Chapter 11:

Arya hated the South. She hated everything about it – the people, their food, the weather, and most of all she hated Prince Joffrey. It was his fault that she had to scare away her direwolf, his fault which caused the life of her friend, Micah and his fault that her and Sansa absolutely hated each other.

She wished she could be back in Winterfell, with her brothers and Jon, where she could practice archery, ride horses and wrestle with Bran.

But she supposed the only good thing that came out of this trip was Needle, and her father's willingness to hire Syrio to teach her the art of water-dancing. The lessons were hard and tiresome, and she'd often come out sore, bruised and battered, but she refused to give up.

She had to be as light as a feather, and as nimble as a cat – that's what Syrio told her. If she could master catching the black cat that would frequent the halls and corridors of the castle, it would prove that she could be the silent and finesse warrior she dreamed of becoming.

Arya leaped in the air, hoping to catch the black feline that she had been following for the past hour. At the last second, the cat jumped away, leaving Arya empty handed as she collapsed on the floor.

"I'll get you," she said to the animal, determined to catch the cat before the end of the day.

She paid no heed to her surroundings as she ran down the stairs, through corridors and sometimes into servants. She ran into rooms that she knew nothing about, and before she knew it she was in the kitchens before she followed the cat into a hidden doorway and down a corridor of stairs that bled into darkness.

Arya looked around as she took in her surroundings, suddenly aware that she was somewhere deep within the castle. She looked to her right, and her jaw dropped as she approached the ancient skull of a large dragon head. The fire lanterns that dimly lit the area casted dark shadows on it, and it looked like they had brought the dragon skull back to life.

She heard steps in the distance that were approaching her direction. Afraid that she'd be punished for being in the part of the castle she wasn't suppose to be in, she hid. Arya jumped into the mouth of the dragon skull and crouched down so she was hidden from view.

"I have full confidence that she'll agree to our plans, I saw it in her eyes," said a voice.

"But will she consent to marriage?"

"I don't see why not. Do not worry about her for the time being. For now, we must have the dragons ready for invasion. The time is coming - the lions and the wolves are already at each other's throats, and if the gods are good, they'll kill each other before we cross the sea."

"I'm afraid it might be delayed. With the Khaleesi pregnant, the Khal will want to wait until his child is born. We will need more time should the invasion be delayed."

"Well, killing the Hand of the King might give us some more time. We got rid of one, why not another?"

She waited and dared not move from her hiding place until she could not hear the voices anymore. Her hands began to shake, suddenly afraid of what these two mysterious men had spoken. Lions? Wolves? Killing the Hand of the King?

Was someone trying to kill her father?

She began to run out of fear. She ran further down the hall, unsure of where it would lead, but she did not stop afraid that the two men had caught her eavesdropping and now were chasing her. Before she knew it she emerged into daylight, barely hovering above water and at the edge of the mountain.

Arya had uknowingly discovered a secret passage that led her right at the edge of the cliff, and assumed that's how the two men got into the castle.

Tired, exhausted and anxious to find her father she began to run - back to the city, back to the castle and back to the Tower's Hand where she knew she'd be safe.

She kept running until she ran into a body, and the skirts had engulfed her body. "Arya!" the other woman yelled.

The Stark girl looked up, suddenly relieved that it was Isabel Arryn and not a stranger. She hugged her waist tightly, which shocked her but Isabel quickly put her arms around her to soothe her. "Arya, what's wrong. You look like you just ran a mile…you look frightened."

"They're going to kill him! They're going to murder him, just like they murdered Jon Arryn!" she sputtered out.

Isabel crouched down so she was eye level with Arya. "Shhh..child. Take a deep breathe and calm yourself. Do not speak these words here…it is not safe."

She led Arya to an empty room, and shut the door after making sure no one had seen them. "Arya, who's trying to kill who?"

"I heard them! Syrio had me chasing cats, so I was following it until I was in this place, I don't know where I ended up though. There was a dragon skull hidden in the caves…and then they came. They were talking about the lions and the wolves and murdering the Hand of the King. They said they got rid of one, why not another. I'm afraid Isabel..they're going to murder my father."

Isabel stroked the girl's hair in an effort to calm her down. "Did you see who these people were? Do you remember what else they talked about?"

A dark feeling went straight to the pit of her stomach. Her father had indeed been murdered, and she suddenly began to fear that his death was not just a simple murder.

"I don't know…I didn't see their faces. They said war was going to break out soon, and an invasion will happen."

She tightened her throat and tried to control her own breathing. It was all that she needed to know – she knew who was behind all of this.

"Is anybody going to happen to my father?" Arya asked worriedly.

"Nothing is going to happen to your father, Arya. Your father is well protected and is surrounded by men only loyal to him. Whoever these men were…they were talking nonsense."

Isabel's words still didn't calm Arya down, and she could see the fear she had in her eyes. "Go back to your father, and tell him what you told me. Run until you are safe and back in your quarters and speak to no one else about this, understand?"

Arya nodded before she gave Isabel another tight hug and ran off in search for her father.

She immediately set off in the other direction with one destination in mind. She had to get to the bottom of this - she needed to find out the truth. She took the numerous twists and turns through the castle until she came to a spiral staircase.

Isabel knocked on the wooden door rather impatiently. When she failed to hear anything on the otherside, she knocked again, this time more forcibly until her knuckles were red and started to burn from the impact.

The door suddenly opened, and his bald head popped out, surprised to have such a visitor that late in the evening.

"Let me in," she demanded and proceeded to open the door with such force it had even surprised her. "We need to talk."

"Of course, my Lady. It must be important…I sense some urgency in your voice," he replied as he quietly shut the door.

