A/N: obviously this chapter is quite late today. Had a busy day and was way behind schedule. But I hope the wait was worth it! Enjoy!

Chapter 43: Retribution

The mood in the living room had relaxed slightly. Arya figured the wine had something to do with it. Tyrion had made it his business to lighten the mood and that involved putting a glass into the hand of everyone who could legally drink. Rickon tried to persuade him to let him have some wine as well but Robb soundly shot down that idea before Tyrion could indulge him.

Only Cersei still stood well away from the gathering, drinking quietly, her green eyes a mix of grief and anger. Maybe she was imagining what would happen if the Waif appeared here. Maybe she was imagining wrapping her hands around her throat. Arya could understand that fantasy, even though Cersei didn't have a prayer against the Waif in a one-on-one fight.

"I like having your family here," Myrcella told her, sitting down beside her on the couch. "They're fun. I always got on with Sansa. I didn't know the others well though." She smiled brightly. "But your whole family is nice, aren't they?"

"They are," Arya said. "I'm the mean one."

"You're not mean at all," Myrcella said. "Not compared to some people I've known."

Arya's mouth twitched. Myrcella was a Baratheon and a Lannister. Lots of meanness ran in her family and not a bit of it transferred to her.

"So, when this is over," Myrcella said. "Will you go back to being yourself? Arya Stark?"

"I don't know," Arya said. "Probably not yet. It won't be safe to step back into my real name until we track down everyone behind this."

"So you'll stay Beth a bit longer then?" Myrcella asked.

"Yes," Arya said.

"Good," Myrcella said. "I like having you around. I'd hate not to see you anymore."

A little smile crept across Arya's face and her cheeks warmed. She was glad that Myrcella still wanted her around, even after all of the lies. Because she quite liked being around Myrcella too.

Arya's phone buzzed at her hip and her smile dropped away. Slowly, she lifted it and checked the screen. It was a picture. A picture of Tywin's office. Then:

Come out to play and no one else gets hurt.

At once, Arya clicked away from the message and returned her phone to her pocket. Her heart thumped against her rib cage. The Waif was in the house. She was in the house and at any moment she could come searching. She did not want her to end up in this room with her family. If the Waif got even one shot on Myrcella or any of her siblings or her mother…

No. She wasn't going to let that happen. And if the Waif wanted to play, she would play.

Myrcella studied her. "Something wrong?"

"Nothing. I messaged my mom earlier asking if she was all right," she said. "I'll be right back, okay?"

"Okay," Myrcella said. Arya could feel her eyes on her back as she stood and made her way across the room. She couldn't go through the parlor. Her mother and Tywin were there. But the other direction…she could make it to the office that way.

"Arya?" Sansa glanced up as she started toward the door. "Where are you going?"

"Bathroom," Arya said simply. "I'll be right back."

Sansa might have questioned the lie but at once was interrupted by Rickon tapping her shoulder, trying to show her something on his phone. Arya used the brief distraction to slip into the next room. She knew this house well enough now to understand the halls like the back of her hand. It was built like many old manors in the city—to allow servants to slip about unnoticed by their employers. No doubt the Waif had exploited that. As much security as the Lannister family had, she knew the Waif was too clever to be caught by the likes of them.

She moved swiftly through the corridors, checking for weapons on her person. She had her gun of course. Four knives hidden at various places on her body. She didn't know if it would be enough, but she had to try.

She had welcomed this devil to Westeros the moment she crossed the sea. Now she had to put her down.

She stopped outside of Tywin's office, staring up at the door she had faced many times, more afraid than ever for what lied on the other side.

She swallowed hard and pulled out her phone at the last minute. Tapped out a few messages. Then turned her phone off.

She straightened her posture. Relaxed her face. Let out a breath. Then she opened the door and stepped inside.

Arya was gone when Tywin and Catelyn returned to the living room. Catelyn noticed it almost immediately and asked Sansa at once where she had gone off to, a note of panic in her voice.

"She…said she was going to the bathroom," Sansa said.

"How long ago?" Catelyn asked.

"Five minutes? I'm sure she'll be back soon," Sansa said.

But her voice did not sound sure at all and Tywin cursed internally. What in the seven hells was the girl playing at?

"Father."

He turned to Cersei approaching him, wringing her hands together. "Myrcella. Myrcella isn't here. She was here a few minutes ago but now she's gone. We need to find her."

