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The Stray Lion

Summary:

They run into each other by chance when he is running from the same queen she is set to kill. For Jaime, it is his chance to finally be done with that godsforsaken oath he swore to Catelyn Stark years ago. For Arya…well…she should hate him. But she has a rather bad habit of adopting strays.

Told in a series of drabbled snapshots and ficlets that get longer as the story unfolds because I just couldn't help myself.

But when you think about it, the chapters get longer the closer Arya and Jaime grow together so... it kinda works? idk

Notes:

Chapters will start out very short because I have discovered the challenge of writing in exact word count snippets and now I’m taking it out on this fic. Sorry.

Also, not sorry.

(See the end of the work for more notes.)

Chapter 1: A faceless encounter

Chapter Text

Her hands twitch as she lays eyes on the kingslayer for the first time in years, feasting at the table of the Freys. 

She’s here for Walder Frey.

She’s here for his sons and grandsons. 

She’s here to avenge her family against the most vile act of treachery.

But when she lays eyes on the Lannister, she is tempted to switch plans. She contemplates it, for a moment. 

Killing the kingslayer. 

Stealing his face. 

She could do a lot with the kingslayer's face.

But she has a plan. And Jaime Lannister was never on her list.

He’s spared. For now.

 


 

He considers it, bedding the wine girl. Her eyes shine with a promise of…something.

He’s not entirely certain its pleasure.

Bronn seems to think pleasure. But then, when isn’t he thinking with his cock.

Jaime has other allegiances. 

Cersei.

Gods, he misses Cersei. 

And fears for his family. 

He has to get back to them. It’s where he belongs. He can’t grow distracted now. Not even by a girl with danger in her eyes, curious as he is to find out why.

Repulsed by the Frey lord’s arrogance, Jaime leaves Bronn to his girls.

Alone, Jaime dreams of Cersei.

Chapter 2: The scene of their crimes

Summary:

Jaime returns to a devastated King's Landing.

Arya crosses names off her list

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

The scene at King’s Landing is one pulled right out of his deepest nightmares. Half the city in chaos. Dust and ash filling the sky. Cries of pain and suffering. The bells toll, signalling a dead monarch.

Jaime’s heart freezes.

Cersei’s trial was today.

Was she there? When the trial happened? Was she…is she…

No. A small part of him, a part he tries to quash down even as it occurs to him, knows there’s only one person in King’s Landing capable of such horror.

Cersei would never do something like this.

Not this bad.

Surely.

Yes. She would.

 


 

The scene in the hall of the twins is one Arya has been dreaming of since she set sail for Westeros. 

Freys toppling over left and right. Choking and drowning on their own blood. All dead at the hands of vengeance.

A small voice somewhere in the recesses of her mind whispers “what would Ned Stark think?”

She banishes that thought. 

These men had welcomed her family into their halls and slaughtered them like animals. They deserved to meet the many faced god. 

The north remembers.

And winter had come for house Frey.

Arya smiles and sets her sights south.

Notes:

Did you know that pages counts hyphened words as two words but AO3 counts them as one? Fun things ya learn when you're trying to keep a perfect word count :)

Chapter 3: Jaime's epiphany

Summary:

Jaime is given a sign. Of course he follows it. Maybe.

Notes:

Double drabble!

A few of these will pop up from time to time.

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

The night Jaime Lannister returns to King’s Landing, he dreams of wildfire. Of a mad king’s threats and Ned Stark’s cold judgment.

Burn them all! Burn them in their homes. Burn them in their beds!

Purple turns to green as he looks into the eyes of his twin sister impaled on his sword. 

He cries out. 

“Why, Cersei?”

“What do we do to people who tear us apart?”

Green flames erupt and the world turns to ash. Crumbles to ruin.

Jaime looks out over the ruins of what used to be King’s Landing.

A dark haired girl turns to him, pinning him with Stark, grey eyes. 

“Winter is coming, Jaime Lannister. The north remembers.” A threat or a warning, he can’t be sure. A shudder runs down his spine.

Day turns to night as snow falls and wild winds blow. Tens of thousands of blue lights flicker over the horizon, moving steadily closer.

A crow flies overhead, three eyes staring unblinkingly at him as the girl’s words echo in his mind once again.

Winter is coming….

Jaime wakes with a start.

He can’t stay. Not in King’s Landing. Not with Cersei.

He has to leave. 

He has no idea where.

Notes:

...and yes, that was the three-eyed raven hijacking his dream, in case you were wondering :)

Chapter 4: Now what?

Summary:

Seriously, where is he supposed to go now?

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

Jaime has no idea where he’s supposed to go now.

Cersei did always say he never thinks things through…

Cersei.

He misses her. 

He could just go back.

Burn them all.

No, he can’t go back. Not when every time he thinks of his sweet sister, it’s with the mad king’s laughter ringing in his ears.

She really used wildfire to torch her enemies and slaughter innocents.

He can’t forgive her for this. He could never follow someone like that. Not even his own kin. 

But where is he supposed to go now? He has no friends. Even fewer allies. 

Brienne is his friend. Maybe. He thinks. 

But she’s all the way north with whatever’s left of the Starks. He would not be welcome there.

Winter is coming.

No! He’s not going north. Fuck the cold.

There’s always… Casterly Rock.

But then he would be expected to rule there. Take up his father’s mantle. He is many things, but Tywin Lannister is not one of them.

Plus he would be expected to lead the Lannister army.

He sighs. No, he can’t go to Casterly Rock.

As Jaime contemplates his options, he barely notices his horse leading him to the Crossroads.

Notes:

I decided Jaime needed one more moment to ponder his life choices before I throw him at Arya. They'll see each other next chapter. Promise :)

Chapter 5: At the Crossroads (of Destiny!)

Summary:

Jaime and Arya cross paths again.

Notes:

I have five drabbles for you today because they're written and I'm not patient enough to split them into the two chapters they originally were.

Enjoy :)

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

Arya spies Jaime Lannister at the crossroads. At first she’s confused, for surely he was back in King’s Landing by now.

Unless he's leaving again. 

Even stranger that he is by himself.

Mayhaps the gods gifted her a second chance to kill him. True, he’s not on her list. But if anyone could get her close enough to kill Cersei, it’s her twin brother.

But then Hotpie interrupts her plotting with an impossible truth.

Jon is alive. At Winterfell. 

She could go home. If she wants to.

Home.

List.

Home.

List.

Jon.

Arya chooses home.

The kingslayer is spared again.

 


 

Jaime’s face goes white as he spies the girl from his nightmare at the Crossroads Inn. 

In the dream, she wasn’t anyone he recognized, though there was a familiarity to her. He simply assumed she was a figment of his own making.

He certainly never expected to encounter her in life.

Yet here she is, sitting at the Crossroads as if the gods themselves had placed her in his path. 

Jaime didn’t believe in divine intervention. 

He certainly didn’t believe in signs.

And yet, as the girl gets up to leave, he feels compelled to follow.

And follow he does.

 


 

Arya knows she’s in trouble.

In the back of her mind, she knew that traveling alone had its dangers. She’d been lucky and left alone so far.

It seems her luck is beginning to run out as she is accosted by a band of bandits just north of the crossroads.

Six of them of varying strength. Two will be easy kills. Three might put up a decent fight. The other she hesitates to write off so quickly.

The odds are not in her favour. Killing them will not be easy. 

But they have her surrounded.

Arya draws her sword, smiling.

 


 

When Jaime finds the girl, she’s surrounded by attackers. Three are already dead at her feet. She slices a tiny sword through the neck of a fourth as he arrives on the scene.

Jaime’s eyes are wide, stunned, as he admires the way the blood spattered girl moves as if she’s dancing around her opponents.

Then the bandits catch her, and Jaime snaps himself out of it, charging in to help without a second thought.

He kills them easily, and turns to find the girl.

Before he can, he’s knocked to the ground, a tiny sword aimed at his throat.

 


 

“Why did you help me?”

The question stumps Jaime, for he truly doesn’t know. He shrugs. “I’m not sure. Instinct I suppose.”

The girl snorts a laugh. It’s a cold, derisive sound. “Instinct? Do you even know who you just saved?”

He tilts his head to the side, assessing her. “There is something familiar about you,” he admits.

Even putting the dream aside. The dark hair and cold eyes of the north. A face that tugs at his memory, though he can’t quite place how.

She presses in closer, drawing blood. “I’m Arya Stark. And I’m going to kill you.”

Notes:

And then she does! Maybe. Mwahahahahahahaha

Plenty more to come!

Chapter 6: Wait

Summary:

Arya spares Jaime AGAIN and he pushes his luck, as usual.

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

 

Jaime nearly laughed. 

He doesn’t, because one wrong move and she really might kill him, he has no doubt. He’d learned long ago to read truth in a man’s eyes.

The situation amuses him nonetheless. 

Arya Stark.

Of all the people in Westeros, he stumbles across Arya Stark.

Because of course he does.

And it is her. He curses himself for not seeing it sooner. She has Ned Stark’s glacial gaze. His long face. She even dresses like him.

Despite her words, he sees her hesitation.

He calls her bluff.

“Very well, Lady Stark. As is your right, I’m sure.”

 


 

She contemplates killing him. She wants to. She really, really wants to. But…

He did help her out.

I didn’t need saving

But she might have met death if the kingslayer hadn’t intervened. 

He’s still a Lannister. She doesn’t trust him. But if he’s not with his sister, he’s not a pressing enemy. 

For now. 

Besides that, she’s going home. She has no use for his face there.

Looking into his eyes, she knows he poses no threat.

"A life for a life, Lannister. You're lucky you're not on my list."

She sheathes her blade, letting him live once more.

 


 

Jaime breathes a sigh of relief as Arya Stark walks away.

She’s readying to climb on her horse and take her leave. At first he thinks good riddance. He has no duty to do anything for her.

Or anything against her for that matter, now that he’s renounced Cersei.

But then…

He’d sworn an oath long ago. Circumstances prevented him from seeing it through. If the gods are true, they are surely taunting him now.

He curses inwardly.

Catelyn bloody Stark. That woman would haunt him to his grave.

“Wait!”

Surprisingly, she does.

Jaime knows he’ll live to regret this.

 


 

Arya is flabbergasted that the kingslayer actually proposed traveling with her. 

As if she would go anywhere with him. 

As if she would trust him to go anywhere with her.

She is perfectly capable of taking care of herself. She doesn’t need help from anyone. Especially a Lannister.

Just what is he playing at? She demands to know and he hesitates before answering. 

“Some years ago now I had the misfortune of swearing a vow to your mother, that I would see you and your sister home to her in exchange for my return to King’s Landing. It didn’t work out, obviously, but it seems as though the gods have cursed me with seeing it through now.”

It’s a stupid reason. 

But he’s not lying. 

He really does want to fulfill some broken oath. Why he would even care, she doesn’t know.

She has no interest in traveling with anyone, but… keeping him close might be wiser. At least then, she can kill him if he does try something.

“Fine. Follow me if you want. But if you’re lying to me or threaten my family, I will cut your throat in your sleep.”

His lips twitch. “Fair terms, Lady Stark.”

 

Notes:

Annnd there off!

Who knows what grand adventures await them? Jaime's guaranteed to hate it :)

Chapter 7: On The Road

Summary:

Jaime and Arya size each other up on the road north

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

 

Arya Stark makes for a silent traveling companion. 

He tries to think back to what she was like before, but he remembers very little. He’s reasonably certain she was a wild little thing, though, and the farthest thing from silent.

There still is a wildness to her, he supposes. But it’s controlled now. Dangerous, like the wolves of her sigil.

Her face is devoid of expression. She might be eager to get home, frustrated by their pace, or contemplating his death and he wouldn’t know it. 

Well, scratch that. He’s found its safe to assume she’s always contemplating his death.

 


 

It’s very strange… traveling with the kingslayer. 

She still very much wants to kill him. She should kill him. He’s still a Lannister who helped rip her family apart. Yet she hesitates nonetheless.

Mayhaps because she's aware of the fact that she’s riding beside someone she used to admire at one point. Sort of. The way she admired all the great knights. She remembers what he looked like riding into Winterfell all those years ago.

He looks different now. Older. Tired. 

Maybe that’s why she doesn’t want to kill him. The fight seems to have gone out of him, anyway. 

 


 

He does wonder what happened to her. Where she’s been. What she’s been doing. How she survived for so long on her own. 

He’d written her off as dead long ago. Everyone had. She hadn’t been seen since before her father was killed. And now she just pops back up, alive and well after all this time?

Very lucky girl. 

She stays quiet about details, too, no matter how he prods.

And… he’s Jaime, so, he prods a lot. 

Her stony countenance on the matter is unsettling. 

He can’t read her at all.

He’ll have to do something about that.

 


 

Her curiosity is starting to get the better of her.

Why is he out here alone? Why has he traveled so far from King’s Landing?

What happened to him that he is so different from the proud knight he was? Was it losing his hand? His family dying? Something else? 

How did he lose his hand, anyway? Did he lose it in battle? Who had bested one of the best swordsmen in Westeros?

And why does he care about her mother’s oath when he disregarded the ones he made to his king?

She wants to ask. But she also doesn’t. 

 


 

Jaime is beginning to notice something else about the Stark girl. She actually likes fighting. Even Brienne never seemed to especially enjoy it.

Arya does, though.

He suspects she relishes in killing as well, but he’d rather not encourage that.

The fighting, though. He can work with that.

So far she’s been a closed book to him and Jaime is bored out of his mind and curious to find out what makes Arya Stark tick.

His needling hadn’t gotten him anywhere. She’s frustratingly stubborn in her resistance.

Mayhaps sparring will be a better in.

Only one way to find out.

 

Notes:

I find it a bit challenging getting in Arya's head when she's so closed off and guarded so I'm using Jaime to pick it apart slowly. Hopefully it turns out alright. lol.

Chapter 8: Spar With Me

Summary:

Jaime finds an in.

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

 

“Spar with me.”

Arya blinks at him. “What?” Surely, she heard wrong. There’s no way Jaime Lannister, the kingslayer, just asked to spar with her. 

“You heard me. I grow bored riding north. Figured this’ll at least be entertaining.”

She’d seen him fight when he’d come after her back at the Crossroads. His movements were uncoordinated. Clumsy. He wouldn’t pose much challenge at all. “I’m not fighting you.”

“Why not? Scared?”

“No.”

“It’s alright if you are. I get that a lot.”

“I’m not scared of you!”

“Prove it.”

Arya scowls and draws her sword.

Jaime’s grin is infuriatingly triumphant.

 


 

Jaime learns pretty quickly that he’s bitten off more than he can chew, as usual.

Of course, his purpose isn’t to fight the Stark girl. Not really. It’s to get her talking and reacting the way a normal girl her age should. 

But as they move through their steps, testing and challenging each other, he can’t help but get distracted. 

She moves in fluid patterns, dancing around him and redirecting his attacks rather than attempting force. She lashes out at places that could do some crippling damage in a real fight and Jaime finds himself genuinely enjoying sparring with her.

 


 

Arya reminds herself she has to be careful as she dances circles around the kingslayer, easily blocking his every move. He may have lost his legendary skill along with his hand, but his mind is still sharp. He’s cataloguing her every move, weighing her strengths and faults.

She can’t give too much away or give him anything he could use against her in the future.

He’s slow and his strikes are clumsy and weaker than they should be for someone of his strength. 

Still. 

She’s sparring with Jaime Lannister.

Despite all of her concerns, she finds she rather likes it. 

 


 

“You’re holding back.” Privately, he’s a little insulted she feels she needs to at all. He’s the one who should be holding back.

“Its no fun if it’s over too quickly.”

“You think I’m too weak, is that it?” 

She shrugs as they circle each other. “Your words, Kingslayer.”

His grin is sharp as he lunges for her and she slips past his attack, kicking his knees out from under him, sending him stumbling forward.

Arya’s little sword is at his throat before he can move. “Dead.”

But there’s a smile in her eyes. 

Jaime yields and they start again. 

 


 

They fall into a rhythm of sparring each morning, and Arya finally works up the courage to ask about his hand.

“What, this? Lost it somewhere in the Riverlands. I don’t suppose you’ve seen it?”

He tells her the story, though, and it leaves Arya confused.

He’d protected that lady knight and lost his sword hand for it. It seemed an unfair price. 

Stranger still, it was surprisingly noble for the kingslayer. It doesn’t fit the man of her father’s stories at all. Or the man she saw at Winterfell either

Mayhaps there’s more to the kingslayer than she thought.

 


 

The tiny sword suits her. He wonders where she found it.

Arya shoots him a glare when he asks. “My brother gave it to me.”

She’s defensive of the little blade. His lips quirk in a smile. “And you’ve kept it with you all this time?”

“It’s all I have left of them.” There’s a sad note in her voice. “I did lose it for a bit. Until I found the man who took it.”

Ah. “Was he your first, then?”

“No,” she tells him flatly. “He was the first from my list, though.”

She’s mentioned this list before. It doesn’t take much thought to work out what kind of list she is keeping, but it piques his curiosity. “Tell me about this list.”

She’s silent for a moment and mayhaps she’s gone back to ignoring him. Then, “it’s a list of people I’m going to kill. I started it after I got out of King’s Landing. People who hurt my family.”

He raises an eyebrow. “But I’m not on it?”

“No.” Then she stares at him for a long moment, studying his face. “Do you think you should be?”

Yes, he thinks. But he won’t be telling her that.

 

Notes:

Oh, Arya. If only she knew the crimes that hand has caused.

Anywho.

Next up: Jaime learns just how scary Arya is, and Arya runs into an old friend.

Chapter 9: What she learned

Summary:

Jaime learns a scary truth about Arya's skills while Arya feels conflicted about the path she's chosen.

Notes:

I can't promise every chapter is going to come to 1000 words but...this one does. You're welcome :)

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

 

The kingslayer’s made a sport out of infuriating her. Arya can’t understand why he bothers. But every time she snaps back at him, he just looks pleased with himself. 

He’s bored, she tells herself. Playing games to amuse himself

She tries to ignore him, but he’s managed to clock just about every weak spot she has and isn’t afraid to dig in. She’s familiar with such tests. The Waif used to test her the same way and called it proof that Arya could never be no one.

But she doesn’t feel like Arya either. She doesn’t know what she is.

 


 

Arya never lets her guard down around him. But he’s starting to see glimpses of who she is behind that mask of her’s. 

He’s reminded a little of Brienne, actually. A woman unsatisfied with the limitations of her sex trying to carve her own path. She still has some of that Stark honour code about her, of course. But there’s a ruthless fury to her that reminds him disconcertingly of Cersei. 

What might Cersei have been like if Father had allowed her a sword?

She’d have little use for him, that’s for sure. He’s unsure how he feels about that.

Arya is very good with a sword. He doesn’t know where she found the time to learn. He’s asked, of course, but she never gives anything away. The only thing he’s been able to glean so far is that it was somewhere foreign. Or with someone foreign. He’s not sure. She doesn’t move like a typical Westerosi knight at all and Jaime is surprised to find himself almost excited to practice with her. He’s forced to be more creative in his approach. Perhaps that’s the difference.

It makes him curious to find out what else the Stark girl has learned.

 


 

It’s early in the morning when Jaime and Arya come across a ravaged caravan just off the King’s Road.

Fallen prey to bandits, no doubt. Jaime looks for survivors while Arya searches through what’s left of their belongings. But the passengers are all dead. Bar one. 

A girl no older than ten, barely clinging to life, her wounds fatal. It would be kinder to put her out of her misery.

He kneels down to do just that, but hesitates. 

Ten years old. Poor girl.

He looks up as the Stark girl approaches. It takes less than a second for her to assess the situation.

“She’s still alive?"

“Not for long,” he confirms.

Nodding, Arya kneels down beside him. 

“Arya…”

Silencing him with a sharp look, she acts before he can move, slicing up through the dying girl’s ribcage into her heart. The girl is dead before Arya can remove the dagger. She stands up without a word and continues to dig through the strewn around belongings. 

Jaime is left to stare.

And that’s when he learned. 

The precision. The lack of empathy. No hesitation or remorse whatsoever.

Arya Stark was not merely trained to fight. 

She was trained to kill

 


 

He can’t help but prod at Arya as they continue traveling north.

“Granted, I don’t remember you well, but I’m fairly certain you were a little heathen before all this, running around without a care in the world. Now you’re an unfeeling, highly trained killer.”

“What makes you think I’m trained?” She cocks her head to the side, curiosity sparkling in her eyes.

“You mean besides the everything about you? You killed that girl without a second thought, as if it's an everyday occurrence for you.”

Arya shrugs. “It was a merciful death.”

“That’s not the point. She was an innocent girl. A normal person would at least hesitate.”

“I’m not going to apologize for ending her suffering. It’s not like I stabbed her in the back and slit her throat.” 

He sends her a sidelong glance, unsure if her words were an intentional jab or not. “Its not about the intention. I would have done the same as you. But you, a highborn girl from a noble family, should not have had to make that choice, let alone possess the skills to do so. You understand that, don’t you?”

Arya ignores him for that, her eyes cold as stone.

 


 

Arya ignores him for the rest of the day. The kingslayer doesn’t like it, but she’s gotten very good at tuning him out now. Not that he hasn’t tried to get under her skin. He even brought up her father a couple of times.

What would Ned Stark think?

She tries not to think about it, but it eats at her. Because she knows exactly what he would think of what she’s done. 

This isn’t the life he wanted for her at all. He’d wanted her to be a lady. To keep a castle and be married to a lord. 

But that’s just not her. And she’s closer to the life she wanted now than she ever was at Winterfell.

He wouldn’t approve of the faceless men. He would believe those that wronged their family should be tried by the law. 

Arya knows better now. The law isn’t fair. To get the justice her family deserves, she’s had to forsake it. She’s not sorry for it.

All the same. 

What would he think?

As they stop to make camp for the night, Arya storms off without a word. She can’t take anymore of the kingslayer and his questions. Not tonight.

 


 

Arya is alone when she hears a rustling in the trees. She whips her head around, expecting the kingslayer to have returned, but there’s nothing. She scans the trees before going back to lighting the fire.

Her horse snorts, stamping and shifting its weight and Arya knows something is wrong.

A dark shape leaps through the trees at lightning speed. More join in.

Wolves.

They’re quick to surround her, snapping and snarling.

Until Arya turns to see the largest wolf she’s ever seen stalk slowly towards her. 

A direwolf!

Arya stares, incredulous, recognising the markings. The colouring.

Impossible.

But-

“Nymeria?”

Notes:

It's Nymeria!

Sorry for the, ah, light cliffhanger, but yes, Nymeria is here and...maybe she'll stay. We'll see.

Chapter 10: Nymeria!

Summary:

Arya is happy to see Nymeria again. Jaime isn't.

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

Nymeria.

She can’t believe it, even as the wolf stands before her, alive, with a pack of her own. 

Nymeria eyes her warily but doesn’t advance.

“It’s me. Arya. I… I sent you away. Remember? I’m sorry. I’m sorry I threw rocks at you. But... you survived.” Her eyes dart to the wolves surrounding her. “You have a pack now. A family. That’s amazing.” Emotion wells up in her as the words start catching in her throat. “I’m going home too. To my family. Jon, and- and Sansa. You could come with me. If you want to.”

She holds her hand out to Nymeria. The wolf doesn’t move. 

“We could… we could be a pack again. All of us.”

Nymeria is still and Arya starts to think she might not have forgiven her.

Or worse, what if she doesn’t know me anymore?

But then Nymeria edges forward, sniffing her before pressing her nose to Arya’s hand, giving it a lick. 

Arya could have burst into tears as she flings her arms around Nymeria’s neck, burying her face in her fur. 

Then Jaime ruins it.

“Arya, I could have sworn I heard…”

He stops at the tree line, eyes wide.

“…wolves.”

 


 

On instinct, Jaime reaches for his sword. 

Bad move. The wolves are quick to react, stepping forward and forming a barrier between him and the… well, the direwolf. 

Gods, that thing is huge!

He remembers the only other full grown direwolf he’d seen. Robb Stark’s beast. Even that one never got this big. This one….

He can barely believe his eyes.

The direwolf also stalks forward, placing itself between him and Arya.

Wait. Don’t tell me they’re all protecting the Stark girl?

He could have laughed if he wasn’t terrified for his life.

They snarl at him and he straightens as they stalk forward.

Jaime goes to unsheathe his sword.

“No!” Arya cries out. “Wait. It’s alright.” She steps up beside the direwolf, putting her hand on its shoulder. “He’s with me.” 

She’s speaking to the damn wolf.

Because of course she is. 

“He’s not a threat.”

The wolves are still for a moment, snarling at him, before backing off into the tree line. The direwolf stays where it is. 

Jaime turns his gaze to Arya. “Care to explain all of…this?”

Then Arya smiles, her mask slipping completely for the first time since he’d met her.

“This is Nymeria.”

 


 

Jaime watches warily as the direwolf sits behind Arya, keeping Jaime in its sights. 

Great. As if the Stark girl’s sword wasn’t dangerous enough. 

Now he has a direwolf to contend with. 

He adds wood to their fire before settling himself. Arya keeps one hand on the wolf while staring into the flames, far away with her thoughts. She looks troubled. He’s curious, but… he’s pushed her enough for one day. 

“So,” he says, breaking the silence. “That’s the wolf that bit Joffrey, isn’t it?”

Arya frowns. “I don’t want to talk about Joffrey.”

Fair, he thinks. “You know. Cersei wanted you dead for that incident.”

“Fitting,” she scowls. “I’m going to kill her for it.”

He exhales. Her conviction in these wild statements is damn near scary. He doesn’t feel for Cersei what he used to but…even still, he finds himself defensive of his sister in the face of the Stark girl’s declaration. 

He stays silent though. 

Arya’s face has gone blank. 

He assumes that’s the end of their conversation for one night until-

“I’m not what he wanted me to be. Is that so bad?”

Jaime understands the feeling. “You’ve survived. He would be grateful for that.”

 

Notes:

One of the best things about fanfiction is that it's all imagination so I don't have to worry about crappy VFX when it comes to throwing in direwolves. So Arya's going to have her proper emotional reunion with Nymeria, okay? She's allowed to be happy for, like, 2 seconds. Until she remembers all of the everything again.

Chapter 11: Winter is....well, you know

Summary:

Jaime had not planned to go north and, as such, is completely unprepared for traveling in the cold weather. Idiot.

Notes:

Heyyo this is just a little bridging chapter before I introduce the first major "plot" point, if you can call it that.

Oh, also, heads up. I'm leaving you on a cliffhanger.

Enjoy :)

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

 

Nymeria doesn’t travel with them all the time. Arya’s a little disappointed by that. She’s missed her wolf more than anything. But she does understand. Nymeria has a pack of her own now. She’s their leader. Naturally, she would want to be with them.

She disappears into the trees for most of the day, back to her pack.

She comes around by night though, laying beside her and watching as she sleeps. The kingslayer is not very pleased with this. He’s complained about it a lot, actually.

Arya likes that Nymeria unnerves him so she encourages her to stay nearby.

 


 

The ground has started to frost over, a chill hanging in the air the further north they get, and one morning, they wake to snow covering the ground. 

Arya is prepared. The kingslayer less so.

He’s cursing and shivering more often than not. He’s not even properly dressed for the cold. 

“You need better clothes,” she told him one day as he’d cursed for probably the thousandth time.

“What?”

“We’re not even in the north yet. You’ll freeze to death in that.”

“I didn’t know you cared, Lady Arya,” he growled out, teeth chattering.

“I don’t care. I’m just saying.”

 


They’re stopped at an Inn for the night, Arya finally having had enough of his complaining. 

While Jaime sorts their room and board, Arya gets him some warmer clothes before the idiot gets himself killed following her north. 

“Here.” She throws them at him before taking a seat opposite him. 

She’d managed to scrounge up some fur-lined leathers and a proper northern cloak for him. He’d probably still complain about the cold, but at least he won’t freeze to death.

Jaime inspects the clothes idly. “You didn’t steal these, did you?”

Arya rolls her eyes. “No. You paid for them fair and square.” In a smaller voice, she mumbles, “Bloody Lannisters think gold is enough to keep them warm in winter.”

“It’s enough to pay for the right resources, is it not?” He replies cheerfully, brushing off her snide tone. He takes a swig of his drink before eyeing her curiously. “So are you a pick-pocket now, too?”

She smirks. “I’m whatever I need to be.”

They sit in silence after that. Arya turns her attention to the food he got them.

Then Jaime breaks it with a muttered “thank you.”

She shrugs as though it’s of little consequence.

 


 

They’d ridden for about half a day before Jaime starts to notice that they’re being followed.

He turns to see if Arya has noticed, but she remains quiet as ever. 

“Arya?” He keeps his voice low.

She stays silent, but turns to him expectantly.

“Do you hear that?”

She doesn’t answer his question but the smirk curling at her lips tells him that she has. 

He suppresses an irritated sigh. “You do know what it means, don’t you?”

“Yes. Now shut up.” she hisses.

“It means we’re being followed.”

“I know what it means. They’ve been watching us for a few days now.”

Jaime feels stupid for not noticing sooner. “Why didn’t you say something? We could have-“

An arrow flies through the trees and slams into the chest of Jaime’s horse. The horse rears and Jaime has to leap from its back before it falls and crushes his legs.

Arya spins around and throws a knife quick as lightning into the tree line where the arrow came from. A body falls from the tree and Arya jumps from her horse, landing beside Jaime. As a group of about eight men slink from the trees, Arya’s horse bolts, leaving them surrounded.

 

 

Notes:

There ya go. It's about time something exciting happened ;)

Anyway, Next up I will be throwing some new old characters into the mix. Should be fun times all around.

Chapter 12: Deus Ex Wolves

Summary:

Arya and Jaime are in serious trouble. Luckily, they are not alone.

Notes:

Action is not my forte, so I hope this turns out okay ;)

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

 

“Well?” Jaime hisses at her. “I assume you have a plan?”

Arya ignores him, focusing on the leader. “You’re the brotherhood without banners, right?”

“Aye, we are. What’s it to you?”

She glowers at them. “I have business with your leader. Beric Dondarrion.”

Everyone stares at her, including Jaime. 

Then the outlaws laugh. The leader silences them. “We don’t follow ‘im no more. And that there.” He points to Jaime. “You think I don’t know ‘im? Blonde hair. Gold hand. Cripple. Didja think we’d just let the kingslayer go free?”

Jaime’s stare is unflinching. “If you know me, then you know what I’m capable of.”

“Yeah, I heard you were good once. Not so good with your left hand, now, are you.” His eyes flick to Arya. “I’m good with both, Sweetheart.”

Jaime surges forward, leveling his sword at the man’s throat. “Lay a hand on her and you’ll lose it.”

Arya gapes at the kingslayer. He’d taken almost nothing seriously since she’d met him. But now, the conviction in his tone is damn intimidating. Even the Brotherhood take pause.

“A bold bluff, Kingslayer,” the leader spits out.

“Who says I was talking about me?”

Then all hell breaks loose.

 


 

Before they could move, Arya unsheathes a knife and throws it at the leader’s head, burying it between his eyes. The man topples over, dead as he hits the ground. 

Jaime shoots her a look as he whips his sword around to block an incoming attack. “So much for chopping off his hand.”

Arya shrugs. “Wouldn’t have killed him. I improvised. Look out!” She lunges at another one aiming his sword for the kingslayer, thrusting Needle through his throat. As his knees buckle, she slices his throat for good measure before spinning around and ducking under the swing of another, shoving him in the side and knocking him to the ground where she slices his throat. Another comes barreling towards her, and she slices through his thigh. As he drops to the ground, she stabs him through the heart. 

Before she can even turn, pain slices through her side and she cries out as her attacker catches her sword hand and kicks her in the chest, sending her to the ground. 

She rolls out of the way before he can strike her again, but the movement causes her head to spin. 

Shit, she must be losing blood fast.

She looks up to her attacker just in time to see a sword thrust through his chest. Her attacker drops to the ground and Jaime Lannister stand in his place. He’s not there for very long, as he stands in front of Arya, protecting her, spinning to meet a new attacker.

Bloody hell, a one handed knight is in better form than I am

More of the rogue brotherhood slink out of the trees. There were too many of them now. Far too many for an injured girl and a crippled knight.

Suddenly, Arya hears a wolf howl in the distance.

Nymeria.

 


 

Jaime stares in disbelief as wolves break through the trees, heading straight for the brotherhood. The fastest knocks a man flat on his back and lunges straight for his throat, ripping it out and stifling his screams. The others are quick to follow his fate.

With the men distracted, Jaime turns to Arya. She is pale. Her entire right side is covered in blood and she sways in place.

“Come on,” he says softly, helping her to her feet. “We need to get out of here and get that wound looked at.” As loyal as these wolves are to their leader, he doesn’t trust them around a bleeding girl.

Arya nods, accepting his help. “My…horse…the pack had….supplies.”

Jaime has to stop himself from rolling his eyes. If that horse is even alive, it’s long gone by now. He hadn’t thought to pack healing supplies, himself. He does have a spare tunic, though. At the very least, he can stem the bleeding.

He grabs two before steering Arya away from the wolves chewing on the dead bodies of the brotherhood. Arya’s wolf is nowhere to be seen.

He watches the tree line warily as he leads them away.

 


 

Arya forces herself to breathe deeply through the pain of her injury. It stings like hell, but she doesn’t want Jaime to know that. 

He is strangely careful with her as he rests her against a tree not far from where they’d left the wolves. Having little choice, she helps him push her clothing aside to get a better look.

“It…doesn’t feel fatal,” she tries to assure him.

“It’s not. Yet,” he agrees as he folds his tunic and presses it to her wound. Arya holds it in place as he uses another to bind it to her. “But it will be if it’s not seen to properly. This’ll have to do until we can find supplies. Or better yet, a maester.”

He stands and helps her to her feet but then quite suddenly stills. 

“Get away from the girl, Lannister, or I’ll skewer you where you stand.”

Arya scrambles to her feet. She knows that voice. It’s a very familiar distinctive voice.

“Sandor?”

She gapes as she sees the face of her old captor for the first time since she left him to die.

Behind him, more familiar faces stand. Faces from her list.

The Brotherhood without Banners.

 

Notes:

Yay the real brotherhood is here! woohoo.
They'll be around for a while, too. As much fun as it is writing Jaime and Arya traveling together, I'm keen to start throwing some new characters into the mix.

Chapter 13: Murder in her eyes

Summary:

a confrontation with the brotherhood.

Notes:

Oii this chapter was not easy to write but we got there. Hopefully it'll be a little while before I get stuck again. lol.

Hope you like it :)

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

 

Arya is too stunned to move as the Hound grabs Jaime by the shoulder and slams him up against the trunk of a tree. The kingslayer grunts and coughs at the impact.

“Wait.” She rushes forward but with her head still spinning, she stumbles sideways instead. 

A rough hand is quick to steady her. “Easy, dangerous girl. You’re in no condition to keep fighting.” 

She scowls and tries to wrench her hand out of Thoros’ grip, but he holds tight.  “He's with me. Let him go.”

The Hound doesn’t listen to her. “Just what are you doing all the way out here, Lannister? And with the Stark girl, at that.”
 
Still smarting from the Hound’s assault, Jaime’s usual defenses fly up. “Concerned for her, are you? I didn’t know you liked them quite so young.”

He earns a fist slammed into his head for that comment and his head spins dangerously from the impact, his eyesight blacking out for just a moment. “Struck a nerve, have I?  Must have hit close to home then.”

“Keep yappin’, Lannister. I’ve wanted an excuse to rip your tongue out.”

Jaime coughs a laughs. “Feral as ever, I see. No wonder you like the Stark girl so much. Two peas in a pod, aren’t you.”

Another slam to the head.

“Stop it! You’ll kill him!” Arya screeches.

Then Beric Dondarrion steps forward. “That’s enough,  Clegane. Only the lord of light can judge him for his crimes. You can’t kill him here. ”

“What, this trial by combat bullshit again? If that’s what you’re waiting for then I’ll fight him here and now myself.”

“No!” Arya interrupted. “Don’t touch him!”

Thoros huffs a laugh. “Are you offering to be his champion, then?”

“To fight the Hound? No. But I’m going to kill the rest of you.”

Then, snarls erupt from the trees as wolves emerge onto the pathway, surrounding them. 

Nymeria’s pack.

Nymeria races out of the trees and tackles Thoros to the ground, snarling in his face and ready to rip his throat out.

“Still, Nymeria,” Arya calls. Then she turns to level a cold stare at Beric Dondarrion. “The kingslayer is mine,” she growls. “Let him go or Nymeria will rip your priest’s throat out."

“What do you care?” The hound snarls, keeping a firm grip on the kingslayer. “He’s a bloody Lannister.”

“I’m taking him north. If he is to face justice, it will be at the hands of the Starks.”

Beric considers her words thoughtfully. “That sounds fair to me.” He nods at the Hound who glares long and hard at Jaime before releasing him.

Arya doesn’t move for a long moment as she staring down at Thoros pinned beneath Nymeria.

He’s on her list. She could kill him right now. And Beric Dondarrion. She had taken the Hound off her list already. But the others….

“Arya.” 

She looks up at Jaime who shakes his head subtly.

Arya scowls but backs down. “Away, Nymeria,” she says, letting the men live. 

For now.

 


 

Arya is still looking at the Brotherhood with murder in her eyes. What in seven hells had they done to piss her off so much? Even he hadn’t earned a glare that bad. 

A question for a later time, he decides.

The wolves had all disappeared into the trees. All except the direwolf, of course, who has stuck to Arya’s side since she’d called it off. Arya herself still looks worryingly pale, swaying just slightly where she stands. She’s losing blood even through the bandaging and if they don’t see to it soon, she’ll get an infection for sure. 

Much as he doesn’t want anything to do with this Brotherhood, he can’t risk taking her much further with an open wound. Begrudgingly, he decides the only course of action is to ask for their assistance in the matter.

“So,” he starts, deciding to trust them. “Now that that’s settled, you may have noticed my companion is quite seriously wounded. As long as you’re here, you wouldn’t happen to have some healing supplies lying about, would you?”

“I’m fine,” the Stark girl hisses, but she very clearly is not.

It’s Dondarrion who answers. “We have a shelter nearby with the supplies you need. You’re welcome to it.”

“Much appreciated.”

“I don’t need their help,” she protests. 

Jaime rolls his eyes and is about to say something snarky when the Hound interjects. “Give it a rest, girl. You can go back to trying to kill us when you’re not bleeding all over the place.”

Arya’s glare is mutinous, but she doesn’t protest any further as they move out. 

As she passes Jaime, however, she punches him hard in the arm. 

“Oww! What was that for.”

“You know what for,” she growls.

Jaime hides a smile. He can’t say he didn’t deserve that.

 

Notes:

:)

Chapter 14: Protectors

Summary:

Jaime dodges Arya's protectors as he tries to patch her up.

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

 

The Brotherhood take them back to a shelter they’d taken refuge in. A fire is already smoking away, and Arya’s horse is there.

“How did she get here?” Arya asks.

The Hound answers. “It bolted our way. Thought you might want it back.”

“There’s healing supplies in the satchel,” Arya says. 

“I’ll get them,” Jaime says as he helps her to the fire before heading out to approach the horse. Arya’s direwolf sits herself beside her, placing its head in her lap and nuzzling at the temporary bandaging.

Jaime rolls his eyes as he leaves.

That wolf could cause problems.

 


 

He is on his way back to Arya when the Hound stops him, his eyes filled with suspicion and disdain. He passes Jaime a flask. “I don’t trust you, Lannister,” he growls.

“Probably wise,” Jaime agrees as he takes the offered flask. 

“If you do anything to harm that girl-“

"You'll kill me for it, I imagine. You needn't be so concerned.  You'd have to get in line behind her to do it." He’s curious to know how the Stark girl had come to earn the Hound’s loyalty, but he doesn’t bother asking. “In any case, I truly don’t mean her any harm. I swore an oath and, believe it or not, I actually mean to keep this one.”

The Hound snorts derisively, but he doesn’t comment on it. “What’s your plan for when you reach Winterfell?”

Jaime rolls his eyes. “Well, I suppose I could hold a knife to her neck and threaten to slit her throat unless the King in the North agrees to give up his ridiculous title.”

The Hound looks like he might knock him to the ground for even suggesting that so he holds his hands up in surrender. “Relax, Clegane. I have no designs on the north. Too cold and dreary for my taste. They can keep it for all I care. And even if I did have nefarious plans in mind, the Stark girl is sharp as Valyrian steel. She’d kill me in a heartbeat before I could get close enough to try anything.”

“Aye, she would,” the Hound agrees. There’s a strange note in his tone. It almost sounds like pride. Once again, Jaime finds himself curious to know how they came to know each other so well. He’d have to ask Arya later.

Not that she'd tell him if he did.

 


 

When Jaime returns with the healing supplies, Nymeria follows his movements with a low growl.

“Nymeria, it’s okay,” Arya says, sending her away. Nymeria never takes her eyes off Jaime as she gets up and moves to the other side of the fire.

Jaime watches her go before taking a seat beside Arya. “Thank the Hound for this,” he says, passing her the flask. 

“It’s not for drinking, stupid.”

“I know, but, you’ll want to. Trust me. It’s all we’ve got for the pain.”

“I can take pain. I’m tougher than I look.”

“That is saying something.”

Arya ducks her head to hide her smile.

“Nevertheless….” 

He offers her the flask again and she accepts it, taking a long swig before returning it to him. “So you’re really going to stitch me up? With that hand?”

“Would you prefer someone else do it?” He looks up for one of the Brotherhood.

Arya would prefer to do it herself, except that her head feels all fuzzy. The kingslayer has helped her stay alive so far. She can probably trust him. The rest of them…

“Fine,” she grits out. “It’ll scar no matter what.”

Jaime raises an eyebrow. “I somehow doubt that would bother you, my lady.”

“Don’t call me that," she scowls.

His lips twitch but he doesn’t say anything more, turning his attention to threading the needle. A near impossible task for someone with one hand. 

Arya watches him struggle for a little bit until it becomes too pathetic to endure. “Give it here” she snaps, snatching it out of his hand. “I really should just do this myself,” she mutters under her breath. 

“Really? And how’s your head?”

She glares at him as she passes the threaded needle back to him. He merely chuckles as he gets to work.

 


 

Arya wasn’t lying. She’s clearly in pain, yet she barely flinches as he stitches up her wound. She has a high pain tolerance. He’s not sure he wants to know where she acquired that.

“It’s funny… isn’t it?” She hisses the words out, tension in her jaw. “I’m sure you’ve… thought about killing some of my family.”

“One or two, perhaps,” he admits quite honestly. 

“I’ve thought about… killing a few of yours too. Now you’re stitching one up.”

“Yes. Funny world we live in, isn’t it.” He’s only half paying attention as he focuses on what he’s doing. “You could have let them kill me,” he adds.

“You could have let that… fucker finish me off.” 

Jaime cracks a smile. Her blunt tongue never ceases to surprise him. “Yes, well, saving young maidens is a bit of a reflexive habit.”

“I don’t need saving!” 

He smirks. “So you say. Still, letting you get yourself killed is hardly fulfilling my oath to your mother. She’d probably come back from the dead just to kill me herself.”

“Why do you care so much about my mother’s oath, anyway?”

He shrugs. “Comes with the title.”

Arya snorts. “Is that why they call you Oathbreaker-Ah!” 

He may have tugged that last stitch a bit too hard. The direwolf growls in warning from across the fire. “Apologies,” he mutters. “Truth be told, I’m not exactly fond of your father’s monickers.”

“Why? They’re true, aren’t they?”

“They are,” he concedes. “And if people knew the true story, they might not be so quick to curse me for that choice.”

“What’s the true story?”

He pauses and looks at her for a moment before going back to tying off her stitches. “Where did you learn to kill?” He counters instead.

Arya doesn’t answer.

Neither does Jaime.

 

Notes:

ha ha she tried it but Jaime's not nearly delirious enough for that conversation.

Till next time :)

Chapter 15: A Lannister, a Brotherhood, and a Hound walk into a...Hm

Summary:

Stop me if you've heard this one before.

Notes:

Jaime bonds with a bunch of Lannister haters.

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

 

It takes a long time for Arya to fall asleep that night, no matter how firmly Jaime impresses upon her the importance of resting if she wants to get to Winterfell any time this season. She doesn’t trust the brotherhood and protests the idea of sleeping in their company. 

But she finally manages it when the direwolf comes to lay beside her, and with the wolf there to ward off any potential threats, she is asleep in a matter of moments. 

Finally

Jaime wisely keeps his distance from the snarling direwolf and sits himself on the opposite side of the fire. He’d rather keep the one hand he has left. 

Dark had fallen not long ago and he's joined by the rest of the Brotherhood seeking shelter from the freezing night air. 

When he thinks about the present company he’s keeping, he can’t help but be amused. A band of notorious Lannister hating outlaws. A Lannister deserter. A vengeful Stark girl with a penchant for hunting Lannisters. Her savage pet direwolf. And him. The golden Lannister.

What a jape.

With nothing better to do and a severe allergy to awkward silences, Jaime falls into conversation with his strange new companions. 

 


 

It’s almost funny, really. He learns more about Arya in one night than he had in all the weeks they’d traveled together. 

He learns that she’d been a prisoner at Harrenhal for a time. He shudders to think what horrors she’d have witnessed there, especially considering it would have been under the Mountain’s control around that time. 

Not to mention his father’s. 

That thought amuses him endlessly. His father had had the missing Stark girl right under his nose and let her slip away. He would have had lesser men hanged for such incompetence. 

He learns she had been picked up by the brotherhood not far from there. That the Hound had been the one to give her identity away before kidnapping her to ransom back to her family, and that he had been a name on her list for a time. 

Jaime tries to picture the slip of a girl taking on the Hound and that thought almost gets a full laugh out of him. It’s ridiculous to picture. But he’d never put it past her to try.

But perhaps the most surprising little detail of them all, is the fact that she’d run into Brienne in the Eyrie.

 


 

“I’m sorry, you fought Brienne of Tarth?”

“Aye. The bitch near killed me too. She’s a damn good fighter, I’ll give her that.” 

Jaime’s jaw almost hits the floor hearing the Hound’s praise. 

“Well, what about Arya? Brienne would have insisted on escorting her to safety.”

“The Stark girl didn’t trust her because you’d decked her up in fancy Lannister armor. She ran away during the fight. Came back later to leave me for dead.”

“I’m surprised she didn’t finish you off. With the list and all.”

“Aye, I thought she’d do it too. She was ruthless enough even then.”


 

Jaime, in turn, gives in and tells them why he left King’s Landing and where he met Arya. Even looking back on it, he has no idea how he even ended up at the Crossroads in the first place.

“The red god has plans for us all,” Dondarrion says when he voices this thought out loud. “Perhaps Lady Arya is your guide north, where your true purpose lies.”

Jaime snorts a derisive laugh. “I’d have to believe in gods for them to command me. Which I do not. Not anymore.”

“They’re there whether you believe them or not. Just as the Lord put you on your path, he summons us north as well. You, too, will have a role to play in the coming war.”

Jaime has to fight against rolling his eyes. But this coming war piques his curiosity. “What war?” He asks.

Without even a lick of hesitation, Beric answers with, “the war for the living, Ser Jaime. The only one that matters.”

And Jaime is reminded of a nightmare. Of an advancing army of unending blue eyes, and Arya’s whispered words.

Winter is coming.

He shakes the thought out of his head. Bloody ridiculous. All of it.

 

Notes:

Oh, Jaime. One can only fight the inevitable for so long 🙃

Next chapter should be fun for him. Not.

Chapter 16: What She Sees

Summary:

Arya chats with Beric about the will of gods she doesn't even believe in.

Notes:

Last time, I believe I said this chapter would be fun for Jaime. That was a total lie. This chapter’s all about Arya. The "fun" for him begins next time when plans start to shift again. But the Turning Point for that does feature here.

Enjoy :)

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

 

It’s no surprise that when Arya wakes, she’s contemplating murder.

Her stitches itch and so she’s awake earlier than almost everyone else. 

With nothing else to do and little chance of getting anymore sleep… well, can you really blame her?

Two names on her list are right there. Fast asleep. Easy pickings. Well… one of them is asleep, at any rate. Thoros of Myr is passed out by the fire, probably still drunk, too. 

Like she said, easy pickings.

Beric Dondarrion, on the other hand, is still awake and alert. Honestly, Arya’s not sure he’s even capable of sleeping. With all the times he’s been brought back from the dead, things like sleeping and eating seem to matter very little to him now.

Dondarrion is a sharp man but… she’s willing to bet she’s faster. She could slit Thoros’ throat before the former lord even thought to move. And then when he does rise to defend his friend, she could slip past his defenses and eviscerate him. With his red priest dead, Beric Dondarrion would never rise again.

Two names crossed off just like that. It would be so easy.

And yet…

Something holds her back.

She knows not what.

 


 

“He is not as asleep as he looks.”

Arya starts at the sound of Beric’s voice. He’s looking straight at her, a knowing glint in his eyes.

“What?”

“Thoros. Drunk as he tends to behave, he never misses the sound of drawn steel. You can test that theory if you like.”

Arya had actually been thinking exactly that.

“He’s not worth it,” she says instead, only half believing it. 

“Are you sure? We did sell your friend away. Perhaps the gods brought you to us to have us atone for that choice.”

Arya scowls. “Wasn’t it your god that wanted him sold in the first place?”

Beric inclined his head. “He has plans for us all.”

“Then I don't want anything to do with your god or what he wants.”

At that Beric smiles. “You are already on your path, whether you know it or not.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“I cannot answer that for you. For us, his will lies north. What he wills of you is for him to reveal.”

“The only true god is death. I already know what to say to him.”

“They are one and the same, girl. The flames will show you true.”

 


 

She doesn’t want anything to do with the red god.

She has entirely different reasons for traveling north.

Jon.

She’s going home to Jon.

That’s funny. As she stares into the fire, she almost thinks she can see him. 

He’s older than she remembers him as, but it’s still unmistakably him. He has a true northerner’s beard, looking a lot like their father. Or what she remembers of him. His face is harder to recall now.  

Is this what Jon will look like when she sees him again?

She hopes so. Thinking of him now makes her heart clench. She misses him terribly. Misses her family. Her pack.

He has his sword drawn, fighting something. A great structure rises up behind him.

The wall. It has to be.

And then Arya sees something terrible.

A hoard of dead things all advancing towards Jon, and Jon has no one. He is fighting these things alone. And there’s so many of them. Too many. There’s so many, she can’t even see the end of their line. 

She gasps and looks up, the image disappearing at once.

Beric is watching her with a serious look on his face. “What did He show you?”

 

 

Notes:

Don't mind me. Just sewing the seeds.

NEXT TIME Arya is determined to get to Jon, even if it means changing course.

Chapter 17: a change of plans

Summary:

Arya changes course, much to Jaime's chagrin.

Notes:

Finally, we're injecting some direction into this thing. Hopefully you'll like where it's going :)

 

Also this chapter marks the 10,000 word point for this fic so that's exciting! Naturally, I had to make sure I hit it dead on because I'm particular like that ;)

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

 

The next morning, Jaime sees immediately that something is wrong with Arya. Not physically, he doesn’t think. She's moving around fine. 

But… her eyes look emptier than usual.

He’d been traveling with the Stark girl for some time now and, though she guards her emotions better than most, he is starting to pick up little tells. 

Her nose flares when she is angry. Her brow crinkles the slightest amount when she’s thinking about killing someone, and softens when she’s amused.

And when her face goes slack and her eyes unfocused, he knows something has upset her.

The question is, what?

 


 

Arya just glares at him when he finally asks, but Dondarrion explains. “The red god showed her a vision in the flames.”

“He didn’t show me shit,” Arya snaps. “It was probably a fever dream.”

Jaime cocks his head. “What did you see?”

Arya looks down at her hands. “Jon. He was beyond the wall, fighting an army of… dead things. With beady blue eyes.” She shudders. “There were too many of them. Hundreds of thousands at least.”

Jaime pales. “Blue eyes…”

Dondarrion straightens. “You’ve seen them too.”

He shakes his head. “I… No. Well, yes, I suppose, but it’s not real.”

“They are real. And they are coming for us all.”

“Living dead men don’t exist. It’s ridiculous.”

“I am living proof that they do.” He looks from Jaime to Arya. “Your brother was of the night’s watch. He will know this better than any of us.”

Arya looks stricken. “He’s in trouble. Do you think he’s at the wall?”

Dondarrion doesn’t answer.

But his silence is enough for Arya. 

Jaime recognizes her expression. He’s worn it himself in the past. There was a time when if he thought for a second his siblings were in danger, he would be after them in a heartbeat. 

So he’s not at all surprised when she lifts her head and says, “I’m going after him.”

“No,” he denies. 

“I don’t answer to you.”

“We're not going to the wall, Arya.”

“If that’s where Jon is, it’s where I’m going.”

“My duty is to get you safely home! Not see you gallivanting to your death.”

“Then go home! But I’m going after Jon, so if you are so set on my mother’s oath, you’ll just have to come with me.”

Jaime stalks away before he gives in to the temptation to throttle her.

 


 

It doesn’t take long for Arya to track him down. “What has you so spooked?” She sits down beside him.

“I’m not spooked!”

“Lie.” She smirks at him.

He suppresses a sigh. “Very well. But you won’t believe it.” 

She stares at him expectantly. 

He sighs. “Before I left King’s Landing, I had this… dream. Nonsense, really. I saw millions of blue eyed things marching towards me from a distance. What you saw in that fire… well, it was oddly similar. Add that to the fact that you also made an appearance in this dream and, yes, I suppose I am feeling rather unsettled.”

Arya’s brow furrowed. “I was in your dream?”

“You were.”

“But you didn’t even know who I was.”

“I know.” His lips quirk a smile. “That’s why I followed you at the Crossroads. I felt compelled to find out who you were.”

“Why was I there?” She asked.

“I don’t know. King’s Landing was reduced to rubble and… there you stood. You said something creepy and that was it.”

“What did I say?”

“Nothing I haven’t heard before,” he waves away. “Something about winter coming. The north remembers. That sort of drivel.”

“Are you sure I wasn’t trying to kill you?” That ruthless little glint has entered her eyes again.

“Fairly certain, yes. Though admittedly, you weren’t there long. Maybe you would have if I hadn’t woken”

“Maybe.” She’s now watching him carefully, scanning his features, perhaps weighing if he is telling the truth or not. 

“Well? Am I lying now?”

“No,” she says simply. “But it is a very strange truth.”

He huffs a laugh. “It is, indeed.”

They sit in silence for a moment before Arya speaks again. “I have to go to the wall. I can’t… if he is there, I can’t let him face those things alone. You don’t have to come with me. But I won’t change my mind.”

“I know.” And he should stay away. Only…. If these things are real - and he’s not saying they are - but if they are… what sort of knight would he be if he fled instead of fought?

He thinks of Brienne, then. She wouldn’t run. She would stand and fight, no question.

He looses a long breath. “And I’ve come this far already, haven’t I? If I turned back now, it’ll have all been for nothing.”

Arya looks away with a small smile.

 

Notes:

That's right, We're going to the Wall!!!

But you guys probably worked that out already. I wanted to give Jon and Arya some more time together so...to the wall they go :)

Also, there is definitely some mystical force pushing Jaime and Arya north but its really more of a three-eyed raven scheme than a red god one. That bird is such a nosy shit. lol.

Chapter 18: Pathetic

Summary:

Jaime won't shut up about Brienne. It's really annoying, actually.

Notes:

So I did tag this as including light Braime and Gendrya so that element is going to start appearing from here. Don’t worry, Jaime and Arya’s developing whatever is still chugging along but it just seemed a little disingenuous to the characters to NOT include the feelings for their respective others so…. yeah. Pray for them. They’ll need it.

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

 

Arya forces herself to squash down her desire to kill the Brotherhood as they travel north together. Every time she looks their way, she is reminded of Gendry and her rage bubbles to the surface.

She can’t kill them, though, because now they have a common goal.

To get to the wall.

To Jon.

If she gets them to the wall then Jon won’t have to fight those things alone. He’ll have help.

So she takes a deep breath every time her rage piques and reminds herself that Jon needs all the help he can get. 

And she pushes forward. 

 


 

She is beyond frustrated by their pace. 

They insist on traveling slow while she heals and she hates it. She doesn’t need their concessions. She’s perfectly capable of matching whatever pace they set. But even the Hound is not on her side about this and she’s tempted to abandon them and travel on her own.

At least then, she could get to Jon faster. 

The Hound rolls his eyes every time she complains. Jaime is only ever amused by her suffering. So is Thoros. And the rest of them make no comment. 

This is why she prefers to travel alone.

 


 

Jaime tries to distract her with stupid questions. Apparently they all sat around the fire having long conversations about her past, and now he’s back to his old habit of infuriating her by picking at her past and throwing pointed questions at her. 

He asks a lot about the lady knight, Brienne, and whenever he brings her up in conversation he just will not shut up about her.

Arya can sort of understand. She remembers Brienne. A tall woman in armor who learned to fight the way she always wanted to. Arya almost liked her, until she found out the woman was in Jaime Lannister’s employ. The way Brienne talked about the kingslayer with a respect Arya could never understand at the time. There’s no way she was trusting that woman.

Only now she’s traveling with the man himself and he speaks of her with just as much respect and reverence, if not more.  

It’s interesting. 

There’s a different light in his eyes when he talks about her. She doesn’t think he even notices he’s doing it, and it’s honestly a little pathetic. 

But she can’t help but pay attention to it.

And she’s not the only one who’s noticed. 

 


 

“I couldn’t get why he’s so damn invested in taking you north,” the Hound mumbles as they push on one day. “Now I get it. The man’s a lovesick idiot.”

Arya snorts a laugh. “At least he’s not pining after Cersei. I’d have killed him miles back if he started rambling on about her.”

“I will now, if it’ll shut him up. You should have dropped him off at Winterfell after all.”

“So that’s why he was so against coming to the Wall.”

Then Jaime pulls up alongside them. “What are you two sniggering about?” 

“Nothing,” they reply in unison.

 


 

When they camp for the night, Jaime brings her up again upon noticing the Hound’s missing ear.

“I’m really not surprised she bested him,” he says. “I fought her myself once. She’s stronger than most men. I’m more surprised she didn’t finish the fight.”

“Give it a rest, Lannister!” The Hound stands to leave. “If I have to hear one more word about the Tarth bitch, I’ll knock that tongue right out of your head.” Then he left.

Jaime blinks. “I haven’t talked that much, have I?”

Many of the Brotherhood snigger at him. Arya just rolls her eyes. “Pathetic,” she mutters.

“Excuse me?”

“I said it’s pathetic. We’re all used to you liking the sound of your own voice. But I think that’s the third time you’ve brought up your Brienne beating the Hound.”

Jaime gapes at her, looking truly outraged. “I….she’s not my Brienne.”

Arya scoffs. “Well what do you call it when someone gifts a woman with shiny, new, custom made armor, a fancy Valyrian steel sword, and a clueless squire?”

Her words silence him and Arya smirks when she sees him struggling to speak. “Like I said. Pathetic.”

“Well…” - he’s still struggling to think of what to say to her - “… you’re one to talk,” he finally settles on.

She frowns, confused. “What?”

“What’s the name of that boy the Brotherhood sold off to Stannis Baratheon? Gerrick?”

“Gendry.”

“Yes, that’s it.” He smirks at how quickly she corrected him “Don’t think I haven’t noticed the look on your face when he’s brought up. They’re on your list for that incident aren’t they? A list reserved for those who’ve hurt your family. So, is there something between you two?”

I could be your family.

“No. Now stop asking stupid questions.”

Jaime just laughs as she stalks away.

 

Notes:

:)

I didn't expect it to get so heavy-handed so soon but *shrugs* it was funny to write.

Chapter 19: The road to the Wall

Summary:

As Arya and Jaime continue on north, Jaime struggles to deal with the freezing cold while Arya worries about seeing Jon again.

Notes:

Hello! I’m alive!!!!

For those of you reading along, sorry for the long pause in updates. In my defense, it was Eurovision week and I was struggling to split my focus.

But I’m back now, and to make it up to you, I broke one of my rules and went over a thousand words. Just this once. Just for you. It’ll never happen again so I hope you enjoy it while it lasts. lol.

Anyway, this new chapter is a speed-run through the north because I just want them to get to the wall already and I don’t have much more for them to do on the road besides get there.

Enjoy Jaime hating the north :)

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

 

They are undoubtedly in the north now, and Jaime has never been more miserable in his life. Not even during his first trip to the frostbitten wasteland, and that is saying something. 

He’s not the only one complaining, of course. The Hound is constantly muttering under his breath every time the snow picks up. A few brotherhood members bemoan as well.

Arya stays silent as ever. Jaime wonders how she puts up with it. But then again, she’s hunched over her saddle, shivering, so perhaps the cold is even foreign to her now, after all her years in mysterious absence.

 


 

Arya is pretty much healed now and she’s eager to get back to top fighting form, only no one wants to spar with her in the cold.

Cravens.

It’d only warm them up faster, but she’s stuck practicing on her own.

Jaime is being a shit about it, like always. He thinks she shouldn’t train until her wound is actually fully healed.

“I’m not especially enthusiastic to sew you back up again,” is his reasoning.  

The Hound never wants to do anything. “Sparring’s for children. Go elsewhere for that shit.”

“Coward,” she calls him. 

He doesn’t rise to her bait. 

 


 

For the most part, the brotherhood has a knack for finding shelter. Even then, though, the cold is almost unbearable. The fire helps very little, though a little is better than nothing, he supposes.

He looks over the fire to Arya, curled up beside her direwolf. Jealousy sparks in him that she has her own traveling heat supply. The direwolf’s thick fur is probably warmer than the fire. 

The brotherhood sleep beside each other to stay warm. He’s a seasoned soldier so of course he’s familiar with the technique. 

He’s still bitter that Arya gets to exclude herself from that.

 


 

Arya notices Jaime fiddling with his golden hand the further north they travel. 

“You should take it off,” she tells him one evening.

Jaime startles at her attention. His expression morphs to a scowl. “I’d rather not.”

“Suit yourself. But the metal will only burn you if you keep it on.”

“Good thing the nerves are already burned away then, isn’t it.”

Arya stares at him. “Are you being stupid on purpose?”

“I’m not taking the hand off.”

He sounds like such a petulant child, that Arya drops it. Maybe he’s uncomfortable having his weakness exposed. She can understand that.

 


 

Arya’s probably right. It would be easier to handle the cold if he stopped wearing the hand. He’s not even sure why he’s so resistant to the idea. He doesn’t even like the thing. Hates wearing it. Hates the ostentatiousness. 

Still.

He can’t bring himself to pack it away. The hand is heavy and almost entirely useless. But at least it looks like a hand. Having nothing at all…. that would be far worse. Especially in his present company.

He still has some pride.  He can’t bring himself to show his weakness around this lot. Not now.

Not ever, either.

 


 

Arya has to reluctantly admit, there’s a benefit to traveling in a group.

They’re rarely bothered on the road. Any other travellers skirt around them and any potential threats probably don’t think its worth it.

That doesn’t mean there’s no trouble at all, however. Nymeria is enough to keep wild animals away but opportunistic thieves are another story. A few groups have tried to cause trouble during the night.

The first is easily dispensed when Nymeria wakes. 

The second is while she’s off hunting, so they’re on their own.

Good thing their group is entirely made up of seasoned fighters. Between the eight of them, the thieves are easily dispensed. Arya kills two before the rest decide fleeing is the smarter option. 

When she turns around, the brotherhood are all looking at her with raised eyebrows. “What?”

They go back to whatever they were doing as if they hadn’t just been caught staring at her. 

Jaime approaches her, suppressing a grin. “Don’t worry about them. They’re impressed, is all.”

“Why? I didn’t even do much.”

He shrugs. “Maybe they didn’t expect you to have it in you.”

“To do what?”

“Kill a man.”

He walks away, leaving Arya feeling confused.

 


 

Jaime almost wishes more thieves would attack them. At least it would break up the monotony and take his mind off the unrelenting cold. 

