The Price of Practicality
Fandom: A Song of Ice and Fire
Summary: Arya learns an unconventional lesson. Arya/Tywin.
For asoiafkinkmeme, prompts:
A practical education.
and
He is not a nice man, not at all, but he is nice to her.
The Price of Practicality
"Lady Arya."
Tywin’s attention remains concentrated on his parchment as he speaks the quiet summons, words as firm as if he held a blade to her throat, despite their relatively neutral tone. The Warden of the West stubbornly persists in using her ridiculous title, dismissing any of Arya’s requests that call her otherwise, her protests entirely futile - as they often are, when it comes to the lord’s will. If the appellation was spoken by any other man, she would have been utterly certain the intention was to annoy or insult her, but formality runs through Tywin’s bones and the name falls as easily from his lips as his breaths. In attempt to hold back the annoyed retort that persistently seeks escape - there is no purpose in provoking him for something so banal, she convinces herself - Arya grits her teeth and places her book aside as she rises from her chair to approach the desk.
He's working again, finishing the missives, and Arya pushes down her reckless desire to snatch the parchments from the desk and burn them. He always works - even when he is not acting as Hand, he is a lord. Tywin never sheds his mask; there is a man below the facade of Lord Tywin, but it shows so rarely that Arya only recognizes him once he's gone. It always makes her uncomfortable to see Tywin so steadfast - not because of whom he is or what he's done, but because it reminds Arya who she is and what she's not done. Responsibility is a difficult mantle to wear. To distract herself from such unpleasant thoughts, Arya focuses her curiosity on the letter Tywin writes, but by the time she draws near enough to read its contents, the Hand folds it closed. He looks up knowingly, fully expecting her actions, but nonetheless speaks offhandedly, as if his mind is already elsewhere, attention already diverted to his next objective or goal.
"Your opponent is intelligent, undefeated in the field, and his lands are large and difficult conquer through conventional means." The statement is absurdly out of place and abrupt. She feels as if she's missed half of their conversation, yet Tywin makes no effort to clarify; his eyes bore holes into her as he awaits her response, as if he can read her every thought as clearly as the words on a parchment.
"No one is without weaknesses." Arya's reply is hesitant, but she knows it is the answer he expects. There is no firmer lesson that he teaches her, and it is one he reminds her of it daily, be it in their strange contests, or by exemplifying her weaknesses.
He nods and continues on as if assured she understands the subject he speaks of. "His is a woman."
Arya recognizes this game, this ploy he's fond of - and they are quite that: games. Tywin teases her with droplets of information and makes certain that she pieces together the clues in precisely the manner he wishes. In many cases the answers are obvious, but they never fail to make her think, to help her understand the patterns the Hand’s mind draws upon. No doubt the confusion is intentional; hiding his expectations is yet another part of the dance. "I suppose killing the woman is out of the question?"
"Doing so holds no strategic purpose beyond enraging your opponent." He scolds, no doubt expecting that answer. Enraging the opponent leads to brash, irrational responses and attacks, she wants to point out, but Tywin continues before Arya can do more than open her mouth. "An angered commander has its uses, true enough, but this particular woman is more valuable alive. Their relationship causes dissent between the lord and his men."
Arya’s annoyance stirs and she feels very much like she's being mocked. It is all so obvious - the young woman could have given Tywin the same answer before she knew anything about wars or strategy.
"Contact the dissenters. If the man is undefeatable by conventional means, then he will fall to his allies." Arya wonders what her father would think at the assured answer. She doubts he would approve of the tactical decisions, along with a great many things she's done out of necessity for survival since leaving King’s Landing.
All Tywin offers her is a nod, satisfied and pleased. Their game is over, unprecedentedly short, simple, and out of place. There was no critical thinking to be had, no lessons to be learned, just straightforward questions that serve only to confound her. Arya remains dumbly in place and feels incredibly daft, as if she missed an integral step in Tywin’s complex dance.
Instead of offering any elaboration, the Hand simply seals the parchment with assured finality.