"She probably followed Arya," Tywin said.

"She's gone too?" Cersei asked. "We have to go looking for them. I need to—"

"No," Tywin said. "We can't afford to scatter ourselves about the house."

"I'm not losing another child," Cersei hissed at him.

"No. You're not," Tywin said. "I'll go. Jaime will come with me." He looked at Jon Stark. "You know how to use a gun, yes?"

"I'm not a member of the watch for nothing, sir," Jon said.

"Good. Then guard the door," Tywin said. "Let no one past. We'll find the girls and bring them back." He motioned for Jaime to follow him and his son immediately fell into step behind him.

"You're sure you want me along?" Jaime asked as they moved swiftly through the parlor and toward the front hall. "I only have one good hand. Jon Stark would be better use here."

"You can shoot a gun with your good hand, yes?"

"Yes."

"Then you'll do fine," Tywin said, checking his own piece to make sure it was properly loaded. His old instincts from the war were coming back to him—checking around corners for threats, moving quickly and quietly, keeping a weapon at the ready. He felt an old sense of calm fall over him—the kind of calm which had helped him survive several dangerous battles. This wasn't a war zone, but there was something about the way Arya talked about this girl. This Waif. He had seen the way Arya behaved in a fight. If she feared the Waif so much, she must be a force to be reckoned with and he would not make the mistake of underestimating her.

Jaime went ahead a bit, checking around each corner and waving Tywin forward. As he followed after, his phone buzzed in his pocket, almost startling his calm. He pulled it out to check and found a message from Arya.

A: She's in the house.

Then…

A: I have a plan.

Tywin let out a long breath. For the sake of his damned nerves, he hoped so.

It was close to midnight and the full moon cast long shadows across the floor of Tywin's office. Just enough light to see by. Just enough light to recognize the shape perched upon his desk, facing the window.

Arya knew she was meant to take this position as a slight. Amongst the Faceless men, if you began a fight with your back turned to your opponent, it meant that you did not fear them. That you could treat the fight casually and still win it in the end. So yes, Arya should take it as an insult.

But she didn't. She did not want the Waif to take this fight seriously. On a pure skill level, the girl had far more experience than Arya. She had beaten her in nearly every fight. She had more stamina. More strength. And she was far better at lying. She was the perfect faceless man who did not hesitate to give up her name.

In a straight up fight, Arya could not beat her, and the Waif knew it.

"So," the Waif said. "A girl is protective of her family after all." She glanced over her shoulder. "I thought she might not care…when she did not do as asked."

"I was going to," Arya said. "I meant to go through with it."

"So why didn't you?"

Arya's lip curled. "I didn't want to give you the satisfaction."

The Waif smiled, standing up on the desk and turning to face Arya. "A girl will give me satisfaction. Satisfaction I've been wanting for a long time."

"Will I?" Arya asked. "I didn't know the Faceless men cared about your personal satisfactions. You're no one, aren't you? You're not meant to want anything."

The Waif's eyes narrowed a fraction. "Sometimes business mixes with pleasure."

"True," Arya said. "But what business is this? What do you get from killing me?" She swept her arm back toward the door—back in the direction of her family. "You don't pit the Starks and the Lannisters against each other if I die. They'll know the truth. And killing Arya Stark won't mean much since she's been dead for years now. So what's the purpose?"

"That is not a girl's business to know," the Waif said.

"Isn't it?" Arya asked. "Maybe you don't have a real purpose. Tell me…what does Jaqen think of this play."

"The Waif does as Jaqen and the Many Faced God ask," the Waif replied flatly. But there was a hardness in her gaze.

"Does she?" Arya asked. "Show me then. Show me the message where he told you to kill me."

"You think a girl is owed proof?" the Waif asked.

"Maybe not," Arya said. "But a girl thinks the Waif is full of shit."

The Waif's lip curled and she hopped from the desk, reaching into her jacket and pulling out a short metal rod. With a click of a button, it expanded into a staff which she turned in her hand. "Maybe if a girl survives, she can ask the Kindly Man herself."

Arya gritted her teeth, resting her hand on her gun. Yes. That was a rather big 'if'.

For a moment, there was a pause and nothing stirred between them. Then the Waif lunged. Arya drew her gun, firing twice. She knew she would miss the moment she pulled the trigger as the Waif ducked low, closing the gap between them in a flash. She spun her staff, knocking Arya's hands hard enough to send the gun spinning through the air.

