AN: I realized only at the end of the chapter that it has sort of turned into a songfic… and since the first part was referring to Rains of Castamere, I decided to make it a thing. You could listen to Rachel Hardy's version of Scarborough Fair while reading, and I hope you'll enjoy the second part *winks*


II – He Once Was a True Love of Mine

There was something about most of the Starks that made Tywin want to bash them over the head with a heavy object. An encyclopedia was preferable – perhaps they would learn a thing or two. It had taken him four attempts to shake off that young aspiring journalist, and now he was forced into hiding – at his own family's celebration no less.

The younger Stark girl was a nightmare. Arya Stark had introduced herself boldly – just like the popular character of those ridiculous spy movies did (H'ghar, Jaqen H'ghar) – and shoved a voice recorder under his nose. She wrote for her school paper and had taken it into her head to interview him. When Tywin had politely refused, the girl had hounded him like the dire wolf of their family's sigil until Tywin had roared like the lion of his. He had made his escape from the throne room, apologizing to Cersei and Robert on his way out, and now he wandered the grounds of the Red Keep in blessed silence.

His feet carried him around the Tower of the Hand and Tywin found himself observing the building nostalgically. It wasn't his home for more than five years now, seeing that Lord Stark had started his second term in the office, yet Tywin still thought of the Hand's library as his sanctuary and the only place in the whole city where he could find privacy.

Perhaps the vicinity of the Stark family was to blame, or he was turning into a soft old man on this emotional occasion, but Tywin felt a smile tug at the corners of his lips as he remembered one Stark whose company he had not minded. Shaking his head and downright chuckling, he continued through the gardens leisurely.

The other Stark girl, Sansa, had been on his mind tonight – as she had been once or twice over the years – and he wondered if he had seen her without recognizing her. He had exchanged stilted polite chitchat with Lord Stark and his wife, had been introduced to their eldest son Robb, and young Arya was something else entirely, but Tywin thought he hadn't seen Sansa Stark at all.

Five years ago, he had been half convinced that he had imagined the whole encounter with Ms. Stark but then again, not even his subconscious mind would have dreamt up the ridiculous idea that the child of his political opponent would offer him comfort in the darkest of nights. So, Tywin had concluded that he and Ms. Stark had indeed met and spent a good amount of time crying in the Hand's library that night.

"-not joking! Let. Me. Go." The fierce whisper cut through the night and Tywin felt his jaw clench at the implication. It was a female voice – one that sounded vaguely familiar – and there was only one situation that could warrant those words in a secluded part of the gardens during a royal celebration.

"Shh, baby, I'm not doing anything you won't enjoy…"

Tywin scowled, located the direction of the whispers, and started to march that way.

"No, I'm telling you-hmph!"

He forced his way through the shrubbery and let out a growl at the sight that greeted him. There was a woman backed against the outer wall of the keep's battlements and a tall blond man was pressing himself against her, kissing her forcefully. He held her head in place with one hand while the other – Tywin gritted his teeth and a wave of hot, scorching fury crashed over him – held the woman's wrists firmly above her head. The poor dear struggled and tried to knee him unsuccessfully.

He lengthened his stride, the haze of rage tinging everything in red, and wrapped his arm around the man's neck in a stranglehold. Tugging him away from her, Tywin growled, "The lady said no."

The woman's frightened eyes met Tywin's only briefly. The initial panic in her gaze instantly receded, replaced by relief, and it surprised him, gutted him, dragging unwelcome memories of failure to the surface. He had expected wariness at least, not such a trust, but he didn't have time to think about it. Turning with his prey firmly clasped in the lion's jaw, so to speak, he dragged him a few paces away.

The worthless loser was immediately struggling against Tywin's hold and his face was turning redder and redder the more he fought. Tywin smiled grimly, just waiting for him to tire. When most of the fight left the scum, he tightened his hold for a second and snarled, "Get lost and be glad I will not break your hands for laying them on her against her will."

With that, he let the man go and shoved him aside, placing himself between the attacker and the woman.

The boy – for he wasn't much more than that – spluttered and coughed. "Who the fuck do you think you are, old man?"

"I shall not repeat myself, boy," rumbled Tywin and took a menacing step closer. A roaring sound filled his ears and he found himself itching for a fight even as his rationality warned him not to go any further. "Which arm do you prefer to keep intact?"

