I apologize, this should have been posted before the last chapter. Not sure how the order got mixed up, but you'll need to read this for the last two chapters to make sense.

Chapter 11a

Arya made her way up the sweeping grand staircase, following silently behind Alinor. In the week since she'd returned to King's Landing, she'd realized that nothing had changed. While there were still some fascinating parts to the city, for the most part, she didn't like it. And the war had ravaged here, with people hungry and cold. Sansa was loved by most of the people – that didn't surprise Arya at all – as she was the face of the King, passing out golden dragons so that people could buy what food there was to be had, and paying shopkeepers and innkeepers to house and feed the poor. The Lady of the Keep, working hard to save them all. They all adored her. Their mother would be proud.

For all of her wanderings in the city, Arya had managed to avoid the Red Keep, preferring to stay in one of the more comfortable inns in the city. And since Sansa had been ill with some sort of stomach ailment, she hadn't pressed her about it. But it was high time she talked to her sister, ill or not. She wanted to return to Winterfell, at least for a visit. She didn't know if she'd stay permanently – she didn't know what she wanted to do permanently – but for now, she just wanted to go home. And perhaps detour through White Harbor and hug Rickon. She wondered if he'd even remember her. He'd been a baby of only four years when she'd left. Now at seven, he might not remember any of their true family. The thought made her both angry and sad.

Sansa was sitting in a chair, gingerly sipping a cup of hot tea. She was pale and looked terribly frail. "Whatever is wrong with you?" Arya asked, handing her heavy cloak to Alinor and dropping into a chair across from her sister. "You look horrible."

Sansa grimaced. "Thank you," she said in an effort to be sarcastic. She sounded exhausted. "How kind of you to point it out, as if I didn't know." She took another tiny sip of tea.

Arya lifted a small cake from the tray on the table between them, and poured herself a cup of tea. "Well, you do."

"My stomach just hasn't kept much food lately," she sighed, lowering her cup to the table and laying her head against the back of the chair. "But I'm feeling a little better." She had far too much to do. Alinor had been running around keeping everything under control, but the guests were due to start arriving within the week. Thankfully her stomach was calming some, and she'd been able to keep a few fluids and some biscuits down.

"Ah well, if it isn't the lovely Stark ladies," Tyrion smiled, coming into the room.

Arya studied him. She'd heard that he and Sansa were married, and how the King trusted him implicitly. "How did you manage to get even uglier?" she wondered.

"Arya!" Sansa exclaimed, aghast.

But Tyrion only chuckled. "Now love, let's not pretend. Losing one's nose has a way of disfiguring even the most handsome of men, which I've never been." He climbed up onto the sofa.

"And you're certain you want to stay married to him?" Arya asked skeptically.

"Yes," Sansa said firmly, her eyes closed, her head once again lying against the back of her chair.

"I know it's difficult to believe, Lady Arya, given our differences and the fact that the marriage was forced on us. But Sansa and I have managed to find love in each other. And I will assure you just as I did her, that I will spend the rest of my life making her happy," Tyrion said seriously.

"See to it that you do," Arya said mildly. "Stay away from the whores and treat her well, because if I hear so much as a rumor that you've displeased her, I will make her a widow."

"Arya," Sansa moaned, never opening her eyes. "Stop it. You'll do no such thing."

But Tyrion was watching his young sister by marriage carefully, and he believed her. "I will," he said slowly, wondering where she'd been the last few years. He'd have to make some time to speak with her, and perhaps have Varys do some digging. He didn't know that one more 'favor between friends' would make much of a difference in the debt he owed the man.

"Actually, I'm glad to find the two of you together," Tyrion said slowly. "Jamie told me something before he left, and I didn't want to mention it until I was certain, but now I am. It seems Lady Caitlyn is alive. She was badly injured in the murder attempt, but apparently it was not the fatal wound that we thought."

Both women stared at him. "How do you know?" Arya asked slowly, setting down her cup and leaning forward to rest her elbows on her knees.

