A/N: On one hand, this chapter is late. But on another...its 6,000 words, so I earned it lol. I wrote this whole thing today because I just got back from vacation last night. But I'm reaaalllly proud of how it came out so ENJOY!

Chapter 52: The Man Behind the Curtain

During last year's Charity Gala, Tyrion had been happily throwing a competing gathering at his penthouse apartment hoping to, once again, spite his father. Now he was attending the Gala as a crucial piece in a complex plan to catch a scheming puppet master targeting the Lannisters and Starks.

A lot can change in a year, Tyrion thought lightly.

He was sort of surprised that his father had trusted him to be involved at all. Maybe it was the help he had provided by contacting the Spider. Maybe, because he was present during the attack of the Faceless Assassin, his father considered him 'involved'. But still, it was nice when his father admitted that he needed his help. It was the sort of thing Tyrion could throw in his face if he succeeded.

Tyrion spent the first hour of the party playing it cool. He worked the room, talking with various Lannister family partners and investors who were curious at his attendance. He made sure to have several lively conversations in ear shot—or at least eye shot—of Bolton. He wanted him to see him doing business. Making connections. It would add credibility to his tale when they finally talked.

Occasionally, he stood with his sister against the wall, talking in low voices. Let Bolton see them and think they were aligned in their goal. Cersei had already established herself as an "ally" of this puppet master. Tyrion wanted to do the same. And certainly, Bolton would make that assumption if he saw them speaking with each other. Why else would two siblings who famously didn't get along speak at a party?

"Has he been looking at me at all," Tyrion asked Cersei, sipping his wine.

"Yes," Cersei said. "But everyone has been looking at you, to be fair."

"My good looks," Tyrion said. "They are a curse sometimes."

Cersei rolled her eyes. "I think you can afford to approach him. You have the recorder in your pocket?"

"I do," Tyrion said.

"Good." She glanced down at him. "Don't mess this up, little brother. If Joffrey's killer slips through our fingers because of your incompetence, I'll truly never forgive you."

"And if I succeed?" he asked. "What will you give me then?"

She thought for a moment before she said. "A truce. And a drink."

"Make it an expensive one," Tyrion said with a wink. Then he started making his way toward Bolton.

He wove his way around the edge of the room, picking up a drink as he went. Bolton was standing on the outskirts, looking out over the crowd. Tyrion took his place on the outskirts well, just a few meters away, sipping pleasantly. He did not look at Bolton. He simply waited.

"It's a surprise to see you tonight, Tyrion."

Tyrion glanced up at Bolton, smiling. He carefully clicked the button on the device in his pocket. "Ah. You're not the first to say so. Many people are very shocked by my sudden renewed interest in the family business."

"I'm sure," Bolton said. "I don't suppose there's an explanation for it."

Tyrion shrugged. "I think now is the ideal time to get…reacquainted with my family's contacts. I may need them soon."

"Why is that?" Bolton asked. "Is your father actually bringing you into the business?"

Tyrion grinned and sipped his drink mysteriously. "Oh…not exactly. But I've been in contact with other…let's say investors. One in particular who wants me more involved in the family business."

"Hmm," Bolton said. "One that contacted your sister as well I take it."

"Yes," Tyrion said. "To tell you the truth, I think that this investor is pushing us toward a power transfer. But then they're hoping my sister will fight each other when all is said and done and send the company into a spiral. They play at being our friend, but they want to watch us flounder." He shrugged. "If it comes to a fight between my sister and I though…I assure you I'd win. She thinks me a fool. But I'm twice as smart as her."

Bolton's thin lips curved into a smile. Tyrion could see by his body language that the man was relaxing. Easing into a conversation with someone he believed was a potential ally—one he could later throw under the bus, but a potential ally none the less.

"So," Tyrion said. "What has this investor asked of you?"

"Who's to say they've asked anything of me," Bolton said.

"Oh please, Bolton. Let's not be coy," Tyrion said. "They want your current boy CEO out of the way and you in his place, right?"

"The investor has expressed interest in that, yes," Bolton said.

"Of course, he would," Tyrion said. "They want the sterling Stark reputation out of the way. You don't have quite the same squeaky-clean image, do you?"

"I think your family has proven that a sterling reputation isn't necessary," Bolton said.