The younger man considered him for a moment and Tywin shifted his weight from foot to foot, assuming a relaxed fighting stance. It had been some time since he had engaged in a physical conflict, but he was certain that he could still teach the boy a lesson or two. At forty-seven, Tywin wasn't that old, and he refused to call for the security to deal with this mess. Something inside of him called for blood, and he wanted to be the one spilling it tonight.

If there was one thing that could make Tywin Lannister lose his cool, it was sexual violence. The awful knowledge of what had been done to his wife, before they had finally killed her, was never far from his conscious mind even after all those years. Tywin never had the opportunity to exact revenge on the offenders – they had drowned on their mad flight to the Iron Islands. His thirst for blood had turned into helpless fury and Tywin hated it. He was a Lannister and he had left a debt unpaid, been denied his vengeance. Losing his wife had broken him – his heart and soul – and his inability to obtain justice for her had been another crippling blow, this time to his pride, that left behind a festering wound.

Choosing stupidity over self-preservation, the boy lunged at him. Tywin ducked under his flying fist and landed a solid left hook in the boy's face. Something gave a sickening crunch and he howled in pain, clutching his nose and scrambling backward.

"Fuck! You'll pay for this!" he promised and promptly fled.

How disappointing. Tywin rolled his shoulders and unclenched his fists, adrenaline still coursing through his veins.

"Oh my, he's going to try and tattle to his uncle," said the woman softly, and he slowly turned to face her.

She was astonishingly young and was watching him with large blue eyes. Her red hair was mussed up, the complicated hairdo completely ruined, the make-up smudged, and her lips were swollen and looked bruised. Still, she smiled at him, a small spark entering her eyes.

"Hello, Lord Lannister."

Those words gave him a pause, tugged at the well-cherished memory he kept hidden deep in the safety of his mind. Her absolute trust in him and the relief at his appearance made sense, and Tywin found himself shaken. The very idea of the little girl he had known being hurt in such a horrible way turned his blood to ice.

"Hello, little wolf," he said, the words clipped. Now he wished he had broken the boy's bones; every single one of them. His gaze flicked quickly across Sansa's face looking over her injuries once more. Then darted down to the classy silvery ball gown she wore that tastefully hinted at her developing physique looking for further damage. "I see you still haven't learned your lesson, even though you have grown some since we saw each other last."

Where the hell was Stark's security? Did the Lord Hand know what were his daughters doing? His youngest was making a complete nuisance of herself while his oldest had been just assaulted on the grounds of the Red Keep itself. If Tywin hadn't had arrived… He closed his eyes and swallowed heavily. Better not to think about what would have happened then.

The blond moron who had attempted to attack Sansa was nothing compared to the Crow's Eye and his gang whose drug ring had Tywin's administration completely obliterated. It had been personal, and it had been ugly…They had even sent Tywin pictures, those bastards, pictures of what they had been doing to Joanna.

"Lesson?" A small frown appeared between her eyebrows, probably at his brusque tone, and she shuddered in the cold night air. Her arms were bare, Tywin noticed, shrugging out of his jacket at once.

"You still seem to be wandering the grounds without a proper escort at night… and while you are not in your pajamas, as was the case the last time, you forgot that autumn nights are rather cold in King's Landing." He held it out for her, breathing loudly through his nose.

It wouldn't do to roar at her. The little wolf hadn't done anything to raise his ire, and she was probably the only person alive whom Tywin wished to spare his temper. It was the people around her that were responsible. She was young and she thought herself safe in her current home, trusting in the adults to keep her protected.

Just like Joanna had trusted him. Tywin would be damned if he allowed a single hair on Ms. Stark's head to be harmed. He was going to have words with Lord Stark at the very least, probably shout at the man, and insist that he taught his daughter proper self-defense. If the girl's father failed to suitably protect her, then it would have to be the Lion of Lannister stepping in and arranging those lessons himself.

"As you can see, wandering at night could be dangerous."

Sansa blushed and turned around, letting him slip the jacket around her shoulders. He carefully smoothed the sleeves and asked more gently, "Are you alright, Ms. Stark?"

"I am now, thank you." She turned her head to give a small smile and grasped his hand in thanks, letting out a little chuckle. "When you returned me to the Holdfast all those years ago, I dubbed you my knight in shining armor, and now you have proven your worth in battle, my lord!"

