Chapter Text
At her last lesson, Jaqen suggested she practice information gathering. She had initially wrinkled her nose in disdain at the idea.
"What information on this stupid court would I possibly want?"
"It is not the information itself, lovely girl," the man said with an enigmatic smile. "But the skill in collecting secrets a girl will need."
And so Arya found herself exploring the Red Keep more like she had when she first arrived, only now, she looked not for hidden doors or dragon bones but for whispered conversations and guilty faces. It was surprisingly easy, she realized, to listen at the crack of a door or in the shadowy corners of halls. Far too many people had secrets in the Keep.
Disappointingly, very few of those secrets were interesting .
Lady Manell is having an affair with a stable boy.
Ser Arron was seen lurking around flea bottom.
Lord Jakob is dying of fever, and his son refuses to come see him.
A Kitchen maid is pregnant, but her husband is not the father.
Nothing is ever useful . No secret northern loyalists nor Lannister weaknesses. Arya nearly laughed when she heard two maids saying that Sansa's handmaiden was a wealthy whore from braavos. She didn't know Shae very well, but she knew the difference between a braavosi accent and a lorathi one. Besides, if she were wealthy, why would she be here?
The most interesting things were always about the war, though Arya had difficulty differentiating between common knowledge, rumor, and secrets.
Renly was killed by a ghost.
Robb rode to battle on a giant wolf, or perhaps he turned into a giant wolf? There seemed to be some debate.
Northerners have allied with wildlings and giants to burn down all of the south.
Stannis had at his disposal a hundred thousand men and an all-powerful witch.
Stannis's daughter was actually the bastard of their jester.
The rumors were plentiful at court, but Arya was beginning to realize how much careful sifting was required to get to the nuggets of truth in the mountains of dung. It was slow, aggravating work. She was beginning to think her teacher had a rather sick sense of humor.
Jaqen seemed to take a wicked delight in asking Arya to do things she had no patience for.
Perhaps that lack of patience led her to attempt to spy on a Council meeting.
After a week of useless, trivial gossip and lies, Arya was practically buzzing with restlessness. She needed action . She needed something, anything at all, to justify all the time she spent listening to keyholes.
So, when she thought it was relatively safe, Arya carefully made her way to a crack in a wall of the council room she had (rather cleverly) noticed on one of her previous excursions. She hadn't made it very far when a voice stopped her in her tracks.
"Scurrying around again, little mouse?"
Arya spun around, then cursed herself for the action. She knew better than to act guilty or like she had something to hide. She cursed herself thrice more when she met the Queen's narrowed eyes.
"I was just-" she began, trying her best to sound as unbothered and innocent as possible, but Cersei cut her off with a wave of her hand.
"Best if you stop there. It's a grave crime to lie to a queen."
"I wasn't going to lie!" She protested angrily before she could think better of the words.
A girl is too rash.
Cersei leveled her with such a disbelieving look Arya nearly shrunk. "Why don't you and I have a chat, yes?"
Without waiting to see if Arya would follow, the Queen turned on her heel and walked away. Arya hesitated for a long, agonizing moment. Did she dare follow? Was she about to be thrown back into the Black Cells again? Or mayhaps Cersei had finally decided she only needed one Stark hostage and could happily dispose of the spare.
An image of her head joining her father's on the Red Keep's wall came into Arya's head unbidden, and she forcefully shook it away.
With great apprehension, Arya followed behind the Queen.
Cersei led her down the hall to her private quarters, and Arya felt like she was marching to her death. Then she remembered Syrio's bleak prayer.
What do we say to the god of death?
Cersei gestured for her to walk faster, and Arya followed.
Not today.
The Queen's rooms were as beautifully appointed as one would expect, but there was an emptiness that had nothing to do with unoccupied space.
Despite the constant, oppressive heat Arya couldn't escape in the south, she shivered.
Cersei's lips pulled into a familiar smile, cloying in its sweetness, and Arya was immediately on edge. The Queen only bothered with the pretense of motherly kindness when Sansa was in the room to indulge it. The handful of times she had even glanced in Arya's direction, it was usually with the expression of someone finding dung on their shoe.