"True enough," Tyrion said. "Still. I imagine you have quite the challenge ahead of you. I don't see why Robb Stark would ever give up on his father's company."

"He'll have no choice," Bolton said.

Tyrion raised his eyebrows, trying not to let too much excitement show on his face. "And why is that?"

"He's going to embezzle from the company," Bolton said. "Very soon in fact."

"Embezzle," Tyrion laughed. "That doesn't seem like a Stark thing to do. Are you going to frame him for that, Bolton?"

"No need," Bolton said. "It seems his sister has been kidnapped. The kidnappers are asking a hefty ransom. Embezzlement is his only option."

Tyrion's grin widened. "Ah, Bolton, you sly dog. I can see why the investor reached out to you." It wasn't quite an admission, but it wasn't denial. Still, Tyrion knew he needed to push a little further. "I'd be careful of that though. If this person wants to break Stark industries, they may pull out the skeleton in your closet. Especially if you had anything to do with this…incident."

"You let me worry about the skeletons in my closet," Bolton said. "The investor won't be able to trace anything back to me. I've made sure of it."

Got him, Tyrion thought. "Well…with a shrewd man like you at the helm, Stark Industries could become quite a dangerous competitor." He handed him his card. "Call me with the dust settles. I think we could have a future in business together, Mr. Bolton."

He inclined his head, slipping the card in his pocket. Then Tyrion turned and made his way around the room.

He kept his pace as normal as possible. Calm. Easy. He worked his way over the Myrcella, placing a gentle hand on her arm. "Myrcella, sweetling, are you enjoying your evening?"

"Yes," she said. "How did it—"

"Hush now, love," Tyrion said, shifting the recorder from his pocket and pressing it into her hand. He made sure Bolton's view of them was completely blocked as he did. "Take this to Robb Stark for me, would you? And be natural about it."

She blinked. Then smiled brightly and nodded. "Of course, uncle."

She slipped away from him, taking the recorder with her. Tyrion watched as she flounced her away across the ballroom until she reached Robb Stark who was just picking up another drink. She handed the recorder to him. Robb glanced from the device to Tyrion and Tyrion simply raised his glass and drank.

My part is done, he thought. The rest is up to the others.

It was nightfall when Arya, Jon, Brienne and Sandor Clegane moved in on the drug house. Bran had his eyes on the cameras. There were two men directly inside along with a few prostitutes. And then Sansa was in the basement, guarded by only one man—Ramsay Snow. An easy enough job, so long as they got out before the puppet master sent any reinforcements.

They entered the front door quickly and quietly. Clegane slammed the first man's head up against the wall, knocking him right out. Brienne knocked the other over the head with the butt of her gun. The prostitutes blinked but did nothing to stop them. They didn't even cry out. Arya could see they were both drugged out of their minds.

"You can go," Arya murmured. "If you don't want to be here…run."

One of the girls just went back to leaning her head on the wall.

"We'll handle it later Arya," Jon said. "Let's get Sansa."

"Are we good to go, Bran?" Arya asked.

"You're good," Bran said. "Still just one guy and Sansa on the feed."

Arya nodded and looked to Clegane. "Guard the door. Make sure no one comes in from the outside."

"You've got it Rivers," he said, taking his place at the door. No one was getting past that giant of a man, she was sure of it.

Brienne took point as they found the basement stairs and descended into the darkness. Brienne rested her hand on the doorknob, looking back at the rest of them. Arya gave her a nod.

She threw open the door and they hurried inside, guns at the ready.

"Wait," Bran's voice echoed in her ear. "Wait. Arya something is wrong. This camera feed. You need to—"

The lights flashed on, blinding and bright. Arya winced, squinting against it. But when her eyes adjusted, she saw them. Not just a single guard. No. There were seven of them all around the room, all aiming guns their way. Sansa sat in a chair at the center, eyes glazed and hair and clothing a mess. And just behind her stood Ramsay Snow, grinning wide.

"Hello there," he said. "Thought you'd pop by in visit, did you?"

Arya gritted her teeth. "Bran?"

"They replaced the footage on the feed," Bran muttered. "They expected us."

"Did the Spider sell us out?" Arya asked.

"Spider?" Ramsay raised an eyebrow. "Not at all. I don't even know who that is. No, it's just that…since it's the day before the deadline…we expected you'd try something. And here we are." He placed his hand on Sansa's head. "Look little Stark. Your cousin is here for you."

