A/N: Well after the wild last chapter, I appreciate your sympathies for Arya.
Arya: I'm so weak...I didn't get the traitors name.
Basically all of you: Arya, it's fine, you're bleeding. Calm down.
In any case, here's the next chapter. Some good old aftermath and emotions and things. Featuring Tywin and Sansa. Isn't that a weird couple of characters? Well, enjoy!
Chapter 55: Delirium
Tywin knew that something was wrong as soon as he saw the smoke. He was suspicious by nature, and with Ramsay Bolton on the loose...well, this couldn't possibly be an accident.
Tywin cursed himself for being so foolish. They had found evidence that the bastard had escaped the castle, but if he had really thought about it, the likelihood of an injured man making it so far without their notice was low. It would have been smarter for him to hide somewhere in the keep and wait to regain his senses. Once he did...
Once he did he would look for leverage. And that leverage would be Arya.
Tywin immediately called upon his guards and made for Arya Stark's room. He could only hope that Robb Stark had been smart enough to give his sister some sort of guard. And if he hadn't, Tywin should have given some of his own men. He had resolved to let Robb Stark handle the situation in the north, but he should not have left him to handle his ward.
When he reached the foot of the stairs to the west wing, he nearly ran into Sansa Stark, who was stumbling down the stairs. Tywin caught her shoulders and steadied her. There was blood on her dress and a nearly bone deep cut on her hand that gushed blood, as if she had grabbed a knife with her bare palm.
"What happened?" Tywin asked.
"Arya..." Sansa muttered. "I need...Maester Luwin."
"Is she alive?" Tywin asked, fearing the worst for a moment.
"She's alive," Sansa said. "But she's...bleeding again. Her wounds..." She shook her head. "I can't...lift her."
The girl was in shock. Something had happened, but her mind wasn't wrapping around it. But at the very least, it seemed Arya was alive. For now.
"Go find your maester," Tywin said at last. "Bring him here as quickly as possible. My guards will secure the room until you return. Do you understand?"
For a moment, she didn't reply. Then she seemed to process his words and her eyes snapped into focus. "Yes." Then she hurried off in the opposite direction. Tywin snapped his fingers and his guards rushed up the stairs toward Arya's room. He followed.
He did not know what he expected to see in Arya Stark's room. But it wasn't this. Blood stained the floor boards and splattered the walls and furniture. Most of it seemed to come from the mess on the ground. It had once been a man, Tywin imagined. But that man's face had been torn away, along with his throat. His gaze followed the trail of blood to Arya Stark.
She was sitting on the ground, leaned up against the wall, one arm wrapped around her middle. Her head was dipped and her hair hung in front of her face. She was covered in blood, though Tywin could not tell how much of it was hers. Her maimed hand was twisted in the fur of her wolf who lay by her side, growling at his guards. The wolf's maw was dripping with blood.
Tywin took one step forward and the wolf bristled, snapping it's bloody jaws. His guards flinched and stepped back in fear.
Tywin did not move. He kept his expression and voice calm. "Arya. Can you hear me?"
She shifted slightly at the sound of his voice though she did not look up. "Lord Tywin?"
"Yes," he said. "What happened?"
"I...took care of Ramsay Bolton," she murmured. "You should have told me he escaped. I could have been more... prepared."
So it was Ramsay Bolton on the floor. Seven hells. None of her previous targets had ever received so brutal a death, though he had no doubt he had earned it.
"We need to get you off the floor," Tywin said. "You've likely reopened your wounds."
"Yes..." she murmured. Her voice was weak and hoarse. He had never heard her speak quite so softly. "That's likely."
"I don't think your wolf will let us past," he said.
She seemed to consider this for a moment. Then she released her wolf and urged her away. "Nymeria. Away. These aren't enemies."
The wolf listened to her without a second thought, though it kept its eyes on Tywin as it moved off into the corner. A beast of that size could kill him and all of his men if it desired, and he did not intend to provoke it.
Once the wolf was sitting, Tywin moved over to Arya and knelt in front of her. From here, he was able to better assess the damage. Blood stained her tunic where she had opened old wounds and her clothing was sliced in a few places where she had earned new ones. A thin cut marked her cheek as well. When she looked up at him through her wild dark hair, her grey eyes were cloudy and exhausted. And when he touched her shoulder, he could feel her trembling.
She was alive, yes, but in a great deal of pain. She needed the maester soon.
And yet, she apologized.