Brief entertainment does arise when the Hound finally gives in to Arya’s pushing for a sparring match. 

She’d been prickly ever since they fought those thieves off and the Hound had taken pity on her.

Jaime is at first conflicted between anxiety and anticipation at the thought of Arya fighting the Hound. It’s ambitious even for her. But he’s surprised to find her holding her own. She doesn’t even try to match his strength, and is a lot faster than his hulking brute form. 

Jaime realises very quickly that she had been holding back during their sparring matches a Lot more than she let on. He’s offended all over again but…. he has to admit she’s an excellent swordswoman. He wishes he had his right hand back so he could spar her for real.

Her match with the Hound is a draw to everyone’s surprise, though Jaime definitely sees gold exchange hands among the Brotherhood. 

Jaime shakes his head. He should learn to stop underestimating the Stark girl. 

She’s an opponent to be feared, for sure.


 

Arya begins to regret sparring with the Hound when the rest of the brotherhood won’t stop congratulating her for beating him. 

She didn’t even win. It had been a draw.

“I don’t understand,” she grumbles. “Haven’t they seen someone fight before?”

“Not a woman, not well,” Thoros replies. “You know we all remember you from when we picked you up the first time, right? Wild, vicious thing, you were. It’s good to see you’ve honed it, s’all. Thrived. Not many do. You managed.” He raises his flask to her. 

Arya looks away. 

Why is it such a big deal, anyway?

 


 

They’re about a fortnight out from arriving at the wall and Arya’s nerves build higher and higher with every step.

Thinking of Jon was the one thing that tethered her to her pack and to being Arya Stark. 

Does he think of her, too? Does he miss her? Or does he just think her dead?

Will he even recognise her, or is she too different now? 

Will he be happy to see her? Or disappointed with how she turned out?

He’d given her needle. Believed in her when no one else had. Told her to fight. But will he be sad to know she’s learned so much more now?

All these questions swirl around in her head and she can’t let them go.

They’re worse than any thoughts about her father. Her father’s dead. Any worries about him don’t actually matter in the end because he’s not here to see any of them through.

But Jon?

She’s a fortnight away from seeing him again, and now she’s unsure if he’ll even be happy to see her at all or if he’s given up on her entirely.

As these thoughts rage on inside her, she finds she dislikes being Arya Stark.

 


 

Something is on her mind, he can tell. She’s staring off into the fire again, seemingly unaware of her surroundings. 

She’s never actually unaware of her surroundings, of course, and she looks up immediately when he comes to sit beside her. 

“What’s on your mind?” He asks, curious.

“Nothing.”

“Lie,” he teases with a smirk. 

Arya’s eyes narrow slightly, but she doesn’t look away from the flames. He wonders if she’s just staring or if she’s hoping to see something there. 

“Looking for your brother?” He asks idly.

“No.”

His lips twitch at her quick answer. “You’ll see him again soon enough,” he tries to reassure her. 

Arya shrugs. “I’ve been close before. It’s never worked out.”

“Is that what’s bothering you?”

She ignores him and stares into the flames in silence

After a while, she says, “Have I really changed so much?”

“Undoubtedly.”

She frowns. “What if he doesn’t know me?”

Ah. Now he sees. “Well, you still look like you. That hasn’t changed.”

She shrugs. “He might not like what he sees.”

“He’s your family. He’ll be happy to see you alive at all.”

“Maybe.”

He doesn’t know what to say to that.

Arya continues watching the flames.

 


 

Arya’s nerves spike as she sees the wall rising in the distance.

Jon’s there.

“Stop it,” Jaime mutters from beside her.

“Stop what?”

“Stop fretting. From what I recall of Jon Snow, he’s ridiculously earnest. He’ll be happy to see you.”

Arya nods, though the nerves remain. 

Maybe he’ll be happy to see her, maybe he won’t. Maybe the wall will come crashing down and she’ll lose another sibling before she’d even found him.

As they get closer to the wall, a line of dark-cloaked figures block their path.

Or maybe this time I’m the one who’ll be killed first.

Notes:

Oiiiiii they're so close! They'll meet Tormund next chapter, but we're about a full chapter away from her reunion with Jon and...well, I'm sure you know who else.

Should be fun times all around!

Chapter 20: No one crosses the wall

Summary:

In the shadow of the wall, Arya and co are stopped by the night's watch.

Notes:

More characters to juggle....yay.....

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

 


Arya quietly observes the horsed men blocking their path to the Wall. They’re obviously of the night’s watch and yet…

These men look…. well, wilder, she supposes. Not dressed how she was told men of the night’s watch looked.

And she’s disappointed to note that none of them are Jon

They are led by a hulking, red haired man who looks even wilder than the Hound. He speaks first. “You all look a long way from home,” he says, a warning in his eyes.

Beric moves to the front to greet him. “I am Lord Beric Dondarrion, and these, the Brotherhood without Banners.”

“Speak for yourself,” the Hound growls out. Arya privately agrees with him but she keeps quiet for now, watching to see how this will play out. 

Beric ignores the Hound and continues speaking. “We are here to defend the realm from the looming threat beyond the wall.”

The leader’s brow shoots up at his admission. Whatever he was expecting, it’s clearly not Beric’s admission. “Are you, then? Never heard of your Brotherhood. Don’t much care, either. I am Tormund Giantsbane, and we, the freefolk, guard this wall by your king in the north’s command. You don't cross the wall without our say so.”

Arya startles at his mention of the king in the north. 

Jon.

They’re talking about Jon. 

Before she can question him about Jon, Thoros speaks up. “If you are from the realm beyond the wall, then you know the threat we speak of. We are your allies. And we mean to fight with you as is the will of the lord of light.”

“The lord of light?” Tormund repeats. “He one of your gods, then? If he were smart, he’d be telling you to run the other way with your tails between your legs. The only thing that’ll come of you crossing the wall is joining the dead. We can’t have that.”

“We are not your enemies,” Beric assures him. “We mean to fight with you.”

“Fight? You’d best hope it doesn’t come to fighting them. This wall is all that keeps them out. Be thankful it’s standing between you and them and leave it at that. Else we’ll just have to keep you here until you see sense.”

Arya’s heard enough. She’s seeing Jon again, even if she has to go through these men to do it.

That’s when Nymeria joins the fray. 

 


 

Everyone freezes in place as Nymeria snarls at the watchmen, waiting for Arya’s word.

“Arya,” Jaime hisses a quiet warning. “Don’t do anything stupid.”

She ignores him and surges forward to stand beside Nymeria and face Tormund, drawing her sword just in case. “If you know Jon, then you should recognise a direwolf when you see one. You might upset her if you don’t let us through to see him.”

Tormund raises an eyebrow, looking surprised by her words. “The crow? What’s your business with him?”

“He’s my brother, that’s what. I don’t give a shit about their red god. I’m just here for him.” Nymeria gives another growl in warning at her words.

Tormund’s eyes flick from Nymeria back to Arya, sizing them both up with curious eyes. “I’ve seen his sister. Pretty redhead. Kissed by fire. Doesn’t look much like you.”

The comparison to Sansa is not new for Arya, but it’s an old rub. She tries not to let it get to her. “Might be because I’m not Sansa. I’m Arya Stark of Winterfell, and I’m getting in to see Jon. If that means going through you first, then so be it.”

A long silence follows. 

Everyone stares at her for a long moment before Tormund throws back his head and laughs. “Just like the fucking crow. You’re his kin, alright.”

Arya’s eyes narrow. “Are you going to let us through, then?”

“We could,” he says, the amusement never fading from his eyes. “But the King Crow’s not here.”

Panic shoots through her at the thought. “What do you mean, not here? Where is he?” He has to be here. She knows he is. He has to be. 

Almost in response to her distress, Nymeria snaps at the watchmen as if their lives depend on the answer. Perhaps they do.

Tormund doesn’t miss Nymeria's warning. He grins, not even a little bit wary of the wolf’s threat. “Easy, now. Last I heard, he’s three days out.”

“He is coming, then?”

“Aye, he’s coming.” Tormund’s eyes flick dismissively over the others before looking back to her. “And any kin of the crow’s is welcome here. You can wait for him. But no one crosses the wall on our watch.”

Just like that, the tension in the air dissipates as quickly as it rose. Nymeria stops snarling and backs down.

Arya breathes a sigh of relief

“We’ll wait then.”

 


 

Jaime can’t believe that worked. A man like Tormund Giantsbane didn’t seem like the sort to let things go lightly.

He expected a fight when Arya surged ahead to challenge him

The gall on this girl. 

But it worked.

As they’re led to Castle Eastwatch, Jaime imagines what his past altercations might have been like if he’d had Arya there to argue for him. 

“You know, one of these days that smart tongue of yours is going to get you killed,” he says quietly.

Arya side-eyes him. “Not if I keep killing them first.”

Jaime grins. 

She’s got a point.

 

Notes:

Tormund is not as familiar to me as some of the other characters and has such a distinctive personality that he's very hard to write. Same for the Hound actually. But also literally every time its time to introduce a new character my brain just goes "ah, fuck" and freezes for a bit. lol.

Anyway, this is mostly just the serious side of Tormund, we'll get to see his humorous side a bit later. Hopefully. Maybe.

Chapter 21: Jon

Summary:

Jon returns to the wall and is reunited with his long-lost sibling

Notes:

This chapter I am introducing a Rare Jon POV

YAAAAAYYYY.

There won’t be many of these but the occasional sporadic sighting might pop up from time to time.

This chapter is alll about the Arya & Jon reunion. We’ll get to the rest later.

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

 

Jon has mixed feelings about being back at the wall. This place had been his home for so long, it feels a little like returning home again. And yet…

He also feels a tight bitterness to be back. He’d been betrayed here. Died here. He's eager to get this thing over with. He doesn’t want to be beyond the wall any longer than he has to.

Tormund is waiting at the docks when Jon departs his ship. “King Crow!” His old friend greets him, embracing him firmly. “What brings you back here? Get sick of running your southern kingdom?”

Jon suppresses a smile. “Sometimes, but that’s not the true reason I’m here,” he says as they walk back towards Castle Eastwatch. “There’s to be a meeting with the great houses of Westeros in a moon’s turn. I need proof the white walkers are real if I’m to convince them to put their wars aside and fight with us.”

“This doesn’t sound like something I’ll like,” Tormund says warily.

Jon sighs. “Aye, you might be right about that.”

It’s good to see Tormund again. Jon’s found that between his duties as the north’s king, he’s missed his friends at the wall.

 


 

Before Jon can get straight to it, Tormund knocks his world off kilter with a simple sentence.

“Oh, also, your sister showed up here three days past with a bunch of southern escorts. Said she’d wait for you here.”

“My sister?” He repeats, his brow furrowing. That doesn’t sound like her, he thinks. What would Sansa want at the Wall?

“Aye, mightn’t have believed her if she wasn’t just like you. Only wilder. Gets this look in her eyes like she might carve your face off if you get too close.” He barks a laugh. “Got the blood of the true north in her, that one.”

Jon quite suddenly forgets how to breathe. Tormund surely is not talking about Sansa. But that couldn’t possibly mean…

He shoves Tormund away to stop the man’s laughing. “What are you on about? My sister’s at Winterfell.” 

“No, no. Not the one kissed by fire. The little, wild one. What’s her name? Arra.”

“Arya,” Jon sputters to correct him. He’d never told Tormund about Arya.
 
It can’t be true. He’d forced himself to face the fact that Arya had died. There’s no way she could be here now… after all this time?

He stumbles away from Tormund. “Where is she?”

“Hm?”

“This girl you claim to be my sister? Where is she?”

Tormund’s brow furrows as he seems to take in Jon’s reaction for the first time. “Don’t know, to tell you true. Thought she’d be here to greet you, the way she demanded we let her in.” He laughs again. “Threatens just like you, she does. I like this one.”

“Tormund!”

“Whoa, easy King Crow. She’ll be around somewhere. Always disappearin’ and reappearin’ when it suits her.”

Well, that does sound just like Arya, actually. But he can’t…

He can’t let himself hope.

 


 

Jaime finds Arya loitering at the top of the wall. “You do know your brother is here.”

Arya narrows her eyes but doesn’t look his way. “I know. I saw him.”

“You saw him,” he repeats with heavy sarcasm. “That’s it? An entire revenge plot turned around just to catch a glimpse of him?”

“What do you care?” 

He shrugs. “I don’t, particularly. I’m quite content to hide away up here just like you. But I don’t think that’s what you want.”

“Not now that you’ve ruined it,” she spits out before stalking away. 

Jaime just smirks, watching her go.

 


 

Arya’s heart falters when she spies him crossing the courtyard. 

He’s so close. So Close. She can see him. She can run and touch him. She didn’t get to Robb and Mother in time. She hasn't seen a single member of her family since she’d fled King’s Landing, and now…

Her whole body twitches as if to run straight to his arms, but…

She doesn’t know if she’s welcome there anymore.

She takes a deep breath and steadies herself.

You are a Stark of Winterfell. He’s your pack. He won’t have forgotten that. 

She takes a step towards him.

“Jon?”

 


 

The sound of his name is enough to stop him in his tracks, and he swivels to face her, feeling numb as though he’s just heard a ghost speak, and he staggers backwards, feeling like the gods had punched him in the gut with the face of his long lost sister.

She looks so grown up now, though not much taller. She’s grown into the long face she’d despaired in her childhood. She’s dressed in men's leathers, just like she always wanted, and he’s sure that’s Needle strapped to her hip.

Even after all this time, she’s held onto it, he thinks with an internal smile.

Her grey eyes, so like his own, are sharper than steel as she looks back at him with a wary hesitance in her expression. Waiting for him to move first.

There’s a guarded quality to her she never had as a child, but still. It’s undeniably his little sister.

“Arya,” he breathes out, taking a step towards her. 

That’s enough for Arya to break her stillness and she runs straight to him, launching herself into his arms just like she used to.

Jon can’t help but laugh as he accepts her into his embrace. 

 


 

Arya feels a rush of elation as she’s accepted into Jon’s arms as if they’d never parted. She feels stupid for ever having worried he wouldn’t be happy to see her.

Jon holds onto her like he might never let her go. Arya buries her face in his shoulder, feeling truly safe for the first time in a long time. She’d kept herself moving for so long, never sure if she would ever actually see any of them again.

She’s still so far away from Winterfell and yet here, in her brother’s arms, she feels like she’s finally come home.

 

 

Notes:

*The Stark theme swells in the background*

“Oh, by the way, here’s the Kingslayer, the Hound, and the Brotherhood without Banners. Hope you don’t mind that I’ve sort of adopted them all” - Arya at some point, probably.

Chapter 22: Familiar Faces

Summary:

Arya sees a ghost while Jon learns his sister has picked up a few strays on her way home.

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

 

Arya could stay in the safety of Jon’s arms forever, but a commotion from the training grounds catches their attention. 

They reluctantly break apart but Arya’s not ready to step away yet. “You’re really here,” she murmurs.

Jon smiles. “And you. I worried you might not make it back.”

“We’re both survivors, then.”

Jon looks up at the sound of more shouting from across the courtyard. “I should probably see to that.”

“I’ll come. This is probably my fault anyway.”

He gives her a curious look but doesn’t ask as they check out what, or who, has caused the disruption.

 


 

Arya hears the voices before she sees the commotion, but even that is enough to stop her in her tracks.

No, it-

it can’t be.

“All you lot do is lie and cheat! Now you’re poking around here looking to cause more grief, I know it.”

But she knows that voice. The voice of someone she thought long dead, yet... He looks different with his hair shaved, but she would recognise him anywhere.

Gendry.

As he draws his Warhammer, Jon finally steps in.

“ENOUGH!” His commanding tone easily calls everyone to attention. 

That’s the moment when Gendry’s familiar blue eyes land on her and his face goes white as a sheet as Arya almost stumbles back a step, unable to believe her own eyes. 

“Arry?” Gendry almost whispers. Everyone hears it, though, and turns to look at her. 

A hurricane of memories and emotions rage in her head, all of which come to a screeching halt at the sound of that name. 

She’s missed him. But…

I could be your family.

You wouldn’t be my family. You’d be m’lady.

The weight of everyone’s eyes on her is suddenly all too much.

"I... I can't..." She staggers backwards and walks away.

 


 

As Gendry moves to follow after Arya, Jon is quick to pull him back. “I don’t think so.” He turns to face the rest of the gathering in the courtyard. “One of you explain. Now.”

Of course, that’s when everyone decides to explain all at once. Jon struggles to make sense of any of the noise offered his way, let alone the people they belong to. He doesn’t recognise most of the men in the courtyard, but he does know they certainly don’t belong at the wall. 

What- is that the Hound?

Is that Jaime Lannister?

This is all almost too much for Jon to process as he tries to make sense of the answers thrown his way.

The brotherhood without banners.

Selling Gendry to a red witch.

Their plan to cross the wall.

He shakes his head and calls them to attention again. “Alright, alright, Enough!” He turns to their leader, Beric Dondarrion. “You truly mean to cross the wall and face the dead?”

Lord Beric nods. “The lord of light has sent us to aid you in your plight. We simply follow his will.”

“Right,” Jon nods, though he has trouble believing them. He turns his attention to the kingslayer with a raised eyebrow. “And you, Lannister? As I recall, you don’t much care for stories of grumpkins and white walkers beyond the wall.”

The kingslayer shifts uncomfortably where he stands. “I don’t. I am merely fulfilling a duty to your sister.” He mumbles the words as if hoping they might go unheard.

Jon's fists clench white, but the answer confuses him even further. 

It appears almost every man in this yard has some history with the very sister he thought dead not even an hour’s past.

Arya, he curses inwardly. Better have a good explanation for this.

 


 

Arya is usually an expert at hiding when she doesn’t want to be found. So she’s annoyed when Jon happens upon her fairly easily. 

She doesn’t look at him as he stands and watches her twirl Needle around in her hand, going through various water dancing poses. 

“That’s good form. Where did you learn it?” He asks conversationally.

Arya lowers Needle. “Father found a water dancing master to teach me. I kept it up while on the run.”

“I’m glad you had means of protecting yourself.” 

She smiles, if a little reluctantly. 

“Listen,” he continues and she exhales, going back to her practicing.

“I don’t want to talk about it,” she mutters, focusing on her footwork. 

“Tell me about Jaime Lannister, then.”

“What?” She fumbles the steps, caught off guard by the question. “Oh. Him. Don’t worry about him. He has an annoying habit of following me around. You’ll get used to it.”

“Why.”

“Sometimes he makes himself useful.”

“No, I mean why has he made a habit of following you around?”

She shrugs. “Guilt, probably. And something to do with my mother.” 

“Do I need to be worried about him?”

She drops her form and turns to face Jon, giving up on practicing alone. “No. I already promised to kill him if he tries anything.“ 

Jon’s lips twitch. “You threatened the Kingslayer?”

She raises her chin, almost defiantly. “Yes. I don’t think he believed me either at the time, but he does now." She sheathes her sword, hesitating for a moment. “I’ve met a lot worse than Jaime Lannister. You really needn't be worried.”

“You trust him?” 

Arya snorts. “No. But I believe him. He’s a shit liar.”

Jon watches her warily for a moment. “I’ll trust you, then." After an awkward pause, he adds, “and do you want to talk about Gendry?”

She scowls and turns away from him. “I think I’m done training for today.” 

“Wait,” he says before she can go anywhere. “I won’t pressure you, if you don’t want to talk about it. There’s actually something else I wanted to discuss.”

She tries not to let her curiosity show on her face. “What’s that?”

“The reason I’m here in the first place. I am happy to see you, Arya. And I wish we had time to catch up, but I have business beyond the wall.”

“I know.” She exhales, turning back to him. “Tell me.”

 

Notes:

ahahaha as if I'd give Arya two happy reunions in a row. One's already pushing it. lol.

Gendry has his work cut out for him, but he's just as stubborn as she is so don't count him out just yet.

Chapter 23: That idea is just the worst

Summary:

Arya and Jaime discover Jon's plan. It does not go down well.

Notes:

As much as possible, when I'm writing I try to avoid putting my own thoughts and feelings on a situation into the mouths of the characters unless it sounds like something they would think anyway.

This chapter, though, is an exception to that rule, as Arya and Jaime’s first two snapshots are basically me on this whole suicide squad mission. I thought it was funny, and I couldn't help myself.

Enjoy :)

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

 


“You want to track down this unstoppable wight army.”

“A small part, yes.”

“And catch one.”

“Yes.”

“Just one.”

Yes, Arya.”

“And bring it back South.”

“One won’t be much of a threat here.”

“And you really think that will convince Cersei to lay down her arms and accept a truce.”

“It’s our best chance. And we need her men.”

Silence hangs between them. “That might actually be the dumbest idea I’ve ever heard.”

Jon rolls his eyes. “It’s a long shot, I know. But it’s all we’ve got.”

Arya lets out a sigh and smiles. “When do we leave?”

 


 

“He wants to what?”

“I know. I told him it was stupid.”

Jaime shakes his head. “Just about the worst idea, really. What is he thinking?”

Arya shrugs. “It’s better than going down there on just his word. He’d only sound mad.”

Jaime snorts a laugh. “As opposed to now?”

“Hey!” She whacks him lightly. “Don’t talk about him that way.”

“Why not? We’re in agreement, aren’t we?”

“He’s still my brother.”

He sighs. “Very well.” He pauses. “You’re not actually considering going on this suicide mission, are you?”

Arya stubbornly crosses her arms. “Someone has to keep them alive.”

 


 

What do you mean, not going?!?!

Jon winces as Arya’s shriek carries through the entire castle. “I can’t allow it knowing how dangerous it is out there.”

“I know danger, Jon. I’ve faced plenty of it. I can handle myself out there just fine. You helped see to that.” She put a hand on Needle’s hilt to make her point.

“This isn’t about what you can handle. You just got home, and there’s every chance this plan will fail and we die trying.”

“All the more reason I should go with you.”

“No. You’re not going. My decision is final.”

 


 

While everyone is hurrying about preparing to cross the Wall, Arya watches on from the shadows. 

Jon can’t seriously expect her to just sit and wait for him to come back. There’s no way she’s letting him risk his life without her there to make sure he comes back alive. 

But she also knows there’s no forcing her way in on this one, so instead she contents herself with waiting for an opportune moment. 

She’s glowering at Jon as he crosses the courtyard deep in conversations with his hand, Ser Davos, when Gendry crosses her eyeline and her heart suddenly falters in her chest.

She doesn’t know how to talk to him anymore. It used to come so easy to her but now the thought of running up to him fills her with a strange sense of anxiety.

All the same, she’s tempted to ask him just what he thinks he’s doing, coming here to cross the wal with Jon. She wants to smack some sense into him, but she’s pretty sure it wouldn’t make any difference. Stupid bull.

Even worse, she doesn’t even know why she cares enough to be angry at him for it in the first place.

 


 

It’s Jaime who notices her first and approaches her.

“I can understand his thinking,” he says idly. “There’s not a chance in any hell I’d let my sister walk into such danger if I could help it.”

Arya’s expression steels. “You don’t want to be reminding me of your sister right now, Lannister.” The threat of murder is clear as day in her eyes. 

Jaime holds up his hands in surrender. “Alright, put your claws away. I simply meant that it’s to be expected he’d want to keep you protected from danger.”

“I don’t need to be protected. I can fight my own battles.”

“You’ll have a hard time convincing him of that when it’s his instinct to look out for you.”

“It’s not right,” she mumbles, her voice cracking with emotion she’s trying and failing to suppress. “I didn’t learn all of this just so I could be left behind again when it’s needed most. He needs me there.”

“He doesn’t need you there.” Arya turns to him sharply, but he continues on before she can say anything. “If this plan goes to shit, one extra person isn’t going to make a whit of a difference. He’s a seasoned soldier. They all are. The only thing you can do now is trust them.”

Arya turns away from him, not wanting to hear sense right now. “I don’t care. I have to be there.”

“Arya.” They both startle at the sound of Jon’s voice. Arya curses herself for letting him sneak up on her without her noticing.

“Can we talk for a moment?” he asks her slowly as he looks from Arya to Jaime with heavy suspicion in his eyes.

Arya’s expression hardens. “Only if you’ve changed your mind.” He hasn’t and they both knows it, so she walks away.

 


 

Jaime curses Arya for leaving him with her brother. He’d been doing his best to avoid the Stark bastard’s attention, and now he’s stuck in the centre of it. 

“Will you be coming with us, then?” Snow asks, his tone hardened.

Jaime hesitates. “I can’t say I’m enthusiastic to embark on such a fool’s errand.”

“I didn’t think you would. But as long as you’re here, you might as well make yourself useful. I can’t deny your word would be more convincing to Cersei than mine.”

Jaime can’t stop himself from snorting. “You’d be surprised. Right now, she’d probably deny me out of pure spite.”

“It still makes for a stronger argument if I have you to vouch for it. And besides that, Arya might tolerate having you here, but I don’t trust you near enough to leave you behind. We’re moving out in an hour.”

Jaime bristles at the the boy’s order, but… he also finds himself mildly impressed by the bastard’s resolve. “Very well. The trek alone has to be warmer than sitting still.”

“Not where we’re going, Lannister.”

He could swear Jon Snow almost looks amused as he walks away, leaving Jaime with that rather ominous thought.

 

Notes:

So naturally Jon doesn't want her to go, but like that's ever stopped Arya before ;)

Chapter 24: Moving Out

Summary:

Jon's crew move out. Jaime questions his life choices and Arya is still bitter about being left behind.

Notes:

Apologies for the delay in updating. Some of this fic is pre-written in advance and some of it is made up as I go along. lol. My brain jumps around all over the place, but it's getting there.

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

 

Jaime spends the next hour regretting and questioning his decision to go along with Jon Snow’s quest.

Typical of him, really, that he agreed to it so readily without thinking things through. He should really do something about that reflex. Preferably before it gets him killed.

It’s just so ridiculous. White walkers. Living dead men. Fairy stories and children’s tales, nothing more. 

And yet.

He and Arya had both seen the same blue eyed army marching south. So had the brotherhood. And Jon Snow doesn’t seem the type to succumb to mad ravings and hallucinations. So if such an army exists… he wants to know. Wants to be prepared. 

It’s the soldier in him, he thinks. He’d say the honour in him but he doesn’t have much of that left these days. Unlike Brienne, who has honour coming out of her ears. If she were here, he’s sure she wouldn’t even hesitate to join the Stark bastard’s suicide mission.

Jaime would rib her for it for days, but feel compelled to follow her anyway, grudgingly respectful of her character. Among other feelings he’s quick to quash as the Stark bastard rounds up his crew, ready to depart.


Here we go.

 


 

Everyone makes a point of coming over to check on Arya before they leave and she hates the attention. Jon tries to talk to her again, but she doesn’t want to hear it. 

“You’re not missing out on anything exciting, trust me. We’ll be back before you know it. ” 

“Just go,” is all she says. Jon looks dismayed but leaves her alone.

The Hound also pauses in front of her, eyeing her suspiciously like he knows she’s up to something. “That wolf of yours around?” He asks, startling her with the question.

“Yes. She came back about an hour ago.”

The Hound nods. “Might want to keep it nearby.”

Arya blinks, almost touched by his concern. 

Jaime is the next to approach her. She definitely does not appreciate his pitying gaze. “Here to lecture me again?”

Jaime grins. “All the lectures in the world won’t stop you from doing something stupid. Just be careful.”

She looks up at him, then. “If he dies while I’m not there…” she doesn’t even know how to finish that sentence, the thought is so unbearable to her.

“I know. You don’t have to explain. I’ll do my best look out for them. You have my word.”

Arya’s first instinct is to rail against him, ask him what his word is worth when he’s little more than a crippled foot soldier. But the genuine look in his eyes causes the bitter words to freeze on her tongue.

She offers him a nod instead. “Try not to get yourself killed while you’re at it.”

“Sound advice, my lady. I’m truly touched by your concern.”

“Shut up.”

He just laughs and walks away.

Arya catches Jon’s ever watchful gaze and holds it for a moment before turning away, only to come face to face with Gendry.

She startles. “What are you doing here?” She blurts out.

Gendry winces. “I only wanted to…. I know you wanted to come with us, so I just…” he sighs. “I guess I just wanted to see you before we left. You know. In case we don’t come back.” He tries for a laugh, but Arya can see that he’s nervous.

“No one’s forcing you to go,” she says. 

“I know. But it’s the right thing to do. Figured I could at least look out for Jon when I couldn’t…”

He looks at her for a long moment with a softness that makes her uncomfortable. She breaks eye contact first.

“Anyway,” he continues. “I just wanted you to know, even if you’d rather I not be here… I’m glad to see you alive. When I heard about the red wedding, I thought….” He shook his head with a grimace. “I’m just… glad you’re alive. That’s all.”

Despite how unsettled it made her to see him again, she softens at his words.

Gendry nods and goes to walk away.

“Gendry,” she calls him back. He turns his head back to her. “I’m glad you're alive, too.”

He smiles before continuing on his way.

 


 

Ser Davos stands beside her as they watch the search party move out. She hasn’t had much to do with Jon’s hand since they all got here. He seems like a good man. Steeped in principle like Jon. But not much of a fighter. Jon’s tasked him with keeping an eye on her, but as Arya sizes him up, she’s confident he won’t be much of an obstacle.

“Don’t be too worried,” the old knight says to her quietly. “Your brother has survived a lot worse than this. He’ll come back.”

“I know,” she says.

I’ll make sure of it.

 


 

As the great doors open, Jaime catches Arya’s eye once more as she watches them with a steely expression. His promise to her echoes in his mind. 

Another impulsive move on his part. He has no business making such promises, especially to a Stark. He’s fairly certain she’s only going to try something incredibly stupid regardless. 

But one look at the distress on her face and he felt the instinct to assuage it. And now he’s saddled with keeping Jon Snow alive.

Oh, Jaime, he thinks as he takes his first steps beyond the wall. When will you ever learn?

 


 

Arya slams the door to her chambers, anger still coursing through her. Deep down, she knows Jon means well. He’s just trying to protect her. But she can’t shake the thought that he’s leaving her behind because she’s not good enough.

After everything she’s learned, it’s still not enough to protect her pack.

As her eyes dart around the room, her attention catches on something glittering on her bed. 

It’s a sword. 

Made of dragonglass. 

Gendry had made these for Jon’s crew. Had he really left this for her?

She picks it up, testing it in her hands, and smiles. 

 

 

Notes:

Jon to Arya: Please be the little sister who used to listen to me and stay behind where it’s safe.

Everyone else: So anyway, here’s a wight-killing sword and a Nymeria. At least be careful if you’re going to do something stupid.

They all know. Even Jon, somewhere in the back of his mind, he just doesn’t want to face it. lol.

Chapter 25: Where the boys are

Summary:

On their trek beyond the wall, Jaime's not sure what's worse. The weather or the company he's keeping.

Notes:

Some of you have probably been waiting for Jaime and Tormund to have a scene together so…. HERE IT IS! You’re welcome :D

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

 

It’s fucking freezing beyond the wall. And that is a gross understatement of how fucking freezing it actually is. 

Jaime, in all of his southern naivety, thought there couldn’t be that much difference between the cold of the North and the cold beyond the wall. It’s all the same thing, was his foolish, foolish thinking.

He was wrong. 

He’d never complain about the North’s cold ever again after experiencing this fresh hell. He can barely put one foot in front of the other, he’s that frozen through. 

“How the fuck can anyone stand to live in this godsforsaken cold,” he mutters as he keeps going, refusing to slow his pace. If everyone else here can trudge on despite the freeze, so can he. 

The Wildling, Tormund, hears him though and chuckles. “You get used to it,” he says cheerfully. “I’d take this cold over your stinking south any day.”

Jaime bristles at that. “Have you ever actually been south?”

“I’ve been to Winterfell,” he shrugs.

“Winterfell is not the south,” Jaime says like it’s the most ridiculous idea he’s ever heard. 

Winterfell. In the South

“It’s all south to us. Stinks all the same.”

…... Jaime can’t exactly argue with that. 

 


 

He should not have fallen into conversation with Tormund. Now the surprisingly chatty wildling won’t leave him alone.

“So. Lannister. You’re the southern queen’s brother?”

Jaime clenches his jaw. “I am.”

“The one she fucks?”

He hisses an exhale through his teeth. “The one and the same. Though obviously not right this moment.”

“Are you thinking about it, then? Fucking her?”

Jaime rolls his eyes. “Why would I be thinking about that now?”

“Most I know think about their next fuck on their travels. Especially when it’s hard to come by, like now. So. Are you?”

“No. I am not thinking about fucking my sister. I haven’t for a while, actually.” He doesn’t know why he feels the need to justify himself to a wildling, but it’s true. These days, whenever Cersei comes to mind its alongside imaginings of wildfire. 

He suppresses a shudder just thinking about it. 

“Ah, well, you’ve got the little wolfling now, don’t you?”

“Excuse me?”

“The Crow’s sister. Bit tiny for what I like, but she’s got the wildling spirit in her. I get the appeal.”

He feels strangely prickly about this turn in the conversation. “That wolfling would gut you if you ever got close enough to try,” he growls.

Tormund’s eyes only light up at the threat. “I know. Reminds me a little of my woman. Only smaller.”

That almost stops Jaime in his tracks. “You have a woman?” 

Tormund smiles. “Aye. A great beauty waiting for me at Winterfell. Yellow hair. Blue eyes. Tallest woman you’ve ever seen.” 

That does stop Jaime in his tracks. He turns to Tormund, eyes narrowed. “You mean Lady Brienne?”

Tormund’s eyes go wide. “You know her?”

“I do. Well enough to know she’s certainly not your woman.”

“Well, not yet,” Tormund admits. “But I’ve seen the way she looks at me.”

With disgust, no doubt. Jaime rolls his eyes, picturing the exact look Brienne would throw at this wildling. “I can imagine,” is all he says.

“But think of the babies we’ll make. Great big monsters that’ll conquer the world.”

Jaime stops and rounds on Tormund. “Lady Brienne would never forsake her honour for the likes of you. I suggest you stop speaking of her in such a manner.”

“I don’t mean any disrespect,” Tormund backtracks, clearly startled.

“Then stop talking before you force my hand.”

“Oi!” The Hound intercedes. “knock it off, you lot!” He shoves Tormund away from Jaime. “You can squabble over the woman later when we’re back behind the wall.”

Tormund looks confused as his eyes go from the Hound to Jaime. “She’s yours?”

Jaime’s jaw tightens. “No. She’s not.” His heart clenches as he says it. 

“So you’re out to steal her, is that it?” Tormund advances on Jaime like he wants to kill him.

The Hound pulls him back. “I said knock it off.” He shoves Tormund again pushing further on.

The two men lock eyes, though, and Jaime has a feeling this is far from the end of it.

 


 

What’s worse, Jaime muses as he trudges along behind Jon Snow. Being stuck next to Brienne’s new suitor or Arya’s bastard brother?

Snow has actually said very little, but he glances over at Jaime with contempt that Jaime is sad to admit does actually make him squirm. 

He bristles at the blatant mistrust. If anything, Snow should be damn grateful to him for ensuring Arya made it to the Wall safely and in one piece. 

And yet, all Snow does is throw him looks of contempt the entire way. “Just spit it out, already,” he snaps, wanting to get the confrontation over with.

“Nothing to say, Lannister. Just keeping an eye on my enemy. It wouldn’t be the first time you’ve stabbed a king in the back.”

Jaime’s grin is sharp. “I would be highly surprised if a son of Ned Stark is capable of a transgression severe enough to warrant that particular action.”

“There’s nothing stopping you from trying it. You’re not even sworn to protect me.”

Oh, but I am,” he mutters, still bitter about that slip up.

“What?” Jon Snow looks genuinely clueless.

“Nothing. Rest assured, my sword will be guarding your back, not impaling it. You have your sister to thank for that.”

Jon’s eyes narrow. “What exactly are your intentions towards her?”

“Nothing nearly so sinister.”

“Really? If you were me, and you noticed a man twice your age sniffing around your little sister, what might you think?”

Jaime looks skyward in exasperation. “I have never approached your sister in that way. I am fulfilling a duty, nothing more.”

Jon stares at him, weighing Jaime’s words much the same way Arya does. “Good. Keep it that way,” is all he says before trudging on ahead.

Jaime exhales. This is going to be a long road.

 

 

Notes:

I have been rewatching waaayyy too much Grey's Anatomy recently and this end little bit is very loosely somewhat inspired by Mark and Derek in season 5 just before the former develops a thing for Lexie and Derek is all like "Don't" >:(

And then, obviously, Mark does.

We're still sowing the seeds, if very slowly. There's a long way to go yet ;)

Chapter 26: An undead what-now?

Summary:

It's all doom and gloom until the undead bear attacks.

wait

Notes:

action scenes..... the bane of my existence. lol.

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

 

Only an idiot or a madman would march through a storm. 

Those are his father’s words rattling around in his head as they trudge through the worst conditions Jaime’s ever had the misfortune of experiencing. 

Yet they are on a time crunch in a place supposedly infested with dead things so stopping and waiting it out isn’t really an option.

And so onward through the snow storm they march, like a pack of idiot madmen.

It’s not the storm itself that is pressing on Jaime’s mind, though. It’s the fact that he can’t see ten feet in front of him. They could be going the wrong way. They could be heading into a trap. They could run right into this wight army without ever seeing them coming.  

All pleasant conversation had died pretty quickly once the snow had set in, and so Jaime has nothing to do but contemplate his no doubt imminent demise as they soldier on, struggling to stay in each other’s periphery through all the snowfall.

He swears he hears a wolf howl in the distance. 

He quietly adds set upon by wolves to the list of ways he could possibly die out here in the storm.

 


 

He is mildly surprised that Tormund is the one to spot the threat first. Although, maybe he shouldn’t be so surprised. The man is a wildling and this is the thick of wildling territory.

At first, Jaime can’t see what he’s pointing out, but the wildling has become so somber, he doesn’t doubt for a moment that it’s something to be wary of.

Then he sees a shape move up ahead. With the heavy wind and snow hampering his vision, he can’t make out exactly what it is. Only that it has to be something big for them to see it at all.

The thing moves closer.

“A bear,” Tormund cautions.

Jaime curses. 

A bear. 

Of course. 

Mauled by a bear should absolutely have been something on his list of ways to die out here, but he’d completely overlooked it.

He’s quick to add it now, but as it moves closer again, he sees something blue flash their way.

“Do bears have blue eyes?” Gendry asks warily.

Blue Eyes.

Jaime curses again, extra hard this time, Because the bear wears the same blue eyes that have haunted his dreams since he fled King’s Landing.

The eyes of the dead. 

Fuck.

 


 

The Scout is killed quickly and painfully. 

Jaime doesn’t actually see much of it, but he hears a bear’s roar, a panicked, then excruciating scream, and then painful silence as the bear disappears into the storm once again. 

They all draw their weapons and Jaime’s heart is pounding in his chest as they close ranks in a tight circle, preparing for another imminent attack. 

The snow rages around him and the wind whips in his ears, but in that moment all of those sounds fade away and all Jaime can hear is his own accelerated pulse.

The quiet of anticipation.

 


 

The bear lunges out of nowhere, knocking a man to the ground and digging his claws in as the rest of the group scatter. 

As it tears into its unlucky victim, Jaime gets his first good look at the monstrous beast. The thing is more bones than flesh, decayed fur barely clinging to its hide. But its teeth are sharp as ever as it lunges for its next victim, tearing into the man’s chest and ripping him apart.

Quite literally. 

Jaime is frozen in stunned horror as Beric and Thoros manage to light their swords in flames. Thoros takes a wild swing, setting the bear ablaze as the sword cuts into its ribcage. 

The strike is ineffectual as the bear swings around, focusing its gaze on its next victim.

The Hound.

Who is equally frozen in fear, staring at the flames all over the bear’s body.

Seeing the man’s fear is enough to pull Jaime back to his senses and he lunges towards the bear ready to strike.

Thoros is faster and manages to get another good swing at the bear before his sword is ripped out of his hands by the monster’s strong jaw and thrown aside. Jaime jumps forward as the bear takes one, powerful strike at Thoros with its sharp claws and digs into his chest with its jaws.

Jaime strikes and the bear roars in pain and swipes out at him, knocking him to the ground and turning its attention squarely to him.

Jaime is confronted with the sudden premonition of his imminent and painful death as he stares into the bear’s undead blue eyes.

He doesn’t know where the others are. He doesn’t know if they’re even alive. But he does know with absolute certainty that he is about to die.

A fucking undead bear!

 


 

He does not die. 

He is rescued so suddenly and unexpectedly that he barely registers it happening at all. 

One moment he hears a loud, vicious snarl from his right and then quite suddenly, the bear is not there anymore. 

He blinks and looks up to see an almost equally monstrous creature wrestling the bear away from him, snapping its jaws and rearing up, caught between striking at the bear and dodging the flames.

Jaime is dumbfounded. 

A wolf!

His rescuer is a bloody wolf!

No. Not a wolf.

A direwolf.

Just as that thought occurs to him, a small figure leaps up from behind the bear, swinging a sword aimed squarely for the bear’s neck. Their aim hits true and the bear collapses to the ground, dead. 

… again. 

For a moment, Jaime thinks the excruciating pain of being ripped apart by a bear has brought on some fantastical delusion. There’s no way he could have actually gotten that lucky. He was going to die. He’d been sure of it. 

So it takes a moment for Jaime to realise that he is, in fact, still alive.

And another moment to recognise his saviour.

Arya Stark.

Because of course it is.

 

Notes:

Fuck yeah! BAMF Arya to the rescue!

Not gonna lie, I had this moment envisioned in my head ever since I first decided Arya and Jaime were going to the Wall. And yes, I orchestrated the entire awkward 'arya staying behind' bit just so she could leap out of the shadows like a badass. The dramatic flare made it all worth it! lol.

Chapter 27: Typical Arya

Summary:

Everyone reacts to Arya's totally unexpected and unforeseen arrival.

Notes:

oiiiii 20,000 words! Another one I just had to hit dead on, naturally.

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

 

Jaime is frozen in place, staring slack jawed, unable to fully process everything that just happened.

An undead bear.

He’d been this close to being torn apart by a fucking undead bear and his saviour is Ned Stark’s daughter. 

Although in this moment she could very well be the warrior reborn, for how formidable she appears, dragonglass sword in hand with her bloody direwolf at her shoulder.

The Warrior in miniature, obviously. 

He could have laughed. In elation or shock or bitter irony, he doesn’t know. 

She turns to him and holds his gaze.

And Jaime should probably stop staring.

 


 

Arya was worried that she wouldn’t make it in time when Nymeria had first noticed the bear.

Everyone seems to be more or less alive, though.

Well, not everyone. 

Thoros is down and she’s sure he’s dead. She feels a twinge in her gut at that thought. It’s a funny feeling. For a man on her list, she thought she’d be happier to see him die.

She’s not though.

She turns around and happens to lock eyes with Jaime, who has a really stupid look on his face as he stares back at her.

“What?”

He shakes his head. “Nothing.”

 


 

Arya’s expression is carefully guarded as she approaches him. “Can you get up?” 

Jaime groans. “I just got thrown around by an undead bear. Give me a moment,” he snaps, finally coming back to his senses.

An undead bear. 

Seven hells, there really were dead things beyond the wall after all. A part of him had hoped it was all fictitious nonsense. 

But he can’t deny the truth right in front of him, especially after it nearly tore him to pieces.

Arya drops beside him, inspecting his injuries quickly. “Flesh wounds. You got lucky, Lannister.”

He huffs a nervous laugh. “Don’t I know it.” His muscles feel tight as he tries to move. “H-help me up before I freeze to death.” He feels exactly as pathetic as that sounds.

Arya’s lips twitch in amusement, but she doesn't say anything as she wrenches him up with surprising strength for her size.

He looks around and sees the others crowded around a fallen body. “Who…”

“Thoros,” Arya answers, her expression unreadable.

“Is he…”

Arya nods. “He wasn’t so lucky”

Jaime feels a sinking feeling in his gut. He’d drawn the bear away from the man, but in the end it hadn’t mattered. 

 


 

“Arry!”

Arya tenses and whips around to see Gendry running her way. “Seven hells, that was bloody brilliant,” he cheers, stopping in front of her.
 
He’s looking at her in awe and Arya has to fight the urge to smile. “I didn’t really do much,” she says, though she’s not feeling nearly as modest as she sounds.

“Didn’t do much? You just killed a damn wight bear!”

She does let out a small smile at that. “I guess I did.”

“Arya?!

Shit.

She turns to see Jon marching towards her, his expression something between shock and anger. “What in blazes are you doing out here?!”

She cringes at his tone. “I told you I could help,” she says, defensive and stubborn. 

“Do you have any idea how dangerous it is to be out here alone? Anything could have happened.”

“I wasn't alone. I have Nymeria,” She points to the wolf like he might have missed the giant creature at her back.

Jon glowers as his eyes fall to the sword still in her grasp. “And where did you get that?”

Arya hesitates, staying silent. 

And yet, her eyes can’t help but fall to Gendry.

Jon follows her gaze and whips around to face Gendry, shooting him a glacial cold look.

“You gave it to her? After I specifically told her to stay behind?”

Gendry almost flinches and his cheeks flush with embarrassment. “I just… I thought, well, if she was going to follow after us, she should have the right weapon, that’s all.”

Jon glowers. “She might not have followed at all without your invitation.”

At those words, Jaime coughs a laugh, the hound rolls his eyes and mutters under his breath, and Gendry looks down to hide his smile. 

Arya’s own lips twitch in amusement, though she works to keep her expression neutral and innocent of all wrong doing. In this moment, she feels more like the old Arya than she has in a long time.

Jon’s eyes narrow as he turns back to Arya, who shrugs. “He’s right. Needle would have been useless out here.”

Jon holds her gaze for a long moment, clearly wanting to stay angry at her, before he lets out a relenting breath. “There’s no point debating the issue now. As long as you’re here, stay alert. The dead move quickly.”

Arya nods, a satisfied smile on her face as she joins their ranks. 

 

 

Notes:

I promise you this is not one of those Suddenly He Sees moments for Jaime where he instantly falls in love with the crazy warrior woman. It’s not gonna be that easy.

But…ya know…. It helps ;)

Chapter 28: The walking dead (bear)

Summary:

that was an undead bear

Notes:

I was re-reading over the last couple of chapters and was like ‘wow, Jaime’s really hung up on the undead bear thing isn’t he.” And then I was like “well, who wouldn’t be, it was a freaking undead bear.” And then I sort of ran away with it. Enjoy :)

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

 

“That was an undead bear.”

“Yeah.”

“A fucking undead bear.”

“I know, Jaime.”

“As in, alive and then dead, but alive but dead again.”

“Well now it’s dead dead. You’re welcome.”

Jaime stops suddenly. “You just killed an undead bear.”

“I know. What the fuck is your point?”

“That it’s damn impressive, that’s what. Plenty of seasoned fighters would have died screaming had they tried.”

An elated feeling courses through Arya at the unexpected compliment. “Nymeria was there,” she says, shrugging it off. 

“Unless your wolf has dragonglass teeth it could not have done what you did.”

“Well, I guess I’m just the best, then,” she says as a jape. 

“You’re certainly up there, Arya.”

How strange that he means that in earnest. Not a hint of his usual mocking insincerity. She has to duck her head to hide her smile.

“Seven hells, I was nearly torn apart by an undead bear.”

Arya rolls her eyes. “You really are losing it.”

“An undead bear, Arya.”

“Why don’t you remind me again. It might actually sink in this time.”

Jaime huffs a laugh, then goes quiet. “There really are dead things out here.”

That sobers Arya, too. “Yeah. There really are.”

 


 

Needing to get away from Jaime and his apparently brain rotting shock, Arya runs to catch up with Gendry. “Hey. Are you alright?” He had been quieter than usual ever since Jon chewed him out over giving her the sword.

Gendry turns to her with a stupid look on his face. “That was an undead bear.”

She groans. “Not you too.”

“An undead bear, Arry.”

“Seven hells, men are all idiots.”

“Wouldn’t be the first time you’ve called me that.” He’s smiling at her as he says it, and Arya is instantly reminded of their time on the road.

She looks away. “Yeah, well. It’s the truth.”  Being around Gendry is slowly starting to feel normal like it used to, but whenever she’s reminded of his rejection, it instantly sours. She can’t even understand why she still cares about that. If they’d stayed together, she never would have joined the faceless men, and learning from them was surely better than anything she would have done traveling with Gendry.

Right?

It doesn’t stop her from feeling stung whenever she’s reminded of it, though.

Gendry senses the change in her mood. “Arya-“

She shakes her head. “Forget it.” 

She moves on again.

 


 

Jon is still angry at her. 

She expected him to be, but still. Stuck on the receiving end of his silent treatment is causing the guilt to break out.

Not that she’s sorry for following them. She had helped, even if Jon is too damn stubborn to admit it. 

“So,” she says trying to get him to acknowledge her in any way at all. “An undead bear.”

Jon ignores her. 

“Pretty hard to believe, right?”

He still doesn’t say anything.

“I’m surprised you’re not more shocked. The others are all in a tit over it.”

She gets a glare thrown at her for that but he still stays silent.

She huffs. “I just killed an undead bear. What more do I have to do to prove that I can handle myself?”

Jon glowers at her, but he finally breaks his stubborn silence. “That’s not the point and you know it,” he scolds her in a low tone. “Listening and doing what I tell you in dangerous situations is more important than whether you can or can’t handle yourself.”

Arya huffs. “You sound like Father.”

That gets a small smile from him. “And you haven’t changed.”

She looks away. That’s not true and they both know it. “I was just a stupid little girl back then,” she says, sadly. She really had no idea how the world actually works. She certainly knows better now.

Jon scoffs. “As opposed to now?”

Arya has to work hard to stop herself from gaping at him. “Now you sound like Jaime.”

He raises an eyebrow. “'Jaime?'

She coughs and looks away, an awkward silence forming between them. Jon is surprisingly the first to break it. “At least the Lannister has some sense, then. I had wondered.”

It’s Arya’s turn to glare at him this time.

 


 

He’s still angry at her, but he’s not ignoring her anymore. She counts that as a win. 

Jon was never able to stay mad at her for very long when they were children. She hopes that’s still the case now. There are few people she actually cares if they are mad at her or not, but Jon had always been one of them.

She’s musing on this very idea, when Jon suddenly stops them. Arya hears a faint shuffling sound. 

Tormund leads them as they duck behind an outcrop, and that’s when Arya sees them.

Walking dead men. 

Seven hells.

 

 

Notes:

If they think undead bears are unbelievable, just wait until they see the dragons xD

Chapter 29: Wight Hunters

Summary:

Arya and Jaime see dead people for the first time.

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

 

Dread sinks down into the pit of Jaime’s stomach as he sees the dead men for the first time. This is only a small group. But if his dreams are true, there are many more elsewhere. 

Some don’t look like they’ve been dead for very long, and he can see their grotesque wounds that caused them to die. Others look like walking skeletons, with the clothes they died in hanging loosely from their frames.

Their eyes are the piercing blue of his nightmares and Jaime shivers when he sees it. 

There’s a whole army of these things out there somewhere.

 


 

It’s all wrong. 

Not their decaying appearances, although that too is unsettling, all varying from freshly injured to walking bones.

No, it's the fact that these people had been denied the gift of death that has Arya’s blood boiling. She may not follow the many-faced god anymore, but she respects their way.

Valar Morghulis. 

These things are breaking all the rules of death. Their bodies should be at rest where they belong.

I have to stop them.

She reaches for her sword. 

Jon stills her hand and gives her a warning look. Not yet.

Arya reluctantly nods, falling in line.

 


 

The trap is set.

The group wait behind a rocky outcrop to ambush the wights when they arrive.

Arya’s blood is singing as she hypes herself up for the fight. She’s never killed a dead man before. She’s keen to return them all to where they belong. Death. 

There’s movement and they all still as the wights walk right up to the fire they’d built. One of them looks different from the others, dressed in armour with skin that looks made of ice. 

That one. That’s the one breaking the rules of death.

That’s the one I have to kill.

 


 

Jon gives the signal and Arya runs straight for the white walker, death clear in her eyes. As she draws her sword, she is stopped by three wights.

That’s fine. She can cut them down first. 

The first one is almost all skeleton so she has no trouble knocking him to his knees and sheering off his head. Another one she skewers straight through the heart, before whirling around and almost slicing the other one clean in half.

Another three wights spring up to get in her way. She raises her sword, ready to kill them too when all of a sudden two of the three wights shatter to pieces before her eyes. 

Shocked, Arya looks around to see that her wight is the only one remaining.

That’s fine. She can kill this last one.

“Arya, wait! We need that one alive!” A hand pulls her back as the Hound jumps forward to tackle the wight to the ground.

Arya blinks and looks to Jon. “What just happened?”

“They all shattered when I killed the white walker.”

So killing their sires must return the wights to death then. She looks down at the struggling left over wight. “Except that one.”

“Must have been raised by a different walker,” Jon observes.

The wight screams out, the sound echoing through the air around them, before the Hound manages to gag it and shove a sack over its head.

Arya’s fingers twitch, still feeling the instinct to kill this thing.

Then she hears a rumbling in the distance.

Her eyes snap up in the direction of the sound. “What’s that?”

Jaime walks up beside them, looking strangely nervous. “That thing just called for reinforcements. We won’t be alone for long.”

Arya swallows and steadies her breathing. 

They’re coming.

I’ll be ready for them.

 


 

Arya’s heart races with anticipation as the wight army approaches.

To be this loud, their army must be vast. There’s no way they can take them all on and hope to win, and no way they’ll be able to get away in time before the army catches up to them. 

She looks to Jon. “What do we do?” She almost cringes at the hint of desperation in her own voice.

Jon hesitates, thinking for a moment, before resolving himself. 

He turns to her. “You have to go.”

“What? No. Don’t be stupid.”

Arya. Just this once, don’t argue. We don’t have much time. Go with Gendry and get word to Daenerys.”

Arya glares at him mutinously. “I’m not leaving you! Not now, not ever!”

Jon looks pained, but turns to Gendry. “Please. Go with her and follow the plan.”

Gendry hesitates, but Jon’s stare is unwavering so he nods. “Alright.” He turns to Arya. “Come on.”

Arya shakes her head, stepping back. “No.”

“Arya, come on.” 

He reaches for her but she slaps his hand away. “No! I’m not going anywhere.”

Gendry looks to Jon with desperation before he lunges for Arya. Arya draws her sword as she evades him. “Don’t touch me,” she hisses, backing away from them.  

“Arya, please,” Gendry pleads with her, but Arya shakes her head furiously 

“I’m staying here! I have to stay here!”

As Gendry moves to approach, she lashes out, only for her sword to clang uselessly off a flash of gold and suddenly Jaime is there, grabbing her by the arms. “Don’t be a fool. You want to save your brother? Go with the bastard and send for aid.”

“I can’t leave him,” she sobs.

“I’ll protect him. I promised, didn’t I? Go!”

Arya hesitates before nodding. 

She turns and follows Gendry.

 


 

Jaime watches in silence until Arya and the bastard are out of sight. It’s strange. He’d just fought a pack of dead men but nothing about that had unsettled him as much as seeing Arya so unhinged. 

It’s a dreadful reminder of how dire their circumstances truly are.

He turns to Jon. “So. You really trust this dragon queen to come to our aid?”

Jon spares him a glance. “I don’t know,” he admits, showing vulnerability for the first time since setting out on this godsforsaken quest. “Best pray she does.”

Jaime sighs.

We’re all going to die out here.

 

Notes:

I think years in the future all of Westeros will have a running event called The Eastwatch in honour of Gendry hightailing it back to the Wall to send for aid, thereby being the unsung hero that allowed them to rally against the wights or whatever...

"Dude, pace yourself. It's an eastwatch, not a sprint!" 🤣 (although in this case they might have all died if he'd paced himself.)

Chapter 30: A sea of blue eyes

Summary:

Arya races back to Eastwatch while Jaime tries not to lose hope as he's faced with the massive wight army.

Notes:

.....so I went over a thousand words again.

But in my defense, in my overview I'd had these as separate chapters but I couldn't find a good place to stop without making one extremely small so I just decided to post all of it in one go (some of this was pre-written all the way back at the beginning when I was only posting a few hundred words at a time. lol.)

You all know what happens anyway, so there's not much point teasing it out.

....much

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

 

I have to help Jon.

I have to help Jon.

This is the thought that keeps Arya going as she races through the heavy snow beyond the wall back to Eastwatch. It’s a hard journey. Nymeria is ahead of them, carving their path, but the wind picking up around them is slowing them down further. 

She presses on with that one single minded focus.

Gendry is struggling to keep up with her. She has to constantly remind herself to reduce her speed for him, but it goes against her entire being to slow down when Jon and the others are all still in danger.

Jaime promised he’d keep Jon safe, and she believes him, but he certainly can’t hold off the entire wight army by himself if their numbers are real.  They’re all counting on her and Gendry.

Get back to Eastwatch. I have to help Jon.

Gendry stumbles in the snow and Arya doubles back to pull him forward. “Come on. We have to keep going.”

“I’m slowing us down. You should go ahead.”

She shakes her head. “Just keep going, you stupid bull.”

The old name seems to rally him and he finds the strength to keep going.

 


 

Jaime races across the ice, the wights only growing in numbers behind him. There’s a rocky island in the centre as their only hope of staving off these things until help arrives.

If help arrives.

It’s still up in the air if aid will even come, if the Targaryen girl could even make it in time, or if Arya and Gendry make it back to Eastwatch in the first place. 

Jaime hates that this uncertainty is their only hope for survival. His father would have called it madness.

Great. My final moments, and I’m thinking about my father.

The wights race to surround them, to overwhelm them, and Jaime wonders, just for a moment ‘what the point?’ There’s no way of outrunning these things and the high ground won’t offer much protection for very long.

He looks to see Jon Snow ahead of him, racing to the rock as fast as his feet can carry him. 

You made a promise, Jaime thinks. He may not be able to do much, but he can at least honour his last vow until the end. 

They make it to the rock and Jaime spins around, sword at the ready, just as one of the night’s watch is engulfed in wights, sending them all crashing through the ice.

And that one action sparks hope that he’ll make it after all, when the cracking ice forces the wight army back to the shore. 

They’re completely and utterly surrounded by a sea of blue eyes with no way out, but the army stays its advance.

He doesn’t believe the gods care enough to do anything but watch their suffering, but he does send up a prayer to whoever is out there that Arya makes it back to Eastwatch.

If nothing else, let her make it back.

 


 

The sky grows dark as the living and dead men are at a standstill.

He’s surprised these things stay still for so long. With their overwhelming numbers, it wouldn’t take long to reach them.  

He’s grateful for their caution, though. Or perhaps patience is a better word. It’s not as if he and the other men can go anywhere. They’re trapped like rats with no way out. The dead men have all the time in the world. 

His years of practice guarding doors and kings is the only thing keeping Jaime from getting antsy, trapped on this rock as they are. He’s had to practice patience over the years. He’s well versed at holding it. 

The other men, not so much. 

The Hound thinks it’s funny to make target practice out of the wights’ front line 

Jaime glares at the man. “Are you completely mad?”

The Hound shrugs and throws another rock. “What are they gonna do?”

He throws a third rock. This one skates across the ice and lands in front of the army.

The sea of eyes shift slightly.

“Oh,” the Hound says dumbly.

Jaime curses and draws his sword as the wights break ranks, charging straight for them.

 


 

We’re all going to die here. 

As he cuts down wights left and right, he feels his arm tiring and knows. No one is coming.

He’d stupidly agreed to this suicide mission and now he’s going to die trapped in this frostbitten wasteland. All because he just couldn’t help himself. He haad to do the honourable thing. The thing Brienne would have done. 

Look where that thinking has got him.

At least Arya’s not stuck here with them. Hopefully she made it back safely.

Just as he starts to lose all hope, a bone shaking roar splits the sky.

Dragons!

 


 

Seven hells, he thinks numbly. He can’t help but stare in awe and terror. 

He’d known that the Targaryen girl had crossed the narrow sea, and had heard the rumours of these great beasts.

But seeing them in the flesh?

Even looking at them now, he has trouble comprehending their existence. Beasts of legend. Creatures of bedtime stories. Alive and burning holes through the wights.

Jaime’s not sure if he should laugh or cry. Rejoice or cower. 

He has time to do neither as the wights continue advancing.

But still. A small part of him is a little giddy.

Dragons!

 


 

The biggest dragon lands in front of them, the silver haired Targaryen on its back, and Jaime realises he’s supposed to get on.

Seven hells! 

It’s one thing to see a dragon but to ride one?

No.

Not happening.

Not happening.

But then… the alternative is getting torn apart by wights.....

Riding a dragon it is!

The others all appear in agreement as they scramble to get on and attach the wight they’d stolen.

All but one.

Jon Snow, who turns back to cut through the advancing wights.

Jaime slices through a wight aiming for the bastard’s head. “What are you doing?!”

“Holding them off! Get the others to safety!”

Jaime swore. 

Starks and their godsdamn sacrificial honour. 

“Oh, yes, I’ll just go back and inform your sister we left you out here to get yourself killed! I wonder if she’ll kill me swiftly or slowly.”

“They’ll be overrun if I don’t! Go!”

“Stop trying to be a hero and get on the fucking dragon!” He moves to shove Jon back towards the dragon.

As if things couldn’t get any worse, the ice cracks beneath them and Jon Snow drops through into the water.

Jaime lunges forward to catch him.

 


 

Arya stands silently, watching the horizon for the dragon queen’s return with her brother and Jaime. She’s aware of Gendry standing beside her but pays him little mind.

Still, his presence is a comfort, however small.

They have to come back. They have to.

Arya would never forgive herself if she left them there to die. 

Gendry reaches for her hand. She lets him, but says nothing.

“They’ll make it,” he says quietly from beside her, squeezing her hand. “I know they will.”

Arya cannot speak but gives a small nod of thanks.

She continues to watch the horizon.

 

 

Notes:

And yes, it was the Jon and Jaime bit I'd had already written ;)

Chapter 31: Keep a weather eye on the horizon

Summary:

Arya frets over losing another family member as she waits at the wall for the others to come back

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

 

Arya grows impatient the longer she watches the horizon, but she tries not to let it show on the outside. 

They’ll come back. They have to. They have to.

The words echo over and over in her head, making her want to move. Pace the floor. Practice her footwork. Fidget where she stands. 

She’s itching to move. To do something. Anything.

But she doesn’t.

She’d been trained in stillness. In patience. And though she feels the opposite of patient in this moment, she forces herself to stay in stillness. 

To wait.

They’ll come back. They have to. They have to.

 


 

She thinks she sees something on the horizon and tenses - is that them? - but it’s simply a shadow passing over. 

Arya forces herself back to quiet stillness, squashing the flash of hope down with it. 

“Hey,” Gendry says quietly from beside her. “If anyone can survive out there, it’s your brother. He looks just like you. Reckon he inherited the same knack for survival you’ve got.” He tries for a smile.

Arya looks away. “This is always what happens when I get close to home. I’m used to it by now.”

Gendry ducks his head. “Don’t give up yet, Arry.”

 


 

“It’s been too long,” she mutters.

“It hasn’t. Give them time.” Gendry is somehow still able to stay calm beside her and she resents him for it. She feels like she’s being torn apart from the inside out, and he manages to just stand there, sprouting his stupid, useless words that mean nothing.

“You don’t know anything. They should be back by now. Something is wrong, I know it.”

“Maybe. But you saw those dragons fly over. That’s better odds than they had. They might still make it.”

She paces away from him, needing to get away. “You’re wrong. Something’s wrong.”

Gendry looses a breath. “There’s no point stressing about what we can’t control. Just… trust them.”

Arya shakes her head, barely taking in his words. “This is the bloody red wedding all over again. They’ll be slaughtered out there and I’m stuck here, useless as always.”

“Arya-“

“You… you made me go with you. I could have been there. I could have helped, but you made me go with you and now I can’t do anything.”

