Kevan Lannister is one of those men who, having followed loyally from the shadows all their life, is thrust forward into history in their final years. His actions would be instrumental in determining the fate of House Lannister.

SANSA

The creaking hinges of a large iron door startled her awake. She heard the sound of footsteps. They grew louder, and a faint flicker of light grew brighter. She closed her eyes in discomfort. How long had she been down here in the dark?

"Gods, she's just a child."

Sansa looked up. As her eyes adjusted, she saw a broad shouldered man with a balding head of blond hair. With him was a boy. Not a boy, she thought suddenly. Just a particularly small man, the Imp.

"You don't have to tell me, Uncle. I've been trying to do something about her for weeks, but Cersei has become uncontrollable. She means to make the girl suffer."

The larger man sneered. "And suffer she has."

He approached her tentatively, as if she were a frightful little bird. "Come on, girl. Let's get you up and sorted. I won't hurt you, lass." He pulled her up by her elbow, not ungently.

They led her out of the cell and down the winding dark corridor. As they came to the more well-lit higher levels of the cells, the unknown man made a sudden noise of disgust.

She followed his eyes to her bare forearm. Ah, she'd almost forgotten about that in the pitch dark. Both her arms were covered in scars. Joffrey's peculiar brand of suffering. There were plenty of others too, but they at least covered by the rough spun wool garment that had been flung at her when Ser Meryn threw her into the black cells.

The man appeared horrified, then angry. That was strange. If the Imp called him Uncle, he was undoubtedly some Lannister. Why then should he care the slightest bit about her fate? It was no less than she deserved, in any case. She had betrayed her father. Betrayed him for love of Joffrey, as great a monster as had ever lived. Everything thereafter was only the Gods making her answer for her crime.

He was speaking to the Imp again. "What is wrong with them?" he hissed.

"With Cersei? Rather a lot, I'm afraid. With Joffrey? I cannot even begin to explain." replied the Imp.

"Do they not realise that every injury they inflict upon the Stark boy's sister is likely to be repaid? They have their own hostages, not the least of which are my sons!" The man was furious. He took a breath as if to calm himself. "Do they not care?"

Sansa perked up at the mention of her brother. Whenever she mustered enough spirit to plead with the Gods, it was always for him. Not even that he'd save her, just that he himself would live.

The Imp laughed bitterly. "Joffrey is too stupid to understand why he should care. Cersei has become so unhinged that she ignores why she should."

"We can't let them go on as they have. Didn't Tywin tell you to bring the boy to heel, and his mother as well if needs be?"

The Imp laughed once more. "We, Uncle? I'm afraid that you alone have the power to do a damn thing now. I have tried and tried, but there's only so much I can do. Cersei has done her very utmost to keep me isolated, but you have 2,000 Lannister bannermen within the city walls that answer to you. If you make a grab for the reins of power, the city will fall in line. At least until the next calamity."

She cast her eyes at the man once more, trying not to draw attention to herself. He looked uncertain now.

"What exactly are you suggesting, Tyrion?"

"I don't know if we can win this war, Uncle." That got her attention. She had to stop herself from reacting visibly. She must have failed, because the Imp looked at her suddenly. He seemed to reconsider his words. "I will say only this. Talk to Lancel. Tell him that you love him, but that you can only help him if he tells you the full and honest truth."

The unknown Lannister appeared befuddled. "What do you mean? Why should I say such a thing to Lancel? Speak plainly."

The Imp shook his head. "I can say no more."

The three of them fell into a less than companionly silence as they made their way through the upper levels of the black cells. She felt blinded as they emerged into the midday sun.

The Imp and the man parted ways. The man bid her to follow him. Tentatively she did so. Two blank faced guardsmen in red cloaks trailed behind them.

She felt a sense of dread when she realised where he was leading her. She had not been there since her father was alive. The Tower of the Hand.

As they entered, a maid appeared, looking at her with horrified confusion. The man ordered the girl to help her wash and dress.

