Part 1: Capture the Cat

When they first bring the girl to me, she has the look of a frightened deer about her, her cloak wet from the snow, her long gold hair a bedraggled tangle. She is made to get off her own horse, without the assistance she is accustomed to, waiting on her hand and foot.

Myrcella, a Baratheon princess, a Lannister cat. That's what Cersei's child is, with her blue eyes wide and watery, looking around her for someone to treat her delicately, the dignity of her sex, the privilege of her rank. But we had been taken too far, all of us in the north.

The Lannister lion sends his regards.

Well, so does the Stark wolf. And he'll howl on your graves…

She reminds me so of Sansa, with her beauty and her pride, and the way she makes light prints in the snow. She reminds me of her, with the pale pallor of her cheeks and way her eyes change colors when she is nervous, or excited, or frozen with fright. I never had a close relationship with my half-sister, and yet now that she is gone, vanished with the Lannister Imp after they were both accused of poisoning the mad boy king at the Purple Wedding, I realize I may never see her again. And I grieve for her.

But this girl in front of me is bringing it all back. She is well-raised, like Sansa, yet not in the wolf's rocks but in the lion's den. And so she is my enemy. A minor enemy, it is true, captured by brigands without a side, simply looking for the quickest pay, as she was being sent away to the coast for her protection, so it was thought. She's so very different from the real enemy, the one that brings the death of ice over the land, beyond the wall.

But she is my enemy. And my only hope of recovering Arya. The Needle I gave her has gone to her head. Why, oh, why, did vengeance have to mean so much to her now? A thousand dead Lannisters and like scum are not worth the loss of her life. To kill Jaime, and be captured trying to kill Cersei…it is a death sentence. And I know how the enraged lioness will mete out death.

Stick 'em with the pointy end.

Oh, gods, old and new…will do anything to get Arya back unharmed. I will do anything, by any drop of Stark blood in me…

Two soldiers have taken her by the arms now, roughly, a bit too roughly even for my tastes. They pull the hood off her, and jostle her, and shove her forward.

"Now, enough, she's had enough," I blurted out at last.

I hear her cough; she's standing on the stairs in front of me, shivering in the cold. She looks like she might faint any moment, but also seems determined to keep standing, for her pride no doubt, for the pride of her house. But for a moment, I pity her anyway, and I reach out my hand to her. She looks at it blearily, and touches her temple.

"Are you ill, my lady?"

She doesn't talk, either too proud or afraid to answer any questions. But she looks at me straight in the eyes, and I see Cersei staring through her, and have to swallow back some revulsion. Lioness bitch…lioness-bred-bitch…

But then she reaches out and takes my hand, pulling herself up the stairs to where I am, and then starting to lace it through my arm, so she might be properly escorted to wherever she might be led. Then…she starts coughing again, leans on me, falls towards me…

A trick of her mother's teaching? To make me soften towards her?

I brusquely touch her forehead, feel the heat, and realize it's not a ruse. And soon, ever-so-reluctantly, she is up and in my arms, her cursed mother's hair falling over my breastplate.

When she opens her eyes an hour later, she is in a bed. She sees me there, as I have been for the past quarter hour, just watching her breathing. "That's…a lovely color," she murmurs. "The canopy…it…it's very nice…"

"It wasn't meant for you," I say, harshness coming through unbidden. "It was my sister Sansa's, before she left…" I squint at her. "Left, and never returned, courtesy of your family name."

She looks sad. "I…I'm sorry…Sansa was pretty, she was kind…"

"And now she's most likely dead, and my sister Arya imprisoned, waiting to be killed."

She sits up a little bit, against the pillow. "That's why you bought me from those hellish vile men, isn't it? You want…want a trade."

I twitch a raw smile. "Smart girl. You have your mother's beauty and her brains."

It isn't so much meant to be a compliment, but she smiles as if receiving one. I suppose she thinks her mother has quite a head on her shoulders, and quite a body upholding the head. I very nearly say something threatening to scare her, about heads and bodies and their loose attachment, but I swallow it back.

She doesn't seem to be trying to challenge me; only looking about her surroundings with some interest. "When I was here last, I had a nice room, like this…it was a long time ago…before the wars…"

"Lifetimes ago," I concur.

She nods and closes her eyes again, sleepily. "I'll…dream about it…"