Right, Arya thought. He doesn't know who I am yet, does he?

"Don't touch her," Jon said flatly.

"Or what? You'll yell at me more?" Ramsay said. "It's eight against three here. Not amazing odds if you ask me. Why don't you put the guns down on the floor?"

For the moment, none of them moved. Ramsay drew a knife from his belt, pressing it against Sansa's cheek. "Well?"

Arya's chest tightened and the sight of blood welling up on her sister's skin. She held up her hands and slowly lowered the gun to the ground. Brienne and Jon followed suit.

"Good," Ramsay said. "Kick them away."

They did.

"Perfect. I love it when plans go off without a hitch, don't you," Ramsay said. "My plans obviously. Not yours."

"You think you'll get off with second degree murder this time?" Brienne asked. "We have evidence of you trying to blow up two police officers and kidnapping. They'll trace this back to you. We're not the only ones who know."

"I suspect not. But I'm very good at escaping my due. You wouldn't believe how many people I've killed that I wasn't tried for." He grinned. "Anyway, none of this is personal. I'm just a good son trying to help out my father. Holding dear Sansa Stark hostage happens to help him." He shrugged. "If you just paid the money, she would live. You'd all get to live. Well…most of you. None of you are leaving here alive. Witnesses to the crime and all."

"Robb isn't going to pay you a damn thing," Jon muttered.

"Well then I guess I get to keep your pretty cousin," Ramsay grinned. "I can live with that." He clicked back the safety on his gun. "Now. Which one of you should I shoot first?"

Arya was about to volunteer—an instinct that would have made her mother extremely upset—to keep the gun off Jon. But before she could open her mouth, something behind Ramsay Bolton shifted. Sansa, rising up from the ground behind him. She moved slowly. Sluggishly. But he wasn't paying her any mind at all.

But he noticed Arya's gaze shift. He turned to look behind him—just in time for Sansa to jab a syringe deep into his left eye.

He screamed. The others in the room turned to look at him. And that was their window of opportunity. Arya drew a knife from her belt and hurled it toward the nearest gunman, catching him in the head. She closed the gap between them in a flash, grabbing his body and hauling it up to use as a shield against the other bullets. She snatched his fallen gun, propping it on his shoulder and firing twice across the room. She hit one of their attackers in the stomach and another in the chest.

"Jon, grab Sansa!" she called out.

Jon nodded, rushing across the room as Brienne drew her gun and joined Arya in the shootout. Ramsay had recovered from the shock of the syringe to the eye, and he lunged at Sansa. In her sluggish state, she couldn't dodge him. She barely even moved as Ramsay wrapped his hands tight around her throat. Jon shot him in the back of the leg, bringing him to his knees. Then he scooped up Sansa and looked to Arya.

"Go!" Arya called out. "Get her to safety and call Robb!"

Jon hesitated and Brienne echoed Arya. "We have this here! I'll make sure we both get out."

Jon cursed a few times under his breath. Then he nodded, sprinting for the exit. Arya and Brienne covered him on his way out.

The back door of the room opened, and five more men poured in. Arya didn't know how many reinforcements they had on hand, but she had to assume there were several. This puppet master was nothing if not well funded, and he needed this to go well. Their best bet? Cut off the head of the snake.

Arya abandoned the body of the gunman she'd been using as a shield and sprinted toward Ramsay as he went for his gun. She narrowly ducked under a bullet as she skidded next to him and kicked him in the face as hard as she could. His head snapped to the side, and he tumbled back to the floor. She snatched up his gun and jabbed the barrel against his head.

"Call them off," she snapped. "Or your missing eye will be the prettiest thing about you."

He barred his teeth, gasping through the pain of his injuries and his defeat. "Who the fuck are you?"

She put pressure on the trigger. "I'm Arya fucking Stark. I'm back from the dead. And if you don't call them off, I'm painting the floor with your head."

He glared at her for a long moment with his one good eye. Then he called out. "Stand down! It's over."

Arya let out a breath. Was it? Was it really over? She watched as the remaining gunmen slowly lowered their weapons to the ground. Brienne immediately moved to confiscate them and ordered all the men to sit up against the wall. Arya kept a close eye on Ramsay as she did and when she confirmed that they were all unarmed she spoke again.

