A Little Hell

Prince Tommen had taken ill.

Cersei took to his chambers early the next morning, prepared to sit by her youngest son's bedside until he felt better. She burst into his room, Jaime by her side, only to find Lady Stark sitting diligently at her son's side, a pile of strange needlework in her lap.

Cersei could barely register the sight before Cat started to speak.

"I sat at my son's bedside and made this gift for the seven to watch over Bran as he healed, after his accident and one day he awoke. Although a part of him will never return. I hope it will bring more luck to your son."

Jaime's eyes shifted away as Cersei stepped forwards, "How kind of you, Lady Stark. But I do wonder if my brother and I might have a moment alone with my son." She said, waving her arm to the open door.

Catelyn nodded with tight lips and left her craft behind as she took to the door. Jaime shut it behind her as she left.

"You don't suppose she's figured it out?" He said, his voice doubting what he already knew to be impossible.

Cersei ignored him, throwing he needlework to the ground and taken the seat beside Tommen, holding his hand tightly in her own.

"Don't be a fool. Catelyn Stark is not that cunning, and certainly not that coy. If she knew, you and I would be before my husband on our knees being told to beg for mercy, not here, by his side." She stroked Tommen's hair gently before return her cold eyes to Jaime's. "She knows nothing."

"You don't think this was her work?" He asked.

Tommen groaned and rolled slowly towards his mother. Cersei paused her ministrations.

"No I think this was the work of a young boy with a curiosity for wine and an obliging older brother." She said.

"Or perhaps the servants." Jaime pondered. "Unless you think it was Joff?"

"It was Gendry." Cersei said, sure of her answer.

"Cersei." Jaime warned, placing a warm hand on her shoulder.

She recoiled, "Don't Jaime, just don't." She stood, her hands shaking with a sudden rage as she began to pace along Tommen's bedside. "You've never hated him as I have!" Jaime opened his mouth to speak but she cut him off. "Don't deny it. Don't lie to me. You like the boy, I know you do. Tyrion loves him as if he were his own, he might as well be, gods know he is no son of mine."

Jaime sighed as the silence fell between. "Aren't we here to discuss other matters? Do we not have more important things to worry about?"

Cersie scoffed at that, "I'd hardly say I'm worried. We send the young wolf-girl on her way, which shouldn't take long now. It's the Tyrell girl who troubles me. She's got the cunning of Arya and the grace of Sansa. And she's smart, she knows what she's doing, she knows who to manipulate, and how. And she's got that vile bitch of grandmother who's determined to get her hands on a crown."

"And you hardly plan on giving her one." Jaime said.

"On the contrary... let her have it. With one Stark gone, that leaves a son without a betrothed."

"It also leaves Sansa. How do you plan to appease the Stark into following through on one wedding after breaking off another."

Cersei shook her head, "We can hardly be held responsible for Arya Stark's actions. Lord knows no force on earth has been able to reign her in yet. Besides, no one held Lyanna Stark culpable for her actions, why should her double be any different. Perhaps the same fate will befall this one. Another Stark swooped away by dragons."

"Stranger things have happened."

There was a light knock on the door and a mane of flowing reddish-brown locks appeared. Margaery Tyrell entered with a sweep of her gown.

"I came to check on our little prince as soon as I heard." She said, seeming to float across the floor, she paused at the foot of his bed. "How is he, Your Grace?"

"Resting nicely, I'm told." Cersei said, her eyes flicking from the young girl to her brother. "Jaime leave us, Lady Tyrell and I have much to discuss."

In another part of the castle, an empty room took a beating as Arya practiced with Needle.

"A girl is not supposed to practice with swords."

She swivelled around and found a man standing in her doorway. Curly black hair, stout build, he too held a sword in his hand. Arya lowered hers, slightly, and watched him carefully.

"I'm not a girl." She said.

"No, you're not." The man said, eyeing her carefully. "Right now, you are water."

Her brow crinkled. The man threw a large sword, made of wood, right at her. Together they watched as it landed with a hollow, loud clang on the floor. It look heavy, not slender and thin like her Needle. Her eyes snapped up and met the man's.

"Or perhaps not quite, but you soon will be." He stepped back, his sword making a fluid sweeping motion as he bowed to her. "I am Syrio Forel, your new dancing instructor."