"I'm sorry," she muttered. "I didn't get...a traitor's name."
He shook his head. "Worry about staying alive before you worry about that, Lady Arya." Then he motioned to two of his guards to approach. "Lift her onto the bed. Carefully."
The guards did so, though she winced in pain as they moved her, she did not cry out. She was so unwilling to let anyone see her in pain, even when she was openly bleeding. In his memory, he had only seen her truly scream once-after her escape from the Dreadfort. It was not a sound he wished to hear again.
He turned his gaze once again on the mess that was Ramsay Bolton, finding himself satisfied that Arya had dealt him such a gruesome fate. He spied Winter's laying close to the corpse, dripping with the bastard's blood. Tywin retrieved it from the ground and used his own red cloth to wipe it clean. Then he rested it at the foot of Arya's bed.
"Is...is Sansa all right?" Arya murmured. Her eyes fluttered as she seemed to grow delirious from blood loss. "Her hand...is she angry with me...?"
"I doubt that," Tywin said, though he imagined seeing her sister kill a man in such a way was a shock for the girl. "She'll return soon."
"She's angry with me...she always used to get angry with me..." Arya murmured. Her eyes were in some far off place, like someone close to death. But Tywin would not allow himself to believe that. She had survived so much all ready. This would not be what killed her. A mongrel like Ramsay Bolton could never end Arya Stark. "Because I made a mess of things, she said. I always made a mess of things. Mother said the same. I think I've made a mess of things again."
Tywin's jaw clenched and he looked to the guards. "See if you can't find the Stark girl and the maester. Tell them to hurry."
The guards obeyed without question, and the other two were left to guard the door.
"All of this mess...was because of me," she continued on. "Because I...wasn't quick enough or...smart enough."
"You're not to blame for any of it. Focus on staying awake."
"I'm tired."
"I don't care. You are not allowed to sleep yet."
"I'm tired of fighting," she murmured. "It's exhausting. I want...to stop fighting for once."
"I know," he replied. Where in the seven hells is their maester? He did not like seeing his ward like this. Part of him wanted to leave the room entirely so that he did not have to endure her suffering. But he could not leave her.
Arya coughed. "Where...where is..."
"Your sister will be here soon," Tywin said flatly.
"Father..." Arya mumbled. "Where is father?"
Tywin did not have a reply to that. This wasn't exactly the moment to remind Arya that her father was long dead. But he didn't know what else to say.
A shudder went through Arya's body and she reached out toward the ceiling. "Father? Where...where are you? Are you...there?"
Tywin stared at her outstretched hand for a long moment. He had seen Arya Stark as many things over these years. A clever cupbearer, a stubborn child, a valuable bargaining chip. A vicious fighter, an intelligent strategist. A lady. A wolf.
And here, she was a girl crying out for her long dead father, reaching for him but finding only air.
He wasn't sure what moved him to extend his hand, but the moment he did, she gripped onto it like it was a lifeline.
Fine, he told himself. Whatever keeps her alive.
Sansa ran as fast as she could to find Maester Luwin, though blood loss was making her dizzy. When she stumbled into his rooms, he was just blowing out the candles to prepare for bed. But once she told him what had happened, he scrambled about to find his materials, asking her questions about Arya's injuries.
"I don't know," Sansa said. "Old wounds opened. A few new wounds with a blade. I don't know how deep."
Maester Luwin nodded and gathered everything he thought he would need in two baskets. He handed one to her and carried one himself as they hurried back through the keep. Despite his age, he moved swiftly. There was no time to lose. Arya had survived worse, but sometimes, the lesser things could still kill.
They met with two Lannister guards on the way, and found two Lannister guards at the door to Arya's room as well. When they opened the door, Sansa first saw the bloody mess that used to be Ramsay Bolton and she felt a shiver go through her.
The emotions of that moment were still fresh. The fear as Ramsay Bolton had grabbed her and pressed a knife to her throat. The terror for her sister, who he meant to harm. The pain as she gripped the knife to give Arya a chance to fight him. And then...the emotion she felt as she destroyed him. She did not have a word for that feeling. Was it fear or elation or horror or regret or fury or nausea or vindication? Was it all of those at once? She could not say.
But then, what she had felt didn't matter. Ramsay Bolton was not her concern anymore. Her sister was still alive and she needed help.
She turned in time to see Tywin Lannister standing and stepping away from Arya to give Maester Luwin enough space. Sansa hurried past the Lord of Casterly Rock without a second glance, clasping her sister's hand which was grasping at air.
