A/N: And I'm back. Hope everyone had a merry Christmas if they celebrate it or just a happy Wednesday. Couple of warnings for this chapter. It ends on a cliffhanger and also, Baelish is in it for a scene and he's very creepy. Enjoy!

Chapter 26: Coping Mechanisms

No matter where she went or how tired she was, Arya kept up religiously with her morning exercises. Strength training, endurance training, flexibility, balance. And then: weapons. The gun, the knife, the staff. She cycled through all of them every day to make sure she was in peak shape. Her arm hadn't fully healed yet, but that was no excuse. She could do pushups now without reopening the wound at least.

She woke up at dawn often to have time to move through every exercise. She did not mind being up so early. It wasn't as if she slept well anymore. The fewer hours she spent fighting for sleep, the better. She had adapted to going without much rest.

She had adapted to going without a lot of things.

She tried to be discreet about her exercises, but apparently, Myrcella's room at Highgarden was close enough that she heard her moving about and knocked on the door.

"Beth, are you all right?"

Arya opened the door, only barely breathing heavily from her latest reps. "Fine. I'm sorry, I was training. Did I wake you?"

She shook her head, rubbing the sleep from her eyes in a very unconvincing way. "No, no. I was up. That's why I heard you." She tilted her head to the side. "Training, huh? You must train a lot."

"As often as I can," Arya said. "It takes practice keeping your skills sharp."

"Right. Well, you're good at it." Myrcella shifted from foot to foot. "Beth... do you think maybe you could teach me any of this stuff?"

Arya's eyebrows shot up. "What?"

"It's just that, I don't want to rely on you being around all the time," Myrcella rubbed a hand up and down her upper arm. "I want to feel safe even when you're gone, so I just thought... I should know a few small things, you know?"

Arya thought for a moment about the possible ramifications for teaching Myrcella how to fight. She would have to be more gentle than her teachers amongst the Faceless men. But Arya was reasonably sure she could manage that. Besides, Myrcella wasn't trying to become a master. She just wanted a few simple moves.

"Sure," she said at last. "Come in. I'll give you a few pointers."

Myrcella obeyed, slipping into the room and quickly closing the door behind her. Then she got into a stance, as if to show that she was prepared, which looked just a little funny when she was wearing a frilly white nightgown.

"All right. Good," Arya said. "Keeping your knees slightly bent will help center you. A low center of gravity is key, and you're not as short as me, so you have to try harder." She crossed her arms. "So say a man comes at you and you want him away. Where do you strike?"

"The face?" Myrcella said.

"The nose is a good option. But there's a better one. Right where it hurts," Arya said. "The groin."

"Oh. Right. It makes them all drop, doesn't it?"

"It sure does. And there's no reason you can't use that to your advantage." Arya said. "But let's go back to that 'hit them in the face' idea. If their nose is in range, don't just punch. You could break your knuckles that way. It's not like it is in the movies. Instead, use the heel of your hand. Like this." She demonstrated. "You could crack their nose with that, and anyone with a broken nose will be very disoriented."

Myrcella tried it out a few times and Arya corrected her form.

"Straighten your arm fully and strike harder. Don't be shy."

She obeyed, her brow furrowing into a fierce expression that made Arya smile. Fierce and Myrcella just did not go together. But the form was better at least.

"All right. Let's talk about elbow strikes next."

And that was how Arya found herself teaching Myrcella self-defense. Over the next hour she showed her several moves and taught her how to break out of holds from the front or behind. And she taught her how to disarm someone with a gun. That one took some doing because Myrcella was so nervous to have a gun pointed at her, but Arya showed her it was unloaded and couldn't possibly hurt her and that seemed to calm the girl down.

It wasn't a bad way to spend a morning, and Arya was happy to see Myrcella growing more confident with the moves. It would at least fend off any unsavory drunks and make her less reliant on her bodyguard.

She'll need that, Arya thought. I won't be here for her forever.

"It's a lot to remember," Myrcella said. "What if a time comes and I don't know which moves to use?"

"You can keep practicing," Arya said. "A lot of it is muscle memory. That was how I could protect us that night, you know. My instincts took over and did the job for me. But that only came from religious practice."

"I'll practice then," Myrcella said. "Every morning. Just like you."

Arya smiled. "Well, you won't need as much practice as me. You just need the basics, miss."

"Right. You're advanced," Myrcella said. "Maybe once I master the basics you can teach me more?"