She picked up the wooden sword, it was heavy, and bowed in return.

She smiled and thanked the old gods and the new, and her father, of course, for being the only one to know that slashing a sword until she fingers blistered and her forehead was dotted with sweat, would be the only thing in this place to truly make her calm.

Next to visit young Tommen was a dutiful Sansa. But there was no one left in the young prince's room when she arrived. She had been praying in the Sept in the morning, spent some time with Princess Marcella and Jeyne for tea, then gone to the Godswood, feeling homesick for the first time since they'd set out on the King's Road. She kneeled before the weir wood and said a small prayer for Prince Tommen there too. Though the Seven were well set in her heart, she would always hold a sentimental place there for the old gods too.

She took a seat at his bedside and found her mother's handiwork discarded a few feet away. She picked it up and continued it on, watching the young prince sleep soundly as she worked, happy to see the calm rise and fall of his blanket covered chest as her fingers sewed a steady rhythm. Already in her short time she'd grown attached to the Royal Family, especially Myrcella and Tommen.

The older princes were a given, unlike Arya, Sansa knew her duty and was preparing herself to follow it through, she would be one of them one day and she must find something amiable in each of them that she could cling to and learn to call family. And between Gendry's natural strength in leadership, his kindness, and the way Joffrey had charmed her all those years ago, it hadn't been hard to find them more than suitable, whichever should become her husband.

But she hadn't expected to fall so in love with the other two. She'd hoped they could be kind to one another, maybe even friends. Joff she knew from Winterfell, and Gendry had welcomed them with such open, such strong, arms, but the younger two she'd never encountered before. To her delight Myrcella was kind and smart and beautiful, every bit of Cersei could be found in her. Her cheeks were always rosy and warm, her smile lit the whole banquet hall and her countenance wafted sincerity. And Prince Tommen, so gentle, so kind, so sweet, with his little cat and the way he would follow his oldest brother around, or cling to Myrcella's arm. One day he'd grabbed Sansa's accidentally and after noticing his mistake had not immediately pulled away but instead stayed put, citing the softness of the sleeve of Sansa's dress.

Yes, she'd grown attached to them. And them to her as well, she hoped. No, she knew. She could tell. And it filled her with great relief and satisfaction to know that in the place she'd always wanted to be, she did in fact belong.

"I could've sworn you were your lady mother."

Sansa whipped around and found Margaery Tyrell observing her from the doorway. She stepped further into the room.

"You two look so very alike, it's remarkable."

"thank you, Lady Tyrell." Sansa said, bowing her eyes as the older girl approached.

She placed a hand under Sansa's chin and lifted her eyes up, "You can call me Margaery," She smiled sweetly, "And I will call you Sansa, and we shall be great friends."

Sansa nodded eagerly and Margaery took this as her cue to sit on the edge of Tommen's bed, facing Sansa with her bright, ambitious eyes.

"I've spent the morning talking with our Queen. She tells me you've become quite enamoured of her son." She smiled mischievously but Sansa could not let her mind drift passed the first part of the sentence.

"You and the Queen spoke of... me?" She stuttered in disbelief.

Margaery laughed, "Well, of course! She adores you!" She patted Sansa's knee gently. "She might not show it, she must remain so regal, so proper, but she's fond of you. I know it. And besides, you are to be her good-daughter one day. And soon, from what I hear."

Sansa's eyes snapped to the door and back to Margaery, who playfully touched Sansa's knee while she laughed.

"Oh half the castle knows at this point, Sansa. You can't keep a secret very long in the Red Keep. It's a miracle your sister still doesn't know."

"Arya is clueless to anything she doesn't want to know." Sansa sighed. "She likes swords, and climbing walls, and tattering her skirts and anything else simply doesn't interest her. So she blocks it out." And sometimes that includes me, the thought drifted effortlessly into her mind, making her sad once again.

"Well, she can't escape her fate forever." Margaery sympathized. She seemed to contemplate it for a moment. "Though, perhaps she can... with our help."

"We couldn't do anything." She said, hoping to be proven wrong. "What could we possibly do?"

"My darling, there is plenty. Are we not Southron women with great influence and power?" Sansa wavered uncertainly, but Margaery held fast. "I know I am, and I think you and I are quite alike. Therefore you must be too. You will be." She winked and added, "Quite soon."