Tyrion was momentarily struck by how much like her father she looked. "Jamie saw her, along with Brienne of Tarth, and my squire, Poderick Payne. All three spent time with her. I sent a group out to search for her, to see if they could find her and let her know that Sansa and Rickon were alive, and send her to White Harbor. I received a letter from Lord Manderly that she arrived a few weeks ago. But," he hesitated. "He said she's changed. Jamie said it as well, that her hair's gone gray and that she looks much older than her years. But Lord Manderly said that Rickon was afraid of her, and wouldn't go anywhere near her. And that his wolf growled so ferociously that the men accompanying her drew weapons against it. She," he hesitated. "She's become hateful. He used the word 'murderous.' She hates everyone named Frey or Lannister."

"Can you blame her?" Arya spat.

"No, not at all," Tyrion said honestly. "I'm not fond of most of the Lannisters myself, truth be told, and the Frey's are all despicable. But given that I am a Lannister and your sister is married to me, your mother is understandably angry. She left Lord Manderly's home early one morning, without saying so much as goodbye to anyone, even your brother. He's worried that she's on her way here, to Sansa and I. But Varys can find no trace of her here in the city."

"So she's somewhere between White Harbor and here?" Sansa asked softly. She couldn't believe what she was hearing. Her mother was alive?

Tyrion nodded. "I would think so," he said. "Or perhaps she's heading up to Winterfell, I don't know. But I am certain that she's alive. Or she was as of a few weeks ago."

Arya nodded. "I'll find her," she said firmly. "I'm heading up to Winterfell anyway, and I'd already planned to stop in White Harbor and see Rickon. I was going to take a ship, but I'll take the King's Road instead."

"Oh but Arya, the weather….." Sansa said weakly. "And you're only a child, you can't go. Besides, a woman alone on the road isn't safe."

Arya shrugged. "I'll be fine. And Arry isn't a woman." She grinned.

Tyrion nodded. "Let me know what you'll need and I'll get it together for you," he said. Arya started to say no, but then stopped and stared at him consideringly. "A rich and powerful brother is always an asset, my lady," Tyrion smiled. She nodded.

"Well, I'd best be on my way," Tyrion said, sliding from the sofa. "I have a meeting with Lord Connington and the King." He went to stand next to Sansa, laying his hand over hers as she smiled wanly at him. "Love, I want you to lie down and rest soon," he said firmly.

She nodded. "I will," she promised.

"Alright, I'll see you at dinner. And will I see you, my sweet sister?"

"Don't call me that," Arya snapped, remembering that he'd used the phrase to refer to Cercei while he was at Winterfell. "And no."

He nodded. "Leave me the list of what you'll need." Patting Sansa's hand, he waddled from the room.

"And you're sure you want to remain married to him?" Arya asked again.

"Yes," Sansa said, a tinge of exasperation in her tone. "I do."

"Why?" Arya couldn't understand it. "The King overrode Rickon's claim to the title of Winterfell in open court, you could have any lord you wanted."

"I don't want a man who only wants me for my title," she sighed. "Tyrion has his own lands, he could care less about mine. He wants me for me."

"Yes, but why do you want him?"

"Because he's kind," she said tiredly. "He cares for me. And he's a good man, despite his appearance. Everyone thinks he's just another monsterous Lannister, but he's not. He's nothing like his father or sister."

"There are kind men who aren't named Lannister, and who don't look like a troll."

"Really, Arya. I am going to require you to watch your tongue," Sansa said sharply. "My choice of husband is my business, not yours. And that is the end of it."

She sounded so much like their mother that Arya's heart stuttered. "I suppose," she shrugged carelessly, lifting her tea cup again. "Do you really think it's Mother?"

Sansa nodded. "Tyrion wouldn't have said anything if he wasn't sure, he wouldn't want to get our hopes up. He said Lord Jamie told him, and he's been gone for months now. If he's only just mentioning it, it's because he's certain."

"I don't know," Arya said skeptically, the wolf dream of over a year ago fresh in her mind. "But if it is her, I'll find her."

"Arya, you're twelve years old, you can't go running off to Winterfell alone," Sansa said, trying to sound firm. "And I'm going to move you here, into our rooms. I'm your family, your guardian. You should be here with me."