Arya made no attempt to catch the weapon. She dropped beneath the Waif's next strike letting a knife slide into her hand. A quick swipe and she caught the Waif's leg with the tip of her blade. But not deep enough to slow her down.

The butt of the Waif's staff jabbed Arya in the back. She hissed, rolling forward and coming up beside the desk. She grabbed the nearest object—a crystal glass—and turned, smashing it against the Waif's face as she came at her again. The Waif snarled as shards of crystal stuck in her skin and lashed out wildly. Arya threw herself back over the desk to avoid her, drawing another knife. She threw it at the Waif but she merely deflected the weapon, lodging it in the bookshelf instead.

Arya was just drawing her next knife to prepare for the Waif's next attack when the door to the office creaked open. Arya's gaze flashed past the Waif's shoulder and her heart dropped into her stomach when she saw Myrcella standing there. She looked from Arya to the Waif then grabbed for Arya's fallen gun only a few feet away.

The Waif whipped around, running toward Myrcella in a second. Too fast for Arya to reach her even as she launched herself over the desk. By the time she hit the carpet on the other side, the Waif had already knocked the gun from Myrcella's hand and dragged her into a tight hold, pressing a knife to her throat.

Arya did not move a muscle. She looked from the Waif to Myrcella to the blade pressed up against Myrcella's pale neck. This whole fight had been a battle for survival, but for the first time, Arya felt true panic.

"Let her go," Arya said. "I know you don't care about her."

"No," the Waif said. "But you do."

"You don't need her to win this fight against me, do you?" Arya asked, taking a careful step forward.

"I don't need her, no," the Waif said. "A girl will lose this fight no matter what. But maybe I make it more fun."

"I'll make it more fun," Arya said. She tossed her knife away. Then she went for the other knives on her person and did the same thing. "I'll fight you without a weapon. Not a single knife. Just let her go."

"Arya, no," Myrcella whimpered.

"It's okay, Cella," Arya murmured. "I'll be okay."

"Arya Stark is lying to you," the Waif said in her ear. "She did an awful lot of that. Are you still worried for her?"

Myrcella didn't reply. Arya could see her panic swelling up and her green eyes glistened with tears.

"Well?" Arya asked. "Do we have a deal?"

"I could beat you with or without weapons," the Waif told her.

"And without her," Arya said.

The Waif considered the offer. Then she pulled the knife away from Myrcella's neck leaving a single drop of blood to roll down her skin. "Go then. Run away."

Myrcella stumbled away from the Waif, looking from her to Arya with wide eyes. She opened her mouth to say something. To offer some protest. Arya cut her off.

"Go Myrcella," Arya said. "I'm fine."

"Don't die," Myrcella mumbled in reply. Then she fled the office.

"Very sweet," the Waif said. "She'll cry for you, won't she?"

"Yes," Arya said. "Because I have a name she can cry for. No one ever cried for you, did they?"

The Waif's smile soured at once. She stooped and picked up one of the blades Arya had cast away, tossing it from hand to hand.

"The Waif doesn't need tears…for she is no one," she said flatly. "And soon you will be too."

She lunged at Arya and Arya narrowly dodged the strike. She kept her foot work loose and her focus on the knife flashing at her from every angle. She needed to hold out for as long as she could. And she needed to wait for the right moment.

The Waif, despite all her confidence was growing tired. Arya could see as much. She would want to end this quickly. Which meant…if she gave her just the right opening…

"Come on," Arya said. "I thought you'd end the fight quicker than this."

The Waif's lip curled. Then she shot forward with almost inhuman speed. A direct attack and just what Arya needed. She side stepped, stumbled back, then grabbed the Waif's wrist just as she sank the knife into her gut.

"Always so predictable," the Waif cooed.

And Arya screamed.

Arya said she had a plan. But that plan was, to say the least, not very encouraging. The messages she had sent him spoke more a desperate play than a true plan.

A: She's in the house. I have a plan.

A: Come to your office. Don't enter until you hear me scream.

A: I promise I'm not getting myself killed. Trust me.

Tywin wasn't sure if he did trust her. At least not where her own well being was concerned. She had tried to throw her life away only hours ago, so how could he trust her with it here?

Halfway to his office with Jaime, someone came running out of the shadows. His gun snapped up but he lowered it immediately when he saw who it was. Myrcella, wide eyed and panicking.

