Areli VII

Areli was absolutely certain of one thing.

Tywin Lannister was not quite right in the head. Obsessive by nature, possibly heightened in his grief, and that fixed behavior was focused highly on one thing… He talked so much about his wife earlier- it been six months, high stress, lack of social support- Complicated Grief Disorder? It was evident to her that it was a possibility for Tywin. She had little to no reference to Tywin's usual behavior, so it was a guess at best if this was highly unusual and as Ana, she hadn't trained exclusively in any sort of capacity beyond the norm for a registered nurse when it came to psychology. But it was not hard to make educated guesses when she was constantly in a highly turbulent environment like the ER. She had seen various situations such as Tywin, or returning bereaved of the deceased closing up paperwork or coming to ask questions.

Tywin Lannister was young- frightfully young to her. Twenty four, by his own words, last night as he had spoken so long. Four years younger than what had been her age at her death… Part of her projected. She couldn't help but remember being twenty-four, young but not, adult and barely making her way in the world. She had just finished her nursing program, then, passed her courses to become a registered nurse, and had been just starting to really understand the responsibility of being part of a small county hospital. Overwhelmed and excited to be hired at the county hospital near her parent's house, after six years away from home. Two wasted on a degree she hated, four spent on what she actually wanted. From Anchorage to the small nowhere town with only one hospital in all the county...

Her life had changed drastically.

Transitioning from college to working life had been monumental. Remembering the beat of living in an isolated place instead of teaming city life. Anchorage to a small coastal town had been a shift. From an internship in one of the largest general hospitals in the state to being part of a staff of five, including the one Doctor on call, had been enormous. Being held responsible for twice the amount of patients as her internship with half the amount of resources had been grueling.

Tywin was just that age as she had been then. He was going through an enormous emotional upheaval with his wife's death… Just like she had been when she had been starting her life in the workforce. Only he wasn't part of a system like she had been. He wasn't one of few, by his words, he was singular. He was atop the system, in fucking charge of it- Hand of the King. Lord of Casterly Rock. Ruler of the Westerlands. The Uncrowned King. And he had been in this position for a while, a few years at least by her best estimate. How long, she wasn't exactly sure without access to historical records and familiarizing herself with current historical events. The mention of war just ended, disturbed Areli, as she had no frame of reference. The show never went into great detail of such events- maybe it mentioned a few other conflicts in passing, but the one they talked about the most before the War of Five Kings was Robert's Rebellion, and judging by Jaime's and Cersei's age, the great fat King Stag is still in his diapers at this point. So this means that the country has been in multiple conflicts up until this point, with the next thirty or so years Westeros suffering through more military conflicts and Tywin will be present for most if not all of them. The fact that Tywin was a war veteran was circling in her mind and she wondered if he suffered from any mental anguish over this. She didn't even know if he was capable of such conflict, but she knew Tywin was more human then she dared to think...

He did not like to show 'weakness' and in what she was seeing, that meant he refused to rely on anyone on an emotional level. His emotional crutch had been his wife… And she was dead. Present, but out of reach for him. She thought of the symptoms of Complicated Grief Disorder. Disinterest in things he normally liked, that she had no idea. He did his work, he kept his office in frightful order, but if Tywin had any hobbies he really liked, she had yet to see them. High Stress- high stress, seven kingdoms to manage and one to personally oversee, four young children, double fucking check on the stress. No emotional support- he pushes everyone away, from his brother who he seems to like to his sister, check on that- and talking to a baby as emotional support was relatively useless. She could listen, she could give emotional and physical comfort. But she could not discuss, could not understand his struggle on a constructive or verbal level. Areli had not the means to be true support, and without scaring the crap out of him, she doubted that she could remedy that soon. I'm not what he really needs, and I don't think I have a responsibility to be what he needs. He needs someone who has been through the same shit or has a better frame of reference. I am new to this world, I don't know any recent history, nor do I know what Tywin has lived through up till this point… Not to mention I have my own needs, my own shit to pull through, and being the equivalent of an emotional crutch is not going to be the thing pull through my own issues.

Areli was tried. She was tired of being pulled through what she knew was emotional manipulation on the part of Joanna Lannister. I am not as blind as she seemed to think I am towards that. I know she wants me to do what she thinks is best for her loved ones- whether or not I am included in those loved ones, I am not sure. She seems to genuinely like me, and perhaps even love me as the daughter she claims, but I am not her first priority. No… That's her husband. Tywin is her priority, and I could be hurt in the wake of that. She was tired of the self-doubt that crept through her when Tywin Lannister looked at her like a wounded, cornered animal. Or when Joanna Lannister pleaded for patience and for her to understand what she was seeing.