"Arya," the Queen began, and it took all the self-control Arya had been practicing with Jaqen to keep a carefully blank face. Cersei never called Arya by her given name, and to hear it from her now, and with such a false, honeyed tone, made the girl's skin crawl. "How long have you been under our care here?"
She bristled. "I've been your hostage for nearly a year, Your Grace."
She expected Cersei to rise to her blatant challenge, to bear her teeth and meet her, claw against claw. Instead, the Queen laughed. "And even in a year, it appears we haven't managed to break that accursed spirit of yours."
"No, Your Grace."
"You know, you remind me very much of myself when I was young. I was also a stubborn little bitch who never learned her place."
"I know my place."
Cersei smiled again, but it lacked even an attempt at amusement or warmth. "And where is that, little wolf? With your traitor brother? If you believe you would be any better off under the care of a boy playing war games, you're more foolish than I thought. There is only one reason Robb Stark would want you back: you might contribute to his war in the only way a woman is allowed, by being traded for more men and weapons the moment he requires them. Or did you want to return to the North? Is that your place? At an ancestral home, your family lost all rights to twice over, after your family committed one treason after another? You are a child, and it is clear to me you have a child's understanding of the world. In the absence of your mother, your direction must fall to me, and it is clear I have been neglecting that obligation for too long."
"You despise me," Arya burst out. "Why would you care about anything I do?"
The Queen raised one perfectly groomed brow. "You've left me with little choice. What with all the lurking about you've been doing."
"I haven't been lurking!"
Carcei gave her another disbelieving look. "And how is it that you knew the Tyrells were arriving again?"
Arya felt her face go carefully blank before she cursed herself for making such an amateur mistake. "What do you mean? They're here already. I saw them ride through the gates the day before last."
From the Queen's glare, she knew Cersei had caught Arya's blunder. "And you didn't go around asking the kitchen staff about the Tyrells weeks before they arrived? Perhaps I am mistaking you for another rambunctious pest."
Arya clenched her jaw and turned her head with a huff, frustrated that Cersei was asking questions to which she apparently had all the answers already. She wouldn't play the Queen's games.
Cersei looked pleased with Aryas non-answer, which only made Arya wish she had screamed and cursed instead. "You want to pretend to be a spy, little mouse? I have a task for you."
"Why would I do anything for you?" Arya said, caught off guard by the request.
"Because your Queen demands it. Because I could have your head on a golden platter before you could even scream." Cersei casually sipped her tea. "Because it could help protect your sister from dangerous people."
She narrowed her eyes. "Dangerous people like you?"
Cersei didn't so much as blink at the barb. "As much as you don't like me, trust me when I say the Tyrells are worse snakes than I."
"Sounds like pretty good people to ally me with, then."
The Queen smiled, and Arya had a sinking feeling she had stumbled right into Cersei's trap. "You could certainly try. Of course, you'll be in the same position as you are here. Trapped, used for leverage against the North. And your sister, your poor sister. She seems quite taken with Lady Margaery already. It wouldn't surprise me if they had already planned to whisk one of you away to High Garden. I suppose it's a bit obvious which sister they prefer."
Arya balked at the idea of her sister being separated from her. Sansa was all she had anymore. The idea of being stuck in the Red Keep without her was unthinkable. But part of her knew that she was being selfish. If the Tyrells could take Sansa away from here, somewhere away from Joffrey where she could be safe , then how could she, in good conscience, stop them?
She should refuse. It would be best for Sansa if she refused. Arya could find her own way out after Sansa was safe.
But Jaqen's lessons rang through her ears like a siren. Collecting secrets was a skill that she needed practice. The lorathi would be disappointed if she let such an opportunity go to waste. And, should something useful come up, it's not as if Arya had to tell Cersei everything, just enough for her to believe she was playing along.
"What did you have in mind?" Arya said reluctantly.
Cersei smiled. "Lady Margaery has yet to be assigned a handmaid, and it's my job as Queen to ensure all guests under my roof are well taken care of."
Arya had a few things to say about Cersei's ability to 'take care' of her 'guests,' but she held her tongue. Then it occurred to her that Cersei meant Arya to be the handmaid, and she cursed loudly.
Cersei grinned.
