A/N: Arya begins to play the game to find out information. But can she play everyone enough to earn their trust?
Chapter 20: Complacency
For a week, Arya bided her time. She asked for nothing outside of what was given to her. She did not speak back to the guards. She retreated once more into a state of apparent cooperation. Complacency, she found, was much easier with a greater goal in mind. She knew what she intended. But she'd have to be patient. And she could tolerate anything she had to do to achieve her eventual goal.
All this week, in addition to staying quiet, she played the role of ill. She didn't eat as much of her food as she should, sometimes skipping meals. She coughed and tried to look pathetic whenever anyone was in the room. Other times she pretended to be sleeping all day. It was long, boring work, but eventually one of the maids seemed to take pity on her.
"Are you sick, Lady Stark?" she asked. "You look dreadfully pale. Whenever I come in you seem to be coughing."
"I'll be fine," Arya said, making her voice hoarse. "It will pass I'm sure."
"The Grand Maester is very skilled. Perhaps he has some sort of medicine," the maid suggested.
"I'm sure he is very wise," Arya said, trying to sound as respectful as possible. "But the guards will not likely allow me out of my room."
"I will speak to them. See if they will." The maid curtseyed and Arya couldn't help but smile.
"What is your name?"
"Tylla, my lady," the maid replied.
The next day, it seemed Tylla's work had paid off. Two of Arya's guards agreed to escort her to Maester Pycelle. All the way there, Arya kept hacking and coughing. She had to play up her sickness as much as possible, or Pycelle wouldn't buy it.
He might still not buy it but she just had to see him. Nothing more. Then she could speak with him and get her hands on the book.
The guards steered her along the corridors, never lifting their hands from her shoulders. It gave Arya some satisfaction that they feared her escape so much. As a child she knew she had escaped the castle when the halls were bathed with Stark blood. She had been lucky. But sometimes luck was all one needed to gain a reputation.
Her near assassination of Joffery had also helped with that. Now that she did not intend to escape, she no longer had to worry about being held on a tight leash. Even if they let the leash go, she would not run.
She couldn't anymore.
Arya recognized Pycelle's work place. Through one open door she could see the same room Jaime had brought her to after she passed out from the numbing poison. The room they entered held a desk and several dusty shelves filled with old volumes and cloudy vials of various liquids. The Maester himself sat at the desk, his finger skimming the lines of some old tome. Arya coughed and he looked up.
"Ah, my lady." He inclined his head. "Why have you sought me out?"
"I have contracted a rather sore throat, Maester," Arya said, making her voice hoarse again. "I wondered if you had anything that might soothe it. I think it must be a side effect of my terrible illness." She shook her head. "It… it has gone on too long. People have almost been hurt by my outbursts. You must have something that—" She stopped letting a coughing fit interrupt her words.
"Ah… yes, I may have something." The Maester rose. "Of course you'd want freedom from sickness as soon as possible. Especially when others are at risk." He shuffled through the vials. "I heard rumors of a dreadful scene at dinner."
"The fault was entirely mine, Maester," Arya replied. "When I next see His Grace, I shall apologize for it and hope I can be forgiven. I was not quite myself. I… I barely remember what happened." She touched her head. "Ever since regaining my memories, I have black outs. Lapses in sanity. Perhaps something is permanently wrong with my head." She coughed again.
"Your lapse in memory was not permanent." Pycelle pulled a vial of reddish liquid from the shelf and shuffled toward her. "It is possible that this is temporary as well. Or perhaps all of traitor's blood are simply doomed to act rashly." He gave her a hard look as he held out the vial.
"I sincerely hope not, Maester." Arya accepted the vial. "What is this?"
"It shall soothe the throat. Take it with each meal and I'm sure you will see a change." Pycelle limped back toward his desk. "Will that be all, my lady?"
"Yes I… No, there is one other thing." Arya spoke as if a thought had just occurred to her. "I spoke to Lord Varys only a few days ago. He inquired about my health. I told him about the lapses in memory. And I mentioned that even with my memories back there are still black spots in my past. I remember very little of my lineage." She took a step forward. The guards stepped forward with her, as if ready to restrain. Arya could have laughed but she kept a frown on her face and a sympathetic look in her eyes. "He said you had a book that could help. The Lineages and Histories of the Great Houses of the Seven Kingdoms? I think that was the title at least." She shook her head. "I'd like to read it, if I may."
"Investigating your Stark lineage?" Pycelle frowned. "I might advise against that, my lady. More knowledge of your traitorous ancestry could you bring down the wrong path."
"Ignorance is as dangerous some days, Maester." Arya said. "And it is possible my father was only a bad branch on a great tree. A bad seed amongst several better ones. Besides, it isn't just the Starks I wish to know about. I will be a Lannister soon. I know very little about the family I am to join. Not to mention the Tyrells and Baratheons and other great families of the realms. If I am to be among them, I must know certain things." She placed a hand over her forehead. "And right now my knowledge is dreadfully limited."
"It may be important to study the great family you will soon join." Pycelle stood. "Very well, my lady. I will allow you to borrow it. But show caution. Remember who the enemy is."
"Don't worry," Arya replied. For the first time a dark tone crept into her voice though her forced grateful smile remained. "I will."
Jaime noticed less guards at Arya Stark's door than usual. He was surprised when he asked to find the girl had been let out. To go see Maester Pycelle of all people. Why would she want to go there?
