ASOIAF: King of Winter

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Chapter 25

Kevan Lannister

"…- We need to set a new steward for the Wailing Tower." The designated castellan for the castle says.

It is moments like these that Kevan starts to resent his position as the younger brother. While Tywin is left to stew and rage in the privacy of his quarters, he had the abject honor of taking care of the miscellaneous matters.

He pinches the bridge of his brows, feeling the blood pooling and giving him a headache. "What happened to the previous one?"

"Weese was mauled by his spotted dog." He answers. "It is sad, the man had raised that dog since he was pup, I had to have it shot down by a crossbow, the poor thing had gone mad."

[A.N: This is to show where Arya is, canon wise. Weese was the second name she gave Jaqen H'ghar in the books.]

Kevan waves his hand, offhandedly dismissing his words. "Take someone from Lady Whent's previous retinue and put them in charge." He says. "I have a hunch that we shall shorty have no need for the castle."

The man nods, bowing slightly before leaving to his duties.

Kevan sighs, groaning as he stood up from his chair. His age was catching up to him, it seems. He was no longer the virile young man, capable of constantly waging wars and chasing after his enemies.

He then made his way toward one of the chambers. It was a secluded one, next to Tywin's chambers, and is currently repurposed as a makeshift Council chamber.

Once Kevan marched inside, he only found his brother at the head of the table, the stamp of their house at his hands, with him glaring at it as if it wronged him.

"All miscellaneous matters have been handled." He takes a seat at his right. "Should I call the others? To handle next steps?"

Tywin sneers. "No need, my vassals are so afraid they cannot wring their pathetic brains to make up a single useful ideas." He says. "Fools, the lot of them."

'Afraid of who?' Kevan muses. 'I'd wager more his anger than their enemies.'

"Then, what are our next steps?" Kevan asks.

"The Riverlanders should be occupied with liberating their castles and taking back their lands, the Northmen should follow, as they do not have the numbers to assail us." He begins. "With the Golden Tooth in their hands…" Tywin's face heats up at the loss of such a crucial castle. "And the Ironborn threat, we cannot raise another host in the Westerlands, leaving us with the Crownlands alone."

Their situation was dire, Kevan knew. Not only can they not rely on the Westerlands, but their attempts at crossing the red fork wrought large casualty, all culminating at the battle of the Stone Mill, where not only did their greatest enforcer, the Mountain, fall in single combat of all things, but almost half and their most skilled knight were either killed or captured.

Only 3 000 footmen and an equal amount of cavalry are left of their host, the Riverlanders and the Northmen are almost intact, however, with a total of 25 000 infantry and 8 000 cavalry, outnumbering them by more than five.

Some 20 000 total could be raised from the Crownlands, cavalry included, but those will be untrained levies and mediocre knights largely inexperienced in the matters of war. That is without speaking of the 20 000 that could still be raised by the North, and the Vale, who are more likely than not to eventually side with the Tullys.

He could see those same ideas cross Tywin's mind, as he holds the Lannister stamp so tight it might break.

"House Lannister is currently at its weakest since… since our father's time." Tywin grumbles, slamming a fist on the table. "And it is all because of my reckless, incompetent, disappointing children!"

Kevan could see where he's coming from, first, Tyrion lets himself be captured by Ned Stark's wife, second, his daughter couldn't stop her own child from murdering said Stark losing another one, and finally, Jaime let's himself get captured, taking away any leverage they could get from their own hostages.

Of course, Kevan believes that in some of these things his progeny had no choice, but Tywin was often unrealistically high expectations for his close family. It mellowed up as he aged, but way back when he first became head of house he was overbearing toward them, his brothers, alienating all but Kevan away.

It all changed when Tygett died of a pox and Gerion disappeared in his ill-thought voyage, Tywin felt guilty, Kevan knew, so he began ever so lightly easing up on the expectations.

'It seems the recent setbacks have brought his worst qualities up to the surface.' Kevan thinks. 'I need to make sure this doesn't blind him.'

"Tyrion seems to be doing a formidable job as acting Hand of the King." He says. "When news of Renly reached the capital, didn't he send Baelish to Bitterbridge to negotiate a bethrotal between Joffrey and the Tyrell girl? The Reach by itself can field at least 60 000 men, more than enough to offset our losses."

Tywin scoffs. "That beast has nothing but a base cunning to him." He says. "But you're right; the Tyrells have always wished for a royal marriage, without it, they cannot cement their positions as Lord Paramounts in any meaningful way, no matter how many marriage alliances they make." He explains. "But with how severely weakened our position is, the Tyrells will demand great concessions."

Kevan nods with a grave expression. "They'll not only hold their army hostage, but their food too. Without grain from the Reach we have no other way to feed our army." He says.

Tywin sighs. "No matter, that is something to think of later." He says. "Stannis, with his ships and new Stormlanders, will surely attempt to storm the capital. That must not be allowed." He states, finally standing up from his seat. "We shall make for the reach as soon as possible, have the Maester send a Raven promptly, our armies are to join by the Tumbleton river, upon which we shall relieve Kingslanding."

Kevan nods. "What about Harrenhall?" He asks.

Tywin's gaze reminded him of the day he brought rain to Castamere. "Kill everyone that is not with us, men, women, children, I do not care for it. Raze the castle and Harrenton, too." He asserts. "The Lannister name has been tarnished enough, it is time to remind the sheep of their place."