"Who in the seven hells put you and your father up to this? Tell me."

Ramsay let out a hysterical laugh. "You know we don't know his face. He'd never give us that information." He tilted his head to the side. "But I promise you one thing…if you can't figure it out, he'll come back for more of your family. Again and again until there's nothing left."

Arya swallowed hard. Yes. He was right. Without the puppet master…it would never really be over, would it? It was just a single victorious battle in an endless, devastating war.

There was a low buzzing sound. Arya's gaze flicked to a phone lying on the ground. Ramsay Snow's phone.

"Who is that?" she asked flatly.

"A friend," Ramsay replied.

"I don't think you have friends," Arya said. "It's him. Isn't it? The puppet master?"

"Perhaps," Ramsay said.

"Good," Arya said. "Pick it up. And whatever he asks you tell him that everything is absolutely fine and under control here. If you don't, I'm going to shoot off your fingers one at a time."

Ramsay grinned wide. "You Stark women are little she-wolves, aren't you?"

"I can start shooting fingers now if you like," Arya said.

"No need," Ramsay said, picking up the phone and answering. "Hey boss."

Every one of Catelyn's nerves was perched on the edge of a knife tonight—which was typical for the Charity Gala. She was trying to make normal conversation while also keeping an eye out for suspicious characters, but she really would prefer to scream as loud as she could just to release all of the anger and fear inside of her.

She kept glancing at Bolton to see who he was speaking with, but she knew she'd never find the puppet master simply from that. Most likely, Bolton didn't know the puppet master by their face either. But still.

"Mrs. Stark."

Tywin Lannister's voice at her right came almost as a relief. So did the drink he extended to her. She let out a breath, accepting the glass and drinking. "Thank you."

"Well, it has become a peculiar tradition for us," he said. "Why stop now?"

Her mouth twitched. "I can't decide if this Gala is the worst of the lot or not."

"I suppose you'll have that answer when this is over," Tywin said. "I can tell you that Tyrion got a confession out of Bolton."

"One piece of good news," Catelyn murmured. "Now we're just waiting to hear from Arya?"

"Yes."

She swallowed hard, drinking again.

"Your daughters will be fine," Tywin said. "Both of them."

"Are you attempting to comfort me, Mr. Lannister?" Catelyn asked.

"I'm stating the most likely outcome," he said. "I've seen your younger daughter fight. She's very good."

"And yet she's almost died multiple times," Catelyn murmured.

"But she's still breathing, isn't she?" Tywin asked.

She exhaled slowly. "Yes. She's still breathing." She turned her glass in her hand. "Sorry. I'm just…feeling a bit useless tonight. I wish I had a task."

"It's the same with me," Tywin said. "But watching is a task. When Bolton is arrested, that will be our real test. Until then, be patient."

Catelyn nodded and raised her glass. "Thank you for the drink."

Tywin inclined his head and moved on. She almost wished he didn't have to. Talking to him made her feel a bit steadier tonight.

But she returned to watching the crowd. Searching for suspicious characters. And that's when she saw Lysa.

Lysa who had been avoiding Catelyn's calls and attempted visits for months now. Lysa who had shut herself away and replied to every question with confusing non-answered. Catelyn had been wanting to talk to her sister in person for a while now. She hadn't even considered that tonight might be her chance.

The business with her late husband, she thought. That's the missing piece. That might give us answers.

She finished her drink and strode through the crowd, heading toward Lysa. As luck would have it, her sister chose that moment to break off and head for the women's room. Catelyn followed after her and waited in the hall for her to emerge.

The moment did, she spotted Catelyn. Her eyes widened. She tried to retreat. Catelyn reached out and grabbed her arm firmly, pulling her back.

"No," she said flatly. "You're not going anywhere until we talk."

"About what?" Lysa asked. "I've told you everything I know, Cat."

"You haven't," Catelyn said. "Every time we speak, you avoid direct questions, or you just lie. And Lysa, I am done with that. You have no idea how many times my family has been put at stake because of this mess. My children are at stake as we speak." Lysa tried to pull away again and Catelyn tightened her grip hard enough to leave a bruise. "So, you're going to tell me what happened to Jon that night. You're going to tell me in detail. Because I know the Lannisters didn't have anything to do with it. You're going to help me find out who did."