It wasn't until the following day that someone finally called upon Arya. A foolish part of her had hoped the Queen forgot all about her' task' and Arya wouldn't have to deal with any more ladies . Said hope was squashed with a knock on the door. Sansa gave her a pitying look before graciously answering the knock with a smile as the steward, Sansa's chambermaid Shae, and no less than five guards brushed past her on their way in.
The steward frowned down at Arya like she was a stain on the ground, and he was assessing the best way to get rid of it.
"Get her changed into something more modest . The Tyrells won't tolerate these rags."
Arya bristled and looked down at her clothes. The breeches and tunic were both stolen from Bran. They were by no means fancy, but it was still clean and well-made. But the steward spoke as if she might as well have been dressed like a peasant.
"I'm fine the way I am." Arya insisted with a stubborn jut of her chin, ignoring the exasperated glare Sansa cast her.
The steward paid no mind to her, gesturing to Shae, who gave her a sympathetic look as she ushered her toward the wardrobe. After grabbing a plain-looking blue dress, the handmaid gave the men a sharp look.
"Lady Arya will not be dressing in a room full of men." She said more confidently than Arya had ever heard before. "Get out. I will escort her when she is ready."
The guards looked reluctant to leave, and the steward gave a scoff, opening his mouth to refuse, but Shae would not back down.
"Regardless of your opinions," her voice was dangerously low as she glared at the steward, "she is still a lady and will have the respect owed by that title."
Arya almost forgot to be offended at everyone speaking about her like she wasn't there or of the lorathi woman insisting that Arya was a lady , which she wasn't.
One of the guards spoke up. "She's a little demon. We're here for everyone's protection."
The handmaid's glare moved to the guard. "She's a scared little girl-" Arya scoffed. "-and a lady at that. Wait outside. I'm not asking."
The guards looked to the steward, who quickly turned red as he matched Shae's scowl with his own. "The only reason I put up with you is-"
"The only reason you put up with me is that no other maid wants this job. You brought me because I can handle the Stark girls, so let me do that." Her accent got a bit thicker, and Arya noticed the slightest tremor in Shae's hand. Was she angry? Afraid of the Steward? No, perhaps scared of what he was about to say. Arya had seen the smallest jump in her jaw before she interrupted the man. She made a note to investigate who exactly Shae the chambermaid was.
With one last sneer and a sharp, "Watch her closely ." The steward exited the room with the guards in tow.
Sansa finally moved from the door. "Thank you, Shae. That was very brave of you." It was concerning how difficult it was becoming for Arya to detect the sincerity of her own sister.
Shae scoffed. "I've dealt with worse men than Arrold my whole life."
Arya tilted her head curiously at the statement. She was itching to ask her about it, but Arya had observed the lorathi woman in passing. If she brought up her curiosity now, Shae would likely close off and tread more carefully in the future.
She changed into the dress, grateful that Shae knew better than to offer her help, and nodded to the maid in question as she marched through the door to her doom.
Margaery was every bit the perfect lady that Arya had imagined, and it only solidified her resolve to hate the girl. Her hair was perfectly pinned and curled in a modest sothron style, and her dress, while cut in a way that was completely impractical in the North, and a tad revealing by even southron standards, was elegantly embroidered with silk roses. She was every bit as beautiful as everyone claimed her to be. Everything that Arya was not.
"And you must be Lady Arya!" Margaery said with an excited smile. Arya was disappointed to find Margaery already sitting in her room, waiting for her. She had hoped to snoop around for a bit before having to talk to the lady.
"Arya," she corrected, her shoulders tightening at the title despite her very best efforts to remain entirely in control of herself. "I'm no lady."
Her smile never faltered, and she gave an airy giggle. "Well, of course you're a lady, but I would like to call you Arya if you wish. Perhaps in return, you may call me Margaery?"
Arya tilted her head as she took in the Rose of Highgarden. From what she had heard of the Tyrells, they seemed well adept at playing the Game, using flowery words like Jaqen used faces.
"Alright." She said. If the Tyrells wanted to be friendly with her, she wouldn't stop them. Although, she wouldn't underestimate them either.