"Sure," Arya said after a pause.

If I'm still around by then.

Tywin called Arya to him later that morning with what he called 'an update on the situation' which could have meant literally anything from a minuscule lead to the answer she had been searching for. But, as it turned out, it was something in the middle.

"Janos Slynt was the one who pulled your file from police records," he said. "Along with your father's file. And he's the one who falsified the coroner's report. He did it because someone paid him."

Arya felt a chill go through her. "Who?"

"He doesn't know their name. Or their voice, apparently. They distorted it when they spoke to him," Tywin said. "However, Jaime got the numbers. We'll call to see if those numbers are still active when we return."

"And when do we return?" Arya asked, suddenly feeling restlessness rise within her.

"Tomorrow morning," he said. "That said, I think it's best to leave Myrcella here. She does seem much better since she came to the Reach and I wouldn't want to return her to King's Landing so soon. The Baratheon-Tyrell wedding is only a month away anyhow. And Margaery Tyrell has always said that she wouldn't mind having Myrcella in the manor." He entwined his fingers together. "However..."

"There's the problem of Myrcella being attached to Beth," Arya said. "She may want me to stay."

"So convince her otherwise," Tywin said. "I'll intervene if I have to, obviously, but I have a feeling she'll take it better from you."

Arya sighed. "How will Cersei feel about this exactly?"

"That's none of your concern."

"I mean... it might be if she accuses me of leaving my post."

"You leave Cersei to me," Tywin said. "All of her employees are mine. And so are the final decisions. Unless you would like to stay here and remain uninvolved in this search for your father's killer?"

Arya sighed. "I'll go talk to her."

"Good. I'm happy to hear it."

That's a lie. I don't think you're capable of happiness, Arya thought. But she gave him a nod and turned, hurrying from the room.

She found Myrcella in the garden, taking in the roses. At the very least, it seemed she was confident enough to wander alone. Maybe that would make convincing her easier.

"Myrcella?"

Myrcella spun, clasping her hands together with a smile. She really was so consistently happy. Arya couldn't help but wonder how hard she tried to force her cheerful moods. She was one of those rare people who didn't smile to hide ill intent. She was just trying not to be a bother to anyone.

"Apparently you'll be staying in the Reach for a bit," Arya said.

"Oh yes, I heard that," Myrcella said. "You know I'm kind of excited. It's important to get away from the city every once in a while. And I'll be able to see the place transform as the wedding gets closer. Maybe make friends with Margaery."

"I'm sure you will," Arya said. "I needed to tell you though that I... can't stay. I need to leave to return with your grandfather tomorrow."

Myrcella's smile faltered for a moment. "Oh."

"His request," Arya said. "There's a certain matter that concerns me back in King's Landing and I need to be there. I hope you don't think I'm shirking my duties or abandoning you."

"I wouldn't think you're abandoning me," Myrcella said. "It just... makes me nervous. I know I survived for a while without you but... well, I have gotten very used to you, Beth."

"I guarantee you're safer without me here than with me in King's Landing," Arya said. "I'm not invincible, Myrcella, I want you to know that. What happened that night... it could have just as easily gone very wrong. We got lucky that the man shot at Phillip before he shot at you."

"That doesn't seem lucky for Phillip," Myrcella said.

"It's not," Arya said. "I'm just... trying to say that I don't always handle situations like that perfectly. So it's better to not have situations at all. This is the place to avoid situations. It's quiet, and no one gets on the grounds unless they have permission. Much better than the city."

"I suppose." Myrcella twisted her fingers together. "And... you taught me some ways to defend myself."

"Exactly," Arya said. "You'll be fine without me. And anyhow, I'll be back for the wedding without a doubt. Maybe sooner. You never know."

"Right." Myrcella nodded once. "I'll miss you though. Because I consider you a friend, Beth. Even if you're not supposed to be."

Arya allowed herself a small smile. "I consider you a friend too... Myrcella."

She was surprised that she meant it.

Sansa supposed she should be happier now that her sister was alive again. And she was. She was relieved, grateful, and every other expected emotion—if there even were expected emotions for such an unexpected event.

But it hadn't ended the ever present sadness handing over Sansa like a weighted blanket. It had given her a brief respite which lasted perhaps a day. And now it was back and heavy on her shoulders again.