It felt undeniably good to scrub off the detritus of her imprisonment. It felt even better to breathe fresh air again, and to see the light of day. How far she had fallen. There had been a time where she taken all of that for granted.

The girl made no attempt to engage her in conversation, which relieved her. Sansa's mind wandered unwillingly to all that had happened in those last terrible few months. Since the Sept of Baelor. Since Joffrey had called for her father's head.

It seemed her life was bound to be divided forever into before and after that. Sometimes she could hardly believe the girl she had been, before she became as she was now.

After Joffrey had cut off her father's head and forced her up to the battlements to look upon it, and after the Hound had stopped her pushing him to his death, the torments had been mostly small and petty. She could handle Joffrey's mockery.

After Robb had won his great victory at Riverrun, things had gotten far worse for her. Joffrey had made her the target of all of his rage and frustration. She'd begun to receive regular beatings from the Kingsguard. Ser Meryn took to it with a barely disguised eagerness, Ser Arys with great reluctance. Strangely, only the Hound had refused entirely to lay a hand on her. The fact that Joffrey was slightly in awe of him allowed him to get away with such occasional disobediences.

Then Joffrey had taken to having her regularly stripped and beaten in the throne room. Sansa's faith in the goodness of people was destroyed there. Occasionally she caught looks of discomfort, or of pity, but most of the crowd obediently fell in with Joffrey's manic desires. When he snickered, they copied. When he ranted, they tutted and hemmed and hawed their agreement.

Queen Cersei was always there, watching at Joffrey's side. Sometimes her countenance failed her, and Sansa saw how much satisfaction the Queen gained from her humiliation. The Queen had become fanatical in her hatred since her Ser Jaime's death. He had been killed by Robb's direwolf, according to some.

The Imp's arrival at court had paused her torment for a while, but the small man could not be everywhere at once. Besides, her pariah status was taken as an invitation for mockery by even the lowliest. Sometimes even the servants pointed and whispered.

When word came of Robb's latest victory she'd been summoned once more to the throne room. Ser Lancel had regaled everyone with the tale, of thousands of Lannisters dead by some monstrous sorcery. She'd smiled.

That had been a mistake. The beating had been one of the worst. The Queen had been screaming for her execution, not for the first time. The Imp had been shouting back. The black cells had been some kind of demented compromise, she supposed.

Sansa lifted herself out of the tub and allowed the maid to dress her. She looked at her reflection. She looked renewed, and it did feel better, but dead eyes stared back at her. Her face was gaunt and thin. They had never fed her properly in the black cells.

She was led back into the living space, where once she had sat with her father, Arya and Septa Mordane. The man from the cells stood up as she approached. "There we are, lass. I hope you feel at least a little better now."

It was nice for him to care, she supposed. Still, he was a Lannister. She could not trust in his paternal demeanour. It could be another one of Joffrey's cruel japes, after all.

The man cleared his throat. "I am truly very sorry, lass. Our families are enemies, it is true. But your treatment has been nothing less than monstrous. It cannot be justified. This is not war, to senselessly mistreat a highborn maiden."

"I thank you for your kindness, Ser." Sansa fell back into her courtesies easily enough, but her voice was hoarse from weeks of disuse.

The man shook his head sadly. "There'll be no more beatings from the boy King. Nor will the Queen Mother menace you further, I promise." He looked out of the window for a moment. "I wonder if I might be honest with you, lass. You strike me as a clever young girl."

"If you wish, Ser."

"I have myself two young sons. Twins. About your age, give or take a year. They were with the army at Riverrun, before your brother came. He holds them captive now. I pray every day for them. Having seen your treatment, I shall pray now that your brother is more honourable than my dear niece or her son."

She did not know what to say to that, so she remained silent. It was good of him to be honest about his motivations, she supposed. She still didn't trust him, though. At least, not fully.