She was tired of all of her moments being consumed by both the Lannister Lady and Lord, either awake or asleep. She needed time alone, she needed to just breath without the moral dilemma of understanding a man who she had viewed as being a monster needing emotional support and hurting. She needed time to process her volatile emotions without a dead woman trying desperately to dismiss her reactions as ignorant. She knew she would not get it.

Not while he was present in the household, not while Joanna did her fucking damnedest to stay with her at all times.

What that meant for her in the long run, she wasn't sure. What she knew now was that it meant no space, no breathing, no freedom. Watching her biological parents of this life disappear from the Nursery at Casterly Rock felt like a small blessing, despite how cold she felt, despite the aching in her chest and the heaviness in her small limbs. She had felt hysterically good to be away from Joanna and Tywin both. Laughter spilled out of her. It started small, giggles that sounded like a bird's chirp. But it grew louder and louder the second the door had slammed shut. Startling the shit out of the Maester, but she could not help her laughter so frightfully high and echoing against the pale stone of the room.

You got rid of them. You are my motherfucking hero, she thinks to the Measter who had convinced the Lord of the Rock to leave her be for the party being held downstairs. Part of her wished to thank him aloud, but logic stills her tongue. Logic and grateful laughter. The pretext of the Welcoming Feast for the Martells was brilliant, and she can only hope this makes Tywin and Joanna alike stay away, just for a little while, please. Leave me alone. The phantom of Joanna was gone, floating after her husband with a faint farewell and a mention she would keep an eye on what Tywin and Meria would settle on for the start of the visit, but she didn't care.

Areli felt relaxed, for the first time in two weeks she didn't have someone confusing looming over her every move.

"By the Seven…" murmured the old man, hurrying to her side.

She cooed at him in pleasure, tears leaking involuntarily from her eyes. Because she feels both grateful and a little off-center due to her mild fever. Grasped out at his knobbly fingertips when they came reaching for her, clenched tight when they met her skin. Clung as her laughter bubbled out of her. It was an eerie sound, high and pretty thing. The laughter of a child on the edge of hysteria. Areli found she could give a flying fuck, giggling more and more as the Maester checked her. Fingertips checked her pulse, pressed desperately at her knees and her elbow to check for swelling. He leaned down and pressed against his ear against her chest, and Areli forced her giggles down to breath deeply for him. In and out, carefully, full measured breathes that would show him that her lungs were still clear.

"There, there, sweetling," in desperation, the old man scooped her up, clumsily and in surprisingly strong arms. He started to rock her back and forth. Humming off-key and in a hurried fashion.

Areli pressed what she knew an overheated head into his neck. Gripped the front of his rough robes, one hand grabbing his strange necklace made of different metals. And just barely resisted the urge to tug furiously at his beard, centering herself with his robes and chain. The robe is a plain brown, drab and the roughest thing she has felt against her akin in this lifetime. The metal is cool to her touch, and the papery skin of his throat felt wonderful. She pressed firmly into his skin, sniffing at the scent that had been constant in this new life. Warm, herbs she couldn't completely identify yet, but mint and something bitter and sharp, and what she thinks may be sage. But it eased something in her, and her giggles died completely. He kept rocking, humming carefully.

"You are in the best hands, my Lady," he said softly, soothing away a wayward curl from her sticky face.

The emotion in her than, as her laughter quiets is rage. It burns as hot as her fever, as hot as the fire that burns in the fireplace, and just as uncontrollable.

You left me with a psychopath. You left me and you're supposed to be my healthcare provider-

Guileless, sweet brown eyes look down at her as he rocks, whispery peppered brows pulled together in concern. Her anger falls away altogether in the same second. Areli takes a deep breath, pressed a hand to his wrinkled cheek. I'm sorry. You are neither my hero nor my villain. You have no more control of my circumstances than me, and I cannot blame anyone for the actions of the man that rules them… This is a new world I don't really know the rules. She lets out her breath, heavy and uneasy. It made her wonder at her own involuntary whirlwind emotions. A by-product of my infant brain chemistry or am I just crazy in the wake of all this? The pull of her emotions startled her, as does the rapidity of her temperament. As Ana, she had rarely lashed out or let her emotions rule her. In a crisis, she had been coolheaded, and it had been what she needed in her life as an ER nurse. But… But now her emotions were at the forefront.