The light tone of her voice and the feel of her fingertips touching his hand lightly grounded him. The last of Tywin's ire melted away and he snorted, "Your hero, am I?"

Despite his dry tone, he squeezed her hand briefly. For once he had not failed, and it made him smile genuinely at her.

"Oh, yes, something like that." Sansa ducked her head and nodded, avoiding his eye. A faint flush spread over her cheeks as she hesitantly slipped her fingers from his grasp.

Tywin raised his eyebrow at the display and smoothed his face into a neutral mask. Well, well, well. Being a hero had obvious perks. It seemed he had won not only the battle but the fair lady's affection as well. He was both amused and slightly flattered that such a young thing would look at someone his age and think of him as crush-worthy.

He hadn't dealt with one of those on his person for quite some time, mainly because his reputation as a cold-hearted bastard preceded him. Most people around him with the notable exception of his siblings – but Kevan and Genna were sentimental fools – understood that he was not an ideal object of anyone's affection. Not even his children liked him once they'd grown.

This situation would require careful maneuvering on his part. The last thing he wanted was to hurt the young woman, who even as a child had shown a stranger compassion when Tywin had needed it the most.

"I will accompany you to the Hand's Tower and alert your father." Clearing his throat, he stepped slightly away from her and gestured back toward the lit parts of the gardens. "Shall we?"

"Oh, my father can't see me like this!" She looked startled and her wide eyes settled on him. Her puppy dog expression had been nearly irresistible when she had been twelve, but the look she gave him now had perfected it into a weapon. "He'd kill Harry!"

"Oh?" Tywin's hands twitched. So that was the name of the young man? Harry? Was he perhaps Harry Hardyng, Lord Arryn's useless nephew? The boy was lucky that Tywin had been easy on him. "What do you expect me to do, then?"

"Not to tell him. Please?"

"You were assaulted, your father needs to be aware of that so he can act accordingly." Tywin glanced away at the nearest shrubbery for a second so he wouldn't have to look at those large glistening eyes. "The boy needs to be taught a lesson."

"You broke his nose, my lord, that will leave a lasting impression, don't you think?" Sansa said dryly. "He's just a pampered idiot and I was stupid to think that he had any manners, but I've known him for years. Harry would have stopped, he's not a brute."

"He could have fooled me."

"I'm sorry he tried to hit you, but let's settle this quietly, please. Neither of us needs to deal with this right now. It would ruin the king's celebration…"

"What are you asking of me, Ms. Stark?" Tywin growled and met her eyes. Sansa was watching him hopefully and it was abundantly clear that Tywin had already lost this battle – and they both knew it. "If young Harrold complains to his uncle, Lord Arryn will confront me, and I won't let them malign my good name with impunity. Your name, I am willing not to mention, but what about Mr. Hardyng himself? Will he refrain?"

"Harry won't say anything once he realizes it was you who broke his nose. Then he would have to explain why you did it, and then Uncle Jon would cut down his income. Harry wouldn't risk that. On the other hand, if you backed him into a corner, he would probably try to sue you for assaulting him, dragging all our names through the dirt. Why don't we avoid any unpleasantness with potential lawsuits, my lord?"

That gave him a pause and he frowned. "You can't be sure about your assumptions."

"I can and I am." Sansa lifted her chin and gave him a confident smile.

At that moment, Tywin was certain he saw a glimpse of the woman Sansa Stark was going to be one day. She would be magnificent, and he found himself returning the smirk. "You show your teeth, little wolf. Any chance of you going into politics? You'd be a force to reckon with one day."

Sansa's cheeks flushed crimson and she ducked his head, easily reverting into an uncertain teenager. "That or history, I haven't decided yet. I could, of course, live off my trust fund and paint landscapes if all else fails."

Tywin stopped himself from blurting out something foolish – like that he did not doubt Ms. Stark's success in any endeavor she chose. He wished to diffuse her crush gently, and the best approach would be to keep any interaction between them polite and slightly detached. Even simple compliments and his smiles – as rare as they were – were pushing it.

"I'll make you a deal, Ms. Stark," he sighed and after another brief debate with himself offered her his arm – anything else would have been rude. She glanced at his forearm, then at his face, and accepted it with grace once again betraying the kind of woman she would become.

"I'm listening, my lord."