The man was staring out of the window again, down at the courtyard below. He sighed. "I am Ser Kevan Lannister, lass. Younger brother to Lord Tywin. I shan't hold you prisoner here, but I caution you that I won't be able to ensure your protection if you go wandering the castle."

She nodded in understanding. That was no great difficulty to her. Long gone was the girl who yearned to explore the magic of the Red Keep, her fairy tale land. The girl that was left was content to hide away from the world, to grasp at some offered place of safety.

ARYA

Arya threw herself forward as soon as she saw him. "ROBB!" she screamed.

One of the men surrounding her brother grabbed her, holding her arm in a bruising grip. "Insolent boy, step back from the King." He sneered at her, as if she were a stain on his boot. She winced in pain.

Arya felt herself begin to cry. "Robb, it's me! It's Arya! Please, you have to know me. Please, please, please. You have to."

He did recognise her, she saw. "By the Gods, Arya. Release her, Bracken. This very moment."

Her brother vaulted off his horse and came straight towards her. She threw herself into his arms, sobbing with relief and glee. He rubbed her back gently. "I watched them kill father." she whispered, between sobs.

Robb sighed. "I know you did, Arya. I'm so very sorry."

Arya savoured the moment. She'd gone through so much to get here. She was still only a girl, and she'd travelled hundreds of miles. She had been attacked, had fought back, and saved at least one life. She had helped her friends too, even if Gendry was stupid and Hot Pie was cowardly.

All the knights and retainers around them were murmuring to themselves. Perhaps someone had explained who she was, for such a scruffy little child to take such liberties with their King. They must have done, for the grabbing Bracken knight had gone very pale indeed.

Robb took a step back, keeping his hands on her shoulders. He smiled. "You smell awful."

She shrugged, laughing. "Wasn't much of a chance to bathe."

"I imagine not."

Arya turned back to her friends. They stood by awkwardly, feeling out place. She smiled to herself. They were not used to the company of lords, let alone a King. "Robb, you must help my friends. They helped me get here."

Robb smiled indulgently. "Of course I will. Any friend of yours is a friend of mine."

She rewarded him with a beaming smile, feeling genuinely happy for the first time in forever.

Robb sent one of his men to fetch one of the Septas from the Stoney Sept to see to her needs. She found herself separated from Gendry and Hot Pie, but Robb promised he would let her see them again soon.

To her surprise, the Septa was young and very nice. Not at all like Septa Mordane. She helped her wash and make herself presentable. Arya found herself unwilling to even complain about the dress, such was her happiness.

She was led to Robb's personal tent. A sumptuous dinner was set out for just the two of them. She eagerly tucked in. Months of living on scraps taught her to appreciate it more than she ever had.

Her brother spoke up. "I had men out looking for you, you know."

That surprised her. How would he have known where to look, or to look at all?

Her confusion must have shown, as Robb continued. "I had known for a while the Lannisters did not have you, whatever their claims. Recently I heard a rumour about you being somewhere near Harrenhal."

She shook her head, even more confused. "I was never there. Yoren, the Night's Watch man, he found me when.. you know, with father." She took a breath, it never stopped hurting to recall that day. Robb encouraged her to go on. "Then we went north up the King's road, but then we got attacked. I thought they were after me, but they weren't. Yoren died, and so did Lommy. It was just me, Gendry and Hot Pie. When we heard that you were at the Stoney Sept, we turned west and made our way here."

Robb had been listening intently. He smiled at her. "You really are an extraordinary young girl, Arya."

She shook her head. It was nice of him to say so, but she was just Arya. Arya Underfoot. Arya Horseface, as Sansa used to say.

Her brother turned serious all of a sudden. "Arya, I need to ask you something very important, but you have to promise me never to tell another soul. Not your friends, not mother, not anyone. Can you do that?"

She nodded without even thinking. She was loyal to her pack, and she wasn't a gossip like Sansa. If Robb needed her to keep a secret, she would.

"During your journey, did you ever encounter a man named Jaqen H'ghar?"

Her mouth dropped open. How?