Lysa's lip trembled. She was always a terrible liar. The moment one applied any pressure, she cracked. She was cracking now. "I…I don't…"

"Did the Lannisters have anything to do with Jon?" Catelyn asked.

"No," she whispered.

"Then why did you say they did?"

"He told me to."

"Who's he?"

"He. He," her voice wobbled. "I don't know, Cat. There were threats. He told me to tell you the Lannisters did it. I just did what I was told. I was trying to protect my family too. I did what I was told."

Her voice was reaching a high pitch and Catelyn knew it would carry to the ballroom if she wasn't careful. She grasped tight to her sister's arms.

"Lysa. You have to tell me everything. I can help you."

She shook her head rapidly. "I can't. I can't. I won't. I did what I was told."

"Lysa? Cat?"

Catelyn turned to see Petyr approaching, his eyes full of concern. Her grip loosened on Lysa for a moment and she used that to escape, running straight into his arms.

"Goodness," he said with a gentle laugh. "Lysa, what's gotten into you? Too much to drink?" He pulled back from her. "Why don't you go powder your face, darling? You know how these people are. They'll leap on you if they see the tears."

"Wait," Catelyn said, but Lysa had already disappeared back into the women's room. Petyr rested a hand on her shoulder.

"She's in a delicate state, Cat," he said. "Has been for a while. Every time I speak to her it ends up like this. And I don't think you want to send your sister into a break down in a crowd."

"She's afraid," Catelyn murmured. "Why is she…so afraid?"

"She hasn't told me," Petyr said.

"She tells you everything," Catelyn said.

"Evidently not," Petyr said. "Even I can't reach her anymore it seems. I'm thinking she might need to go away for a while. Someone safe where they can treat her. I meant to talk to you about that, but I feared tonight wouldn't be the night."

Catelyn swallowed hard. Gods why was her family in such shambles.

"Are you all right, Cat?" Petyr asked. The hand rested on her shoulder squeezed gently. "You don't look so well yourself. Has something happened?"

"No," Catelyn murmured.

"You can tell me," Petyr said.

"I really can't," she said. "Not yet." She pulled back from him. "We should…get back to the party."

"Of course," Petyr said, letting his hand drop slowly. She wondered…would he ever stop trying his luck with her? Would he ever accept that she saw him only as a friend?

They made their way back to the ballroom. And that was when Catelyn heard the commotion. The commotion of the arrest. She reached the edge in time to see that Bolton was being handcuffed and led away. Robb went with them to oversee the arrest. His look was grim but triumphant. That meant…that meant Arya was okay. Sansa was okay.

Oh thank Gods. Thank Gods.

"What do you think is happening there?" Petyr asked.

"I don't know," Catelyn said, trying to keep her voice normal.

"He's on your board," Petyr said. "I assumed you would."

"No. This is the first I'm hearing of this." Her gaze darted about the room. Scanning people for a reaction. Of course, everyone would feel shocked at this rather public arrest. But she was looking for something different. Someone panicking. Someone trying to slip away from the crowd. Someone hurrying to make a phone call.

"I didn't think Bolton had his hands in anything criminal," Petyr said. "Especially not enough to earn a public arrest."

"Sometimes people you know well surprise you," Catelyn said. "I'll ask Robb."

"Good idea. Let me know what he says. I'm a curious person at heart." He stepped back. "One moment, Cat. I have to take this call."

Catelyn nodded absently, barely paying attention to him.

But then the words registered.

And her blood turned to ice.

It was as if her entire world had suddenly slowed. She found herself turning away from the arrest toward Petyr already hurrying off down the hall, his phone in hand. It wasn't ringing. He was lying.

Someone panicking. Someone trying to slip away from the crowd. Someone hurrying to make a phone call.

Everything clicked into place in that moment. Every loose end tied itself in her mind. Who had the motivation to go after all the CEOs of Westeros? Who had worked within the Baratheon company but also closely with the Tyrells? Who would want Ned dead because he had always hated him? Because he had always wanted to be in his place?

Petyr. Petyr. Petyr.

His name rang in her head over and over again like a funeral bell. For a moment all she could feel was numb shock. Then…fury.

She turned away from the crowd all together and followed after him. One step at a time. It felt almost mechanical. Like she wasn't in her body. It was moving all on its own. She reached into her bag and felt for the gun she had tucked inside. She found her phone next to it just as Petyr ducked inside of an empty room.