"I will deal with Mr. Hardyng as I see fit and you, little wolf, will attend self-defense classes I'll arrange for you without a single complaint. In exchange for that, I won't say a word to Lord Stark about your unfortunate habit of roaming the grounds at night, inviting all sorts of trouble."

She looked up at him sharply. Her eyes were wide and her mouth slightly open in indignation. "That's-"

"Yes or no, Ms. Stark? If you do not accept my terms, I shall be on my way to your father. Mr. Hardyng might have stopped, or he might have not. You can believe what you want, but the fact is you cannot be sure. It is proven that women often personally know those who attack them. The next man you meet in a secluded area – if you are ever as foolish as to find yourself in that situation again – can seriously hurt you."

He felt her shudder and she fell silent, paling slightly as the seriousness of what had almost happened hit her. Tywin let her think about that for the rest of the walk, inwardly grimacing at the fact that he had to be the one teaching her this lesson.

"Do we have a deal, Ms. Stark?" They stopped at the entrance to the Hand's Tower and Tywin gently slipped his arm from her grasp, putting some distance between them and awaiting her decision with a relaxed expression. Sansa looked up at him, her eyes flicking over his face as if she tried to gauge his motives. He would see her protected one way or another, but if she was taught how to take care of the Harrys of the world on her own, Tywin would rest more easily at night.

"Very well, my lord," she nodded once, her expression solemn, and their gazes locked. He was startled to see quiet understanding in her eyes as if she understood him perfectly. Still holding his gaze, she stepped forward, raising on her tiptoes and-

"No, Ms. Stark, don't." Tywin took hold of her shoulders firmly and stopped her from closing the rest of the distance between them. "Let's not cross that boundary, hmm?"

She flushed, mortification flooding her face, and he felt like a monster as the understanding in her eyes was replaced by hurt and betrayal that he addressed her innermost secret so openly, that he rejected those fledgling emotions with one simple action. She lowered herself back to the flats of her feet, blinking several times and biting her lip before forcing out an embarrassed laugh, averting her eyes.

"I wasn't… I didn't…" Stepping back from him quickly, she wiped at her eyes. Tywin clenched his hands as he realized that he had accomplished something young Mr. Hardyng had not – he had made the little wolf cry.

Finally, she whispered, "I wasn't going to kiss you. Well, I was, but only on the cheek. I-I know that there's never going be anything like that between us. I understand that quite well, Lord Lannister. It's not like I can help it, though! Feelings don't work that way."

The heart wanted what it wanted and didn't care how inappropriate such a want could be. Tywin watched as she hid her face behind her hands, turning her back toward him, bowing her head down, and breathing harshly. Sansa wasn't the same child he had met five years ago, but he was acutely aware of how young and vulnerable she was – and he had just unwittingly told her that her feelings were unacceptable. He truly was a cold-hearted bastard.

"Ms. Stark," he exhaled as he followed the path of her retreat and then cautiously reached out to her, hesitating before touching her shoulder. "I apologize. I am sorry that I was the cause of your hurt… More than I can say."

"You have nothing to apologize for, Lord Lannister." Her voice was subdued, and he could hear the tears that she kept hidden from him. "I'm the stupid one. That's hardly your fault. You've been nothing but a true gentleman and who can blame you for being wonderful?"

"Who, indeed?" He looked up toward the sky for a second before he folded the girl into his arms. Gently. Slowly. Hesitantly. She did not resist, burrowing into his embrace and ruining another one of his shirts with her tears.

"Oh, little wolf, telling you your feelings are wrong would be stupid, as would be asking you to stop feeling them. It'd be like expecting you to sew a shirt without a needle and thread." Tywin chuckled mirthlessly and shook his head. "One day soon I'll be lucky if you even remember my name, believe me."

"I will, but only if you sing me Riverrun Fair," she quipped, her hands gripping his shirt tightly, looking up at him with wet eyes. "Please?"

How could he say no to her? The girl was hurting and yet she tried to make light of the situation. She even smelled of thyme. Tywin cleared his throat and started to sing softly, rocking them from side to side slightly. Somewhere in the middle of the song, the little wolf joined her voice to his, loosely looping her arms around his middle. Her forehead rested against his chest, her eyes were tightly closed. As she sang in a hoarse voice about unrequited love, Tywin felt how his supposedly cold heart broke for her.