"No, you're not. Technically, your husband is. And I'm not moving in here, and I am going to Winterfell. I've been taking care of myself on my own for almost three years now," she said loudly when Sansa tried to interrupt her. "I've managed to keep myself alive, fed, and sheltered. I'm not going to start bowing and scraping to anybody, especially not you," she said rudely. "So deal with it and I'll keep in touch. Or I'll disappear again. I don't care either way."

"Oooooohh why are you so frustrating!" Sansa said, rubbing her head tiredly.

"Because unlike you, I don't need anyone to tell me what I should and shouldn't be doing," Arya answered stubbornly. "I'll take care of myself."

From his solar Tyrion smiled as he listened to the two sisters argue. Yes, he definitely needed to spend some time with his young sister.

Five days later, after a lengthy conversation with Tyrion and the King – against Sansa's wishes, and with Tyrion's blessing – Arya mounted the tall dapple gray stallion in the Keep's stable, a pack mule loaded with supplies tied to her saddle. Sansa had ordered a heavier cloak for her, with matching gloves. Her new boots were fur lined with thick soles. Tyrion had also given her a bag of gold coins. "Stay at an inn as often as possible," he'd told her. "The skies are clear this morning but I'm sure they won't stay that way as you move further north. Be safe, little sister." He'd realized she had no objection to that phrase and now used it regularly in place of her name, and she'd begun to mockingly refer to him as 'big brother.'

She kept a wary eye out for bandits, but for days the King's Road was quiet, just she and the horse she'd named Stubborn for his tendancy to go his own way even when she tried to lead him another. They fought for a full day before he finally submitted to her will and followed his reins.

She'd been on the road for over a week when the sudden storm came up. She was hours away from the closest inn, so decided to make camp in a thick grove of trees just off the road, hoping it would provide some shelter from the rapidly falling snow. She found an area remarkably free of moisture and tied off Stubborn and the mule and began hunting for wood for a fire. Soon she was beside the cheerful blaze, her back to several tall tree trunks as she pulled out some of the dried meat, fruit, and bread she'd gotten at the last inn. After she ate she dozed lightly, still sitting against the tree, knowing she wouldn't sleep well while in the forest alone, waking periodically to toss a few more sticks onto the fire to keep the blaze high. She kept her thick cloak wrapped tightly around her, her hood pulled up over her head. She didn't know how long this storm would last, but hopefully in the morning it would have lightened enough for her to get to the next inn. She was certain she was close.

Her eyes snapped open when both Stubborn and the mule began to whinny and stomp. Her eyes searched the darkness, as her hand reached for Needle. She rose slowly, pushing back her hood. "Show yourself," she called out, tossing the heavy cloak over her shoulder so that her sword hand was freely exposed.

The horse and mule grew increasingly more agitated, and she was grateful they were both tied securely. "I know you're out there," she said, listening carefully to ensure no one came up behind her. "You might as well show yourself." She stopped when she saw golden eyes in the shadows. "Nymeria?" she whispered. The dire wolf loped forward, stopping almost uncertainly on the other side of the fire.

"Nymeria!" Arya dropped to one knee, dropping Needle and extending her arms happily. With a joyful yelp the huge direwolf ran to her, knocking her over and licking her joyfully as Arya laughed.

When she left the clearing the next morning, Nymeria was no where to be found, but Arya wasn't worried. She managed to make it to the inn, but just as she was leading Stubborn to the stable, she saw a familiar figure.

"Go on then!" The stable master yelled at the older man. "I'll not have the likes of you around scaring my horses!"

"Now goodman," Arya said, dismounting. "That's no way to speak to a Kingsguard." Both men stared at her warily. "Ser Ilyn, isn't it?" she said.

He hesitated, and then jerked his head in a nod.

"Do you remember me?" she asked.

He nodded again.

"You tellin me this is Ser Ilyn Payne?" the stableman asked.