Summary: Arya learns an unconventional lesson. Arya/Tywin.
For asoiafkinkmeme, prompts:
A practical education.
and
He is not a nice man, not at all, but he is nice to her.
The Price of Practicality
"Lady Arya."
Tywin’s attention remains concentrated on his parchment as he speaks the quiet summons, words as firm as if he held a blade to her throat, despite their relatively neutral tone. The Warden of the West stubbornly persists in using her ridiculous title, dismissing any of Arya’s requests that call her otherwise, her protests entirely futile - as they often are, when it comes to the lord’s will. If the appellation was spoken by any other man, she would have been utterly certain the intention was to annoy or insult her, but formality runs through Tywin’s bones and the name falls as easily from his lips as his breaths. In attempt to hold back the annoyed retort that persistently seeks escape - there is no purpose in provoking him for something so banal, she convinces herself - Arya grits her teeth and places her book aside as she rises from her chair to approach the desk.
He's working again, finishing the missives, and Arya pushes down her reckless desire to snatch the parchments from the desk and burn them. He always works - even when he is not acting as Hand, he is a lord. Tywin never sheds his mask; there is a man below the facade of Lord Tywin, but it shows so rarely that Arya only recognizes him once he's gone. It always makes her uncomfortable to see Tywin so steadfast - not because of whom he is or what he's done, but because it reminds Arya who she is and what she's not done. Responsibility is a difficult mantle to wear. To distract herself from such unpleasant thoughts, Arya focuses her curiosity on the letter Tywin writes, but by the time she draws near enough to read its contents, the Hand folds it closed. He looks up knowingly, fully expecting her actions, but nonetheless speaks offhandedly, as if his mind is already elsewhere, attention already diverted to his next objective or goal.
"Your opponent is intelligent, undefeated in the field, and his lands are large and difficult conquer through conventional means." The statement is absurdly out of place and abrupt. She feels as if she's missed half of their conversation, yet Tywin makes no effort to clarify; his eyes bore holes into her as he awaits her response, as if he can read her every thought as clearly as the words on a parchment.
"No one is without weaknesses." Arya's reply is hesitant, but she knows it is the answer he expects. There is no firmer lesson that he teaches her, and it is one he reminds her of it daily, be it in their strange contests, or by exemplifying her weaknesses.
He nods and continues on as if assured she understands the subject he speaks of. "His is a woman."
Arya recognizes this game, this ploy he's fond of - and they are quite that: games. Tywin teases her with droplets of information and makes certain that she pieces together the clues in precisely the manner he wishes. In many cases the answers are obvious, but they never fail to make her think, to help her understand the patterns the Hand’s mind draws upon. No doubt the confusion is intentional; hiding his expectations is yet another part of the dance. "I suppose killing the woman is out of the question?"
"Doing so holds no strategic purpose beyond enraging your opponent." He scolds, no doubt expecting that answer. Enraging the opponent leads to brash, irrational responses and attacks, she wants to point out, but Tywin continues before Arya can do more than open her mouth. "An angered commander has its uses, true enough, but this particular woman is more valuable alive. Their relationship causes dissent between the lord and his men."
Arya’s annoyance stirs and she feels very much like she's being mocked. It is all so obvious - the young woman could have given Tywin the same answer before she knew anything about wars or strategy.
"Contact the dissenters. If the man is undefeatable by conventional means, then he will fall to his allies." Arya wonders what her father would think at the assured answer. She doubts he would approve of the tactical decisions, along with a great many things she's done out of necessity for survival since leaving King’s Landing.
All Tywin offers her is a nod, satisfied and pleased. Their game is over, unprecedentedly short, simple, and out of place. There was no critical thinking to be had, no lessons to be learned, just straightforward questions that serve only to confound her. Arya remains dumbly in place and feels incredibly daft, as if she missed an integral step in Tywin’s complex dance.
Instead of offering any elaboration, the Hand simply seals the parchment with assured finality.