"Arya," she murmured. "It's all right. Maester Luwin is here. You'll be all right."
"Sansa..." Arya squeezed her hand tightly. "I'm sorry."
"Don't apologize," Sansa whispered. "You saved me, Arya. You saved me. Thank you."
On the other side of the bed, Nymeria let out a low whine and rested her great head on the bed beside Arya. She feared for her too, which was not a good sign.
"Two of her old wounds are opened," Maester Luwin said. "The new ones are minor. The most important thing is stopping the bleeding. Sansa. Put your hand here. Put pressure on the wound."
Sansa obeyed, pressing hard on a cloth and watching it stain red.
She did not mind the blood. As long as her sister lived, she did not mind anything at all.
Some time later, Maester Luwin claimed the worst had passed and Arya had drifted off into a more comfortable sleep. She had a fever, but he was keeping it down with cool cloths, and she was not shaking as much as before. Still, Sansa did not let go of her hand. She wanted to feel the warmth beneath her skin to remind herself that she was still alive.
"If she makes it through the night, she will live," Maester Luwin murmured, pressing a fresh cloth to Arya's brow. "Her wounds were clean so there's little danger of infection. It looked worse than it was. She needs rest and plenty of food and water so that she can return to her old strength."
"Of course," Sansa murmured.
"And what of your hand, Sansa?" Maester Luwin asked.
Sansa looked down at her own bandages. "It hurts but it's not near as bad as hers. I will be fine."
Maester Luwin nodded once. "So will she. I've always known your sister to heal very quickly."
"Yes," Sansa agreed. "Which is for the best. She was always the one throwing herself into danger." She picked at her bandage. "Do you remember when she broke her arm?"
"Oh, yes. She was eight I believe," Maester Luwin said. "A clean break, lucky for her. Some bones never heal the way they were. I forget how she broke it exactly. Falling out of a tree?"
"Yes," Sansa said. "We were in the woods and we saw a tree that had been damaged by a harsh wind. It was in danger of falling. There was a nest of birds there. Somehow it hadn't fallen but it was danger of tipping, and if the tree collapsed, they would be lost. I was so afraid for them and thought to go find Robb or father to help them down."
"But Arya climbed the tree herself," Maester Luwin said.
"Yes. Scrambled right up in her new dress. I warned her that Septa Mordane would be very cross with her for that. But she didn't care." Sansa barely smiled. "Next thing I knew, she was hanging upside down on a branch, trying to reach the nest."
"Did she get it? I can't recall," Maester Luwin said.
"She did," Sansa said. "The moment she did, the branch broke from her weight. She fell and landed on her right arm. But the birds. She had the birds cradled against her chest. She was crying from the pain but she was so proud of herself. 'Look,' she said. 'I told you I could do it.'" She looked down at Arya's sleeping face. "She tucked them in the hollow of a stronger tree while I ran to get help. And even though her arm hurt, she was still smiling."
Maester Luwin smiled. "That does sound like your sister."
"Yes," Sansa said. "The trouble was what happened after. After she was feeling better, we returned to the woods to find the birds, this time with father. And they were gone. Their nest was in tatters and there wasn't one bird to be found. Father said they may have flown off somewhere, but Arya was certain they had been eaten. It was too soon to fly, she said. They hadn't flown, they were gone. They were dead and none of it mattered." Sansa swallowed hard. "She cried harder then than she did when she broke her arm."
"So did you, I imagine," Maester Luwin said.
"Yes, but I cried at everything," Sansa said. "Not Arya. She never cried so I hated to see it then. We fought so often, but I never wanted to see her like that."
"Of course not," Maester Luwin said. "All of you children fought, but when it came down to it, you were a family. You cared when one of you were hurt. Truly hurt."
"There's been a lot of hurt in the past few years," Sansa murmured. "I wish...I wish I had discovered the plot against Robb sooner. If I had, the cost would not be as great. Robb could have dealt with the traitors and came north in time to stop the siege. And Tailisa might still be alive. If I had just been a bit quicker."
"You can't blame yourself for that," Maester Luwin said.
"But I do," Sansa said. "I thought I was helping. Doing something worthwhile. But it was just like with the birds. It didn't matter in the end. It didn't make any difference."
"I think you'll find it did."
The voice came from the doorway behind her. Sansa turned to see Tywin Lannister standing there. He had left at some point and she had forgotten all about him. But it seemed he had returned. She wondered how long he had been standing there.