“Arya! Hey!” He grabs her arms, urging her to stop. She does, caught in the intensity of his blue eyes. “It’ll be alright,” he says. 

He pulls her into him, but she shoves him away before he can fully embrace her, stumbling away. “Stop saying it’ll be alright! You don’t know that! You don’t know anything! You’re just a stupid bull!”

She storms away from him, needing space.

She needs air. She needs to do something. Anything to stop herself from feeling like that same stupid, useless little girl from years past. 

You’re losing control Arya. You’re trained better than this.

She takes a deep breath, forcing all of her raging emotions down and allowing her faceless mask to slip back into place.

 


 

She’s pacing the courtyard, twirling Needle in hand, when Gendry finds her. He doesn’t say anything, just watches her in silence.  

“Jon gave me this,” she says quietly.

“I know.”

“I’d never been allowed to learn. Didn’t have a clue what I was doing running around Winterfell with sticks in my hands. But still, Jon trusted me with a real one. He gave it to me the day we left Winterfell, and told me that if I wanted to get good, I had to keep practicing every day. So I did. Even after it all went to shit, I still practiced every single day.”

“You used to duck away from camp to twirl that thing around in secret. Even when you lost it, you still found sticks to keep it up.”

When she looks at him, he’s smiling fondly. 

She nods. “Jon was… he kept me going. Even on the worst days, I’d think of him and know somehow, that if I just kept going, I could make it back to him. It didn’t even occur to me that he might have died in the mean time. Not even once. And now…”

Her carefully crafted mask falters just slightly and she takes a shaky breath to steady herself. “Maybe it would have been better if he’d died before I saw him again. At least it wouldn’t feel like this.”

“Don’t say things like that!” She startles at the harshness in his tone and she looks up at him to see his resolution in his gaze. “if you believed in him then, you have to now. Don’t give up yet. That’s not the Arry I know.”

She looks down at Needle, feeling guilty. Gendry is right. 

Then Ser Davos is there. “Dragons on the horizon! It’s them!”

Arya drops her sword. 

 


 

The dragons fly over them, landing on the other side of the wall, and Arya runs with the others to greet them. The black one lands closest to the gate, the green one further away.

The third one is missing.

Three dragons flew overhead, and two made it back. 

Something must have gone wrong after all.

That thought stops her short as her eyes scan over the dragons, and she sees the riders on the black one’s back.

They’re back. But in what shape?

She makes a run for the dragon, but Gendry holds her back. “Wait! That thing is wild. It’ll take your head off if you get too close.”

She shakes his hand off her, but does as he says, searching desperately for the faces she recognises as they all move off the dragon.

She sees Jaime shivering violently, ice covering his clothes. He’s alive, which brings her relief, but the chill might take him if he stays much longer in those frozen furs. 

Jon. Where’s Jon? Jaime promised. Promised he’d protect him. 

Her heart stops as she finally lays eyes on Jon; limp in Tormund’s arms. 

No…

He can’t be…

Please don’t let him be…

Dead.

“Jon!”

 


 

 

Notes:

So I decided to veto the whole Uncle Benjen thing because I thought that whole sequence was kinda schtupid. The idea here is that Jaime got him out instead of Benjen, and therefore got them all away in time (...also Tormund may have helped, probably).

....but to make up for that change I had to add one more minor cliffhanger. Whoops :)

Chapter 32: Not today

Summary:

Jon and Jaime survived the trek beyond the wall. Arya is determined to keep them that way.

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

 

Arya takes a moment to assess the situation.

Jon is alive but barely conscious. Jaime is struggling to stay upright through the chills wracking through his body. Both will likely succumb to the cold if they’re not seen to quickly. She’d seen men die of such ails before. 

She can’t panic. No matter how she wants to, she simply can’t. She has to focus on what’s important. 

They’re both alive. 

And she’s going to keep them that way. 

She turns to Ser Davos. “Have rooms prepared with fires going, all the bedding and blankets you can find, hot baths, and warm drinks prepared. Their clothes need to be stripped as soon as possible or the cold will take them.”

“Right away, my lady,” he says at once, rushing to see to her instructions. 

Tormund follows Ser Davos, carrying Jon. Arya runs to help Ser Jorah with Jaime, propping him up on the other side and walking him back to the castle.

Jaime blinks at her, as if he can’t quite keep her in focus. “Arya? Where did- When did you get here?”

Seven hells, they need to act fast.

“Not today,” she mutters to herself. “You're not taking them today.”

 


 

Arya flits between Jon’s room and Jaime’s, making sure her instructions are being carried out properly, and they are. For the most part. Jon has a team of people surrounding him keeping him alive. Even the dragon queen offers to help, Arya is mildly surprised to see. The Targaryen seems genuinely concerned for Jon.

Jon might live. But he’s running a fever they can do nothing more but wait out. They’ve done as much as they can for him now. The rest is up to him.

Arya is not very good at waiting. It makes her feel useless. If there’s something that can be done, she’d rather do that. She can’t do anything more for Jon, so she turns to Jaime, who has significantly less help. Though Ser Jorah and Tormund have done their fair share to get him out of the woods.

Jaime is in better shape than Jon, but not by much. They’d managed to get his shivers under control before they progressed to more serious symptoms. But he’s still chilled to the bone and needs to be watched just in case his recovery falters. 

This is something Arya can help with. So she gets straight to it. 

 


 

Jaime’s teeth are still chattering like crazy as he struggles to overcome the shivers that have plagued him since he pulled Jon Snow out of that fucking frozen lake.

Had Tormund not jumped down to help, they might not have gotten him out at all with all that fur and armour weighing them down.

Back at the Wall now, he was quickly ushered to a warm room with a roaring fire and new clothes were practically thrown onto him as quick as he’d been shucked of his old ones. He felt more than a little bit stupid for not being much help at all.

Now he’s hunched over by the fire, a bowl of… something in his hands. It might be food. It’s warm, at least, so he’ll take it.

Curiously, it’s Arya Stark who sticks by his side through most of it.

And sure, he’s grateful to her for that, but…wouldn’t she want to be with her brother? He’s in far worse shape than Jaime.

The girl hasn’t stopped moving since she got here; bringing him clothes, fixing the fire, organising his meal, stoking the fire, checking his temperature, bringing in extra logs. 

When she passes him again, he snags her wrist, pulling her to face him. “What are you doing?” 

Her blank mask is in place as she meets his stare. “Fires don’t maintain themselves,” she says as if it’s the fire he’s talking about. 

He rolls his eyes. Or….he would, if he could just stop shivering. “The fire’s not going anywhere. Go see your brother.”

That gets her. He sees the flicker in her eyes as she pulls her wrist free from his grip. “I’ve already seen him.” She turns away, busying herself with… something. 

“And how is he?” Jaime asks, attempting a conversational tone. 

Arya shrugs, still turned away from him. “Better. But not good.”

“Do you think he’ll live?”

“Davos says he’ll live if his fever breaks, so we just have to see if he makes it through the night.”

Jaime doesn’t like her detached manner. “Do you think he’ll live,” he makes his meaning plainer.

Arya does turn to him then. She eyes him a moment before looking down. “I don’t know. I’ve seen men live with worse symptoms and others die with less. I can’t do anything for him but wait. So. I’m helping where I can.”

Jaime accepts her answer.

 


 

Jon’s fever breaks just before the dawn. Arya, of course, is still with Jaime at the time, and had just gotten them another serving of the hot mead when Gendry burst in to tell her the news.

Blinking in shock, she looks to Jaime who offers her a rare genuine smile. “Go on, then. See for yourself” he says, rolling his eyes playfully.

Arya nods and stands to follows Gendry out of the room. 

When she arrives at Jon’s, there’s a flurry of activity around his bedside, with many others also relieved by his recovery.

It’s Tormund who spies her first. He spins to address the room “Alright! Fuck off, you lot. Let the king in the north recover in peace.” He winks at Arya as he follows the others out the door, leaving her alone with Jon. 

He’s awake. 

Arya immediately crosses the room to his bedside and he smiles when he sees her. “Hey,” he says so softly it’s barely more than a whisper.

Arya takes his hand in her’s. “You’re alive,” she says quietly.

“Us Starks are hard to kill,” he replies with a swallow, his words raspy and barely audible.

Arya lets herself smile.

He’s alive.

 

 

Notes:

Tada! and so ends the Wall plot. Next up, Arya meets Daenerys properly. And maybe Jaime will too. We'll see.

Chapter 33: The Dragon Queen

Summary:

Arya meets Daenerys

Notes:

One long scene of them together to make up for the fact that we never got one in the show. lol.

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

 

Jon is asleep, and has been for a while, but Arya is reluctant to leave his side. She should practice some while she has time but…

Maybe later. 

As she contemplates this, though, the door opens and she straightens as the dragon queen herself steps through, her silver hair flowing like a beacon. 

It’s hard to ignore the dragon queen’s presence at the Wall, and yet despite this, Arya had yet to speak to her properly. 

She’s not sure how to approach the dragon queen, or even what to say. She has mixed feelings about the Targaryen’s presence in Westeros. 

She’s heard all the tales of her actions from across the narrow sea. The places she’s conquered. The armies she’s forged. 

She doesn’t mind the stories, actually. They remind her of the ones she heard as a child; the Targaryen conquerors of old. But it’s one thing to hear the stories from far away, and quite another when the stories come to conquer her own home. 

The north is independent now. Would she take it with fire and blood the same way she’s taken everything else?

She’s seen the ruthlessness in the dragon queen’s eyes and recognises the danger, but right now, she merely looks concerned. And hesitant. Her purple eyes move from Jon’s sleeping form to Arya.

“Is he well?” She asks.

Arya nods. “Stronger with every breath.”

There’s an awkward pause as the two women size each other up. The dragon queen speaks first. “It’s Lady Arya, isn’t it?” Her tone is pleasant. Arya can’t quite tell if it’s genuine or not. 

“It is.” She looks down at Jon. Jon trusted Daenerys to come and she did. She swallows. “Thank you. For getting them out.”

Daenerys inclines her head. “Of course. A good queen looks after her people.”

“You’re not our queen yet.” Arya doesn't hesitate to meet her gaze. 

The dragon queen raises an eyebrow. “Not yet,” she agrees. “But I will be.”

“The north belongs to Jon. He didn’t bow to you.”

The dragon queen looks to Jon. “No, he didn’t.” Arya doesn’t miss the hint of admiration in her expression. “It was infuriating at first, but… I’ve come to admire his strength as a king.” There’s a different quality to the queen’s words when she says them.

It’s Arya’s turn to raise an eyebrow. “Is that the only thing you admire?” Her protective instincts flare up, especially when the queen turns her widened eyes on Arya. A smile twitches at her lips, telling Arya everything she needed to know anyway.

“Of course not,” Daenerys says, eyes trailing back to Jon. “He is also a wise king. And a good man.” Her words are genuine. The softness is back in her expression. “There aren’t many of those in the world.”

Arya can’t help but agree. “That’s true.”

They look at each other with appreciation for a moment before the formality returns to the dragon queen’s presence. “Lady Arya. I know I can’t expect you to trust me straight away, but I do hope you may give me the opportunity to earn it.”

Arya hesitates. 

She startles as Jon stirs, rolling onto his side in his sleep. 

She looks back to the dragon queen. “You did saved my brother. That’s a good start, I suppose.”

Daenerys smiles. “Family is important to you."

Arya nods. “It is. I’ll do whatever it takes to protect the ones I have left.”

Daenerys’s expression turns sad. “Sometimes I wish I had that. I am the last of my house. My dragons, the only family I have left. They are my children.”

“You lost one, didn’t you.”

The queen nods, sorrow in her eyes. “Viserion.”

“Like Visenya?” Arya asks, unable to help herself.

“No,” she says softly. “For my brother. Viserys. He was not a good man.” Admitting that seems to be difficult for the dragon queen. “I’d hoped Viserion could be what my brother could not.”

“Was he?”

Daenerys nods, a smile in the corners of her eyes. “In every way.” She really does consider those dragons her family. 

The dragon queen may be ruthless, but she’s not unkind. If nothing else, she’s better than Cersei.

Not that that takes much.

 

 

Notes:

Not that Dany has accepted Jon's refusal to bend the knee, she simply admires his stubborn integrity. Among other things ;)

Soooo a relatively amicable meeting for Arya and Daenerys. This time.

There’s no redemption for Dany in this fic, I’m sorry to say, but that doesn’t mean I’m going to treat her as a straight up mad queen the whole time.

Jaime’s encounter on the other hand… it probably won’t go nearly as smoothly, let’s just say that.

Chapter 34: Kingslayer (Part 1)

Summary:

A linking chapter, as Daenerys learns she's in the company of the man who killed her father. Whoops.

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

 

Jon sleeps for a few hours longer after Daenerys leaves them. Arya makes sure to be there when he wakes. 

He looks surprised to see her. “How long was I asleep?” He asks, his voice croaky.

“Most of the morning.”

He frowns. “And you’ve been here the whole time?”

She hesitates. “I wanted to make sure you were okay.”

He smiles. “‘Course I’m okay.” He looks her over with a critical gaze. “Are you?”

She shrugs. “I’m fine.”

“Really? Because you look like you haven’t slept in days.”

She looks away and doesn’t answer him.

Jon sighs. “Arya, I appreciate your concern, but you have to look after yourself too.”

“I can sleep later.”

He gives her a knowing look. “I’m fine. Truly. You should rest while you can. We’ll all be leaving soon.”

She frowns and crosses her arms, looking away. “You’re not just going to send me away again?”

He lets out a frustrated exhale. “Depends on the situation. If you want to come South with us, though, you can."

Arya raises an eyebrow. “Oh, now you want me to come into danger with you?”

She thinks he would roll his eyes if he wasn’t still a little groggy. “This is different and you know it.” He looks away. “Don’t ask me to stop looking out for you. You’re my little sister. Your safety will always come first.”

She looks down. “I know. Just… don’t send me away again. I can handle myself. And I want to help fight these things when they come.”

He looks reluctant. “I know you can. I don’t like the idea of you having to fight them, but we need every able bodied fighter we can get.” He sighs. “I suppose that can include you.

“Good.”

There’s a long pause before Jon breaks it. “So you will be coming south with us, then?”

She pretends to consider it. “I have always wanted to kill the queen,” she says idly, more to rile him than anything.

Jon looks at her with an exasperated expression. “It’s a peace negotiation, Arya.”

“Oh, right.” She hides a smile. “I’ll try not to kill anyone then.”

“I’d appreciate that.”

Arya smiles. “Of course I’ll be there. Think of me as your sworn shield.”

Jon cracks a smile at that. “I’d be honoured to have you.” 

She knows he’s teasing her, but she likes the sentiment all the same. 

 


 

Arya finally leaves Jon’s bedside after his constant nagging on the issue grows too irritating to bear. 

She’s crossing the courtyard when she notices Jaime there, pacing back and forth, swinging his sword in hand. She’s surprised to see him up and about.

Though she supposes she would be too if she were in his place.

“What are you doing?” She asks, making a beeline for him.

Jaime startles and looks up at her approach. “Had to get out for a bit. Feel my blood flowing and all that.” He shrugs. “And you? How’s your brother doing?”

She looks away. “Much better.” Her gaze flicks to his and then away again. “Thanks to you.”

Jaime shakes his head. “Thanks to you. All I did was pull him out of the water. Nearly got dragged in myself for all my efforts.”

Arya’s lips twitch picturing it. “You still kept your word.”

“Yes, well. It’s been known to happen on rare occasions. I’m still debating if it was worth it. It wasn’t easy, you know.”

“Nothing worth doing ever is.”

Her father used to say that. She and Jaime both grow solemn at the words.

Jaime clears his throat. “Well. He must be back to full health for you to venture all the way out here. I figured you’d never leave your brother’s side ever again.” He’s teasing her.

He’s always teasing her. 

“He’s fine. Just annoying.”

“Must run in the family, then.”

She glares at him. “Want a sparring partner?”

He raises an eyebrow, his usual smirk in place. “Oh? In the mood to kill me now, are you?”

“Always.” She draws her sword. 

Jaime only looks far too pleased with himself as he meets her challenge.

One day, I’m going to knock that bloody smirk right off his stupid face.

 


 

Jon is feeling too restless to stay abed any longer, and slowly gets to his feet to leave.

Arya had finally listened to him and left a little while ago, leaving him alone. But just as he’s about to leave, Daenerys comes knocking.

“Jon. I didn’t expect you to be up so soon.” She looks him up and down. “I’m glad to see you well,” she says, smiling.

“Aye, I’m feeling a lot better. And hoping to leave for King’s Landing right away.”

“I thought you might. The others are all out in the courtyard. Your sister appears to be making a spectacle.”

He chuckles. “That sounds like her.”

They head out to the courtyard where Arya is sparring with Jaime Lannister. Worry flares in him until he notices the slow pace of their movements. She seems to be testing his strength and reflexes more than anything. It reminds him a little of when he used to train recruits for the night’s watch once upon a time.

“I met your sister earlier,” Daenerys says from beside him. “I like her. She’s insolent, much like you. Must be a Stark trait.”

Jon tries to hide his smile. “She's protective by nature. Always has been.”

“She’s very good with a blade.”

Jon feels a swell of pride at that thought. “She is.”

He watches Arya a little longer until they notice the attention. Arya lowers her sword, watching them warily while Lannister pretends to busy himself adjusting his scabbard. 

Arya is quick to approach them. “How are you feeling?”

"Well. Impatient to get away.”

She accepts his answer. “Fine enough to spar?” She raises an eyebrow, motioning to Needle.

Jon hesitates. “Maybe next time.”

“That was well fought, Lady Arya,” Daenerys says from beside him. “Your friend seems to be recovering well.”

Arya tenses, hesitating. “He is,” she agrees. “I wouldn’t call him my friend.”

Daenerys’ brow furrows in confusion as her eyes move to Jaime who is doing his best to avoid their conversation. “I don’t believe we’ve been introduced, Ser.”

Jaime takes a breath before straightening, his cocky arrogance returning. “How remiss of me. Your grace. Especially considering I believe you have my brother serving as your Hand.”

The shift in the air is almost instantaneous as Daenerys realises who is standing before her. “You’re Tyrion’s brother?” She says, her expression suddenly steeled as her posture shifts. 

“You’re the Kingslayer?”

 

Notes:

Dun Dun Duuuhhhhnnnn

Jaiimmee and his annoying habit of making things worse when he feels uncomfortable. Ah well. I'm sure it'll be fine.

Right?

Chapter 35: Kingslayer (Part 2)

Summary:

Jaime V Dany showdown

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

 

Jaime can feel everyone holding their breath as the dragon queen stares him down with venomous eyes. Arya tenses beside him, gripping her sword tight.

He should probably be prepared to stop her from doing something stupid, but he’s not feeling nearly so charitable at the moment. And he’s not afraid of this silver haired girl, Targaryen or no.

Though if looks could kill, he’d certainly be rotting in the ground. 

“So. You’re the man who swore to protect my father and then murdered him in cold blood.” Her tone harsh and unyielding. 

Jaime prickles at the mention of the mad king, but manages to shrug it off in usual Lannister fashion. “In my defence, he deserved it.”

“You should have been executed for your treason, yet here you stand.”

Jaime is getting quite tired of everyone threatening to kill him. Daenerys Targaryen is hardly the most intimidating to do so.

But before he can say anything to further damn himself, Arya comes to his defence.

“Your father had my grandfather roasted alive in his armour while my uncle strangled himself to death trying to save him. He was hardly an innocent man, let alone worthy of protection from anyone.”

The Targaryen girl turns to stare Arya down for a long, silent moment as everyone holds their breath waiting for her response. Arya never even blinks as she meets the dragon queen’s stare with unflinching resolve.

And yet it is the dragon queen who yields first. “I am aware of the crimes of my father. I admit he made a poor king.” Jaime snorts in agreement. “I don’t plan on following in his footsteps when I retake the iron throne.” Her eyes land on Jaime again. “But treason is still treason, and you swore a sacred oath.”

“Yes, I swore to protect the king, just as I swore to defend the innocent. I broke one oath and upheld the other in the process. I suppose the severity of my crime depends on which lives you value more.”

That seems to have stumped the dragon queen and she falters for a moment.

Jon Snow takes the opportunity to intervene. “We don’t have time for these squabbles.” He turns to the dragon queen. “We need to move out as soon as possible if we’re to unite the houses against the white walkers. We can deal with this later.”

The dragon queen considers his words and then nods her acquiescence. “You’re right. Perhaps Jaime Lannister can make himself useful as a hostage in the event that his sister requires motivation to join our efforts.”

Jaime swallows, realising there’s little he can do if she decides to do just that. Still, he meets her purple gaze with steady defiance. “Nothing in this world will convince my sister to yield to you. Not even me.” He pauses. “Especially not me.”

“Oh?” The dragon queen raises her eyebrow. “From what I hear, she is a lot more than simply fond of you, Kingslayer.” 

Not now that I’ve betrayed her by leaving, he thinks.

Once again, it’s Arya who comes to his defence. “Your grace.” Everyone turns to her, several raised eyebrows at the respectful title. The dragon queen turns her attention back to Arya.

Arya remains resolute. “We share a common enemy in the Lannisters. They are responsible for the destruction of my family, and before coming to the Wall for Jon, I had been taking the kingslayer to Winterfell to answer for their crimes.”

Again, the dragon queen pauses as she considers Arya’s words. Jaime has to admit, he’s impressed the girl listens to counsel at all. It's more than her father ever did.

“You wish to take him into your custody?” She asks.

Arya nods, “Yes, your grace. He can be held at Winterfell, until it’s decided what to do with him.”

“Very well,” the dragon queen acquiesces, to everyone’s surprise. “If the king in the north approves, of course.”

Everyone turns to Jon who falters under their stares. Jaime watches as he enters into a silent but no doubt heated conversation with Arya, looking visibly uncomfortable with the position he’s been put in.

Then he relents with a nod, facing the dragon queen. “I will send loyal men to ensure he doesn’t cause any trouble.”

Daenerys Targaryen nods and then makes her exit. The tension in the air leaves with her. 

Jaime turns to Arya. “You are fond of pushing your luck, aren't you.”

She scoffs. “You’re one to talk.” She hesitates. “I’m sorry for making you stay north. You probably wanted to travel south and see Cersei again.”

Jaime almost winces at the insinuation in Arya’s tone. “Not if it means playing hostage, I don’t.”

Arya watches him carefully. “Did you want to?” she asks, and he’s very aware her question is some sort of test. 

He hesitates, not even sure of his answer. He does want to see Cersei again, but at the same time, he also doesn’t. He is afraid of what he will see in her. “It’s probably better for everyone if I don’t,” he answers instead.

“That's not what I asked.”

He bristles at her tone, frustrated that he's fallen into an interrogation with her again. And she's looking at him with the same damn judgment her father always did. “Stop looking at me like that. I don’t owe you any answers.” He stalks away without another word.

 


 

As Arya watches Jaime’s retreat, she feels strangely irritated by his evasive answer. She can't understand why, and she doesn’t even know why she bothered to ask him that question in the first place. 

Of course he would want to see Cersei again. She’s his sister. His twin. His lover. He was devoted to her for years and might still be now, despite their current feud. Or whatever it was that caused him to flee.

And yet….

She’d wanted him to say no.

What is wrong with her? She shouldn’t care what Jaime Lannister chooses to do.

But she does.

 

Notes:

So it was always my plan for Arya and Jaime to break off back to Winterfell because.... *sighs* we've gotta go deal with the Littlefinger problem, but as I was writing more of the Wall chapters I was like "....I feel like both of them would be more motivated to go to King's Landing than not" and that's how this showdown was formed. Arya just yanks him right outta Dany's grasp and off to Winterfell they go. Should be fun times all round.

Chapter 36: "What were you thinking?"

Summary:

Arya and Jon get into a fight. Jaime tries to cheer her up afterwards.

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

 

“What were you thinking?!” 

Jon paces the floor in his frustration, berating Arya all the while. “You have no idea the trouble it will cause having Jaime Lannister at Winterfell. Let alone when Daenerys arrives and realises you lied to her face.”

“I wasn’t about to just stand there and let her sentence him to death.”

“And you think Sansa won’t try the same?”

“Not without your word, she won’t. You’re the king, not her. And Jaime saved your life, in case you’ve forgotten.”

He looks away, gritting his teeth. “I haven’t forgotten. That is the only reason I’m allowing this at all.” He returns his gaze to her. “But this… attachment you have to him has to stop. He is not a man you can trust.”

“I’m not attached to him.”

“Then why are you fighting so hard for his life?”

“I don’t know!” It’s Arya’s turn to look away as tears of frustration prickle in her eyes. “I just… couldn’t let the dragon queen have him. Killing the mad king isn’t the thing he should be punished for.”

“It’s not about that. He broke his oath, Arya. That’s a serious breach of trust.”

“Not all oaths are worth keeping,” she growls. Having gotten her emotions in check, she faces him again. 

There’s a flicker of uncertainty in Jon’s eyes before he breaks contact first. “I have to prepare the men for our departure,” he says in a low voice.

Arya nods, recognising the dismissal. “Fine.” She lets the door slam behind her as she leaves.

She always hated fighting with Jon. More so than anyone else.

She won’t be made to feel bad for defending Jaime. He has many faults, but he’s a better man than she expected. 

So why does she feel so conflicted about it all?

 


 

Somehow, Jaime always manages to notice when she’s feeling at her worst. As always, he comes to hover over her like the most annoying person in the world. She wishes he wasn’t so bloody observant. 

She’s standing at the top of the Wall, looking out over the expanse of Westeros and all too aware of him lingering beside her. 

At first, he just stands there quietly. 

Arya doesn’t pay him any attention, even as she finds his presence impossible to ignore. She doesn’t feel much like talking at all right now but Jaime loves to talk. 

It’s one of the most annoying things about him, actually. 

To his credit, it’s a while before he actually speaks. “I take it not everyone was pleased with you jumping to defend my honour.” He chuckles in his attempt to diffuse her mood. 

She doesn’t answer him.

“I’m not too happy about it either,” he continues after a short stretch of silence. “Now all I am is a glorified prisoner.”

Arya rolls her eyes, unable to help herself when she snipes back with, “you were always a glorified prisoner.”

Jaime shifts beside her. “Ouch. I like to think I had some free will in the matter.”

“You did. You could have tried to kill me. Or kidnap me. Or run away.”

“No, that wouldn’t have worked,” he shakes his head. “I would have woken up gargling blood if I tried.”

“I didn’t say they were choices without consequence.”

She can hear his smile in his words as he says, “Lady Arya, I can’t help but notice you appear to be in a particularly dangerous mood this…evening? morning? I never can tell out here.”

She bristles. “If you really thought that, you wouldn’t be calling me Lady Arya.”

“Why not? The dragon queen does.”

“The dragon queen has dragons.” She finally turns to face him. “What are you doing up here?”

Jaime frowns. “No, no, I’m supposed to be asking you that. You’re the one looking like she’s about to commit a murder.” He pauses. “Not me, is it?”

She glares at him. “No. For once.” She turns back to the horizon. “My brother.”

“Ah. Right. Yes, he doesn’t seem to like me very much.”

“No one likes you very much.”

“Full of callous words today, aren’t you. And, untrue. I’m fairly certain Tormund likes me. I think.”

She turns to glare at him again. “What do you want?”

He raises an eyebrow. “I was thinking the pleasure of your delightful company, but now I’m not so sure. You’re not exactly doing your part.”

“You’re such an idiot,” she says, turning away. She knows he’s only trying to get a rise out of her, so she tries to ignore his efforts. 

“So you keep calling me. But I’m not the one who got in the way of the dragon queen.”

“Do you want me to take it back?”

He softens. “No. I’m grateful. Truly. But not entirely sure Winterfell is any better.”

The northern lords will probably try to kill him. Sansa too. “You’re probably right,” she admits. 

“I mean, sure. The dragon queen has dragons. But I don’t much like my chances against direwolves either.”

“You don’t have to worry about them. Nymeria wouldn’t attack you until I tell her to.”

“Would you?” He raises an eyebrow.

Arya looks away, knowing she should probably be prepared to. She doesn’t want to though.

“I will if you keep calling me Lady Arya,” she answers instead.

Jaime only laughs at the threat. 

Arya fails to stop her smile.

That’s another thing he’s annoyingly good at.

 


 

Jon has to restrain himself from tearing the room apart in his own frustration. He’s angry. Irrationally so, he knows. At Arya for making things so difficult. At Daenerys for picking a fight when there’s far more important things to worry about. At Jaime Lannister for causing all this mess in the first place.

What does Arya even see in him? He’s a Lannister. An oathbreaker.

Not all oaths are worth keeping.

He sighs. She’s not wrong. 

By what right can he judge Jaime Lannister for breaking oaths when he’d done the very same with his own?

It was for an important reason, he tells himself.

Although who’s to say Lannister didn’t have good reasons? He’d suggested as much to Daenerys. And Jon had been watching him on their trek beyond the wall. For an Oathbreaker, he seems to take vows seriously. The ones he cares about, anyway.

He doesn’t necessarily believe Lannister will betray them after everything he’s seen beyond the wall. Seeing the walking dead has a way of altering a man’s priorities. He knows from experience. 

It’s the way he interacts with Arya, that Jon is wary of. He’s hesitant to leave him alone with her. Arya makes friends easily. She always has. He doesn’t want to see her get hurt over it.

They won’t exactly be alone, though, he reminds himself. He has men he can trust to send in his stead.

And there’s no talking Arya out of something once her mind is made up.

He’d already given his blessing to hold Ser Jaime at Winterfell, so he can’t very well take it back now. Not that he is really considering it. The man did save his life. A debt is owed for that.

He curses.

Why is doing the right thing always so complicated?

 

 

Notes:

I didn’t originally plan on it, but I decided to tack on an extra Jon POV just so you guys could see where his head is at regarding Jaime after the fight with Arya. It’s a bit of a confusing time for him, naturally. lol.

We'll finally leave the Wall next chapter, and after that it'll be on to Winterfell.

We're getting there. Slowly. lol.

Chapter 37: Opposite Accords

Summary:

Everyone prepares to depart the Wall as parting conversations are had.

Notes:

Time to pick the tone back up. lol.

Chapter Text

 

“This is ridiculous,” Jaime fumes as Arya finishes fastening the shackles to his forearms. 

The dragon queen hadn’t been content with simply sending extra men along with them to Winterfell and argued for extra restraints just in case he tried anything.

He can’t exactly fault the logic but he’s still feeling salty no one had objected to the chains. In fact, Arya even volunteered to do the honours. The traitor. 

She’s sporting a blank expression as she admires her handiwork, but he can see the laughter in her eyes. “It’s just until we reach Winterfell,” she tells him.

Jaime rolls his eyes. “Yes, where I’ll no doubt go from being shackled to a horse to shackled in a cell. At least tell me we can dispense with this humiliating farce once we’re on the road.” 

She glances at him but doesn’t say anything as she tightens his chains for good measure. He doesn’t miss the upward twitch of her lips, though. 

He frowns. “You’re enjoying this, aren’t you.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” she scolds him like a child, before leaving him stuck with their soon-to-be escorts.

Jaime quashes the urge to throttle her. 

Not that he could in his current predicament. 

 


 

“A word, Lannister?”

Jaime sighs as Jon Snow approaches. “Why not. It’s not as if I can go anywhere right now, anyway.” He rattles the shackles to make his point.

Jon Snow doesn’t bother acknowledging his snark. The man hesitates. “You saved my life out there. I suspect I owe you more than thanks for that.”

“Don’t spread that around. I have a reputation to maintain.”

“Do you take anything seriously?”

“I’ve learned its best not to.”

“Right.” Jon regards him in suspicious silence. “You said you have no ill will towards my sister,” he says slowly.

“I meant that,” Jaime affirms.

“What of the rest of my family?”

“My only intention was to get as far away from King’s Landing as possible. But now that I’ve seen what’s out there I’ll do what I can to assist you with the war to come. You have my word. For whatever that’s worth.”

Jon eyes him for a long moment before nodding. “Strangely enough, I believe you. Lannisters have a saying about paid debts, don’t they? Well, here’s mine. For as long as you don’t take up arms against us, you will have sanctuary at Winterfell. But I warn you now. If you ever bring harm to my sister, or any of my family for that matter, I will remove your head with your own sword.”

Jaime’s lips twitch. His threat might actually be intimidating if it didn’t remind him so strongly of Arya.

So this is where she gets it from.

“Fair terms, your grace. I don’t suppose this means we can dispense with the shackles now?”

Snow eyes said shackles sporting the same laughter in his eyes as his sister. “That’s not my call, Lannister,” he says at last before taking his leave. 

This is why I hate Starks.

 


 

Jon pulls Arya aside before they all depart. “Hey. I’m sorry I was harsh on you. You know I only worry for you, right?”

Arya swallows a lump in her throat and nods. “I know. I’m sorry I caused you trouble.”

A smile twitches on Jon’s lips. “It’s good to know some things never change.”

She shoots him a playful glare. “I bet I could take you in a sword fight now.”

“We’ll have to see about that when I get back.” He crosses his arms.

Arya smiles. “Deal.” They stand in awkward silence for a moment before Arya breaks it. “Jaime’s not very pleased with the shackles,” she tells him.

“I know. I expected as much. He’s not giving you trouble, is he?”

“No more than usual. He’s just really annoying about it. Maybe I should gag him too.”

Jon shakes his head and hands her a missive. “Give this to Sansa when you arrive. She won’t like having him at Winterfell, but it’s like you said. Your Lannister did save my life. I’ll ensure he’s treated fairly.”

Arya scrunches up her nose. “He’s not my Lannister.”

He gives her a knowing look. “Arya, you’ve never been one to keep company you don’t like. I don’t like it, but if you say you can handle it, I’ll leave it at that for now. Just be careful. He may not be working against you, but that doesn’t mean his intentions are honourable.” 

Embarrassment flushes through Arya at the implication in Jon’s words. “He’s not- It’s nothing like that. Gods.” She punches him in the arm. “He’s old enough to be my father.”

“Exactly.”

She shoves him. “Fuck you.”

“Alright, alright! I’m just cautioning you. I have a right to be worried, don’t I?”

“No.” She punches him again. “I’d gut anyone who ever tried anyway.”

Jon stifles a smile. “I know. Just… do be careful all the same. And keep an eye on him at Winterfell. Between him and Littlefinger, I’m not sure who’s likely to cause more trouble.”

Arya nods, turning solemn. “I will.”

“Good.” They stand in silence for a moment, regarding each other carefully. Then he pulls her into an embrace and she accepts it, jumping into his arms and holding onto him tight. “See you soon, alright?” His words rumble in her ear, calming her the way Father’s used to.

She nods into his shoulder. “Definitely.”

 


 

Arya spies Gendry across the way. He stops when he notices her, offering her a small smile. “Alright, Arry?”

“I think so.” She still feels a little guilty for taking her anger out on him. “I’m sorry I called you a stupid bull.”

Gendry shrugs, smiling. “Nothing I haven’t heard before. I know you were just worried.”

Arya has to look away to stop herself from returning his smile. “You can come with us to Winterfell. If you want. You’ll have a home there, I’ll make sure of it.”

Gendry’s smile dims and Arya worries she’s spoken too soon again. “I wish I could, Arry, but I have to see this thing through with Jon first. I’ll see you there when we get back though?”

Arya lets out a relieved breath. “Yes, you will.” She hesitates. “Thank you, for sticking with him.” 

His smile grows. “I’m only trying to do the right thing.”

“I know. Just try not to get killed following him. Death seems to have it out for us Starks.”

“Ah, we’re both survivors, aren’t we? We’ll be alright.”

Arya just nods and Gendry takes his leave.

Only when he’s gone does Arya afford herself a small smile.

 


 

Jaime waits as Arya watches her brother’s ship depart. She’s got that pensive blankness in her eyes. He wonders if she worries for her brother in King’s Landing.

He supposes she’s right to be worried. Starks have rather unfortunate luck in the South. 

When the ship has cleared the bay, Arya turns to him.

Jaime offers her a grin. “So, now that the dragon queen is out of the way…” he offers her his shackles.

She glances at them, face blank, then before he can even blink she’s in his personal space with a knife at his throat. 

Seven hells, he’s idiot for forgetting she carries those wherever she goes. 

“I am not someone you can take advantage of, Jaime Lannister,” she hisses through gritted teeth.

His brow flies up in surprise.“I am very well aware of how formidable you are, thank you. Where did you even-” 

He stops, remembering a conversation he’d had with her bother on the very idea. He groans. 

“Jon Snow said something to you, didn’t he. For Seven’s sake. I know I’m many things, but a rapist is not one of them.”

She withdraws her knife. “Good!”

“Thank you!” He snaps back. “And if anyone should be worried about any advantage taking going on, it’s me. I’m the one in chains. And the way those morons keep eyeing me-“ he tosses a glance at the guards awaiting them “-I can’t be sure if their intention is to kill me or have their way with me.”

Arya’s face flushes unusually red. “Trust me, it’s kill you.”

He smirks. “I thought it looked familiar.”

Arya’s glare is glacial before she turns and storms off to her horse.

“Arya! The chains?” 

She ignores him.
 
He sighs. 

And so begins the long road to Winterfell, he thinks bitterly.

 

 

Chapter 38: On the road again

Summary:

(sing it with me Shrek)

Notes:

Anyway, while on the road to Winterfell, Arya can't stop thinking about Jon's words, which sparks a curiosity about Jaime's feelings for Cersei.

Ugh these next two chapters were by far the hardest to write so far because I'm introducing a few thoughts but didn't want to push it too far just yet. But we got there! I think :)

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

 

Arya was right. The accompanying northmen do want to kill him. They haven’t said a word to him since their departure, but the glacial looks thrown his way makes it clear they would string him up and leave him for dead if they weren’t so loyal to their liege lord

He suspects the only reason they don’t try it as he sleeps is because Arya’s made a habit of placing her direwolf between him and the northmen whenever they make camp. 

That beast still takes off during the day, but comes back routinely when night falls. He never thought he’d be grateful for the direwolf’s presence, but he finds he’s starting to appreciate seeing the thing stalk into the camp and scare the living daylights out of the northmen. 

It seems Arya decided to take his snide comment seriously.

He feels oddly touched by her concern.

The men are perfectly respectful to Arya, though. She twitches every time they call her Lady Stark but she doesn’t correct them and Jaime finds it endlessly amusing watching the titles irritate her so. He has to find amusement somewhere. This journey is somehow far more tedious than their first trek north. Made worse by the fact that Arya refuses to take his chains off. He’s tried every method under the sun to irritate her enough to break her stubbornness on the issue but if anything, she only binds them tighter each morn. 

This is ridiculous, he fumes to himself. For every day he grows more dower over the issue, Arya only seems all the more amused. 

When he gets out of these chains the first thing he’s going to do is snatch that girl’s toy sword from her grasp and fling it off the tallest tower of her beloved castle.

That’ll show her. 

 


 

Arya’s parting conversation with Jon had been echoing around in her head ever since they departed the wall. 

He might not be working against you, but that doesn’t mean his intentions are honourable. 

What an utterly stupid idea. She knows it is. Jaime had never once given her the impression that he wanted anything of the sort from her, so much so that the thought never even entered her head until Jon brought it up.

Now she can’t stop thinking about it. 

Because what if…. well, what if he did want something from her and that’s why he’d been acting so…strange around her. Always looking to get a rise out of her. Or a secret. Or any reaction at all, really.

She thinks back over all the times they’ve spoken and wonders if perhaps it had been more than blatant attempts to cure his own boredom. Maybe all this time he’d been trying to get her to let her guard down just so he could…. what,

Fuck her?

The very idea is so ridiculous she actually snorts out loud. 

Jaime’s eyes flit to her. “And what has you so amused, Lady Stark?” He’d started calling her that ever since he’d heard Jon’s guardsmen referring to her as such, much to her chagrin.

Arya flushes red and diverts her gaze away from his as if he might be able to tell just by looking at her where her mind had gone. “Nothing.”

Jaime seems amused by her answer but doesn’t say a word. 

Arya glances at him. He could have had anyone in Westeros and he chose his own beautiful twin sister. And Jon really thinks a man like that would be interested in her?

She just barely manages to hold back a snort at that thought.

Utterly stupid indeed.

 


 

Why of all the people in Westeros, would he choose to fuck his own sister, anyway?

He rarely speaks of Cersei to her, for obvious reasons. Just thinking about that vile queen makes her tempted to turn around and strike the name off her list once and for all. She’s not subtle about it either, she knows, and so Jaime has wisely stayed silent on the matter. 

Still. Arya is curious now.

She knows all of Westeros considers Cersei to be beautiful. Arya doesn’t agree with this because all she sees when she recalls the queen is the ugly sneer on her face as she backed her vile son’s lies about what happened at the Trident. 

But even with her apparent beauty, she’s still Jaime’s twin sister. 

She thinks about Jon for a moment, but blanches at the very idea. Sure, she loves him. He’s her family. Her brother. But the very thought of doing….that…. with him almost makes her vomit in her mouth because he’s her brother. Seven hells!

And Jaime and Cersei fucked each other often enough to produce three bastards? 

Why?

She doesn’t even want to know how it all came about.

And yet…

She’s curious. 

 


 

She asks him the next morning. 

Right when he’s in the middle of taking a swig of water from his water-skin.

Jaime chokes at the question, coughing and sputtering before regaining his bearings. “What?”

“Why Cersei?” She emphasises as if he might not have heard her the first time. “Of all the people in Westeros you could have fucked, why choose her?”

“What does it matter why?” He seems deeply uncomfortable with her line of questioning. 

“I’m curious. Just thinking about fucking Jon makes me want to throw up in my mouth a little bit, so I don’t know how you could even stomach it.”

He’s glaring at her now. “Cersei is different,” he says in his haughty Lannister way.

She tilts her head to the side. “How?”

“Because- We belonged together. Like two halves of the same whole.”

“And that’s enough to want to fuck each other?”

Jaime rolls his eyes. “Oh, for Seven’s sake, I’m not explaining this to you. It’s none of your business.”

“You’ve been prying into my life story since we met, but I can’t ask you one question?”

“You never answered any of those questions,” he counters with a side long glance.

Arya pretends to think about this for a moment. Then she decides to take a swing at his ego. “Maybe you couldn’t get anyone else."

“That’s not why,” he says in a low warning tone that she ignores. 

“Maybe you were so desperate to get your dick wet that you turned to the only person who can stand the sight of your stupid, Lannister face.”

“Oh, yes, that’s it,” he spits out.

“Although, that still doesn’t explain why Cersei would want to fuck you.” She shrugs. “Maybe she’s just straight up mad. She’s already awful enough as it is.”

“Arya!” He instinctively reaches for his sword, only to remember that not only are his arms bound as ever, but that the one hand he has is currently occupied with the water skin which he instinctively drops, spilling water all over the ground. Not to mention the fact he doesn’t even have his sword on him. Arya takes a step back, watching him with amusement. He is glowering at her. “Don’t speak of what you don’t understand!”

She rolls her eyes. “But I’m trying to understand. You just won’t tell me.”

“Why do you even want to know?”

She looks away, her brother’s words ringing in her ears. “I just do,” she says quietly.

Jaime takes a deep breath, calming his anger. “You’ll likely never understand, Arya Stark” - he only ever calls her that when she’s toeing the line of his patience - “but I loved my sister from the moment we came into this world together. When we were together we felt whole. And to be without her was agony for me, so I did everything in my power to stay by her side. Does that satisfy your curiosity?”

She processes his words, still unable to really understand why that equated to wanting to fuck each other, but she decides not to push that question again. But she does have another one.

“What about now?” 

He shoots her a warning glare. “How do you mean?” 

“If being apart from her is agony for you, then why are you away from her now?”

He looks away from her at that, looking strangely hurt. “She did something I could never forgive.” He takes a deep breath, his posture relaxing with it. “And so here I am, being escorted through this cursed north by the most infuriating girl in all of Westeros, rather than facing the sister I can’t bring myself to forgive. Satisfied?” 

She hesitates. She does have another question. She doesn’t know if she’s pushed his patience enough for one day, but she knows she’s very close to it. “Do you miss her?” She asks tentatively.

Jaime watches her carefully for a long moment, and then his posture slumps a little bit. “Sometimes, yes,” he admits. 

Arya nods, unable to help the prickle of irritation she feels at his honesty.

Cersei is so awful, she has difficulty understanding how anyone could miss her at all. Even Jaime. 

But she leaves him alone after that.

 


 

Notes:

To be continued in the next chapter :)

Chapter 39: Curious

Summary:

Now it's Jaime's turn to pry, as Arya's line of questioning sparks curiosities of his own.

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

 

For once, Jaime prefers to travel in silence, after that rather humiliating grilling Arya had given him that morning. 

Why in seven hells is she so insistent on hearing about Cersei now?

They’d been rather steadfastly ignoring the topic of his sister as much as they could, what with Arya’s murderous intent and his… reluctance to fully condemn Cersei despite his leaving. For all the growing numbers of enemies to the crown, Jaime had been avoiding thinking about his sister’s demise.

Now he’s thinking about it, thanks to Arya’s invasive questioning. 

In the back of his mind, he thinks it's perhaps a fair turnaround for all the times he’d pushed her on topics she clearly did not want to talk about. But that doesn’t stop him from feeling angry now that she’d thrown his relationship with Cersei in his face. 

And really, why does she even care? He’s fairly certain this is the first time she’d ever asked anything about Cersei, and the one question she does have is about his sex life? And what would she even know about that anyway? He wonders if she’s even still a maiden or if she’d lost it to some nameless man god knows where. 

Given or taken?

He glances at her out of the corner of his eye. It would be difficult for anyone to get the jump on her, but not impossible. 

On the other hand, she doesn’t seem the sort to particularly care about retaining her virtue, and who knows where she’d scampered off to all these years. She certainly hasn’t disclosed the details to him.

She’s so closed off, he wonders what sort of man would take her fancy, anyway?

He stops, realising he’s falling down a dangerous trail of thought.

What do I care who warms her bed?

 


 

They are making camp for the night and Jaime senses her eyes on him. Eyes full of questions. He tries to ignore her, and to her credit, she never speaks.

But he can’t stop noticing the attention. Finally, when the guardsmen are busy looking after the evening meal while Arya is setting up a campfire, eyes flitting to him constantly, he reluctantly takes a seat beside her. “What?” He asks, giving her an opening.

She looks away. “Nothing,” she says. 

Well, now he’s curious. “Just spit it out,” he tells her. 

She shakes her head. “You won’t want to know.”

He looks at her for a moment, taking in her unusual hesitance. His eyes narrow. “This is about Cersei, isn’t it.”

She doesn’t say anything, but the tense look on her face is answer enough.

He looses a long breath, and then relents, steeling himself. “Just ask me, if you want to know.”

She glances at him, looks away, and then looks at him again before he finally sees her give in to her curiosity. 

“Does it not feel… weird? I mean, I love Jon, but that doesn’t mean I want him in my bed. Like that. You’re a Lannister. You could have anyone, but you choose her?"

He hesitates. “Its…not that sort of love,” he says carefully.

Arya wrinkles her nose in clear distaste. “Why?”

He shrugs. “I honestly don’t have a logical answer for you. It just is.”

She nods but stays silent. He can see her turning his words over in her head, as if trying to make sense of them.

He’d squashed down his curiosity from earlier in the day, but now it comes creeping back in. Could be she simply can’t comprehend the lust he felt for his own sibling, and that is perfectly understandable, he supposes.

But he wonders if she even knows what it’s like at all? She’d clearly shown an interest in that Baratheon bastard. How deep that ran, he never particularly cared to delve into. 

His curiosity is getting the better of him. He knows the question will incense her.

But honestly, he sees that as more of an incentive than a deterrent.

So he decides to dig is claws in, as usual. “Have you ever thought about it?” He asks idly glancing over to see the direwolf busy chomping on some large animal bone and hopefully too distracted to bite his head off for incensing her master.

Arya glances at him suspiciously. “Thought about what?” She asks as she goes about setting up their furs.

“Fucking someone.”

Her sharp gaze practically burns holes through him as she gapes. “Why?”

He smirks, shrugging idly. “I’m curious. Since you brought it up. Are you even still a maiden?”

“Yes. What does that matter?”

He raises an eyebrow at the answer. “It doesn’t, really.” It answers the question, but he has to admit he’s surprised by the answer. Most girls traversing the wilds of Westeros usually had it taken from them. Arya’s very lucky it hadn’t happened to her, all things considered. He shakes off the thought, not wanting to dwell on it any longer than he has to.

“You’ve at least thought about it though, haven’t you? No man has tickled your fancy yet?”

She’s still glaring at him furiously. “No!”

“Really?” He quirks an eyebrow. “Not even that bastard boy?”

She flushes red and looks away. “Why would I?”

Why indeed?

And yet, her flushed countenance speaks volumes as to whether she has. Even if admitting it seems beyond her at this moment. 

He lets her evade it, though, and simply shrugs, smirking. “Saving that for your wedding day, then? What a dutiful lady you’ll make your future lord husband some day.”

She looks completely insulted by the idea, as he suspected she would be. “I’m not getting married!”

“Well not yet,” he says with a teasing smirk. “But all highborn ladies get married off eventually.”

“Well I’m not a lady. And I’m not getting married.”

“Ever?”

“Ever!”

“Hm. An admirable goal. Why such a severe aversion to the idea?” And he’s genuinely curious. He hasn’t met many ladies who don’t fancy their wedding day. Even Cersei wanted it at one point, when Rhaegar was the option (however deluded on his family’s part). 

Arya goes silent for a moment. Then she lets out a relenting sigh. “It’s just not me. I wasn’t ever good at the whole being a lady thing. Hated the idea of marrying some stupid, stuffy lord, keeping his castle, bearing his children. I wanted more than that.”

Jaime can’t help the mirthful smile at her words. Arya shoots him a glare. “It’s not funny!”

“No, it’s not,” he concedes, trying to hide his laugh. “I’m not laughing at you, I promise. You know, I hold similar views on marriage myself.”

“Really?”

Jaime nods. “Why do you think I joined the Kingsguard? My father… well, you met him, didn’t you? You know what he was like. He had high expectations of me. Of all of us, really. And I knew even as a boy I’d never be able to live up to them. I’m made for fighting, not ruling. I’m lucky it worked out for me, I suppose.”

Arya is silent for another moment. He can see her turning his words over in her head. “I’d rather leave Westeros than get married,” she declares.

He shrugs, smiling. “Maybe one day you will. Meet some foreign warrior to whisk you away and into his bed.”

Arya rolls her eyes. “Not likely.”

“Why not? Just because you’re never getting married doesn’t mean you can’t enjoy the benefits of being with a man.”

“There aren’t any benefits.”

He laughs genuinely at that. “The highborn rarely get much choice it’s true, but trust me, Lady Arya, If you are ever lucky enough to find the right man, there are plenty of benefits.

Arya flushes red and ignores him for the rest of the evening and well into the next day. 

 


 

Arya thinks about Jaime’s words for days after. It’s annoying - frustrating even - that she finds herself dwelling on it so much. Every time she thinks she’s past it, it pops back up in her mind like a weed that just won’t stop growing. 

And sure, it’s not like she hasn’t thought about sex before. She’s spied in a brothel, for seven’s sake. She knows plenty about sex. The sights. The sounds. The smells. And she’d been curious, sure, about the workings of it all, but under no impression it was something she would ever actually want to do herself.

But the heat that courses through her when she thinks of Jaime’s heavily insinuated words is a foreign feeling.

One she’s not entirely sure she’s comfortable with. 

And she’s mortified that it’s Jaime Lannister’s words causing her to think about these things. 

Jaime is… Jaime. Old. A broken knight who can’t even fight properly anymore. May not even want to, given his reservations about practicing with his off hand. Not to mention a Lannister.

This is all Jon’s fault, she decides bitterly. She never would have been stuck thinking any of this if he hadn’t brought it up in the first place.

 


 

Notes:

I'm simply trying to plant some seeds without bringing any real desire into it yet. And balancing that was really hard.

Chapter 40: So it begins

Summary:

When Jaime and Arya have too much on their mind, they turn to sparring. Naturally.

Notes:

Me: I'm sorry, I simply can't make my chapters any longerrr

Also me: *writes a whole ass 2000 words and didn't even fit everything in I planned to.*

But to be fair, I'm trying to limit the amount of traveling chapters as much as possible so to fit everything in, I've just embraced making them a little longer. But DON'T expect this of me every chapter because not all of them will garner a longer length but some just might. We'll just have to see when we get there. lol.

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

Ever since the Cersei thing, Arya had been disconcertingly quiet. 

On the one hand, Jaime is grateful for this. He needs the reprieve after she’d forced all memories of Cersei to the surface of his mind. But on the…. Hm. 

Well, its just rather unnerving that her unreadable mask is back in place.

She’d been more open and easy to read the last few weeks or so. He’s not thrilled about reverting back to guessing what might be going on in her head. He can’t do much with a blank wall.

With Arya so quiet, he doesn’t have much else to do but dwell on Cersei, now that she’s been so successfully flung back to the forefront of his mind. He hadn’t realised how much of a blessed reprieve it was not thinking about Cersei every day until he was rudely reminded of her existence. 

It’s funny, though. There was a time when thinking of Cersei was the only thing keeping him going. Now, he’s tempted to stick needles in his eyes if it means he’s too distracted with the excruciating pain to dwell on her.

Unfortunately, anything sharp had been taken off him back at the Wall.

Arya keeps it all.

He can even see his sword strapped to her saddle. 

Wait, she calls her little sword Needle, doesn’t she? If he irritates her enough, he wonders if she’ll shove it through his eye and rid him of thoughts of Cersei once and for all.

Suppose I could mention the Bran thing. That might just about do it.

He glances at her and she’s stoic as ever, clearly far away with her thoughts. He assumes. Again, it’s difficult to tell. 

He sighs.

At some point he’ll probably have to come clean about that.

Problem for another day, he decides.

 


 

Arya hadn’t considered what might be expected of her when she returned home until now.

With the threat of the wight walkers beyond the wall, she hadn’t been able to spend as much time with Jon as she wanted. But he still seems to take her interest in fighting seriously. Will he still let her be herself now that he’s the king in the north or will she be expected to take a more lady like role in the Stark household now that she’s back?

Jaime is right. All highborn ladies are married off eventually. What if Jon and Sansa expect that of her too? To form some alliance? Be a proper lady? They have to know that’s not her. She wants to be there for them. To protect them. The whole point of learning all of this is so she could keep them safe.

Well, alright, and kill her enemies, but still! 

She wants to return to her pack, to be home at Winterfell with her family, but what expectations would they have of her? What if they want something she can’t give them?

Jon knows her better than that. Surely.

But what if its expected of her regardless?

 


 

Sometimes he misses Cersei. Not the one he’d left, but the woman she’d been before all this madness started. Even now he wishes everything could just go back to how it was. His sword in his right hand and his sweet sister in his arms.

He wonders if she’s ordered his death yet.  He is under no disillusions that she’d do anything but call for his head if he returned to King’s Landing now. If he’s lucky. She has their father’s ruthless reaction to betrayal of any kind, perhaps even her own family. And he had abandoned her, after all. Deserted her army just as the dragon queen had arrived on their shore.

To say nothing of the dragon queen herself.

No matter which queen sits on the iron throne, he’d be screwed if he ever returned to King’s Landing. Casterly Rock might protect him, but it would cost the Westerlands dearly, he’s sure of it. 

And the King in the North has offered him sanctuary.

He snorts. 

Of all the places in Westeros to offer him refuge.

Ned Stark must surely be turning in his grave right now.

It’s a funny thought, actually. 

Almost makes the trip worth it. 

 


 

It had taken an entire week of pestering the guardsmen before they finally allowed her to take a watch shift. And that only came about after a band of opportunistic but ultimately stupid thieves thought they could get the jump on their party and Arya’s sword had scared them away more than the guardsmen. 

After that display, though, they were quick to take her authority on the matter seriously, and she took the last shift before dawn. She chose this one so the guardsmen would be too sound asleep to pay attention to her practice with Needle. And the more her mind turns to what might be expected of her upon her return, the more she itches for these practice sessions as a way of distracting herself from dwelling on it.

She’d been worried about Jon accepting her, and that turned out to be all in her head. And now that she’d proved herself capable of fighting, he takes her seriously in that regard now too. There’s nothing suggesting they would force her into a role she’s not suited for. Absolutely nothing.

But as she twirls Needle in hand, running through the steps, she finds herself worrying about it regardless. 

 


 

Jaime never sleeps particularly soundly on the road. Too many possible dangers lurking around. So when Arya starts using the early morning watch as a practice session, he’s woken by the sound of it. 

He can’t see much, of course. Even as the sky lightens, its still heavily dark and only provides enough light for him to see the shadows of her movements.

Not that he needs much light to know what she’s doing. He’s seen her practice often enough, sparred with her often enough, to know her steps well. 

She’s currently lashing out more than usual, though, with an aggression that tells him she has more than just sparring on her mind. 

That used to be his way, he thinks. Whenever his thoughts got too much to bear, he’d go out to the practice yard and swing his sword around until he could barely stand from the exertion. Or seek respite in Cersei’s arms. 

He doesn’t interrupt Arya’s practice the first time, merely observes her quietly. He has found he likes watching Arya’s practice, with her foreign movements and her sharp precision. It’s such a stark contrast to the way a Westerosi soldier fights that he often finds himself almost entranced by the way she dances around, light as air but twice as cutting.

When she wakes him the next morning, though, sword in hand and looking ready to murder the air around her if such a thing were possible, Jaime’s curiosity about what is driving her to such aggressive training gets the better of him.

Well, that, and he’s itching to get out of these restraints and reclaim his own sword in hand.

And so, after a little while of watching her twirl around stabbing at this and cutting through that, he decides he simply has to interrupt.

 


 

“You look in serious need of someone real to swing at.”

Arya startles and whirls around at the sound of Jaime’s voice, feeling guilty like she’d been caught doing something she shouldn’t.

“How long have you been watching me?”

Jaime shrugs. “Ever since you started these secret sessions of yours. You’re not as quiet as you think.” He glances at the sound asleep guardsmen. “To those with trained ears, that is.” 

Arya looks at the ground, holding Needle in a loose grip. “I have a lot on my mind,” she says.

“I can tell. I could offer my services as a sparring partner but alas, I’m a little tied up at the moment,” he holds up the shackles to make his point.

She could actually use a real opponent. She shrugs. “Alright.” 

Jaime raises an eyebrow as she goes to retrieve the key from her saddle pack. “That’s it? Seven hells, Arya, If I knew it was this easy I would have suggested a spar days ago.”

She rolls her eyes. “You’re not a real prisoner.”

“And yet you clearly enjoy treating me like one.” 

Something about his hushed tone of voice sends a funny feeling fluttering in her belly as she undoes his shackles and her skin suddenly itches at the closeness of his proximity. Startled, she steps away quickly once he’s free.

“I have a condition,” he says as he tosses the shackles aside carelessly.

“Of course you do.”

He turns to her with a grin. “If I win, those stay off.”

“What do I get when you lose?”

His smirk only grows. “Ah, well, I have something to fight for now. That rather puts the odds in my favour.”

Arya snorts. “If you were as skilled with your sword as you are with your words, I might be worried.”

He smirks. “Do you accept my terms, Lady Stark?”

She frowns at him before retrieving his sword and giving it back to him. 

Jaime makes a big show of unsheathing his sword and swinging it around. “Oh, how I missed having you in my hands,” he says with exaggerated reverence. He stops. “Well, hand, I suppose.”

Arya has to fight rolling her eyes at his antics. “You really are an idiot.”

He points his sword her way like a cocky shit. “One who’s about to win his freedom, my lady.”

Arya scoffs. “You wish.”

And so it begins. 

 


 

Dawn slowly breaks around them as Arya and Jaime grow distracted sparring with each other. 

Jaime matches Arya’s aggression hit for hit and she has to admit he is much improved from the first time their swords clashed. His movements aren’t nearly as stiff as they were before and she realises maybe he’s learned a thing or two from watching her.

She likes that thought. That THE Jaime Lannister has learned from her. 

A small smile breaks out on her face as she evades another strike. 

She imagines what he would have been like with his sword hand. She’s starting to see his speed returning and can see even in that how formidable he would have been in his prime. She doubts she would have stood a chance against that Jaime Lannister, but wouldn’t it have been fun trying?

As Jaime pulls for another swing, Arya stumbles in her steps when she notices how the light from the day catches his eyes just so. She wonders if it’s the exhilaration of having his sword back that makes his green eyes shine like wildfire and suddenly her own sword is sent flying out of her hand. 

What the fuck was that?

 


 

Jaime is surprised when he manages to knock the sword from her hand, allowing him to levy his sword at her throat. She looks just as shocked, so he knows the win is in earnest. Despite all of his posturing, he wasn’t entirely confident he could beat her. And yet won he had.

He has no time to relish his victory though because that’s the moment the guardsmen finally come to their senses and wake up. They waste no time in apprehending and disarming him. 

“How dare you raise your sword to the Lady Stark?” One of them says as the one with his sword pressed to Jaime’s throat presses for blood.

“Stop!”

The guardsmen turn at Arya’s sudden command.

“My lady?”

“We were only sparring. Let him go.” Her eyes meet his and she falters for a moment before regaining her hard edge as she looks to the guardsmen with the sword at his throat. “You heard me. Let him go.” 

They hesitate before relinquishing their grip on him. 

Arya relaxes when they do. “And he is to remain unshackled from now on.” She looks at him again. “We have no need of them.”

Jaime smiles at the victory.

 

 

Notes:

♪ it started out as a feeling... ♪ anyway, more to unpack in the next chapter and we'll actually see Winterfell, I promise.

Chapter 41: Home

Summary:

Arya returns home. Jaime is less than thrilled about returning to Winterfell.

Notes:

So I had a chapter before this one that I struggled with for days before I decided to just scrap it and move on. I'll push the important bits back to later chapters.

So welcome to Winterfell! Some pleasant reunions and others much less so. naturally. lol.

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

 

Arya’s breath falters when she sees Winterfell for the first time in years. The castle walls aren’t exactly how she remembers them, but pretty close. It seems the years had been as hard on Winterfell as they’d been on the Starks.

“I would have thought you might be more pleased to be back home,” Jaime notes idly from beside her.

Arya’s eyes narrow a fraction. “Who says I’m not?”

“Call it a hunch, if you like,” he shrugs. “How does it feel to be home?” He asks.

Arya considers her answer as she takes in the blackened walls. “Strange.”

And it is. She had been fighting so long to get home, it is somewhat surreal to finally be here.

And it has been so long since she’d seen her sister. 

She looks down at her hands. “I’m just not sure what they’ll expect of me. I’ve been on my own for so long, I’ve gotten used to deciding things for myself. But here… everyone will have expectations of me. They’ll want me to be like Sansa, I’m sure of it.”

“If they’re still thinking that when they see you, they’re fools.”

She hides her smile as they approach the gates.

 


 

Arya may be feeling conflicted emotions about returning to Winterfell, but Jaime’s are a bit more clear cut. He is wary about returning to this place. It is not nearly the safest place for a Lannister to reside. But Jaime supposes he has few alternatives that would be any safer. 

The northmen would despise and distrust him. They may even try to kill him. He is unsure if anyone would jump to defend him if they did.

Except, perhaps, for the girl beside him. 

There was a time when Arya may have been the first in line, but since saving her brother, he seems to have gained some of her trust. Just as well, all things considered. He knew coming north would be a risk, but with few alternatives available to him, he decided it would be worth it if it means one less broken promise haunting him.

But in doing so, he had put himself in the unsettling situation of having his life entirely in the hands of the Starks; a family his had almost brought to ruin.

If they decided to kill him, he can't fault them, he’s only too aware.

All the same, he hopes they don’t.

 


 

Arya almost shivers as she passes beneath the gates of Winterfell. She’s home, but she feels like such a stranger here after all this time. Hopefully it will come to feel more like home in time.

The household is there to greet them, and she spots Sansa immediately. Taller than ever, beautiful as ever, and so like their mother, it is startling to lay eyes on her again. 