She had been in and out of this cloud for the past three years, ever since her father died and sent her life spinning out of control. Back then, she had been under the mistaken delusion that terrible things happened to other people. But then her father died, Bran lost the use of his legs and Arya disappeared. Sansa, who had once been focused on the future, suddenly lost all interest in what was to come. How could she plan the future, really, when something could swoop in at any moment and wreck everything around her?

It wasn't as if she was always so sad. It came in waves. The spring and summer were usually good times for her, and she made the mistake in the warm months of thinking she was getting better and moving forward. Then autumn swept in again and reminded her of the losses of the past. Three years ago, her father. Two years ago, her sister. One year ago, her dog.

But I haven't lost anything this year, Sansa thought, running her finger around the edge of her drink. I've gained something back. So I shouldn't feel this way.

But the sadness did not listen to her. It never did.

She tried to distract herself with going out with friends. Jeyne Poole and Mya Stone were always ready to go out drinking, and sometimes the bar hopping and the drinking helped to clear Sansa's head for a bit. It distracted her with strangers and that lightly buzzed sensation that made her feel like she was floating away. But it didn't last. It never lasted.

It was past midnight when Jeyne declared that she was bored with this bar and wanted to move on to one with more dancing. But at that point, Sansa had begun to crash, and all she wanted to do was sit exactly where she was, nursing her drink, staring off into space. She made up some excuse about calling it an early night and told them to go on without her. She would call a car. And they listened with little prying. They were too drunk to wait around, and Sansa knew that her autumn mood swings only dragged them down. They would have more fun without her.

She watched them leave the bar and saw Jeyne lean over to whisper in Mya's ear. She tried not to imagine that they were talking about her. About what a bore she had become. About how she was an anchor on their good time. Sansa didn't need to imagine it, she supposed. She knew what she was.

She returned to circling her finger along the rim of her glass. This really wasn't strong enough.

"I can get you something else," the bartender said. "If you don't like that one."

"You have anything stronger?" Sansa asked.

"Sure," the bartender said. "In fact, I have something special if you're willing to pay. It'll give you a 'long night'."

Sansa recognized the code word. She knew people who had done that drug. Hell, she knew people who had overdosed on it. They said it made you feel like you were a passenger in your own body. No pain. You did whatever you wanted—whatever your mind said you shouldn't do.

She had to admit it was tempting. She had the money, and she had never tried it before. But then if she tried it now, she didn't want to imagine what she would do with lowered inhibition, especially when she was alone.

End up in the tabloids again, I'll bet, she thought. She didn't want to embarrass her family like that. So she shook her head. "I'm not sure I want a long night. But I'll take another shot."

"Of what?"

"Surprise me."

The bartender nodded, pouring some clear liquor into a glass and sliding it over to her. She tipped back her head, draining it easily.

"Sansa, is that you?"

Sansa was vaguely aware of Petyr Baelish's voice coming from her right and she blinked hard, straining to make eye contact with him. It was hard when she was this drunk. "Mr. Baelish. What are you doing out so late?"

"I had some business in the area that went a little long," he said, with a smile. "And you know you can call me Petyr, don't you? Your mother calls me Petyr."

"I'm not my mother."

"I suppose not. You look a great deal like her."

She felt his hand resting on her upper back. Felt his thumb running circles along her spine. It made her shiver, but she didn't pull away.

"Did business go well?" she asked absently.

"Yes, well enough. Thought I'd celebrate with a drink before I turn in," Baelish said. "Can I buy you a drink?"

You should know better than to offer, Sansa thought. The responsible person would tell me to go home. To not be out so late.

He must see how drunk she already was. But that didn't matter to him. He was perfectly happy to let her drink until she blacked out. Sansa toyed with the idea of refusing or accepting. She knew the smarter option in the back of her buzzed mind. And yet and yet...

I wonder what he'll do.

So she nodded, and she found another drink in her hand. It wasn't very good, but she choked down a few swallows anyway, trying to keep up that buzz. So long as she was drunk, she didn't mind hearing him talk on and on about his business, and she could almost ignore his hand, which had drifted to the small of her back.

It's not worth causing a scene, she thought. He won't go further. He's a friend of the family.

But even as she had the thought, she doubted it. Wasn't this the man who was always in love with her mother? And he saw Sansa as her spitting image. A second chance.

"Sansa," he said. "You seem quite drunk. I wouldn't want to leave you to get home alone."

She made a noncommittal hum in response.

"I have a car. I can take you home," he said gently, and she could feel his breath against her ear, coasting down her neck.

