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The Lion Lord and the Little Wolf Girl	By : White Glove Literature Category: G through L > Game of Thrones Views: 27883 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I neither own Game of Thrones nor make money from this story.

Chapter List
- 15
- 16
- 17
Author’s note: I would like to thank everyone who has followed my story.
Chapter 15.
Arya sat stiffly in the chair close to Tywin’s side, watching over him as he slept. She had refused to leave his side for even a moment over the last two days since he was attacked, fearful that something would happen to him. She was plagued by fears that he would take a turn for the worse or that someone else would break into the tower and try to kill him. Clutching needle at her side, she vowed to watch over him as he slept. Despite Pycelle’s reassurances that he would make a full recovery, she still had feared he would die.
Pycelle had assured her he would be fine in time, but he had yet to wake up, and she was worried that he never would. The prospect filled her with a terrible sense of dread. With her family out of reach now, she would have been all alone again if Tywin died.
Vaguely she heard Syrio’s voice in her head. “What do we say to death?” The voice asked.
“Not today,” She reminded herself.
Attempting to relieve her fears, Pycelle had assured her the reason he hadn’t woken up yet was that they had been dosing him with dream wine while they watched over his wound. He would likely wake up soon since they had stopped administering the potion last night. She was relieved, but she still had a nagging fear that something could go wrong. She told herself that she was silly, that Pycelle knew what he was doing. Yet part of her was reluctant to trust him. Pycelle had been stripped of his position of Grand Maester by Tyrion and Tywin had delayed reinstating him, suspecting the man’s loyalties.
The idea that Pycelle harbored a grudge was not lost on her, despite appearances to the contrary. She had heard rumors of the man. Outwardly, he appeared to be a weak and elderly. his mind as dusty as the scrolls and old tomes he kept in his office. Still, worse was the rumor that he solicited bribes and lay with whores. Tywin had caught him bedding one. Frowning, she recalled her previous experiences with him. He appeared a grandfatherly man but was, in fact, a lecher. Yet another thing that kept Tywin from reinstating him.
“I just have to trust that everything will be alright.” She told herself with a sigh, snapping out of her reverie and glancing once again at Tywin.
Stifling a yawn Arya stretched and gave herself a shake, fighting off the effects of fatigue as her eyes threatened to close. She was exhausted, mentally, and physically, having gotten little if any rest the last two days. She blamed herself for Tywin’s injury, and her guilt weighed heavily on her, not allowing her any peace. Still just as her eyes began to droop and her head lolled, the bed shifted, and Tywin slowly opened his eyes, a quiet groan escaping his lips as he looked around.
“Tywin! You’re awake.” Arya grinned, jumping up and rushing to his side, her exhaustion was now forgotten as she kissed his cheek. Tywin moved to sit up, but Arya stopped him, placing a hand against his shoulder to ease him back down. “Shh, just rest, my lord.” She said, relief shining in her dark eyes.
“Water, please.” He asked in a loud voice, his throat completely dry.
“Of course, my lord,” She said, pouring him a glass of lemon water from the pitcher on the bedside table and helped him to drink it. Taking the glass back, she placed it on the table before pulling her chair closer to the bed and sat, looking at him.
“What happened?” Tywin asked shifting slowly in bed, wincing as a sharp pain shot through him.
Arya thought for a moment, choosing her words carefully, before looking up at him, tears brimming in her eyes. “You were stabbed by a boy I knew. We were traveling companions before we were taken prisoner at Harrenhal. Please, my lord. He was only trying to protect me. I’m so sorry. Please forgive me.” She said, now crying.
Tywin reached out, trying to comfort her despite his discomfort. “Hush now. It’s alright, love.” He said, caressing her cheek.
Arya sniffled quietly but slowly cheered up, her worries were forgotten now that she knew Tywin would be alright. She moved closer, perching herself on the edge of the bed, and Tywin kissed her cheek, his lips teasing the corner of her mouth. She sighed and smiled.
“I’m so relieved that you’re alright, Tywin. I was so scared I would lose you.” She said quietly.
Tywin patted her shoulder comfortingly and kissed her cheek again. “There now, love. I’m fine.” He replied.
The door opened at that moment, and Pycelle entered, followed by Kevan and Tyrion.