The two sisters meet each other’s eyes and she can see the well of emotion in Sansa’s even as the rest of her is perfectly composed.

Arya dismounts and approaches her with a touch of apprehension. They eye each other in silence for a moment, and Arya notices the changes in her sister. How closed off she is now. How reserved. Sansa is probably thinking the same of her. “Do I have to call you Lady Stark now?” She asks to break the tension.  

Sansa lifts her chin. “Yes.” 

But Sansa breaks into a smile first and they move almost in unison to embrace each other. They never hugged each other as children. Too busy fighting and arguing. But Arya did not realise how much she’d truly missed her sister until now. 

 


 

Jaime lingers in the background as the Stark sisters reunite, hoping to detract notice for as long as possible. It’s interesting seeing the two girls in the one place. As different from each other as night and day. He may never have recognised Arya if she hadn’t told him her name, but even if he did not remember Sansa Stark from King’s Landing, he would have recognised her as Catelyn’s daughter in an instant. 

Jaime glances away as the sisters embrace, not wanting to intrude on the moment, and that’s when he finds another pair of Tully blue eyes staring unblinkingly at him. And he’s startled as the boy’s face throws him back into his first stay at Winterfell. To a stolen moment with his sweet sister, and a small face in the window.

His heart almost stops in his chest as he recognises the face of Bran Stark, the boy he’d crippled, staring at him with the eyes of someone who knows.

He knows.

“Bran?” Arya’s exclamation mirrors his own shock, only she is quicker to recover, darting forward and throwing her arms around her little brother.

Her little brother who is alive!

Arya is going to kill me.

 


 

When Arya notices Bran for the first time, she could not stop herself from launching herself into his arms, shocked to see him alive at all. She expects to see Sansa but Bran is a different story entirely.

“Arya,” he greets her, his voice sounding strangely empty. 

She pulls away slowly and Bran is looking at her with a peculiar expression she can’t quite place. 

“I saw you at the Crossroads” he says. “I’m glad you came home.”

Arya frowns. “You saw me?”

He nods. His eyes turn away from her, looking over her shoulder. “We all followed separate paths. You learned to kill. I learned to see things. Things that were. Things that are. Sometimes even things that will be.”

Arya tilts her head to the side. “You mean like the stories Old Nan used to tell us?”

Bran’s expression lightens just a touch as he looks at her. “Yes. Like those. And more.” He looks back over her shoulder. “You brought Ser Jaime with you. Good. He is needed here.”

That is when everyone actually notices Jaime’s presence in Winterfell. 

Jaime himself seems strangely uncomfortable under the sudden scrutiny. He looks like he’d rather be anywhere but here.

 


 

Jaime rather wishes the ground would swallow him up as the entire courtyard’s attention turns to him. 

Great. Just great.

One wrong move might end in the removal of his head.

Surely, if anyone knew the truth about Bran Stark’s fall, he’d have been clapped in irons by now. There’s a chance they don’t know. 

But is that worse?

Arya clears her throat. “Jaime was at the Wall with me and Jon. He saw what’s out there. He wants to help.”

Lady Sansa raises an eyebrow. “Does he?” She does not sound like she believes that. He can’t really blame her. She turns her cold gaze on him. “How do you suppose you’ll make yourself more useful here instead of the summit in King’s Landing?”

Seems she’s grown a spine since her time in the capital. “Lady Stark. I admit encroaching upon your hospitality wasn’t the original plan. The dragon queen doesn't seem to like me very much, though, so your sister thought escorting her to Winterfell would be a better use of my time.”

“Was escorting my sister not the purpose of the guards?”

“Sansa,” Arya says in a low voice. “Jon gave his blessing too.” She has a missive in her hands which Sansa takes without skipping a beat, skimming over it quickly. Her expression doesn’t even shift as her gaze lifts first to Arya, and then to Jaime.

He offers her a smile, only guessing what the contents must be. “Surely even the Lady of Winterfell cannot refuse her king’s command.”

Sansa’s cold stare turns even more glacial. She never takes his eyes off of him as she addresses the maester at her side. 

“Maester Wolkan. See to it that appropriate quarters are prepared for Ser Jaime’s stay. He will not be leaving them any time soon.”

 


 

Arya follows Sansa back to the keep, furious at her for keeping Jaime confined. “It’s not right. He’s not going to try anything.”

“You can’t know that,” Sansa says, not breaking her stride. “He may have been granted sanctuary here, but that doesn’t mean we can afford to lower our defences. It’s a precaution. He should be grateful to have a room at all, and not a cell.”

“Jon wouldn’t have offered him Sanctuary if he thought he couldn’t be trusted.”

“Well Jon isn’t here, and I can’t have a Lannister running around Winterfell unchecked. Especially that Lannister. There’s every chance he will leak all of our secrets to his sister the first chance he gets.”

“He wouldn’t do that.”

Sansa does stop, then, turning to Arya, her brow pinched in irritation. “You don’t know him, Arya. You have no idea what he would and wouldn’t do. I lived with these people for years. I know how they think. There’s a self serving reason behind every action they take and it was foolish of Jon to give Ser Jaime any clemency without thinking things through.” 

“He saved Jon’s life. He didn’t have to do that.”

“Yes, and now he’s been granted free access to Winterfell and all of our resources. Clever. Perhaps he’s not the weakest Lannister after all.”

“Jaime’s not like that. He has only ever treated me well.”

“So did Cersei until it wasn’t necessary anymore. This is what they do, Arya. No matter what he wants you to believe, Ser Jaime will always be loyal to his sister. Remember that, if nothing else.”

“You’re wrong about him.”

Sansa raises her chin in a gesture eerily similar to their mother. “For the North’s sake, you should pray that I am.” She walks away, leaving Arya with her words.

 


 

Notes:

Soo Arya's home. Yay!

But with a lot of tension to unpack. And that's not even touching the Littlefinger problem yet. Should be interesting :)

Chapter 42: An elaborate cage

Summary:

Practically imprisoned at Winterfell, Jaime feels a bit like a caged animal. Arya pays him a visit

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

 

Jaime’s quarters are slightly bigger than the one he’d had in the white sword tower, so he supposes he shouldn’t complain overly much. The bed is bigger too, and there’s a small but empty desk in the corner with a rickety old chair he’s not sure anyone’s actually used before. There’s a doorway to a small wash room, and maids and servants come in every now and again to tend the room and deliver his meals. All under the watchful eyes of the guard assigned to his door at all times. 

All in all, it gives him the feeling of an elaborate cage, though at least it’s a warm one. The fire is always going and there’s warmth radiating from the walls. 

It could be a lot worse, but that thought doesn’t stop him pacing the floor like a caged animal. His weapons had all been taken from him, of course. He has very little but his thoughts to amuse himself with and his only visitors so far are the servants that come and go at irregular intervals. 

He feels like a prisoner awaiting a death sentence and a small part of him wishes they’d just get it over with.

 


 

Two days later, though, he exits the washroom to find Arya pacing the floor of his room, flipping a small knife in hand. She’s alone, no guard in sight, and her unexpected presence near startles the life out of him. 

“Arya!” He exclaims. She turns to face him. He looks from her to the door and back again. “How did you get in here?”

“A door.”

He shakes his head. “Of course,” he mutters. “I don’t suppose you’re here to let me out?”

Arya’s lips purse in a thin line, showing her displeasure. “No. Sansa won’t allow it.”

He nods. “Fair. So then what does bring you here?”

Arya goes back to flipping her knife and pacing the floor. “Sansa said something,” she says slowly as if testing the waters. Testing him.

He tenses, crossing his arms. “I’m sure she did.”

“She said… you would always be loyal to your sister. That you would betray us to her at the first opportunity.” She swivels on the spot to face him, hand behind her back and expression completely blank.

He forces himself not to flinch under her piercing stare. “All fair concerns to have, I suppose.” 

Arya tilts her head to the side, watching him carefully. “Is she right to be concerned?”

His lips quirk in a smirk. “If she was, would I really confess that here?”

“I would know whether you choose to tell the truth or a lie.”

He rolls his eyes. “Of course you would.” His gaze flits to the door momentarily, wondering if the guard can hear them. “And what do you think my answer is?”

She holds his gaze. “You still love her. You still hope she’ll take you back. You might do anything to win back her favour. Even run to her with all our secrets.”

He glowers at her. “That’s not true.”

“Which part?”

“I would never…” he shakes his head. “There was a time I would have done anything for Cersei, but I assure you that time has passed. And after what I’ve seen beyond the wall…” he looses a breath. “I’m here to help. To fight for the living, and I will honour that. You don’t have to trust me, but you can trust those words.”

Arya looks away. “I do trust you. I just… wasn't sure I should.”

"It’s probably wise to show caution, given the circumstances. I shouldn’t have expected less from the Lady Stark.”

“Sansa doesn’t trust anyone.”

He raises an eyebrow. “Not even family?”

Arya shrugs. “She barely talks to me so I wouldn’t know. Spends all her time letting Littlefinger whisper his lies in her ear.”

He freezes. “Baelish is here?”

Arya nods. “I don’t know why Sansa even puts up with him, but he’s always hovering in the shadows. Has spies all over the castle. Even tried to get a few through here. I stopped them though, obviously.”

“How do you know who belongs to him and who doesn’t?” 

Her lips twitch as she hides a smirk. “I’m better at going unnoticed than he is.”

He smiles. “That doesn’t surprise me.” He hesitates. “Baelish will likely cause you trouble. He’s spent years spinning conflict in King’s Landing.”

Arya looks at him curiously. “How do you know?”

“I’ll have you know, I’m rather good at watching people, myself. I learned more than just the king’s secrets in his service.” He hesitates again. “And Baelish… he had a certain interest in Catelyn Stark for many years. Your sister looks a lot like her.”

“He won’t get anywhere near her,” she growls out, her fist clenched tight around the knife in her hand. 

Jaime hides his smile. “With you looking out for her, I have no doubt. Be careful not to underestimate him. He’s rather an expert at manipulating the people around him.”

“I know.” Quiet falls between them before Arya speaks again. “I know you hate being stuck here. I can’t let you out but… I’ll try and come back.”

He quirks a smile. “Better than nothing, I suppose.”

She shoots him a glare but its not nearly as cutting as he’s used to. 

When he blinks, she’s gone as if she’d never been there at all. 

Huh.


 

Arya sits herself before her father’s statue. It doesn’t look much like him. Maybe the person who made it didn’t even know what he looked like. 

She’d been avoiding this place, afraid of what it might feel like. But she felt compelled to visit tonight. And maybe coming down here will make her feel more at home. She has a lot of memories of this place, hiding and playing games down here. 

“I should have come here sooner,” she mumbles to herself. And a little to him. “It’s so strange, being home after everything that happened. Sometimes I walk around a corner and expect to see you and mother there. It’s stupid, I know. But… it doesn’t feel much like home without you and mother. Robb and Rickon.”

She looks down at her hands, picking at her fingernails. “You would probably hate me for bringing Jaime Lannister here. You never liked him. Sansa doesn’t like him either. And I know he’s not a very good man. Not good like you were. But… most people aren’t good like you were. I’m not either. I tried to be. I think he’s trying too. He’s better at it than I am, anyway.”

She brings her knees up to her chest, resting her chin on her arms and allowing herself to feel small, just this once, with no one around to see. “After the things I’ve done, I’m not sure you’d like me very much either. I know what you wanted me to be. It would be easier if I could be like that. A lady, like Sansa. But it’s not me. It never will be.

“I think that’s why I can’t dislike him like you did. He doesn’t care about all that stuff. It’s nice not having to worry about it with him.”

 

 

Notes:

Just a little one today. We'll get more into the Baelish stuff next chapter, but most of it will be from Jaime's POV so look forward to a lot more Jaime and Arya interactions up next. It is the whole point of the thing, after all :)

Chapter 43: "What's the worst thing you've ever done?"

Summary:

A conversation between Jaime and Arya about her father's honour

Notes:

The Baelish stuff is taking a bit longer to write than I expected so I made this scene just a tad longer so I could post something today. Hope you like it. It's all about the JaimexArya bonding times :)

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

 

“What’s the worst thing you’ve ever done?”

Jaime startles at the sudden sound of Arya’s voice and spins around to see her with an unreadable expression on her face. 

How does she keep getting in here? 

But then her question registers and dread plunges into his gut as he worries if this is about her little brother.

Does she know?

“Why do you ask?” He asks carefully.

There’s hesitation in her eyes, before her rigid posture softens and she looks away. “I’m… just curious.” She shrugs. “My father called you dishonourable.”

“I’m aware. He is not the only one to do so,” he offers, wondering where she’s going with this. 

“He might call me dishonourable too. If he was here to see some of the things I’ve done.”

Jaime relaxes as he realises this isn’t about the Bran thing at all. Seems Arya has something else on her mind. He latches onto that little statement with immediate interest. “Sorry, did I hear that right? Ned Stark’s darling daughter has been acting dishonourably?”

He could have laughed at Arya’s returning glare. “I did it for my family!” She snaps.

And that only causes Jaime’s grin to widen further. “I see. And what have you done to bring such dishonour to your name?” 

She hesitates again. “I asked you first,” she mutters.

Jaime tilts his head to the side, considering his answer. “Well, I am rather well known for the worst thing I’ve ever done.”

“But you don’t think that’s the worst thing you’ve done, do you?”

She is right. “No, I don’t” he answers, allowing his gaze to shift upward in consideration before returning to meet her curious eyes. “But I’ve done so many terrible things since then, that it’s difficult to point to one as worse.” Though in this moment, there’s certainly one that stands out in his mind.

Arya is quiet for a moment, turning his words over in her head. “Do you regret any of them?”

Now this is hitting a little too close to his first concern, and he wonders if now is the time he should come clean to her about Bran’s fall. But the words stick in his throat and he looks down at the ground, managing a quiet, “one.”

She’s watching him with a conflicted look before she sighs and collapses to sit on the edge of his bed, crossing her legs beneath her. “I don’t regret what I did,” she admits in a small voice. “I would make the same choices if I could do it again. But now that I’m home, I keep wondering if I should feel guilty for what I’ve done.”

He can certainly sympathise with that. He had done truly terrible things in the name of his family. The evidence of one of those actions is currently bound to a wheelchair somewhere in these very halls. He has a difficult time believing Arya’s victims were quite so undeserving. “Were they innocent?” He asks carefully.

“No.” He sees a flash of fury in her eyes. “They weren’t.”

He nods. “Then as far as I’m concerned, you have nothing to feel guilty for.” Unlike him, who will bear his guilt for the rest of his days. “Though it may be unwise to take my word for it. I am a man without honour after all.” He can hear the bitter edge to his words, even as he tried to toss them out with an air of indifference.

Arya is watching him with a peculiar expression he can’t quite place. “I don’t think that’s true,” she says at last.

He very nearly blanches at the words. “Why would you think that?” It unnerves him greatly hearing those words from a girl with Ned Stark’s cold grey eyes. Only… they were not all that cold at this moment. 

Arya shrugs, entirely unaware of the conflict raging within him. “I’ve met a lot of dishonourable people. You’re not like them.” He doesn’t know what to say to that. After a moment of silence, Arya breaks eye contact first, looking down at her hands, her cheeks flushed pink. “I’d have killed you if you were,” she adds.

“That I don’t doubt for a moment.” Especially when she learns the truth about her brother. I really should tell her before she finds out some other way. Even if she does try to kill me for it. 

He can’t bring himself to right now though. Not when she’s looking at him like that. Like he’s worth something. It brings about a strange, warm feeling he can’t quite name.

He shakes his head with a huff. “You shouldn’t worry too much about your father’s honour. It’s an idyllic notion, but it’s what got him killed.”

“I know. I do wish I could be more like him, though.”

Jaime has to work hard to stop himself from rolling his eyes. “You’re already plenty like him. Any more and you’d be downright insufferable to tolerate. What a mind numbingly dull trek north that would have been.”

“Hey! Don’t talk about him like that! He was still my father!”

“My apologies,” he says, though he’s not actually very sorry at all. “I’m sure he was a wonderful father to you. He was, however, very unforgiving to those of us unable to live up to his shining moral code. Forgive me if I don’t sing his praises any time soon.”

He immediately realises his mistake when Arya’s expression grows blank. 

He sighs. “Arya. For all his faults, your father was a good man. From what I’ve seen, that’s a trait he’s well and truly passed on to his children. You really shouldn’t worry so much.” 

She nods.

“You’ve done what you can to survive. I’d say you turned out alright.” He smirks. “For a Stark.”

She glares at him playfully. “And you’re not entirely awful. For a Lannister.”

“That is high praise.”

She breaks away with a smile. 

More and more, Jaime finds himself searching for those rare genuine smiles of hers.

 

 

Notes:

:)

Chapter 44: Hook

Summary:

Arya tries to thwart Littlefinger's plans and Jaime gets to hear all about it.

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

 

“You know,” he says when he notices her presence out of the corner of his eye. “If you’re going to keep materialising out of thin air like that, you could at least throw me a bone and show me how it’s done. Then maybe I can finally get out of here.”

Arya is smirking at him. “I don’t materialise. You should pay better attention to your surroundings.” 

He sits up quickly in his bed, swivelling to face her. “Careful. I might just mistake your words for a gauntlet in the sand.” 

Arya shrugs and paces the floor. “Take them however you want. They’re true, either way.”

Jaime is about to retort when he notices something different about her. A dagger strapped to her hip. She usually keeps her smaller weapons concealed, so he’s surprised to see her displaying this one. “I see you’ve found a new toy. Wherever did you get it?”

She realises what he means and unsheathes the blade. It’s well made. The hilt is made of dragon bone and the steel itself is Valyrian. “You mean this?” She flips it expertly in her hand. Then her expression turns serious. “Bran gave it to me. He said it was a gift from Littlefinger.” 

Jaime raises an eyebrow. “Lord Baelish had a Valyrian steel dagger?” Not even the lord of the vale is likely to have something this valuable.

“I’m assuming he stole it from its previous owner.”

Jaime smirks. “A fair assessment. May I see it.”

She nods and crosses to the bed, offering him the hilt which he takes. Jaime’s brow furrows as he examines the blade. “This is far too valuable for someone like Littlefinger to just give away so easily.”

“Sansa says he never gives anything for free.”

“She’s right. Why would he give this to your brother?”

“It was meant to kill him after his fall.” Jaime winces at the mention of it. 

But he does remember that, actually. “I did hear about that. Your mother thought our family behind that attack.”

Arya’s brow furrows. “Why would she think that?”

He hesitates. “Someone wanted her to believe that to be the case. I believe it’s the reason she kidnapped Tyrion in the first place.”

“And then the Starks and Lannisters went to war,” Arya says slowly. 

“Yes. Quite a mess it caused, wasn’t it.”

Her expression turns stony. “Do you think Littlefinger had something to do with that?”

“Highly possible. But I wasn’t there, so I wouldn’t know.”

Arya is silent with her thoughts for a moment. “I’ll find out,” she resolves.

Jaime gives her a look. “You’ll be hard pressed to find proof, even if he did.”

Arya takes the dagger back and sheathes it. “This dagger was meant to kill Bran, then Littlefinger just gives it back to him? I don’t know much about scheming, but I know a threat when I see one. I won’t give him the chance.”

Jaime sighs. “Be careful,” he cautions, though he knows she likely won’t.

 


 

It’s very late, and Jaime is just starting to fall asleep, when Arya materialises in his room. She doesn’t even pause to acknowledge him before launching into some tangent. She’s clearly upset about something, though covers it up with anger as usual. 

He can’t make sense of much of it, though, because he’s still trying to wake himself up from his previously drowsy state. 

“She gets all on her high horse about you being here, but she loved the Lannisters so much she wanted to be one. She probably still does. The way she talks to everyone is so like your rotten sister. I should show this letter to Jon. He’ll want to see it.”

Jaime shakes his head, too confused to put up with her rambling. “Arya! Stop!” 

Surprisingly, she does, turning to look at him with a frown on her face. “What? Do you think I shouldn’t?”

“It’s not that.” he exhales, trying to calm himself so he can make sense of why she’s here. “You mentioned a letter,” he says, running his hand down his face as he sits up properly. 

Arya only now seems to realise then that she’d interrupted his sleep. “Oh. Sorry, you were- I can come back-“

“Bit late now. As long as you’re here, you may as well show me this letter.”

Arya hesitates for a moment before she pulls the letter out of her pocket and hands it to him. 

He reads over it and raises an eyebrow. “Where did you get this?”

“I found it,” she mumbles. “In Littlefinger’s room.”

“And It didn’t seem strange to you that it was so easy to come by? He clearly meant for it to be found.”

“I know that” she snaps. “Doesn’t change that it's still Sansa’s handwriting.”

“Yes. When she was, what, thirteen? Fourteen at the most? What else would you expect? She was a hostage there for many years. This may be your sister’s handwriting, but it’s Cersei’s words.”

“She wasn’t a hostage when she wrote this. She was completely in love with Joffrey. She never saw what he was.”

“I’m sure she learned quick enough when he took your father’s head. Arya.” He waits for her to stop pacing before continuing. “I understand why you might be frustrated, but why are you here interrupting my sleep, when I know you’re smart enough to see all these things yourself.” 

Arya’s glare softens at his words and she looks down at her hands. “Sorry. I…. It’s an old habit. I didn’t mean to wake you.”

Ah. He imagines once upon a time Arya had her older brothers to run to after fighting with her sister. He sighs. “Well, no matter what the contents of this letter are, don’t let them distract you from where you got it, and why.”

She nods. “I know.”

“Lady Sansa may have adored my sister once, but my incarceration is proof that she feels very differently now.”

Arya’s eyes flash with anger. “You’re nothing like her. She should see that.”

“Kind of you to say,” he says. He squirms in discomfort. If she knew the truth about him… He shakes his head and shrugs indifferently. “Maybe you can convince her otherwise. You’re usually good at that.”

“Maybe,” Arya repeats.

“Good.” But her dejected quality still bothers him.  “So. I don’t suppose you’re here to share my bed, by chance?”

She flushes red at the insinuation. “No.”

“Then I suggest you leave before I get the wrong idea.”

Her face is almost as red as his sigil, but she squares her shoulders as her usual air if confidence returns. “I’ll let you get back to your beauty sleep. I’m sorry I woke you.”

He smiles. “If it means you won’t murder your own sister, I think I can handle a knock at my door. Not that you actually use it.” He does get a smile out of her for that one. He smirks. “And if you ever do wish to share my bed…”

Arya flushes red and takes a step back. “Fuck off.”

Jaime just laughs as she disappears back into the shadows. He was only teasing her, but he finds he rather likes the reaction it elicits. 

 


 

She’s sitting at the desk this time, twirling the Valyrian dagger in her hands with a contemplative look on her face.

“Well. At least it’s not the middle of the night this time,” he says idly.

Arya’s lips twitch but she remains otherwise impassive.

He crosses his arms, leaning against the wall. “How goes your Littlefinger investigation.”

She shrugs. “Sansa won’t listen to me.” She glances at him, before looking away. “She thinks I’m conspiring with you.”

Jaime smirks. “Well, that’s not entirely untrue.”

Arya glares at him but it’s a weak one. “Apparently I’m plotting with you to take Winterfell from her. Because Lady of Winterfell is a title I’ve always wanted.” She rolls her eyes.

Jaime snorts at the visual. “I’m sure your sister knows you better than that.”

“He’s trying to keep us apart. If I could carve his lying tongue out and shove it down his throat I would.”

And she does look especially murderous today. “I understand the impulse, believe me. But it wouldn’t be a good look to murder a high lord declared for House Stark in cold blood.”

Arya huffs. “Sansa said something similar.”

“She seems like a smart girl, your sister.”

She glares at him, then, before looking away. “We need a way to trap him where he can’t weasel his way out of it. But I’m not very good at those kinds of traps.”

“Between learning from my sister and Littlefinger, I imagine that is something your sister would be quite the expert at.”

Arya sends him an annoyed look. “Well I can’t get close enough to ask, can I?”

“Well, you are more resourceful than most. I’m sure you could figure something out.”

Arya nods in acknowledgment but doesn’t say anything. They fall silent for a moment. Arya clearly has something on her mind. He waits for her to tell him.

“How do you think the summit is going?” She asks, changing the subject entirely.

Jaime is thrown by the question but recovers quickly. “Poorly, I suspect. You know what Cersei is like. She won’t listen to reason, even when it’s staring her in the face with its ugly, blue eyes and rotting flesh.”

“Do you think she’ll kill them?”

If not for the dragons, she’d probably try just that, actually. “No. The dragon queen has two very large advantages, and my sister is not that stupid as to attack with said advantage hovering overhead.”

“She won’t help though.”

“No. She’ll likely fortify King’s Landing, hoping we all perish in the north.”

Arya nods, as if she already suspected this answer. “We need her armies though. That’s what Jon said.”

“Yes, and I imagine it will give her great pleasure to deny that request.”

“Would they listen to you?”

He hesitates. “Depends. Any of the Crown’s forces will obey the queen before anyone else, even me. The Lannister men in the Westerlands, though, they might be more likely to listen to me. My father’s influence is far more important to them than Cersei’s. There’s not a whole lot I can do from here, though.” 

Then he thinks about it for a moment. Suppose he reaches out to the men left at Riverrun. “Actually I could send a raven to Riverrun. The commander there actually controls much of the Lannister army, and is far more loyal to the Lannisters than the Crown. He would answer a summons from me no question.” Then he sighs. “Well, I could. If I had access to such things.”

Arya was listening intently though and it seems he was giving her the answers she wanted. “I could send it for you.”

He gives her a look. “Arya. Summoning Lannister forces to Winterfell isn’t exactly a good idea. Not without your brother’s approval, anyhow.”

“We can’t wait for him, it’ll be too late by then. And you know he’ll agree to it. We need all the help we can get, right?”

He looses a heavy breath. This could go very poorly very quickly. But Arya rarely ever takes no for an answer. “Fine. Bring me the implements and I will write your letter.”

She perks up at this, standing and sheathing her dagger. “Okay. I’ll be back.”

 


 

It takes him an infuriatingly long time to write the letter. He almost gives up more than once. He finds that writing with his left hand is even more frustrating than learning the sword ever was. In King’s Landing, he could avoid it by forcing a squire to do the writing for him. But this letter needs to be in his handwriting or the men won’t believe him, let alone answer it.

It’s messy and sloppy, but at least it’s undeniably by his hand.

Arya sits on his bed, quiet and patient as ever, flipping the dagger in her hands. He watches how effortlessly she is able to utilise her left hand. How nice it must be to still have a sword hand. 

She notices his attention and raises an eyebrow in question. “What?”

He shakes his head. “Nothing.” He continues his writing. This feels exactly like when his father used to sit him down and force him to practice his writing and reading, and he’s irritated by the reminder of it. 

Arya returns to flipping her dagger in hand and he’s distracted once more. “Can you be still?” He grits out.

Arya startles at his tone. “Why are you so grumpy?”

“You’re entirely too distracting, and I’m trying to concentrate. Not all of us are so wonderfully left handed as you.”

She tosses the dagger onto the bed. “Sorry.” Though it’s a meaningless word. 

Jaime finds the silence even more stifling but he pushes through, all too aware of Arya’s eyes fixed on him and what he’s doing.

He sighs. “You could just come back later, you know.”

“What else is there to do?”

“Not my concern. Your hovering is far too unnerving for my liking.”

She smirks. “Am I making you nervous?”

He sends her a side long glance. If she truly knew the ways he could take that little comment, she would never have asked.

“Careful, my lady. You look far too comfortable lounging in my bed. A man might get ideas.”

As suspected, she flushes red and sits up a little straighter. “I’m not lounging. I’m waiting for you to finish that letter so I can send it off.” She tilts her head to the side. “If you can even write at all anymore.”

He growls and stands, having finished writing the letter, and moves to hand it to her. “One summons for Riverrun, as you requested, Lady Arya. Does that satisfy you?”

She takes it, refusing to meet his eye. “Why do you make all your words sound like that?”

He smirks. “If you really want to know, you’re a little too good at keeping your emotions and thoughts in check. It’s amusing to see you genuinely flustered every once in a while.”

She glares at him in silence and he chuckles as he backs off to get the rest of the writing implements she’d given him. 

But when he turns around, she’s gone. 

One day, I’m going to figure out how she does that.

 

 

Notes:

This chapter was fun to write. I think I like annoying Jaime a little too much. lol.

Chapter 45: Line

Summary:

Arya's visits come to a very sudden stop and Jaime is concerned.

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

 

Jaime does not see Arya at all the following day. He wasn’t especially bothered by it at first. He considered it a much needed reprieve from her constantly startling the life out of him with her sudden appearances. 

He’d paced the floor looking for secret entrances multiple times over the past few days but had found nothing. However she was able to get in here would remain a mystery. For now.

But as the day turned to evening and his only company the servants that brought his meals, he starts to worry. Arya’s visits had just started to become predictable in their timing and it unnerved him when the routine suddenly broke. 

Perhaps I made one too many bedding jokes. She’s still quite young. He forgets that sometimes because the ghosts in her eyes make her appear far older and more experienced with life than she actually is. 

Or perhaps she only came here at all because she wanted his help with her bastard brother. Now that she has that, what use would she have to come back here? It wouldn’t be the first time he’d been dropped once his usefulness had expired.

Arya’s not like that though. 

He thinks.

 


 

A second day passes without him seeing Arya at all and now he’s beginning to wonder if the Littlefinger situation has spun out of control. 

She could have just gotten bored coming back here day after day.

But what if it’s more sinister than that?

There is no doubt in his mind that Baelish has plenty to gain by pitting the Stark sisters against each other, especially when Sansa holds most of the power here and he has the possibility of worming his way into another lordship if he plays all of his cards right. 

It would be most unlike the Starks to turn on each other, surely. There are plenty of houses in Westeros that would, but he doubted anyone descended from the insufferably noble Ned Stark would be capable of such a thing.

But if anyone could manage to drive a wedge between them, it would be Baelish. And Arya had very little practice at dealing with the treacherous vipers of King’s Landing. She’s smart. Resourceful. But not nearly as experienced in these games as Littlefinger, or even Sansa. 

She wouldn’t have gotten caught. She’s smarter than that.

Still. He worries. He doesn’t get much sleep that night. 

 


 

Three days after he’d last seen Arya, he does get an entirely unexpected visitor in the form of Sansa Stark. 

He stands the moment he hears the scrape of the key, and the door swings open, revealing the elder Stark girl. She stares him down with a cold indifference that almost puts Arya’s to shame. 

And Arya said they have nothing in common.

She may be all Tully in look, but she inherited Ned Stark’s glacial judgment. It’s somehow even colder coming from Lady Sansa’s blue eyes.

“Lady Stark,” he greets, his brow furrowing. 

She raises an eyebrow. “Expecting someone else?”

“Not really. The only visitor I’ve had since my being detained here is your sister. And she never used to door, so, that ruled her out.”

Sansa’s brow furrows at this. “How did she get in?”

“You’ll have to ask her that.”

To that, Lady Stark says nothing and the silence stretches awkwardly between them.

After a moment, Jaime breaks it. “So, to what do I owe the pleasure of your company, Lady Stark?”

“My sister sent a letter on your behalf. Addressed to Riverrun which, correct me if I’m wrong, is still under Lannister control.”

“It is, and yes, she did. I couldn’t exactly send it myself, confined as I am. The Lady Arya was kind enough to do it for me.”

“You sent for an army. Why?”

“I should think that rather obvious.”

Sansa raises an eyebrow. “Do you? And if we should have different ideas about what obvious is?”

He sighs. He really can’t blame her for being suspicious, he supposes. “Its not a secret, my lady. The letter is merely to bring men to your aid.”

“My aid? What makes you think I need aid from Lannisters.”

“If you read Jon Snow’s missive, then you know he is in King’s Landing hoping to bargain with my sister. It’s a fool’s errand. They’ll never convince Cersei to do anything, but I don’t have to tell you that. I still have some sway with the Lannister armies, however. If I tell them to come north, they will.”

“The north is independent now. Your armies will not succeed in changing that.”

“This isn’t about enemy houses. I crossed the wall with your bastard brother. I wouldn’t have believed what’s coming if I hadn’t seen it with my own eyes. Believe me when I say we need all the men we can get. I can give you men now, if you’ll allow me.”
 
“I learned a long time ago never to trust a Lannister. I don’t see why I should allow you to do anything.”

She turns to leave, but Jaime is far too irritated to let her have the last word. “Your sister knows I’m telling the truth. Do you not even trust your own blood anymore, Lady Stark?”

She turns her cold gaze on him for just a moment but says nothing, her face remaining as cold as her eyes. Then she leaves him without a word.

 


 

Something isn’t right here.

He hates this. Being stuck here. At least before, he had Arya to keep him relatively updated. Now he can only imagine the worst. 

The morning after Sansa’s unexpected visit, guards come to his door, shackles in hand. He swallows heavily. 

This cannot be good.

He wonders where Arya is. Is she gone? Dead? Given up on him entirely? Left him to Sansa Stark and her glacial judgment?

If that’s the case, he'll likely be short a head within the hour.

A dead man walking. He laughs humourlessly as he is led out of the room.

 


 

Sansa Stark sits tall and intimidating as he is led into the great hall. He does not miss Littlefinger’s smug face in the crowd as he is led through.

He wishes he had his sword with him so he could run that fucker through.

That silver tongued lowlife has something to do with this. He is sure of it.

But he does not have his sword, and the northern guards keep a tight hold on him as he is brought before the Lady of Winterfell. She stares down at him with apparent disinterest. As if she considers this trial beneath her.

She’s clearly learned a thing or two from Cersei. 

He wonders if she knows that.

Brandon Stark sits beside his sister, blank faced, yet staring at him as if he could read all his thoughts. If this is about Bran Stark, I’m well and truly fucked, he thinks. Maybe the boy finally came clean. Maybe that’s why Arya has been strangely absent. Instead of killing him, she left him to the rest of the wolves.

Arya herself isn’t present at all. That’s somehow even more troubling.

He swallows nervously and awaits his judgment.

“Jaime Lannister,” Sansa addresses. “The King in the North, offered you sanctuary in our halls. And here you stand, accused of treason so soon after his act of generosity. What do you have to say for yourself?”

Jaime raises an eyebrow. “Treason, is it? I suppose I’ve committed a fair share in my time. You’ll have to be more specific.”

Sansa produces a letter and places it on the table before her. “I believe you know exactly which crime I am referring to.”

Some of the tension in his shoulders dissipates as he realises this isn’t about Bran Stark after all. “You can’t have read it, if you believe it an act of treason, Lady Stark. I offered to aid your king in his fight for the living and I will honour that. That letter will only prove my innocence.”

Sansa raises an eyebrow. “So you didn’t send for an army to take Winterfell while our King is occupied in the south?”

“No, I did not.” He holds her gaze. 

She remains unmoved. “We’ll have to see about that.”

And then the doors to the great hall open and Jaime’s stomach drops when he sees Arya escorted through in chains. 

What the fuck is going on?

 

 

Notes:

dun dun duuhhnnn

what the fuck indeed. I considered putting the entire trial in one chapter but I couldn't resist leaving it on that little cliffhanger. hehe.

Chapter 46: Sink him!

Summary:

The rest of the trial :)

Notes:

Just wanted to give a little thank you to everyone who left comments last chapter indulging my attempt at tension-building (even though its probably obvious where this going. lol). This chapter was tricky to write, but I was able to push through because of your lovely comments. Y'all are the best :)

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

 

Arya’s expression remains blank as she is led into the hall. If not for the slight tension in her shoulders, he would think her entirely unbothered by this development. Jaime has to quickly pick his jaw up from the floor.

She doesn’t spare him a glance at all. Her gaze is fixed on her sister. “You don’t have to do this.”

Sansa raises her chin. “Yes, I do. It’s what honour demands. I have to defend my family from those that would harm us, and the north from those that would betray us.”

Arya stares her sister down with unflinching nerve. “So be it then. Lady Stark.”

Jaime wonders if those words have just signed their death warrants.

But then, Sansa’s gaze turns to the side. “Lord Baelish.”

The man himself seems frozen for a moment before he steps forward. “My lady.” He gives a shallow bow. Jaime can see the nervous tension in his shoulders. 

Sansa holds out the letter. “Read this for me. Out loud.”

The entire hall is silent, waiting as Baelish meets Sansa’s unwavering gaze for an agonisingly long pause. Until he steps forward to take it from her.

He can see the man hesitate as his eyes flit over the words. 

“Well?” Lady Sansa prompts him.

Baelish hesitates before beginning to read. “Ser Jaime. Your sister may sit on the iron throne, but the Westerlands answer to you. We march on the morrow to stand with you against this greater threat beyond the wall. Marbrand.”

It takes Jaime a moment to realise exactly what Baelish had read aloud. A reply to his own letter. Addam had answered him.

But then… why the trial?

Even as he ponders this, he sees Arya relax ever so slightly beside him. Perhaps she was more concerned about all this than she let on.

Lady Sansa looks to Baelish. “Do those sound like dark words to you, Lord Baelish?” She asks him

“I could not say, Lady Sansa. I do not know this man.”

“You could not say,” Sansa repeats, as if turning the words over in her head. “And yet it was evidence enough to see my sister arrested for treason.”

If Jaime is stunned -  and he is - very stunned - Baelish looks doubly so. “Forgive me, Lady Sansa. I’m a bit confused.”

“Are you? It’s really very simple. This is not Ser Jaime’s trial. Or Arya’s. It is yours.

 


 

“You stand accused of murder. You stand accused of treason. How do you answer these charges?”

Heavy silence rings through the hall under the weight of Sansa’s issued words. Jaime instantly relaxes when he realises this isn’t about him.

Arya looks very smug as she turns to Baelish. “My sister asked you a question,” she says, as if taunting him.

A crooked smirk curls at Baelish’s lips. “I don’t know anything about these charges, Lady Sansa.”

“Really? Well, let’s start with the simplest one. You murdered our aunt. Lysa Arryn. You pushed her through the moon door and watched her fall, do you deny it?”

“I did it to protect you.”

“You did it to take power in the Vale. Earlier you conspired to murder Jon Arryn. You gave Lysa tears of Lys to poison him. Do you deny it?”

Baelish gave some reply, but Jaime’s head was reeling with this information. When the Starks came south, the realm fell into war. But Lord Eddard only came south because he suspected the Lannisters of murdering Arryn in the first place, and they only thought that because…

He let out a bitter laugh, drawing the room’s attention to him. “Apologies. It’s just…” He shakes his head, before addressing Baelish. “You sent Ned Stark south believing us to be responsible for Jon Arryn’s murder. An investigation that led to his death and the War of Five Kings.” His expression turns stony in an instant as he takes a step towards Littlefinger in open challenge. “All this conflict between the Starks and the Lannisters, the wars, the deaths, that was all you, clambering for power like the pathetic leech you are.”

“I’m hardly the only guilty man in this room, Lannister. You should be careful who you accuse.”

“So you do admit it, then?” Sansa interrupts. 

Baelish turns to her. “I admit nothing. There is no proof to these claims. But I’m sure it suits the Kingslayer’s agenda if you believe them.”

Sansa brings forth Arya’s Valyrian steel dagger, placing it on the table in front of her. “You told our mother that this dagger belonged to Tyrion Lannister, when it was yours. And when she arrested him on your word, our houses went to war. The war between the Starks and the Lannisters, it was you who started it, do you deny it?”

“That dagger was never mine. I merely acquired it.”

Arya then moves to stand with her family, turning to Lord Baelish. “You mean you took it back from our father, after conspiring with Cersei and Joffrey to betray him. Because of you, they forced him to lie before they took his head. He was never a good liar. Not like you. Your lies killed our father and split the north into chaos. Do you deny it?”

“I deny it!” It’s the first time he has raised his voice since the trial began, but in Jaime’s mind, that only cements his guilt. “None of you were there,” Baelish continues, addressing the room. “None of you knows the truth.”

“You held a knife to his throat.” Bran’s words echoed through the hall, as Baelish turns to face Bran, disbelief in his eyes. “You said ‘I did warn you not to trust me.’”

Jaime’s not sure if he’s feeling smug about Baelish or unsettled by Bran’s knowing tone. Perhaps a bit of both.

Baelish turns to Sansa. “Lady Sansa. I have known you since you were a girl. I protected you.”

“Protected me?” Sansa raises an eyebrow. “By selling me to the Boltons?”

“If we could just speak alone. I can explain everything.” 

The words of a desperate man looking for a way out.

Sansa sits back in her seat, levelling Baelish with an almost pitying look. “Sometimes when I’m trying to understand a person’s motives, I play a little game. What’s the worst reason you have for turning me against my sister?”

“I was only ever looking out for your best interests.”

“You mean your best interests. This is what you do. Turn sister against sister. That’s what you did to our mother and Aunt Lysa, and that’s what you tried to do to us.”

“Sansa, please.”

Arya tilts her head to the side, clearly enjoying Baelish’s anguish. “You should have known, Lord Baelish. The Starks aren’t like your southern court. We stick together. We look out for one another. Your plotting only revealed your own hand. Thank you for making it easier for us.” 

She has murder in her eyes now, and even Baelish can see it as he turns to Sansa, desperation in in his eyes. 

“Sansa, I beg you. I loved your mother since I was a boy.”

“And yet you betrayed her.” She spoke like she was barely keeping her anger in check.

Baelish swallows heavily. “I loved you. More than anyone.”

“And yet you betrayed me. I’m a slow learner, its true. But I learn. You once told me there is no justice in the world unless we make it. Thank you for all your many lessons, Lord Baelish. I will never forget them.”

The sound of clinking chains rings through the hall as attention is drawn to Arya, currently in the process of removing hers. She looks up, noticing the attention. “Sorry. This is the part where I kill him, right?”

Sansa’s lips twitch before she turns to Lord Baelish. “In the name of Jon of the House Stark, the King in the North, and by the words of Sansa of House Stark, Lady of Winterfell and protector of the North, I hereby sentence you to die.”

Arya, dagger suddenly in hand, marches forward without a hint of hesitation. As Baelish attempts to plead once more for his life, she silences his words with the blade. 

Jaime watches Baelish bleed out onto the floor as thoughts of another’s cut throat bubble to the surface of his mind, mad laughter still ringing through the hall even as the man’s breath stops.

Yet he feels strangely vindicated. 

 


 

An awkward silence fills the hall as Baelish’s body is dragged away. 

Jaime clears his throat. “So. What about me?”

Sansa’s composure had fractured slightly, but she pulls it back together at his words. “It seems you were telling the truth. This time. The north accepts your contribution with the understanding that should your forces turn on us, they will be crushed with the full might of the north.”

He nods. “Fair terms, I suppose.” They stand in silence again before Jaime feels the need to break it. “So does this mean I’m free to go?”

“You are no longer confined to your chambers, if that is what you are asking. But there are many who protest your presence here, Ser. You may wish you had stayed there.”

She stands and takes her leave. 

Arya stands beside him, cleaning off the dagger. 

“You make one terrifying executioner, Arya Stark,” he says.

There’s humour in her eyes even as her face remains blank. “I’ve had a lot of practice.”

He does not doubt that for a moment. And yet, her teasing words unsettle him.

A feeling that only worsens when he looks up to see Bran Stark staring unblinkingly at him.

 

 

Notes:

Ta-da! :D

I did my best to put my own spin on it, and I do try to avoid copy pasting from the show as much as possible, but in the end he's still guilty of the same crimes so there was only so much I could do. lol. And honestly, Baelish is more of a nuisance in this fic than a player of any real importance so I used it to bring Jaime and Arya closer together and then was happy to ditch him the same way the show did. lol. But who doesn't love watching him die after all the chaos he caused, right?

Chapter 47: According to plan

Summary:

A long-overdue chat between Arya and Sansa

Notes:

I feel bad for having all of Arya and Sansa's interactions only hinted at through Jaime's POV so... here's an entire conversation of just the two of them :)

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

 

Arya stands at the top of Winterfell’s battlements overlooking the castle grounds, deep in thought. Her plan had worked exactly as she’d hoped it would, but it was a risk. One she worried would not work until it had. 

As she dwells on Littlefinger’s death, she wishes she could have made it more painful. A man like that… who cheats and betrays his way into power and lets everyone around him bear the collateral… a man like that deserves a lot worse than a clean death. She should have made it hurt. Made him scream.

Joffrey killed her father. Cersei had done nothing to rein in her awful son. But they may never have had the chance if not for Littlefinger and his lies and his betrayals. 

I should have taken his whole head.

It would have been an awful lot of work with only a dagger for a weapon, but she reckons she could have done it. After a lot of sawing and screaming. 

“I know that look.” 

She startles as Sansa approaches to stand beside her.

“Do you?” 

Sansa turns to look over the grounds with her. “After…” She hesitates. “…Lady was killed, you had that look on your face the entire way to King’s Landing. Like you were plotting to kill.”

“I was,” she admits. 

“At the time, I assumed it was directed at me.”

Arya looks down to hide her smile. “Some of it was. Mostly Joffrey though. And Cersei.”

Sansa’s lips curl in a small smile. “I know. I thought you barbaric then. I never understood how you could even think about killing someone. I do understand now, though. When I had the opportunity to execute one of my tormentors, I relished in his screams as he died.”

Arya’s eyes narrow just slightly. “Ramsay, right?”

Sansa nods.

“I’m glad you made it hurt. I wish I could have done the same to Littlefinger.”

“He got what he deserved.”

Arya shrugs. “Still doesn’t feel like enough, after everything he caused.”

Sansa doesn’t say anything to that, and they fall into silence.

Sansa is the first to break it. “You had to know Lord Baelish would catch you sending that letter. Why did you risk it? I couldn’t have helped you if it had gone poorly.”

Arya looks at her hands. “I know you don’t trust Jaime, but he does want to help, and I knew he would if I asked. That part wasn’t a total ruse. But Littlefinger already thought I was conspiring with him against you. If he saw me sending that letter, of course he’d seize the opportunity to accuse me of betraying you to the Lannisters. Stupid of him to try, but it only made it easier for me to trap him.” She shrugs. “I guess it worked.”

Sansa turns to face her. “How could you have known I would put him on trial at all?”

“I didn’t, but you needed a reason to accuse him, so I gave you one. Honestly, he should have chosen a better lie if he wanted to get away with it. Ridiculous that I would give our home to the bloody Lannisters.” She hesitates, then. “I wasn’t sure you’d want to. I just had to trust you.”

Sansa is quiet for a moment. “Thank you. For trusting me. I wasn’t sure you did.”

Arya shrugs. “You’re my sister. We look out for each other.”

“Yes,” Sansa agrees. “We do.” Then she smiles. “And it was a good trap. I always knew you were strong. But you’re cleverer than I thought. I suppose that’s why you survived so long.”

Arya does turn to face Sansa then, surprised. “I think that’s the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me.”

Sansa rolls her eyes. “Well, don’t get used to it. You're still very strange and annoying.”

But Arya does allow a smile then. “Well. You’re stronger than I thought, too. In the end we both made it home. And most of our enemies are dead.”

“Yes. Most.” Arya knew it was coming before Sansa even said it. “About Ser Jaime-“

“I don’t want to fight with you about him.”

“I’m not trying to start a fight, Arya, I’m just concerned. He is a Lannister, and he has done some terrible things to help his family in the war.”

“I know,” Arya admits. “I knew all of that when I met him. But… he’s not what I thought he’d be. I expected him to be cruel like the rest of his family but…” she shrugs. “He’s not. And he saved Jon. Nearly died doing it. I don’t think he would have taken the risk if there wasn’t some good in him.”

“You trust him.”

She nods slowly. “He’s kept his word so far.”

Sansa is quiet for a moment and Arya can feel her eyes on her. “Just… be careful. I know it’s not the same thing. But I trusted the Lannisters once, too, and I got burned for it. I don't want to see the same happen to you.”

Arya looks away. “I can handle it.”

“I know you can.” Then Sansa smirks. “And if he does betray us, I imagine you will handle that as well.”

“I did say I would kill him if he tried.”

And yet, the thought of killing him only unsettles her now. She’s not sure why. She was prepared to do it all the way here. But now…

Sansa nods. “Good.” 

They stand together in silence after that, a united front, before Sansa takes her leave. 

Arya stays for a while longer, now dwelling on a different thought entirely. 

if Jaime did have betrayal in mind… she would have to kill him. She didn’t see the point in him doing so after everything he’d done to help her, but she had sworn to him she would, and she keeps her promises too. 

She doesn’t think he would give her reason to.

But… could she do it if he did? She’s not so sure, now. 

 

Notes:

:)

we'll just have to wait and see if that sentiment changes when she learns The Big Secret. Whenever that will be ;)

Chapter 48: The Bran thing

Summary:

Jaime finally approaches Bran to apologize. But can he admit the truth to Arya?

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

 

Jaime knows he needs to find Bran Stark. Speak to him. Apologise, of course. Find out if the boy intends to tell what he knows. He must have kept it to himself so far, or Jaime would have been executed the moment he set foot in Winterfell. 

Why did the boy keep it to himself?

It had been a truly cruel action, one he would regret for the rest of his life. He can’t imagine why Bran wouldn’t seek justice for that.

He finds Bran in their godswood. Of all places. 

Bran is looking up at the heart tree, though his eyes have a very faraway look in them. But when he senses Jaime’s presence, he seems to come back to himself and looks up at him.

“Ser Jaime. I wondered if you would find me here.”

“You didn’t know already? From what I hear, you have a gift for that now.”

He can almost see the shadow of a smile on Bran’s face. “I don’t know everything, Ser Jaime. Just the past. Every piece of history in Westeros, I have seen. I see some of the future, but not all of it. And nothing set in stone. It changes every moment. With every choice. When you chose to come north with Arya, the future shifted with that choice. And when you pushed me from that tower, it shifted then, too.”

He swallows heavily. It was one thing to know the boy knew the truth, but quite another to hear it from his lips. Guilt twists in his gut all over again for that choice. “I’m sorry for what I did to you. It was cruel. And you were just a boy, innocent where Cersei and I….”

“It doesn’t matter,” Bran said, interrupting him.

Jaime frowns. “Doesn’t matter? I crippled you for life, took away your ability to walk. Your aspirations. Your future.”

“My destiny was to become the three eyed raven. That was my future, Ser Jaime. It needed to happen. Just as you pushing me from the broken tower needed to happen. It altered the course of both our lives. And led us both here.”

He seems entirely unbothered about the fact that Jaime had tried to kill him when he was only ten years old. He shouldn’t be. And Jaime doesn’t understand why he is. 

“You haven’t told anyone?”

“No. There wasn’t a need.”

“Why? They will want to know.”

“You can’t play your part if they murder you first.” And he seems amused as he says this.

Arya. He means Arya will kill him. 

“I should tell Arya,” Jaime says, almost to himself. Bran doesn’t say anything to that, and Jaime feels uncomfortable in the silence. “She’ll likely kill me for it, of course. I should have just told her when we met. Saved all this trouble.”

“You could have,” Bran agrees. “She would have killed you then. You never would have come north. And Jon would have died beyond the wall. He is needed to lead the fight against the dead. Just as you were needed to bring him back. Everything is happening as it needs to. We all have our roles to play.”

He shivers when he remembers the nightmare that started all this mess. And very suddenly, he remembers a three eyed crow staring at him, repeating Arya’s words. “I don’t suppose your gifts extend to invading people’s dreams by chance?” 

“Sometimes,” Bran confirms. “When it’s necessary.”

“So…that nightmare I had. The wight army. The heavy winter…. Arya’s image. That was all you?”

He is quite sure Bran almost smiles. “Not all of it. Just enough to bring you here. You needed a guide north. Arya was the key. I hoped you would follow the signs you were given, but I couldn’t be sure.”

Jaime shakes his head. “Why would you trust me with something like that? After what I did to you…”

“This is your path, Ser Jaime. Every choice you’ve made has led you here. Where you are needed.”

He looses a breath through his teeth. “Arya will never forgive me when she learns the truth.”

“Perhaps. Perhaps not. She has her own role to play, and she will need you there. You two have a shared loss. You need each other.”

Jaime has no idea what that’s supposed to mean. He finds the boy’s riddles quite irritating. “Maybe the dead will kill us all and none of this will matter.”

“Maybe,” Bran agrees. “Whether or not there will be an after depends on a lot of things. Including you.”

Jaime can do nothing but nod. Irritating as the boy’s riddles are, they are equally quite unnerving. 

He sighs. “I really should tell Arya.”

But he fears she may never look at him the same once she knows the truth.

 


 

 

On his way out of the Godswood, he crosses paths with Sansa. He tries to bury his guilt as he greets her. “Lady Stark.”

“Ser Jaime. I can't imagine you’ve converted gods so suddenly.”

Jaime suppresses a chuckle. “I’m afraid not. I have little faith in any gods, these days.”

He can see her sizing him up, an almost curious look in her eyes. “I don’t have much faith in the gods, myself.”

“Really? Then why come here at all?”

Her expression grows pensive. “It’s quiet out here,” is all she says.

He suspects there’s more to it, but it’s hardly his place to pry. “Well, I won’t take any more of your time. Excuse me.”

“One moment, Ser Jaime,” she calls after him.

He sighs before swivelling to face her again. “Yes, Lady Stark? I suppose you have some threat to make on my life should I ever betray you and yours.”

She raises an eyebrow. “Is there a need? You worked very hard to convince me I could trust you being here.”

“I somehow doubt you do, my lady. Nor would I expect it so easily.”

“You’re right. I don’t trust you. But I do trust my sister.” She looks away. “Lady Brienne also believes you to be an honourable man. She spoke quite highly of you. If you do betray us, it’s them you’ll be answering to. I don’t see much point in my threatening to take your head when I believe Arya has already done so.”

“Multiple times, yes,” Jaime confirms. “Your king in the north as well.”

She almost looks amused at that. “Good. Then I have nothing to add,” she says. “Though I do advise you tread carefully, Ser. You’ve seen for yourself how my sister handles traitors.”

Jaime is left feeling very unsettled.

 


 

 

He spies Arya crossing the courtyard. His gut clenches at the sight of her. Tell her. You should tell her now. 

He offers a strained smile as she approaches him.“You disappeared rather quickly after the trial.”

She only shrugs. “Do you want to come out to the training yard?”

He hesitates. “Ah, Arya. There’s something-“

But he crumbles under that look in her eyes. That familiarity. That trust. “I seem to have misplaced my sword, actually.” he says instead.

Arya smirks. “We best find it then.”

You’re a coward Lannister, he thinks as he falls into step beside her.

 

 

Notes:

soooooo he chickened out this time. Maybe it'll be easier later ;)

Chapter 49: the price of betrayal

Summary:

Arya deals with Littlefinger's spies

Notes:

Linking chapters are going to be the death of me, I swear.

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

 

“I know exactly which ones are guilty. We have to make a statement about what happens to those who betray our trust.”

Sansa gives a tired exhale. “It’s not as simple as killing every informant. Many of them have troubles he was capitalising on. Would you punish them for that?”

Arya and Sansa had been having this argument for most of the day, back and forth, over what to do with Littlefinger’s spies. 

Arya wants to make it clear that no treacherous spy gets past her watch. “I didn’t say I wanted to kill them. We just need to set an example. They can still make themselves useful in their jobs if they’re missing a few bits.”

Sansa raises an eyebrow. “A few bits?”

Arya shrugs. “Nothing fatal, I promise. Just enough to send a message. If they were in trouble, they should have come to you instead of selling us out to Littlefinger.”

Sansa is quiet for a moment, and Arya forces herself to wait patiently for her answer. Finally she nods. “Fine. But don’t draw it out. There’s no need for senseless cruelty.”

Arya stands a little straighter. “I won’t. I’ll have them all rounded up at once.”

 


 

The punishment, she decides, is cutting off their little fingers. 

Arya gives the names of Littlefinger’s spies to the captain of the guard who arrests them promptly and brings them all to the hall where Arya is quick to carry out their sentence.

Some of them have struggling families, so she ensures they are given enough to get by, on the condition that they will suffer greatly should they betray the Starks again.

Some of them just wanted the extra money for themselves, so she takes their tongues for extra measure. 

All in all, the message is made very clear. 

 


 

As Arya cleans and sharpens her knife, she is aware of the wary stares thrown her way. Her punishing of Littlefinger’s spies was harsher than anything her father would have done. Certainly harsher than what everyone expects of the Starks. 

The stares don’t bother her, though. Not if it means they’ve learnt what happens when they cross the Starks. They don’t have to like her. Sansa’s the likeable one anyway. But she hopes they respect her strength. Defending her family is Arya’s first priority. She won’t put up with sneaks and traitors. They’d better understand that now.

She is surprised when Jaime approaches her. She hasn’t seen much of him since the trial. 

“That was well handled,” he compliments. 

Arya tosses him a glance before focusing back on her knife. “Coming from a Lannister, I’m not sure that’s a compliment.” Though that doesn’t stop the warm feeling she gets from his approval. 

Jaime laughs. “Well if it makes you feel better, my father would have probably made them hang.”

Arya pauses in her cleaning. “I know.” Then she looks up at him. “Where have you been, anyway?”

“Me?” He suddenly looks more nervous. “I suppose I’ve been dodging the northmen. Your sister was right. They’re not very fond of me.”

It does make sense, but it’s a lie all the same.

“They have good reason,” she says idly. 

He tilts his head. “That they do,” he agrees. “And they’re fairly blunt in their approach, so I figured it’s best I stay out of their way.”

She eyes him carefully. There’s tension in his posture. An unusual tightness in his jaw. “Is there something else?” 

He hesitates for a long time. “It’s just… strange. Being here, that is. I can almost feel Ned Stark cursing my existence in his ancestral home. It’s quite unnerving.”

He’s telling the truth. But he’s also hiding something. She gets the feeling he doesn’t want to talk about it, though, so she decides not to push him on it. “I feel that way sometimes, too,” she admits. 

He raises an eyebrow. “You can feel your father cursing your existence here?”

She shrugs and avoids his gaze. “Not cursing. Judging, maybe.”

“He was very good at that in life, it’s true.”

She sheathes her knife and turns to face him fully. “Fancy a spar?” She’s feeling the need for a distraction all of a sudden.

His lips twitch a smile, but he hesitates again. “Maybe later, when the grounds aren’t so… busy.”

She turns away from him again. “Alright. I’ll just bully someone else into one, then.” 

“Arya,” Jaime calls after her. She looks over her shoulder to him.

He’s hesitating again. Whatever’s on his mind, it seems like a struggle for him. She wishes he’d just tell her whatever is bothering him, but she’s not in the mood to interrogate him at the moment. 

Jaime eventually sighs. “I will find you later, alright?”

She nods and walks away, feeling a little disappointed. 

She’s not sure why.

 


 

Arya doesn’t want eyes on her, so she goes to the only place they don’t follow her; the godswood.  Her intention is to practice there alone, but when she gets there, she finds she’s not as alone as she thought. Bran is there.

She stands at the edge of the clearing, watching him for a moment. She missed her little brother. More than she realised while traveling. But now he’s not even himself anymore. He’s more three eyed raven than Bran. So she still misses him, even as he’s so close to her.

Bran seems to know she’s there and he turns to her. “Arya. I thought you might stay away.”

She moves further into the clearing and over to Bran. “It feels weird being out here,” she admits.

A shadow of a smile crosses his face. “I suppose. Father used to come out here a lot. To think. And to pray.”

“Is it weird that I feel closer to him out here than down in the crypt?”

“No. I don’t think so. There is power in these trees.”

She doesn’t quite believe that. Not anymore. “Would you rather be alone?” She asks instead.

“You can stay if you want. You seem… troubled.”

She’s surprised he’s noticed. She looks down, playing with the pommel of her sword. “Nothing serious. I just wanted to get away.” She looks around, trying to avoid actually talking about it. “You’ve been coming out here a lot more lately too,” she says.

He tilts his head to the side thinking. “It is easier to see clearly out here. And the dead are getting closer.”

Arya shivers at the thought. She did not want to see another undead face again for as long as she lived. But it was inevitable that she would. Especially if they’re heading south. “They’re going to cross the wall. Aren’t they.”

He nods. “They will be here soon.”

“Do we… stand a chance at all?” She asks hesitantly. She is afraid of the answer. 

Even as they make eye contact, it is like he isn’t really seeing her so much as looking through her. It is an unnerving feeling. “I can’t say for certain. The future is… clouded. There are many possibilities.”

Arya’s brow creases in thought. “I suppose as long as there are possibilities, we're not facing certain death, then.”

“Death is certain. The time is not.”

Arya shivers at Jaqen’s words. The words of the many faced god. Bran really is something else now.

She takes a shaky breath and forces her shoulders to relax. “Death is Certain,” she murmurs, more to herself than anything. “But not today.”

Bran almost smiles again. “I must go now. There is much to prepare. You can stay if you want.” He turns his gaze away from her, his eyes clouding. She sighs and leaves him to what he is doing.

The dead are coming, and death is likely most assured. But at least there is a slight chance that they may live.

 


 

As she leaves the trees of the Godswood, she sees Sansa crossing the courtyard towards her. “There you are,” her sister says as she stops in front of Arya. She’s holding a letter. 

“What’s that?” Arya asks.

“It’s from Jon.” Sansa holds it out to her.

Arya’s brow shoots up as she snatches the letter from her sister’s hand to read. “He’s at White Harbour?” 

She sighs with relief as she realises that he’s coming home. He made it out of King’s Landing safely.

Sansa is less pleased. “Yes. Along with the Dragon Queen’s army. There is much to prepare.”

 

 

Notes:

So on the one hand, Jaime seems to have decided the best way to deal with his problems is to avoid them entirely. Seems like a healthy coping strategy. I hope it works out for him ;)

But on the other hand JON'S COMING HOME! WHOO!

As well as Dany
And Brienne
And Gendry
And Tyrion

I'm sure everything will be fine, right?

Chapter 50: Arrival at Winterfell

Summary:

Jon and Dany arrive at Winterfell. Dany and Arya can't go 2 minutes without starting something.

Notes:

It was by complete coincidence that I was approaching 50,000 words around chapter 50 but y'all know as soon as I saw the possibility, I had to hit it xD

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

 

It’s late, well into the night and far too cold to bother leaving the keep, and yet here Jaime stands at the highest point of the castle walls, lost in his thoughts.

He is fiddling with his golden hand when he senses company.

Arya.

He sighs. “Arya,” he greets idly.

“What are you doing out here?” Arya asks.

He shrugs. “Wondering if this is what it’s like to be a man of the night’s watch.”

Arya rolls her eyes at his response as if it irritates her, but he sees her lips twitch in an almost smile. “You’ve got the brooding part right,” she mutters and Jaime can’t help but smile at that. 

“And what about you, my lady? What keeps you awake?”

Arya turns to look over the wall. “Jon coming home, I guess.”

“Ah, of course. Along with the Targaryen girl, her dragons, and her armies.” He smiles. “We are troubling over the same thoughts, it seems.”

“Why are you worried?”

“Well, I know it wasn’t made very clear, but the dragon queen does not exactly like me very much. That may cause problems.”

Arya smirks. “That’s likely.”

“And then there’s the matter of my brother.”

She looks up at him, curiosity in her eyes. “Tyrion?”

“Yes.” His mouth forms a thin line as his thoughts turn to his brother. “The last time I saw Tyrion, I helped him escape King’s Landing. Only for him to turn around and murder my father. That’s not exactly a fond parting memory.”

Arya is silent for a long moment. “I heard rumours about that. I wasn’t sure if they were true.”

He laughs bitterly. “Oh, they’re true, alright. Tyrion always had a… complicated relationship with my father. But I never thought he’d….”

It is still very painful for him, thinking of Tyrion’s betrayal. He still holds a lot of resentment towards his little brother for that action.

He is lost in his memories of those few days, so he almost doesn’t catch Arya’s reply. “I’ll have to thank him, then.” Jaime whips his head around to Arya, shocked and unsettled by her blunt words. Arya is looking down, fiddling with the pommel of her dagger. “He was on my list. Someone had to do it.”