She stood, smoothing down her skirts and dipping into a curtsy. She never forgot her courtesies and she was not about to start now. "My lord, forgive me. I did not notice your return."
Tywin shook his head, stepping into the room and closing the door behind him. "You sent that letter with a rider and gave him specific instructions. Do you remember what they were?"
"To deliver the letter straight to my brother or mother. No one else," she said.
"And if they could not find them?" Tywin asked.
Sansa's brow furrowed. "The rider gave the letter to you...didn't he?"
"Yes," Tywin said. "Your brother and mother were at the Twins at the time of the rider's arrival, trying to bargain for your younger brother's life. But since you had the foresight to send the man to me, I was able to use your information to cut off the traitors before they could make their escape. Without that letter, many more men would have joined Roose Bolton's armies in the north. Not to mention you provided your brother with the names of every traitor. I would hardly call that useless."
Sansa clasped her hands tightly together. "Then would it have made a difference...if the letter had reached you sooner?"
"Perhaps, but I don't think that matters. You can't change what has passed," Tywin said. "And you could just as easily fault the rider for the delay."
Sansa bit her lip. She wasn't so sure of that. She should have investigated the northern lords before Jon ever sent her the note. If she had...
At her silence, Lord Tywin raised an eyebrow. "Is it a Stark trait to blame yourselves so constantly for things which you did not do?"
"Yes," Maester Luwin said from Arya's bedside. "They learned it from their father I expect. No matter what good he did, he never saw it as enough."
"That doesn't surprise me about him," Tywin paced to the other side of the room, studying Arya, as if checking to see if she was still breathing. "Though I suppose when one is so committed to honor, they are bound to fail more often."
For a moment, Sansa forgot herself and her eyes narrowed just slightly. "Is that why you've found so much success?"
Tywin looked back at her, unruffled by the comment. "Yes. It is."
Sansa lifted her chin. "I'm sure my father preferred his honor to your success."
Tywin studied her. "Ah. I see it now."
"See what?" she asked.
"Your resemblance to your sister."
Then, as if stirred by Tywin's mention of her, Arya jolted awake, gasping for breath. Sansa bent and caught her hand tightly in her own.
"Arya...it's all right. You're safe." She reached out, pushing her tangled hair back from her forehead. "You're safe. Everything is fine."
"Ramsay..." Arya muttered. "Ramsay was..."
"I know. But he's gone now. You took care of him," Sansa said gently.
Arya blinked hard as her memory seemed to return to her. She looked from Sansa's face to her injured hand. "Are you... all right?"
Sansa nodded once, offering her a reassuring smile. "I'm all right. You will be too."
Arya nodded once. Then she sagged back against her pillow and promptly fell asleep again.
"She'll need rest before she's at full strength again," Maester Luwin said. "Sansa, you should rest as well. It's been a trying day for you."
Sansa stood slowly from her seat, releasing Arya's hand and setting it gently on the bed beside her. She knew well enough that she needed sleep. Maester Luwin could be trusted to watch over Arya until morning. So could Nymeria.
Reluctantly, she moved toward the door, but stopped just before she left. "Lord Tywin...I imagine you'll be taking Arya south again soon."
"Yes," Tywin said.
"Then I hope you will not let anything happen to her there," Sansa said. "The north won't forget if you do."
Then, without another word, she slipped from the room and closed the door behind her.
Her body seemed to buzz in the wake of saying those words to such a powerful man. But she did not intend to take them back. Years ago, Tywin Lannister had chosen to take Arya hostage, and Sansa was free to return home and for the first time in a long while, she had found herself amongst friends and family. But that was at the cost of her sister's freedom. She thought about her nearly every day, trapped in bloody keep, a wolf amongst lions.
But her sister had done better there than Sansa could ever have hoped. Better than she did at any rate. Sansa did not like Tywin Lannister and she blamed him for many of her family's troubles. He could at least be trusted to keep Arya safe when they returned south.
And if he couldn't, then there would be seven hells to pay.
A/N: Never thought I'd write a convo between Tywin and Sansa. I mean they're in the same place for a whole season and two episodes and he talks about her a lot but they never interact so...it was fun to write. And continue the Stark women trend of standing up to the most scary man in the seven kingdoms.
Also, there were lots of feelsie scenes in this chapter that were tough to write but I like how they turned out. If you agree, review, subscribe etc and I'll see you next time!