"Help. She needs help."

Jaime stopped her in her path. "You saw her? Arya?"

"In the office," Myrcella mumbled. "I followed her. She's fighting without a weapon. That's my fault. Please, we have to go."

"We will go," Tywin said. "You'll return to the parlor at once, Myrcella." When his granddaughter hesitated, he excelled. "Now. Arya will be fine."

Myrcella was shaking like a leaf and he noticed the thin cut on her neck. He wondered if Myrcella had been a part of Arya's plan. He was willing to bet not.

"Go," Jaime said, giving her a gentle push down the hall. They watched her run off, then exchange glances before hurrying onward.

The moment they reached the office door, Tywin could hear the scuffling beyond it. The sound of a fight. At least that meant Arya was still standing. But as Jaime went to open the door, he rested a hand on his shoulder.

Wait, he mouthed.

Jaime looked at him in confusion. Why? He mouthed back.

Because, Tywin thought but did not say. For some reason I've decided to trust this wild girl's judgement.

Jaime looked like he was about to protest again. His hand was still on the handle. Then—the signal. A blood curling scream from Arya.

Tywin gave Jaime a nod and he burst into the office. Inside stood two girls. Arya and a stranger—the one Arya called the Waif. She was pale and had a thin face. The sort of face that would disappear into any crowd. And she had a knife buried in Arya's gut.

As soon as the door slammed open, her gaze flashed to them. She turned, abandoning her blade in Arya's abdomen and leaving her to crumple. For a moment she looked at Tywin with the fury of a wild animal.

"You," she said. As if she knew him. The fury in her voice was enough to give him pause—at least until she drew a gun from her coat. "The lion of the rock," she hissed, like it was a prayer of vengeance. Tywin raised his own weapon, ready to fire.

The shadows behind the Waif shifted and she froze. Her eyes glazed. Blood spurt from her mouth and flooded down her chin as the tip of a blade broke through her throat. Then tore out again, leaving her to cough and sputter. She sunk to the ground leaving Arya standing behind her.

In one hand, Arya held the knife. The knife which the Waif had driven into her gut. Her other hand she pressed against her side, stemming the flow of blood from the now gaping wound. She was in pain, but she barred her teeth in something between a snarl in a grin as she looked down at the Waif.

"How's that for predictable?"

The Waif did not reply. She had already bled enough on the carpet and her eyes had gone vacant.

Arya shuddered. Took a step forward. Then sank to her knees.

"Call an ambulance," Tywin told Jaime. "Now."

Jaime had the phone in his hand before he finished giving the order. Tywin hurried over to Arya, kneeling in front of her to get a look at the wound. It was bleeding profusely and he had no idea how she managed to pull the blade from her gut without make a sound.

"Stay awake until the ambulance arrives," he said.

"Can't go…to the hospital," she murmured.

"You'll go to the hospital as Beth Rivers. We'll deal with the rest later," he said. "Unless you want to explain to your mother why you should be allowed to bleed out on my office floor."

Arya shivered. "Is my…mother all right."

"Everyone is all right. If your old friend had other targets, we'll never know them. She prioritized you."

"That…was the plan," Arya said.

Tywin looked from her face to the bloody knife still clutched in her hand. "Was taking a knife to the gut part of the plan?"

"Yes," she said softly. "She always told me…sacrificial plays were stupid. But I knew she'd fall for it. And you came in just in time…to pull her focus away."

"You shouldn't have taken that kind of risk," he said firmly.

She gave a little grin. "It worked." She swallowed hard. "Myrcella. Is she…?"

"She's fine," Tywin said.

"Good," she said. "Wouldn't be a very good bodyguard…if I let her die."

Her eyelids drooped and she toppled backward in that moment. Her hand slipped from her wound and Tywin swiftly replaced it with his own, keeping as much of her blood inside of her body as possible. Somewhere in the distance, he could hear the sound of sirens and he let out a breath.

There would be many more questions to ask. Many more problems to deal with. This…Waif was just the beginning. But Arya Stark would survive to deal with every one of those problems and answer every one of those questions.

Because Tywin had simply invested too much time in this girl to let her die.

A/N: RIP to the Waif, but Arya is too willing to throw herself into physical harm to be beaten. We'll get the aftermath of this play next time but I hope you enjoy Arya getting a win for once in these many chapters lol. Review, subscribe and I'll see you next time!