Jaime struggles to think of what to say to that. He feel defensive of his family, but he can’t exactly fault Arya for her stance, considering everything the Starks had been put through. “He was your enemy, so that’s understandable, I suppose. But Tyrion was his family. It’s very different.”

Arya shrugs. “Your father sentenced him to die, didn’t he? The Starks would never turn against one another like that, but… if Sansa had chosen Baelish over me… I would probably be feeling a lot more than just betrayed.”

“But would you have killed her for it?” His tone is sharper than intended, but Arya doesn’t flinch. She merely looks away.

“I don’t know,” she says at last. “I hope not.”

Jaime exhales. “I just… don’t know what to say to him. And he’ll be here tomorrow. I can’t exactly avoid him forever.”

Arya shrugs. “You’re pretty good at avoiding people when you want to.” There’s a flat tone to her words that sends guilt rushing through him. 

He didn’t expect her to…well, care all that much. Perhaps she’d grown used to his company after all their travels. He’d certainly missed hers. There weren’t many here who could stand him long enough to hold a conversation with him, after all.

“I’ve…had a lot on my mind,” he says slowly. Then he smirks. “But I admit, I have noticed the absence of your constant, vexing presence these past couple of weeks.”

Arya raises an eyebrow. “I’m the vexing one?”

He nods. “Exceedingly so, yes. I still haven’t figured out how you sneak in and out of closed spaces, but I intend to find out, if it means thwarting your ability to do so.”

“Even if you do, I’ll just find another way.”

“That wouldn’t surprise me one bit.”

She smiles, which he returns almost on impulse. He has missed the ease of their conversations more than he ever realised. He is afraid of losing that. 

 


 

Jon’s nerves press in on him the closer he gets to Winterfell’s gates. He does not know how the people will respond to Daenerys’s arrival. 

Let alone the northern lords. 

Let alone his family. 

He himself had not trusted her in the beginning. 

Now…

Daenerys offers him a small smile when she notices his eyes on her.

He takes a deep breath as they press on.

Now he feels very differently. He hopes the north will come to accept her too. 

For now, the people are watching Daenerys and her armies with apprehension and suspicion. They have little trust for southern rulers. That’s why they named him King, after all.

Daenerys herself looks disheartened by their distrust. 

“The north are slow to trust," he cautions her. "They’ve faced many hardships. But they’ll see in time that your intentions are true.”

She nods, but his words don’t do much to change her reaction. 

Then, a bone shaking roar splits the air as the dragons soar overhead, scaring the crowds of people around them.

Daenerys smiles, sitting more confidently in her saddle as they press on.

Jon fears he may never get used to the feeling of seeing dragons in the skies.

 


 

As the first of the dragon queen’s guard crosses through the gates, Arya shoots through the courtyard to take her place beside her sister.

Sansa doesn’t even spare her a glance. “Where have you been?”

“Scouting the army,” she replies. “I wanted to see Jon.”

“I’m surprised you showed up here at all.”

Arya shrugs. “We’re a united front. The dragon queen needs to see that.”

“Do you worry she’ll cause trouble?”

Arya thinks about her answer. “She’ll try not to. But the north is independent. She very much wants to be queen of the Seven Kingdoms. Not six.”

“Jon would not be foolish as to give the north to her so easily.”

“Maybe not. But people have done a lot worse for love.”

Sansa turns to her sharply. “Love? You did not tell me he’s in love with her.”

“I didn’t think it was relevant.”

Sansa rolls her eyes and regains her composure. “You and Jon can be so clueless sometimes,” she mutters. 

They have no more time to speak on the issue, however, because that is the moment Jon and the dragon queen ride through the gates.

Arya smiles when her eyes land on Jon.

She’s missed him.

 


 

Jon stops short when his eyes land on Bran. His little brother who he has not seen since departing for the wall. Who he feared dead for many years until…

He sweeps down from his horse and is quick to approach Bran, embracing him in a firm hold. “Bran!” He pulls back to study his little brother. He looks so like the little boy he left behind, but grown up now. “You’re a man,” he says with a smile.

Bran remains stoic, though a shadow of a smile appears on his face. “Almost.” Jon takes in Bran’s expressionless appearance. His vacant words. He must have been through a hell of a lot, to have changed so much. 

But then, they all have. 

He turns to embrace his sisters as well. Sansa, who greets him warmly, and Arya who is quick to jump into his arms again. He laughs. “It hasn’t been that long,” he teases.

Arya shoves him away, a smile in her eyes. “Shut up.” He laughs and ruffles her hair, much to her ire. 

Then his siblings turn their eyes to Daenerys, their smiles dropping as they take in the queen’s appearance.

Ah, right. 

This could get awkward.

 


 

Arya watches the dragon queen carefully as Jon makes the introductions. Daenerys is perfectly lovely and full of praise. Sansa is cold and indifferent. Jon watches with tense eyes as the two women greet each other. 

Then Daenerys turns to her. “Lady Arya. You look well, from when we last saw each other. I trust your travels were untroubled?”

“Not completely, you grace, but for the most part, yes.”

“The Kingslayer didn’t cause you any trouble either?”

She wondered when they would get to that. A sharpness enters the dragon queen’s eyes as she asks.

Arya is careful not to back down as she meets the dragon queen’s stare with a challenge of her own. “None at all, your grace.”

But Daenerys only smiles. “That is good to hear.”

Sansa steps forward to interrupt their stand off. “We should take this inside. No doubt you are tired from your travels and wish to rest.”

“Of course,” Daenerys agrees. 

Sansa walks with the queen, and Arya falls into step beside Jon. “How did the summit go?”

Jon’s expression tenses. “Well, Cersei Lannister agreed to a truce, but she refused to send her armies north.”

Arya nods. “That was expected. I’m sure she is hoping we all kill each other and save her the trouble.”

Jon shoots her a look. “We needed her armies. Even with the northern forces joining with Daenerys’s, it still won’t be enough.

“Well,” Arya says. “Jaime may have solved that problem for you. Half the Lannister army rides north to fight with him as we speak.”

Jon’s eyes widen, and that is also the moment Daenerys whips around. “What was that, Lady Arya?”

She does not look pleased by any means, and Arya has to school her expression. “He knew your plan wouldn’t work, so he sent for aid himself. They will be here soon.”

The dragon queen’s nostrils flare. “And where is the kingslayer now?”

“I don’t know. He didn’t think it wise to join the procession.”

Daenerys’s eyes narrow as she turns to Jon. “You should send for him so we can check the validity of his claims.”

Jon sighs and offers a nod. “I will take your advice, your grace.” Then he turns to Arya who is on the verge of arguing. He holds up a hand. “It’s best to just get this over with, Arya,” he says in a low voice. “They’re going to have it out either way.”

Arya’s mouth is open to argue, but she shuts it quickly at his words. She crosses her arms. “Fine. I’ll find him.”

She worries for Jaime. The dragon queen’s entire army is here. She has a lot more power. And even though he’s trying to hide it, Arya can tell Jon’s feelings have only grown. That could spell trouble for Jaime if the dragon queen is still out for his blood. 

But if she wants to lock him up or take his head, she’s going to have to go through Arya to do it. 

 

 

Notes:

These next few chapters are gonna be tricky coz they involve a lot of different character interactions all stacked on top of each other. Wish me luck :D

Chapter 51: Kingslayer (Part 3)

Summary:

Dany cannot let go of her anger for the kingslayer, but luckily Jaime has a few people in his corner.

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

 


Jaime feels a bit like a rat caught in a trap but he tries not to let that show. 

He had not been summoned to the great hall like he’d feared, and instead had been led to a smaller room where the dragon queen stands at the head of a long table, watching him like a predator about to strike. Or a dragon about to burn him alive, perhaps. 

Jon Snow stands next to her with Lady Sansa on his other side, and Bran beside her. He had expected this.

What he hadn’t expected was Brienne standing behind Sansa, guarding her back, and Tyrion standing to the dragon queen’s left.

Fantastic, he curses. Everyone is here to see him roasted alive by the Targaryen girl. 

Arya, interestingly enough, stays by his side rather than joining her family. It's a dangerously risky move for her to make because it makes clear who’s corner she is in.

He is appreciative that she is choosing to stick by him and almost smiles at the sight.

And then the guilt bubbles to the surface again.

He shakes his head to stop himself from thinking about Arya.

“Well,” he says to fill the awkward silence. “At least I’m not in shackles this time, I suppose.”

No one laughs or smiles. The dragon queen offers a sneer, “Sit, Kingslayer.”

He raises an eyebrow. “If it’s all the same to you, I’d rather stand.”

Daenerys has nothing to say to that and they stare each other down for a long, awkward moment, before Jon Snow breaks it. “Ser Jaime. Arya tells me you sent for Lannister forces to march north. Is this true?”

He inclines his head. “It is.”

“Why offer support?”

“Because she asked me to.”

Several eyes in the room turn to Arya who barely even shifts at the attention, though he knows it makes her uncomfortable. 

Jon quirks a brow at her so she shrugs. “You did say we needed all the help we could get. And even though I can understand why you tried to reason with Cersei, I knew she would refuse. That’s just who she is.” She glances Jaime’s way before continuing. “Jaime said the Lannister army might listen to him regardless, so I thought it was worth a try.”

The dragon queen stares him down coolly. “Why would you so willingly turn against your sister? Your kin?”

“This is more important. Would you not agree?”

“And what is to stop your army from crippling ours the moment we’re left unsuspecting? Perhaps this is a trap. You’ve betrayed your word before.”

“It’s not a trap,” Arya says coolly. “Jaime is not stupid. Your army outnumbers the Lannisters, and not every soldier in their retinue is even marching north to begin with. He has already proved enough times that he means to fight with us. What more would you have him do?”

The dragon queen’s nostrils flare. “Are the Starks not enemies with the Lannisters? Why would you vouch for one?”

Arya never flinches under the dragon queen’s ire as she meets the challenge of her stare. “If he was like the rest of his family, he would already be dead.”

The dragon queen does falter at those words. At the intensity in Arya’s stare.

As silence fills the room, Jaime sees Tyrion shift where he stands. “Your grace. I know my brother-“

“Like you knew your sister?” She throws back, venom in her tone.

Tyrion almost flinches but holds his ground. “Jaime is, among many things, a gifted strategist, and any military man in Westeros could tell you that marching an army north of the neck to wage war is suicide. Even laying a trap would be foolish against our numbers, especially with this army of dead men marching south, if their numbers are to be believed.”

“They are.” The sound of Jaime, Jon, Arya, and even Daenerys’ voices echo the words in almost unison. 

Tyrion nods. “Exactly. My brother has very little to gain from a sneak attack, but every reason to aid us in the coming war. More than that, we desperately need his numbers.”

Daenerys hesitates, unable to deny the logic but stubbornly unwilling to concede. “I will never trust a man who would break an oath to kill his king. What’s to stop you doing the same to me? I am his daughter, after all”

Jaime’s defensive smirk kicks in. “If you ever do anything to warrent it, I’ll let you know.”

“Is that a threat?”

“A promise. Your grace.”

“We don’t have time for this,” Jon interrupts, shifting restlessly. “There are too many preparations to make for the coming war and not enough time to action them. If Ser Jaime is offering his own men, we would be fools to turn them away. Enemy houses mean nothing if the dead kill us all. As long as we’re all living, we’re all on the same side.”

“You’re sure the Kingslayer knows that?”

“He saw what’s beyond the Wall, the same as us, and fought with us to make it out alive. I believe him when he says he’ll fight with us.”

“He is an Oathbreaker. You cannot trust his word.”

Jon glances to Arya, before saying, “not all oaths are worth keeping, your grace.”

“He slew my father!”

“Aye, and he saved my life.” 

They stare each other down for a long moment before Jon gives first, lowering his gaze. “I don’t trust the Lannisters, your grace. No more than you do. But I owe Ser Jaime a debt.” He returns the dragon queen’s gaze. “And so long as he doesn’t take up arms against the north, he will be offered sanctuary in Winterfell. I will not go back on my word.”

The dragon queen looks about ready to combust on the spot, but then she manages to calm her fury. “Very well,” she acquiesces through gritted teeth. “I will honour your will as King in the North. But if he so much as steps foot in the south when I am Queen,” she turns her purple eyes to Jaime. “His head will be mine for the taking.”

Jaime smirks. “And this is the thanks I get for rallying you an army.”

“Don’t push me, Kingslayer. I still have two dragons at my disposal who do as they like.” She takes her leave then, leaving Jaime with the Starks. 

“So. I don’t suppose this makes us friends?”

“Not even close, Lannister,” Snow growls back before taking his own leave, frustration written all over his face. Lady Sansa follows him out, and when Brienne passes by, she pauses as she makes eye contact with Jaime. Words escape him as a tension presses between them.

Brienne gives a nod, which Jaime returns, and then she follows her Lady out of the room. 

Jaime then turns to see Tyrion lingering, staring as him like he has a lot more to say.

Jaime sighs and looks to Arya at his right. “Thank you, for that,” he murmurs.

Arya shrugs. “It was just the truth.” She hesitates, eyes darting to Tyrion and back. “Are you alright here?”

Jaime nods and she takes her leave, leaving him alone with only Tyrion for company.

 
 

Notes:

I find it quite difficult pitting Arya and Dany against each other because under different circumstances they would get along famously. lol. BUT these aren't different circumstances so *shrugs*

Also, I intended to have Brienne say something too, but in the end there wasn't room for it and between Arya, Tyrion, and Jon, they had Jaime's defense well covered. lol. She'll have a proper reunion with him later.

Chapter 52: It's complicated

Summary:

Jaime speaks with Tyrion for the first time since helping him escape King's Landing.
Arya chats with Brienne

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

 


Heavy silence fills the space as the Lannister brothers size each other up from across the room.

Curiosity sparkles in Tyrion’s eyes as he glances from the door Arya just disappeared through back to Jaime. “She seems quite protective of you,” he notes.

“Just say whatever you have to say, Tyrion.” He does not want to spend any longer with his brother than he has to. 

Tyrion flinches. “I know you have every right to be angry at me-“

“Oh, how generous of you to allow me some anger over the fact that you murdered our father.” He collapses into a chair, running his hand down his face in his own frustration. 

“He was going to kill me. He’s wanted me dead from the moment I was born. He knew I had no hand in Joffrey’s death, yet he used Cersei’s trial to get rid of me anyway. What was I supposed to do?”

Escape, Tyrion. That’s what you were supposed to do. Everything fell to shit after you killed him. And then you went and brought the mad king’s daughter back to Westeros. As if things couldn’t get any worse for our family.”

“Daenerys will make a better ruler than Cersei.”

Jaime scoffs. “You think so? I haven’t seen much evidence of that, myself.”

“Well, it’s a bit… complicated where you are concerned. She’s hated your name for a long time. She knows in the back of her mind that your actions regarding her father were necessary, but that can’t stop her from hating you.”

“I suppose I should be thankful I’m alive at all, then?”

Tyrion looks away. “I suppose that is… one way of putting it.”

Jaime lets out a bitter laugh. “An inspiring ruler, your dragon queen is.” 

Tyrion lets out a weary breath and takes a seat at the table. “Anyway, it’s not Daenerys I wanted to talk to you about.”

Jaime fiddles with his golden hand. “No. I don’t suppose it is.” He is suddenly exhausted, and has little energy to maintain his anger for Tyrion. But his brother’s actions still sting. Tywin Lannister may not have been a very good man. But he was still Jaime’s father. 

Tyrion avoids eye contact for a moment. “I’ll never be sorry for Father’s death. Not after the way he treated me all my life. But I am sorry that it hurt you. I truly never wanted that.”

Jaime doesn’t know what to say, so he simply nods, accepting his brother’s apology. It doesn’t exactly make him feel better, but he acknowledges Tyrion’s sincerity at least. “I suppose… I owe you thanks for standing up to your dragon queen on my behalf. I’m sure it puts you in a difficult position.”

Tyrion lets out a weak chuckle. “Well, it’s not the first time we’ve clashed where you are concerned. I stand by my assessment of her, but…well, its like I said, a bit complicated.

“I’d say complicated is a vast understatement of the situation.” 

Tyrion laughs at that and Jaime’s lips even quirk in the shadow of a smile. 

He sighs. “I need time, Tyrion. I just… it’s difficult. Having you here. Remembering everything that happened.”

Tyrion nods, his expression sobering. “Of course. Though I… hope this means you’re not itching to run me through anymore?”

Jaime glances Tyrion’s way. “I’m considering it,” he admits quite honestly. “But no, I won’t.”

They sit in awkward silence for a long moment. Jaime doesn’t know what to say. Tyrion seems reluctant to leave. 

“So,” Tyrion says. “I am dying to know how you found yourself in such close company with the Starks.”

Jaime runs his hand through his hair, loosing a tired breath. “It’s a long story, Tyrion. I’d rather not get into it right now.”

“Of course,” Tyrion nods. “But you know, Jon Snow is quite concerned about your… friendship with his sister.”

Jaime levels a glare at him. “You’ve always sought gossip where there is none. Give it a rest.”

Tyrion shuts up, but keeps eyeing Jaime with an annoyingly knowing look, until Jaime can’t stand it anymore and rises to take his leave. 

He thinks he can hear Tyrion chuckling behind him as he flees.

 


 

Leaving the room, Arya tries to get Jon’s attention, but he brushes her off. “Later,” he says with a finality that gives her pause. She watches him go, feeling very troubled. 

She had only wanted to give Jaime someone to fight for him. He deserved that chance. But she hadn’t thought of how it may complicate things for Jon. She might have only made things worse for him, and she’s not sure she can handle Jon being so angry with her if that’s the case.

Sansa pauses to stand beside her. “Brooding has always been his strongest trait. You know he just needs time alone,” she offers, not unkindly.

Arya nods. Then she looks up to see Brienne standing at Sansa’s shoulder. She hasn’t seen the lady knight since that fight with the Hound, where Arya had taken advantage of the chaos and fled. 

The woman stands as tall and impressive as she had that day, and Arya can’t help but admire her. “It’s… Brienne, right?” She says hesitantly.

Brienne nods. “Yes, my lady. I was relieved to hear you’d made it back to Winterfell safely.”

Arya shrugs. “After a small detour,” she says, hiding a smile. “I should thank you for protecting my sister.” Her eyes flick to Sansa as she says it. “You’re her sworn shield now, right?”

“I am,” Brienne confirms with a proud smile. “And I would also swear to you, Lady Arya. I promised your mother I would see you both safe, and I mean to keep that promise.”

Arya is instantly reminded of Jaime and his promise. She smiles, but Sansa beats her to a reply. “Arya is more than capable of defending herself, Lady Brienne. She’s quite a strong fighter in her own right. I always knew she would be.”

Arya can’t help but flush pink at Sansa’s praise. Her sister had never said such nice things about her before. “I did pick up a few things on the road,” she admits. She turns back to Brienne “But knowing that you’re here to keep Sansa safe is enough for me. I wouldn't say no to sparring with you, though, when you have a free moment.”

Brienne’s lips twitch. “It would be my honour, Lady Arya.”

Arya smiles. “It’s just Arya.”

“As you wish, my lady.” Arya rolls her eyes but doesn’t bother correcting her twice. Brienne hesitates before adding. “I also…wanted to thank you. For speaking on behalf of Ser Jaime. It was very kind of you.”

Arya shrugs. “It was just the truth.”

Brienne nods, acknowledging her words. “He doesn’t often have people to stand for him. But he is a good man. He deserves a chance.”

Arya looks down, playing with the pommel of her dagger. “I know. That’s why I said it. I think I complicated things for Jon, though.”

“Don’t worry so much about him,” Sansa chimes in. “He would not have defended Ser Jaime’s place here if he didn’t think it was necessary. That would have happened with or without your statement.” Though she speaks in clipped words, as though she isn’t happy with having to say them at all.

“I suppose,” Arya agrees slowly. 

She tries to shrug off the negative feelings plaguing her mind, straightening her shoulders as she addresses Brienne. “Anyway, find me when you’re headed to the training grounds. We’ll spar then.”

Brienne nods. “As you will, my lady,” though she seems reluctant to agree, as if she doesn’t quite believe Arya’s skills.

Arya will just have to prove her strength to the woman later. 

For now… 

She just needs to be alone.

 

 

Notes:

:)

Chapter 53: Something to hit

Summary:

Arya stumbles upon a secret Jon and Daenerys are keeping,
Jaime runs into Brienne in the training yard.

Notes:

longer one. Had a few different details to plant and juggle. hehe.

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

 

When Arya was a child, she had hundreds of hiding places available to her in Winterfell when she wanted to be alone.

But with so many people currently holed up here, very few of those places left her truly alone.

So she went for a walk beyond the walls instead. The Wolfswood was just as familiar to her, after all.

And besides. It’s been a while since she’d spent any real time with her wolf.

“Hey girl,” she greets as Nymeria approaches her coolly. Somehow, she always knew when Arya needed her.

Nymeria follows along beside Arya as she wanders away from Winterfell, deep in thought. She probably should have told someone she was leaving, but…

Well, it wouldn’t be the first time she disappeared without a word, right? They should be used to it by now.

Things feel so… fragile at Winterfell. Like the slightest movement might shatter everything she cares about. She sometimes resents how different it feels to be home now, and misses how simple things used to be when she was a child.

Now, everything’s always a fight.

And she’s so tired of always fighting.

She’s interrupted from her thoughts by the low grumbling of dragons nearby. Curious, Arya follows the sounds.

Nymeria is a lot less curious about the sounds and whines from beside her. Arya has never seen Nymeria nervous about anything before. “Don’t worry, girl,” she reassures her wolf. “I won’t let them hurt you.” Though she supposes if they went on the attack, there is very little she could do to stop it.

Those concerns turn out to be for nought though, when she sees the dragons aren’t alone. Their queen is with them. And so is Jon. They are deep in serious conversation, and very close to each other.

She’s itching to get closer, but if Nymeria goes with her, the dragons will notice straight away. “Wait here, girl,” she whispers before slinking closer to the couple. Nymeria obeys, but Arya can see the anxiousness in the wolf’s stance.

“-never going to accept me,” she can hear the dragon queen fretting. “If your sisters can’t even respect me, how will the rest of the north?”

“You just have to give them time,” Jon replies. “The north respect actions over words. You came to fight with us against the dead. Without your armies and dragons, we wouldn’t stand a chance. They’ll see that.”

Daenerys turns away from Jon in frustration, taking a few steps away from him. “Things might have been much simpler if you’d bent the knee. They would have to recognise me then.”

“You know I couldn’t do that. They trusted me to lead them.”

“I know,” Daenerys says quietly. Then she looks back up at him. “But you need to tell them about our betrothal. They have to get used to the idea of us as a united front. As their king and queen.”

Jon’s reply fades away in Arya’s mind as she absorbs what Daenerys had just said.

So that’s how Jon secured the Targaryen army coming north? By selling himself off to the dragon queen?

The couple exchange a few more quiet words before their lips meet in a tender kiss.

Arya needs to get away.

She knew Jon had fallen in love with the dragon queen. She just didn’t fully realise the implications that would come with it. Does Daenerys even love Jon in return, or is she just using his loyalty to buy the north?

Arya is itching to find out for herself.

She forces herself to walk away, looking for something to hit instead.
 

 


 

Jaime’s head is a muddled mess as he wanders the the grounds of Winterfell, conflicted over his conversation with Tyrion. 

He resents Tyrion for killing his father, and no matter what he tries to tell himself, that feeling just won’t go away. 

But he just doesn’t have the energy to keep scorning his little brother for it. Maybe it would be worth trying to find a way to live with Tyrion, rather than just hoping to ignore his existence. Tyrion wasn’t exactly wrong, after all. Their father had treated Tyrion horrendously all his life, even downright cruelly at times. The man well and truly deserved Tyrion’s hatred.

That doesn’t stop Jaime from feeling bitter about his death, though. 

Gods, this is such a fucking mess.

Feeling the need to hit something, he wanders over to the training yard where he’d noticed Brienne and Podrick training some of the newer fighters. Podrick is holding his own well enough while Brienne watches, overseeing the training process.

Jaime takes a moment to truly take in her presence here. She looks completely in her element here in Winterfell, protecting the Starks and training their men to do the same. 

It brings a small, wistful smile to Jaime’s face. 

He means to approach her but… well, he is a little distracted just watching her…for a little while longer. But when she finally notices his presence, he is forced to snap himself out of it. 

“Lady Brienne,” he greets her as he walks over to her.

Brienne gives him a nod. “Ser Jaime. It’s… I was surprised to learn you were at Winterfell instead of King’s Landing,” she says. 

Jaime glances out over the training men, gathering his answer. “Yes. Bit of a long story, that. But I suppose I…” he sighs and shakes his head. “Well, I found the thought of staying with Cersei quite suddenly unbearable after the… blowing up of the sept.” In a smaller voice, he adds, “she used wildfire, you know.”

Brienne is looking at him with sincere eyes. “I know. I’m sorry.”

He shrugs. “Like I said. Unbearable. I had no choice but to leave.”

They stand there in awkward silence before Brienne breaks it. “King Jon mentioned that you brought Lady Arya home. You fulfilled your oath.” And she sounds so proud of him, his chest swells on instinct.

“Stumbled upon her entirely by accident, actually. Or, by design if you were to ask Bran Stark. Either way, it was entirely unintentional on my part.”

“You could have left her there,” Brienne points out softly.

“Yes,” Jaime concedes. “I suppose I could have.” He smiles a small smile. “But I knew I’d never hear the end of it from you if you learned I found Arya Stark and left her to go on alone."

Brienne smiles at that and the light in her blue eyes catches him entirely off guard.

Then Podrick knocks his opponent into the mud, drawing both their attentions away. Jaime raises an eyebrow. “He’s come a long way,” he notes.

“He’s alright,” Brienne concedes. “He’s still got a lot to learn.”

Jaime shrugs. “The same could be said of me, I imagine.”

Brienne turns to him. “Are you really comparing your skills to a squire?”

“With my left hand, yes. It’s not nearly as easy for me as it used to be. I get by though.” He fiddles with his gold hand as he says it. “Perhaps I could improve even further with the right teacher.”

Brienne watches him for a moment, weighing his words. “You want me to train you?”

Jaime smiles. “Well, our swords are twins. It would be a shame if they never crossed, wouldn’t it?”

Brienne is still watching him with suspicion in her eyes. “This isn’t a trick, is it?”

“Not at all,” he says, his smile curling into a small smirk. “I learned my lesson about tricking you long ago… Wench.” Brienne looks annoyed at the old name, but he doesn’t miss the twitch of her lips as she glares at him.

“Alright, then. I suppose I can fit you in.”

“I appreciate the sacrifice on your part," he drawls back, drawing his sword.

Gods, he’s missed her.

 


 

Arya heads straight for the training grounds, feeling the dire need to hit something. 

When she sees Jaime there, sparring with Brienne, she can’t help but stop to watch. 

Arya hasn’t had the opportunity to watch Jaime fight many others. Most don’t engage with him. And when she fights him, it’s quite a different dynamic because she’s a lot smaller and moves very differently. But seeing these two Westerosi trained knights (almost on Brienne’s part) is different again.

And Arya likes it. Especially because Jaime is definitely losing. 

Brienne knocks Jaime’s sword from his hand and shove him to the ground. Arya almost laughs at the look on Jaime’s face when she levels her sword at his throat. But then he says something that makes Brienne blush scarlet and step away. When he follows his words with his usual teasing smirk, Arya suddenly feels a prickle of irritation flare inside her.

The feeling of needing to hit something returns in full force and she approaches the pair with her hands clasped behind her back.

Jaime notices her as he gets to his feet. “Ah, of course! Perfect timing. I suppose you’re greatly enjoying my abject humiliation, Lady Arya.”

She smirks. “Always.” Then she turns to Brienne. “Feel like a real challenge?”

“Hey!” Jaime protests, but she ignores him.

So does Brienne, who’s lips twitch in amusement, though she tries to hold her composure. “I’m not sure that’s a good idea, Lady Arya. Perhaps the master of arms-“

“I don’t want to fight him. He didn’t beat the Hound.” Brienne still seems reluctant as Arya draws her sword. Arya tilts her head to the side, studying Brienne. “I won’t cut you, I promise.”

Brienne raises an eyebrow. “Very well, my lady.”

Jaime stands back to give them room and Arya is too aware of him watching them as she steps into position.

She takes a deep breath and forces herself back into the moment. 

Brienne flicks her sword out in rapid succession, testing Arya’s reflexes. When Arya dodges and redirects each jab, the fight begins in earnest, the two women circling and lashing at each other. 

Brienne is strong, and fights like someone who has been counting on that strength to win out over her opponents. 

But Arya is much more agile, and dances around her without much trouble. She fought the Hound in a similar fashion. But the Hound fights dirty. Brienne doesn’t. 

So when Brienne manages to knock Needle from Arya’s grasp, Arya draws her dagger at lightning speed, levelling it with her side as Brienne’s sword comes to a stop at her neck. Brienne’s blow would have cut her head off in a real fight, But Arya’s would have punctured a lung first. 

Arya smiles as the two women step back from each other.

“Well fought, Lady Arya,” Brienne compliments.

Arya nods. “You as well.”

“Yes, very well fought,” Jaime chimes in. 

Arya turns to him just as Jaime moves to stand beside Brienne, that teasing smile in place. “Seems you’ve met your match, Wench. Never thought it would be one quite so small.”

Arya bristles at his words, but Jaime isn’t even looking her way, his attention focused on Brienne who rolls her eyes and snaps something back at him. 

Arya stops listening, turning away from the pair. There’s a strange… sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach. She doesn’t like it.

She spots Jon and the dragon queen watching from the bridge. Jon is in conversation with Sam, and he draws back with a nod, walking away without glancing Arya’s way once.

Arya’s gaze lands on Daenerys, who is watching her carefully. They hold each other’s gaze for a long moment before Daenerys offers a nod before turning to walk away.

Arya watches her go in silence. 

Sometimes Daenerys Targaryen seemed like a good person. Like when she went beyond the wall to save Jon’s mission. 

But sometimes… Arya could see the anger behind the dragon queen’s eyes. The danger. She wonders if that could cause problems for her family.

She supposes it doesn’t matter. If Daenerys Targaryen proves to be a threat, Arya will just have to deal with it in her usual way.

 

 

Notes:

I know my sparring scenes are never very detailed, but in truth I do not like writing them and avoid it when I can. I nearly didn't have Arya spar with Brienne at all until I found and angle to make it interesting. lol.

Chapter 54: A trueborn Targaryen

Summary:

Jon struggles with the truth of his parentage, but he has little time to think about it when news comes from the Wall

Notes:

We interrupt this Jairya fic with a short Jon POV. ehehehe

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

 

You were never a bastard, Jon. You are the child of Lyanna Stark and Rhaegar Targaryen.

The heir to the Iron Throne

Heir to the Iron Throne

Rhaegar Targaryen

Targaryen

A trueborn Targaryen

Jon just could not wrap his head around it, no matter how many times the words bounce around in his head. 

He had always… wanted to know about his mother. Ever since he was old enough to know what a bastard was, he’d wanted to know.

But now….

Turns out knowing is so much worse. 

Because Ned Stark - the man who raised him - the man he’d known to be his father all his life, and who Jon had always been proud to call his father - is not his father at all. 

The most honourable man Jon had ever looked up to had lied to him all his life. 

He’s not Ned Stark’s son.

He’s not Arya’s brother, or Sansa’s, or Bran’s. 

Or Robb’s.

He’s not a bastard at all.

He’s not even a Stark, really.

No.

He’s a Targaryen.

Will people be expecting him to live up to the name if they found out? Would they expect him to want to be King of the Seven Kingdoms? Heir to the Iron Throne?

Seven Hells, what would Daenerys have to say about this?

She’s been fighting for that throne for years. What would she think of him as her family? As a rival for the throne?

Not that he wants any of that. He never even wanted to be a king in the first place. 

All I ever wanted was to be a Stark.

And now he’s not even that. He’s the heir to that bloody Iron Throne.

Gods, Daenerys is my blood.

What does… How can…. He can’t even….

The woman he is falling in love with is his aunt by blood. 

Seven hells, he doesn’t even know what to do with that knowledge.

Targaryens had wed each other for centuries. Many houses had inter-married. He knew that.

But…

“Jon?”

Jon blinks, realising then that he hasn’t been paying attention to his surroundings. Arya is standing in front of him, concern in her eyes. “Are you alright?”

No. He is definitely not alright.

And he nearly tells her why, but…

He can’t even process it himself. How is he supposed to speak the words out loud?

So he gives a tight nod instead, unable to find any words at the moment. 

“Are you sure?” Arya presses. “Because you look like you really need to kill something.”

“I’m fine, Arya!” he snaps quite by accident, but irritated all the same that she won’t leave him alone. 

Arya tenses. “Alright… I suppose this is a… bad time to tell you about the Lannisters then?”

He sighs and shakes his head, trying to rid himself of all the thoughts threatening to crush him on the spot. “What about the Lannisters?”

“Their army’s here. Well, not here here. They’re about a day’s ride out. They’re waiting for allowance before coming any further.”

He nods. “Right. Good. Should I-“

“Jon.” He turns again to see Bran being wheeled towards him, a very serious look on his face.

Jon sighs. “What is it now?”

“I’m sorry, Jon. I know you have many things on your mind. But this can’t wait. The dead have breached the wall. The Night King has claimed Daenerys Targaryen’s fallen dragon.”

Seven hells!

This is… this is so much worse than anything else plaguing him.

The Night King was nigh unstoppable in his own right. How will they stand a chance when he has a dragon under his control?

We have two dragons, he reminds himself. And he’s even ridden one.

Seven hells, is that why he was able to ride one? Because of his Targaryen Blood?

He shakes his head, pulling himself back into the moment. He can’t… fall apart right now. He has to prepare everyone for the long night. He has to…

He turns to Arya. “Does Ser Jaime know about his men?”

Arya nods. “The messenger arrived this morning, but I already knew.” She seems to revel in this fact a little bit and Jon almost smiles at that. 

He doesn’t though, and simply nods. “Good. Have him ride out as soon as possible. We need his numbers to inform our plans.” 

“Okay. I’ll let him know.” She runs off, sensing the urgency of the situation.

Jon looses a deep breath and turns to Bran. “Alright. Tell me everything you know.” 

He listens intently as they make their way back to the keep, forcing thoughts of his parentage to the back of his mind for now.

He can worry about that later. For now he just has to focus on their survival.

None of it will even matter if the dead kill us all first.

 

Notes:

Poor Jon. He has so much going on right now. lol

Chapter 55: Reinforcements

Summary:

Jaime prepares to meet his reinforcements as the North prepares for War.

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

 

Jaime’s men couldn’t have arrived at a better time. He is just itching to get out of Winterfell for a while. The walls are starting to feel stifling. it’s probably due to all that northern hostility

He is almost ready to leave, and just finished dressing for travel, when Arya appears in his room, startling the life out of him again. “Jon says the sooner your men can get here, the better.”

Jaime levels a glare at her as he recovers from the shock of her sudden arrival. “Don’t you ever get tired of doing that?”

“Get tired of what?” 

He suspects she knows exactly what he means but she’s a little too good at feigning innocent for him to be sure. “It doesn’t matter,” he says tiredly. “But you should really break that habit of sneaking into places unannounced or you might see something you wish you hadn’t.”

She tilts her head to the side. “Like what?”

“Something indecent perhaps.”

She rolls her eyes. “I think I would know if you had company.” But he doesn’t miss the flush of her cheeks. It really is too easy with her. 

He smirks. “See, I merely meant you might find me in a state of undress, considering if you’d snuck in here any earlier that’s exactly what you would have seen, but now that you mention it, it has been too long since I’ve had a woman in my bed. Perhaps I should take your advice.” 

Her face goes redder and redder with every word, and she frowns as she crosses her arms. “You’d have to find one willing to fuck you first.”

He laughs. “Or have deep pockets, which lucky for me, goes without saying,” he snipes back. 

A knock at the door interrupts them, though, and Jaime moves to open it.

He startles when he sees it’s Brienne. “Lady Brienne,” he greets on instinct.

Brienne nods. “Ser Jaime. I heard that- Oh, Lady Arya.”

Jaime turns to see Arya standing just off his shoulder.

This… could be a bad look. “Arya was just here telling me of her brother’s plight. I suppose my men arrived just in time.”

Arya pushes past him as he says it to stand on the other side of the door. “And I was just leaving,” she says.

He nods. “Of course.”

If Brienne is suspicious of anything untoward, she doesn’t show it. She merely looks from Jaime to Arya curiously. “Lady Sansa informed me you were heading out to meet them.”

“As soon as I’m ready, yes,” he confirms.

She turns to Arya. “Will you be going as well, Lady Arya?”

She blinks as if surprised by the idea. “I…” she looks to Jaime. “Did you want me to?”

He shrugs. “Could be useful having a Stark along, for the good will and all. It would be an added bonus if it’s one who doesn’t want me dead.”

“I suppose I’ll have to ask Jon.”

He raises an eyebrow. “Since when you do seek permission for anything?”

She just glares at him. “Since now.”

He chuckles, turning back to Brienne. “Does your lady require me for anything?”

“No,” Brienne say shaking her head. “She… asked me to go with you to meet your men, to represent her and the king”

Jaime smiles. “Excellent. We should walk and talk, my lady. I’m just itching to get out of Winterfell for a while. I’d rather not delay.”

“Of course.”

Brienne falls into step beside him.

Jaime looks for Arya but she seems to have disappeared again. 

He really is curious to know how she does that.

 


 

Arya finds Jon deep in conversation with Sansa, a look of concern on both their faces. They cut their conversation short when they see her. 

“Jaime’s headed out now,” she informs him.

He nods. “Good.”

She hesitates, before adding, “I was thinking… I should go too. To represent Winterfell’s interests.”

Jon opens his mouth to say something, but then hesitates. “Arya… I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

“Do you really still not trust him?”

“It isn’t that. I trust him to handle his men well enough. It’s just not necessary for you to go as well. There’s plenty for you to help with here.”

“And anyway,” Sansa adds before Arya can protest. “Lady Brienne has already agreed to accompany Ser Jaime on my behalf. I trust her to see it through.”

Arya doesn’t like that answer so she turns to Jon. “Shouldn’t one of us go as well? A Stark has more authority, don’t they?”

Jon looses a tired breath. “I already agreed to send Brienne with him. We need all hands on deck to prepare Winterfell for the long night. That includes you.”

She huffs and crosses her arms. “Since when do you two agree on anything,” she grumbles.

Jon hides a smile. “Rarely, but on this we are aligned. We need you here.”

She sighs. “Fine. What do you want me to do.”

“The master at arms needs help with the newer soldiers. He could use you there.”

“Me? I don’t fight like a Westerosi.”

“Neither does the dead. Maybe my men could learn a thing or two from you.”

That idea makes Arya feel strangely warm as she lets out a reactant smile. “Well, alright. They need all the help they can get, anyway.”

She takes off, barely hearing Jon’s shouted “thank you” as she goes. 

 


 


On her way to the training grounds, though, she spies Jaime saddling a horse. She does consider it, then, sneaking off to join him.

But she’d rather not have Jon angry at her again.

She watches him for a moment and he stops when he sees her. He quirks an eyebrow in question. “Well?”

She shakes her head. “I can’t. Jon wants me to teach a bunch of green boys who’ve never held a sword in their lives how to stick ‘em with the pointy end.”

Jaime laughs. “A good first lesson, I suppose.”

Arya shrugs. “It’s the first thing I learned.”

“Well, in that case I shan’t disparage your methods. They’ve clearly worked well enough for you.”

Arya grins. “See you when you get back then.”

He nods. “It’s a shame you’re not coming with me. I’ve held vague concerns your brother’s men might have run me through by now if I didn’t have you for such a fearsome protector. Who knows what might happen in your absence.”

Arya tilts her head to the side. “I’m sure Brienne will be just as fearsome a protector, if you are truly so helpless without one.”

She tries to ignore the way his eyes light up at the lady knight’s name. “I suppose she’ll have to do,” he agrees with a sigh. His eyes shift off to the side. “She’s not nearly as interesting company as you, though. I might just die of boredom on the road.”

“If either of us are dying on the road, it will be me from your constant idle chatter,” Brienne speaks up, coming to a stop beside Jaime with her own saddled horse. “It’s a wonder you haven’t annoyed men to death in the past.”

“I’m sure there have been one or two,” Jaime says, feigning concentration. “In any case, I’m fairy confident that is a lie, my lady. We both know you love my idle chatter.” 

“Only in your delusions, Ser.”

Arya watches them bicker back and forth before deciding she’s had quite enough of that, feeling prickly again. “I’d better go,” she interrupts, a little sharply. “Things to do, over by the armoury. Good luck.”

She walks away before really hearing a response from either of them. 

Only when she can’t see them anymore, does she loose a deep breath.

She doesn’t know what’s wrong with her, but she’s pretty sure it’s Jaime’s fault.

 

 

Notes:

*shrugs* couldn't resist adding another lighter chapter. There are some dark times looming on the horizon. lol.

Tyrion was originally gonna be in this chapter too but I ran out of room for him. He'll meet Arya later. lol.

Chapter 56: Preparing for war

Summary:

Jaime and Brienne travel to meet the Lannister army, while Arya is stuck training novice fighters at Winterfell.

Notes:

The NEW longest chapter I've written so far because fuck, there's a lot of chapters in this thing and I don't want to spend longer than necessary in one structural place. lol.
Lots of different character interactions though that were actually a lot of fun to write :)

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

 

Arya only managed a short time in the training grounds before getting fed up with it. The men there were completely clueless, and yet still thought they all knew better than she did. So she beat them all into the mud and left them to their own practice. 

She only happens to be passing by the forge on the way back to the keep when she crosses paths with Gendry. She blinks. She hadn’t seen him at all since he returned with Jon. With everything else going on with the dragon queen and Jaime, she’d simply forgotten to check on him.

But he stops when he sees her and smiles that stupid, dimpled smile of his. “Arry. I wondered if I’d get a chance to see you. I had to start in the forge right away, and the work’s only doubled since the news from the Wall.”

She breathes a sigh of relief at realising he’s been just as busy. It’s not only negligence on her part. “I’ve been busy too. It’s good to see you though. You followed my advice, it seems.”

He raises an eyebrow. “What, to not die?”

“Yes. Is that not good advice?”

He chuckles. “Coming from you, yeah. You’d know best, I suppose.”

She shrugs. “Death’s come for me a few times over the years. I just keep telling him not today.”

His smile softens. “I remember.”

They stare at each other in silence for a moment, before Arya looks away. “Ah, I should… you probably have a lot of work to do.”

“I do, yeah.”

“I’d better leave you to it then. Though… if I… had a weapon I wanted made… could you make it for me?”

“Don’t see why not. I’m already making enough for a whole army. Are you wanting a sword like Needle?”

He might just be teasing her. She shoves him for good measure. “If I wanted a sword like Needle, I’d use Needle. No. I had something else in mind. Something… bigger. I can draw it for you.”

He recognises the sincerity in her words and softens a bit. “Bring it over and I’ll make whatever you want.”

She smiles. “Really?”

“Of course. I’d better get back to work, though. Bring it over later?”

She nods. “I will.”

She watches him retreat back into the forge before continuing on her way.

Strange… how easy it is around him now.

 


 

Jaime never thought he’d be happy about traveling anywhere in the north, but the chance to get away from the glowering northerners at Winterfell causes a certain elation in his chest as he travels to meet the Lannister reinforcements.

It also helps that Brienne is with him. He’s missed her. Traveling with her. Being with her in general. When he sent her away from King’s Landing, he thought he might never see her again. And when he did see her again at Riverrun, he thought if they ever crossed paths a second time, it would be as enemies. 

The very idea had been unbearable to him at the time. He is relieved that is not the case now. 

He supposes he has Arya to thank for that.

Brienne is curious to know how he found Arya, and so he tells her the whole story. The dream he had that had sent him packing from King’s Landing. The chance meeting at the Crossroads, and the events that led them to the Brotherhood, and then the Wall. 

Brienne seems especially impressed with that tale. Especially the part where he saved Jon Snow’s life.

“You act so surprised,” he says in feigned upset. “As if I’d never be capable of something so noble.”

“I’m not surprised at all. You were always capable of being a good man, Ser Jaime. I’m pleased you’re finally living up to your potential.”

Jaime tilts his head to the side. “Are you teasing me, Wench?” 

Her blue eyes sparkle with amusement as she looks down, smiling. “Perhaps a little. But I mean every word.”

Jaime smiles a genuine smile as a warm feeling swells in his chest. No one’s ever called him a good man before.

He likes that Brienne sees it in him. 

He hopes it’s true. 

 


 

Arya wanders back past the training grounds, and when she does, Jon is there. He’s standing on the bridge as if overseeing the training process, but she can tell he’s not really paying attention to any of it. He is brooding harder than usual.

She moves to stand beside him and he startles when he notices her. “Arya! How long have you been standing there?”

She shrugs. “Not long.”

“I see you’ve been hard at work here,” Jon says dryly.

Arya smirks. “For a little while. Until I got bored. Your men think they know everything, but they’re all idiots.”

He cracks a smile. “Maybe, but they’re idiots who need to learn how to fight. We need every man available to us.”

“Well, you train them then. They might listen to their king.” He sends her a sidelong glance, but doesn’t say anything. His brooding is stronger than ever. “Are you alright?” She asks him, knowing the answer is obvious.

He sighs. “Not really, no.”

“Maybe you need a go in the training yard.”

“I don’t have time for it. There’s too much to prepare.”

“One round? You did promise we’d spar when you got back.”

He looks extremely apologetic. “I know, but I can’t right now.”

“You’re just scared you’ll lose,” she smirks.

He raises an eyebrow. “That confident, are you?”

She shrugs. “I drew with the Hound AND Brienne. Are you better than them?”

“I’ve never fought either of them to know.”

“Well you can fight me and find out.”

He sighs. “Later. When the dead aren’t bearing down upon us.” He looks regretful as he walks away. 

Arya watches him go. He used to always spare time for her. But now he’s a king. He has too many other worries to concern himself with.

She misses him.

 


 

Daylight is starting to wane by the time Jaime and Brienne reach the Lannister camp. The camp is a welcome sight. He’s spent so long surrounded by the drab colours of the north, it’s nice to see red and gold again. It’s strange. He didn’t even think about it when he left, but he finds himself missing home now.

He spots Addam moving towards him immediately. 

“Ser Jaime!” Addam greets jovially. Jaime returns the greeting, pulling him into a firm embrace. 

“Gods, it’s been too long,” Jaime says.

“Yes, an eventful too long if your letter rings true.”

Jaime’s smile slips from his face as he’s reminded of the reason they’re here in the first place. “It does, I’m afraid. You know I’m not one to be taken by delusion. I wouldn’t be crying of white walkers if I hadn’t seen them for myself.”

“I believe you. But if I’m being honest, rescuing you from delusions seems the better alternative.”

Jaime laughs. “It does, doesn’t it.” He turns to Brienne. “This is the Lady Brienne of Tarth. She serves House Stark. Most honorably, too”

Addam loses his composure only briefly as he stares at the woman, before breaking into a polite smile. “A pleasure, my lady,” he bows. “I’ve heard a few stories about you from Jaime.”

Brienne blushes at the attention. “All horrid, I’m sure.”

Addam’s smile only widens. “Not at all. If anything, completely pathetic on Jaime’s part.”

Jaime frowns as Brienne smiles. “Really, Addam?” He mutters under his breath.

Addam just shakes his head, laughing, as he returns his attention to Jaime. “Ah, let me have my fun. You have no idea how long I’ve waited to tease you about a woman.”

Jaime glares at him when he notices Brienne’s embarrassment. “That’s quite enough of that.”

Addam does not look even slightly apologetic as he waves Jaime’s ire away dismissively. “Alright. I’ll leave it for now. You made good time, actually. There’s scarcely any daylight left, though. It might be best to make the rest of the journey on the morrow.”

Jaime nods. “I was thinking the same. I’m not in any particular hurry to get back to Winterfell, myself.”

Addam laughs, clapping him on the back as they make their way to camp. Jaime is relieved to be among his own men again. He’s been spending far too much time with the northmen for his liking.

 


 

Arya has found a quiet corner of the grounds and is currently sketching a design for a new weapon she wants. She hadn’t been there long before she notices Tyrion watching her. He is trying to be sneaky as he observes her quietly. But no one has managed to sneak up on her yet without her noticing.

“You might as well come out. I know you’re there.”

She hears him laugh as he does just that. “You have keen senses, Lady Arya.”

“I know.” She looks up at him then. “And it’s just Arya,” she corrects.

“Then feel free to call me Tyrion, Just Arya.”

She rolls her eyes and goes back to her sketch. That one was worse than any of Jaime’s so-called jokes. “Is there something you wanted?” She asks pointedly.

“Simply to meet the mysterious Stark girl I’ve heard so much about.”

“I’ve heard a lot about you, too.”

“Well that’s not a surprise. My reputation as the dwarf of House Lannister casts a rather long shadow for being short as I am.”

Arya looks back up at him. “Jaime told me you killed your father.”

He looks startled by the words, and she hides a smirk at having taken him by surprise. He is quick to recover, though. “Well. I’m sure he’s cast me as a spectacular villain in his story.”

“He was more hurt than angry, I think. Why did you do it?”

Tyrion comes to sit beside her. “Well, the story of my father and I is a long and complicated one, full of gory details I won’t bore you with. But the short story is that he spent my whole life looking for a way of getting rid of me without being labelled a kinslayer. So when my sister accused me of killing Joffrey, he not only used it to his advantage in that regard, he also used my own lover against me. I found her in his bed.”

Arya’s eyes narrow a fraction. “Did he force her there?”

“Oh, well, she was a whore, so, very likely not. My father just had deep, golden pockets, I suspect.”

Arya frowns. “I thought you said she was your lover.”

“She was. Well, I thought she was anyway. I truly thought she loved me as much as I did her.”

“But you were paying her.”

“Well, yes, but we had a connection. Shae was… different from the others.”

Arya rolls her eyes. “All whores are liars. You should have known she was pretending.”

Tyrion raises an eyebrow. “And how would you know this, Lady Arya? Spent much time around whores, have you?”

Arya shrugs. “I learned how to lie, and how to spot one. The best place to go for that is a brothel. It’s where all the best liars are. And not a single one of them was ever telling the truth to a paying customer.” She eyes Tyrion curiously. “I’ve also heard you spent a lot of time with whores.”

“Yes, that rumour is true.”

“Well, then.” She goes back to her sketching. “You should have known better with your Shae.”

“How did we even get on this topic? I’m the one supposed to be grilling you on all your secrets. Not the other way around.”

“You were telling me why you killed your father.”

“Ah, yes. That lively topic. And did my answer satisfy your curiosity.”

Arya shrugs. “Not really. But I’m glad he’s dead. How did you do it?”

“Ah… with a crossbow… in the privy.”

Arya actually snorts at that. “I was hoping for something more painful, but that is so humiliating, it might be better.” 

Tyrion cracks a smile as well. “My brother would not be pleased with you rejoicing in our father’s death, you know.”

“He already knows how I feel about it,” she says dismissively. “Besides, why should I care what he thinks?”

Tyrion tilts his head to the side. “Why, indeed?”

Arya does not like the way Tyrion is looking at her in that moment. She goes back to finishing her sketch. “So you spent a lot of time with whores.”

“I did.”

“Did you ever fuck someone you didn’t have to pay?”

He hesitates and she sees a conflicted look in his eyes. There’s a story there. She’s curious. But not enough to pry.

“One or two, perhaps” he finally admits. “Not many.”

“I’m sure you wanted to.”

He rolls his eyes dramatically. “Well of course I wanted to. But have you seen me? Lannisters are known for their perfect genes but they all seemed to have skipped over me. No willing woman wants to throw themselves at a dwarf.”

“You could have insisted.”

He seems to clock her line of questioning then, for his eyes narrow and he’s suddenly a lot less relaxed. “Do you really take me for such a monster? I suppose I look enough like one.”

“Not really. You’re too short for a monster.”

Strangely, he laughs. “You have a way with words, Lady Arya. I can see why my brother likes you so much.”

Those words send a funny feeling coursing through her. She looks away, suddenly uncomfortable “Sansa told me you two were married.”

That wipes the smile off Tyrion face real fast. “Ah…. That is also true. But it was my father’s scheme, not mine. And… I did what I could to protect her.”

“You didn’t force yourself on her. It was unconsummated.” 

“Yes…” There’s a short pause. “Lady Arya, your sister suffered tremendously in King’s Landing. But I promise you, I never hurt her. I did everything in my power to help her where I could.”

“I know. You’d already be dead if you had.” Arya stands and rolls up her sketch before turning to lock eyes with Tyrion. “Thank you. For killing Lord Tywin. I’d have liked to do it myself but I suppose you deserved the honour more than me.”

She leaves him with that very unsettling thought, heading to the forge to see Gendry.

 

Notes:

:) Arya and Tyrion's conversation spiralled a little bit, but I thought it was funny so I kept it all. Girl has a talent for unsuspecting interrogations. haha xD

Chapter 57: Lannisters in the North

Summary:

The Lannister army arrives at Winterfell.

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

 

It’s a strangely unsettling sight, seeing red and gold colours marching towards Winterfell’s walls.

Arya doesn’t like it.

Not that she’s watching from the walls anymore. She’d snuck down to Wintertown to watch them pass by. Jaime rides at the front, of course, along with Brienne and… some Lannister man Arya doesn’t care to know. 

She knows they’re here to help. Knows Jaime is on Jon’s side and will keep his men in line. Knows they need every fighter they can get against the army of dead men already on their way here. But still…

If she were a wolf for true, her hackles would be raised at the sight of the men marching behind them. She’s hated Lannisters and their colours for so long, she does not like their presence in her home at all. 

Jaime is an exception obviously. Now, anyway.

…Tyrion can stay too, she supposes. She’d been relieved to know the man is more like Jaime than Cersei. She bears him no ill will, especially not after he’d been kind to Sansa in King’s Landing.

But the rest of them….

Well, they have to stay because Jon needs them. But she doesn’t have to like it. 

 


 

Jaime should have seen it coming, really. But when Arya’s direwolf springs out of the shadows, stopping his retinue in their tracks, he admits he is taken by surprise. 

Many of the horses rear and whine at its presence, and a few men reach for their weapons. He stills them. “I wouldn’t, if I were you. It’s not the direwolf you’ll have to fear if you try to cut it down."

“Seven hells” Addam mutters from beside him. “Never saw Robb Stark’s beast myself but I heard the stories. That thing is even bigger, isn’t it?”

“Yes, and it’s master just as ruthless,” Jaime says, scanning his surroundings for the Stark in question. She stays hidden.

But he does see Jon making his way towards them, his own direwolf at his side. 

These bloody Starks and their wolves.

He suppresses a sigh as he dismounts to meet the king in the north.

“Ser Jaime,” Snow greets in a very dour manner indeed.

“Snow,” he greets back. Then he turns to Addam who has dismounted to join them. “This is Ser Addam Marbrand. He’s served my family loyally for many years. He’s a good man.”

Jon nods, and offers a firm handshake, which Addam accepts. “I appreciate you riding out on such short notice.”

“We go where Lord Jaime commands. In this fight, our men are yours.”

Jon nods his thanks and scans over the other men in their retinue before addressing Jaime again. “You made good time. We are headed into council now,” is all he says.

“Excellent, I should get my men settled before we join you.”

Jon nods. “We’ll wait, then.” He hesitates. “Thank you,” he adds, and the words seem particularly difficult for him to say out loud. “I really do appreciate your men agreeing to fight with us.”

Jaime offers a polite smile. “I’ll continue to help where I can.” His eyes flick to Arya’s direwolf, still watching them all with a barely audible growl. “That's not going to cause problems, is it?”

Jon’s lips twitch. “Only if you do,” he says before turning and walking away, his direwolf firmly on his heels. Jaime sighs as he gets to his task, trying to ignore the wolf tracking them from the shadows.  

He imagines Arya is doing the same, but he doesn’t bother searching for her. If she wanted to be seen, he would have by now.

 


 

The war council was a fucking mess. Men in tentative alliance who couldn’t agree on a single decision. Jaime had been surprised by how well Jon Snow commanded the room. There are times when the Stark bastard seems to resent the position he’s been put in, which Jaime can sympathise with, but he has to admit, the boy leads well when it comes to the important decisions.

Jon Snow’s decisive knowledge of the coming threat was the only thing that prevented the council from devolving into chaos. They’d made a plan. A bad one. A desperate one. But with little resources available to them now, at least it was a plan they could all agree on. In the end.… after a lot of quarrelling.

Now that it’s finally done with, Jaime is itching to get away from all of the tension, when he runs into his brother again. He considers avoiding him, but Tyrion notices him too, so he fights the urge to duck out of the way and approaches his brother somewhat apprehensively. 

“Well,” Tyrion says after a moment of awkward silence. “That went…better than expected.”

Jaime snorts a reluctant laugh. “That’s one way of putting it.”

Tyrion smiles. “Well, there’s at least a plan now and no one died so, I consider it a positive outcome if there ever was one.”

“I never knew you to be such an optimist, brother.”

Tyrion shrugs. “An unstoppable army of dead men march toward us and there’s a high chance we’ll all die painful deaths when they get here. I have to find little positives where I can.”

Jaime sighs. “Good point.”

“I do have those occasionally.”

Jaime laughs before he can stop himself. Gods, he wants to be so angry at Tyrion, but his brother keeps making that very difficult.

He glances over to the side when they fall into an easier silence and catches sight of Arya. Since she wasn’t in the council, he figured she’d still be skulking around the Lannister camp. But no, she seems to be pestering the Baratheon bastard at present.

It’s interesting to watch. Arya had grown less guarded in the time since he’d met her, but she is still very reserved and cold at times. Apparently not with the bastard, though. She’s wearing such an open expression as she laughs at something the boy says, and smiles that rare genuine smile.

It’s quite irritating, actually. He’d spent months working to disarm Arya’s steeled mask, and this blacksmith seems to have managed it with no effort whatsoever. 

Jaime frowns.

He almost forgets Tyrion is still there until his brother speaks up. “Those two make quite a curious combination,” he says idly.

Jaime glances sideways at Tyrion. “What makes you say that?”

Tyrion shrugs. “She’s a Stark. He’s a… startling image of Robert Baratheon. Minus the extra weight of course.”

More than startling. Jaime had been rather unfortunately well acquainted with Robert Baratheon in his prime. This boy looks just like him.

“I spoke with her, you know. While you were away.”

Jaime rolls his eyes “Did you now?” Jaime continues on his way to the Lannister camp, Tyrion following him.

“Yes. I didn’t think there was another person in this world who could scare me as much as Father used to.”

Jaime snorts a laugh. “You’re afraid of Arya Stark?”

“Oh, don’t tell me you’re not. It’s the way she always looks like she’s contemplating the method of my death that does it for me.”

Jaime grins. “I’m familiar, yes.”

“Of course you are.” And its Tyrion’s turn to smirk this time. “it’s merely a question of how intimately.”

Jaime exhales  through his nose, glaring at his brother. “Stop that.”

“Stop what?”

“You know exactly what. You can twist my words all you like, but if it’s sordid details you’re after, you’ll be disappointed to know there are none.”

“Well. The fact that she likes you at all is curious enough, considering her rather bloodthirsty thoughts on the rest of our family.”

Jaime shakes his head. Maybe ignoring Tyrion is a better tactic.

“Speaking of family,” Tyrion continues, and Jaime groans. “Have you thought of Cersei much lately?”

“Don’t, Tyron.”

“What? I’m merely asking. I know it can’t have been easy for you to leave her in the first place and yet… well, here you are making friends with her enemies.”

“And you brought a new one from across the narrow sea. What’s your point?”

“My case is different. I was never in love with her.”

Jaime’s eyes pinched shut at Tyrion’s blunt words. “She’s… so different now. More mad king than the Cersei I knew. Or maybe she just had me fooled.”

“Oh, don’t, Jaime. You always knew exactly what she was, and you loved her anyway. I was just curious to know if you still do.”

“Why?”

“Because.” And he has a gravely serious look in his eyes now that gives Jaime pause. “Jaime. Cersei told me she is with child.”

Jaime blinks, not really processing the words properly. Then he snorts when he does. “And did she suddenly declare for House Targaryen in the same breath?”

“No, but there was something about needing every available sword to protect the future heir to the iron throne.”

Jaime sighs, fiddling with his golden hand as he thinks more on it. “Shouldn’t be surprising, really. She’s had more men in her cunt than you’ve had whores in your bed.”

“Well now that is an exaggeration, Jaime.”

“Not by much.”

“True.” Tyrion rests a hand on Jaime’s arm. “I am sorry, Jaime.”

He shrugs. “Doesn’t matter now. I chose to leave, and she found me easily replaceable it seems. Wouldn’t be the first time.”

“Well, if it makes you feel better, I vastly prefer the company you are keeping these days, brother.”

It doesn’t, but Jaime offers a weak smile anyway. “You and me both, actually.”

He parts with his brother on much easier terms this time. 

He finds himself surprisingly gladdened by it.

 


 

The sky starts to darken as Arya wanders by the Lannister camp, just to make sure they’re not up to anything. 

Jaime is there.  He’s sitting by a fire with a few of his men, in casual conversation with them.

It is a curious thing because Arya doesn’t think she’s ever seen him so at ease before. He likes to pretend he never has a care in the world, but she knows he’s always on guard here, even just a little bit at times.

Not now, though. Now he is completely relaxed among his men. 

Jaime looks around as if sensing eyes on him. But Arya doesn’t reveal herself and he doesn’t find her. When he goes back to conversing with his men, she is strangely disappointed that he didn't see her. 

Not that she wants to be seen.

Or maybe she does.

She certainly doesn't want Jaime to see her there. 

Ugh. This is stupid.

She gets up and walks away from the camp, back to Winterfell.

Not that there’s many people who’d talk to her there, either. Everyone always has something to do or somewhere to be. Except her.

Doesn’t matter. I’m used to being alone by now.

 

 

 

 

Notes:

I know its out of character for Cersei to have any interest in bearing a child that won't be her exact image, but... i don't care. And she might be lying, who knows ;)

Chapter 58: A startling thought (part 1)

Summary:

Arya knows what she wants. But does he want the same?

Notes:

I had to split this chapter in two because it ended up being a lot longer than I planned. haha. So part 1 is a big ol' Gendrya chapter. Bear with me :)

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

 

Winterfell has fast become a hive of activity, with weapons being made and distributed, stocks being counted, armies conferring, leaders leading, every able bodied man training for the fight of their lives, and everyone else preparing to endure the impending siege. 

It’s a lot of work, and a lot of organising, and Arya is staying well away from almost all of it. She’s not concerned with the planning. When the dead finally get here, she knows exactly where she’s needed and what she’ll be doing. The planning and the organising…. well, that’s more Sansa’s thing. Jon’s thing. Jaime’s thing, even. Arya feels like more of a doer than a planner. 

So she watches and waits, instead. Sometimes she helps Ser Davos with feeding and arming the people taking shelter at Winterfell, but the amount of innocent people she sees here… the ones who can’t fight for various reasons… she doesn’t like thinking about them. What they might have to endure.

There’s just not much else for her to do in the mean time. Jon has so much on his plate, she figures its best to just leave him to it. Sansa has so many ladies to help her prepare the castle and the crypts. Bran is always in his own head and never present for very long. She would rather not go anywhere near the dragon queen’s army, though some of their fighting styles does have her somewhat curious.

And Jaime spends most of his time with Brienne, working on the main defence of the castle. She’s commanding the Stark army, he’s commanding the Lannisters, and so they spend an awful lot of time in each other’s company. 

Arya joined them to start with, but she hates the feelings she gets when she’s around them, and so she decided the only way to stop feeling like that is to avoid the both of them. 

Only now she’s starting to grow restless waiting for the battle to start. And the training grounds are so crowded, she can’t even find space to practice, either. There’s crowds everywhere all the time and Arya can never work out if she wants their company or to be entirely alone. It’s beyond frustrating. 