"Did you know?" she asked, fearful that her voice would begin to break. "Did you know he was murdered and yet you chose to remain silent?"

Varys remained calm, surprised she had figured it out so quickly, but did let his emotions show. "I knew there were those who sought to have him dead."

"Why did you not do anything?"

"Because it had to be done, to ensure our plans remained on schedule," he explained.

"How could you?" she asked in disbelief, "Is your plan to restore the Targaryen children so precious to you that you're willing to sacrifice innocent people?"

"It was a sacrifice that had to be made."

"And what of Ned Stark? Is his life to be sacrificed in the name of the realm?"

"If it comes to it, then yes. I will take as many lives as it takes to ensure this realm is restored to the proper order."

"And what about my life?"

Varys remained silent, and watched as Isabel paced around the room trying to understand the situation that had fallen between them. She finally collapsed in a chair, where her hands began shaking uncontrollably, suddenly unable to hide her emotions from Lord Varys.

"How did he die?" she asked quietly, as she felt the tears falling on her cheeks.

"Tears of Lys," he calmly replied. "Poison to the stomach."

A cry escaped her mouth, and she held her hand to her mouth to silence herself. "W-who?"

"It does not matter," Varys said, wanting to avoid the subject.

"It matters to me!" she yelled, "Who murdered my father?"

"Your father's squire, Ser Hugh of the Vale administered the poison…told by Lysa Arryn. But they were merely a pawn in this scheme; they were easy to manipulate…they had soft hearts and soft spines.

"But why?"

"Your father was investigating the true nature of the Baratheon children, a treasonous risk should he be discovered. It cost him his life...but the true culprit behind his death was not the Lannisters…but the work of Petyr Baelish. Why he orchestrated this act, I have yet to figure out."

She closed her eyelids, and let the tears fall. It was useless to try and stop them. Everything she had feared was now confirmed true. Everything that she did not want to believe, she was suddenly forced to face.

Petyr Baelish.

It was at the moment that she promised herself, to her father, her mother and her family's honour, that she would seek her vengeance.

"I will not be a pawn that you can toss away in this game Lord Varys," she said in finality, after her tears subsided.

"In time Isabel you will learn how to play this game without my help. You will become a player, able to move your pawns on the chessboard. But for now, you must do what I say…if you want to stay alive."

She blankly stared at the fire, suddenly mesmerized by the flames that danced with each other. She felt numb and empty, feeling robbed of everything she had cared about or loved. She thought of the Vale, and asked herself if this was all worth it. Was she ready to have her hands tainted with blood of innocent people? Was she willing to lose all her honour in the name of vengeance, power and ambition? She could see the images of her younger self, running through the Hand's Tower and into her father's arms through the flames of the fire.

How did it come to this? Where did the virtues of an innocent child go, having now been replaced with dark shadows that now began to slowly seep into her heart?

Sacrifices will be made, a voice whispered.

"What must I do?" she asked slowly.

"Do nothing," he instructed. "The Lannisters and Starks are on the brink of war and when that happens. You will not take sides and you will not provide aide, until I instruct you to."

"I want something else, otherwise I will expose your true nature to the King and have him brand you as a traitor," she demanded.

"Anything … within reason," he compromised.

"I want Petyr Baelish. I want him to rise so high, that when he falls there will be no one to catch him. I want the Lannisters and Lysa Arryn. I want them all…and I want them all dead. And I want to be the one who swings the blade."

Varys slightly inclined his head and gave her a wary nod of consent, suddenly seeing the fire ignite in her eyes. Power corrupts the soul, he said to himself. Its seed now planted within Isabel's heart, and now it was only a matter of time before it sought to infect her entire body and soul.

"Consider it done."


The feasts and tourneys were events that were rare in the Vale. The music, dancing, and the notions of courtly love instantly fascinated the young girl from the first moment she set her eyes upon it. Of course, she was far too young for any knight to offer her tokens of love and adoration. But she wished one day, she would be lady at court where all knights and nobles would call the most beautiful noble.

"Oh father! They were very handsome," she boasted, after seeing her first tourney since coming to King's Landing.

"I am very glad you are finding laughter and smiles within this city. I feared you would not enjoy yourself and that you would be crying to go home to your mother," he replied, "Tell me, are you enjoying yourself?"

"Oh yes! The ladies are so beautiful, especially the Queen. Her hair is so golden, the ladies say it carries the sun's rays and shines just as brightly as the sun itself. I wish to be just like them when I grow up. I wish to wear their pretty dresses, and dance as gracefully as they do," she declared.

Her father chuckled and picked her up in his arms, planting kisses all around her face while spinning her in the air. His affection gave her giggles as she returned his love, placing a kiss of her own on his nose and then his forehead.

"And I wish to be just like you when I grow up," she declared.

"Me? But I am no lady. I am a warrior; I fight swords, ride horses and hunt. I eat with my fingers and drink until my beard is filled with wine. I do not think you should wish to be like your father," he lightly commented.

"I will be as beautiful and lovely as the Queen and her ladies, with your wisdom, honour and judgment," she said proudly.

"That is a very difficult task to fulfill, my sweet daughter. But should you succeed, I shall be very proud of you," he told her.

"I can do it," she responded. "I will make you proud! And mother too! You'll see!"

Jon Arryn laughed again and kissed Isabel's head and hugged her tightly. He silently prayed to the seven to protect his daughter, to grant her a life of peace and happiness. In his eyes, she would always be his innocent child, his little girl that he promised to protect from the moment she was born.

"Don't grow up too fast, my sweet child."


A/N: Thanks for hanging in there folks!