"Yes, it is," she said as Ser Ilyn nodded again, his face a mask of fury. "King's Justice, under both King Robert and King Jeoffrey." His Kingsguard white was dingy and dirty, the white cape nowhere to be found. Instead he wore a dingy brown cloak with matted fur that had seen better days.

"Oh," the stable master said grudgingly. "Well, my apologies, Ser."

Ser Ilyn said nothing, only mounted his horse and rode away, Arya following. She followed him for almost two miles before he stopped in the middle of the road and turned to wait for her, his brow raised in silent inquiry.

"Are you alright, Ser?" she asked politely. "Do you have any money? I can spare a few dragons, if you need."

He eyed her skeptically, then shook his head, and continued on. She fell in beside him. "I know that King Aegon will be pleased to see you," she said. "He wasn't happy to return and find his Kingsguard all scattered. And you served his grandfather, he'll be pleased with that. And you knew his father. Of course, you can't tell him anything, but still. I think he'll be happy to see you."

Ser Ilyn didn't respond.

"The snow is getting heavier," Arya said, after another mile. "There's a clearing up ahead, why don't we wait it out there?"

Again, he didn't respond, but followed her off the road back into the same clearing where she'd spent the night. She kept up a steady stream of chatter about King's Landing and King Aegon and Sansa and Tyrion as they set up their small camp, and Ser Ilyn made the fire. She offered him food, but he shook his head and indicated the water skin, then frowned when he realized it was actual water. She grinned as she rose to retirieve another skin from the mule. "Sorry, here, this one is wine. Tyrion forced it on me when I left, he said I might need it to keep warm."

She fell silent after she ate, staring quietly into the fire. Ser Ilyn's head turned suddenly, and he reached for his sword.

"It's just Nymeria," she said. "My dire wolf." Nymeria padded silently into the clearing, growling softly at Ser Ilyn.

"Nymeria," Arya said, holding out her hand. The wolf came to her side and sat beside her, her eyes never leaving Ser Ilyn.

He finished Tyrion's wine and eventually dozed off as Arya kept the fire burning brightly. She studied him for a long while. He'd obviously fallen on hard times. She wondered idly what had happened to him.

She and Nymeria rose silently, and she held Needle's scabbard to keep the sword silent as she pulled it free. His eyes snapped open when he felt Nymeria's hot breath on his skin, her teeth bared as she growled menacingly. Behind her, Arya smiled. "Did you think I'd forgotten how happy you were to remove my father's head? I haven't." He moved quickly but Nymeria caught his sword arm in her jaws, ripping it from his shoulder just as Needle slashed across his neck. He lay there, blood pouring from him, as Arya watched. "Justice for the King's Justice," she said softly. After cleaning Needle she untied Stubborn and the mule and left the clearing, leaving his horse tied beside him. It could rot, for all she cared. She headed back to the inn to wait out the rest of the storm.

Tyrion told Pod to send his breakfast to him in his solar. "Also, send for Ser Lothor." He was still yawning as he crawled up into his chair, just as a servant came in with a thick envelope.

"This was just delivered for you, my lord," the man said. Tyrion thanked him, recognizing Jon Connington's scrawled writing.

Tyrion –

I've developed greyscale from pulling you out of the river, so I cannot stay. I haven't told my boy, because I do not want him to hate you as much as I do. I was looking forward to returning home, and seeing my boy on the throne. Instead I am on a boat about to drink poison and instruct the crew to throw my body overboard so that I don't infect anyone, even in death. Yes, Tyrion, I hate you. I also trust you. I've worn at least two pair of gloves constantly, so everything should be safe. But just in case, have my things burned so that they don't infect anyone. Take care of my boy, lead him well. With you there to temper him, I know that he will be a great King, one worthy of the name Targaryen.

JC

Tyrion dropped the letter on the desk. "Damn," he sighed. He slid out of his chair, ripping the letter in half, then fourths, then eights, before feeding each piece into the fire, ensuring they burned totally and completely. After eating his breakfast, he took the remaining letter and headed towards the King's room, detouring through Lord Connington's room to discuss the disposal of his belongings. He'd taken nothing with him.