Is it bad that a part of her is wishing the dead would just get here already?

At least then, she can kill something.

That’s not the only thing plaguing her mind, though.

 


 

She misses having someone to talk to. Jaime used to talk to her a lot, but he doesn’t much anymore since Jon returned home. Jon doesn’t talk to her much either, for that matter.

She’s taken to annoying Gendry a lot of the time instead, but even he is almost too busy with his work to really talk to properly. 

But… sometimes Arya doesn’t mind just watching him work. The heat of the forge often radiates through the room, meaning the smiths wear much less clothing while they’re working, and Arya would be lying if she says seeing Gendry in a sweaty tunic that clings to his skin and bares his hardened muscles isn’t pleasing to her eye. 

She’s felt this feeling before, this… warmth radiating from her nerves and tightening in her lower belly, usually when Jaime says something especially crude just to annoy her. But it’s never been so… heated as it is now watching Gendry hammer away at a piece of hardened metal. 

Gendry catches her watching him and he smiles. “Don’t you have anything better to do than hang around the forge all day?” 

She walks up to him with assured confidence, hoping he won’t have guessed that she had just been wondering what his calloused hands might feel like on her skin. “I wouldn’t have to keep coming back if you’d made my weapon already,” she says a little snidely.

Gendry shakes his head, hiding his smile as he pretends to be annoyed with her (she knows he's not). “Yeah, I’ll get right on that after I’ve made a few thousand more of these.” He tosses one of the dragonglass axes at her, which she catches almost without thinking.

“You should make mine first,” she says, inspecting the blade as she follows after him. “And make it stronger than this.”

He snatches it out of her hand and throws it down, hard, onto a woodblock, the blade burying deep into the surface without cracking even a little bit. “That strong enough for you?” he says, moving around her to keep working.

Seven hells. Would he throw her down that hard if they-

Oh. That thought makes her instantly nervous, because now she wants… to be closer to him. What was it Jaime had said to her? There’s plenty of benefits if you find the right person? Is this what he meant? Is Gendry that right person?

That makes her even more nervous. Because… well, she’d wanted him to be the right person once. He had not wanted the same. 

Whatever she’s feeling must have shown on her face, because he seems to notice. “You alright?” He asks, pausing in his work to give her his undivided attention. 

“Yeah. Just… make my weapon already, will you?”

Gendry rolls his eyes playfully. “You’re demanding, you know that?”

Arya shrugs and picks up one of the dragonglass daggers piled on the table. “When I know what I want.” She twirls the dagger effortlessly in her hands. Gendry never takes his eyes off the dagger and Arya smirks before throwing it past his head, burying it in the wall behind him. “Hm. I suppose they are strong enough after all."

Gendry follows the throw before turning back to Arya, eyes wide. “Good aim,” he says a little weakly. 

“I know,” she says, pleased with herself as she passes in front of him, plucking the dagger from the wall as she goes. She turns back to face him as she walks. “My weapon?”

“Pick it up tomorrow, m’lady,” he calls after her. 

Arya leaves with a smile on her face.  

 


 

She steers clear of the forge all the next day. Not because she doesn’t want to see Gendry, but because… 

Well, because she does

And it’s a scary thought. She’s liked having Gendry back in her life. She’s even missed his stupid, teasing ‘m’ladys.’ 

But these feelings she’s getting… the last time she felt something similar, he’d rejected her. If she opens herself up to that again, she might only get hurt again. 

But he seems to like having me around, too. 

And having him back had felt so normal, she’d forgotten that choice he made… before the red woman had come for him.

She watches Jaime and Brienne training together as she ponders all her confusing feelings. 

Brienne is probably Jaime’s right person.

He spends so much time with her now, it seems about right.  He doesn’t have much time for Arya anymore, that’s for sure. 

Jaime has Brienne. Jon as Daenerys. Sansa has… well, Sansa doesn’t seem to want anyone, but she has been spending a lot of time with Theon lately, when she’s not running the castle, anyway. And sometimes even when she is.

Who does Arya have?

Gendry.

But does he want her the same way?

 


 

Gendry ends up coming to find her. She’s retreated to the godswood with a bow and arrows, deciding to practice.

She’s surprised he’d known to find her here. 

And he has her weapon in his hands.

She hides a smile. “Is that for me?” She puts the bow down to approach him.

“One double edged spear, as you ordered,” he says with a smile, holding it out to her.

Arya is quick to take it, testing it in her hands. “Perfectly balanced,” she notes.

“Thanks. I’m surprisingly good at my job.” 

“It’s a surprise to me too,” she says with a smirk.

“Oii! Do I knock your swordplay?”

“You haven’t seen my swordplay, not properly.”

“I’ve seen you kill a bear. That’s enough for me.”

Arya smiles. “That was pretty good, wasn’t it.”

He smiles back. “A lot more than pretty good, I think.” She has always liked his smile. 

Her own fades as she remembers her problem. He’d just done it again. Made things so easy, and yet it might change in an instant if he knew…

But maybe she’ll feel better if she just gets it over with. Better to know, right?

She turns to twirling her spear in hand, marking out a few movements with it as she paces around the space. “I missed you, you know,” she allows herself to admit. “When I was away. Well, I mostly missed Jon, but sometimes I thought about you too. If you were alive somewhere. I was never sure, though.”

Gendry’s smile has faded to a far more serious expression. “I thought about you every day.”

She spins back to him at that admission, surprised by the softness of it. It… it hadn’t been a lie either. “Why?”

He swallows heavily, looking nervous where he stands. “Wondering if you were dead or alive. If you’d made it north, sailed west, or… or taken to the Twins.” A shudder ripples through him at the words. “The things I heard about what happened there… it was torture thinking you might’ve been caught up in that.”

“Well.” She twirls the spear in hand once as she moves to stand in front of him. “I’m alive.”

He smiles. “Yeah, I know.”

“What do you think of me now?” She tilts her head to the side as she holds his gaze, ready to read his answer. 

He hesitates. “Arya…”

“You rarely used to call me that. You’d call me Arry. M’lady. I didn’t like either of those names. Except when you said them.”

She takes a step towards him, and he takes one back. “Arya…we…we shouldn’t.”

“Why not?”

“Because… because I’m just a bastard. And you’re…”

She raises an eyebrow. “A lady?”

“A Stark! Of bloody Winterfell! Do you really think anything can happen between us?”

“I don’t care about that.”

“There are plenty who do.” He turns away from her. “Your sister might toss me out of here, if your brother doesn’t skin me alive first for going anywhere near his little sister.”

“If I wasn’t a lady, If I wasn’t a Stark… would you want me then?”

He looks back at her, a pained expression in his face. “It doesn’t matter.”

It does matter. Arya wants to rage at him. Or maybe just die where she stands. How humiliating to be rejected twice by him. 

She doesn’t rage at him, though. Instead she pulls it all back inside and turns away from him. “Maybe you’re right.”

“Arya…”

“I have to go.” She walks out of the godswood, refusing to look at him again, even as she’s itching to turn around. 

 

 

 

Notes:

annndd Jaime's up next. so happy reading :)

Chapter 59: A startling thought (part 2)

Summary:

Arya is taking out her frustrations in the training yard when Jaime finds her.

Notes:

I've been getting some requests for more JaimexArya interactions so this scene I wrote just for you guys :) I'm still a few chapters away from being able to shift the focus back to them but this I can give you in the mean time. Hope you like it.

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

 

It’s late, and most people have retired by now, but Arya can’t sleep. 

Naturally, she gravitates to the training grounds. No one else is around. She has the grounds entirely to herself, which is just what she needs, because she is itching to take out her aggression on a few of the training dummies littered around the yard.

And it’s as good a time as any to get in some practice with her new weapon. She needs to be in top form for when the dead get here. 

The problem is that it’s a constant reminder of Gendry, who she’d much rather not think about at all. But as she twirls through the yard, going through her paces, she finds she can’t stop thinking about him. And that only increases her aggression as she fights invisible opponents that all look like a certain dark haired, blue eyed blacksmith.

Gods, she wants to kill him. Well, not kill him. But hit him really hard. Multiple times. And then kiss his stupid face. 

Scratch that last thought. She definitely does not want to do that with him anymore. She imagines him seeking her forgiveness, and she just laughs in his face and tells him he made his choice. Then the red woman comes and takes him away and she wants to murder that bitch in cold blood. 

Ugh. She hates this.

“And here I thought it was merely your sword I had to fear.”

She startles and spins around at the sound of an all too familiar voice, furious with herself for letting him sneak up on her like that.

No one sneaks up on me.

Except for Jaime Lannister, apparently. 

“How long have you been standing there?”

He smirks. “A while.”

Smug fucker.

“What are you doing out here?” She asks.

“Meeting with Tyrion, actually. Then on the way out I noticed you trying to murder the practice dummies and thought you might need someone to stop you doing something foolish.”

She rolls her eyes. “I don’t plan on doing anything foolish.”

“I imagine you never do, and yet…” 

He laughs when she shoots him her best death glare. She must be losing her touch. 

She turns away from him instead. “Tyrion drinks a lot,” she says, changing the subject.

His lips twitch in amusement, but he takes it in his stride. “He does.”

“Have you?” She looks back at him.

He raises an eyebrow. “Not enough to muddle my senses, if that’s what you’re asking.”

“Good. I could use something real to swing at.”

“That sounds hazardous to my health.”

She tilts her head to the side, eyeing him with amusement in her eyes. “Are you afraid of me?”

“That’s not what I meant.”

“It’s alright if you are. I get that a lot.”

He snickers. “Very funny.”

“I thought so.”

She doesn’t recall when exactly they started circling each other, but Jaime makes a point of unsheathing his sword with a flourish. 

Arya rolls her eyes.

Always with the dramatics. 

“Where did you get that thing, anyway?” Jaime asks, pointing to her spear with his sword.

“From the forge.” She smirks. “Specially made.”

“I see.” Jaime swings his sword at her with lighting speed, which Arya evades and redirects with her spear. “Specially made by your blacksmith friend?”

Arya’s eyes narrow at the mention of Gendry and she takes a whack at Jaime’s side which he is too slow to evade. “Yes. But I don’t want to talk about it.”

“Good.”

They fall into an easy rhythm after that and Arya finds herself actually grateful he showed up here. She’s missed sparring with him. When she’s toe to toe with Jaime, everything else seems to fall away and it’s just the two of them. It’s familiar. Easy. There’s no stupid feelings involved. Just them and their swords (or her spear, in this case). 

And she thinks Jaime might feel the same way, because there’s an honest smile on his face as he evades and blocks her strikes. She likes his honest smiles, too. 

Jaime moves in for a hit, but Arya uses the momentum of her swing to knock it loose of his grasp, and as he fumbles with it, she kicks it out of his hand and sends him stumbling backwards and to the ground. As he tries to right himself, Arya stills his movement with her spear aimed at his neck.

They pause in place for a long moment. With Jaime on his knees, he is almost eye to eye with Arya and looking at her with such a peculiar expression, she is struck by the thought that she could kiss him right now.

It’s such a startling thought in her mind, that she physically recoils from it, stepping away from Jaime and lowering her spear. 

What is wrong with her? Just this afternoon she’d wanted Gendry to kiss her and now she’s thinking about the same with Jaime?

She can’t be thinking about kissing him. 

She can’t because… because…

Because he’s Jaime

Jaime has gotten to his feet by now and has noticed that something is wrong. “Arya? What is it?”

She shakes her head and steps back, not letting him get any closer. He can’t get any closer while she’s still wondering what his lips might feel like on hers. “I… I just remembered, I have to go.”

Before Jaime can say another word, she disappears into the shadows, away from…

well, all of it. 

When she’s far away from him, she takes a deep breath, regaining her bearings.

What even was that?

How ridiculous that she would be thinking about kissing Jaime Lannister. 

Maybe it’s just… that she was thinking about kissing in general and Jaime happened to be the one in front of her at the time.

Yes, that has to be it.

It doesn’t mean anything, she tells herself with forced confidence as she walks swiftly back to her room. You were already thinking about Gendry and Jaime was there. 

That’s all. 

 

Notes:

you're welcome :)

Chapter 60: They're coming

Summary:

Arya fight her feelings as the dead march steadily south.

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

 

Everything has gotten so much worse since Arya tried to tell Gendry how she feels. She can’t believe she tried something so stupid. Now when she catches glimpses of Gendry, she’s not sure if she wants to yell at him, hit him, cry, or run away. 

She doesn’t cry, obviously. That would just be pathetic. She has better control than that. But…

She thought he might have wanted her. The way they talked and laughed, she thought maybe it would be different this time. Maybe this time they could choose each other.

Stupid. She’d let her emotions guide her to a stupid mistake, and now they’re threatening to overwhelm her and she is struggling to push them all down again. 

When had it become so difficult for her to push her emotions aside? She thought she had gotten better at that. But… something has changed.

Somewhere along the way… she had forgotten to practice that. She had gotten sloppy. Comfortable. And now she feels like she might shatter into a million pieces if she lets even one close to the surface. 

I have to get out of here.

But where can she go to forget about the troubles plaguing her? 

 


 

She goes to the Godswood. The men usually steer clear of this place. Whether they believe in the old gods or not, they still respect its place of prayer.

Not that Arya has come here to pray. She doesn’t believe in the old gods anymore. The old gods would have stopped her father from going south and breaking her family apart. And yet, if they really do exist, all they had done was watch. At least death only has one promise. All these other gods… what have they ever done to deserve her thoughts and prayers?

But it’s peaceful here, at least. So she sits herself down by the heart tree and focuses on clearing her mind.

She knows the dead are on their way. She needs to be focused on fighting. On winning. And she can’t do that with all these emotions plaguing her. 

You trained with the faceless men. You’re better than this. There are more important things at play than whether Gendry wants you or Jaime might kiss you.

Her eyes fly open at that thought.

Fuck.

She was supposed to forget about that.

The sound of someone approaching interrupts her musing. They haven’t made it to the clearing yet, but she knows it’s Bran. His wheelchair has a very distinct sound that Arya has come to recognise well. 

Bran does not look surprised to see her there. “Arya. Do you wish to be alone?”

She does, actually. But she doesn’t mind Bran’s company either. 

“No. You can stay if you want.”

Bran nods and waves away the man who had helped him here. The man bows to him and to Arya before disappearing into the trees. 

Bran looks up to the heart tree. “My sight has been clouded recently. I had hoped coming here might aid in clearing it.”

“Do you know why?”

“I suspect it’s because the night king is getting closer, but I don’t know for sure.”

Arya nods. It makes sense, she supposes. “How close?”

“They have passed Last Hearth. The Umbers have fallen.”

Arya swallows heavily at that. An entire city of people…gone.

That might be us soon.

She growls at the thought. She would kill the Night King herself if it means the people here would live. Her family. 

How strange, that the dead men don’t frighten her, but she runs from her own thoughts. She looks down to pick at her nails. “Do you know what's stupid?” She voices out loud.

Bran doesn’t say anything. He merely looks at her, waiting for her to tell him.

“The dead men will be here any day now. We might all die here, trying to fight them. But I’m not afraid of them. I’ve faced death so many times already, I guess I’ve grown used to it. I am scared. Just… not of them.”

“Death doesn’t frighten you,” Bran says, as if agreeing with her. “Perhaps living does.”

His knowing look almost breaks her resolve. “I didn’t think it would be this hard, coming back. All I wanted was to make it home.”

“That’s not all you wanted,” Bran counters. “You also wanted to complete your list. You found a place to teach you how. But the house of black and white takes its toll on those that serve its god. None have ever left… before you. How does one go from being no one to someone?”

Arya doesn’t even know how he does that. Knows exactly where her mind is at. “I thought you couldn’t read minds,” she says snidely.

Bran almost smiles. “I can’t. But I see patterns through history. You left Westeros and found the faceless men. They teach many things there. Including… how to clear the mind. How to be no one. You tried to close yourself off from the world and follow their teachings. Then you came home to finish your list. But found a path to Jon instead. You found Jaime Lannister and Gendry Waters. You found your family. They helped you learn how to be Arya Stark again. You’ve let many people in now. And now here you are in the godswood. And you are afraid. All these things I have seen. That’s how I know. You are afraid to let them in. But you want to.”

A shudder runs through her at the truth ringing in his words. “I wanted to. I tried to. But I’ve never… felt like this before. I don’t know what to do with it. I just feel…”

“Everything,” Bran finishes for her, and she shivers again. “It’s okay Arya. Feeling is for the living. And you are alive.”

“For now,” she mutters, but Bran hears her and he does smile this time. It’s small, but it’s there. And it startles her to see it. 

“You said death doesn’t scare you,” he reminds her.

Arya can almost imagine he’s teasing her with those words. That brings a small smile to her face. Maybe the old Bran is still in there somewhere. 

“Well. Maybe a little,” she admits. “But I’ll face it if it means there’s a chance I can stop those things. Return them to where they belong.”

“Good. You should face your other fears as well. You may not get the chance later.”

“Because we’ll all die? Is that what you’ve seen?” She tries to sound snide, but fails to keep the genuine worry out of her voice. That’s the other thing. What if she survives and they don’t? That might just be even more unbearable than failing to stop them at all.

“I’ve seen… many possibilities. It’s difficult to know which way it will turn. We may win, or we may not. Nothing is set in stone until it’s happened.”

“That sounds very frustrating.”

“It can be. At times.” They lapse into silence for a moment. Bran’s eyes move away from her, his focus shifting elsewhere. “I have to go now. You should too. The dead will be here soon.”

Arya shivers. She wishes soon would arrive already.

 


 

Ever since Jon’s army had come to Winterfell, Arya has made a habit of avoiding the training grounds during the day. Too many men occupy the spaces for her to bother getting involved.

But today she really needs to hit something. And she’s pointedly avoiding the only one who spars with her thus far.

So she breaks her habit and goes to the training yard. Surprisingly, Brienne is there and Jaime is not. She’s been overseeing a lot of the training recently.

She watches for a little while as Brienne spars with a few of the men, and beats every single one of them. 

I’d love to be as strong as her, Arya thinks to herself. She gets by with being faster than most men, but it would be nice to physically overpower one and send them flying. 

One of the men does not take defeat well, and rails against Brienne. She seems to take it in her stride, but Arya’s hackles raise at the sight. 

“It’s not Brienne’s fault you’re not good enough,” she says, approaching the fray with assured steps.

Everyone stops and turns to her presence. “My Lady,” Brienne greets, head tilting in a bow. The others all follow suit, but Arya keeps her eyes on the man with the temper. 

“If you think Brienne is treating you unfairly, maybe you’d prefer a different opponent.” She draws her sword.

“That’s really not necessary-“ Brienne tries to step in. 

“It is,” Arya says to her before turning back to the man in question. “Lady Brienne is the sworn shield of your Lady Stark. She is commanding our army and if you’re lucky enough to survive the coming war, it will be because of her skills, not yours. You should be thanking her for making you a better fighter. But perhaps you think you’re owed a better match.”

“Apologies, my lady,” the man says, though he doesn’t look very apologetic. “I spoke out of line.”

“It’s not your apology I want. It’s your sword.”

The man is hesitant with everyone watching now. Arya waits patiently.

He takes a reluctant swing at her, which she easily evades. And another, and another, before he starts to attack with more speed. She evades and redirects every single one. This man is rigid in his movements and rarely deviates from standard forms. When the man is frustrated enough, he takes an overpowered swing at her and when she moves out of the way, he stumbles forward. She shoves him to the ground and levels her sword at his throat. “Perhaps Brienne wasn’t the problem after all,” she says letting him go.

She turns to the others watching. “Anyone else want a turn?”

Surprisingly, they do. And Arya spends the next few hours putting them all in their place.

And not once did thoughts of Gendry or Jaime cross her mind. 

Later, Brienne pulls her aside. “Thank you for stepping in on my behalf. I’ve grown used to that behaviour over the years.”

Arya shrugs. “I’d be happy to teach him another lesson if he bothers you again.”

Brienne’s lips twitch in a smile. “I think your first lesson was enough, but I’ll keep that in mind.”

Arya nods. “Good.”

It's then that she notices Jaime there, leaning against a post watching them. He smiles and offers a nod when he sees she’s noticed him. 

Arya is tempted to approach him. But…

Her eyes fall to that smile on his lips.

...but she quite suddenly doesn’t want to be here anymore. 

So she turns and walks away in the opposite direction. Away from him.

 


 

Arya wanders down to the only place no one ever goes; the crypts. 

When the dead arrive, this place will be filled with many people. Innocents who can’t fight. Daenerys also offered some of her unsullied to guard them should the Night King’s unnatural reach extend to the dead buried here. If all goes according to plan, he won’t get the chance.

But for now, it’s empty.

Or… so she thought.

The light of a torch flickers from within and Arya sees that Jon is here. 

“Jon?”

He startles at the sound of his name and turns to her. “Arya. What are you doing down here?”

“I was about to ask you that,” she says, moving to stand beside him. 

Jon offers a tight smile. “Looking for a moment of peace, I suppose.”

“During a war?”

“The fighting hasn’t started yet.” He lets out a heavy exhale. “It’s a lot, is all. I never wanted to lead. And now…”

“Now everyone’s looking to you,” she finishes for him.

He nods and they fall into silence after that. 

Arya looks to the statue of their father. “Father would be proud of you, though,” she says. 

Jon looks off to the side. “Aye.” And there’s an almost bitter edge to his voice. “I wish he was here. I have so many questions, and I fear he’s the only one who could answer them.”

Arya has a lot of questions too. But she’s not sure she wants to know the answers. “Sometimes I’m glad he’s not,” she admits, and Jon’s brow shoots up at that admission. “He might be disappointed to see me like this. It’s not what he wanted for me at all.”

“He’d be proud of you too, Arya. You know that.”

Arya shakes her head. “He wanted me to be a lady. Even when he let me take sword fighting lessons, he still wanted me to give it all up one day and marry some lord.”

“And now you’re a better fighter than most of my men.”

Arya is surprised by the compliment. 

Jon’s lips twitch in a smile. “I’m glad for it. Truly. To know you can handle yourself. Father would be too.”

Arya nods, accepting his words. Jon doesn’t know about where she’s been though. Where she learned to fight. And what she did there. She wonders if his opinion would change if he knew. 

“Would… would you have me marry a lord some day?”

Jon frowns. “Me? What for?”

She shrugs. “That’s part of your role now, isn’t it? To make alliances. I’m one of the last Starks. You could gain a lot from selling me off.”

“Arya… that’s your choice to make. I would never force one on you.”

“What if… I mean, I don’t want to marry. Ever. But what if I’d choose someone you or Sansa or the other lords wouldn’t approve of?”

Jon is looking at her very carefully now. "Why are you asking me that?” There’s a hint of an accusation in his tone, but she doesn’t know if she’s just imagining it. 

She looks down at her hands, avoiding looking at him. “No real reason. I was just thinking about it. What if I wanted someone common? Someone without a title or a name or lands?”

“Do you?” When she sneaks a glance at him, his eyebrow is raised. “Want someone like that?”

She shrugs. “It’s just a question.”

He’s quiet for a long moment, and then his posture eases. “I just want you to be happy, Arya. Whoever you choose if you do one day, my only condition is that he is good to you.”

Arya looks back to the statues.

After a moment of silence, she says, “I’m still not ever going to marry, though.”

Jon laughs. “I’ll put away my sword, then.”

Arya shoves him lightly. “Good. Because it would be me you would be fighting and you would lose.”

“It would be just like you to fight for your own honour.” 

“And don’t you ever forget it.” 

She’s smiling though, and so is he.

She wishes they could have more moments like this. 

But the dead will be here soon. These moments may just be her last.

 


 

A few days pass before more news comes from the Wall. Or rather, a very grim warning of things to come.

Arya watches as Jon greets the men who’d just arrived, including the wildling, Tormund, and Beric Dondarrion. 

The men from the wall had managed to outpace the dead men to deliver their warning; The dead have marched south at a relentless pace.

And before the dawn tomorrow, the army of the dead will have arrived.

Arya is ready. She is ready to fight them all. To kill them all.

Valar Morghulis, she thinks to herself.

Especially the dead ones.

 

 

 

Notes:

Finalllyyy!!! amiright? All these Winterfell chapters leading up to the long night have been a bit of a trial to write, including the next one. lol. But I'm pushing through because after the long night is when things get real interesting so, stay with me. I'm going somewhere with this, I promise. lol.

Chapter 61: A true knight

Summary:

On the eve of battle, a strange assortment of people come together to drink away their nerves.

Notes:

Is this the new longest chapter? I don't know, I've lost track. But its long and I'm exhausted.

Anyway, this one is obviously that scene by the hearth in 8x02 but reworked a little for my context.

happy reading. lol.

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

 

The sun is setting on what might just be her last day in this world, and as Arya makes her way across the courtyard, she comes across Tyrion. 

“Ah, Lady Arya.”

“Tyrion,” she replies more curtly.

“If you have no pressing matters to attend, you are welcome to accompany me to the Great Hall. I have the sudden need to get out of this cold for a little while.”

Arya’s lips twitch. “What’s in it for me?”

“Wine?”

“I don’t drink before a fight.” 

“A warm fire?”

“The cold doesn’t bother me.”

“The delightful pleasure of my company, then.”

“I suppose I could do worse.” She falls into step beside him.

“That’s the spirit,” Tyrion says cheerfully. “If it helps, Jaime did say he would meet me there. And I know he’s far more tolerable company than myself.”

She nearly stops short at mention of Jaime’s name and curses inwardly. Right. Of course Jaime would be there. She really should have thought of that. 

“I don’t know if that’s true,” she says, pretending to think on it.

“Really?” Tyrion smirks. “Can you say that again when he gets here? It’s not often I’m the favourite.”

Arya does smile at that. 

 


 

When Jaime arrives at the hall, he had expected Tyrion to have already started drinking, which he has, but seeing Arya there with him is a surprise.

He hasn’t seen much of her the past few days. Or the past few weeks, for that matter. He supposes he’s been busy preparing his men for war, while Arya…

Well, actually, he has no idea what Arya might have been up to.

But seeing her here in animated conversation with Tyrion brightens his mood.

Both look up at his entrance.

“Brother!” Tyrion greets a little too jovially, raising his goblet and sloshing his drink in the process. 

He rolls his eyes. “Tyrion.” He passes his brother and heads straight for the carafe on the table, pouring a cup for himself, and Addam. 

“Arya,” he says, addressing her as he turns around. “Have you met Addam Marbrand?”

“No,” she says, sitting a little straighter and eyeing his friend carefully. 

Addam offers her a polite nod. “My Lady.”

Arya lets out a tired sigh. “Ser.”

Tyrion chuckles from beside them. “Arya’s not fond of titles.”

“Really?” Addam raises an eyebrow. “My sister was a bit like that as a girl. Always the perfect lady in front of our father, of course, but eager for a fight whenever his back was turned.”

This seems to pique Arya’s curiosity. “What happened to her?”

Addam shrugs, taking a seat. “Lives on Fair Isle now, giving her husband hell, I imagine.”

Arya’s lips curl in disdain. “She married, then?”

“Well, don’t feel too badly for her. She has her husband wrapped firmly around her little finger, don’t you worry.”

“That’s something I guess,” Arya says in a smaller voice. 

Jaime laughs. “I’m sure the same will be said of you one day, Arya.”

She glares at him. “I’d have to be interested in marrying first.”

“May the gods have mercy on whoever you choose.” He raises his cup in a mocking toast and Arya furrows her brow, before looking down at her hands. 

It’s then that he notices a nervous energy about her. As Tyrion and Addam continue with their conversation, he observes her quietly, tilting his head to the side as he studies her demeanour. He wonders if the impending threat worries her more than she lets on. Talk of the future may only bring up the harsh realities of what they are about to face.

Jaime knows he’s barely managing to avoid thinking about it himself. And Arya is much less familiar with battles than he. She would not be as used to the nerves that come with it. 

“Here,” he says, holding his goblet out to her. She looks confused as she takes it from him.

"Why are you giving me this?”

He shrugs and reaches for another cup. “You’re the only one here without a cup in your hand. Figured you might need it.”

“You’re wasting good wine, Brother,” Tyrion cuts in. “Lady Arya is far more responsible than the rest of us, and doesn’t drink before battle. Or so she claims.”

Arya glares at Tyrion. “I don’t. Why would I muddle my senses right before a fight?”

Addam laughs from where he sits. “One cup on the eve is good for you, my lady. Helps with the nerves.”

“I don’t get nervous.”

Maybe so, but she is. “Really?” Jaime says, taking a seat adjacent from Tyrion. “I am. At least men are predictable in battle. Dead things are a whole different story. It would be foolish not to approach them without some trepidation. ”

Arya shrugs. “Death is death. I’m used to it by now.”

“So then what does make you nervous?”

“I just said I’m not.”

“Liar.” 

He almost laughs at the glare she shoots his way. She breaks eye contact, flushing curiously pink as she plays with the rim of her cup. “That’s… different.”

He tilts his head to the side. “How so?”

“It just is!”

“Oh, leave her alone, Jaime,” Tyrion says, though there’s amusement sparkling in his eyes. “Ladies are entitled to their secrets.”

Arya rolls her eyes and takes a sip of her drink.

Jaime shrugs and drops the topic. It's never been Arya’s way to admit weakness anyway. 

 


 

Arya should probably be nervous about the army of the dead. Should be nervous for everyone she cares about here. Should be nervous for herself.

And yet, the only thought running through her mind right now is ‘what if he knows?’

Jaime always seems to know everything. What if he knows she thought about kissing him?

Well, surely if he knew, he would have mocked her endlessly for it by now. He’s always mocking her for that sort of thing. 

What could be funnier than someone like Arya, horse-faced Arya, thinking about kissing someone like… him? The entire castle would probably find it funny.

But the only thing worse than thinking he’d figured it out, is the idea that he would only laugh at her for it. 

It didn’t even mean anything. It was just a… lapse.

It’s not that she wanted to kiss Jaime Lannister. It’s just that… well, he had been very close to her, and the right height for it so it was possible, in theory, for them to kiss. That does not mean that she wanted him to. It was just a thought that occurred to her.

And besides, none of that even matters because there’s no way Jaime would ever want me like, anyway. 

As if proving her point, the sound of people entering interrupts whatever the Lannister brothers had been talking about, and Brienne and Podrick come into the room.

Brienne stops short at seeing them and Jaime instantly rises to his feet, sloshing his drink as he does. “Lady Brienne,” he greets, almost stumbling over the greeting.

Arya actually finds the sight funny. She giggles, despite herself. “Smooth,” she mutters into her own cup.

Tyrion and Addam both hear her though, and snicker in response.

Brienne hesitates. “Apologies. We can find another spot if-“

“Nonsense!” Tyrion speaks, getting to his feet as well. “Come. Join us. There is wine to spare, right Jaime?” He says.

Tyrion beckons Podrick over to the table. Brienne eyes the drink disdainfully. “The dead could be here any moment. This isn’t the time for falling into your cups,” she scolds Podrick who had been about to accept a cup from Tyrion.

They both look up at her with innocent expressions, and Brienne relents. “Half a cup.”

“Jaime!” Tyrion says while pouring Podrick an overflowing cup of wine. “I’m sure Brienne could use a cup as well.”

Brienne is about to protest as Jaime nods - “Of course” -  and holds out his own cup to her. “My lady.”

Brienne hesitates before accepting the cup. “Thank you.”

As she takes a seat beside him, Jaime seems to realise he’d just given away his cup, and moves to get another one from the table, excusing himself awkwardly.

Arya rolls her eyes. “Pathetic,” she mutters.

Addam laughs and when she looks to him, he winks at her conspiratorially. 

Arya takes a sip of her drink. She likes seeing Jaime this way. Less put together.

She just wishes this bitterness didn’t come with it.

 


 

It’s difficult to come up with topics of conversation when you’re awaiting possibly imminent death. That’s what Jaime is discovering, anyway. A hushed quiet had fallen over the room as everyone drinks in silence, contemplating what is to come. 

Jaime doesn’t really mind the quiet this time.

Until it’s interrupted, anyway, with more newcomers to the room. 

Ser Jorah and Beric Dondarrion enter together and they make a strange sight in company with one another. 

“Ah, Ser Jorah! Come in,” Tyrion greets. “And, Lord Beric is it? I confess I’m surprised to see you alive.”

Dondarrion smiles. “As am I, Lord Tyrion,” he says with a shallow nod in greeting, while Jorah moves straight to the fire. 

“I don’t mean to stay,” Jorah says. “I’m not as used to the cold as I used to be.”

“Ah, well, you’ve come to the right place. Neither are any of us. Except the Lady Arya, perhaps,” Tyrion says, raising his cup to her. 

She shrugs. “It’s not as cold as it was beyond the wall,” is all she says.

“Just about, though,” Jaime disagrees. The closer the army marched south, the colder it had become. He has no doubt it will be colder still when the fighting starts.

“Ah, that’s right,” Tyrion says enthusiastically. “You’re all survivors of the land beyond the wall. You must tell me about it. I’ve been to the Wall once, but never beyond.”

That’s when Tormund Giantsbane wanders into the room. Jaime has to suppress a groan.

Tormund had caught the tail end of the conversation, and laughs. “The true north is no place for southern kneelers. You’d not last the week out there,” he says, as though the idea is hilarious to him.

“Yes, well, some of us have proven otherwise,” Jaime bites back without thinking. 

But Tormund just laughs, not picking up on his tone. “Ah, yes. Some kneelers are made of stronger stuff than others. Like the king crow. And the mini one o’ course,” he says, nodding to Arya. “And my lady,” he says to Brienne. “A big woman like you would survive in the true north easy.”

Jaime rolls his eyes and bites his tongue as Tormund and Brienne exchange words. He wouldn’t have minded at all if the man hadn’t survived the Wall’s collapse at Eastwatch. 

He gets up abruptly to refill his cup, needing a lot more wine for this.

 


 

It’s the strangest thing, being in a room with so many different sorts of people. Arya doesn’t know how she feels about it. Two Lannisters, a Westerlands man, an exiled northerner, the leader of the brotherhood without banners, a wildling, her sister’s sworn shield and her squire.

And Arya. 

There’s much awkwardness in the room, but Tyrion seems rather adept at breaking it with curious questions, and apparently his mind had gone to the same place as hers.

“It’s curious, isn’t it Lady Arya? So many in this room have fought your family at one point and now here we are, defending Winterfell from an army of dead men.”

“It’s very strange,” Arya admits. “My instincts still tell me I should kill you sometimes.”

“I’m grateful you’ve managed to ignore them.”

She smirks. “Is being ripped apart by dead men a better death for you?”

“Not particularly,” he admits. 

They fall into silence after that and Arya realises her joke might not have been that funny… given everything. 

“I think we might live, though,” Tyrion announces. After an incredulous pause, Jorah breaks it with a snort, and the others break into amused smiles.

“What?” Tyrion says through a laugh of his own. “I do. Look at us.” He motions to Tormund. “A wild warrior from beyond the wall.” He motions to Arya. “The scariest woman in Westeros.”

Everyone laughs at that and even Arya smiles. “Am I really that scary?”

Her question is met with a chorus of various definitive yeses from around the room.

Tyrion moves on. “Five brave knights from all corners of Westeros.” Then he pauses. “Well, four and a half. Apologies, Lady Brienne.” Then he turns to Podrick. “…and Podrick.” 

Jaime and Brienne both snort a laugh.

Tormund is frowning though. “Is she not a Ser?” He asks of Brienne. He turns to her. “You’re not a knight?”

Brienne looks deeply uncomfortable when everyone turns to her. “Women can’t be knights,” she says bluntly. 

“Why not?”

“Tradition.”

“Fuck Tradition.”

Arya laughs. “If only more Westerosi men thought like that. Brienne might be knighted by now.”

“I don’t even want to be a knight,” Brienne says with a scowl, visibly uncomfortable with all the attention on her. 

“You saved my sister and bought her home. If anyone deserves knighthood, it’s you.”

“Aye,” Tormund says. “If I was a king, I’d knight you ten times over,” he says with a zeal in his eyes that makes Arya question if it’s really knighthood he means.

“You don’t need to be a king to do it, just a knight,” Arya says.

“That’s right,” Jaime chimes in from where he stands by the wine table, and he has a very peculiar look on his face, like he’s just thought of something. “Any knight can make another knight.” When no one says anything, he puts his cup down on the table. “I’ll prove it,” he says and draws his sword, moving further into the room where there’s more space.

“Kneel, Lady Brienne.”

 


 

He should have done this a long time ago. He doesn’t know why it never occurred to him before.

Well, okay, he does know why. Who would want to be knighted by the Kingslayer? Not to mention the fact that a warrior like Brienne is far too good for knighthood. 

But Arya is right. Brienne has fulfilled every requirement of a knight and more. Most men aren’t deserving of the title, but Brienne… she deserves the world. 

Everyone is staring at him as if he’s making a fool of himself. Brienne herself is hesitant to even move. “This is ridiculous,” she says, trying to wave away the attention.

“I’m serious, my lady. If you want to be a knight, I can make you one. And I will. For keeping your oath to protect Catelyn Stark’s daughters, you’ve more than earned it. So…” he motions for her to join him and after another moment of hesitation, she gets to her feet and approaches him.

“Kneel, my lady” he tells her again, and she does.

He has never said the words before. Never knighted another before. In all honesty, he has never had any interest in doing so. Not since joining the Kingsguard anyway. But the look on Brienne’s face as she looks up at him is so reverent, he knows he’s making the right choice. 

He lifts his sword and rests it on her shoulder.

“In the name of the Warrior, I charge you to be brave.

In the name of the Father, I charge you to be just

In the name of the Mother, I charge you to defend the young and innocent. 

Arise, Brienne of Tarth, a knight of the Seven Kingdoms.” He pauses. “Well, six and half, I suppose.” 

Brienne laughs as she gets to her feet and for a moment, as they stare into each other’s eyes, Jaime feels nothing but pride and joy for Brienne, who he knows will be the kind of knight all men should aspire to be. A true knight of the seven kingdoms. 

The moment is broken as someone starts clapping, and Jaime and Brienne turn to the others who have started a round of applause for Brienne. 

Jaime’s heart swells with pride at the look on Brienne’s face. He has made few truly good decisions in his life, but this is one he will cherish for the rest of his days. 

 


 

When the moment fades and they go back to their seats, Jaime notices Arya is gone.

Strange.  He knows Arya has always had a habit of coming and going as she pleases, but surely she would have delighted in seeing a woman knighted. What would make her leave so soon? 

“Where’d Arya go?” He asks Tyrion.

Tyrion shakes his head with what Jaime is perturbed to read as a pitying sigh. “Oh, Brother. You really are so oblivious at times.” 

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“I’m not nearly drunk enough to tell you.”

 

That just leaves Jaime even more baffled.

 

 

Notes:

Jaime: *spends a solid minute shooting heart eyes at Brienne and making it obvious that he’s obviously in love with her.

Also Jaime: “hey, wait, where did Arya go?"

Chapter 62: It's the last night on... hm

Notes:

So 2 things.
1. So this chapter title is drawn from a song title called 'the last day on earth' which popped into my head as a possible chapter title for the eve before battle and my thought process was "I could name it the last NIGHT on .... ah. Earth. cant do that." And then I did anyway because I'm hilarious xD

2. I do just want to preface this chapter by saying that this is the MOST Gendrya and Braime this fanfiction will ever get. And I know you guys are chomping at the bit for Jaime and Arya to just get together already but I simply Can't just yet. But I love that you guys are so invested in them and I thank you for sticking with me even though I'm drawing it out to torturous proportions. haha

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

 

Arise, Brienne of Tarth. A knight of the Seven Kingdoms.”

Arya has never felt as elated as she did watching Jaime knight Brienne. Seeing a woman receive a knighthood is a vision right out of Arya’s own fantasies. 

Except maybe it was her being knighted instead of someone else like Brienne.

But still, maybe this will set a precedent for women to come. And maybe bearing sons won’t be all a woman can achieve in life. That’s a future Arya wouldn’t mind being around to see.

But then, as Brienne rises and looks to Jaime, he has a look of such soft adoration in his eyes and Arya realises for the first time how deep his love for her truly runs.

He really does love her.

What must it be like, to have someone’s love so completely? Arya doesn’t know if she’ll ever feel that way, let alone have someone feel that for her. 

And in that moment, despite all notions that she doesn’t need anyone, all she feels is loneliness. 

I don’t have anyone.

Suddenly, the room is far too stifling. As the others break into applause for Brienne, Arya flees the scene before anyone can notice she’s gone.

 


 

She comes across the Hound, waiting on the battlements with a wineskin in his hand.

Sandor Clegane. He would know what it’s like to be alone.

Most people had left him alone. Even Arya had.

And yet… he’d come to Winterfell. Went beyond the wall. Stayed here to fight.

Why would he do that?

He notices her standing there. “You just gonna stand there, girl?”

She shrugs and moves to join him, taking the offered wineskin as she does. “What are you doing here?” She asks, passing the wineskin back to him.

“What’s it look like?”

“No, I mean. Here, at Winterfell. You could have gone anywhere, yet you joined the brotherhood. Came north. Went beyond the wall. Now you’re here. Why?”

“What’s it matter?”

“It doesn’t. But you’ve never fought for anyone but yourself, ever. So why now?”

Sandor throws her an irritated look, and he’s quiet for a moment. “I fought for you, didn’t I?” he said at last. 

Yes. She supposes he did. 

She’s silent for a moment before Sandor speaks again. “We’re all going to die, anyway. Here’s as good a place as any.”

“You could have gone anywhere.”

He shrugs. “Nowhere else to go. Fighting’s all I’ve ever done. And this fight? Might be the first one that’s mattered.”

Arya chews on those words, turning them over in her head. He’d come here to fight because he thought it was the right thing to do.

She snorts a laugh and he shoots her a sideways glance. “What’s so funny?”

“It really must be the end of the world if you’ve suddenly found an honourable streak.”

“Honour’s for cunts,” he growls, but he doesn’t say anything more and they fall into silence after that. 

In that silence, Arya realises how pathetic it would be of her to end up like the Hound. Miserable and alone. Sandor had come here because he had nowhere else to go, but this is Arya’s home. Her pack is still her pack no matter what, and she’ll defend it until the end.

And if they’re all going to die tomorrow, she’s definitely not spending her last moments with Sandor Clegane.

She gets up abruptly, startling Sandor as she does. “Where are you going?” He asks.

“We might all die tomorrow. Why should I spend my last moments wallowing with you?” 

She thinks she can hear him chuckle as she walks away.

 


 

It is late. Or…very early morning perhaps? Jaime’s lost track of the hours, but it was enough for him to grow far too restless in that room, so when Brienne excused herself, he offered to accompany her, just for something to do besides sit and wait for death to take him. 

They’re walking the battlements in companionable silence. Brienne had been rather quiet since her knighting and he is curious to know where her mind is at. He had been ecstatic the day he’d been knighted.

…He had also been knighted by Arthur Dayne so he supposes that helps. 

But even though knighthood doesn’t appeal to him nearly as much as it used to, he’s curious about Brienne’s thoughts. “What will you do?” He asks her as they walk. “Now that you’re an anointed knight?”

Brienne blinks as if confused by the question. “Continue to serve the Starks,” she says, and Jaime rolls his eyes at the answer. 

“No daring quests or rescuing of fair maidens in your future?” He asks with a teasing smile.

She levels him with a stern look. “You were the one that made me a knight, and now you would mock me for it?”

“I would never mock you.” She shoots him a scathing look and he grins. “Well, yes, alright, I would. But only in good fun. I would never mock you for being a knight. But knights in general… well, those are a different story.”

“You are a knight, Ser.”

Yes I am. And what an honourable knight I turned out to be. Kingslayer. Oathbreaker. Man without honour. I truly am the shining example.” A bitter edge has entered his tone now.

Brienne’s brow furrows as she turns to him. “Those were unfairly given. If everyone knew the truth about what happened, you would have been praised and celebrated for it.”

“Yes, well. Perhaps its for the best. Knighthood, as it turns out, has very little to do with honour and valour, and everything to do with killing and brutality. I’m not sure if it started out that way, or if the stories we were told as children were lies from the beginning. What a horrible truth to discover far too late.”

“Then why make me a knight?”

Jaime turns to her, then, holding her gaze. “When I heard stories of great knights, I pictured men just like you,” he tells her softly. “Honourable. Just. Brave. You were the knight I always wanted to be when I was a boy. In truth? Knighthood doesn’t deserve you, Ser Brienne. But mayhaps you can restore the name to its former glory. Out of everyone I’ve ever met who’s wanted to be a knight, none have been worthy of the title before you. That’s why I knighted you. And that’s why I will always consider it the greatest honour of my life.”

Brienne looks away, a blush tinging her cheeks. “Thank you, Jaime.”

Her smile lights up her eyes and he finds himself smiling, too.

 


 

Gathering all of her determination, Arya storms straight into the forge to find Gendry, but is surprised to see he is the only one there.

She startles the life out of him as she bursts in. “Seven hells, Arya. Don’t do that.”

“Sorry,” she says automatically, looking around. “Where’s everyone else?”

He shrugs. “Resting before the fighting starts. I offered to keep an eye on things.” He shoots her a quick up and down glance, clearly surprised to see her here. ”What are you doing here?”

Arya takes a deep breath and gathers her resolve. “The dead are here. We’ll be fighting for our lives before tomorrow comes and we might all die trying. So I just wanted to say one thing. And then… then you can do as you like. But I’m going to tell you anyway.”

Gendry’s lips twitch and he lowers his head to hide his smile. “Alright.”

“It was hasty of me to push for something more with you. I’m sorry I did that. But I just wanted you to know that even if you don’t see me that way, even if you don’t care for me the same way, I still think of you as my family. And that won’t change, even after… what happened in the Godswood. You’re still my pack, the same as my family, and you can have a home here, with us, if you want it.”

He’s looking at her with complete and utter shock and she has no idea if she might have just sounded like an idiot in this moment, but she refuses to take the words back and stares him down so he knows she’s serious. 

He gapes at her for a long moment. “Arya… I… I do feel that way about you,” he admits.

"What?" Arya is thrown by the admission. She had accepted his rejection and wants to move on from that, but never had she expected to hear him say anything like this. “But you… you said you didn’t want me.”

He shakes his head. “I do want you, Arya. I just… I can’t bear the thought of starting something that’s only passing.”

She blinks, taking in his words. “It wouldn’t be,” she manages to say, slowly. “I’ve never cared that you’re a bastard, or a blacksmith and Jon doesn’t either.” She regains her composure then, and shoots him an irritated look. “So if that’s the only thing stopping you, it’s a bullshit reason.”

Gendry chuckles weakly. “Arya…. I’m sorry. For the godswood and…and before. I should have just been honest and chosen you. I wish I’d chosen you that day, too.”

That stumps her, too. “Really?”

He nods. “It was the biggest mistake of my life, choosing the brotherhood over you. You were my family, and I should have stuck by you but I let my own stupid fears get in the way.” He turns to meet her gaze and there’s something… else there. “I’m here now, though. I don’t deserve another chance from you after everything. But I can be your family now. If you still want me.”

Arya had quite honestly expected another rejection, so to hear all of this now is just…

This is just unfair. Here he is saying all these perfect things right before death comes for them all tomorrow. Why now? She wants to be with him. But she's afraid of losing him. She doesn’t want to open herself up to that again.

And yet….

We might all die tomorrow.

Screw it. 

So she steps forward and reaches for his tunic, pulling his head down and kissing him and taking him completely by surprise. Gendry stills for a moment, and then he returns the kiss with equal enthusiasm, bringing his hands up to cup her face as her tongue slips between his lips, searching for his own.

Arya runs her hands down his chest and to his belt. He stills again and pulls away. “Arya.” He’s tensed and breathing heavily, like he’s holding himself back from her.

But Arya doesn’t want him to hold back. She wants him. All of him. She brings her hand up to his cheek, cupping it in a gentle gesture. “We might all die tomorrow. I don’t want to die not knowing what it’s like.”

Gendry runs his hands up her arms to clasp her own, bringing them down away from his face. “Are you sure?” 

Arya just nods, and returns to unfastening his belt as his hands move to her waist. Their movements are fumbled and rushed as they undress each other, spurred on with Gendry’s enthusiasm and Arya’s pushy insistence. She pushes him down against the wall and climbs on top of him as they get lost in each other for what could be their last night in this world.

 


 

It’s freezing cold on the battlements, but Jaime doesn’t mind spending these last moments of peace with Brienne, even as they merely stand together in silence. It’s so peaceful and they're alone up here, he could almost imagine there’s no threat at all. It’s a nice thought. However fleeting.

“Ser Jaime,” Brienne eventually ventures tentatively.

Jaime turns to face her. “Yes, Ser Brienne?”

She rolls her eyes. “I just wondered, what you might be planning to do once this is over.”

He tilts his head to the side. “How do you mean?”

“This fight against the dead. Once it’s over, if we win of course, what would you do, then?”

He sighs. “I haven’t given it much thought, if I’m being honest. Not that there are many options for me. No matter which queen sits on the Iron Throne, I would likely be executed just for stepping foot in the south. But the Starks…”

Brienne tilts her head to the side. “They've accepted you, haven’t they?”

“With great reluctance and a number of threats against me should I betray their hospitality, yes. I’m not entirely sure how long their tolerance will last.”

“But you were given sanctuary here.”

He nods. “Yes. That’s true, I suppose.”

“The king a good man. He will stick to his word.”

Jaime raises an eyebrow. “So my future is forever tied to Winterfell then?”

Brienne turns away from him. “Mine is too. It might not be so awful for you here.”

Jaime softens when he realises the meaning behind her words. A life in the north does not appeal to him by any means. But a life with her…

He shakes his head. “It would be an honour serving beside you. But there are other reasons I’m not fond of the idea of staying here.”

She turns back to him. “What are they?”

He gives her a knowing look. “You know. Perhaps the only one left who does.”

Her eyes soften to a pitying expression. “Bran Stark. I see the guilt in your eyes whenever he is nearby.”

He lets out a heavy sigh. “Yes,” he admits quietly. “I know I should tell them but…”

“No one here knows?”

He snorts. “If they did, I would not be standing here talking to you. No. They don’t. Well, Bran knows, obviously. I’ve spoken to him about it, and he seems… unnervingly forgiving. Like I made the right choice.” He shakes his head. “I don’t know how to tell the others. Especially Arya.”

“She does seem quite fond of you.”

“Yes, well, I suppose we’ve grown rather used to each other on the road. It won’t last when she learns the truth. Do you know what she told me the day we met?”

Brienne shakes her head, waiting for his answer.

“That she’d slit my throat if I ever brought harm to her family.” He lets out a bitter chuckle. “If she learns I already have…” 

She’d kill him. Simple as that.

“You’re not that man anymore. Make them see that.”

“Easier said than done,” he mutters bitterly.

“Well. You’re here. That’s a good start.”

He nods his acknowledgment. 

That’s true, he supposes. Still… he has his doubts. 

He shakes his head. “I don’t know what you see in me, sometimes,” he admits.

“A prat, mostly. And an arrogant one, at that.”

He laughs. “Well, at least you’re honest.”

“A prat who saved my life more than once.” He turns to see her eyes filled with earnestness. “A good man. When he wants to be.”

His chest swells with an elated feeling at her words. “Kind words, my lady,” he mumbles, though they mean the world to him. “I hope to prove myself deserving of them.”

Brienne’s expression is so tender. “You have. And you will.” She turns away from him, then. “Especially the part about you being a prat.”

He snorts a laugh. “Well that’s a-“

They are interrupted by the sound of a horn in the night, stilling their thoughts instantly and chilling Jaime to his bones. It’s the sound he had been quietly dreading all night.

The sound of a call to arms.

The sound of war.

The sound of death approaching.

They’re here.

 

 

Notes:

Now, I KNOW what you're all thinking. "Wait, if this is a Jaime/Arya endgame, why is she having sex with Gendry" And the answer is because-

 

 

 
(But PAY ATTENTION to Jaime’s stuff, even though it’s embedded in Braime scenes. It’s important for his character progression moving into future chapters)

When I was rewatching old scenes for reference, I realized Brienne totally knows about the Bran thing and I completely forgot about that. haha. And I debated whether to ignore that fact or acknowledge it and decided to just lean into it. She hasn't told anyone, obviously, but I thought it would be nice for Jaime to have someone normal he can confide in about it.

Chapter 63: Something to fight for

Summary:

Last words are exchanged before the fighting starts

Notes:

Just a lil one. I wanted to give Jaime and Arya some last snippets with the people they care about before the battle starts.

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

 

Arya wishes she could live in this moment forever. 

Gendry is dozing beside her, so she takes the opportunity to just… look at him. Feel him beside her. Embrace the peaceful quiet they’re living in.

The sound of the horn startles her out of her reverie. 

They’re here.

She jumps to her feet, searching for her armour and dressing as fast as she can. Gendry is instantly woken, but takes a moment to remember his bearings.

She kicks him. “Get up, Stupid.” 

He scrambles to his feet. He finds his own armour, buckling his belt and finding his weapons. “This is it, then.”

Already dressed, Arya turns to face him. “It is.”

She feels like something else should be said, but she doesn’t know what. She stares at him for a moment, lost for words.

“Arya…” Gendry murmurs, just as hesitant as her.

Arya looses a quick breath and shakes her head before walking forward into him and kissing him fiercely. 

She takes a step back, holding his gaze for a moment, and then turns and hurries away. 

She’s itching to give him one last look, but refuses to give into it.

Death had arrived. 

It's time to meet it.

 


 

Jaime and Brienne freeze for only a moment, staring at each other in shock as they process exactly what has arrived. What they are about to face. They’ve spent many hours together planning for this moment, and yet Jaime is suddenly hit with a wave of apprehension now that their enemy has arrived. This isn’t just a typical enemy. They are facing death itself. The odds are insurmountable against them.

Jaime clears his throat and offers her a nod. “Ser Brienne,” he says.

She nods in return, her expression solemn. “Ser Jaime.”

They were intended to be parting words, but Jaime hesitates to depart. What exactly does one say before turning to meet death itself? Jaime doesn’t know, nor does inspiration strike him in that moment.

“This might-“

“We should probably-“

They both break off awkwardly.

Brienne clears her throat. “I should be going.”

“Yes, of course,” Jaime says, and Brienne nods, turning to leave. 

Jaime wants to say something else, but all words seem to escape him in that moment so he just watches her go.

Then he remembers he has his own responsibilities and he snaps himself out of his reverie, marching off in search of his men.

 


 

She spies Jon and Daenerys preparing to depart for their vantage point. He sees her too and they pause for a moment in their respective trajectories. 

She wants to go to him but if she does, she might let her fears of losing her pack overwhelm her.

She can see Jon struggling with the same, torn between wanting to approach her and needing to depart right away. 

She takes a deep breath and smiles assuredly, offering him a nod.

He returns it and they both continue on their way. 

They’ll see each other later. She allows herself that small hope. 

 


 

As Jaime heads for his men, he crosses paths with Tyrion.

“So this is where we die,” Tyrion says, attempting a smile. It’s a forced one.

Jaime huffs a nervous laugh. “I’m trying not to think that way. Go into battle hopeless, and you’ll have lost before it’s begun.”

“Seems the kind of advice more useful to you than I. I can’t do much from the crypts except wait for the end. At least you have a chance to fight it.”

Jaime inclines his head. “True enough. See you soon, I hope.”

Tyrion nods and they continue on their way.

 


 

She runs into Bran headed for the godswood and he stops before her. She hesitates in front of him. “I don’t suppose you know how it all ends yet.”

Bran stares through her for a long moment. “Keep fighting, Arya. That is the only way.”

“Easy for you to say. You’re not the one fighting death itself.”

Bran actually smiles. “What do we say to the god of death?”

“Not today,” she murmurs. She shoots him a weak glare. “I hate it when you do that.”

“It’s worth remembering,” Bran says. “You should find Sansa. The fighting will start soon.”

 


 

Jaime stops short when he almost runs into Arya. Her eyes widen when she sees him, but she quickly schools her expression.

Jaime’s not fooled though. He can see the anxiety in her eyes. The fear.

“Are you alright?” He says, tilting his head to the side as he looks her over.

Arya nods. “Yes. Of course I am.” 

She tries to move around him, but he reaches out to pull her back to face him. “Hey.” She stiffens at his touch but doesn’t pull away as she looks up at him, uncertainty in her eyes. “What’s wrong?”

She rolls her eyes. “The dead are here and we’re probably all going to die today. What are you expecting?”

She pulls away from him, then, and he lets her. “You know it’s perfectly normal to be nervous, don’t you?”

She looks away from him then, giving a hesitant nod. 

“What you can’t afford, is to let it distract you. So...?” He raises his eyebrow.

Arya lets out an irritated huff. “It’s just that… everyone who matters is here. I’ve never had this much to lose before, that’s all.” She drops her mask then, showing him her fear for a moment.

He softens as he mulls over her words. “Good,” he says. Confusion passes through her eyes and Jaime gives her shoulder a reassuring squeeze. “That means you have something to fight for. If you don’t have that, what’s the point?”

His words seem to get through to her because she straightens a little, her usual confidence returning.

He smiles, stepping back from her, as if to continue on his way. “See you on the other side?” 

Her response is a determined nod and he continues on his way, quietly hoping this won’t be the last time he sees Arya Stark alive.

 


 


Sansa notices her immediately as Arya sneaks up beside her. “I was starting to wonder if you’d decided to lurk elsewhere as usual.”

Arya hides a small smile. “Of course I’m here. I can’t let Jon have all the fun.”

Sansa does turn to her then, raising an eyebrow. “Fun?”

Arya shrugs. “I’m trying to stay positive.”

“Is it working?”

“Not really.” She watches as the armies converge, ready to face the wight army. “I only saw a small group of these things beyond the wall. But even that…” she shudders. “It's just wrong.”

“What do you think our chances are?” Sansa asks.

Arya looks to Sansa for a moment, before turning back outward. “Low. But this is our home. I won’t let them take it without a fight.”

Sansa smiles. “Good. If anyone can survive this, it’s you.”

Arya feels oddly comforted by Sansa’s words. She pulls a dragonglass dagger from her belt and offers it to her. “You should keep this.”

Sansa frowns as she takes it. “I don’t know how to use it.”

Arya smiles. “Just do what I do. Stick ‘em with the pointy end.”

Though she hopes Sansa won’t have to use it at all.

 


 

Addam greets him at the head of the Lannister forces. “Ready for this?“

Jaime gives a hard sigh. “As I’ll ever be, I suppose.”

“Ah, we’ve survived worse, haven’t we?”

Jaime raises an eyebrow. “Worse than fighting hundreds of thousands of dead men?”

“Well, probably not.” Addam concedes. “But I’d take the dead men over your sister any day,” he adds with a sly grin.

Jaime rolls his eyes. “You have questionable priorities, Addam.”

“At least I can say it out loud now,” Addam says with a shrug. “You have no idea how hard it was holding my tongue all those years.”

“Well it is you, so I have a pretty good idea, actually.”

Addam laughs and claps him on the shoulder as he sobers. “In all seriousness, you’re a better man away from Cersei’s influence. I’m sure you hate to hear that, but its good to see you standing on your own. Though I still question your sanity in getting involved with all this northern mess.”

Jaime snorts a laugh, but he is oddly touched by Addam’s words. “Thanks,” he snarks. “Hopefully it won’t all be for nought.”

This may be his last chance to fight for something worthwhile.

 

 

Notes:

Y'all know this fic has never been very action-focused so hopefully you won't be too disappointed when I tell you that I don't have much to add or change to the battle of Winterfell so I'll be skipping over most of it. I'm covering the beginning and the end and will probably pull out a few introspective moments in between, but other than that it'll largely play out exactly how it does in the show, which you've all seen. haha.

Chapter 64: Valar Morghulis

Summary:

Arya races to stop the night king and save everyone she loves

Notes:

So I lied last chapter. I’m only covering the end of the battle now. haha. I got such severe writer’s block for this chapter that I decided to just skip over the hard bits. But all the important stuff is here anyway and it’s already 3000 words with just the end so You’re Welcome for that :)

And on that note.

*Looks up at tags.

There sure are some ominous tags up there. Wonder what those are about? hm.

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

 

“What do we say to the god of death?”

Bran had left her with those words before the battle started, and she had quite honestly forgotten all about them until the red witch repeated them to her just now. 

The red witch

A woman Arya had wanted dead for years. Had been itching to kill even as she showed up here in Winterfell just as the battle started. 

And now, here she is. 

But thoughts of Arya's list don’t seem to matter much anymore when they’re all focused on one thing; survival. 

It certainly didn’t seem to matter when Beric Dondarrion had sacrificed his own life to save her’s.

I’d wanted to kill him. He knew that. And he saved my life anyway.

She doesn’t know if she wants to laugh or despair at the thought, but she has time to do neither as suddenly the red witch is there, and Arya sees her purpose.

Brown eyes. Green Eyes. And Blue eyes. Eyes you’ll shut forever.

That’s when Arya understands. 

This is why the faceless men had let her go. They never let anyone leave. Ever. And yet, they had spared her, and let her go home. 

All men must die. Or else, they must serve. They’d let Arya live because she is not done serving. Because they knew this war was coming. And so they’d sent a servant of the many faced god to end it.

They’d sent her.

Seven hells, I have to get to the godswood. 

Newfound fury and determination rips through her as she runs for her target. She has to stop the Night King from recruiting any more innocent lives to his army. He should never again be allowed to steal from the many faced god. Arya will not let him. Not today.

Not today.

 


 

As Arya races for the godswood, hoping to all hells she’ll make it in time, she has to ignore everyone she sees along the way and stay on her path. It’s the hardest thing she’s ever had to do, and every instinct in her mind is screaming at her to turn back and help them.

But she forces herself to tune it all out, and keep going. 

She ignores Brienne and Podrick fighting back to back against the swarming dead, protecting each others’ backs. 

She ignores the wights attempting to break through the crypts.

She ignores Gendry and Tormund and Davos with their backs to the wall, striking down every dead man who dares approach.

She ignores Jaime and his men cleaving a path through the dead, headed straight for the wight dragon turning stone to rubble in the courtyard.

She ignores Jon desperately fending off the same dragon.

It’s going to kill him! I have to help!

No. Keep going. Don’t look back. Keep going. Don’t look back.

She ignores Theon bleeding out on the ground of the godswood and flies through the lines of wight walkers straight for their king, launching herself into the air, knife in hand.

 


 

He looks into her eyes as he holds her by the neck, slowly squeezing the life out of her, and wonders with mild curiosity how she had managed to pass his defences undetected.

It is inconsequential though. No one can stop him. And when he snuffs this world of its memory, he will be all that is left.

And then he sees the glint of her little knife as it drops from one hand to another and that’s when he realises.

All this time, he had looked into the future and known his enemy. The child of the north who would be his end. And that future had been a lie. A trick. Because the true king of Westeros, who he had wasted all his resources on defeating, had not been his end after all.

Instead, it had been a girl with death in her eyes, a girl they had bestowed all the tools to his defeat. And he had never seen it coming. Because that infernal crow had hidden her face from him with visions of another.

And before he can do anything to correct this error, she plunged the Valyrian blade into him and he sees no more.

 


 

Arya feels like she’s fighting to catch her breath as her throat burns with the residual touch of the night king’s burning hand. She falls to her knees as she gasps for breath and tries to regain her bearings. 

She doesn’t quite understand what happened. One moment the Night King was choking the life out of her, and the next she’d managed to strike him with her blade and now here she is on the ground, alive and breathing.

She’s alive. She succeeded, then. She’d killed the night king. And all the wights and wight walkers surrounding them were gone too. 

Were the rest of them dead? Is it over? Had she stopped them all?

She must have, for none came to avenge their fallen king.

She’d done it.

But how many people still lived? And how many had died?

Bran! Is Bran alright?

She looks up to see him staring right back at her and he’s smiling. 

“Bran.” She winces at the coarseness in her throat but ignores her aching pains as she forces herself to her feet to approach her little brother. “Are you alright?”