Sansa's heart sprung and a giddy laugh escaped her lips. But her mind was stuck on Arya: Arya lying on her bed looking so forlorn, Arya with her skirts caked in mud and her complete indifference, Arya who had made no new friends and had found no love in this city, Arya wishing to visit Jon at the Wall, to return home. She wished she could make that happen. And the hope in Margaery's voice made her believe it could.

The two girl's leaned in close around the beside of the little prince, conspiring together with whispers and giggles and Sansa's heart flew to know that someone else in King's Landing cared, someone else was there for her, and once again she knew that this is where she belonged.

Sweaty and tired, arms aching with the weight of Syrio Forel's stupid wooden sword, Arya danced through the halls with Needle feeling light as air in her hand. She practiced her new steps all the way through the castle. The whole place had been in a hush all day. The men were on about their usual business, the women were all praying for Prince Tommen, and the servants were all doing the actual work.

She repeated Syrio's words back to herself as she practiced through the halls.

"Swift as a deer." She whispered, jumping from toe to toe, "Quiet as a shadow." She repeated all his little phrases and sayings, "Fear cuts deeper than swords." Until they found a steady rhythm in her mind, and then everything felt connected. Her mind, her feet, the sword in her hand, the beat of her heart. She could actually hear the rhythm, pounding through her ears, it sounded... metallic.

She paused a moment and followed the sound through the corridor, moving silently towards the light and heat.

She nudged the door open slightly and found Prince Gendry wiring tirelessly in his small forge. The way he beat his hammer against the white hot metal, she could see the way every muscle in his body worked. He looked angry. She stepped further into the room, to get a better view, and as she opened the door further it scraped along the floor. Gendry's back straightened and he turned around, seeming unsurprised that she stood before him.

"Pretending to be a blacksmith again?" She asked, perching herself on a nearby work table.

Gendry huffed and turned back around, continuing his work with a grunt. He managed to squeeze out a few words between the pounding noises of his hammer, "Everyone else is pretending to be something," He said. "Why shouldn't I?" He turned to her again, pointing the rough edge of the hammer at her. "And what are you pretending to be?"

"Calm as still water." She recited. "Maybe you should try it."

He scoffed, "I think you need to try it more. I come here when I want to be alone. When I feel like hitting someone, someones, but I can't. Here I can at least hit something, make something, instead of,"

"Beating Lannisters?" She offered.

He gave a half-hearted chuckle. "Yeah, instead of beating Lannisters." He thrust the red-hot sword into a nearby bucket of water, sending smoke through the room that only made it warmer. But it seemed to diffuse the tension some, and when the smoke cleared Gendry looked more relaxed.

"You ran off fast yesterday." He said. He was calm Gendry now, and she regretted giving him her advice. But she supposed since he had the upper hand in this particular conversation, he would get to be the calm one. Her palms were sweating from the heat of the room.

"I'm always running off somewhere fast." She said.

"I've noticed." He smirked at her.

Look at him, she thought, so smug now that he has the upper hand. But she knew how to remedy that, because she knew how he ticked. She knew that he was like her: he'd spoken the truth in the heat of the moment and now was counting on her shrugging it off and leaving it behind, as if she ever would.

"I've noticed things too." She said.

His smile grew, "What have you been noticing?"

"I've noticed that people aren't telling me things." She said. "What did Lancel mean by consolation prize? And what were you and my father discussing yesterday after the Small Council? And what-"

"You ask a lot of questions." He said, cutting her off and returning to work. Any hint of smugness was long gone.

"That's because no one will tell me anything." She said.

"Hmm." Was his only reply.

"Gendry." She said, in a stern voice that made her think of her Lady Mother's. She moved from her perch on the work table and stood next to him, the heat from the forge wafting over her and wrapping around her. "Gendry." She repeated to make him look at her. She stood right next to him, staring up at his face, so determined to not acknowledge her.

Defeated, he turned away from her and sighed, "You're a pain in my ass, you know that?"

"That's not very princely." She replied.

"That's rich coming from you." He said with a snort.

"Gendry."