She stopped outside the door, leaning up against the wall to steady herself. Listening.

"—change of plans," Petyr was saying. "I think your father has been found out. Not everyone is cooperating with their side of the deal."

Catelyn raised her phone. Robb was with the police. He needed to stay with them to make sure Bolton didn't get away. But she needed backup.

Tywin, she thought at once, searching quickly for his name. She began to type out a message.

"You still have the girl then?" Baelish asked. "Good."

Catelyn froze. They still had the girl. They still had Sansa. Had the police come too soon? Had there been a mistake? She couldn't take the chance.

She sent off the text to Tywin.

"Here's what we're going to do," Petyr was saying.

Catelyn seized the door handle, pulling her gun and bursting into the room.

"Drop the fucking phone, Petyr."

Petyr turned to look at her, still holding the phone at his ear, his eyes wide. "Cat. What do you think you're—"

"Don't," she said. "Don't say a word. Hang up the phone. And drop it right now or I will shoot."

For a long moment, he didn't move. She clicked back the safety and he quickly hung up the phone and held it up above his head.

"Cat. What's going on? You're acting hysterical."

"No," Catelyn said. "I'm not hysterical at all, Petyr. I know what this is. And I know who you are. I only regret it took me this long to see it."

"Cat—"

"Shut up," Catelyn said. "No more excuses. No more misdirection. I know. You blackmailed Joffrey Baratheon into running my husband off the road and killing Stannis. You were behind Jon Arryn too. No wonder Lysa was terrified." She gritted her teeth together. "And you kidnapped my daughter and tried to blackmail Robb into embezzling. That was all you."

Petyr didn't say a word. He didn't admit a thing. But he did smile an awful, cold smile. It was the single confirmation she needed to know everything she said was true.

"You son of a bitch," Catelyn said. "All of this time. All of the years we've known each other…and this is how you repay my friendship? By ripping my family to shreds." She laughed bitterly. "I suppose my friendship was never worth much to you, was it? You always wanted more." Her grip tightened on the gun. "Did you think I would run into your arms after Ned died? I didn't think you were such a fool."

"Oh Cat," Petyr said. "Please. You don't think this was all about you, do you?"

"No," Catelyn said. "It was about climbing the ladder. Creating chaos. I was just a possible bonus prize."

"Well, you said it, not me," Petyr said. "What are you going to do now, Cat? I still have your daughter. And she's with some very dangerous people right now. They might hurt her if I don't call back." He took a step forward. "And even if I didn't have your daughter. You're not going to shoot me. It's as you said. We've known each other for years. You've always been so good and kind. You don't have it in you to kill me."

The storm of rage inside of Catelyn seemed to calm. And to her own surprise, she smiled. "Petyr. You're confusing me with Ned. He was the good one. The kind one. I was better with him." Her lip curled and her smile twisted into a snarl. "But you killed him. So now you're left with me."

He opened his mouth to reply. To say something else smug. And she shot him in the chest. He fell backward, knocking into the desk and sliding to the ground. Then he sagged on the carpet and went still.

Catelyn slowly lowered her gun. Her whole body was trembling as she crept slowly over to Petyr. She had shot him in the chest, she knew. But was he really dead just like that?

She bent over him to check his pulse. He still had one. Maybe the shock of the gunshot had knocked him out. Her hand went to his chest, searching for the wound. And that's when she felt it. Teflon.

A muffled gun shot rang out and pain bloomed in her stomach, radiating all the way through her. Petyr opened his eyes, slowly sitting up.

"Bad luck, Cat," he said. "Bullet proof vests don't fit under dresses, do they?"

He gave her a shove and she fell backward onto the carpet feeling her vision swim. Petyr stood slowly to his feet, rubbing his chest.

"I'm impressed you did it," Petyr said. "Shot me like that without remorse. I guess I was right to love you so much." He raised his gun, aiming at her head. "But between the two of us, I'm definitely worse. So…this is goodbye."

Catelyn closed her eyes, waiting for the shot. Then the door to the room slammed open.

Tywin hadn't seen Catelyn leave the party, but he had noticed her absence about two beats before he received the text. Come quickly. West wing. Bring your security. I found him.

He'd motioned immediately to his nearest security to join him and made his way across the ballroom as quickly as he could without making a scene. Thankfully, Bolton's arrest was still distracting their attention, and few paid him any mind.