Death had changed her, or pulled away bits of her, stripped her of pieces she hadn't known she lost… Until she was just the core of what she had been. And her emotions were running high in regards to that. Her impulses greater, and less controlled. Every thought she had seemed to turn into some sort of action before she could properly register them. Energy cannot be destroyed, only converted to another energy. Some of it is lost in conversion… I guess the soul of a person follows the same process. I am wholly who I was but at the most base.

She sighed into the Maester's neck, heart heavy as her eyelids droop. I am so tired of this...

"Perhaps you are worse off then I thought, little one," he murmured, and the worry in his voice made her eyes snap open.

Think of it from his perspective. Hysterically laughing baby with a fever. Quiet in the next second. He must be so worried.

Areli gurgles, in apology, smoothing her hands across the rough expanse of wool that made up the man's robes. She does not know how to reassure him, nor how her behavior could be explained. She is at an impasse. She cannot communicate without being further single out by everyone around her and the frustration over that bubbles suddenly in her throat. When Tywin had brought her to his bedroom she had wanted to scream at him to back the fuck off. She had wanted to swing her little fists and fingers into his pleading eyes like claws. But she did neither. She cannot, will not be a subject of further fascination. Being coherent at six months would be considered strange if not freakish. Perhaps that is where more of mental struggle lies, being conscious is difficult to hold, and humans are social creatures. I want to speak, I want to interact, and to do so will only make things difficult for me. The only person I can regularly talk to is Joanna, and it makes me so mad that I can barely stand it.

The emotional and physical intimacy that Tywin initiated had drained her already waning reserves of calm. The fact that he was so bluntly worried for her when he realized she had a fever was conflicting, as part of her was glad. Someone alive worries for me. I am not really alone… But mostly her mind was a whirlwind of the future such esteem could bring. She was his comfort. But what was it to mean to be the comfort of a man who was strategic enough to slaughter entire households? What was it to be the apple of a man's eye, when that same man was willing to murder and scheme his way across the metaphoric chessboard?

"I will help you," said the Measter, softly, still rocking. Carefully, he brings a chilled cloth, brings it against the heated skin of her forehead. He pushed back the matted, sweat filled strands of her curled hair, "I will not lose you nor your brother. May the Seven cast me into the Seven Hells if I fail. You will live, as will your brother. You will be safe, my Lady Areli."

Emotion floods her chest, twisted into the storm of her conflicted heart.

The old man was sincere, and the way he moved her was infinitely gentle. She thinks to the esteem and care he had shown Tyrion, despite the fact that he had a very prominent physical disability in a world that would disdain him for it. She pressed her face tightly against his skin. Mummering softly, she knew her "thank you," was lost against his skin. But she could not help but say it, grateful for the small show of healthy, unconsuming affection the Old Man had for her and Tyrion. The Maester kept her in his arms, rocking her gently. He positioned himself on a seat and covered her in a wool blanket, rocking the whole time. Periodically he would press a cool cloth against her forehead, and check her vitals in that clumsily way of his.

Hours passed, every hour said by the Maester as time went on. He gave the hours, what she estimated to be also set on a twenty-four hours a day cycle, different names. The Hour of the Bat, Eel, Ghosts, Owl, and the Wolf passed. Five hours, set in intervals of sixty minutes, all counted down precisely by a candle that withered away to nothing by the time the Hour of the Wolf came. At least that's the same, she noted, absently as the Maester replaced the candle. It was a long, curious thing, divided by different colored waxes, all the exact same size. She counted carefully, as the Maester lit the candle. Twenty-four. Exactly. Thank fuck, twenty-four-hour cycle confirmed. The Hour of the Wolf is midnight or the twenty-fourth hour, the darkest part of day, a black part of the candle to go with it...

Five hours.The longest Areli had forced herself to be conscious, too emotionally exhausted to confront Joanna just yet. And boy. Will I have fucking words with Mommy Dearest if she greets me in the godswood of Winterfell. She let herself focus on the calming rhythm of the Maester's heart, the even pace of his easy breath. Time flies as he quietly rocks, as he mummers stories strange and fantastical to her. Fairy tales of jumping speaking lions and sirens seen off the shore of the Lannisport. He only gets up a couple of times to check on Tyrion who was asleep in the wooden crib right by the fire. He would settle into the crook of his arm as he examined his other patient with careful, soft hands. She felt her heart ease at the knowledge that Tyrion was still well cared for in her absence. The Maester, whose name Tywin had stated but Areli had been too tense to notice, would care for her twin. The first person in this world Areli wanted to keep close, wanted to protect.