He closed his eyes and breathed deep. Stubborn, impatient, Gendry. She didn't know what she was expecting. Answers? That would be a laugh. No one ever gave her answers. Sansa never answered as to why it was so important for a lady to laugh at lord's jokes, even when they weren't funny. Her mother never answered her as to why Jon had to go to the Wall, and her father would never tell her why she couldn't go too. Bran never said why he stopped playing in the yard with her. Robb and Theon could never articulate why she could no longer join them on their hunts. And Jory wouldn't say why it was suddenly better for her to stay inside the walls of Winterfell than to roam freely out in the woods like the wolves.

And then, surprisingly, he answered.

Not all at once. He answered like a bull: stubborn, one begrudging step at a time, with half-word answers like he didn't want to share.

"Sansa's going to be engaged." he said.

"Yes."

"And soon."

"So I'm told."

"And you're her sister." He added.

"Again, so I'm told."

"And she's your sister."

"This is really quite insightful, thank you."

And then, like a bull, he charged all at once.

"Ah come on, Arry! It's not that hard to figure out what Lancel was saying!" He threw the hammer from his hand and let it skid along the work table with a clang. "And you're here in King's Landing. And everyone knows why Sansa's here. It's not some grand secret. It's a badly kept one. People think. They connect dots. They-" He turned to find a quizzical look on her face. The prince let out a gust of air from his lungs and he was calm again. "Can you honestly tell me you haven't thought that maybe your parents brought you here to make a match for you too?"

"No!" She said with a laugh. "They brought me here because if they left me in the North I'd have ran to the Wall faster than you can say direwolf."

"Fine. Then you don't think other people have thought of it? You're from a prominent family, your father is Warden of the North, now Hand of the King... there are plenty of reasons. You'd make a nice Lady, on paper at least, to some Lord, if he'd have ya."

"But I'm not a Lady!" She argued.

"Aye, but on paper you are. And that's where it matters to the rest of them."

She growled, low and guttural. "Then I'll burn all the papers!" She yelled. Silence fell between them and was quickly broken by their laughter.

"Good luck with that. Knowing you, you'd end up burning down the whole city." He said with a smile. His hands returned to his work table and began straightening his tools. "That's what he meant. Second to be matched, promised to no one, it's second place in his mind."

"Well those are just facts." She said simply. "I am promised to no one. I prefer it that way. Besides what do I care what goes on in Lancel Lannister's head?"

"I don't know why you would but you do," He said. He pulled the apron over his head and stared at her, knowing he spoke the truth. "Why else would you come here asking me about it?"

Arya bit her lip and sent her eyes to the ground. "You care too. Why else would you attack him like that?"

"He was rude to you." He said, busying himself again with his work.

"So? He's your family."

"Lancel Lannister is hardly my family." he said, removing his apron and placing it on it's hook. "Myrcella is my family, and Uncle Tyrion, my father, my Uncle Jaime too on occasion... the people who mean the most to me are my family. Like Tommen for instant. He's sick right now. I'm off to check on him. Care to walk with me?"

"Fine." She said, counting on her fingers all the names absent from his list.

Out in the hall the mid-morning light made her eyes hurt.

"You're not my friend, Arya." He continued. "I mean... you're not just my friend. You're also my family, or you will be one day. And I'll be your King. We're tied together. I've got a duty to you, and I wanted to defend you, and besides Lancel was being an ass. The way he was talking about you..."

"Why do you care?" Arya asked him. "So much, I mean."

"The better question is why do you care so little?" He countered. "He was insulting you, demeaning you."

"His words don't mean anything. You said so yourself, he doesn't matter." She said.

"No, but you do!" He shouted. "You matter to me, Arya."

"Because we're friends?" She asked. There was a lump in her throat she was struggling to swallow down.

He sighed, "Yes, because we're friends." He pulled open the door to Prince Tommen's room and found Margaery and Sansa sitting by his bedside, listening to Qyburn speak of the boy's small improvements. When they noticed the older prince in the doorway they both rose to attention.

"Your Grace," Margaery said, her skirts swept around her with each step and she smiled demurely as she spoke. "We were just speaking of the tournament, and lamenting how it seems our young Prince Tommen won't be able to attend."

"Which events will you be competing in, your Grace?" Sansa asked gently as Margaery prompted her forward.