“I am alive,” he says in his usual tone. “Many aren’t.” His smile recedes, turning sad. “It’s not your fault, Arya,” he adds, as if reciting words of another.

She frowns, confused by his words. She already expects death to have claimed many lives this night. “Valar Morghulis,” she whispers.

“Yes,” Bran says. “All men must die. Even those we love.”

A shiver runs down her spine at that thought. “Who?” 

When Bran doesn’t answer she drops to her knees in front of him, clasping his head between her hands and forcing him to look at her. “Bran. Who?”

He looks at her for a long moment before his gaze wanders over her shoulder. “Jon.”

Panic flares inside Arya. 

No. No! 

She hears the crunching sound of footsteps and whips around, dagger in hand and poised to strike and Jon is there, staggering towards her, his posture sagged in exhaustion.

“Jon!” She almost cries with relief as she flies into her brother’s arms, clutching him tight.

Jon staggers back in shock. “Arya? What- what happened?”

“You- Bran said- and then I thought- but you’re here.”

Jon’s arms tighten around her as she buries her head in his shoulder. “‘Course I am,” he says in a reassuring tone. “Thanks to you, I’m guessing.”

His arms feel so secure wrapped around her that she forgets, for a moment, why she was worried about him in the first place. Her eyes fly open. “But if you’re alive, then who…“

Who isn’t?

Panic spikes within her again as she struggles out of Jon’s grasp. “Sansa.” She manages to rasp out. “Have you seen-“

“No. As soon as the dead fell, I ran straight here to check on Bran. But I’m sure she’s fine. The crypts were well guarded.”

But he couldn’t know that. The wights had gotten into the castle, after all. She’d seen them trying to break the doors down. It’s not so unbelievable that they would succeed in finding their way into the crypts as well. And the people inside.

She doesn’t say one more word to Jon before taking off out of the godswood. She can hear him call out to her as she does, but a word from Bran quiets him. She doesn’t quite hear what was said. Doesn’t have time to guess, either. She just runs. 

She’s tired and her muscles ache in protest but she pays them no mind. She has to find her family. She has to know they’re safe.

 


 

She’s so focused on running that she doesn’t even notice him until she barrels right into him, almost knocking him to the ground.

Strong hands steady them both, though, and she looks up into the green eyes of Jaime Lannister.

“Whoa, Arya!” He says in surprise. When she meets his gaze, he smiles, relief flooding his eyes. “You’re alive.”

She can’t help but return his smile, relieved in turn to see he had survived as well. “So are you.”

She inspects him for injuries, but he’s mostly uninjured. Luckily.

Jaime seems to be doing the same with her. He brings his hand up to her face and she winces when his thumb brushes over the gash on her forehead. “You should get that seen to.” He seems genuinely worried for her, and Arya doesn’t know what to say in the face of it. 

She shrugs him off, instead. “I’m fine. Stop fretting.” 

She is glad to see Jaime, but she still hasn’t been able to-

“Arya!”

Arya whips her head around at the sound of her sister’s voice and cries out in relief as Sansa launches herself at her, wrapping her arms around Arya in a tight embrace.

Arya holds Sansa just as tight. “You’re okay,” she says, hardly daring to believe it.

“Thank the gods you’re alive,” Sansa says, rare joy in her tone. “Have you seen Jon? Is Bran alright?”

Arya nods, stepping out of the hug. “They’re in the godswood, I think.”

And as she says it, Bran’s words spring back to the forefront of her mind.

Even those we love.

Jon and Bran are alive. Sansa’s alright. She’s even glad to see Jaime survived.

She pales as she realises there’s only one person from her pack she hasn’t yet seen.

Gendry. 

I have to find Gendry.

 


 

The post-battle anguish coursing through Jaime disappeared almost immediately when Arya burst from the godswood, alive and mostly well. 

It was good to see someone he knew alive. He’d lost a lot of men this night. 

Not Arya, though.

If anyone could have survived this battle, it’s her, he thinks. Though it’s a relief to see nonetheless. Anything can happen in the chaos.

As the Stark girls reunite, Jaime lays eyes on Tyrion and relief floods through him. He takes quick steps to his brother and falls to his knees, embracing Tyrion in a firm hug. “It’s good to see you alive.” 

Tyrion returns Jaime’s hug, his own relief bubbling to the surface in a strangled laugh. “You too.” They pull back from their hug and Tyrion searches his face carefully. “You seem to have fared alright. Barely a scratch on you.”

Jaime shrugs. “I got lucky. Plenty of cuts and bruises, though.”

“Ah, I’m sure you’re used to it.” He waves off. “And your men?” He hesitates before adding, “Addam?” 

Ah. Jaime swallows heavily. Tyrion really never misses a thing, he thinks as his gut twinges with guilt at the sound of his old friend’s name from Tyrion’s lips.

 


 

They hold their line bravely, but the dead use their overwhelming numbers to swarm their armies. Jaime and Addam are fighting as a team, just like old times, cutting down enemies here and lunging over each others’ shoulders to cleave one there.

“You’ve gotten better,” Addam notes casually.

The quips are an old pastime, and Jaime would have loved to revel in it, but his fear makes that difficult. “It was a long road north,” he says, his words tight and strained. “Had to pass the time somehow.”

“Well, it shows. I hardly recognise the pathetic, one-handed sod you- look out!”

He shoves Jaime out of the way, stepping in front of him, cutting the head clean off of one of the wights just as another plunges its sword through Addam’s neck. 

Jaime watches in shock as Addam falls to the ground, coughing up blood. 

That might have been him. But Addam had pushed him out of the way, saving his life.

But at a terrible cost. 

Jaime can hardly make sense of the suddenness of it all, but he doesn’t have time to despair as more dead men swarm him, pushing him back and away from his old friend.

 


 

Jaime clears his throat as his eyes itch with tears he refuses to shed. He simply shakes his head in answer to Tyrion’s question, unable to put it into words.

Losing Addam had been unbearable. But it was nothing to seeing his old friend dead-faced and blue-eyed fighting among the dead.

Jaime had faltered, then, in a move that almost killed him.

The blue eyes of the wight was enough to shake him out of his despair, though. A reminder that it hadn’t been Addam he was facing. That the thing in front of him was not his old friend, not anymore, and that had been enough to rally him enough to plunge his blade clean across the wight’s neck. And as the body crumpled to the ground, Jaime had to stop himself from retching at the sight.

It had been awful, and Jaime is doing his best not to dwell on it now. 

He’s a solider. He’s used to the chaos of war. The lives easily lost. But all the same…

This one hits him harder than most.

Because Addam had chosen Jaime over the crown, and had gone north to fight for a cause he had never even seen, and had died for that choice.

It’s a burden Jaime can’t quite shake, no matter how logically he approaches it.

He had been a true friend to Jaime. And now he’s gone.

It is difficult for him to process. 

“Jaime, I’m sorry,” Tyrion says quietly.

Jaime shrugs, feeling the weight of the loss on his shoulders. “War is war,” he says, trying not to let his weakness show. “We all knew the risks.”

He gets to his feet, then, feeling the need to move. That’s when he is nearly bowled over by an entirely new presence. 

What is it with people running right into him? Surely his height would prevent such occurrences and yet…

The new assaulter is Podrick, and he as a panicked look in his eyes.

Jaime is immediately alert. “Podrick. What is it?”

The boy’s eyes are darting around the courtyard searching for something. Or someone. Jaime squeezes his shoulders to get he attention. “Hey. Pod. What’s happened?”

“Its…” the boy swallows and Jaime can see the beginning of tears pricking his eyes. “It’s Lady-” he shakes his head. “Ser Brienne.” He corrects. “She…she’s-“

Jaime’s blood goes cold as he understands. “Take me to her.”

 


 

Arya races through the courtyard, searching, searching searching.

Where is Gendry? Where is he? She’d seen him as she was running for the Godswood, hadn’t she? Where had she seen him?

She can’t remember, so she searches everywhere.

He’s alive. Surely, he’s alive. Gendry is the most stubborn idiot Arya had ever met.

Well… actually she’s not sure who she considers to be more of a stubborn idiot. Gendry or Jaime.

But the point is, Gendry is too stubborn to just…die. He has to be alive. He has to be.

“Gendry!” She calls out as she runs. She tries to keep the panic out of her voice, but it’s a struggle and she’s not sure if she’s succeeding. To be honest, she doesn’t much care either. Finding Gendry is more important.

“Gendry! Where are you, you stupid bull? Get out here!”

“Lady Arya,” someone calls to her and she whips around the see Davos approaching her. She feels instant relief because when she sees his face, she remembers that Gendry had been with him as she’d passed them.

If Davos is alive, Gendry must be nearby.

But… Ser Davos is wearing an awfully mournful look on his face, that has Arya faltering where she stands. “My Lady,” he says, hesitating over the words.

Arya shakes her head. “No.” She says in a small voice. 

“I’m sorry, my lady.”

“No.” Bran is wrong. Davos is wrong. Gendry is alive. She knows it. She knows it. 

“Gendry was…” he clears his throat, and Arya sees the man fighting his own despair. “He fought valiantly, right until the-“

“STOP talking,” Arya grits out. She doesn't want to hear it. She doesn't want to believe it. "You're wrong." She staggers back under the weight of feelings she doesn’t want to feel.

But as her eyes dart around the courtyard searching for an out - any out - she suddenly sees. Sees the wall the three men had been fighting against. Sees Tormund there, standing over a fallen body.

His body. She knows it’s him. 

But she can’t- she can’t- she can’t be here. Not with…everything spinning around her, and all sounds deadening to her ears.

She should go to him. Wants to go to him. 

But as heaviness threatens to overwhelm her, Arya turns and walks away. 

All men must die. Even those we love.

But why… why did it have to be Gendry.

 


 

Jaime falters as he lays eyes on her. On the sword buried in her side and the gored scratches littering her face.

No!

Brienne.

He stumbles forward to his feet, instantly reaching for Brienne’s hand, and he’s surprised to see her eyes flutter open. She’s alive.

“Someone get help!” He roars, but Brienne clasps his hand, her grip alarmingly weak. “Brienne,” he says to her, trying to keep her attention. “Hey. You’re alright. You’ll be alright. Help is coming. Just stay with me.”

“Jaime…. I… I failed them… Lady Sansa… Lady Arya… tell them I’m… sorry.”

Her words are also weak. Jaime pushes his tears back as he focuses on Brienne. “You didn’t fail, Brienne. They’re alive. Both of them. You’ve guarded them well.”

“Will you… protect them? Jaime? Keep them safe. Lady Catelyn… I swore to her…”

Even as she lays dying, her thoughts are of duty. 

He grips her hand tight, as if the pressure might keep her from slipping away… Gods, he can’t lose her.

“I promise,” he says, bringing his forehead to rest against her own. “You have my word. I’ll look after them.”

Brienne smiles.

And Jaime watches helplessly as the light leaves her eyes.

 

 

Notes:

…………………. I just killed off one of the most beloved characters in game of thrones, I need to go lie down. Or take a very long Emilia Clarke style walk.

But, I do have the next chapter already written and almost finished, so if you don’t hear from me in the next few days or so its because I’ve been mur

Chapter 65: A different kind of pain

Summary:

Arya and Jaime struggle to keep their grief in check in the face of their losses.

Notes:

Alright, we’re now entering the section of this fanfic I like to affectionately call
 


 

 

So expect a lot of emotional turmoil through the chapters to come :)

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

 

 

Arya wonders vaguely what she should be feeling in this moment. Probably something a lot more raging than just this… numbness. 

That’s all she feels. Numb. 

The world around her might be spinning or standing still for all she knows, because she can’t see anything or feel anything besides this hollow, heavy, numbness extending through every nerve and muscle in her body.

Gendry.

Why did it have to be Gendry?

She can’t quite make sense of it. Which is stupid because she’s seen plenty of death. She knows what it’s like. She knows it comes for everyone eventually and nothing can stop it. It’s the one certainty in life.

Everybody dies. 

Well, now that the Night King is gone, anyway.

But… She’s lost… so much to death now. Couldn’t he have spared Gendry just for a little while longer? Gendry was good. He deserves… deserves to grow old and live peacefully.

This death…

Why did it have to be him?

She can’t make sense of it at all.

The last time she’d seen him alive… she’d wanted to look back but she hadn’t. Because she would see him again after the battle and he would greet her with that stupid smile of his. That’s how it was supposed to happen, but now?

It hadn’t happened that way at all. 

I should have looked back. Should have seen him… one last time. Should have said…

She doesn’t even know what she could have said. How was she to know she would never see him alive again?

And yet… she feels foolish for not considering the possibility. She should have. Should have known. But she’d let herself be blinded to it. 

Something painful wells up in Arya’s chest, threatening to crush her under the weight of her own regrets, but she squashes it back down.

Someone is calling her name. She doesn’t know who it is and she doesn’t care to. Maybe its death coming for her, too.

Something brushes her arm and she recoils. Whoever is there leaves her alone after that. 

Something touches her cheek. Something… wet. It startles her and she is able to hear a sound coming from beside her. An insistent whining. She feels something fuzzy against her skin and…

Actually… this feels familiar. And she recognises the sound too.

“Nymeria?” She barely gets the word out, her throat is so hoarse. 

Her wolf settles herself beside Arya, nuzzling against her knees which Arya had drawn to her chest like a protective shield. Arya reaches a hand out and absentmindedly strokes her head.

At least… Nymeria is alive. She’d worried…. At the beginning of the battle she’d worried her wolf might have been killed on the field.

But here she is. That’s something at least. She should probably be happy to see her wolf after fearing she’d died. But… she doesn’t. She doesn’t feel anything at all.

Nymeria starts licking at the wound on Arya’s forehead, but she barely feels that either.

All she feels is numb.

 


 

When Jaime was seven years old, he had experienced the finality of death for the first time with the loss of his mother. 

It had been an unbearable experience for Jaime, and while Cersei had raged and cursed and seethed in her anger, Jaime had only cried.

His father hadn’t liked that. He was quick to impart a lesson that day that had stuck with Jaime through the rest of his days; Lannisters don’t show weakness. They don’t cry. They hold their heads high and look to the future. 

And then he’d struck Jaime until he stopped crying to make his point. It was an effective lesson, and that had been the day Jaime had first learned to go away inside. He hadn’t cried ever since, and had grown practiced in holding his tears back.

That is all that stops the tears from falling now, in the face of losing his closest friend and his…

Well, he didn’t know what Brienne was to him. More than a friend, but… not Cersei.

Yet the pain of losing her was almost equal to that of losing his mother. And he could feel the heaviness of tears building inside him, but he refuses to let them fall. Refuses to let himself feel weak in the face of Brienne’s death.

And he doesn’t know what to do with himself, so he paces.

Back and forth and back and forth and back and forth and back and-

“Will you stop that? You’re making me dizzy!” 

Tyrion’s outburst startles Jaime and he pauses in his pacing. “There are plenty of other places you can go if my pacing bothers you so!” He snaps, riddled with irritation. 

“I’m not going anywhere when my place is here with you. Just…stop that and take this.” Tyrion offers him a wine goblet.

Jaime eyes it scathingly. “I’m not in the mood for drinking.”

Tyrion sighs. “You’re grieving, Jaime. It’s the perfect time for drinking.”

“I’m not grieving.”

“Oh? So Addam and Brienne dying has had no effect on you whatsoever, is that it?”

He glares at his little brother. “Of course it has. But unlike you, I don’t need to drink myself stupid to get over it.”

“But you’re not over it.”

Jaime sighs. “Just go away, Tyrion. I don’t need you here. I have plenty to occupy myself with.”

Jaime. You can distract yourself all you want but it won’t change the fact that they’re gone.”

“I know that!”

“Then face it!” Tyrion loses the wine and grabs Jaime’s hand, tugging on it and forcing Jaime to give him his full attention. “Come down here so I can hug you.”

Jaime flinches back instead. “I’m not a child, Tyrion. I don’t need you to comfort me.”

“I know you don’t. But I’m going to anyway.” He gives another hard tug and Jaime stumbles forward, losing his balance. Tyrion catches him as he falls to his knees and wraps his arms around him. “Father was a callous bastard and wrong about many things. It’s okay to grieve for them, Jaime.”

This… comfort is entirely foreign to Jaime. He can’t think of the last time anyone had offered him any. His mother, maybe, but he doesn’t really remember. Certainly not Cersei, who only showed him affection when she wanted something. His cock or his sword, usually.

But Tyrion’s touch seems to undo something in him, and his eyes blur with the tears he hadn’t allowed himself to feel.  

He can’t find words. Can’t trust himself to even speak. He just lets Tyrion hold him as he lets his tears fall.

 


 

Many people try to approach Arya, but Nymeria warns them away with a growl every time.

Arya doesn’t mind. She can’t face anyone right now anyway. She’d heard little bits and pieces. The people they’d lost. She’d lost Gendry. Sansa had lost Theon. And Brienne, too. Jon had lost his brother from the night’s watch. Jaime’s friend, Addam Marbrand, had died too. So many more had been lost in this fight. So many people that might have lived if Arya had gotten to the Night King sooner. 

I should have been quicker.

They may not have died if I’d just… been faster.

That’s why she doesn’t mind Nymeria keeping everyone away. How can she face them, knowing they’d all lost someone because she wasn’t fast enough?

I was too late. I’m always too late.

An awful feeling bubbles up from deep within her. Her breath catches and her eyes water, and Arya forces the feeling back down. She doesn't want to feel it. She doesn’t want to feel any of it. 

She hears her name again. She even recognises the speaker this time. 

“Arya? Can you hear me?”

Jon.

She thinks about not responding. He might leave her alone, then. But she offers a very slow, slight nod.

He looses a breath. “You’re still injured, Arya. You need to let the maester look at you.”

Arya shakes her head, feeling that awful feeling again. “I don’t want to,” she says, her voice still hollow and raspy. She can barely get the words out and it’s painful to speak. The pain… she doesn’t want to feel that. At least the numbness is… numb. Almost comforting. 

“I know,” Jon says gently. “Let me take you inside. Please. You don’t have to talk to anyone, but we have to make sure your injuries aren’t serious.”

“They’re not,” she rasps. She knows what fatal wounds are like. She’ll be fine. She’ll live. She gets to live where so many good people had died. 

She feels Jon’s hands clasp her own and he pulls her to her feet. She offers no resistance as he does so, and lets him wrap an arm around her as he guides her… somewhere. The hall, maybe.

Not that it matters. She knows she’ll live.

Why had the gods spared her? There were many more deserving people. Like Gendry. And Brienne. And…

So many others.

 

I should have been faster.

 

 

 

Notes:

Bright side, though, next one’s a big one for Jaime and Arya so there is that.

Chapter 66: The lucky ones

Summary:

Jaime finds Arya in the great hall

Notes:

So this is... kinda a part 2 to the previous chapter, I suppose... But I wanted to give it its own chapter. it's one of my favourite Jaime and Arya moments and I've had it written for a Very Long time, so I'm excited that you finally get to read it.

I hope you like it :)

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

 

Tyrion stayed with Jaime for almost the entire day, but at some point, he had to excuse himself. He still has duties to see to, after all.

“I will find you later,” he promises, and then he’s gone.

Jaime wanders over to the table and picks up the forgotten wine cup, downing the contents in one go. It doesn’t fix anything. He still feels just as shit as he had been feeling since the battle ended. 

Pathetic, Lannister.

Lannisters don’t wallow. He should show more pride than that. Even though he wants to shut himself away with only thoughts of Brienne and Addam for company…

He feels restless, so he goes for a walk instead.

All around him are reminders of the battle they’d fought. Reminders of everything they’d lost. Of what had been left behind.

There are still dead bodies littered all over the place. Those that were healthy enough had set to the task of moving them. He thinks he can see the beginnings of pyres being built but it will take a while for the clean up to be complete.

Many were grievously injured. Those people were taken to the great hall which had been designated as a temporary infirmary. He wanders in that general direction. Not because he wants to see battle scars of all the survivors. Not at all.

He just… needs to see the living. 

His thoughts are so consumed with the dead, they threaten to drown him in his own despair. And though he can still feel tears pricking in the corners of his eyes, he forces them back. 

He’s a Lannister. Lannisters don’t show weakness in the public eye. It was barely tolerated behind closed doors.

The maester was flitting around the room as required. Many women who’d hidden in the crypts had also come to the Hall to help with the wounded. There was much activity and many people in various stages of healing. Some only had minor injuries. Some merely passed out from exhaustion. And many may not make it through the night. 

That thought only makes the despair tug at his insides.

Why did I even come here?

He turns to leave, but in that moment he spots a familiar face.

Arya.

He blinks as if her presence might be his own imagination, but it’s not. She’s sitting on a table in the corner, alone, and seemingly very far away with her thoughts. 

He makes his way to her without a second thought.

“I wondered where you’d got to,” he says casually, perhaps hoping their usual banter might distract him from his thoughts.

But Arya doesn’t look up or even acknowledge him as he comes closer. In fact, she doesn’t seem to notice him at all. She simply stares straight ahead, a blank look fixed in place and her eyes devoid of emotion.

That sparks worry within him, for Arya has never been so unaware of her surroundings before. Even when she’s deep in thought, she is quick to notice the changes around her. Approaching footsteps. Possible danger nearby.

She’s gone away inside.

It’s a concerning thought. He feels the sudden need to pull her out of it. 

“Arya,” he calls softly. There’s a flicker of recognition in her eyes, but no other response.

His attention falls to the bruising on her neck. Proof that she’d fought the night king and lived to tell the tale. His hand moves almost on instinct to brush over it and Arya shudders when he touches her there, the first reaction she’d given.

He looses a breath before kneeling down to her eye level, resting his hand on her thigh. “Arya?”

She blinks slowly as her gaze comes to focus on him. Her expression remains vacant but she raises a hand to his cheek. He shivers at the contact as her thumb brushes under his eye. Only then does he realise his face is still wet from his tears.

“They told me about Brienne,” she says slowly. Her voice is raspy and barely audible. “I’m sorry.” She drops her hand and Jaime looks down as hurt stabs in his chest once again. He struggles to find something to say.

“Gendry’s dead too.” Arya’s eyes are unfocused again. The only indication of her pain is the way her breath wavers slightly at her admission. “So many died,” she says. “I was prepared for it. But I didn’t know….” She interrupts herself with a thin, shaky breath and shakes her head just slightly. “I wasn’t fast enough.” Her gaze refocuses on his again. “I’m sorry.”

Her voice cracks with guilt and Jaime’s heart clenches in his chest at the sound of it. He can see it in her eyes even as she’s trying desperately to hold herself together.

“Arya,” he says, cupping her cheek gently. “It’s not your fault.”

A deeply pained expression breaks through on her face as she starts trembling in place. “Do you think if I- If I’d gotten there sooner, would they still be alive?” Her voice is so timid and fragile.

“No,” he says, his own voice hoarse with emotion. “In war only the lucky survive. That’s it. There’s nothing we can do about the ones that don’t. Don’t torture yourself with what-ifs.”

Arya shakes her head. “It’s not right.”

“I know.”

“They were- they were the good ones.”

“Yes.” He smiles sadly. “They were.”

“Why… why are we the lucky ones? And not them?”

Jaime can’t even begin to know how to answer that.

She’s trembling again as she clenches her hands into fists. “It’s not fair at all.”

Tears well up in her eyes and, almost on instinct, he reaches for her and pulls her into his arms. Arya stiffens for only a moment before wrapping her arms around him in turn, clinging to him as if she might fall apart if they let go. 

Jaime doesn’t know how long they stay like that for. But she doesn’t push him away.

And he’s missed having someone to hold.

 

 

Notes:

:)

thoughts?

Chapter 67: Something's up with Jaime

Summary:

When Jaime becomes a sudden recluse, Arya takes it upon herself to find out what's going on.

Notes:

Welcome to another installment of ‘Lovesaphira’s complete inability to abide tonal consistency.’ In this episode, the question posed is “what would a supportive Arya be like?” And… this was the result.

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

 

Someone had given Arya milk of the poppy to force her to sleep. So when she wakes up later, she is groggy and needs a moment to remember her bearings.

That alone is enough to put her in a bad mood. Not having full command of her senses is irritating and she is tempted to slit the throat of whoever gave it to her. 

Then she remembers why they’d given it to her in the first place and she quite suddenly wishes the ground would swallow her up where she lies. 

She’d… she’d been… weak. Lost control of herself and allowed everyone to see it. How humiliating that the entire castle had probably witnessed her fall apart because of her stupid feelings.

And worse - much, much worse - is that she had done it in Jaime Lannister’s arms. And even though he’d been really nice about it at the time, and actually made her feel less… weighed down, she can’t help but wonder what he must think of her now.

Gods, he probably thinks she’s so pathetic, weeping all over his shoulder like a stupid little girl. How is she supposed to face him after all that?

How is she supposed to face any of them after this?

This is all Gendry’s fault. 

He’s the one who said all those things, and made her feel so good and so wanted, and let her open herself up to him and now he’s…

Now he’s gone, and she’s left with all these stupid feelings.

If he hadn’t gone and gotten himself killed, I wouldn’t be feeling any of this. 

And he’s not even here for her to yell at him about it!

She suppresses a heavy sob and forces herself out of bed. 

She’s not weak. They’ll all see that she’s perfectly fine.

 


 

Preparations for the funeral are still underway and most able bodied people had set to helping with the task. Arya notices they’d split into two main teams. The ones… clearing away the bodies, and the ones building the pyres.

There’s no way Arya wants to be reminded of all the dead, so she goes to find Jon and see if she can help with the build.

He is surprisingly easy to find, overseeing the whole process. He looks absolutely exhausted and Arya wonders if he had gotten any rest himself.

They’d forced her to sleep and if they hadn’t done that she might have stayed awake through the night herself. She and Jon had quite a lot in common, including their stubborn natures. He likely refused to rest, himself, while telling everyone else they should in the same breath.

He spots her almost immediately as she makes her way over to him. “Arya,” he greets as if surprised to see her. He smiles sadly as he pulls her into a firm embrace before checking her over. “What are you doing out here? How are you feeling?”

She rolls her eyes and shrugs him off her. “I’m fine. I slept. I’m rested. I’m not sad anymore. I just need something to do.”

He’s watching her with a worried expression. “You’ve done enough, Arya. You killed the Night King and ended it all. Let us do the rest.” And she knows he’s trying to help, but he really isn’t.

“I don’t want to sit still while there’s work to be done. Let me help. Please.”

And he must see something in her eyes that makes him give in, because he nods. “Alright. Tormund could use a hand, if you want to go and find him.”

She nods and sets herself to it.

 


 

For the first few hours of work, Arya will admit she’d been hoping to avoid Jaime entirely. She’s worried he might… think less of her for what happened and she doesn’t want to see that in his eyes.

So she hopes she might just miss him at each turn.

But after a few hours of work, she finds herself irritated that she hasn't seen him at all. 

Where even is he?

Why isn’t he out here helping too? Jaime had always been restless out here, so she thought he would have been out helping way before her. But she hasn’t seen him at all. 

Maybe he’s busy doing something else. It’s not exactly a small castle. He could be helping Tyrion, or working with his own men. There are plenty of logical reasons why she hasn’t seen Jaime since waking up.

But as the day fades, a different sort of worry starts to take over her mind.

What if he is avoiding her too? What if she’s right and he does think less of her now? What if she’s scared him away with her useless crying and now she’s made everything too awkward for him to want to be around her anymore?

That feeling is a surprisingly distressing one. He’d… he’d helped her, hadn’t he? Made her feel better. Tried to comfort her. Been there for her when she needed it. It’s not something she had expected from him, but he’d done it anyway. And she’d been grateful to him for it at the time.

Only now he’s gone. Disappeared, or hiding. She’s not sure. 

She doesn’t want to see him because she doesn’t want to know what he thinks of her now.

But now that she hasn’t seen him at all, that suddenly bothers her, too.

I hate this.

 


 

That night she decides that if Jaime doesn’t want to see her anymore, then she’s not going to bother trying to find him, either. 

So she was sad about Gendry dying. It’s natural, isn’t it? To feel sad when someone you care for dies? Jaime should know. And he shouldn’t be such a shit about it. And she shouldn’t even be thinking about him so much, anyway. 

And yet…

Well, she’d rather be angry at Jaime than sad about Gendry any day. 

But Jaime’s not around for her to yell at him for not being here.

And neither is Gendry. 

 


 

After a restless night she spends tossing and turning thinking about Gendry and the Night King and Jaime, in which Arya has serious doubts about whether she slept at all, she starts to really worry about Jaime, because he is absent all the next day as well. And though she is still angry at him for it at first, the worries and doubts that something is very wrong start to set in.

This is not right.

Even when they didn’t talk as much, she still saw him every day. He was still there. To have disappeared altogether is rare for him because despite the fact that he says he hates the north, he has actually spent a lot of time in the castle grounds. Until now, anyway.

And even though she carries all these worries that this has something to do with her, even if that is the case, Jaime has never avoided her before. Not to this extent, anyway. 

She asks Jon, but he hasn’t seen Jaime since right after the battle. Neither has Sansa.

And she’d spied on the Lannister camp as well. He hasn’t been seen there either.

This can’t just be about me. Something is wrong.
 

 


 

It’s the night before the funeral, and still, Arya has not seen Jaime at all, and now she has changed her mind entirely about staying away.

Because Jon and Sansa are busy and she misses talking to Jaime. And more importantly, she’s worried about him.

Not to mention furious with him for showing her kindness one moment and disappearing without a trace the next. What even is that? 

So she storms up to Tyrion at dinner, startling him so much he nearly chokes on his wine at her sudden appearance. “Lady Arya,” he stumbles over his greeting. “Is something wrong?”

“Where’s Jaime?” She demands.

His brow shoots up in surprise. “You haven’t been to see him?” He asks.

Arya frowns. “He hasn’t been around,” she says defensively, feeling like he’s accusing her of something. In a smaller voice she adds, “I thought maybe he was avoiding- everyone.

Tyrion smiles sadly. “He is. Avoiding everyone, that is. He’s been holed up in his room for days. Won’t even talk to me. It’s a rather unfortunate Lannister habit. We’re trained from birth not to show weakness in public and right now… well, he’s taking his losses quite hard, I’m afraid.”

Arya frowns. “He saw me weak. Why does he get to hide?”

“That is an excellent point,” he says, snapping his fingers. “Perhaps he needs reminder.” And he’s smiling slyly, though Arya has no idea why.

“How would that help?”

He shrugs. “It’s worth trying. My attempts have fallen on deaf ears. He may listen to you.”

“Why would he listen to me?”

“Oh, just a feeling. Besides,” his smirk softens to a sad smile. “You’ve lost someone very dear to you as well, from what I’ve been told. That might help.”

“I suppose… I can try.”

Tyrion nods. “Excellent. Good luck.”

 


 

Jaime dreams of Brienne. 

Brienne when she hated him.

Brienne when she respected him.

Brienne when she called him Kingslayer.

Brienne when she called him a good man.

Brienne when she named his sword Oathkeeper

Brienne when he proclaimed her a knight of the Seven Kingdoms.

The look of relief in Brienne’s eyes when he promised her he would protect the Starks for her.

Brienne when she drew her last breath.

Brienne dying at peace because she knew he would keep his promise. 

How can she believe in me so strongly?

How can she see any good in me at all?

He is not worthy of it. Not even a little bit.

Why are we the lucky ones, and not them?

Arya’s words circle in his mind as he thinks of Brienne. 

Why indeed? 

Perhaps she is too good for this world. 

Perhaps the gods punished her for ever believing an Oathbreaker could be honourable. 

He doesn’t know. But the words and memories weigh on him so heavily, he can barely move. Barely breathe. Barely lift his head. 

You have forsaken every vow you ever took. Kingslayer.

Why are we the lucky ones, and not them?

Why, indeed?

Why, indeed?

 


 

Jaime barely leaves the bed anymore. Sometimes for food, though it’s a struggle to keep anything down. He’s stopped trying. Mostly he can do nothing but lie in bed, heavy with his thoughts.

He doesn’t want to get up at all, but he needs to piss. Pathetic though he may currently be, he is not so hopeless as to piss in his own bed.

So with great effort that physically exhausts and drains him as he does it, he gets up from his bed and crosses the room to the privy. 

When he’s cleaned himself up he returns to his room and someone is sitting on his bed.

Arya.

He startles so strongly when he sees her that he actually jumps. 

“Arya!” She doesn’t even flinch as he scolds her, just looks up at the sound of his voice. “Can’t you for once, announce yourself before coming in here?”

She rolls her eyes. “My lord Lannister, might I request a moment of your precious time.”

He just glares at her. “No.” He crosses the room. “And get off my bed.”

He feels her weight leave the bed as he collapses on it himself. He should really not act so pathetic in her company but… he doesn’t have the energy for appearances at the moment.

And he really doesn’t care what she might think of him. 

“Wow. Tyrion is right. You really are pathetic.”

But it certainly does sting to hear it out loud. “Get out, Arya,” is all he says. 

“No.”

If he had the energy, he would roll his eyes.

Alas, he does not. 

And Arya seems especially stubborn today. 

There’ll be no getting rid of her any time soon.

“Fine. Do as you like. I’m going to sleep.”

As expected, that does absolutely nothing to move her along. 

 


 

Arya had not expected to see Jaime so… defeated. 

She doesn’t know what to do. What to say to him.

Jaime always knows what to say.

Sometimes his words make her want to punch him, but they still help. Sometimes.

What can she do for him now? She’s not good at this. 

She had once been taught how to soothe someone before giving them over to death when she served as an acolyte in the house of black and white.

But she doesn’t think that’s going to help at all here. 

“The funeral’s tomorrow.” She reminds him. “Are you going to go?”

He is silent for a moment, and she thinks maybe he’s ignoring her. 

“I was thinking of skipping it,” he finally says.

“Why?”

“Funerals are all the same, and I've seen enough of those in my lifetime. I don’t see any reason to go to this one.”

Arya approaches him and pokes him in the shoulder. “What about Brienne? And your friend?”

“What about them? They’re not here to be disappointed in me for not attending. What does it matter?”

His words sound careless, but she hears a hitch in his breath as he speaks them. 

“Do you miss them?” She asks him tentatively.

He rolls over and faces away from her. “Stop asking me stupid questions.”

“I miss Gendry,” she offers. “Sometimes I don’t know if I’m upset or angry at him. Or both. Mostly it’s both. Is that how you’re feeling?”

“It doesn’t really matter how I feel.”

She wants to hit him, but she doesn’t. “You can tell me anyway. I don’t care. I blabbered all over you like an idiot, so it’s perfectly fair if you want to return the favour.”

He coughs, and she wonders if he’s laughing at her. 

At least it’s something.

Arya sits herself on the bed and watches him for a long moment. She hates seeing him like this and wants him to be better. And sometimes… sometimes Jaime is quite good at making her feel better (even if half the things he says are all stupid).

She’s not used to this, but she does want to give it a go.

“Do you want to talk about it?” She offers quietly.

“No,” is his immediate answer.

Arya sighs heavily and rolls her eyes. “I’m trying to be supportive. So you have to tell me what’s wrong.”

She is startled when he laughs this time. A weak, biting laugh, but a laugh nonetheless. “You shouldn’t bother. You’re not very good at it.”

Feeling stung, Aya scowls and slaps his shoulder. “Fuck off! And get up.” She shoves him, hard, pushing him to the edge of the bed, and he has to sit up to stop himself from falling off. “This is pathetic.”

He laughs again, lying back down across the bed so that his head rests beside Arya where she sits, looking up at her. “I thought you were here to be supportive,” and there’s a teasing lilt in his tone, even as he still sounds incredibly dull. 

She shoves him again. “I was, until you started being a stubborn shit. Now I couldn’t care less.”

“Good! Now get out!”

“Fine!”

“Fine!”

But she doesn’t move, and neither does he.

He sighs, rubbing his hand over his face. “I appreciate what you’re trying to do, Arya, I just don’t want company right now. Is that so much to ask?”

Arya wants to snap at him again, but the sincerity in his tone stops her. She bites back her retort and tries for something softer. “I know,” she says in a small voice. “Neither do I. But I’m here.”

“Oh, so this is all about you, then,” he snarks in a teasing tone. He shifts onto his side, propping himself up on his elbow.

Arya rolls her eyes. “You’re an idiot.”

“You sure do love calling me that.”

“Because it’s true. Idiot.”

And then Jaime smiles and Arya feels surprisingly triumphant. She hadn’t even realised she’d wanted that until she sees it now. 

He reaches out to her and caresses her cheek lightly. “Thank you,” he says in a soft tone.

Arya blinks, still very unused to Jaime touching her in such gentle ways. “What for?”

“For helping me take my mind off them.”

She looks away, feeling her face heat just slightly. “All I did was insult you a lot,”

“Yes. It’s very irritating. And remarkably effective.”

She huffs. “So are you coming to the funeral or not?”

His smile fades, as he looks off to the side. “I know I should.”

Arya looks down at her hands. “I don’t want to go, either. It’ll make it real, then, won’t it.”

“It will,” Jaime sighs. “But that’s a problem for tomorrow, I suppose.”

They lapse into comfortable silence for a moment. 

“Jaime?” Arya says tentatively.

He looks to her, cocking an eyebrow. 

She looks down at her hands. “I should thank you as well. For putting up with my crying the other day. It was probably really annoying for you.”

“I don’t mind. Truly. Your Gendry clearly meant a lot to you.”

Arya nods, suppressing a sob. “He was my family.”

Jaime sits up and brushes a tear from her cheek before she even realised they were falling. 

She flinches back. “Sorry. I’m doing it again.”

Jaime shrugs. “It could be worse. You could have spent the last three days clinging to your pillow like a squalling infant.”

“How would you know if I had?” She asks in an attempt to tease him. 

“Well, I wouldn’t, having spent the last three days clinging to my pillow like a squalling infant as I was.”

Arya laughs and Jaime smiles. She leans into his side almost instinctively, but is surprised when he wraps an arm around her in turn. They both freeze as if having caught themselves acting without thinking. 

Arya relaxes into him, deciding that she likes it. 

And that maybe Jaime’s arms aren’t the worst place to be after all.

 

 

Notes:

Progress, amiright?

Chapter 68: Those you've known and lost

Summary:

The survivors of the battle of Winterfell say their last goodbyes to the fallen.

Notes:

So turns out funerals are hard to write. haha. I tried

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

 

“If you could go anywhere in the world, where would you go?”

Arya looks up from where she’d been tracing patterns across his chest. “Why?”

He shrugs. “You always used to say you wanted to see the world. Which parts?”

Arya resumes tracing patterns into his skin, thinking about her answer. “It seems irrelevant now, doesn’t it? We’re probably all going to die here when the dead arrive.”

“So? Tell me anyway.”

She huffs and pulls away to glare at him, which only serves to get a chuckle out of him. She softens when he smiles and ducks her head into his chest, still unused to these feelings fluttering in her belly. “I always wanted to know what’s west of Westeros. No one could ever tell me. I’d probably go that way and see where that takes me.”

“Sounds dangerous,” he says, caressing the small of her back idly.

She shrugs. “Probably. I think I could handle it.”

He chuckles. “Yeah, you could. You against the world, then?”

She pulls back to look him in the eye. “You and me, Stupid.” She shoves him gently. 

He laughs at the effort, pulling her in closer. “You and me against the world, eh? I’ll hold you to that.”

“You’d better, Gendry Waters.” She pokes his chest. “We’re pack now. Where I go you go.”

“Yeah?” His smile is lopsided.

“Yes.” 

She kisses him, hard, and as she does, his hold slackens around her, unresponsive to her touch.

She pulls back to see him dead-eyed, staring at the ceiling.

“Gendry?” She shakes him in an attempt to rouse him. “Gendry!?”

He sits up, then, his dead eyes turning a pale, icy blue, and his hand shoots out, wrapping around her neck and squeezing, hard. 

Arya screams.

She wakes up, gasping desperately for breath.

 


 

Someone’s arms are around her and she thinks, for a moment, they might be Gendry’s, but when she turns to him, she is met with concerned green eyes instead and then reality comes crashing back down.

Seven hells! She must have fallen asleep here. She hadn’t meant to but when he’d wrapped his arms around her, comforting her even as she was the one who was supposed to be comforting him, she had felt…

“Arya?” He calls softly. “Are you alright?”

She fights back tears as she pulls away from him. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to sleep here.”

“It’s alright. I don’t mind.”

“No, I…” She shakes her head and scrubs at her eyes with her palm. “I shouldn’t have- I should go.” 

Before he can move or say anything, she shoots for the door, slamming it behind her and leaning against it for a moment.

You and me against the world, eh?

We’re pack. Where I go you go.

She takes a deep, shuddering breath before moving on.

It’s almost funny, really. For the first time since the battle ended, Arya had actually slept through the night.

Only when she woke did it start feeling like a nightmare again.

 


 

 

Jaime lets out a loud exhale as he collapses back down on the bed.

In all honesty, he had been just as surprised to wake up finding Arya Stark curled up beside him. He had had no time to process the development though, because she had woken with a scream, panic in her eyes, and then fled before he could really say anything.

Whatever dream she’d woken from had clearly left her rattled, and he’s tempted to go after her, but if she really wanted him there, she wouldn’t have left so suddenly. Going after her now would likely only make things worse.

He feels the cold absence of her warmth now that she’s gone, though, and a small part of him wishes she hadn’t left so quickly. For the briefest of moments, the grief over losing Brienne hadn’t felt so heavy when Arya had been here beside him.

Now it comes crashing down on him in full force all over again.

Pathetic, Lannister, he thinks to himself.

The funeral’s today, he reminds himself absently.

Fuck. He does not want to attend. He should. Brienne and Addam and all the rest gave their lives to protect Westeros from total destruction. He should honour that sacrifice. Honour them. As a soldier, he knows it’s his duty. As a commander he knows it’s his responsibility.

But…

He struggles to find the energy to do so. 

It’ll make it real, then, won’t it.

Yes, it certainly will. Jaime’s not sure he’s ready to handle the reality. He can barely get himself out of bed.

The door to his room crashes open and for a moment, rather absurdly, he thinks maybe Arya has come back, but then he sees his little brother in the doorway instead.

Then he remembers he hasn’t once seen Arya use that damn door. 

“Tyrion,” he greets absentmindedly 

“Are you still sulking? You should get dressed. The funeral’s starting soon.”

“I’m not sulking.”

“Well whatever you call it, then. You need to get up. Get some fresh air. Come and say goodbye.” He softens his tone on the last one.

Jaime glares at him out of the corner of his eye. “What’s the point, Tyrion?”

“Of what? Life? The best scholars in the world couldn’t tell you. Although I’m fairly certain it involves wine.”

Jaime snorts. “Of course you do.”

Tyrion looks around the room as if inspecting the walls. “Did you see Arya here?”

“What? Why?”

Tyrion raises an eyebrow. “Well, she came to me at dinner like a woman on a mission. I was sure she intended to come and see you.”

“Oh. That. Yes, she made quite a compelling case. You really shouldn’t have sent her here.”

Tyrion only smiles. “Well, she seems to have done something right for you to be speaking in complete sentences. I can only guess what she said to you, but whatever it is, you should listen to her.”

Jaime rolls his eyes. “Get out, Tyrion.”

“Come to the funeral. I know it’s difficult. But you know you’ll never forgive yourself if you don’t.”

Jaime lets out a long exhale and is quiet for a moment. “Fine,” he manages. “Now will you get out?”

“I’ll have you know I’m quite good friends with a number of unsullied who would be all too happy to come in here and drag you out if you change your mind.”

He rolls his eyes as he sits up. “Goodbye Tyrion.”

Tyrion laughs as he leaves.

Jaime takes a deep breath before forcing himself to stand. 

This is going to be a long day, I can tell.

 


 

Arya is dreading the thought of attending the funeral today. 

She had been ready to go. Prepared to say goodbye. Perhaps hoped that it might help ease her sadness over losing Gendry.

She had been prepared for all of those things.

What she hadn’t prepared for was finding comfort in Jaime’s arms. And waking up missing Gendry more than ever.

It was supposed to be Gendry.

But it’s not him. And it never will be again.

And I miss him.

Valar Morghulis, she thinks moodily.

But death has taken so much from her now.

She wishes he would fuck off.

 


 

Jaime will never understand how peaceful they look in death. Even as he looks down at Brienne, at her eyes closed to him forever, she looks so at peace.

She died that way. Believing in him. In his honour. In his promises. 

She was one of the few people in his life to place so much trust in him. To call him a good man.

Even he struggles to believe it.

But she had.

I wish I’d known then…

He rests his hand on her shoulder, bowing his head and closing his eyes. “I promise,” he whispers. “I promise, Brienne.”

 


 

It takes all of Arya’s strength to keep her composure as she stands beside Jon, watching Sansa say her last goodbye to Theon.

Arya should go over to Gendry but…

She can’t bring herself to move.

“Go on,” Jon says to her softly. “You should say your goodbyes.”

Arya can’t even speak for fear of bursting into tears, so she just shakes her head. She can feel Jon’s concerned eyes on her, but he doesn’t push.

She'll go to him in a moment. 

Just… not now. 


It’s times like these Arya wonders if its better to be faceless after all.

 


 

Did you kill someone, or is it just because you’re a girl?

I’m not a girl

“We’re here to say goodbye to our brothers and sisters.”

Do not call me m’lady

As m’lady commands

“To our fathers and mothers. To our friends and loved ones.”

I can be your family

You wouldn’t be my family. You’d be m’lady

"Our fellow men and women who set aside their differences to fight together, and die together, so that others might live."

Even if you’d rather I not be here, I’m glad you’re alive

I’m glad you’re alive too

“Everyone in this world owes them a debt that can never be repaid."

Try not to get yourself killed. 

We’re both survivors, aren’t we? We’ll be alright.

"It is our duty and our honour to keep them alive in memory for those who come after us, and those who come after them, for as long as men draw breath."

I can be your family now, if you want

“They were the shields that guarded the realms of men. 

You against the world, then?

You and me, Stupid

“And we shall never see their light again.”

We’re pack. Where I go you go

Yeah?

Yes

 


 

Jaime is carrying the torch for Brienne’s pyre. This is the moment he’s really been dreading. The final goodbye.

As Jon Snow leads the lighting of the pyres, Jaime finds himself hesitating, his eyes prickling with tears as he gazes down at Brienne for the last time.

“Jaime.”

Tyrion is standing next to him, his hand outstretched for the torch. “Let me.”

Jaime shakes his head. “No. I can do it.”

With a shaky hand, he lowers the torch to the pyre and watches as it alights. 

I’ll try, Brienne.

I’ll try to be the man you saw in me.

 


 

Arya looks down at Gendry’s face where he lies, his skin so pale with the touch of death. She hadn’t actually… seen him like this up close until now, too afraid to let herself see him.

She’d run away instead of going over to his body then.

She’d been avoiding looking for it through the clean up. 

And now…

She breathes out and lowers her torch to the pyre and watches as the flames engulf the wood below.

Then she turns and walks back, brushing away a single tear before anyone can see it fall.

Valar Morghulis.

Stupid, stupid bull.

 


 

They watch together as the pyres burn, turning flesh and blood to ash and dust.

Arya looks down the line to where Jaime stands with his brother and men. His eyes are shining with unshed tears but he stands tall. 

She looks to Jon where he stands beside her with a solemn face. To Bran stoic as always. To Sansa who has tears in her eyes as she stands regal and strong.

Arya slips her hand into Sansa’s in silent comfort.

Sansa offers Arya a small smile and gives her hand a gentle squeeze. 

They stand together in quiet solidarity.

 

 

Notes:

I actually really like Jon's speech from the show, so I had to copy it (almost) verbatim. It's good stuff. And Kit Harrington did a great job with it, too.

Chapter 69: Drink till I forget

Summary:

Winterfell throws a feast to celebrate the living, but Arya doesn't feel much like celebrating.

Notes:

I struggled with this chapter so much and then as always the bulk of it all came out in one go. lol. hope you like it.

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

 

It’s a rare sight, seeing Lannisters and Starks dining together in (admittedly tentative) revelry. But that is exactly what Jaime is observing with mild incredulity. Surviving an army of dead men must have a way of bringing people together; even enemies. 

When the Lannister army had been invited into the great hall for the feast, Jaime had been expecting a certain amount of… division between the two. 

But no. 

Fighting on the same side seems to have eased the initial tension and his men were welcomed into the revelry with strange jubilation (after some initial tension, which was to be expected of course). 

Even Jaime was approached by a few northerners and thanked for his contribution. The reluctance on their part had been amusing but the sincerity of their words had thrown him somewhat. He can only imagine what Ned Stark might think if he were here to see this.

On the morrow they might be enemies again but for tonight, they are all united in celebrating surviving the impossible.

That doesn’t mean Jaime fails to find it strange. 

Nor does it stop him from wishing Addam were here to see it.

And Brienne. He wishes she were here, too.

 


 

The feast had been going for hours, but Arya doesn’t feel joining them. She can hear the laughing and revelry happening inside but it only makes her more aware of her own sadness than before.

She doesn’t want to ruin anyone’s mood and she doesn’t feel much like celebrating so…

Here she is, shooting arrows outside instead. 

Besides, people tended to stare at her wherever she went now. If she went in there, they might want to pull her into conversation. Probably about her killing the Night King.

She doesn’t want to talk about that either.

So she stays away.

 


 

Eventually, Jaime finds her here. 

“Hey,” he greets when he sees her. “You coming inside?” He nods in the direction of the hall.

Arya looks down. “No. You go, though.”

“Ah, but you should. I’m sure they’re singing your praises in there,” he says.

Arya looses another arrow, just missing her target. “Even more reason to stay outside.”

Jaime comes to stand beside her. “Don’t feel much like celebrating?” He asks.

Arya shrugs, drawing her bow. “What would I be celebrating? Gendry’s death?” She lets the arrow fly and this time she hits her mark. “No thanks.”

“Or celebrating being alive. That’s what they’re all doing.” He points his thumb towards the hall. 

Arya lets out a slow exhale. “It seems cruel to celebrate that right after laying the ones who didn’t to rest.”

Jaime looks down at his false hand, playing with it idly. “I know. When I see everyone laughing and getting along, I keep thinking Addam and Brienne should be here.”

“And Gendry,” Arya adds softly.

“Yes,” Jaime agrees quietly. “You thought I was him this morning, didn’t you. That's why you left so quickly?”

A lump catches in Arya’s throat, so she can only manage a silent nod.

“I’m sorry, Arya.”

She shrugs. “Wasn’t your fault.”

“No, but I am sorry you lost him. From what I saw, he would have been good to you.”

“H-he was. That’s why I… I can’t go in there. How can I go in there with all those happy people when all I can manage to feel is the exact opposite.”

“Most of the people in there aren’t exactly happy. They’re simply relieved that it’s over and trying to forget the rest of it.”

“They’re all cheering,” she points out.

Jaime’s cracks a smirk. “Yes, but that’s for you.”

She blinks. “Me?”

He nods. “There’s few things worth celebrating, truthfully, but you definitely qualify for that category. Arya Stark slaying the night king and saving the world from a fate worse than death.”

She glares at him. “Fuck off."

“What will they call you in the songs, do you think?”

“I don’t care what they call me.”

“Arya Stark, the Hero of Winterfell. Protector of the Realm and Bringer of the Dawn. Nightslayer? Winter’s Bane? Deathbringer?” He smirks. “The Lady of Light?”

“How about Kingslayer?”

He frowns. “No, no. There’s already one of those. And he is far from the heroic sort.”

She shrugs. “We both killed terrible kings.”

“But did you swear vows to yours and stab him in the back?”

“He turned around before I could. I had to improvise.”

Jaime snickers. “Perhaps you can reinvent the name.” He reaches out and brushes his fingers lightly along the bruise on her neck. “I’m afraid my actions have rather dishonoured it. That wouldn’t be the case for you.”

Arya looks down. “I’m no hero.” There’s a bitter edge to her words.

Jaime tilts his head to the side, observing her quietly, before drawing her gaze back to his with his hand. “Everyone in this castle, perhaps everyone in the Seven Kingdoms even, is alive because of you. I know it feels like a burden, but don’t let that sour the good you’ve done. Your actions are something to be proud of.”

She stares into his eyes for a long moment before gently brushing his hand aside and stepping back. “It just feels wrong,” she’s says in a small voice. 

“I know,” he says softly. Then his lips quirk in a small smile. “You know what we should do?”

“What?”

“Get utterly, excessively drunk.”

Arya rolls her eyes. “Is that how Lannisters cope with everything?”

He shrugs. “Depends on the Lannister, but, usually, yes.”

“Well I don’t. I much prefer to have-“

“Full command of your senses, yes I remember. But forget that tonight. We’re perfectly safe for the moment. Anyone who would attack here is currently holed up in King’s Landing waiting for our move. And more importantly….” 

His expression softens. “Those men and women in there aren’t drinking to celebrate. Not really. It’s a way of forgetting the horrors they’ve seen… if for a little while.” He cups her cheek gently. “You don’t have to drink to excess, Arya. But you should join us inside. Forget your troubles for a night. It’ll help, I promise.”

Arya closes her eyes and leans into his touch. “I’m still not used to this,” she murmurs quietly.

“Used to what?”

“You being nice to me. It’s weird.”

Jaime cracks a small smile and drops his hand. “Yes, well, don’t spread that around. I have a reputation to maintain.”

Arya rolls her eyes and shoves him away. “Come on,” she says as she walks past him. “You promised me drinking.”

Finally, a promise worth keeping.”

Arya laughs as they head into the hall. 

 


 

Arya’s senses are immediately assaulted upon entering the room and it’s almost too overwhelming for her. Its loud and smells of wine and food and bodies, and there’s far too many people here. She almost flinches in response, but Jaime puts a reassuring hand on her back. “Come on. Let’s find a seat,” he says so quietly she barely hears him over the loud hum of noise that is everything else.

As he drops his hand, Arya spies Podrick sitting by himself, nursing a cup with a forlorn look in his eyes. She hasn’t spoken to him at all since before the battle. Not that she had much to do with him up until then. But he’s lost someone too. She decides to go and sit by him. 

Jaime doesn’t protest and as she drops down in the seat across from Podrick, Jaime slides in beside her. She shifts closer to him as she reaches for a spare goblet and cup.

Podrick jumps at the sudden intrusion. “My Lady. Ser Jaime. I don’t- I can go if you-“

“Don’t be stupid,” Arya scolds him, pouring a cup and sliding it over to Jaime before filling one for herself. “We’re obviously here to join you.”

“Oh.” Pod’s face flushes red. “I… no one’s really come and spoken to me. So I just assumed.”

Arya shrugs. “I’d prefer if most people didn’t talk to me at all. But this part of the table seems alright. So long as you knock it off with the ‘my ladys’ and call me Arya.”

Podrick’s lips twitch in a smile. “I’ll try and remember. Arya.”

“Good.” She settles herself.

Jaime leans over the table, making himself comfortable. “How are you holding up, Pod? It’s never an easy thing, losing your mentor.”

Podrick stares into his cup. “She would always scold me for drinking. I finished this a while ago, but I can’t fill it up because I keep imagining her scolding me for it and taking it away.”

Jaime leans forward and snatches up his cup. “If Brienne were here, I would tell her to lighten up. If ever there were a time for drinking it’s now.” He fills up Podrick’s cup before sliding it back over to him. “She wouldn't want us wallowing either. I keep having to tell myself that. If she were here to see how pathetic I am, she would call me out for it in a heartbeat. And then tell you to keep your chin up.”

“You’re being pathetic,” Arya says.

Jaime snickers. “And what about Podrick?”

“I haven’t heard him complain once, so I think he’s doing fine.”

“Maybe it was a bad idea encouraging you to drink after all. Your words are suddenly sharper than your sword.”

Arya shrugs. “Brienne would have wanted me to say it.”

Jaime raises his cup. “True.”

Podrick smiles as he takes a swig of his own drink and Arya thinks it might not have been the worst idea coming in here after all.

 


 

It doesn’t take long at all for Arya to relax. The several cups of wine probably helped but she won’t be admitting that out loud. She finds that Podrick is alright company. And Jaime is expertly adept at keeping the conversation going, as always.

Eventually, Tyrion wanders over to join them. “Ah. My favourite people in Winterfell, all in one place. You don’t mind if I join you, do you?” He takes a seat beside Podrick and makes himself comfortable even as he asks. Podrick is already pouring Tyrion a cup of wine, almost on instinct.

“Shouldn’t you queen be your favourite person?” Arya asks pointedly. 

Tyrion raises his cup in a mocking toast. “Sharp-tongued as always, I see. Queen Daenerys is, of course, in a completely different category so there really is no comparison.” He seems to be swaying, clearly quite in his cups already. 

“Sounds like bullshit,” Arya says.

Tyrion laughs. “You should drink more often, Lady Arya. Your blunt tongue is sharper than ever. OH!” He snaps his fingers. “Good idea! We should play a game!”

Jaime groans. “Not your drinking game, Tyrion,” he says.

“Why not? We have the wine. We have the people.” He turns to Arya. “Feel like playing a game, Lady Arya? Don’t mind my brother’s protests. He doesn’t like it because I always outplay him.”

“No,” Jaime protest. “I don’t like it because you always change the rules.”

Tyrion doesn’t deny it as he turns to Arya. “Well?”

Arya has a knee-jerk reaction to the idea of playing games, but Tyrion’s is surely different from the one she’s used to. She allows a smirk. “Depends on the game,” she says.

Tyrion perks up at her opening. “Oh, you’ll love it. It’s simple, really. I guess something about you and if its true you drink and if I’m wrong… well, I’m never wrong so,” he shrugs.

Arya laughs. “Sounds like a shit game.”

Tyrion gasps in feigned outrage. “I’ll have you know I spent years cultivating and perfecting this game and and just for that you’re up first. Prepare yourself Arya Stark. I am dazzlingly adept at reading people.”

“So am I,” Arya counters. “Maybe I’ll get you drunk instead.”

Tyrion raises an eyebrow, then smirks at her challenge. “Excellent. Let the games begin!” He bangs his cup down on the table in jest.

Arya rolls her eyes. Lannisters and their bloody theatrics.

 


 

Notes:

It occurred to me that I haven't checked on Podrick at all so here he is. He's doing alright, but obviously losing Brienne has been devastating for him as well. He really looked up to her, after all.

Drinking game in the next chapter.

Chapter 70: A game of drinking

Summary:

Tyrion subjects Arya to his drinking game

Notes:

A part two of the previous chapter, really. I just wanted to give it its own chapter because I had a lot of fun writing it.

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

 


“Jon was your favourite sibling growing up.”

“Is this a game of stating the obvious? No wonder it gets you drunk so quickly.”

“Gets you drunk so quickly”

Arya takes a sip of her drink before slamming her cup back down on the table. “And Jaime was yours. Take your drink, my lord.”

Tyrion shakes his head grinning. “That’s true, but it wasn’t your turn.”

“I’m still right so you have to drink. That’s the rule.”

Jaime chuckles from beside her. “She’s not wrong.”

“Hey,” Tyrion whines. “You’re supposed to be on my side.” But he takes a drink anyway.

 


 

“You prefer knives to swords.”

Arya smirks. “Drink.”

“Really?” Tyrion takes a long gulp from his goblet. “For all you talk of cutting mens throats, I would have thought it obvious.”

“I prefer Needle. Needle’s a sword.”

Jaime laughs. “That toothpick of yours barely counts as a sword.”

Arya glares at him and shoves him. “It’s a Braavosi sword, you shit. And I could kill you with it a hundred different ways.”

“Oh, of that, I have no doubt,” he says, smirking down at her over the rim of his glass as he takes a sip.

Arya rolls her eyes. 

 


 

“You always wished you could have a pet dragon of your own to burn your enemies with.”

Tyrion grins, conceding the drink. “What child doesn’t?”

“I never did,” Jaime points out.

Tyrion rolls his eyes. “Of course not. You always wanted to be a hero, so no doubt you dreamt of slaying one instead. In that regard, we both fell short.”

Jaime glares at him and Tyrion smirks.

“I used to dream of seeing dragons in the skies,” Arya says almost wistfully. 

“Well, at least Arya’s dream came true.”

Jaime snorts a laugh while Arya just shrugs with a smile.

 


 

“You left Westeros.”

Arya’s brow shoots up as she looks from Tyrion to Jaime, both of whom are watching her expectantly.

Arya smirks and takes the drink.

Tyrion slaps the table. “I knew it!”

“I’m sorry, you left Westeros?” Jaime questions incredulously. “Where did you go? When?”

Arya shakes her head, feeling smug. “That’s not the game.”

“Oh, hang the game. How did you manage to leave?"

“I’m not obliged to answer questions, or is that a rule now, Tyrion?”

Tyrion shrugs. “Not in this game, no.”

Arya turns back to Jaime with a triumphant grin.

He narrows his eyes.

 


 

Jaime stares into her eyes for a moment before he smirks. “You used to bully your brothers into teaching you the sword.”

Arya rolls her eyes. “You knew that already. I told you.”

Jaime's eyes widen innocently. “No, I didn’t. I surmised it.” But his teasing grin tells her he knows she’s right.

She leans over and smacks his shoulder lightly. “Cheater. I’m not drinking for that!”

“Brother, help me out here,” Jaime whines, turning to Tyrion.

Tyrion grins in return. “An educated guess counts, Lady Stark. Drink up.”

Arya huffs. “Fucking cheaters,” she grumbles as she takes her drink. 

 


 

“King’s Landing was the first time you left Winterfell.”

“Untrue,” Arya says with a smug smile. “I traveled to White Harbour twice with my father. That’s your drink.”

Jaime shrugs and takes his drink. “I was almost right.”

“There’s no almost. You’re either right or wrong. And you were wrong.”

“That can’t be right. I’m never wrong.”

“I thought that was Tyrion.”

“Where do you think he learned it from?”

“Not you. You’re wrong all the time.”

“Oh really? Name one occasion.”

“No, I don’t think I will.”

Jaime snickers. “Is that another point to me?”

“No! It’s my turn!”

 


 

Arya thinks for a moment, wanting to get back at Jaime for his blatant cheating. Then it comes to her. “You say you hate reading, but you just struggled to make sense of the words.”

Arya’s smile is triumphant as Jaime’s jaw drops. “How can you know that?”

“I’m a very perceptive person.”

“No, I’m perceptive. You’re a liar. Who told you?”

“No one told me. I surmised it. Is it true?”

Jaime glowers at her as he concedes the drink. “Now, how did you know?”

Arya’s smile widens. “Your father.”

Jaime chokes. 

Tyrion’s jaw joins Jaime’s on the floor. 

 


 

She turns to Tyrion, quite in her cups by this point, trying to think of a question. 

She snaps her fingers. “You were married before my sister. That's the reason you never found love again.”

Tyrion shakes his head with a grin. “You’re mean when you’re drunk, did you know that?” But he concedes the drink.

“As opposed to when, exactly?” Jaime snarks. 

Arya smacks him for that. “I can be nice.”

“When?”

“When I feel like it.”

“You’re never nice to me.”

“I haven’t killed you yet. That was very nice of me.”

“Can’t argue with that, I suppose.”

 


 

Tyrion sways for a moment as he ponders his question. “You’re no longer a maid.”

Arya stiffens as thoughts of Gendry slam back into the forefront of her mind.

“Tyrion,” Jaime scolds him quietly.

“What? She’s been away a long time. It’s only natural-“

“Arya, you don’t have to answer that.”

But she’s not listening to them, too stuck on the thought that she’d forgotten all about Gendry. How can she be laughing and having a fun when he’s dead?

She stands suddenly, downing her cup in one go. “Satisfied?” 

She walks away, leaving the Lannister brothers to their game.

 


 

“Well,” Tyrion says, as they watch her retreating back. “I guess that answers that question.”

Jaime smacks him over the head.

“Ow! What was that for?”

“That was unkind, Tyrion. Even for you.”

“Oh, calm down. I was only proving a theory about that Baratheon bastard.”

“I know exactly what you were doing. As if she needs reminding of that right now.” He gets up to go after her, fed up with the game.

“Where are you going?” Tyrion asks.

“Where do you think?”