"The Hour of the Nightingale," said the Maester, quietly, looking with faraway eyes towards a sputtering candle. She turned her gaze lazily that way, a yawn barely suppressed on her lips.

The first hour, one AM, the Hour of the Nightingale… I need to try and sleep. I can't hold it off anymore. I'm surprised she hasn't come floating about… She stayed near Tywin...

The door to the Nursery opened, and her biological parents came with the opening of the door. Tywin, stone face and very sober for just being at a medieval feast, was frowning. Joanna, beautiful, eretheal, invisible to all but Areli, looked pensive and stayed a few feet behind her husband, just barely making it into the room before Tywin shut the door shut.

Areli barely suppressed a whine.

"How fares my daughter?" asked Tywin, and his voice was slightly hoarse, as if he had spent hours talking. Exhaustion pulled at his form, made the usual proud set of his shoulders slump slightly.

The Maester stood quickly, and gave a careful bow. Areli felt her hand reflexively tighten on the Maester's chain and robes alike. Leave me here. Please. Like you've done every night. Let me sleep at the least.

"Better my Lord. Her fever is all but gone. Her airways stayed clear. I honestly do believe her fever was stressed based- an imbalance due to a brisk wind at the docks," Areli could only roll her eyes at his diagnosis, its called a Psychogenic fever you loveable Quack, something I may get a lot being in this fucking family, "The only curious thing is that she has yet to fall asleep. She is usually quick to fall asleep by the Hour of the Ghosts and stay asleep until the Hour of the Lion when you come to retrieve her."

Tywin frowned.

"Have you let her be or have you held her this entire time?"

Areli shifts in the Maester's arm, not liking the other man's dangerous tone.

"She… Seemed unsettled in the crib, Lord Tywin. I thought perhaps she required skin-ship. Most infants are comforted by being held by someone. She has been calm this entire time..."

Tywin stared, jaw working furiously.

"I will take my daughter to my room tonight. She will find comfort with her father."

Son of a mother-fucking bitch.

"Areli… Please do not look so distressed. Your father is worried," said Joanna, pleadingly, "Let him be assured… Let him care for you."

Quickly, the Maester deposited her into Tywin's waiting arms, with tentative instructions to keep her warm and away from any windows. Tywin for his part held her carefully and with obvious relief. He checked, with fingertips she was stunned to see tremble, against her cheek and arms for the previous fever. He relaxed when he felt it was all but gone at this point. Areli knew she could throw a fit. She knew she could win another battle and make it so that she stayed with the Maester and Tyrion, so peaceful in the crib they usually shared… But I can't win every battle. To do so would exhaust my limited resources. Tywin is not a permanent fixture at the Rock and he will fucking leave in due time. He can't take a baby with him. Especially one who seemed to be delicate in health. I might have to fake a couple more fits to keep some distance between me and this man...

So she stayed silent, hardly making a sound as Tywin returned to his bedroom, her in his arms and Joanna trailing silently behind. Areli was pleased he did not hold her in his arms once he was dressed for bed, making a makeshift cradle for her in his bed, piling pillows and cushions between them, furs and wool keeping them separate.

"Once your mother and I kept the older twins between us," Tywin said, conversationally, as he tucked and pinned her beneath a fur blanket so soft it felt like silk in her hands, "I was so terrified I would crush your brother and sister, Joanna made a little fortress around them. I fell off the bed that night, I am a restless sleeper... Your mother woke up laughing at the noise I made, and she laughed so hard she fell off the bed in kind."

Joanna sighed, wistfully, "He forbade me from ever telling that story. Or the fact that we both slept in front of the fire that night, our babes taking our bed from us."

"Of course… The bed has more room now."

His tone was matter of fact. His face, dropped, however, and his slightly slumped shoulders dipped down further.

"Gah!" she told him, smartly, unable to do but wordlessly shriek at him tightly tucked in as she was.

Tywin blinked, looking over with a creased brow. She frowned back, looking at the slightly lost expression the man gave. She sighed, softly, and gurgled at him, giving him a smile. Don't get used to this. Then, he stunned Areli by smiling back. Just slightly, but enough to show her how young Tywin was, how brilliant his face could be when it was shining with warmth and eased emotion.