"Good morning, Tyrion," the King called out cheerfully, his own breakfast still before him. "Won't you join me?"

"Thank you, Your Majesty." He climbed into a chair, shaking his head at the servant who offered to bring him something.

"You look very serious," the King said, his own expression sobering.

Tyrion only sighed, and slid the letter across to him. Aegon picked it up, looking at the blank envelope curiously before opening it. There was only a single page, which he read quickly, then looked up at Tyrion, his expression stunned. "But, where did he go?" He looked at the back of the page, then lifted the envelope again, checking to see if there were something more inside.

"He'd mentioned that he wanted to return to Pentos," Tyrion said gently.

"I know he did, he'd said that he wanted to go back, but not until things here were settled," Aegon said, his expression lost. "He just left? He left me?" he asked softly.

"I'm so sorry, Your Majesty," Tyrion said helplessly. "I wish I knew…..I wish I had answers for you, but I don't." He knew that Jon Connington was right. He couldn't have the King hate him, and he would if he knew the truth. Tyrion wouldn't jeopardize his position, not after everything he'd gone through to get here. Let the boy hate his foster father instead. The man was dead, and wouldn't know.

"Oh." Aegon looked sadly down at the paper still in his hand, tears swimming in his beautiful purple eyes. Then took a deep breath. "I suppose this is why he told me a king can never rely too heavily on one person. I have to stand on my own."

Tyrion hated to see the boy look so lost and sad, but also knew that given Jon Connington's condition, this was for the best. "He hates politics."

The King nodded. "Yes, he does," he sighed. "I just wish…" He rose, walking to the window, then turning to face Tyrion again. "But how could he just leave me!" he burst out, then walked quickly away. But not before Tyrion saw the tears on his face.

He found Sansa as she and Alinor were planning to leave for the day. He was happy that she'd recovered well from her stomach illness, and was up and about again. He stopped her, asking her to go speak to the King. He hated to do it, given how everyone knew the King felt about her, but someone had to tend to the boy.

Sansa left Alinor to see to the guests who were beginning to arrive, and went silently to the King's rooms, finding him sitting morosely on a small sofa before the fire. She sat next to him, and took his hand.

"How could he just leave me?" he asked brokenly. "And he didn't even have the decency to tell me to my face, just left a letter with Tyrion!" He swiped angrily at his tears. "What am I supposed to do now?"

"The same thing you've been doing," she said softly. "What he taught you to do. You're a King, Aegon. Even though he's gone, he taught you well."

He was silent for a long moment, staring into the fire as he held tightly to her hand. "I don't even know what I'm supposed to be doing," he muttered. "He comes every morning and tells me what I'm doing for the day."

"I'm sure Tyrion will take care of it," she said soothingly.

"He told me to name Tyrion the new Hand. He said I can trust him."

"You can," Sansa assured him. "You know that you can."

"I knew he hated all of this, and that he wanted to go back to Pentos. But I didn't think I would wake up one morning and he'd be gone." He looked so lost. "How did you feel when your mother left you?" he asked.

Sansa was confused. "I don't know what you mean?"

"When you left coming here," he corrected himself. "And then, she went to your brother instead of coming here to you."

"Well, I was with my father, so it was a bit different," she said. "Although I cried terribly. But it was also exciting. I was betrothed to Jeoffrey, I thought I would be Queen. And then, when everything happened, it made sense for her to be with Robb. And Tyrion told me that when Robb captured Lord Jamie, the reason she released him was because he was supposed to rescue Arya and I. So she did try to get to us, in a way."

He nodded slowly. "He's always been the only family I've had," he said softly. "Griff and Young Griff. All of my life, he's been there. And now, he's just gone." Tears welled in his eyes again, and he wiped them away.

They sat silently for a long time, and finally he kissed the back of her hand. "Thank you, my queen. I'd best get dressed. Day waits for no one, and I'm sure I have plenty of things to do today."

She nodded as he rose, his eyes still damp. "I'll be in the Keep all day if you need me," she said. He gave her a watery smile as he walked away.