"Her maid said she has been sick for the past several days," the remaining guard replied. "Not to worry, ser. We sent two guards with her as an escort. She will not escape."
"Thank you," Jaime said, before hurrying off to find Maester Pycelle.
When he reached the room, he found Arya already emerging, her two guards at her side. She held a book under one arm and a vial in her hand.
"I had heard you had gone to see Maester Pycelle," Jaime said. "Because you were sick."
"And you came to find me because you were concerned. How very kind." Arya said flatly. "It's only a sore throat. The Maester graciously gave me a remedy. And a book to read." She held up the tome. "To help make up for some of my still missing memories. It was very kind of him."
She was laying it on thick. Thicker than usual. Almost as if she genuinely wanted to appear complacent. Jaime tilted his head to the side. "What are you up to, Lady Stark?"
"I'm not up to anything, my lord," she replied evenly. "There's nothing to be gained from a little reading. It will probably be a dreadfully boring tome. But it's better than sitting in my room all day with nothing to do."
"Right." Jaime glanced at the guards. "You're dismissed. I'll escort her back the rest of the way."
The guards nodded and retreated down the hall. Then Jaime looked back at Arya.
"Alright. Stop with the games. You're not fooling anyone. You're not sick."
"It's funny. You're the first to tell me that," Arya said. "Everyone else thinks I've contracted a vicious illness that causes bouts of insanity."
"I know well enough to know it's your own stupidity doing that."
"So maybe I've decided to stop being stupid."
"I admire your restraint."
Arya glared up at him, her smile disappearing for the first time. Good. It had seemed much too forced. "Why are you so concerned? Are you so weak that you fear the plans of a young woman?"
"Not six days ago, I saw that young woman almost put a knife in the King's throat." Jaime took a step forward. "And I know that your anger isn't brought on by insanity. You are still angry. So what are you playing at?"
Arya opened her mouth to respond when a thoroughly unwelcome voice interrupted.
"Well, well. If it isn't Arya Stark. Emerged from her room." Joffery strutted down the hall, flanked by two King's Guard. Jaime tensed and looked at Arya. But the glare had melted off her face, replaced with a look of strange complacency that did not at all match her eyes. "You know, I suggested a month in the black cells to cure you of your treasonous behaviors. You're lucky I was convinced otherwise."
"I am lucky, your Grace." Arya curtseyed. "You had every right to throw me in the black cells after the horrible thing I attempted. But you are a truly merciful King. You have always been more merciful to my family than we deserved." She kept her head bowed. "I must apologize for how I have acted. Ever since I regained my memories I have been plagued with serious lapses of judgment. They cause me to do…" she shuddered. "Horrible things. I barely remember what happened that night at dinner. But the fault was mine." She held up a jar. "Not to worry. The Grand Maester has provided me with a cure. With any luck I will be able to become a civil lady soon. It's my only hope if I am going to join the great house Lannister."
Jaime thought he had perhaps gone insane for a moment, hearing those words. But Arya kept her face impassive. The lie could have rivaled even Littlefinger. Even Joffery seemed taken aback.
"Yes… it was quite an outburst." He smiled and Jaime could see he was about to try to dig his claws in. "Especially when it was only a traitor's head on a plate."
"My sister deserved what she got. She was a traitor." Arya said, meeting his eyes. "You gave them clean deaths. A head on a plate or a spear does not matter. So long as it sends the right message." She curtseyed again. "I am truly sorry, Your Grace. With any luck I will soon be cured and you will no longer have to worry about me."
"I never worried about you." Joffery scoffed.
"Of course not, my King," Arya said. "I am little threat, after all."
"You made great claims at dinner."
"Claims from my old life. I am a lady now."
"Hmm." Joffery shifted. When he couldn't get a reaction out of Arya he seemed to grow bored. "As you say. But you should know that if you cross me again, I will not be so merciful."
"No need to fear, your Grace." Arya said. And Jaime thought he saw a bit of fight come back into her eyes for just a moment. "There will never be a need."
Joffery left in that moment, the King's Guard in hot pursuit. Jaime blinked hard. Surely he must be dreaming. Those words seemed so foreign coming from Arya Stark's mouth. She barely looked like herself.
"Shall we go?" she asked after a pause. Then she started forward and Jaime took a moment to regain himself and follow after her.
"You are playing at something." Jaime said. "Something dangerous."
"No," Arya replied. "I'm being smart." She didn't look back at him. "You were right."
"I was… how sick are you?" Jaime asked.
"Stark blood has bathed these halls too many times. I have no choice but to adapt or die. So I'm being smart." Arya looked back at him. "I am built for survival, Jaime Lannister. I will not join my father or sister beneath the executioner's blade." They reached Arya's quarters and she moved past the guard. "I am not so determined to die." With that she disappeared behind the door.
'No, Lady Stark.' Jaime thought. 'I dare say you are not.'
But that said nothing to her loyalty. As good as her lies had been, Jaime could still sense hate boiling beneath the surface. And he did not think had been quenched out so easily.
Now she was simply being smart about how she managed her hatred. And that could be altogether more dangerous.
A/N: Arya is one step closer to the truth. And next time, she'll begin to dig deeper into her investigation, and perhaps plan to cross a name off her list.