“Ah yes. I thought I heard voices. Good to see you’re awake now, my lord. Please, allow me to check your wound if you will.” Pycelle said, walking toward the bed as Kevan and Tyrion waited to the side.
Arya stood up and moved back as Pycelle rushed over to examine Tywin. He pulled back the blankets to check the condition of Tywin’s wound through the bandages. After verifying that the injury was healing, Pycelle smiled at Tywin and nodded.
“It looks like you’re healing nicely, my lord. I believe you will make a full recovery. Thankfully the injury while deep was not entirely serious. You’ll be sore for a while and will have to remain in bed for the next week or so while your wounds continue to heal, but then you’ll be able to get up and move around to an extent. In the meantime, you should avoid things that cause you stress or anger. Extreme emotions are not good for you at this time.” Pycelle said as he turned to gather his kit.
“You gave us quite a fright, Tywin,” Kevan said quietly as Pycelle packed his supplies and left the room, giving them some privacy.
Taking a nearby chair and pulling it over to the bed, Kevan sat. “I’m relieved you are well, brother. We apprehended the boy who attacked you. He’s in a black cell in the dungeons.”
Tywin’s face hardened an angry look in his eyes. “How the hell did the boy get inside the Tower in the first place?” Tywin started, but Arya quickly moved to calm him, worried for his health.
“Calm yourself, my lord. Remember what Pycelle said,” She urged him.
Sighing, Tywin nodded and more calmly asked, “Has the boy said anything about how he got in or who sent him?”
Surprisingly, it was Tyrion who answered. “We believe he entered through a grate in the empty fireplace. We investigated and found that tunnels and hidden passages lead all through the walls of the Tower. So far, however, the boy has said nothing of anyone hiring him, or who led him to find the passages.” Tyrion said, face calm.
“I want those passages explored carefully, and every entrance sealed up. Interrogate all the Tower staff, Tyrion. Kevan, I want you to find out what the boy knows. Do what you have to do to make him talk,” Tywin said.
Arya lowered her eyes but said nothing as Tywin spoke. Kevan nodded, standing and leaving to carry out his task, as Tyrion did the same.
XxxxxxxxxxxX
The distance from Winterfell to the Wall was not great, but with Winter in full swing and the heavy snows pouring down the journey had been a rough one. Still, being Northerners, they were more than used to the biting cold, although that’s not to say they weren’t thrilled to arrive at the Wall. Roose Bolton rode through the gates of Castle Black at the head of his host, before coming to a stop in the courtyard where a steward was waiting to take his horse. Dismounting his horse, he passed the reins of his steed to the boy and looked around as a voice called out to him, coming closer.
“Welcome to Castle Black, my lord. The Night’s Watch wishes to thank you for coming to our aid during these trying times.” Jon Snow said formally, coming to a stop a few feet from Roose Bolton, his hand held out.
Roose Bolton silently considered him for a moment before taking his hand in a formal gesture of courtesy. “I confess myself surprised that you would come out to welcome us personally, considering the circumstances between our two houses,” Bolton said, looking at Snow.
Jon considered him for a moment, before gesturing about to the brothers walking around, helping the Northern host get settled in. “Look around you, my lord. These are my brothers now. The Night’s watch is my house now. I indeed have mixed feelings about this meeting, but my primary concern is what lies North of the Wall. I have no claim to Winterfell. My duties lie here. I choose to no longer concern myself with the affairs of the realm,” Jon said as he led the way up inside the castle to the Lord’s solar.
Sitting in his chair, he motioned to an old cushioned seat near the desk. “I’ll have my steward bring wine and food for you while we talk,” Jon said, as Olyvar turned and left, heading for the kitchens.
“How bad is it really, Lord Commander Snow?” Roose Bolton asked, turning serious, once Olyvar had left.
Sighing, Jon fixed Roose with a worried look. “The wildlings number nearly 100,000 in total. A terrible host the likes of which we’ve not seen in a long while. Every tribe north of the wall has banded together under a deserter, Mance Rader, who calls himself King Beyond the Wall. Giants, cannibals, hordes of feral animals and thousands upon thousands of fighting men and women too.”
To his credit, Roose Bolton didn’t flinch, but casually asked, “Their women fight too?”