A week later, at Tyrion's suggestion, he rode with Sansa into the city to settle the weekly accounts. He hadn't been out of the Keep in the months since he'd arrived, and after his foster father's sudden disappearance had become morose and snappish. And Tyrion desperately needed a few hours to get his solar organized. Between his own books and papers, the ones he'd inherited from Jon Connington, and the cases of both he and Ned Stark's things, he could barely find room to walk. With Sansa occupying the King, he and Pod set to work at sorting and organizing it all. Even with the two of them, it would take hours to sort through it all, especially as everything had to be looked at to determine its importance.

It had snowed heavily the night before, but the morning sky showed patches of blue and the sun shone brightly through the clouds, although it was still bitterly cold. He wore a black fur hat and a deep violet cloak trimmed in the same black fur. His violet gloves were also trimmed in black. "You look especially handsome this morning, Your Majesty," Sansa smiled as he mounted. Although he looked a little pale, the black and violet accentuated his striking eyes, and the bits of pale blonde hair that escaped from his hat curled attractively.

His smile was sincere. "Thank you, Sansa. It's nice to be outside." He wasn't looking forward to the ball and all of the other engagements Sansa had arranged, although he understood the necessity of them. Sansa had told him that most of their guests had arrived, including his cousin Arianne Martell. Truthfully, she was the only one he was even interested in. Strengthening the relationship with Dorne had to be a priority, he knew, especially after his aunt had told him that Arianne's brother had been accidentally killed by one of her dragons when he'd come to make her a marriage contract. The only ones who hadn't responded were Euron Greyjoy and Stannis Baratheon. Aegon didn't know if Greyjoy had daughters, but he had to have a sister, a niece, someone. Baratheon had a daughter, although she was young and disfigured, from what he was told. Secretly, he was pleased she hadn't come, although if he married one of them perhaps he could end the final conflicts over the throne.

He was cheerful and gracious, smiling and waving, thanking all of the business people for their help, asking people if they were warm and if they'd eaten, and if they had somewhere to sleep. He praised the work of the foreman, who blushed deep red as Sansa and Alinor giggled, and held an in depth discussion with one of the stable owners about the merits of stallions as work horses. He ate cookies at each of the bakeries, and had seconds of the bowl of stew the innkeeper served them, complimenting her fresh bread, saying it was as good as he'd been served in the Keep. He passed gold dragons out to the children, and bought a blushing Alinor a gold and diamond bracelet that she'd admired in a jeweler's window as his thanks for all of her assistance in the city. He drank ale in a tavern while Sansa had her final fitting for her gowns, talking with the men there about the city, listening intently to their suggestions on things to improve and what needed work and which things were the most important.

Most of the day was gone when they returned to the Keep, laughing, her hand tucked firmly into his arm. Tyrion tried to suppress the stab of jealousy he felt when he saw them, both tall and young and attractive and obviously enjoying each other's company. "Well, it looks as if your day was a success," he forced himself to say with a smile.

"Yes, it was," the King grinned. "Our Lady of the Keep is as jewel, Tyrion." He kissed her cheek affectionately, and Sansa blushed.

"I'm pleased to be of assistance, Your Majesty," she smiled happily. "If you'll both excuse us, Alinor and I need to ensure that everything is ready for this evening's dinner." She curtsied to the King, smiled brightly to Tyrion and then was gone, leaving the King and Tyrion to discuss the residents of the city and the continuing work around Westeros before going to prepare themselves.

Aegon didn't want to attend, he wanted to meet each of the ladies individually first, but understood that to do so would cast favor upon the first he met, and insult upon the last. So he'd meet all of the ladies at once this evening, around a dinner table in the Queen's Ballroom. At least the food would be good, and Sansa and Tyrion would be there as well, along with a few of the other lords, including Lord Umber and Lord and Lady Tyrell – whom he was beginning to agree with Tyrion were no threat.

But he couldn't stop his wish that his foster father were there as well, especially for something as important as this. But he'd decided to leave, his own distaste for politics being more important to him. Fine, Ageon thought almost angrily. Fine, let him go. I'll do it all myself.