A shiver went through Sansa. No. No, this was a bad idea. She was too drunk for this.

"Baelish!" a loud voice said somewhere in the crowd. "I thought that was you. I didn't take you for a late night drinker."

The hands left Sansa in an instant as Petyr turned to speak to the newcomer. And suddenly there were new hands on her arm, gentle and kind, guiding her away from the bar.

"It's all right," a woman's voice said. "Come with me."

When Sansa blinked, she was standing in the women's bathroom, looking down at a pretty woman with wavy dark hair. She cupped Sansa's face between her hands.

"You're all right," the woman said. "We can stay here until that man leaves."

"Mr. Baelish?" Sansa blinked. "He was just..."

Being himself. Letting his hands linger a little too long. Imagining me as my mother.

"I can handle him," she murmured at last. "I'm fine."

"He's a dangerous man," the woman said. "He would eat you alive if he could."

"What about you?" Sansa asked. "Are you dangerous?"

"Not to girls like you," the woman said with a wry smile. "I'm Shae."

"Shae," Sansa repeated her name. "Have I met you before? You seem familiar."

"You saw me with Tyrion Lannister a week ago," Shae said.

"Oh. Tyrion." Sansa blinked hard. Wait. That had been the voice that interrupted Baelish. "He's... here isn't he?"

"Yes. Talking with our friend Littlefinger. Giving you a chance to escape," Shae said.

"Littlefinger?" Sansa tilted her head to the side. "Is that what you call, Mr. Baelish?"

"That's what many of us call him," Shae said, though Sansa didn't know what she meant by 'us'. "And you're lucky that Tyrion noticed you, or else I wouldn't have seen him leering over you. But don't worry. You're safe now."

"He wouldn't hurt me," Sansa said. "He's a friend to my mother."

"I feel sorry for your mother." Shae sighed. "I suppose he may not have hurt you badly. You're a Stark, aren't you? You're important."

"So they say," Sansa murmured. "Thank you, though. For stepping in." She tilted her head to the side. "Are you... Tyrion's girlfriend?"

"Not quite," Shae said. "I am his friend though."

What does 'not quite' mean, Sansa wondered. She remembered the rumors about Tyrion paying women for company. Was this one of those women?

Shae's phone rang, and she checked it. "All right, he's gone. Come on now. We'll get you a way home."

Sansa let Shae guide her from the bathroom and back into the chaos of the bar. She spotted Tyrion sitting up on the stool where Petyr Baelish used to be and he smiled when he saw her.

"Ah, Miss Stark. Lovely to see you again."

"Is it?" Sansa asked. "You always seem to see me when I'm a mess."

"The same goes for you seeing me," Tyrion said. "Except that's not a challenge because I'm always a mess." He leaned forward in his seat, his expression turning serious. "Are you all right? Shae was concerned about Baelish's proximity to you."

"He was just being himself," Sansa murmured. "I'm fine."

"Other than being drunk," Shae said. "And alone after midnight."

"I had friends with me," Sansa said. "But they left. I told them to leave."

"No sense staying out and drinking alone then," Tyrion said. "We'll take you home. I have a driver nearby."

"You don't have to trouble yourself," Sansa said. "I can call a driver."

"Well, mine is closer," Tyrion said. "Please, Sansa. You refused my first offer. I insist that you take up my second one."

Sansa swallowed hard. She did not know Tyrion very well, but she supposed if he wanted to take advantage of her, he could have done so a week ago when she passed out at his party. So instead she nodded. "All right... thank you. I'll repay you later."

"There's no need for that. I'm not my father," Tyrion said. "This is a favor that comes free of charge."

Nothing really comes free, Sansa thought cynically, but she didn't voice that opinion. She was still reluctant to trust a Lannister, but if he meant her harm...

Well, the sad thing was, she couldn't bring herself to care.

Sansa had the car drop her off at the end of the driveway, passing a quick thank you to Tyrion and Shae. Her head had cleared a bit though she knew she was a long way from sobriety, and she could make it to the door just fine on her own. She tried to open it as quietly as possible so she could slip up to her room without being seen. But it wasn't to be. The moment she closed the door, Robb appeared from the parlor, phone in hand.

"I've been calling," he said.

"Oh." Sansa checked her phone. Dead again. "Sorry. I need to get a new one. This one can't hold a charge anymore."

"It's not the phone that bothers me," Robb said. "It's... this again. Every autumn you do this. You go out every night, you stay out until early morning. Sometimes you're alone, which means anyone could easily take advantage of you. I don't understand why. After what happened to Arya, why?"

