The girl changed everything about this war, though she didn't even know it yet. Suddenly, Tywin had a second bargaining chip—one that no one else knew about. He could reveal her at any time, whenever it most suited his needs.
She was a pawn on his board now, and he knew she must hate him for it. She would hate him more before this war was over, especially if he used her against her family.
Of course, there was still the matter of Jaime. He couldn't use the Stark daughters to sue for peace while the Starks held his son. If they had no hostage of their own, it would be a different story. He would hold all the cards. And though Robb Stark talked a strong game, he was loyal to his family. He wouldn't choose war over the lives of his sisters. His mother wouldn't either.
In the meantime, Tywin found Arya Stark far more tolerable company as his cupbearer than any of his generals. They were all worthless, it seemed, especially when they lost a few hours of sleep. None of them had any ideas on how to fight the Young Wolf or Stannis Baratheon, who was planning his attack on King's Landing.
He found himself staring furiously at a map long after his generals had left. Only Arya remained, collecting the empty wine cups.
"When will Stannis attack King's Landing?" she asked. She had grown bolder with her questions now that he knew her name. She knew he couldn't harm her. Not yet.
"Soon," Tywin answered. "But if we leave to deal with him, we give your brother too much ground."
Arya shrugged. "Well, you can't deal with my brother before Stannis."
Tywin tilted his head. It seemed the girl wanted to try her hand at strategy. After the disastrous meeting with his generals, he was inclined to hear anything. "And why is that?"
"I read in a book once..." Arya shifted nervously, as if she hadn't expected him to actually ask. "When you're fighting a war on two fronts, you have to think about what each side wants. That tells you who the immediate problem is."
"I've read the same," Tywin said, testing her. "So tell me: what does Stannis want, and what does Robb want?"
"Stannis wants the Iron Throne," Arya said immediately. "Robb just wants the North. Stannis is trying to take what's yours. Robb isn't." She paused for a moment. "Well, he is if you think the North is yours. But it's not as important as the Crownlands."
"Correct," Tywin acknowledged. "If your brother retakes the ground we currently hold, it's a loss… but not as great as the loss of King's Landing."
"Then doesn't the answer seem obvious?" Arya said.
Tywin almost laughed. She was too bold for her own good. She'd already be dead if he had sent her to Joffrey. "If strategy were that obvious, war would be an easier game," he said. "First, you assume Stannis will succeed. It's possible he'll fail, and if he does, pulling our armies back will have been for nothing. We have to judge if it's worth the risk."
He leaned forward slightly. "Beyond that, while your brother may only want the North, he's willing to attack other places to get it. He is coming for what belongs to us to see his demands met. And he has my son, which means he can do so without worrying about me killing his sisters. He grows braver with every victory, and if we retreat, he'll only become braver. He might even be emboldened to march on Casterly Rock."
Arya fell silent. She clearly hadn't thought of any of that.
"You're well-read," Tywin said. "But reading alone never got a man through a battle. You need experience to really know how a war is fought."
"My brother doesn't have experience," she looked up at him, a challenge in her eyes. The girl was truly fearless.
Tywin's eyes narrowed. "There's that tongue of yours again. Be careful. I may not be Joffrey... but I meant what I said. You'll regret defying me. Those who have don't last long."
Arya dropped her gaze and went back to clearing the table. There was still a flicker of fear in her. If she got much braver, he might have to put an end to that. It would be a shame. Her boldness amused him.
Tywin kept Arya close, giving her few opportunities to even think about escape. He rarely slept, and when he did, he assigned his most trusted guards to watch her. She was never alone.
It was suffocating, but it was still better than King's Landing. Here, no one looked at her as a lady. They mostly ignored her. Only Tywin knew her true identity, and she wondered why he kept it a secret. Perhaps he worried that Stark spies would find out and alert Robb before he was ready to make his move.
He never seemed worried about her listening to their strategies. In fact, he often let her speak after his generals had left, always testing her. She didn't mind being tested. Her obsession with history and war was always dismissed as "unladylike" by Septa Mordane. Her father would discuss it with her sometimes, but even he was hesitant to let her dream of being a warrior. Tywin, however, let her speak about it openly. She wasn't used to that.
"It seems you studied history far more than your sewing," Tywin commented one late evening.
"I was always terrible at sewing," Arya admitted. "Septa Mordane said I had no eye for detail."
"That doesn't seem to be true," Tywin said. "You remember all the Targaryen kings, their battles, and their dragons. You even know the names of their swords. Even I can't boast that."
"It was the wrong kind of detail for me to know," Arya said. "But yes, I remembered. I always wanted a dragon and a named sword."
"Naturally, you got neither," Tywin stated flatly.
"That's not true," she retorted. "I had a sword with a name. My brother Jon gave it to me. I called it Needle."
Tywin let out a single, harsh laugh. It sounded joyless, as if he hadn't practiced it enough. "I thought you weren't good at sewing."
Arya almost smiled. "I was getting good with that needle. I had a teacher. Father called him a 'dancing master' so no one would know."
"Did he?" Tywin said. "And where is this needle of yours now?"
"One of your men took it from me," Arya said, her voice dropping. "Polliver, I think his name was. I don't know if he still has it. It's too small for him anyway."
"True, but he could hardly let a prisoner keep a weapon," Tywin pointed out.
Arya just shrugged and looked away. She wanted Needle back more than anything. It was the only thing she had left of Jon, the only thing she had of her family besides her memories.
"In any case, it wouldn't do to give you a sword now," Tywin said.
"Because I'm a girl?" Arya muttered.
"No. Because I don't trust you with one, Lady Arya," he said. "You may be a little wolf, but you are a wolf all the same."
In spite of herself, Arya grinned. She liked being called a wolf. People used to call her "wild" as an insult, but she always saw it as a compliment. Strong women were often wild. So were dragons.
More than once, Arya found herself fighting smiles in Tywin's presence. The head of House Lannister never smiled, but he did seem consistently amused by her. Arya wasn't sure if that was a good thing or not. He had his boundaries, of course. She never dared to talk about his son, still imprisoned by Robb. She never mentioned Robb's victories. And most of all, she never tried to escape. She had seen what he did to people who broke their word. He hung the lucky ones.
But Tywin Lannister was not her biggest problem. She worried far more about the guards.
He didn't tell them who she was—only that she was important and needed to be carefully watched. She was not allowed to escape. But while the soldiers could be trusted to keep her from running, they couldn't be trusted in other matters. Arya noticed them leering at her ever since they found out she was a girl. More than one had asked if she was a woman grown. She never replied.
A man named Ryder was the worst of them. He was always asking who she was, but his other questions were far more invasive. No one had ever spoken to her like that before. She was Arya Stark, and her father would have killed any man who dared. But here, to the guards, she was a nobody.
She stopped sleeping when he was on duty, in case she had to claw his eyes out. She dug her nails into her palms, forcing herself to stay awake, glaring at him in silence. As he became one of her more constant guards, she began to drift off during the war council meetings. Sometimes when a lord asked for wine, he had to speak twice. Her mind began to blur from exhaustion.
"You're not sleeping, are you?" Tywin asked one afternoon.
"I sleep when I can," Arya said.
"And is there a reason you cannot?" Tywin pressed.
Arya pressed her fist against her leg as she lied. "No. No reason, my lord."
She wouldn't sink to asking him for help. She was a Stark, and she was his prisoner. The wolf doesn't ask for help from the lion who caught her.