"… he once was a true love of mine…"

Closing his eyes, he continued to dance with her long after the song ended and silence settled over them. When they finally stilled, he carefully cradled her cheeks in his palms and wiped the last traces of her tears away. He was painfully aware that he was not making it easier for the girl, but unable to act coldly toward her. "The person who makes you cry is not worth those, understood?"

"Yes." Sansa tried for a smile, let go of him, and took a step back. Slipping his jacket from her shoulder and offering it back, she whispered, "Thank you for everything."

"I was glad to be of assistance." He accepted it but made no move to put it on, looking at her carefully. With her make-up completely ruined, her eyes red-rimmed, and the heartbreak carved into the youthful face, Tywin wished to take the hurt of this night away from her. But he couldn't. This pain was hers to deal with it, and there was nothing he could do to put back together a heart broken and innocence shattered.

"Well, little wolf, this is our farewell," he said when the silence became too much; when her solemn gaze and fragile beauty became too much.

"It seems so."

Sansa twisted her hands together and swallowed before she looked up at him. Tywin raised an eyebrow at the unreadable expression on her face and wondered what was going through her head this time. She hesitated and then quickly darted forward, bracing herself against his shoulders and placing a brief kiss on his cheek. With his hands full, Tywin had no choice but to allow her the small victory. When she stepped back, her eyes were brighter and there was a self-satisfied smile playing on her lips.

"Congratulations on the birth of your grandson Joffrey, my lord." Without pausing to look at him, she dashed through the door of the Hand's Tower, leaving Tywin staring at her retreating back.

He let out an amused huff and put his jacket on, smoothing the lapels and hiding the wet stain of her tears and smudged mascara under the black fabric. If he were thirty years younger, he would have chased after her. If they were the same age, the last twenty minutes would have gone quite differently, he thought, shaking his head. With one last glance at the Tower of the Hand, Tywin turned on his heel and rejoined the festivities, his heart lighter.

The little wolf was going to be fine, remembering him occasionally as her first crush whom she stole a fleeting kiss from. It was a pleasing thought.


He arranged the promised lessons and sent her the details via email, using his personal account. Tywin expected that to be the end of it but was sorely mistaken. Not even a week later he received a detailed report on the first class and together with it a polite thankyou and a postscript in which Ms. Stark wondered how Harry liked the Military Academy of the Night's Watch.

Tywin hid his smile behind a snort and went about his day determined not to reply. Continuing the correspondence, however amusing it could prove to be, would be unwise – so he did not. She needed time to get over her infatuation and exchanging emails with him was hardly going to do her any favors. Three weeks later, another email arrived. This time it contained thorough descriptions of several prestigious universities across Westeros as well as Sansa's personal view on each one. She also asked for his opinion on which ones she should consider seriously.

He refused to cave in and pushed every thought of the girl out of his mind. Thinking of her would hardly do him any favors as well. Until he received Sansa's ramblings waxing poetic on the one in Sunspear of all places. That was it. Tywin could not let her do such an enormous mistake, could he? No, Dorne was too hot and the home city of people like Oberyn Martell was a terrible place for a young woman to spend the last of her formative years. So, he replied, recommending her to kindly use her brain before spouting such nonsense.

In the following years, he would receive usually one email from Sansa per month. She would comment on her family, her school, her current and prospective boyfriends, and any other details of her life that crossed her mind while she was writing her emails. They would debate history, arts, and sometimes even politics when the mood struck him. Tywin was glad that she had chosen to study art and history in the end, because he didn't relish the idea of what would politics do to her sweet nature.

Slowly but surely, the little wolf had become someone Tywin called his friend despite her youth. When he would think of the Hand's Tower and remember thyme and lemongrass, a smile would be hiding at the corners of his lips. It wasn't until he was on his way to King's Landing to assume the position of the Lord Hand for the third time, however, that Tywin was startled to realize that he hoped to see Ms. Stark in person again.


AN: Phew! That turned out to be a little heavier and angstier than I planned… but the story wants what the story wants, and I think I managed to keep them in character at least *frowns unhappily* What do you think? How well did Ty manage to handle Sansa's little crush?

Anyway, I hope that Arya hounding the poor lion made up for the angst. And Harry! Let's not forget about Harry getting his nose broken *grins* Tywin does not appreciate when someone gropes his plush wolfie, young man!

Thank you for reading and your comments, guys... Also, silverswath, they are oozing cuteness together, aren't they? *grins*

Love, Mage :)