He was in the West Wing when he heard the gun shot. And just down the hall when he heard the second one. A few beats later he reached the room, throwing open the door and drawing his gun in one smooth motion.

It did not take long to absorb the scene. Petyr Baelish standing over Catelyn Stark who was currently lying in a growing pool of her own blood.

Oh. So its you, Tywin thought, rage pulsing through him.

"Stay back," Baelish said, quickly registering his situation. "Or she dies."

Tywin didn't reply, nor did he hesitate. He fired two shots, one into each of Petyr Baelish's knees, and relished the sight of the snake dropping to the ground with a scream. His men were right behind him, and Tywin gestured toward the man with a flick of his wrist as he stowed the gun.

"Take him back to the manor. The police can have him when I'm done with him. Call an ambulance, now."

He did not check to see if his order was being followed. He was already over to Catelyn Stark. She was still breathing. The bullet had pierced her abdomen but not her heart or her lungs. She was losing a lot of blood, but death was not assured. Not if the ambulance arrived quickly.

Tywin placed a hand over her wound, pressing firmly. She made a soft sound and he let out a breath. "Mrs. Stark, can you hear me?"

"Y-yes," she managed. Her voice was quivering with pain, and she was clearly going into shock. "My daughters. Sansa. Arya."

"Both fine," Tywin said. "Your song got word from them. They got her out."

"Oh." A relieved breath left her "That's good at least."

"You're going to be all right too. The ambulance is on its way," Tywin said. His voice sounded much calmer than he actually felt. "Stay awake until then. Do you understand me?"

She didn't answer him. Her gaze was foggy, and she seemed to be looking off into space. Tywin had seen that look before. It was someone already searching for the light. For the end.

"Mrs. Stark," he repeated.

"I'm...going to die," she murmured absently.

Tywin pressed a bit harder on the wound. "You're not going to die. I won't allow it," he said. "You think I'm going to be the one to tell your children that you didn't make it? Absolutely not."

A delirious smile passed over her face. "Even you can't...beat death," she said. "No one...can. If we could then...then we never would have let them...leave us."

She did not need to specify the 'them'. He knew exactly who she was talking about, and she was right. If they could beat death, then he never would have lost his wife. She never would have lost her husband.

But this was different. He had seen wounds like this before. She would not die if she just fought for a bit longer.

"Ned," she whispered. She was still looking past him into some distant place. But he needed to keep her here. "Ned...please."

"He's not there. He's dead and you're not." Tywin leaned over her, and he found his hand clasping one side of her face. "Look at me. Catelyn."

She did. Her eyes suddenly cleared, and she looked at him, wide eyed, as if the sound of her own name had startled her. Was it the first time he had said it? Perhaps it was. But it had the intended effect. She was focusing on him.

"That's it," he said. "You're all right. Keep looking at me. Stay here. Your children need you to stay here."

And I do not want you dead either.

The fear and pain seemed to return to her eyes. She did not really want to die, he knew. She was terrified to leave behind her sons and daughters. Good. He needed her to fight.

"Tywin." He had never heard his name in her voice before either and it was strange to him. "Don't...don't let me..."

"I won't," he promised her, though he couldn't make the promise. Where in the seven hells was that fucking ambulance?

Moments later, he heard the sirens and it filled him with relief. The room was shortly after flooded with EMTs and he stepped aside to let them do their job. His breathing was unsteady and his hand...when he looked down at his blood stained hand, he saw it was shaking. Why? The adrenaline of the moment perhaps.

"Sir?" he was aware of the voice of one of his team. "What do you want us to do?"

"Keep Petyr Baelish with you until I return," Tywin said. "I'm going to the hospital first...but I'll be along shortly." He looked at the man, his gaze cold. "Do not let that man die before I get to him."

Then he swept out of the room and down the hall. The night had, technically speaking, been a success. They had arrested Bolton. Rescued his hostage. Discovered the true puppet master.

But he would not count it a victory unless Catelyn Stark lived. So he would make sure she did.

A/N: *screams* I finished it, thank god. Anyway, don't worry, this story still has a little ways to go. Though Baelish has been caught there are some other loose ends that have not yet been tied. But next chapter at least will be more of an aftermath than anything. Review, subscribe and I'll see you next time!