That night, she sat in her usual corner of the small tent, watching Ryder. He smiled back at her as her eyelids drooped. "Tired, girl? You haven't been sleeping well."
"I'm not," Arya muttered.
"You can sleep if you want," Ryder smirked. "I won't hurt you."
She dug her nails into her skin so hard they bled. "I'm not…" Her eyelids were so heavy. "I'm not…"
She must have drifted off for a few minutes, because the next thing she knew, Ryder was dragging her from her tent and into the shadows of the nearby brush. She recognized his intent at once and lashed out, raking her nails down his face and leaving bloody lines behind. He screamed and threw her to the ground, drawing a knife. She tried to scramble back, but he pinned her down, pressing the cold blade against her throat.
"You're not going to make a sound, you little shit," he hissed. "You're going to be quiet, or I'll tell Lord Tywin you tried to escape."
"And I'll tell him you were lying," Arya spat.
"And why would he believe you?" Ryder sneered, pressing the blade harder against her skin. "I don't know who you are, but you're his prisoner. What reason would he have to believe you over me?"
Arya gritted her teeth, biting back her name as it rose to her lips. It wouldn't matter. He wouldn't believe her anyway.
"What's all this?" someone asked from nearby.
Arya looked to the side and saw two soldiers on patrol. One of them… one of them was Polliver. At his hip, she could see her sword shining in the moonlight. He had kept it.
Ryder leaped off her. "Just having a little fun."
"We are not," Arya snapped. "I'm Lord Tywin's prisoner. If you harm me, you'll be punished."
"Will we?" Polliver tilted his head, malice glittering in his eyes. "But I saw you escaping. We just decided to teach you a lesson."
Arya hissed as he walked toward her. When he leaned down to touch her face, she turned and bit his hand, hard. He screamed and drew back, and in that split second, she seized her sword from his scabbard.
Needle felt familiar in her hand. Though they had been apart for so long, she remembered the grip, and she remembered her teacher's words. Every single one.
What do we say to the god of death?
Not today.
The other guard came at her from behind. On pure instinct, she spun and jammed the sword backward. The point sank through his gut with little resistance.
As the nameless guard fell, Ryder lunged forward, slashing at her with his knife. The blade cut a streak across her right cheek, and she stumbled back—right into Polliver. He grabbed her, turned her around, and punched her hard in the gut, sending her to her knees. The world went dark for a moment.
No. Stay awake. Stay awake.
She gripped her sword with all her might.
"Little bitch," Ryder muttered. "Hold her down for me."
"Stop," a voice cut through the night, like thunder from a distant storm.
Arya recognized the anger in Tywin's voice and wondered if it was meant for her. Perhaps he thought she had tried to escape after all.
"My lord," both soldiers snapped to attention.
"Would you care to explain what you're doing?" Tywin asked, his voice dangerously calm.
"She was trying to escape, my lord," Ryder said quickly. "We were teaching her a lesson. You said that escape was unacceptable."
"I said that if she escaped, you were to bring her straight to me." Tywin looked down at Arya, his gaze an unreadable, cold grey.
She shook her head, unable to speak from the blow to her stomach. I didn't, she thought desperately. I didn't try to escape.
Tywin held out a hand. "Give me the sword, girl."
Arya handed Needle over slowly, wondering if he might punish her with it. But instead, he turned and stuck the point through Ryder's throat. Her eyes widened as the man coughed up blood, his eyes rolling back in his head. Tywin drew the blade out, and Ryder collapsed to his knees, gasping for air that would never come.
Polliver's eyes widened, and he took a step back as Tywin faced him. "The girl is valuable to me. Unharmed. Therefore, anyone who harms her will receive the same treatment. Consider this a rare warning."
"Yes, my lord," Polliver muttered, his face pale.
"I'll take that sheath at your hip," Tywin said. "You won't be needing it. This sword is a child's toy anyway."
Polliver handed it over without question and hurried away as fast as his legs could carry him.
Tywin observed the blade for a moment before sliding it into its sheath. "You were right to name this sword Needle. It's quite thin."
"I didn't…" Arya had finally regained enough breath to speak. "I didn't run. He was lying."
"I know," Tywin said. "And you lied to me about the reason for your exhaustion. Don't do that again. I despise being lied to."
Arya nodded once.
"Come." Tywin gestured for her to follow him. "We'd best see to that cut on your face."
The cut was minor. It might leave a scar, but it would be faint. That was good. Tywin needed her in one piece if he was going to use her as a bargaining chip.
The girl watched him warily as he sat at his desk and placed her sword in front of him. She had suspicious grey eyes. She kept looking at the sword like a child wanting their favorite toy. No, not a toy. She had known how to use it. One man was already dead when he arrived. It seemed the girl wasn't just playing at being a knight from a song. She was willing to kill. That made her both more dangerous and more fascinating.
"The guards won't give you any more trouble," Tywin said. "If they do, they'll be deaf fools who didn't heed my warning, and I will see them punished for it."
Arya just nodded. She was quiet, and he wondered if the attack had broken her spirit. She was still very young. Thirteen, if he remembered correctly. Younger than Joffrey by two years. Tywin forgot that sometimes because she was so much smarter.
"Did they take your tongue when they attacked you?" Tywin asked dryly.
"No, my lord," Arya murmured.
"Did they take anything else?"
Arya shook her head. "They didn't get the chance."
Tywin nodded once. "I'll be awake for some time if you wish to rest. I don't want you knocking over goblets during tomorrow's meeting."
Arya swallowed. "Yes, my lord." She glanced one more time at her sword. "What… what will you do with Needle?"
"Keep it somewhere you can't reach it," Tywin said. "But it will be safe. You have my word."
Arya nodded. Tywin could see more words on her lips, but she was hesitant to say them. Hesitancy didn't suit her.
"You want to say something else. Speak," Tywin ordered. "I'm in no mood to guess."
Arya looked down at her hands. "Nothing… just…" She let out a breath. "Thank you, my lord. For… for helping."
So that was it. Retorts and dangerous comments came so easily to her, but a simple thank you stuck in her throat, as if she'd never tasted the words before. Tywin supposed it wasn't often a wolf had cause to thank a lion—particularly a captured wolf.
"You don't need to thank me," he said. "You're too important for me to leave you to my men. They could have damaged you, and my son would have paid the price for it. Understand?"
Arya nodded, seeming satisfied with that answer. It put her out of his debt.
"Good," Tywin said. "Now sleep. I won't ask again."
She obeyed, finding a corner of the tent where she could rest. Tywin watched her until her breathing steadied, a clear sign she had fallen asleep. Then he returned to his papers. This had been a long war for both of them, and there was still much more to come.