“Oh, I’m afraid so. They lack the discipline of a real army, but their numbers and ferocity more than make up for it. This lot won’t be easy to beat back. Mance Rader is determined to advance south.” Jon said, solemnly.
“How many men do you have, Lord Commander?” Roose asked, his storm-grey eyes betraying nothing.
“There are barely 400 men left in the Night’s Watch now. We are seriously understaffed, and eleven of the fourteen castles along the wall are now unoccupied.” Jon said, shaking his head.
Roose’s head jerked as he stared in disbelief. “Barely 400? How could that happen? How do you honestly expect to hold the wall with so few men?” He asked astounded.
“Now you see my problem. The Night’s watch no longer enjoys the glory it once did. We have pleaded with the Crown and the Lords of the realm to send men in the past, but they don’t care to help us anymore. Sure, they have only praise for our efforts, but they won’t personally commit themselves to help our cause. We need help, Lord Bolton. There are not enough of us left. The Night’s watch is nothing more than untrained boys and tired old men.” Jon said, sadly.
Roose Bolton shook his head and swore under his breath. “I had no idea things had gotten this bad, although it does explain why there have been more wildlings sighted south of the wall in recent years.” He said before adding, “I shall help you deal with this wildling host, and when this is over, we shall see about restoring the Night’s watch.”
Just then Olyvar returned carrying a tray of food and a jug of wine and placed it on the table before leaving. “If I may ask, my lord, how many men did you bring with you?” Jon asked curiously.
Roose took a sip of the wine before replying, “Only 5,000 men. The North has bled harshly with the recent war. And most of the men are eager to return home.”
Jon shook his head and sighed. “Well, let’s hope it’s enough. Perhaps if you were to write to the other lords on our behalf, they might listen.” He said.
The pair ate the food and discussed their plans until late into the evening before deciding to retire. Jon escorted Roose to the guest chambers that had been prepared for him and then left to retire himself.
XxxxxxxxxxxX
The voyage at sea was finally over, and Sansa was happy to settle in at last. They had survived the steep climb and made it safely to the Eyrie just as the sun started to set. She had been terrified by the climb, and she was grateful not to have to make a return trip back down the mountain for the foreseeable future. Settling into the room prepared for her, Sansa looked around as her servants unpacked everything. Petyr and her Aunt Lysa had already retired for the evening, exhausted by the journey, so she was left alone. After settling in for the night, she changed into her evening wear and wandered over to one of her trunks, taking out a favorite book she had taken from the abandoned library at Fellwood. It was a miracle the library was still there, considering how long the place had been left idle. She curled up on a couch in her room and opened the book, turning to where she had last left off.
XxxxxxX
“What?” Lysa shouted shrilly as Petyr tried to calm her, despite his worries. “What do you mean they left with an army? Without my permission? On whose orders did they dare attack the Crown?” She yelled, terrifying the unlucky steward who stood trembling before her.
“The Blackfish ordered it, my lady. He and the other lords were determined to rescue the Starks and the Northern lords who were taken prisoner at Riverrun. They left ten days ago, shortly after you departed from the Eyrie.” The steward replied, fearfully.
“Where are they now? I want to speak to my uncle immediately.” Lysa demanded angrily.
The steward gulped and replied. “The Blackfish sent a raven. They were defeated in their first bout, but regrouped, intent on pursuing them further south into the Riverlands. Rumor has it, the Kingslayer himself was grievously wounded in the battle. We haven’t heard back since then, my lady.”
Lysa shook her head angrily before turning her back on the steward. “Very well, you’re dismissed. Get out.” She cried, and the steward hurried to leave.
Petyr wrapped his arms around her shoulders, trying to calm her while inside, he raged at the unexpected turn of events before calculating his next step. “Shit! If they are captured, the Vale’s forces will be weakened, and we’ll have earned the wrath of the Crown when we are not yet ready,” he thought to himself.
“Shh, my love. It will be alright. We’ll deal with them when they get back. In the meantime, we’ll write to the Crown and assure them that they were acting of their own volition. No harm will come to you or Robyn; I’ll make sure of it. I promise.” Petyr said calmly.