Sansa brushed back her hair, studying the tile at her brother's feet. She was still too tipsy to handle eye contact with him. Especially when he was angry. "Nothing happened to Arya though. We know that now. She's alive. She's fine."

"She's not fine," Robb said. "Yes, she's alive. But someone took her, Sansa. They kept her for years. That's still not something to risk. You can't put mother through losing a child again."

"I'm not lost," Sansa said, heading for the stairs. "I always come home. I always have. Three years. We're both adults. You can let me manage my own choices."

"They're terrible choices," Robb said.

"Then that's my business too." Sansa snapped. As if she didn't know they were terrible. She did. She always had. She was stupid, and she did stupid things for a quick fix to help her feel something good again. She just... didn't know how to stop it.

She exhaled, her grip tightening on the bannister. "This is my way of keeping busy."

"Going out drinking and not telling your family where you are?" Robb asked.

"Sure," Sansa said. "You're a workaholic who spends more time at the office than at home. I go out drinking and make terrible choices in men." She glanced over her shoulder. "We all have our shitty coping mechanisms, Robb. Let's leave it at that."

Then she dragged herself up the stairs without waiting for his retort.

She understood his anger. She was also furious at herself. But no one in her family had handled the last three years well. Her mother bottled everything and forced herself into emotionally charged situations to avoid appearing weak. Robb worked long hours because if he slowed down, he would feel that awful, helpless sensation creeping back in. Bran gathered dirt on other people to make himself feel better about his loss. Rickon got in fights all the time, because he wanted to be strong enough next time to stop the horrible loss. Sansa drank and partied and let herself drift into shitty relationships because it was better than being alone.

And Arya? Fuck... Arya just disappeared. Maybe someone took her, but it wasn't like they had snatched her from the school. She had packed a bag and planned to leave. To go off on some strange journey of self-discovery, and it went very badly.

Sansa didn't hate her for it. She knew she had no room to judge her. Because every person in her family was just barely keeping it together—shattered porcelain vases pretending they were whole for the cameras.

Arya could not, for the life of her, discern Tywin's mood the morning they boarded the train back to King's Landing. Not that she could ever discern his mood, but she was curious about whether his meeting with Olenna Tyrell had gone well or not. Not that she had an interest in business, necessarily, but she knew that when the Lannisters moved, the rest of the King's Landing economy moved with them. And the Starks were part of that economy, combatting the Lannisters as much as they could. If her family was about to get hit, she wanted to know.

But she wasn't entirely sure that things were going well for the Lannisters either. Olenna Tyrell did not seem like a woman to keep allies past their use. And this marriage between Margaery and Renly. Arya really had no idea what to think of it and it was driving her mad.

It doesn't matter, she told herself. You're Beth Rivers, and the economic situation in Westeros means nothing to you.

But seven hells, who was she kidding? She hadn't really been Beth Rivers since Tywin Lannister called her by her true name a few weeks ago.

Against her better judgment, as she stood outside of Tywin's compartment, she slid open the door.

"May I ask a question, sir?"

He looked up from some papers, eyebrow raised. "You just did."

Arya exhaled. "May I ask a series of questions, sir?"

He regarded her for a long moment, as if weighing the options in his mind. Then he nodded and gestured for her to enter the compartment. She did, sitting down across from him.

"The Renly and Margaery match," she said. "It's not a love marriage, right?"

"I think you already know the answer to that question based on your tone," Tywin said. "No. It's not a love marriage. Renly Baratheon is far more likely to have an inclination toward Loras Tyrell if the rumors are true."

Arya nodded once. "What is the purpose then? I know it's some sort of business arrangement but... why?"

Tywin tapped two fingers against his papers. "What do you think the use could be? Based on what you know of the major families in King's Landing."

Arya's brow furrowed. "I'm asking you because I don't know."

"You're asking me because you have suspicions and you want to see if you're right," Tywin said. "So tell me what you think."

"Well..." Arya threaded her fingers together, trying to gather her thoughts. This felt like a test somehow. Why did it feel like a test? "I know my father did a lot of business with Robert Baratheon. He exclusively used his manufacturing technology in his factories. So the Baratheons haven't done much business with the Lannisters. Not even when your daughter was married to him. When Robert died, Stannis took over, and he kept up that agreement. But the Tyrells have primarily used the Lannisters for their tech, I think. The Tyrells and Baratheons are competitors and they use two competitors for their factories. So usually they're not friendly with each other... right?"