"I will try to prevent myself from falling off this time… Sleep well, little lioness. I am here."

Softly, he pressed his lips against her forehead. Areli blinked as Tywin blew all the candles out, before settling into bed. He kept her in sight as he fell asleep. Angling his head toward her body, one hand settling gently on her stomach, a gesture she was wondering if it would become a habit for him. Despite everything, she could not help the way her heart twisted as Joanna settled next to her husband in an enormous bed. Her expression was pained as she pressed her face desperately into his neck. Tywin's face did not stir, did not change as Joanna's shoulders began to shake.

Areli stared at them both as Tywin fell asleep. She watched as Joanna clung to her husband in death, and watched as the ghost's eyes opened slowly. They were red-rimmed, and part of Areli was saddened that even in death, one would need to purge your emotions with tears.

"I believe Meria wishes for a marriage alliance between Jaime and Elia, just like she and I once discussed… She was incredibly delicate with Tywin tonight," whispered Joanna, softly. She sounded pleased and her voice was a touch hoarse.

Areli frowned at the phantom.

"Tywin played ignorant. I do not think he was pleased with the subtle offer, but he didn't reject it outright. Elia and Jaime will be a good strong alliance. If we do indeed visit each other in their formative years, perhaps the two can fall in love."

A chill went down her spine. Elia marries the crown prince, the would-be kidnapper or Lyanna Stark's baby daddy? What the fuck was his name? It starts with an R...

"The most immediate change will be trade. Increased sea-trade between our realms was proposed in the loosest of terms. We are by-passing the Reach all-together with this, especially if we finance long-fairing voyages that can avoid Reach controlled ports between us... We will be slowing foot trade between the West and Dorne. We are by-passing Reach taxes… This will bring wealth to both of our kingdoms."

She raised a brow, questioningly at Joanna. The woman gave a sigh.

"The West and Dorne have long had tension with the Reach. Too many former conflicts between them. It does not help that Dorne and the West are not as fertile as the Reach. Jealousy is an odd thing. We have gold and fishery, unique metal workers, Dorne has exotic species and excellent textiles and wonderful sophisticated planting techniques but limited resources to implement it. The West has limited fertile land. With our trade, we can form an alliance to weaken the Reach's control on land trade."

Joanna gave a smile.

"To see them trying not to kill each other eased my heart, Areli… I was worried that the ties Meria and I had cultivated would be lost with my absence. It is not so. The West and Dorne will stay friends, stay allies. It bodes well for everyone."

The Butterfly Effect. Shitty movie. But based on actual chaos theory. If a butterfly flaps its wings, a hurricane starts across the globe. A very small change can result in a monumental change in the long run. Dorne and the Westerlands were not friends... I am a butterfly. By merely being here, I have changed something, unintentionally, that I think will ripple into something much greater.

"Rest sweet girl. I have nothing else to report beyond this development. I love you, Areli."

Joanna faded away, her face pressing into Tywin's neck as she disappeared from Areli's eyesight.

For a moment, she relished the silence, despite the slightly ominous presence of Tywin sleeping next to her. Areli felt herself relax. I guess I have a lot to think about. More so than before. I changed history. Just by existing. What changes will I bring by accident… Or with purpose? She knew she was going to be esteemed in this world. Knew it a dubious certainty, Joanna had said herself, she was a noble Lady, daughter to the Hand of the King. As much as Areli hated the classism that would bring, she could not doubt that she had been reborn into privilege. She is not immune to the casual richness of the Rock holds. She is not immune that some of her finer clothes are laced with what she suspects is real gold thread, or glittering stones, or the fact that her biological father feeds her with a silver spoon. Or the role the Lannisters would play in the conflicts to come, with their vast wealth.

If I am to be a Lady, will I be a Lady who understands the reach of my actions? The people who they call 'small' are to be the people I aid. I will be responsible for anyone in my employ, anyone who bows or thinks to give me a higher place because of the name I carry, will see my hand reach back to them. I will lift those who bow, bring them off their knees to stand with me.

She knew it as easily as she knows her life will be difficult to adjust to the older she gets. Tywin was determined to claim her as his daughter. Joanna was much the same. She was Areli Lannister, the youngest child to Tywin Lannister, a lioness of Casterly Rock…

But what will these people do with a lioness with a heart?