“Oh Petyr, how can I ever thank you. Being with you makes me so happy. Nothing will ever come between us again.” Lysa gushed as she buried her face in his shirt, sniffling. She completely missed the look of extreme disgust that crossed Petyr’s face as he held her.
XxxxxxxxxxxX
It was an exhausted and battered column of Lannister soldiers that marched through the gates of King’s Landing, heading for the Red Keep. Despondently, Jaime rode on his horse, his head down, eyes closed in pain and shame. He had become what he condemned most. A lame, a cripple. He felt so useless, so worthless. He could barely dress and often had to endure the humiliation of asking his squire for help. With the loss of his hand went his self-confidence.
He was careful to hide it from the others, but he had attempted to compensate for the loss by using his right hand, and the results were devastating. Jaime Lannister, the greatest swordsman in the seven kingdoms, could no longer even manage the most routine tasks without help. Worse still was the follow-up attack by the Knights of the Vale. In their second attack, they had managed to successfully free most of the prisoners as well as devastate the Lannister forces who had not expected a second attack just hours after the first had ended. Most were still exhausted from the previous fight and were unable to put up a proper defense. They had lost nearly 1,000 men in the second attack, and there were almost half a hundred wounded that had to be carried back on carts or wagons.
To make matters worse, Robb Stark, their most valuable hostage, had been killed in the fighting. They had managed to hang on to his mother, Lady Catelyn, and a few of the Northern lords, but the rest had escaped. After entering the courtyard of the Red Keep, Jaime hurried off in the direction of the Tower of the Hand to find his father, leaving his cousin Stafford to deal with the Lannister soldiers. Walking to the entrance of the tower, the Lannister guards stopped him, demanding to know who he was.
“Seven hells, I must look worse than I thought.” Jaime finally convinced them of his identity, and they stepped aside, allowing him entry to the Tower of the Hand. Jaime stepped inside and froze, coming face to face with his Uncle Kevan and brother Tyrion who were delighted to see him.
“Jaime, welcome back. We’re so glad you’ve made it back safely.” Kevan said.
Jaime snorted in derision and held up his stump, a glare on his face. “Hardly a safe return. Look at me. Do I look alright to you?”
Kevan and Tyrion started, rushing to comfort him. “Oh, Jaime, I’m so sorry. I can’t imagine how you must be feeling. What happened?” Tyrion asked.
“We were ambushed on the road. The Blackfish and the Knights of the Vale attacked us twice. We lost over 1,200 men, and scores were injured. Worse still, Robb Stark is dead, and most of the Northern lords escaped. We still have his mother and a few minor lords, but that’s it.” Jaime swore.
“What happened here while I was away? Where is father?” He continued in a more sedate tone.
Kevan and Tyrion exchanged a grim look before turning to face Jaime.
“Your father was attacked a few days ago and stabbed by an intruder. He is awake but has been confined to his bed. Lady Arya is looking after him right now, but you should go up and see him. I’m sure he’ll be happy to see you again, Jaime.” Kevan said as the pair excused themselves.
Jaime walked to the door of the Hand’s bedchambers and knocked. “Father, it’s me. Jaime. Can I come in?” he called.
“Jaime, you’re back. Of course, you can come in.” Tywin called, struggling to sit up straight as Jaime entered. Walking inside, Jaime saw his father settled in his bed, the blankets pooled around his waist, and a tray of food beside him on the bed, forgotten as a young girl with dark hair and eyes stared at him.
“Welcome back, Jaime. You look like shit.” Tywin said plainly when they were alone.
Jaime snorted and shook his head. “We were ambushed while…” he started, but Tywin interrupted. “Yes, yes. I know. I heard it all quite well from the other room. Dear gods, Jaime. Your hand. I’m so sorry.”
“Father, you should know something. Gregor Clegane is dead. He was killed in the fighting. We brought his body back with us. It’s down in a wagon in the courtyard. We should send his remains back to his holdfast for burial.” Jaime said, but Tywin shook his head.
“No, I’ve another idea. We need to ensure the loyalty of our allies in Dorne, and there is no better way to do that than to give them the justice they seek. We’ll send Gregor’s head south to Sunspear and let the Martells have it. That ought to please them well enough.” Tywin said.
Startled Jaime looked at him. “But father, he was our bannerman. Is that appropriate?” He asked.