The lady seemed satisfied at Arya's unenthusiastic answer as she clapped her hands together and stood from the bed. "Well, I was just on my way to have tea with my grandmother in the gardens. I know she'll be excited to meet you."
"Why would she want to meet me ?" Arya asked incredulously.
Margaery's laughter rang like a bell as she politely covered her mouth with her hand. To Arya, it sounded as practiced and deliberate as a courtesy. "Well, why wouldn't she? From what I hear, you and I will be spending a lot of time together. Not to mention my brother had some amusing things to say about you."
"Amusing," Arya repeated, expressionless.
"Well, I suppose we'll see how much of it was true. Loras can be quite dramatic at times, you know."
Arya remembered kneeling in front of Joffrey with Sansa as Loras spoke of the barbaric northern men feasting on the fallen during battle. His testimony was not the only one, but it had begun Sansa's torment that day. "Yes. I know."
Margaery glanced at Arya, surprised. If she noticed the bitterness in Arya's tone, she didn't comment on it.
With a smile, the lady offered her arm. Arya paused only a moment before taking it. Friendly . She needed to be friendly, Arya reminded herself as Margaery escorted her down the stairs to the royal gardens, already suspecting such efforts would be futile.
Despite Arya's best efforts, she couldn't help but like the Tyrell matriarch. Margaery attempted to formally introduce Arya to Olenna but was cut off immediately.
"Don't tell me Queen Cersei made you wear that hideous dress?"
Arya guffed, completely taken back by the woman. She was indeed wearing the same plain gown that most maids wore. It never occurred to Arya that Cersei might have ordered it. She probably saw it as another way to humiliate Arya.
"Not to my knowledge, Lady Tyrell, but I wouldn't put it past her," Arya said as she tried to gain composure.
Olenna frowned and muttered, "That woman." Before looking at her granddaughter expectantly. "Well, are you going to just stand there all day, or are you going to take a seat?"
Arya smiled, plopping down on a chair with a soft thud. Margaery, on the other hand, looked a mixture of amused and horrified. "Grandmother! What will our companion think of us?"
"She'll appreciate the reprieve from stuffy castle life, no doubt. Come, sit. You're giving me a neckache from looking up at you." Olenna scolded her granddaughter, who shot an apologetic and exasperated look at Arya.
No, Arya corrected herself. It was a mask. Behind her eyes, she expected this. It was like watching two actors give Arya her own personal show. Each line and reaction felt rehearsed for her viewing. Arya wondered how easily everyone could be taken in by the two. They certainly had a way of making someone feel included, like they were all in on a secret. But Arya was not easily fooled, and it occurred to her that neither was Cersei. It certainly explained why the Queen despised the Tyrells so much.
"Dreadful thing, making a girl of your standing be a chambermaid for my Margaery. I'll certainly have a word with those Lannisters about this."
Arya blinked, taking her time to observe Lady Tyrell. "Yes, it was very disrespectful to give Margaery such a poor handmaiden." She said carefully. If this were a play, Arya could learn her own lines. Move the conversation until they said what they meant, intentionally or not.
By the displeased look on her face, Olenna hadn't bought it for a moment. "You must be daft if you think my only concern is a petty insult from the Queen. You are the one she is tormenting most with all this nonsense."
Arya tilted her head, fighting to keep her expression neutral. "And why should you care about any torment I face?" Her eyes never left the Queen of thorns.
"I have a granddaughter, less you forgot, and long ago it may be, I was once a young girl myself. I know how young girls are treated at the best of times, and these are not the best of times. For you and your sister more so than most."
For the briefest, most painful moment, Arya believed her. She thought of mother, old Nan, and even Septa Mordane on the best of days. Despite everything Arya did to disappoint them, they never raised a hand to her. They would have cared that she was trapped here. Imprisoned and abused. Had it truly been so long since anyone except Sansa cared about Arya's well-being?
But just as quickly as hope came, it was smashed into a thousand pieces with the heel of her own boot. The Tyrells didn't care about her. They didn't even know her. She was a pawn to them, just like everyone else. Suddenly, Arya was angry. Angry at them for lying and angry at herself for believing it.
"You can stop trying to win my favor and skip to what you actually wanted to say." She said, failing to hide the irritation in her voice.