"What about Lady Whent and her retinue? She is of high birth, and has surrendered the castle without a fight." He asks.

Tywin gives him that look. Kevan simply nods, steeling his mind to be ready for the atrocities he is about to cause.

*-*-*

Arya Stark

Harrenhall's Godswood occupies a humongous space, some twenty acres in total. It is an eerie and foreboding forest, filled with gnarled ancient trees of different varieties, from birches, oaks, pines, and sentinels, and of course, weirwoods.

At its heart is the Heartree, a tall, twisted tree of porous white bark that is sometimes colored red or pink by its sap, its carved face is one of a wretched man with an angry expression, and it retains thirteen slashes, supposedly given to it by Prince Daemon Targaryen, who are said to still bleed every spring.

There is a small stream slowly meandering through the trees, the water has mostly seeped to the ground, and there is even a spot where the water has eaten the ground away beneath a deadfall.

The ensuing damp, silent ground makes for the occasional mist, especially in the early mornings and nights, creating a haunting atmosphere, echoing with the whispers of the past and lost souls.

This meant that apart from the occasional hunters who ply their trade here when the times go though, or the intermittent visitor who believes in the Old Gods looking for a Heartree to pray to, not many frequent this place, making it a perfect environment for Arya to find solace.

She comes here whenever she could, having made a practice sword the shape of Needle out of a weirwood stick, practicing the forms Syrio taught, and reciting in her mind the names she learned to despise, like some sort of mantra to keep her grounded.

'Joffrey, the Hound, Cersei, Ilyn Payne, Meryn Trant…' She inwardly recites, her wooden sword swinging at an oak tree.

She realized that some names have been removed by others, the Mountain, Amory Lorch, and the Mountains men like Dunsen, Polliver, Raff the Sweetling, and the Tickler, are presumed dead.

At this time, only two were removed by her own hand, Chiswyck and Weese were indirectly murdered when she named their names to Jaqen, the first was a test of sort, when he bragged about raping a woman, laughing about it with his wretched company, Arya named him to her mysterious benefactor.

Weese was more personal, she was put under his wing, working as his helper in his capacity as steward for the Wailing Tower. The man proceeded to enforce his measly authority, hitting her at the slightest sign of defiance, and would often taunt her into doing so just so he could find a reason to punish her.

'My nose never lies, I can smell defiance, I can smell pride, I can smell disobedience.' The side of his mouth was filled with boils. 'I catch a whiff of such stink, you'll answer for it. When I sniff you, all I want to smell is fear.'

He'd hit her for even looking at him, as if even that act was a sign of disrespect.

'Serves him right.' She thought.

She knew inwardly that she should have given Jaqen more important names, like Joffrey or Tywin. But she didn't regret the names that she did give, both men were the worst of the worst, scum that would not be missed by anyone.

"A girl knows the dance, it seems." A voice echoes from behind her.

Arya screeches in surprise, turning around suddenly and pointing the tip of her wooden sword toward her interloper.

Once she saw the familiar face of Jaqen, though, she let her sword down.

"Stop sneaking around me like that!" She shouts. "I almost hit you!"

A slight smile makes its way to the mysterious man's face. "A girl cannot touch a man even if she tried, a girl is too small." He says. "But a man is not here to talk, a man is here to ask for a last name."

"A name?" Arya exclaims. "I don't know, I'm still thinking."

"A girl should think faster then." Jaqen answers. "A man is to leave on the morrow."

"What?! Why?!"

"A man you call Tywin gifts death upon this castle." He replies. "Any who remain in it shall embrace their end at his men's hands."

Horror creeps on her face, all this effort to hide her identity, scape and bow to horrible men, and it won't even matter?!

"I have to leave!" She exclaims. "No- we have to leave! Gendry, Hot Pie, they can't stay!"

Jaqen simply shrugs.

"A man does not care, a man only needs a name, a girl's matters are no concern of his."

'No concern?!' She thought. 'I saved his life! And he has the audacity to say he does not care about my own!'

Then an ingenious idea came to her, if he does not care, why not make him care?

"Jaqen H'ghar." She says.

"That is a man's name, yes."

Arya scowls. "I meant, I name Jaqen H'ghar!"

The man's face morphs into momentary shock, before settling into one of grave dread.

"A girl gives a man his own name?!" He asks.

"That's right."

"Gods are not mocked, this is no joking thing." He warns.

Arya stifles a chuckle. "I'm not joking." She says. "A man can go kill himself if he cannot help me."

"Un-name me."

 "No."

"Please."

"I'll un-name you." She relents, and Jaqen lets out a breath of relief. "If you help me and my friends escape." She finishes, and his face scrunches up in annoyance again.

"This would require more than one life, you only have one left."

Arya shrugs. "Fine." She answers. "Jaqen H'ghar."

The assassin sighs. "A girl lacks honor."

"Honor will not keep a girl alive." Arya replies.

His steely black eyes bore into hers for a while, before he turns away with a huff.

"Meet me here at sundown with your… friends." He says. "A man shall help you then, audacious girl."

Arya feels a wave of relief wash over her, but she doesn't relax just yet.

This is was just the beginning, after all.