Tywin shook his head and replied. “It’s far from appropriate behavior on our part, but it is, in fact, a smart move. We could settle the feud between the Crown and Dorne once and for all with this gesture.”
“As you wish, father.” Jaime replied quietly.
“Arya, this is my eldest son, Jaime. Jaime, This is my wife, Arya.” Tywin spoke quietly.
Arya smiled, looking up at Jaime. “I’m happy to meet you, Ser Jaime. I’ve heard so much about you. People say you’re the greatest swordsman in the seven kingdoms. Is that true? I’m taking lessons myself. Tywin hired an instructor for me. Can I see your sword?” She said all at once, barely stopping to take a breath, which threw Jaime off, making him feel somewhat awkward. Chuckling, Tywin smiled at her. “Later, sweetheart. Jaime’s just returned from his journey. I’m sure he’d like to settle in and rest first. You can visit with each other tomorrow.”
Jaime nodded at his father, recognizing the dismissal. “Tomorrow, perhaps. Maybe I will be able to watch one of your lessons if you’ll let me.” Jaime said as he turned to leave. “I’d love that. Goodbye, Ser Jaime.” Arya said as he walked towards the door.
“Oh and Jaime, please meet me in my solar tomorrow. There are a few things we need to discuss.” Tywin called to him.
“Yes, father,” Jaime replied before leaving her alone with Tywin, who turned to her, a lecherous grin on his face. “Come here, little wife.” He said. Arya blushed but shook her head. “You need to rest first. You’ve only just awoken after your injury. You need time to heal.” She said, but he grabbed her hand, pulling her close and leaning in to kiss her. “Perhaps, but I’d sleep much better if you were beside me, Sweetheart.”
XxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxX
The large bed rocked, the wood creaking as Balon moaned and grunted, uttering obscenities. Beneath him, Cersei closed her eyes, pretending to enjoy it, tossing out an occasional moan, her legs wrapped around Balon’s waist as he took her hard, his foul breath making her reel. With a loud grunt, he finished and rolled off her, lying beside her on the bed, breathless and panting. Rolling onto her side to face him, she forced a smile. “You were incredible, my lord.” She gushed, struggling not to roll her eyes. He had taken her repeatedly over the past two days, but she wasn’t impressed by his skills. He was only slightly better than Robert had been and that wasn’t saying much.
Breathless, Balon gave her a lecherous grin, his right hand moving to her breasts, as he grew hard again, before rolling on top of her. He had the stamina if nothing else, she thought to herself. As he thrust into her back, plans drifted through Cersei’s mind of how to turn the situation to her advantage. She was aware of Balon’s thirst for glory, his endless greed for a crown, and to be a King in his own right. She hoped to persuade him to rebel, to declare independence, and build a fleet to attack King’s Landing. If successful, she could be restored to power, gain her revenge on her father, and rid herself of her pathetic new husband. She could rule the Seven Kingdoms as regent through her son, and finally, have the power she craved. She could take any lover she wanted and do whatever she pleased, openly, and without fear. Once she had the Iron Throne, she could seize Casterly Rock and the vast fortune of gold that rightfully should have been hers as Tywin’s firstborn child, proving once and for all she was just as good as any man.
“You’re such a great man, my husband.” Cersei cooed. “Strong, powerful, handsome. The Iron Fleet is the largest and strongest fleet in the Seven Kingdoms. You shouldn’t settle for being Lord of the Iron Islands. Not when you could be a King.” She said sweetly, hoping to appeal to his ego.
Balon was lost in a sea of pleasure, between the legs of his much younger wife. Through the fog that enveloped his mind, her words drifted in, and breathless, he looked at her but shook his head. “My agreement with your father…Now that the war has ended, I can’t openly defy the Crown and hope to win on my own. After my last attempt, I learned not to rebel alone. The realm united against us, and we lost many good men. The Ironborn are too few. We’d need a much larger army, allies, money…” He said breathlessly, as he swelled, spending himself inside her. Collapsing onto the bed beside her, he fell asleep, leaving Cersei awake beside him, a sinister plan slowly taking shape inside her head.
TBC
- 15
- 16
- 17
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The Lion Lord and the Little Wolf Girl