Margaery and Olenna stopped short. They glanced at each other with an identical raise of the brow.
"I told you she'd be an interesting sort to talk to," Margaery said with a playful smile.
Olenna shook her head and muttered. "Your brother is a bloody fool."
Arya schooled her features once more. She had already slipped up once. The Tyrells were indeed formidable opponents in the Game of Faces. "Well?" She asked expectantly.
Another glance between grandmother and granddaughter before Olenna leaned in, her voice lowered. "You've been here longer than most. We only sought your opinion." She said, her sharp eyes never leaving Arya's. "So, tell me truly, what kind of man is King Joffrey?"
Arya tilted her head with carefully furrowed brows. "Shouldn't you be asking my sister? She is betrothed to him. Wouldn't she know him better?"
"We did." Margaery cut in. Eyes wide and brows furrowed in compassion. After spending so long looking for the masks people wear, Arya wondered how she never noticed just how calculated everything was. "Lady Sansa gave a lovely speech about his charms and how much she loved him. I almost believed it myself." She gave a pleasant laugh.
A girl lies , the voice sounded in Arya's head, a near reflex at this point, to carefully analyze the minute expressions of the people at court and sort them between truth and lie . The Game of Faces never ended in the Lion's den.
Lady Margaery was too clever by half to have taken Sansa at her empty platitudes, and Arya had heard the way her sister spoke of the Highgarden Rose. Saw her desire to have a confidante, the strain of surviving every day, constantly surrounded by enemies. Arya saw the wolf wanting to come out of its skin when she looked at her sister. No, these Tyrells, with their concerned smiles and cunning eyes, would have known exactly what to say to her sister to convince her to confide in them.
And now it was up to Arya to discover if Sansa had chosen her confidantes wisely or if her next lesson from her deadly tutor would need to come sooner than anticipated.
"Arya, we've heard you're honest. All we want is the truth."
Arya snorted. She was almost positive they heard more about Arya than her honesty. "I believe I've already made myself clear on how I feel about Joffrey. The evidence is on his face."
Lady Tyrell burst out in laughter. "Oh! You are a fierce one! You mean to tell me those scars on him are from you? Loras told me the king received them from a wolf during a hunting trip." She chuckled again. "Wolf indeed."
"So you don't have the same praises as your sister?"
"I reckon my sister had very similar praises for Joffrey." Arya challenged. She didn't miss the way Margaery and Olenna glanced at each other. Their smiles dropped ever so slightly. Catching someone off guard was the best way to see the cracks in their mask, Arya would know. Jaqen never missed an opportunity to do the same to her. "Now that I've answered your questions, I'd like you to answer mine."
"Of course." Margaery offered, her sweet smile once again perfectly in place. Lady Olenna didn't do the same. Instead, she watched Arya with a keener eye. Good.
"What plans do you have regarding my sister?"
Margaery blinked, perhaps a fraction of a second too slow to be natural. "Plans?" She echoed.
"I'm sure you must have something," Arya said, leaning forward. "She is the eldest Stark daughter. You'd be a fool not to use that. So what have you planned? Secure a marriage? Make her Margaery's lady in waiting? What?"
"I don't know about my grandmother, but I'd like to secure a friendship with her. She's a lovely girl." Liar . Or rather, not the whole truth.
Her patience ran thin. How Jaqen managed to play such games all day was impossible to imagine. Barely twenty minutes in and Arya wanted to pull her hair from its roots. "You heard of my honesty. I'll let you know now I appreciate the same. Don't bother trying to lie to me. I've been here far too long for you to succeed."
"You've got quite a sharp handmaid there, granddaughter," Olenna smirked, but her tone made it clear that neither of the Tyrell women would answer her directly. Arya supposed it was fair. The walls have ears and all that rubbish. Arya would just have to be one of those ears.
Olenna seemed pleased with the young Stark, but Arya saw the sharp look. Lady Tyrell would not underestimate her. She might be the first in this damned castle to do so. Practically, Arya knew it was a hindrance, but that didn't stop the feeling of pride that rose in her chest. Perhaps her forced proximity with the Tyrells wouldn't be that bad.