just as her mother had grown to love her father. At least she knew Edric somewhat. At least she knew that he had a good heart. She tried to think back to her time traveling with the Brotherhood, how polite and kind he had been. Gendry had hated him – only she didn't think that Gendry had actually wished any ill-will towards him in the end. He'd just been jealous. Of what, Arya had no clue, perhaps of being left out since Arya and Edric had been highborn, making him feel like he was no good. But she had liked Edric well enough, even if he had called her "my lady" a thousand times.

And now that they were older, he had grown up. She'd noticed that when he'd first come to King's Landing. He'd seen battles; he'd seen war; and he was wiser for that matter. He was also attractive. She hated admitting it, but she had caught herself looking at him more than once. It made her feel stupid. And he had a nice smile and let her lead conversations and listened to her. Perhaps he wasn't so bad. Perhaps he was the best husband she could hope for. Perhaps she could grow to love him.

Perhaps.

But it still didn't make her any less upset at the idea of leaving her mother behind.

Arya opened the door to her bedchambers, fully intent on throwing herself into her bed and hiding under her blankets and copious amounts of pillows, but came to a halt when she saw that she was not alone in her room. There standing before her were lady mother and her husband, Lord Tywin. She suddenly became conscious of how much of a mess she looked.

"Arya, where have you been?" her mother demanded as her eyes roved over her daughter, taking in the young girl's appearance.

Though it didn't help, Arya tried smoothing down her hair. "I…I was talking to Ser Jaime." Well, it was the truth, wasn't it?

"You disappeared after the feast," her mother said. "We were concerned."

Guilt flashed through Arya for a moment. She hadn't considered how suddenly leaving might make her mother feel. Of course she was worried about her youngest daughter. Arya had always fought the idea of being married one day. Now that it was coming to fruition, Catelyn surely was concerned over how Arya felt and handled the situation. Her mother was always so in tune with how her children felt. "Sorry, I just…" She didn't have the words though – not any false words to make things look nice or pretty. All she had was how she felt. "I just needed some time to myself to think things over."

"I'm always amazed at how your thinking manages to get you so messy and rumpled," her mother sighed.

It occurred to Arya in that moment that Lord Tywin had not said a word yet. When she glanced at him, locking eyes, a signal seemed to burst into the air. Tywin looked away from her, catching her mother's eyes for a brief moment, but it was all that was needed. Her mother nodded her head and walked towards Arya. The young girl froze as her mother kissed her on top of her forehead and then walked out of the room, leaving Arya alone with Tywin and letting silence descend over them the moment the door clicked shut.

"You handled yourself very well at the feast," Tywin finally said. "It almost looked like you were happy."

"I'm glad to have pleased you, my lord," Arya replied in a flat tone, staring back at him.

His lips twisted for a moment. "I trust you will not muck this up. This betrothal and marriage is politically important."

"Don't worry, my lord. I'll be the perfect little wife so everyone is happy and your political power remains strong and intact." Arya did not want to feel hurt, told herself not to feel wounded in any way, but she could not help it. Try as she might, while she may not have trusted Tywin Lannister, she had thought… Well, he had told her that he wanted to find the perfect match for her. Now it just sounded as if he'd found her a match that was perfect for him. "It's good to know that I'm just a piece in a game of cyvasse to you though."

"You are not just a piece in a game, Arya," Tywin told her. The force in his voice took her aback and she blinked at him. "This is important. You are important. House Dayne has been tied to the Throne for centuries and is one of the most powerful Houses in Dorne, a country whose relationship with the Throne is shaky at best. I am trusting you with this, trusting you to help me keep the peace."

"House Dayne and House Stark aren't exactly on friendly terms," Arya pointed out. "My father killed Ser Edric's uncle."

"Worse has been done between Houses that have been brought together and made peace," Tywin added. The marriage between Catelyn Stark and Tywin Lannister could be a test to that. No one had seen that coming, certainly not Arya, but somehow, the two had made it work, for better or for worse. She didn't know how, but… Well, if her mother could do it, then so could she. She could be as strong as her mother. She would be as strong as her mother. "And Ser Edric will let you grow in ways that most men would not. He is young and kind-hearted and, if I know you, he will be easy to sway. You're more convincing and conniving than you think. Whether you believe me or not, I had your interests in mind to when I decided on this match."

Arya thought on everything that had transpired over the day – all the surprises and shocks and scares and worries, everything that everyone had said, the hopeful look on her mother's face, the hard one on Tywin's, the apologetic look on Tyrion's, the angry look on Cersei's, and Jaime's smiling face. It all made her head spin. And she knew, she knew then: that perhaps she knew nothing at all about the people she'd been surrounded by for the past few years. Something had changed between her and them, something big and vague and terrifying, but she couldn't pinpoint when or what.

Except that they felt strangely like…family.