"All that's not quite sorted yet." He said. "I suppose the melee, the sword fight-"

"Not the joust, your Grace?" Margaery asked.

"I'm not one for the joust, I'm afraid." He said, seeming as interested in the conversation as Prince Tommen. Both ladies had yet to acknowledge Arya.

"You're sure to win in whichever events you chose, your Grace." Sansa said, her cheeks were rosy red.

Gendry's smile was sincere, the eldest Stark sister was a kind girl, and gentle too. The opposite of her sister. And he liked her quite a bit too, as he hoped to one day be her good-brother. It was the Tyrell girl who made him uneasy. House Tyrell, Growing Strong with the rose blazing proudly across their banner, and all its throne hidden underneath pretty petals.

"You're too kind, Lady Sansa. I hear you've spent the day by my brother's side as well, ensuring he was well taken care of. Thank you."

The girl looked startled by his gratitude. "Of course, your Grace. I-I..."

Margaaery saw her friend's struggle and stepped in to aid her, "Sansa's been so attentive, your Grace, and so worried. There's no one better in the Capital to be taking care of our little Prince."

Perhaps the Grand Maester, Arya thought, but she held her tongue, for once, for Sansa.

"I know my brothers and sister have taken quite a liking to her. Starks and Baratheons do seem to mix well together." He smiled to himself, and looked over his shoulder to the young Stark girl behind him.

"We'll leave you now," Margaery said. "To give you time with your brother."

"You have my appreciation." Gendry said as the girls swished their skirts and brushed past him.

He turned and saw their suggestive smiles as they left the room.

He went to his brother's side. He look pale, and tired, his breathing sounded shallow. There was medicine and tea and some opaque black liquid on his bedside table. He brushed his brother's short blonde curls away from his eyes.

Arya was moving along the outskirts. Running her fingers along the furniture and through the yellow silk drapes. She stopped when she reached the bed. The Prince looked so small as he lay still in there. Beads of cold sweat along his forehead. He reminded her of Bran, when no one thought he would wake up. When he lay in his bed for months while their Lady Mother sat by his side, refusing to leave. And when he woke he couldn't walk again.

After only a few months of travelling the King's Road Bran must've grown so much, and she wouldn't see him for gods know how long. And she will have grown too.

Though for now she was still too small. Not yet a lady, she still looked like a little boy, not much bigger than Prince Tommen.

Gendry had taken a seat next to his brother's bed.

"Tomorrow the Tournament will begin." He sighed. "My brother wanted to compete this year. He saw me last year and ever since then everyday he goes to the practice yard. The Queen would never allow him to train but I think it's better he be prepared. Though he doesn't quite take to the war hammer. I forged him a sword, and armour, and would train with him in the stables whenever he asked. Now it's unlikely he will even get to watch."

"Perhaps he'll wake up tomorrow feeling as good as new." Arya suggested. Her voice was flat instead of hopeful, Gendry had heard of her brother's accident. And how his eyes opened one day but his legs would not move.

"Perhaps." Gendry sighed.

"And perhaps he is only faking, to avoid his lessons." She joked. "It's what I would do."

"Just to avoid your lessons?" He asked.

"Absolutely." She said, she opened the drawers next to Tommen's bed and began riffling through the various books and toys inside before moving to the trunk of his clothes. She found the armour Gendry had made him hidden inside. She pulled out the chest plate and examined it. She saw her reflection in it and smiled.

"Thoughts?" he asked.

"It's good work." She said turning it over in her hands again and again. "Very good."

"That's because I never faked illness to skip my lessons."

Arya scrunched her nose and rolled her eyes. "Of course you didn't, your Grace." Her tone was mocking of the girl's from before.

"I tried to skip all of mine. I had a new lie every time. Sickness, broken arm, sprained ankle. Sometimes I'd just disappear over the walls of Winterfell in the morning, they'd spend all day trying to find me and when I'd return I'd go hide in the Godswood. One time I convinced Septa Mordane I was studying with my mother and my mother that I was studying with the Septa. They didn't figure that trick out for days."

"Well, you're quite deceitful aren't you?" Gendry said, smiling at the reflection of her in the armour.

She put the piece back in the trunk and gently closed the lid.

"Oh yes," She said. "I'm full of all kinds of trickery."