Tomas had avoided Arya since the incident at Castle Darry. Even going as far as to stomach riding with his mother in the wheelhouse the rest of the way to King's Landing so he didn't have to see the Stark girl's gray eyes burning holes in his flesh for the lies he told back at the castle. He kept telling himself that he did the right thing, that he had no choice, that it was his mother who forced his hand. But these were lies that he did not believe. He should have told the truth. He should have warned Ned. The Hand of the King would be more than able to protect Arya and make sure his mother and uncle was punished for such threats, wouldn't he? Tomas wasn't sure. All he knew for sure was that his lies condemned Nymeria and Lady to death and Lady barely escaped the blade herself. The prince could only assume that Arya chased Nymeria away to protect her and that filled his heart with more self-loathing.

Once they returned to the Red Keep in King's Landing, Tomas locked himself up in his room and declared that he did not wish to be disturbed by anyone. He knew his declares wouldn't mean much to his family. Both his father and mother outranked him anyway. Still, it felt good to raise his voice at someone beneath him and watch them tremble. There he spent the next few days having servants tend to him and bring him his meals, refusing to make any public appearances knowing there was a chance Arya could be there. Not knowing what to do or who to talk to, Tomas got himself a quill and some paper and wrote a message to Tyrion for the ravens to send. Knowing that he would have sound council on the matter. He always did. To Tomas dismay, when the raven returned with his reply it said exactly what the prince expected it to, "Talk to Arya," and nothing more.

Tomas crumbled the paper up and threw it away in frustration, but he knew Tyrion was right. As much as it would pain him to confront the girl after Castle Darry, she at the very least deserved an explanation. The crown prince did his best to make himself presentable, dressed in the Baratheon robes that Sansa restitched to perfection before leaving his room for the first time since returning home. Tomas walked down the hallways of the Keep, surrounded by the pale red stone that made up the walls wherever he went, and pass the oak doors with black irons strapped to them. When he asked where Arya was he was told she was in the middle of a dancing lesson. Tomas raised an eyebrow at this, even more so when the people he asked had no idea where the dancing lessons were being held. The prince continued his search, looking all around the Red Keep until he came to the steps that led up to the Tower of the Hand and he stopped.

The prince looked up the steps, steps he hasn't climbed since Lord Jon's passing. It happened within a fortnight after his fourteenth nameday. Ever since then he has been unable to look at the tower the same way again. It only served to remind him what he loss. What both he and his father loss. As if the gods wished to punish him for taking so much pleasure in watching Jaime be unhorsed by Ser Loras Tyrell in the tournament preceding his death. Tomas shook the thoughts from his head, knowing that it did no good to dwell on what has already came to pass. He ascended the steps of the tower and continued his search for Arya coming to the Small Hall, and there she was, wooden sword in hand, trying to strike a bald-headed man whom was much faster than she.

Tomas only watched silently for a moment, that was until Arya caught glimpse of him out of the corner of her eyes and instantly came to a stop, staring at him. "What do you want?" she demanded, prompting the bald man to also halt and look in his direction.

"I was hoping to have a word with you," answered Tomas. "In private, if at all possible."

"No," she answered. "I don't want to be alone with you."

"Prince," spoke the bald man with an accent that could be traced back across the narrow sea, "Arya is in the middle of her lessons. There can be no distractions."

"Forgive me, Ser...?"

"Syrio Forel," the man introduced himself. "And there is no need for such formalities."

"Forgive me, Syrio. I would not be here if it wasn't important." He turned back to Arya. "Please, Arya, it will only take a moment."

"Anything you can say to me can be said in the presence of my dancing master," replied Arya.

Tomas fought to suppress his annoyance, he assumed he wasn't doing a good job of it as he noticed the way Syrio observed him. As if all the man had to do was look him in the eyes and he just knew. That frustrated him further given all the times people have noted the tell in his eyes. "I mean no disrespect, but these words are for your ears only," Tomas persisted.

"Then I will never hear them," Arya told him flatly.

"I'm sorry," Tomas began, his eyes softening as he tried to hold back tears, "I'm sorry for what I did."

"You lied. You lied and you would have gotten Nymeria killed. You nearly got Lady killed!"

"But they're not, though. They're still alive."

"They ran away! I'll never see them again and it's your fault!"

"I did it to protect you."

"Protect me? How are your lies meant to protect me?"

"You have to trust me."

"Why should I? You already proved to be a liar."

"I'm not lying."

"The truth is in the eyes," Syrio told Arya.

Tomas looked on confused, and in the next seconds to pass he felt like he was being inspected as Arya looked at him. Her own eyes trying to find the truth in the matter. Maybe she could give lessons to my father, he quipped in his head. Realizing soon after that Arya had stopped her inspection.

"I believe you," she said.

"You do?" the prince questioned.

"Yes," she confirmed.