"Correct," Tywin said. "They work in the same industries. The Baratheons deal more in meat products in the Tyrells more in crops, but there is a great deal of crossover. Any profits that the Tyrells make take away from the Baratheons and vice versa."

"And if the Baratheon's do well, the Starks benefit," Arya said. "And the Lannisters benefit with the Tyrells."

"In a rudimentary sense, yes," Tywin said.

"Rudimentary is all I've got. I never finished school," Arya said. "All right then so... it is strange that a Baratheon and a Tyrell would marry. But I guess it doesn't completely throw off the system because Renly Baratheon isn't in charge of the company now. That's Stannis, and he wouldn't break a contract with the Starks."

"You're right," Tywin said. "So long as Stannis remains in charge, so does the current status quo."

"And as soon as he doesn't, my family takes a loss no matter what happens," Arya said.

Tywin tilted his head to the side. "What makes you say that?"

"If Renly takes over, he's on the side of the Tyrells. They could absorb the Baratheons completely if he lets them," Arya said. "And if Joffrey takes over... well he's yours, obviously. He won't care about upholding any contracts with the Starks."

Tywin didn't confirm or deny that. "It could become an issue for your family. I'm sure your brother is already thinking of how to counter that eventuality. Though unless the board removes Stannis, he should remain in his position for a while yet."

"But if Renly took over," Arya said. "That would be bad for you."

"Would it?" Tywin asked. Arya was beginning to hate asking him questions. He did the same thing as Jaqen: forced Arya to come up with the answers for herself. Sometimes she wanted to have a conversation that wasn't a test.

"Yes," Arya said. "Renly doesn't have loyalties to the Starks or the Lannisters. But if the Tyrells have him then...they would get much more powerful... right? And then they might not need so many allies."

Tywin studied her. "Been thinking about this a lot, have you?"

"Am I right?" Arya asked.

"That the Tyrells are a danger for both the Starks and the Lannisters if their holdings continue to rise? Yes," Tywin said. "And Renly could help them do that. Joffrey, as you've mentioned is the alternative."

"Yes, and he's..." Arya trailed off, wondering if she was allowed to insult Tywin's grandson.

"Terrible," Tywin said. "Yes. Hopefully, I can cure him of that long before Stannis steps down. For now, he's young and stupid. He needn't stay that way forever."

No. Joffrey had the potential to grow up, she supposed, but Arya wasn't sure he would ever grow a conscience or become a good person. Not that a conscience was a necessity of the business world. Tywin was doing fine without one.

"Despite your lack of schooling, you have a gift for reading the situation," Tywin said, returning to his papers. "Perhaps you can find some solution for your family's problem by the time it becomes an issue. If you were to attend school for it."

Arya looked down at her hands. "I'm... not sure I can."

"Why not?" he asked.

Because I'm a Faceless Man. Because all of this is temporary and once I am finished here, I will leave again. I will hurt my family again... and that's your fault. You made me go back to them.

But she didn't say any of that. She just shrugged and stood. "I should get back to my post."

He didn't stop her, but once again, she could sense him scrutinizing her closely, trying to peel back the shell of her lies with his gaze. If she lingered for too long in his path, she knew all those lies would fall apart and leave behind only the terrible truth.

She reached for the door, but was thrown a bit off balance as the train suddenly slowed to a halt. She glanced back at Tywin.

"We shouldn't be stopping yet."

"No," he said, looking out the window. "We shouldn't."

"Attention," a voice crackled over the speakers above. "We apologize for the interruption. This train is now under the control of the Brotherhood without Banners."

Arya's eyes widened. The Brotherhood without Banners. The extremist group in the Riverlands. They had the train, and Arya knew it must be with some purpose. They were known for fighting against the wealthy elite of Westeros.

And that meant Tywin Lannister would be a target. And Arya had given their itinerary to the Faceless Men.

Opportunities will be provided, the Waif had said. Irritation rolled through Arya.

Son of a bitch.

All at once, she felt something snap into place in her mind. This was survival. This was another test, and she would pass it. She let out a breath, letting the first instant of panic slip away. Then she looked back to Tywin.

"All right. I have an idea."

A/N: Alrighty, next chapter we deal with a train hijacking (for those of you who wanted action) so it should be fun. Until then, review, subscribe and I'll see you next time!