Tomas felt relieved and took a step closer only to be stopped by the tip of the wooden sword still in her hand. "You're a liar and a coward," Arya told him.

"What?" Tomas said, confused.

"You could have gone to my father, or your father. Instead you chose to lie and now your stupid mother and the Lannisters think I attacked you when I didn't."

"It isn't that simple, Arya."

"Isn't it? You don't think I noticed the Hound over my shoulder? Is that your way of protecting me?"

"Arya–"

"Call it off."

"Call what off?"

"The engagement. Call it off. You asked me to get to know you before I pass my judgment, and I've gotten to know you quite well. You're a liar, a coward, and I will never marry you!"

Tomas could feel his heart break. He couldn't protest a single word the girl spoke and it ate him alive inside. The boy couldn't even look Arya in the eye anymore as he was pushed away with her sword. Thank the gods it was made of wood and not steel. He didn't want to think what she would have done with a real sword.

"G-give me another chance," Tomas sniffed. "Your father–"

"Do not presume to know my father!" yelled Arya.

"Stand down," commanded Syrio and Arya obeyed. "You best go, Prince. We still have much to do."

Tomas only nodded, too choked up to say anything more as he turned around. He blew it, that much was clear. Arya would never marry him now and his father would only be angry if he asked to "call it off". I never should have made that stupid promise, he told himself. The words he spoke that day to Arya coming back to bite him on the ass.

They were all angry at him for one reason or another. His father was upset because he wasn't the son he thought he should be, his mother was upset because he wasn't the son she wanted him to be, and while he couldn't speak for Ned Stark Tomas figured he couldn't have been happy about what happened back at Castle Darry either. So this is what it's liked being Uncle Tyrion. Tomas returned to his bedchambers and jumped in his bed, pulling the sheets over his head and curling up into a ball. The prince closed his eyes and wanted to drift off into an endless sleep so he didn't have to deal with any of the people that plagued his life again. He tossed and turned trying to make himself comfortable in his bed and allowed the peaceful silence to take him.

"How long do you plan to stay locked up in your room?" Until the familiar voice of his mother took it all away.

Tomas sat up in bed and narrowed his eyes over his mother who was sitting at the table over on the right-hand side of his bed near where the balcony was, holding a cup of wine in her hand as she always did. The prince had been so wrapped up in thought he didn't even notice her sitting there when he first came in. "What do you want?" he asked.

"Does a mother need a reason to see her son?" Cersei replied.

Tomas stood up and approached her with piercing green eyes like daggers boring into her. He had learned from the best on that matter, after all. "I hope you're happy. Arya hates me. Loathes me."

"Is that where you went off to? I might have known. The girl has her whole life ahead of her still, she'll get over it. Time heals all wounds."

"What about stubbornness? Or stupidity?" said Tomas, making sure his eyes gave away the fact he was speaking of her on that last bit.

"Or ungrateful sons," Cersei shot back.

"Yes, I have a lot to be grateful for, don't I?" he said sarcastically.

"You do. Do you have any idea how many men would kill to be in your position? The crown prince to the Iron Throne."

"I can think of a couple of women as well."

"While other boys will wander the streets hungry, stealing, and killing for scraps you're set to become the most powerful man in the Seven Kingdoms. You have a great deal to be thankful for. And that Stark girl is hardly fit to be your queen."

"You're my mother, no girl will ever be fit to be my queen in your eyes."

Cersei said nothing in response. She merely took another sip of her wine, her eyes being the only indicator that Tomas struck the nail on the head.

"What do you want?" Tomas asked again.

"It's my understanding there was a raven sent for you," answered Cersei.

"What of it?"

"May I ask from who?"

"None of your business."

"It was from the little beast, wasn't it?"

"He isn't a beast."

"He killed your grandmother."

"It was an accident."

"You're as bad as your uncle. He pities the monster as well."

"There's certainly a monster in the Lannister line, but it isn't Tyrion."

The words struck enough of a cord with his mother to cause her to rise from her seat. Tomas refused to give his mother an inch, staying put just like he did back at the Guest House in Winterfell. The queen outstretched her hand and Tomas expected to feel it redden his cheek until a gentle caress brushed across it instead and Cersei pulled him into a warm embrace.

Her touch was every bit as welcoming as it was when he was a small boy, and it's felt as those ages have passed since they last been this close together. The young prince hesitated to let his guard down in front of his mother, but he eventually relented. The soft soothing touch of Queen Cersei's hand running through his shoulder-length hair as she comforted him. About what he did not know, nor did he care. Tomas had missed the touch of his mother for some time and that much became apparent in the way he moved beneath her arms. Even after everything she's done she could still get this reaction from him. Was that her endgame? To make him weak? Tomas pulled away abruptly, seeing the hurt and sadness in his mother's eyes before she stormed off without another word, slamming the door shut behind her.

Tomas regretted the decision as soon as the door closed behind him. That may have been his only chance to make peace with his mother.