An amused Tyrion takes a sip of his wine. “I suppose that answers my other question.”

 

Notes:

I always found the virgin-shaming of Brienne such fundamental misunderstanding of how Westeros works. It's such a modern concept that the writers should have been ashamed of themselves for that one. Ah well.

Chapter 71: Two Lonely Souls (Part 1)

Summary:

Drunk D&M's with Arya and Jaime part 1

Notes:

So... I've had this chapter drafted for a lonnnggg time but now that I've fully fleshed it out... yeah this turned out to be a lot of words. Like a LOT of words, so I've had to split it in half because I really liked all of the conversation bits and it's all important bonding for them so I didn't want to cut them down.

And also because the second part needs a bit of revising anyway, and I wanted to post something in the mean time. lol.

Hope you like dialogue heavy chapters because... man that's exactly what this is. And the next. (I say this like the entire fanfiction isn't also like this but i digress).

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

 

Most people would shudder at the feeling of the cold night air on their face, but to Arya it only brings relief as she closes her eyes and just … feels it. She doesn’t feel nearly so suffocated as she did in that hall with all those people, or as trapped.

She is mildly mortified at the fact that she’d just run out like that. She should have stayed, laughed off Tyrion’s statement and taken her revenge by guessing something truly cruel in return to knock that stupid smug smirk off his face. But no, instead she’d shrivelled up inside and fled the hall.

Gods, did she have to be so pathetic?

Gendry’s dead. He’s not coming back. He’s not the first and he certainly won’t be the last. There’s no reason to be so hopeless about it all. And yet… it still hurts far more than it should.

She notices movement to her left and turns to see a familiar figure emerging from the dark. She sighs. “Do you know how annoying it is that you’re here all the time?”

And it is very annoying, but there’s also this… warm feeling that flows through her when she recognises him.

Jaime only chuckles, unperturbed. “That was often the appeal, initially,” he says as he stoops to sit beside her. “Right now, though, I’d much rather be out here with you than in there with all of them.”

Arya hums absentmindedly. “I’d rather be out here with me too.” She pauses. “I think I said that wrong. Did that make any sense? You know what I meant,” she says before Jaime can answer.

He chuckles. “Have you ever been so in your cups before, Lady Arya?”

She shoots him a glare. “Stop calling me that. And no. Not ever. It’s really annoying.”

“How so?”

“I can’t walk right. My vision goes all fuzzy whenever I turn my head too quick, and I’m also fairly certain my hearing is fucked. Imagine if someone attacked me right now. I’m so useless I’d probably miss them entirely and end up with an eviscerated belly. Blood spurting everywhere. My insides spilling onto the ground. What a humiliating way to die.”

“Not to mention extremely morbid. How can you dwell on such things?”

Arya shrugs. “It’s better if I think about my own death than….” She trails off and doesn’t even bother finishing her sentence. “Do you know I had forgotten about him? I got so distracted by Tyrion’s stupid game, I forgot entirely that Gendry was dead until he brought it up. There really is something wrong with me.”

“Nothing’s wrong with you. You were having fun. There’s nothing wrong with that.”

“There’s everything wrong with it!” She jumps to her feet, suddenly feeling the need to leave. To go… anywhere else.

“Where are you going?” Jaime calls after her, stumbling to his feet.

“I’m getting more wine. You can come if you want.”

She’s hides a small smile as he falls into step beside her.

 


 

“This might not be a good idea, Arya,” Jaime says as Arya fumbles to open the door to her chambers. She has a pitcher of wine in one hand and two wine cups tucked under her arm. Somehow Jaime had been roped into carrying a pitcher as well.

Arya throws him a frown as she manages to get the door open. “What’s not a good idea?”

“My being here. We would be better off going back to-”

“It’s fine, I don’t mind,” Arya waves away, snatching the pitcher of wine he’s holding and moving inside. 

“Whether or not you mind is not the concern.”

Arya turns to him with a raised eyebrow. “Are you planning on taking advantage of me, Jaime Lannister?” 

“No. Of course not.”

“Then I don’t see the problem. I’ve come to yours plenty of times.”

“Yes and that was highly improper as well.”

Arya rolls her eyes. “Oh, who gives a shit about proper? Honestly, you sound like my mother.”

Jaime snorts a laugh. “You wound me, my lady. Now you know I have no choice but to keep your company.”

Arya looks very pleased with herself as she sets the pitchers and cups down on her desk. “Besides,” she says as as she goes about filling the two cups. “I may have run out on you this morning after the….” She trails off again. “But before that, I didn’t mind you being there at all. I think I even slept better, actually.”

Jaime hides a smile as he crosses the room and takes the cup she offers him. “I didn’t mind you being there either, truth be told.” he admits in turn. “I’ve never really had…” he shakes his head. “It doesn’t matter. I really shouldn’t stay though. People might get the wrong idea if I’m found here with you.”

Arya rolls her eyes. “Leave, stay. Drink, don’t.” She moves over to the other side of her bed, sliding down the wall to sit on the floor. “Do whatever you want, Jaime.”

He sighs and moves to sit opposite her, leaning his back against the bed.

They drink in companionable silence for a moment before Arya breaks it. “I don’t know what to do now,” she says almost absentmindedly.

Jaime raises an eyebrow. “You mean, you haven’t thought beyond inviting me into your chambers? How very impulsive of you.” A teasing smirk pulls at his lips as he says it.

Arya rolls her eyes. “That’s not what I meant. I mean, now that the dead are gone. I don’t know what I’m supposed to do. I’m not the ruling sort, so I don’t know how I’d be any help to Jon and Sansa here. Well…. I suppose it’ll be just Sansa soon enough. If Daenerys wins her war that is and he goes off and marries her in the south.”

Jaime chokes on his drink. “I’m sorry, he’s what?

Arya’s eyes go wide. “I didn’t mean to say that. Can you forget I said that? Jon will be pissed at me if he finds out I told someone before they announce it properly. And then he might never talk to me again. Not that he talks to me much anymore as it is. But he’ll be moving south anyway so maybe it doesn’t matter.”

Jaime is struggling to keep up with her stream of words. “What happened to northern independence? The north will lose that if he marries the dragon queen.”

“Yeah, I know. Sansa will be pissed. Jon won’t let anything happen to us though.” She shrugs. “What was I saying? Oh, that’s right. I did really want to come home, and don’t get me wrong, it’s nice having my family back together, but everything just feels so… strange here now. All these ghosts lingering in the walls. S’pose I could go south. There’s still two more names on my list. But what’s the point if Daenerys is going to kill them anyway?”

Jaime exhales. “I thought you gave up on that list.”

“So did I. But what else am I supposed do? I don’t have a purpose like Sansa and Jon do. Or even Bran with his… raven powers.”

Jaime cracks a teasing smile. “Raven powers?”

Arya huffs. “You know what I mean.” She frowns. “I think I’m rambling too much. Do I sound completely pathetic?”

Jaime takes a sip of his drink, mulling over Arya’s words. “No. Hardly pathetic. I understand what you’re feeling. Now that I don’t have the Kingsguard and I certainly won’t be ruling the Westerlands, there’s not much purpose for me either.” He taps on his cup absentmindedly. “There is Brienne, I suppose.”

Arya frowns. “Brienne’s dead.”

“Yes, I recall. Thank you for the reminder,” he snarks back. Then he softens “No I… I made a promise to her before she died. I could never insult her memory by abandoning that promise.”

Arya cocks her head to the side. “What did you promise her?”

Jaime’s eyes flit up to meet Arya’s and he stares at her for a long moment before responding. “To guard you and your sister in her stead.”

“Oh,” Arya says in a small voice. “Will you do it?”

He shrugs. “I suppose I will. I don’t have much else to contend with. And the north is… well at least its not as bad as beyond the wall, so there is that going for it.”

Arya cracks a smile. “You can admit it’s not that bad. I won’t tell anyone.”

“I admit no such thing. It is exactly that bad, thank you. Lions don’t do well in the cold.”

“Well, you’re not dead yet.”

He raises his cup to her. “Very true. Shouldn’t be long now, though, if guarding Starks is to be my fate. Death seems to follow you around wherever you go.”

Arya’s expressions saddens. “I told Gendry something similar once. You might have a point.” She’s quiet for a moment, thinking about Gendry.

She moves to get up. “I need more wine.”

 


 

“Tell me something about Brienne,” she says as she slides back down the wall, having brought the whole pitcher with her this time.

Jaime startles at the question. “About Brienne?”

“Yes,” Arya says, leaning across to fill up his cup as well before pouring more into her own. “Something… good.”

Jaime snorts a laugh. “Well that doesn’t narrow it down at all. Everything about her was good.”

Arya rolls her eyes. “Sounds romantic.”

He throws her a soft glare. “Not what I meant. Brienne was…. she was a true knight in all but name from the moment I met her. Not that I was especially appreciative of that when we met, of course. But there aren’t many true knights left in the world. She would have made a great one.” He pauses for a long moment, losing himself in memories. “I’ll never forget the first time I laid eyes on her. I’d never seen such a large woman before. Angry-faced, covered in armour, swords strapped to her hip. She looked utterly ridiculous.”

Arya nudges him with her foot. “I carry a sword,” she reminds him.

Jaime grins. “That’s right. I forgot. It’s so tiny, I barely notice you wearing it.”

Arya shoves him harder. “I’m tiny too,” she says snidely (Jaime only laughs at her effort). “That doesn’t mean I can’t kill you just as easily. I bet you laughed at Brienne too and then she shoved your face in the dirt.”

Jaime laughs. “That’s exactly how it happened, actually. I admit, I was young and foolish at the time.”

“It wasn’t that long ago.”

“And a woman in armour was a bit of a novelty to me,” he goes on, ignoring her interjection. “When I saw her for the first time, I was supposed to be concentrating on your mother’s stern interrogation, but I couldn’t tear my eyes away from her.”

Arya frowns. “Seven hells. It was love at first sight wasn't it.” She looks positively disgusted by the idea.

He chuckles at her. “Gods, no. I thought her idealism foolish. I mocked her constantly on the road to King’s Landing. All I wanted was to escape from her and get back to Cersei.” 

Arya stiffens at Cersei’s name but if he notices that he ignores it. “Needless to say I was far from my charming self. But if she'd let her guard down, even for a moment, I could have taken one of her swords and fought my way out. I was a pathetic, malnourished shadow of my former strength, but she was a woman so there wasn't a doubt in my mind that I could beat her.”

Arya snorts. “But you didn’t win.” 

“No. She rather soundly put me in my place.” He is smiling softly at the memory.

Arya watches him with sad eyes. “You really loved her, didn’t you.”

Jaime struggles to answer with words, so he merely nods. 

“When did you know?”

He raises an eyebrow. “Why the sudden curiosity?”

Arya shrugs. “I don’t really know what it’s like. I think… I think I did love Gendry, but he died before I could really be sure. And I guess it’s too late to wonder about it now.”

Jaime lets out a sigh, feeling a stab of pity for her. For all that she’d suffered and lost so young. He had loved Brienne. But it had been such a different feeling from how he’d loved Cersei that he hadn’t known what it was until it was far too late.

"I thought I knew what it feels like,” he says quietly. “Now I’m not so sure.” 

 


 

“Your turn,” Jaime says, reaching to fill up his own cup and offering one to her as well, which she accepts. “Tell me something about your blacksmith.”

“Why do you want to know about him?

Well, it’s obvious now that you two were… close.” Arya rolls her eyes when he smirks. “So I’m curious. How did you meet him?”

Arya taps on the rim of her cup in silence for a moment. “I met him when I escaped King’s Landing. We were bound for the Wall. He was this armourer’s apprentice but got sold off. He wasn’t sure why at the time, but I think it had something to do with the gold cloaks that came after us. I never found out why they wanted him though.”

Jaime looks down at his cup. “Likely because he was Robert Baratheon’s bastard.”

Arya’s eyes go wide. “What makes you think that?”

“I don’t think it. I know. That boy was the spitting image of Robert in his prime. And I would know. I guarded that fat bastard for many years before he earned that monicker.” He smirks to himself for a moment before it fades. “Joffrey sent gold cloaks to kill every one of Robert’s bastards once his legitimacy came into question. Your Gendry was lucky to make it out alive.”

Arya sits back, shocked by this news. “I never knew,” she says quietly. “But that explains why the red woman wanted him. She was working for Stannis. Gods, I wanted to kill her for taking him away. I would have. But it didn’t end up mattering in the end.”

“You were close to him even then?” Jaime asks quietly.

Arya gives a hesitant nod. “He was… He knew I was a girl long before I told him, but he didn’t tell anyone. We looked out for each other.” She curls in on herself as she says it, missing him even more now that she’s talking about it. But… it’s helping. Talking about him. Much better than trying not to think about him in the first place

“When he found out who I was, he never stopped calling me m’lady. At first just to be proper, but when I kept pushing him, I think he started doing it just to annoy me. I did like it though. When he called me that. He’s the only one I didn’t want to gut for calling me a lady.”

“You haven’t gutted me yet,” Jaime points out helpfully.

“No, but I’ve wanted to. Every time.”

Jaime laughs and Arya ducks her head to hide a smile.  

“I wish this wasn’t so hard,” she says quietly.  “It’s stupid, I know. People die all the time. Especially people close to me. I should be better at… coping with all of this. And I am trying to move forward, but… it’s hard. I don’t know why it’s so hard, but it is.”

Jaime brushes her arm reassuringly. “I know,” he says softly. “It’s difficult for me as well.”

 


 

They swap stories about Gendry and Brienne until late. Little things that make the other smile or laugh. She doesn’t talk openly like this with anyone but it does help her forget how sad she is that he’s gone. Just for a while.

Arya finds she likes taking about it with him. It’s a welcome change. With Jon caught up brooding and Sansa busy running the castle, she doesn’t have many to turn to.

But she does have Jaime.

A very strange thought, indeed.

Jaime seems to feel the same. 

The way he prattles on about Brienne, she can tell his feelings ran deep. 

He tells her about all sorts of gruelling details from their journey back to King’s Landing. One that catches her attention is his first encounter with a bear, and Arya can’t help but be impressed as he describes jumping down into the pit to rescue Brienne. At first anyway.

“Did you win?”

“Well, no. I didn’t have my sword, so-“

“You jumped in without a sword?”

“I didn’t exactly have time to find one.”

“How exactly were you planning on fighting a bear unarmed?

“I wasn’t thinking. I just had to get her out of there.”

Arya falls silent for a moment. “Well that was incredibly stupid.”

Jaime rolls his eyes. “I suppose it was.”

“You’re lucky the bear didn’t kill the both of you.”

“I’m aware of that, thank you.”

“I mean, really! I know love makes people stupid, but-“

“Hey! This had nothing to do with love.”

“Bullshit! You were trying to save your true love.

Jaime narrows his eyes as she laughs at him. “And what would you know about true love, Arya Stark?”  He jabs her side playfully.

“I know it turns people into idiots.”

He laughs. “Well you’re right about that.”

 


 

Jaime doesn’t think he’s ever truly opened up to anyone like this before. Not even Tyrion, with whom he’s shared the most of his inner thoughts with.

The closest maybe was probably Brienne when he told her about Aerys. But he’d been delirious with fever at the time so he’s not sure if it counts.

Although, he is also very drunk now so that’s probably the same thing.

Still.

It’s… good. Having someone to talk to. To be earnest with. And to laugh with.

He hopes it doesn’t go away when morning comes.

He finds he rather prefers Arya’s company.

 

 

Notes:

Part 2 coming tomorrow, I promise :)

Chapter 72: Two Lonely Souls (Part 2)

Summary:

Drunk D&M's with Arya and Jaime part 2 - things get personal .... well, even more so.

Notes:

;)

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

 

Arya peers into the carafe, disappointed to see it empty. “Have we really run out already?”

Jaime shrugs. “Must have. You certainly went through it quickly.”

She looks up, glaring at him. “Me? You helped.”

“No, no.” He’s smiling as he nurses his cup. “I’m fairly certain it was mostly just you.”

Arya suddenly snaps her fingers. “Oh! We brought two, Jaime!” She slaps him as she gets to her feet. “I forgot. There’s another one on the desk.” She stumbles in her steps and Jaime is no help at all, sitting and laughing at her making a fool of herself instead. 

“I really shouldn’t be encouraging you to drink so much. I’m becoming a bad influence.”

Arya snorts a laugh as she comes back with the second carafe, spilling it a little as she sits back. “Oops. Sorry.” She settles herself. “You’re the one who told me to get drunk in the first place. I don't see why you’re complaining now.”

“I’m not complaining. Here. You’ll get wine all over your floor.” He gently takes the carafe from her, but splashes it anyway as he fills her cup.

Arya laughs. “And you’re so much better at it.”

He shrugs. “I’ve only got one hand. What’s your excuse?”

“Some idiot told me it would be a good idea to drink myself stupid and now I can’t see straight.”

Jaime snickers. “Sounds like poor judgment on your part, really. I hope you’ve learned your lesson about taking advice from kingslayers.”

“Yes, I have. I shan’t be listening to a word he says ever again.”

“Smart.” He raises his cup to her. “Daughters of Eddard Stark shouldn’t consort themselves with honourless lions. We’re evil men, you know.”

Arya just laughs. “You’re hardly evil, Jaime.”

“Ned Stark certainly thought I was. There’s no greater crime than breaking a sworn oath. Well, I’m sure there are, but not according to him.”

“There’s much greater crimes,” Arya mutters to herself.

Jaime tilts his head as he looks at her. “Yes. And I’ve committed my fair share of those as well. Much as I loathe your father for bestowing such generous titles upon my name, he’s not wrong about the sort of man I am.”

Arya hums, contemplating his words. “You know, when I met you at the Crossroads, I expected you to be a lot worse than you turned out to be. My father… he was wrong about a lot of things. The world doesn't work the way he said it should. I think… he was wrong about you too.”

Jaime looks down at his cup. “I’m not a good man, Arya,” he says softly. 

“What makes you think that?” She’s filling up her cup again so she misses the look he sends her way.

“I’m a kingslayer. It’s in the name.”

She shrugs. “So am I.”

He is truly glaring at her now. “It’s not the same thing. You’ll be hailed as a hero of the ages. My deeds will only ever cement my status as a man without honour. I long ago stopped trying.”

Arya takes a long gulp of her wine as she considers his words. “Brienne seemed to think otherwise, and she’s even more honour-abiding than my father, so there must be something to it.”

Jaime lets out a tired sigh. “Yes. That’s true. She was one of the only people in my life who saw any good in me. I never really understood why. Even now, I want to do right by her, but… I’m worried I’ll only fail her. I’ve never been the man she wanted me to be. I’m not sure I ever will.”

Arya contemplates his words for a moment. “I worry about the same things with my father, you know. I try to tell myself that he’s dead so it doesn’t matter but… even then, I still want him to be proud of me.”

Jaime smiles sadly. “Most children want that from their fathers. I was a huge disappointment to mine. I gave up trying to please him a long time ago. Not that I have any desire to emulate him.”

“You’re nothing like him,” she says idly without thinking.

Jaime tilts his head to the side, a wry smile on his face. “You know, I keep forgetting you’ve met. I don’t know if I should take it as a great compliment or insult that you think us nothing alike.”

“It was neither,” she says, suddenly very annoyed. “And there are likenesses between you. But he was a terrible person and you’re not. Everything else doesn’t matter.”

“How can you be sure of that? My reputation would say otherwise.”

Arya shrugs. “You didn’t have to help me north, but you did. You didn’t have to go beyond the wall with Jon, and you certainly didn’t need to jump into a frozen lake to save his life, but you did both those things. You didn’t have to bring men north to help fight the wight walkers but you did that too. You didn’t have to jump into a bear pit and offer yourself up as a tasty alternative to try and save Brienne but you did that too.” She looks at him then. “For someone convinced you’re not a good man, you seem to be trying awfully hard to be one.”

He sighs and looks up in contemplation. “I am trying,” he admits quietly. “But it doesn’t absolve the things I’ve done. It just makes it… worse."

“Because you care.”

Jaime chuckles. “Ah, that’s it. Perhaps I should stop. It was far less exhausting when I didn’t.”

“Or pretended you didn’t.”

He frowns. “I think I’ve been spending too much time in your company, Arya. You’ve become annoyingly perceptive.”

Arya shrugs, smiling. “You said you were the perceptive one. Maybe I learned it from you.”

He laughs at that. “Good to know I’m rubbing off on you. Being a Stark and all, you need all the help you can get.”

She rolls her eyes but doesn’t respond.

 


 

Jaime plays with the cuff of his metal hand idly as he loses himself in his thoughts of Brienne.

Arya watches the movement, wondering why he does that so often. “You do that a lot.”

He looks up, his brow furrowing. “What?”

“Play with that stump. Does it hurt?”

“Not usually, no. It aches in the cold sometimes.”

“Well the metal won’t help. You should take it off.”

Jaime smiles. “It’s fine, Arya, I’m used to it.”

“Well just because you’re used to it doesn’t mean you have to keep putting up with it. Here.”

She stumbles over to his side and starts tugging at the gold hand.

“What are you doing?”

“Trying to-“ tug “-take this-“ tug tug “-stupid thing-“ tug “-off!”

Jaime laughs at her efforts. “You won’t get it off that way, it’s fastened to my forearm.” He pulls his sleeve up to show her.

“Oh,” Arya says quietly. She looks back up at him. “Can I?”

Jaime sighs. “I don’t see why not. It’s not something people are usually comfortable seeing.”

Arya shrugs as she goes about unfastening the glove. “I've seen a lot worse than a missing hand, Jaime.” 

How odd that she says those words so casually and yet… he feels…

He tenses when she finally manages to get it off and watches her with mild trepidation as she pulls his sleeve back to look at his stump.

She takes it in with curious eyes. It has long since healed over and is now nothing more than a bumpy ridge of skin at the end of his arm. Slightly reddened now from the cold, of course.

Arya runs a thumb over it idly and Jaime flinches at the sensation, realising quite suddenly that no one had ever touched him there since Cersei’s pet maester.

Arya notices his reaction and pulls back immediately. “Sorry. I was just curious.”

He shakes his head. “It’s alright. You can touch it if you want. I wasn’t expecting it, is all.”

Arya cradles his stump between her hands and when he tenses as she cups it she looks up at him with a furrowed brow.

He swallows, feeling suddenly very exposed. “Nobody’s.… really touched it since the gold hand was fitted. It doesn’t ache as much when you do that.”

“Oh. I thought…. So you don’t mind?”

Jaime smiles. “No, I don’t mind. Though I’m not sure why you’re so interested in the first place.”

Arya shrugs. “It must have been hard… learning to fight with your left hand. I’m left handed, but I have learned to use my right as well now, but… it wasn’t easy. And you had no choice.”

“No. It wasn’t easy. I nearly gave up many times.”

“I’m glad you didn’t.”

He tilts his head to the side. “Why?”

“I like sparring with you.” And she ducks her head at the admission, as if she hadn’t meant to admit that out loud. “Sometimes I wonder what it’d be like fighting you with your good hand.”

“Mm. I’ve wondered that a few times myself.”

She looks back up at him, surprised. “You have?”

“Of course I have. It wounds my pride that such a small woman has bested me on a number of occasions. Naturally, I’ve made myself feel better with thoughts of thoroughly defeating you with my good hand.”

“I think I could have won.”

Jaime scoffs. “I was one of the best swordsmen in the Seven Kingdoms, Arya. There might have been four men alive who could rival my skill, and no, that’s not an exaggeration. But it’s adorable you think you’d stand a chance.” He nudges her teasingly.

Arya rolls her eyes. “I tied with Brienne and she beat you.”

“When I was malnourished and barely abled. I wasn’t anywhere close to top form. In top form I’d have had you on your back quicker than you could swing your sword.”

Arya ducks her head again. “You’re an idiot.”

“You say that a lot when you know I’m right.”

She lets out a little huff. “I say it a lot when you’re being an idiot. And I so could have taken you.” 

He just smiles. “I suppose we’ll never know.” He concedes.

 


 

They are quiet for a long moment. Arya doesn’t mind this, actually, The quiet.

“Arya?” Jaime asks quietly.

He has a strange look in his eyes, looking at her as if trying to see into her soul.

She swallows nervously, unsure if she wants to know what it means. “Yeah?” She offers softly.

“You said you left Westeros. Earlier, in the drinking game.”

Arya looks down at her cup. “Yes.”

“I just wondered… If you ever thought about staying away. You could have gone anywhere. Escaped all of this and never looked back. I’ve wanted to. So many times I’ve wanted to board a ship and leave all this behind. After everything you’ve suffered, you’d be right to do it. Only you came back.”

Arya takes a long sip of her wine. They are heading for a topic she’s not sure she’s ready to talk about with him. And yet…

“I couldn’t let go of who I am. I tried to forget that. Who I am. Everything that happened. But I couldn’t. I’m Arya Stark of Winterfell, and my place is here with my pack. I didn’t know if I even had anything left here. But I couldn’t turn away.” She shakes her head. “I tried so hard to forget, I wanted to, but something kept pulling me back. I think… I think it was Jon. I could never leave him, no matter how hard I tried. I thought he was all I had left for a long time. I even tried to go to the Wall first but I didn’t have the right coin. So instead I….”

Jaime leans in closer to her and brushes her cheek with his hand. “Where did you go?” He asks softly.

Arya takes a deep breath, steadying her resolve, before taking the plunge.

 


 

It’s almost a relief to finally say it out loud, as she tells him everything about where she went and what she learnt. If Jaime is surprised to learn she trained with the faceless men, he doesn’t show it. He merely nods, accepting her truth like he should have known.

“Everything about you makes so much sense now,” is all he says, a little bemused.

“My father wouldn’t be pleased.”

“No he would not,” Jaime agrees. “I, however, am amazed I once looked a faceless girl in the eye and lived to tell the tale.”

She scowls. “I’m not a faceless girl!”

“Well, not anymore.” And he looks just a bit too smug for her liking. “You certainly were when I met you, though. Blank faced and unnervingly silent. I much prefer you as you are now.”

She tells him about Walder Frey and his kin. The men she’d slain in their own halls. There’s surprise in his eyes at her admission, but no judgment there as she feared there might be. And indeed, he seems to just breeze past the murder part altogether. 

“We must have just missed each other,” he says idly. “The Lannister army were hosted there not long before you killed him.”

Arya smirks. “We didn’t miss each other. I saw you there.”

He gapes at her. “Really?”

She nods. “You looked right at me. I thought about killing you there and then, but it would have blown my cover so I had to let you live.”

“Thanks for that,” he snarks. “How would you have done it? Surrounded by Lannisters and Freys as I was.”

She shrugs. “Seduced you away. Cut your throat in your bed. I think you thought about it. But I wasn’t blonde enough.”

He seems to get it then as his eyes widen. “Wait, I think I do remember you. You were a wine server, weren’t you?” She nods and he laughs. “Yes, that’s right. Bronn was sure you wanted to fuck me, but I saw something else in your eyes.”

She tilts her head to the side. “What did you see?”

He smirks. “Murder. Not even a different face can hide that particular look. I know it well.”

“Of course you do.”

“You know what is funny though?”

“What?”

“If you’d have killed Walder Frey right in front of me, I might have run away with you then and there.”

Arya frowns. “Why?”

“Because he's a cunt,” he shrugs. “And he got what he deserved.”

“Yes,” Arya says, sobering immediately. “He did.” She still wonders if she’s supposed to feel guilty about that.

“Arya.”

Jaime has a serious look in his eyes when she turns to face him.

“If Walder Frey had betrayed my family the way he did yours, nothing in this world could have stopped me from slaughtering every last one of them with my bare hands.” He pauses, weighing his words and then adds, “Well. Hand.”

Arya snorts a laugh and Jaime smiles.

She’s grateful he understands.

 


 

Jaime watches Arya for a moment after hearing her tale. It’s an incredible one. Unbelievable, almost, except for the fact that it explains so much about her. Why she was so closed off and cold when they’d first run into each other. Why she’d changed so much. How willingly and easily she is able to kill without hesitation.

And yet her past appears to haunt her, and it seems to have taken a lot for her to tell him at all.

He should really give her something in return.

And… maybe she will understand.

Gods, he wants her to understand.

 


 

He tells her everything about that day and as he does, memories he spent years repressing resurge back to the forefront of his mind. 

Mad laughter booming through the halls. 

Burn them all. 

A frail body drops to the floor.

The king’s blood dripping from his sword. 

Ned Stark’s damning judgment seared into his soul for the rest of his days. For who would ever believe the word of an oathbreaker? No one.

Arya listens to his tale, her expression a mix of horror and fascination. 

How different her grey eyes are from Ned Stark’s in that moment.

That only makes him hate Ned Stark all the more. How dare he judge Jaime for his actions when he wasn’t even there to see the worst of it?

He expects Arya to be as disgusted by him as her father. She’s not though.

He caresses her cheek gently, holding her gaze. “Do you find it odd, Arya, that I saved the realm from a king they rebelled against, only to be reviled for that very act?”

Perhaps it’s unfair to ask that of her, to demand an answer from her where he’d been denied one from her father.

“You could have told them,” she says quietly. 

He exhales, shaking his head slightly. “I couldn’t have, Arya. After the horrors my father’s men caused that city, after the oaths I’d broken to finish it for them all, do you really think they would have believed the word of an oathbreaking kingslayer? No. So I kept the king’s secret instead.” His lips twitch in a mocking smile. “Best not break too many oaths in one day, don’t you think?”

“My father would have understood.”

He’s shaking his head again. “If you had seen the look in his eyes… No. Far too late. He never would have believed my word. None of them would have. They all saw what they wanted to see. A kingslayer.” His grip on her tightens unconsciously. “So that’s what I became. I’ve… done monstrous things, Arya. Truly hateful things. But killing that madman is what they all revile me for. How… funny, really. Do you find it funny, Arya?”

He waits for her answer, but she is quiet for a long moment, searching his eyes for his truth.

She shifts closer to him and brushes a tear from his cheek. 

“I would have. I would have believed you, Jaime.”

 


 

He doesn’t know who moves first as their lips lock in a deep kiss. 

She sighs, a little hum vibrating in her chest, and he shudders as she relaxes into him. He pulls her in close and she wraps her arms around him, folding into him as he feels the thrum of her pulse and craves the warmth of her touch.

She pulls him up and tugs at the fastenings of his clothing, and her’s, and he offers no resistance as she pushes him down to the bed. He pulls her down with him, and there’s quiet desperation in their movements. Two lonely souls seeking comfort in each other, needing each other and breathing life into each other.

She rolls on top of him, settling herself above him and rocking into him as his arms wrap around her. She kisses him like he’s her only lifeline in this world, and he holds her like the ground might fall away beneath them if he lets go.

Her hands on his bare skin awaken a need to be closer to her, to feel her pulse racing, and her breath hot on his skin, reminding him they're alive. She pleads for the same with her eyes, needing him, wanting him. 

She grips his hair as his hand caresses across her skin. He feels her ready for him and she urges him for more, desperate for his touch and his warmth. He shudders when her Stark grey eyes meet his, and they both moan as she sinks down onto him, lost in the strange attachment they’ve found with each other. 

The Stark who sees the good in him.

The Lannister she’s come to trust. 

He rolls her on her back and guides her to completion as they forget the world for just one night.

 

 

Notes:

The End :)

 

Just kidding. Sex ≠ love. We’ve still got a ways to go yet.

 

......Thoughts?

Chapter 73: Facing the day

Summary:

In the aftermath of their night together, Arya is a mess and Jaime invents the walk of shame.

Notes:

ngl, I did have a lot of fun writing this one. lol

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

 

The first thing Arya becomes aware of is the pounding pressure in her head.

Oww!

Is this… how drunk people always wake up? If so, she can’t understand why they would willingly subject themselves to this over and over again.

People are stupid, she decides.

She’ll have to make sure she never drinks that much ever again. This pounding in her head, the heaviness in her muscles, the struggle to move at all… she doesn’t like this feeling one bit. 

This is Jaime’s fault. 

He’s the one who convinced her what a great idea it would be to drink themselves stupid. And now she can barely move and every part of her body aches.

Thinking of, that’s the second thing she becomes aware of.

A large body pressed up against her, their arms wrapped around her securely, his stumped forearm draped over her, telling her that it is in fact Jaime behind her.

This alone isn’t so startling. She’d woken up beside him the previous night, and even though she’d freaked out like an idiot, it had still been nice having him there to hold her. Before her dream, anyway.

No. Jaime being here is not startling at all.

What is startling though is the fact that she is not wearing any clothes.

And, from what she can feel, neither is he!

Seven Hells!

How did-

And that’s the third thing she becomes aware of. She has trouble remembering everything that happened last night, and everything after Tyrion’s bloody drinking game is all very fuzzy.

That settles it. I’m never drinking that much again.

But she remembers some things. Jaime’s lips on hers. His hand on her skin. His-

Oh.

Feeling mortified now, Arya very slowly and carefully extricates herself from his arms, trying not to wake him as she turns to face him. Without her there, Jaime flops onto his stomach, still sound asleep, probably completely unaware of where he is and who he’s with.

Lucky fucker.

If only she were so oblivious.

Arya stares at him for a long moment, perhaps hoping that at some point he will disappear and this will all have been some elaborate hallucination. She’d drunk so much last night, there’s a possibility she could still be addled and this is all in her head.
 
But no. 

As she blinks several times, he stays where he is, sound asleep. 

In her bed. 

Naked.

Fuck.

 


 

A confusing wave of emotions crash down on Arya at the full realisation of what they’d done. The heaviest one among them is guilt.

Gendry’s ashes were barely cold and she’d turned around and…. and…. fucked someone else. And it had felt really good too. 

Tears prick in her eyes as she can’t help but think that she’d betrayed Gendry somehow by lying with Jaime. 

And worse still, Jaime will wake up and say this was a huge mistake too, and then she might lose him as well. 

How is that worse?

Arya doesn’t know what to do. How to handle this. What to say to Jaime. How to face her family after this.

Gods, I fucked a Lannister!

This is bad. Very, very bad.

And she does like Jaime. Likes having him around. Likes his stupid jokes. Likes his smiles. Likes his arms wrapped around her. Likes the comfort he brings her.

But… this is…

This is not something she ever thought would, or even could, happen.

And yes, sure, he had teased her about this sort of thing quite a lot.

But he was never serious.

And it definitely hadn’t meant anything.

Fuck, how had this even happened?

 


 

Her first instinct is to flee. Run away and leave him here. Avoid him until he forgets they ever fucked each other and then she won’t even have to bring it up. Then they can just… not ever talk about it ever.

But then… what if someone finds him here after she’s gone?

What if someone finds him naked in her bed?

Then everyone will know and it won’t just be Jaime she’ll have to avoid until they forget it ever happened.

I can’t just leave him here.

She certainly can’t wait around for someone to stumble upon them naked together in her bed.

Fuck, I’m going to have to wake him, aren’t I.

She is still for a moment, watching Jaime’s sleeping form as she weighs her options. He really is… a very beautiful man. And he looks so peaceful when he’s asleep. She kind of likes it.

She shakes her head and takes a deep breath, steeling her resolve.

She pokes Jaime in the shoulder. “Jaime?”

Nothing.

She pokes his cheek. “Jaime!” She hisses a little louder this time.

Still nothing.

She shakes him a few times. “Jaime! Wake up.”

He lets out a low groan and shifts his weight… only to roll over away from her and fall still.

Arya huffs and whacks him on the shoulder. “Get up, Jaime!” She shoves him again for good measure.

He groans again, this time louder and more of a pathetic whine as he rolls onto his back and tries to push himself up on his elbows. “What-"

Then his eyes land on her.

And Arya can see the exact moment his brain catches up with him and he realises their predicament.

“Fuck.”

Which just about perfectly aligns with her own feelings, as he flops back down against his pillow.

 

 


 

 

“Seven hells, are we really…”

“Yeah.”

 

“And we actually…”

“Yep.”

 

“And now we’re…”

“Fucked?”

“In more ways than one, it seems.”

Arya rolls her eyes and shoves him. “This isn’t a jape, Jaime” she scolds. “What if someone finds out about this? Gods what if someone heard?”

Jaime groans and closes his eyes again, running his hand down his face. Arya worries he might fall back asleep again. “Jaime. What are you doing? You have to go. Now.”

He clasps his forehead with his hand. “What makes you think I’m in any better state to move than you are?” He grumbles into his hand.

Arya huffs in frustration. “Fine. Stay if you want. Maybe a maid will find us here. She’ll tell Sansa. Sansa will tell Jon. Jon will probably kill you. If you’re lucky, he’ll just take your head, but who knows how angry he’ll get knowing you fucked his little sister.”

“Alright, alright. Seven hells, Arya.”

“Did I say anything untrue?”

He lets out a long, tired exhale. “No,” he mutters quietly. He turns his head to look at her. “I didn’t… hurt you, did I?”

Arya looks down and she can feel the heat flush in her cheeks. He had done quite the opposite of hurting her, actually. “No. You didn’t.”

Jaime nods. “Good. That’s… something, I suppose.”

They stay like that in silence for a moment. Arya wonders how much he’s regretting this too. Not that she’s regretting it, exactly. Well, she is. But more… the fact that it sort of just… happened. It had felt good. But it shouldn’t have…

They shouldn’t have…

“I really should leave, though,” Jaime says from beside her as he struggles to sit up.

“Yeah,” Arya says quietly, still stuck in her own head. 

She watches as he rolls away from her and moves to sit up, and only then does she notice the scratch marks down his back.

Her eyes widen at the sight. She had put those there. 

She groans and pulls the furs up over her head, hiding from view.

She swears she just heard Jaime chuckle as she feels his weight leave the bed. “You had better not be laughing at me,” she says from where she’s hiding.

“No, not at you,” Jaime says, and there’s a slight trace of humour in his tone now. “At this, perhaps a little.”

“It’s not funny!” She snaps and he laughs at that too.

Asshole.

“Maybe I will set Jon on you after all.”

“No, please don’t. I promise, I’m on my way out.”

“Good.” She flips the furs up to glare at him but catches sight of his still very naked form instead. Her eyes drift automatically down to the semi-hardened cock hanging between his legs, which brings back very vivid memories of it moving inside her.

She flushes red and averts her eyes up to the ceiling. “Will you find your clothes already?” He laughs again and Arya could strangle him if her head wasn’t still pounding right now. “And throw me my tunic if you see it, will you?”

A moment later, her tunic collides with her head. 

Jaime snickers from where he’s currently pulling his breeches on and Arya ignores him as she pulls the tunic over her head. It smells very strongly of wine from last night. The wine that had led to… all of this. 

“I’m never drinking again,” she mutters to herself.

“If I had a dragon for every time I heard that…” Jaime says humorously. 

If Arya had a knife right now she would fling it at his head (and likely miss). “This is all your fault.”

My fault? I‘m reasonably certain you had a… very enthusiastic part to play in our current predicament.” And she can hear his stupid smirk as he says it.

“Fuck off. If you hadn’t convinced me to drink in the first place, this never would have happened.”

“If you hadn’t invited me into your chambers, this certainly wouldn’t have happened.”

She scowls at that and turns away from him. “You should go now.”

Jaime rounds the bed to sit beside her, fully clothed now and fastening the straps of his gold hand. “Arya. This was… a lapse. On both our parts. We can leave it at that, alright?” She nods, not wanting to meet his eyes. “I have no expectations of you, if that’s something you’re worried about,” he adds. 

She nods again. “I know.”

“Good.” She startles when his thumb brushes her cheek. “Come find me when you can walk straight.” And he’s teasing her again.

She swats his hand away. “Get out.”

He chuckles as he stands and moves to the door. 

When the door closes behind him, Arya lets out a long, tired exhale. 

Now what am I supposed to do?

 

 


 

 

Jaime is still having trouble wrapping his head around the fact that he had actually fucked Arya Stark last night.

What was I thinking?

Clearly he hadn’t been at all. 

Bits and pieces of conversation come back to him as he tries to remember. He’d been… very in his cups, more so than he had been in quite a long time. And… she had been there. Her grey eyes needing him. Seeking comfort from him. And… he’d needed that too. 

I would have believed you Jaime.

He shudders as he recalls. 

Yes. He had needed her then.

But fuck, Arya Stark?

Of all the people in Westeros he could have lain with after his sister.

And… gods, should he feel guilty about that?

Cersei had been the only woman he had ever lain with. For the longest time, it was something he had prided himself on. He hadn’t cared about anything else, but he was faithful to Cersei and that’s all that had mattered.

Until he’d learned she had not been faithful to him.

That quickly soured his interest in only her, that’s for sure.

But still.

All his life, he’d only had Cersei. Now that has certainly changed. And of all possible women, of course it had been with the daughter of an enemy house. Cersei would be furious if she ever found out.

Yes. He should probably feel guilty about finally breaking his fidelity to Cersei.

And yet…

He is not.

Well, okay, there is some guilt. But it has nothing to do with Cersei.

He hopes the other Starks don’t find out about this. They already distrust him as it is, but if they found out about this? His head would roll across the snow.

Gods, imagine if Ned Stark were here to see this.

He can almost imagine the man’s face.

He snorts a laugh.

And then nearly smacks straight into the man’s bastard son. 

Fuck.

“Lannister,” Jon Snow says with almost the same amount of venom his damn father always used.

“Snow,” he says in turn, hoping to all hells he doesn’t look nearly as bad as he feels.

“What are you doing here?” Jon asks, heavy suspicion in his words.

Leaving your sister’s chambers is probably not the wisest response, so he quickly swallows that one and scrambles for a lie. “Ah. I don’t suppose you’ve… seen your sister around by any chance?”

Jon’s eyes narrow. “No. I haven’t. Is there something I can help you with?”

“Ah. No. I merely wanted to…. Tyrion said a few insensitive things last night so I suppose I just want to… check on her. But she’s not here, so, I’ll try someplace else.”

He moves to pass Jon Snow, fully expecting to be pulled back for his efforts, but the bastard lets him pass unassaulted. 

Though he definitely feels the man’s heavy gaze on his back as he flees.

Seven hells, if I’d left Arya’s chambers a few moments later….

He shakes his head as he walks away.

 


 

 

Jon may have been none the wiser, if he hadn’t happened to be passing by Arya’s chambers when he hears a clatter and a curse from inside.

He stops, confused, and when he hears another muttered, “shit,” followed by a “where did that come from?” He registers that it is Arya in there and not some clumsy servant.

…. Hadn’t Jaime Lannister just been here looking for her? 

He knocks on the door. “Arya?”

Silence falls from inside and then there’s another curse. 

“Jon?”

“Are you alright in there?”

“Yes,” she calls. “Just. Don’t come in yet. Give me a moment.”

He frowns. “Arya, what are you doing?”

There’s a scuffling movement before she opens the door. “Yes? What? Did you need something?”

Jon raises an eyebrow at her appearance. Arya had never been so quick to try and brush him off before. He wonders if something had startled her. Her hair is a mess, and she’s only wearing a tunic and breeches. 

Had she only just woken up?

“Are you alright?” He asks again.

She blinks. “Of course I am. Though I… think I drank too much last night, is all. Fuck, it’s cold. Let me… finish dressing.” She goes back into her room and Jon follows her in.

“Yes. I had noticed that.”

He sees her cheeks flush red as she is quick to turn away from him, stooping to pick her doublet up from the floor. “You… noticed?”

“Noticed my sister drinking in the company of Lannisters?” He asks pointedly. “It was hard to miss.” 

And there are actually several items of clothing strewn around the floor. 

But Arya relaxes a little at his words. “Oh. That. Tyrion roped me into playing this stupid drinking game and it may have gotten a bit out of hand I suppose. But I’ll be alright.”

“Right.” He surveys her with worried eyes. “Has Ser Jaime been here?” He asks, then.

Arya inhales sharply and turns to face him. “Jaime? No. Why do you ask?”

“He was here looking for you.” 

“Oh.” She bites her lip, then, and Jon’s eyes narrow. 

It had been a long time since he’d seen that particular tell, but that doesn’t stop him from recognising it.

Bran used to look at his feet before he lied.

And Arya would bite her lip.

“I haven’t seen him since last night,” she continues. 

And Jon’s eyes rove from her, to the state of her room, to the carafes and cups strewn across the floor. And he knows, then.  “He was here, wasn’t he.” And he doesn’t need Arya to answer to know with absolute certainty that it’s the truth.

Arya’s eyes go wide. “No. He wasn’t.”

“He was.”

And fury fills him at the realization. Lannister had been right there. And he’d just let him go. Let him get away with it.

He turns and storms out of the room. Arya chases after him. “Jon. Stop. It’s not what you think."

But he barely hears her as his thoughts are consumed by all the things Jaime Lannister could have done to his conveniently inebriated sister. 

But Arya catches up to him and shoves him, hard, into the wall with a strength he’d yet to experience first hand. “Listen- Jon.” And then she staggers, clasping her head. “Oww, I think I’m going to-“ is all she manages before she vomits all over the floor. “Agh. That’s disgusting.”

His shock at Arya’s sudden assault quickly morphs to worry into anger all over again. “I’m going to kill him,” he growls, as he catches Arya’s arm before she stumbles again.

“No. Don’t. It’s not his fault.”

“What did he do to you, Arya? Tell me true.”

“Nothing! He didn’t do anything, Jon, we just… fell asleep, that’s all.”

“What was he even doing there in the first place? He shouldn’t have been anywhere near here.”

“I don’t know. I just… I didn’t want him to go yet. So he stayed. And we talked. That’s all that happened.”

Jon cups her cheek, looking at her with concerned eyes. “Are you sure?

Yes. He wouldn’t hurt me. I promise.” She sags into him then, “Fuck, my head hurts.”

“How much did he give you, anyway?”

Arya scowls. “He didn’t give me anything. I stole them myself. This is… not his fault. But I’ve just… never done this before. Is this always what it feels like?”

Jon exhales. He can deal with Ser Jaime later. “Come on. I’ll take you to the maester. He’ll have something to help with the nausea.”

Arya nods into his chest and he leads her away, making a mental note to tell someone about the mess on the floor. 

As soon as he ensures Arya is seen to. 

And then he’ll be sure to have some words with Jaime Lannister.

 

 

Notes:

Jaime: gee I sure hope none of Arya's siblings find out about this. That could be bad for me.
Jon: *finds out immediately.

... oops?

Chapter 74: The confrontation

Summary:

Jon confronts Jaime but it gets a little out of hand

Notes:

apologies for the delay in updates. The Jon v Jaime scene was actually quite challenging to get through, but naturally once I'd pushed through that, the rest flowed relatively easily. haha.

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

 

Sansa had invited Arya to her solar for tea. 

Which immediately set off warning bells in Arya’s mind because this had never been something she and Sansa had done together before now. Probably because the mere mention of the activity is enough to bore Arya to tears and Sansa knows better than to ask.

So the fact that she has asked now is… worrying. 

She can’t know. Maybe she suspects. Maybe she wants to pry for details. But she can’t know.

At least, this is what she tells herself as she makes her way to Sansa’s solar, knowing better than to stay away.

Sansa is sitting at her desk with a scroll in hand when Arya arrives, and off to the side is a table set with cups and a plate of lemon cakes.

Seven hells, this is serious.

Sansa looks up immediately upon Arya’s unannounced entrance. “Good. You’re here. I was getting worried.” She stands and moves to the table.

Arya watches her warily. “Why were you worried?”

“I heard you weren’t feeling well this morning.” There is a hint of amusement in Sansa’s eyes as she says it. Just how many people had watched Arya in the hall last night anyway? “Are you faring any better now?”

She is putting on all the grace of a Lady, but Arya can sense a trap coming. “I am.” She answers slowly. “The maester’s remedy seems to be working.”

Sansa smiles. “That is good to hear. Will you join me?” Arya hesitates to do so, and Sansa notices. “Are you expecting me to bite?” She asks.

“Yes,” Arya answers quite honestly, but she reluctantly moves to sit opposite her sister. “This isn’t really something we do very often.”

“Well, we should change that. We spend so little time together. Strange as you are, you’re still my sister.”

“Proper ladies have tea. That’s not me,” Arya reminds her. 

Sansa picks up a lemon cake and adds it to her plate. “It doesn’t have to be tea. I can call for wine if that has become your preference.” She sends Arya a meaningful glance.

Arya rolls her eyes. “It hasn’t. I don’t plan on touching that stuff ever again.”

Sansa suppresses an amused smile. “Yes, well, I find it’s not so bad in smaller quantities.” She pushes a cup towards Arya. “You should drink this.”

Arya glances down at the cup, her suspicions back in full force as she takes in the funny colour and strange smell. “What is this?”

“Moon tea,” Sansa says plainly between bites of her lemon cake, confirming Arya’s suspicions.

“I don’t need that.”

“Oh?” Sansa raises an eyebrow. “Have you already taken some?”

“No.”

“Then you need it,” she says, taking a sip from her own cup. 

Arya doesn’t move, glaring at Sansa who looks back up at Arya with a knowing look. “I’m the Lady of Winterfell, Arya. Nothing happens here without my knowing about it.”  She puts her cup down and gives Arya her full attention. “It’s bad enough for you to lie with a Lannister, but if you are unfortunate enough to find yourself with his bastard child, that would bring a whole world of trouble for all of us.”

Arya scowls, feeling like a scolded child. “That’s not what happened!”

Sansa doesn’t falter in her calm demeanour but there’s an icy edge in her eyes now. “You might fool Jon with your denial, but I have eyes and ears everywhere here. He doesn’t. So yes, I do know what happened. You’re lucky few others do.”

“Fine. It was an accident,” Arya hisses defensively. 

“I’m sure it was. You should still take the precaution.”

Arya looks down at her hands, picking at her nails. “I really didn’t mean for it to happen,” she says in a smaller voice.

“So you’ve said.”

“I don’t know what I was thinking.”

“From what I observed, you weren't exactly of sound mind when you left the hall.”

Arya falls quiet after that, unsure of what to say. Her actions are indefensible, but she certainly doesn’t want Jaime to suffer for her mistake. She had managed to convince Jon that nothing else had happened beyond them passing out together after drinking too much wine. But would Sansa tell him the truth? She might if it got her something she wanted. “Are you going to tell Jon?”

Sansa actually snorts, surprising Arya with that very unladylike sound. “Not unless it becomes relevant to do so. He’ll only do something foolish.”

Arya lets out a relieved breath. “Will you make him leave?” She asks quietly.

Sansa is silent for a long moment before responding. “I should. But no. I won’t.”

Arya jerks up, surprised. “Why not?”

“I’ve been keeping a close eye on him here. He is painfully honest in his intentions for a Lannister. And it’s clear he bares you no ill will. You were foolish. And reckless. And stupid. But if he is genuine in his… fondness for you, we are better off having him as an ally than not. It may help in dealing with the South in the future. So, whether he stays or goes at any point from here on out will be up to you. If you ask it, I will see it done. But until then, he is your responsibility.”

Arya hesitates. “I…. Thank you.”

Sansa nods. “But you have got to be more careful, Arya. If the wrong people found out about this, it could bring severe consequences for both of you. I know you don’t place any value in your title, but that doesn’t make it go away. You’re a lady of house Stark whether you like it or not. You can’t afford to be caught dallying with a man you are not promised to. Especially that one.”

“I know that,” she grumbles. “It won’t happen again. It was just the wine, that’s all.”

“Good. Be sure it stays that way."

Arya falls into a sullen silence before reluctantly reaching for the cup.

 

 


 

“Lannister!”

Caught in the midst of emerging from his own chambers, Jaime sighs as he turns to face the approaching Jon Snow. The bastard has an especially icy look in his eyes, though, that gives him pause.

“Snow,” he returns warily. 

“I found Arya, if you’re still concerned for her whereabouts.”

Ah. “Did you?”

“Aye. You left her in quite a state when you snuck out of her chambers this morning.”

Ah. Fuck. “She must not yet have woken when I called on her, then. I didn’t even know she was-“

With surprising speed, Jon grabs Jaime by the neck and shoves him into the wall. “I gave you sanctuary here! Stuck my neck out for you against Daenerys, and tempered the lords who demanded your head. And this is how you repay my generosity? By climbing into my sister’s bed?”

The sheer fury blazing in Jon Snow’s eyes crumbles any typical snide remark Jaime might have thought of in that moment. “Look, I know it seems that way, but-”

“What exactly was your intention, huh? I’ve seen the way you approach her. Did you see her grieving and think it might make her more amenable to you?”

“That is not even close to the truth.”

“Or perhaps you thought she’d be an easier target if you plied her with wine first. At least that way she wouldn’t put up much of a fight.”

A spark of fury flares in Jaime’s chest as his hand snaps up to pry Jon’s arm away from where it’s pressing into his chest, twisting it behind the bastard’s back and shoving him away. “I may only have one hand but that doesn’t mean I’m a man you can push around, Snow,” he growls as Jon finds his footing and turns back to face him. “You have every right to be wary of me. I won’t begrudge you that. But I have never taken advantage of Arya, and I never will. If I was in her chambers last night it’s because she wanted me there.”

“No, she didn’t know any better!” Jaime can’t help but be impressed by the man’s resolve in standing up to him. Few have ever dared. “She was vulnerable and far too in her cups and you should have stayed away if your intentions were decent. You know she trusts you far more than she should.”

“She was hurting. All I intended was for her to take her mind off her losses. That’s all.”

“That is not your place, Lannister. If you’ve done anything to dishonour her-“

Nothing happened. I am not the monster you think I am. I didn’t hurt her. I didn’t… coerce her. This certainly wasn’t some ridiculous plot to win my way into her cunt-“

Jon’s fist connects with Jaime’s jaw, sending him stumbling backwards before he manages to catch his footing, but the bastard shoves him back into the wall and slams his fist into his face. “Speak of her in that manner again and I’ll take your head, Lannister.” He spits out.

Jaime lets out a biting laugh. “Gods, but you do sound just like your father.”

Jon Snow falters for only a moment before his eyes cloud over with fury and he punches Jaime, hard, and grabs him by the collar of his doublet, shoving him into the corridor and sending him stumbling backwards. 

Before Jaime can regain his bearings, Jon slams into him, sending him crashing down to the ground, and Jaime decides he’s had quite enough of putting up with the bastard’s ire by now, so he starts fighting back in earnest.

 

 


 

Arya and Sansa had moved away from discussing her indiscretion with Jaime and onto lighter topics when a maid comes knocking, stumbling into the room with wide eyes upon Sansa’s word.

“My lady,” she says, and Sansa is on her feet immediately. 

“What is it?”

“It’s the king. He is fighting with the kingslayer. I didn’t know who else to-“

But Arya doesn’t even wait for the maid to finish before she’s on her feet and out the door, Sansa close on her heels.

She arrives on the scene just in time to see Jaime wrestle Jon to the ground, hitting him with his gold hand.

“Jaime, get off him!” Jaime startles out of his reverie, turning to Arya as she surges forward to break them apart. Jon takes the opportunity to shove him away. Arya pulls Jaime back before he can make another move. “Back off, both of you!”

“Arya-“

“What the fuck are you two thinking?” She rages, pulling Jon to his feet. He has a split lip and a developing bruise by his temple. His nose is bleeding. Jaime has not fared much better with cuts and bruises of his own. 

“I never should have given you any clemency here!” Jon growls at Jaime with a fury that surprises Arya. 

Jaime smirks. “That was your mistake, it seems. Bit late to take it back now.”

Jon pushes forward as Sansa finally arrives on the scene. “Enough!” She snarls, causing everyone to freeze where they stand. “Jon. Control yourself. You are a king, not a common brute. Act like it.”

“Best listen to the Lady Stark,” Jaime drawls. “She seems to have far more sense than you.”

Jon surges forward again but Arya is there to block him from reaching Jaime. “Jon, stop. He’s just trying to rile you up.”

But Jon isn’t paying her any attention as he looks past her to Jaime. “If I catch you getting familiar with my sister again, you’ll no longer have sanctuary here, and Daenerys can do as she likes with you!” 

Jaime sneers at him. “OH, yes! Brave man, passing my sentence off to your lady.”

Arya rounds on Jaime “Shut up, Jaime!” She hisses. “Just for once, stop talking!” She throws one last glare at him before turning to help lead Jon away. The anger in Jaime’s face falls instantly as he watches them go. 

He does not follow. 

 


 

 

“What were you thinking!” Sansa scolds Jon while Arya sees to the cuts on his face. She stays silent, furious at him and Jaime for this, and a little guilty that she’s the reason they fought in the first place. 

“Something had to be said,” Jon says, wincing as Arya applies just a bit of extra pressure to the bruise around his eye. 

“That was far more than exchanged words, Jon. You may be within your rights to speak with him, but starting a brawl was beyond stupid. Or do you want the entire castle knowing what happened last night?”

“I will admit it got out of hand, but if you think I’m going to let him get away with-“

“What, Jon,” Arya mutters from beside him, stilling his words. “Listening to me? Being there for me? What a great crime that was. I’m so glad it led to you two nearly killing each other.”

“You place far too much faith in him,” Jon cautions icily.

“If Jaime truly wanted to hurt me, he would have by now. He’s had so many opportunities to do so, but he hasn’t. Not once. He hasn’t even tried. And you know I would tell you if he did. 

“He doesn’t have to hurt you to be dangerous, Arya. You should know that.”

Arya throws the cloth down in frustration. “Fix your own face. I’m done here.” She storms away before either he or Sansa can say another word to her. 

She pauses outside the door when she hears them speak to each other.

“That was foolish, Jon. Antagonising her won’t help.”

“He shared her bed, Sansa. I won’t stand by and watch anymore.”

“You’ll only push her to fight harder this way. You know that.”

Arya flees before she can hear any more. 

 


 

“What were you thinking, Jaime?” 

Jaime rolls his eyes as Tyrion berates him while seeing to the cuts on his face. “I didn’t exactly set out to fight him, Tyrion. He came to me.”

Tyrion gives him a knowing look. “Yes, and I’m sure you did everything in your power to avoid a brawl.” He rolls his eyes. “Seriously, Jaime, Jon Snow is the very worst person you could think to antagonise in this place considering he’s a considerable reason you still have a head.”

“I hate to sound like a child, but he did engage me first,” Jaime drawls, still feeling stung over the whole encounter. “As if I would take a hit lying down. Especially from him.”

“That has never been your way, it’s true. Whatever did you do to raise the king in the north’s ire?” Tyrion asks with a tone that suggests he already knows. 

Jaime gives him a look. “Be plain, Tyrion, I’m not in the mood for word games.”

“What? It was a genuine question. All I know is the last I saw of you last night you were running off after the Lady Arya, and now you’ve engaged in a fist fight with her brother. I could guess the details in between, but I hardly know for sure.”

Jaime glares at Tyrion, before breaking away and looking down, a hint of shame flickering amongst all the irritation. “There may have been an… inciting incident involving him catching me leaving Arya’s chambers this morning.”

Tyrion’s brow shoots up. “Really?”

Jaime gives him a look. “Don’t tell me that wasn’t your first suspicion.”

“Oh it was definitely up there,” Tyrion says a little too cheerfully. Then his expression sobers. “So you spent the night with her, then?” He has an infuriatingly amused gleam in his eye as he asks.

Jaime rolls his eyes. “Don’t. It’s not like that. We simply got caught up in conversation and… one thing led to another.” He pauses. “…So maybe it is a little bit like that, actually.”

“So the two of you…”

Jaime holds Tyrion’s gaze with a hard glare for a long time before he relents. “Entirely unintentionally on both our parts, but… yes.”

Tyrion lets out an incredulous whistle. “That explains the fist fight, I suppose.”

“It might, yes.”

“All things considered, you’re lucky he didn’t execute you on the spot.”

“Thank you, Tyrion. I’m well aware. I’m sure if he truly knew the full extent of it, he would have.”

Tyrion laughs. “You sure are one lucky man to get away so lightly.” He shakes his head in amusement. “So… you and Arya, then?”

“No,” Jaime says forcefully. “There is no me and Arya. It was simply a lapse, brought on by too much wine.”

“Well, why not? It’s fairly obvious you two care for each other. What’s wrong with… extending that?”

“There are a number of reasons, in fact. Our names. Our families. The years between us. The fact that it’s a ridiculous notion in the first place. Not to mention what I did to Bran Stark.”

Tyrion straightens at the mention of it. “You haven’t told her about that?”

Jaime snorts. “Of course I haven't told her. Do you think I’d be standing here talking to you if she knew?”

"Jaime, you can't hide it forever. It'll only come back to bite you later. Trust me."

“I know that. I just… haven’t been able to yet. It’s… complicated.”

Tyrion softens slightly. “She cares for you, Jaime. You just have to be honest. Be sincere. And she’ll hear you. ”

Jaime shakes his head. “I’m not so sure about that.” Then he sighs. “Not that it matters now, with Jon Snow on the warpath.”

Tyrion waves away his concern. “Oh, let me handle that. I’ll… smooth things over with him. It wouldn’t be the first time. Though you might want to lie low in the mean time.”

Jaime rolls his eyes. “I worked that much out for myself, thank you.”

Tyrion grins. “Think about what I said, Jaime. Don’t wait too long.”

And then he takes his leave, leaving Jaime with even more heavy thoughts on his mind.

What a mess this turned out to be.

 

 


 

Jon could not sleep that night, and so he grabbed his sword and went down to the training yard, eager to work out some of his frustrations. He was worried. And furious. And guilt-ridden. And confused.

If Father were here, he’d never let any of this stand.

He winces at the thought as it only brings up the reminder that he is not Ned Stark’s son.

Gods, but you do sound just like your father.

Jaime Lannister could not have known how those words would affect Jon, and yet they had blinded him with anger and caused him to lash out unwisely. He had not meant to come to blows with the Lannister, only to warn him away from Arya.

Not that it would have done much good. For some reason he can’t begin to understand, they have developed a preference for each other’s company. The thought concerns and frustrates Jon because he knows he should put a stop to it. And yet…

He had never seen Arya smiling and laughing as she had last night since they were all children. It had been nice to see. He just wishes it wasn’t the Lannisters that brought it out in her.  

Arya would tell him if Jaime were a problem. She has never shied away from acknowledging a threat when she sees one. So… he has to believe if she were in trouble, she’d tell him.

She’s not shy about detesting Lannisters either, and yet…

Gods, he can’t wrap his mind around the fact that Jaime Lannister had been in her chambers all night. Anything could have happened. Arya assures him it hadn’t, but… what if she was merely unaware or couldn’t remember all the details? 

He groans in frustration, dropping his form for a moment. 

“You’re looking especially dower this evening, bastard.”

Jon exhales and turns to see an amused Tyrion watching him. “Lord Tyrion. Is there something I can help you with?”

“No, not especially,” the dwarf says, approaching closer now that he has Jon’s attention. “I… heard you fell into conflict with my thoughtless brother. I hope he didn’t cause too much trouble.”

Jon shoots Tyrion a sideways glare. “He is causing me a great deal of trouble, matter of fact. It would be far easier if I could throw him into exile.”

“Well, he is already exiled. To the north.”

“That’s hardly my problem.”

Tyrion cracks a smile. “Ah, Jon Snow. Jaime has a foolish talent for incensing people wherever he goes. You shouldn’t pay it too much mind.”

“I’m not concerned with how he treats me. It’s his interest in my sister I’m worried about.” He turns his full glare to Tyrion then. “But you know that already. I trusted your word when you assured me it wouldn’t be an issue. Now it is.”

“You have to understand, Snow, that until recently Jaime has only ever been loyal to Cersei. He is a better man away from her influence, but there are very few people in his life who he has allowed to have a positive influence over him. Lady Brienne was one of them. Your sister is another, though I admit I did not know that when we last spoke of it. I only knew he has never been interested in anyone but Cersei, and so would be unlikely to approach another the same way.”

Jon closes his eyes for a moment, pinching the bridge of his nose in frustration, before looking back to Tyrion. “Well, he seems interested now, if last night is any indication.”

Tyrion sighs. “He and Arya seem to have found comfort in their shared grief. Losing Brienne and Addam was hard for him, and so he’s found a confidante in Arya. And she him, from what I have observed. I would never have picked it, but they seem to have a strangely positive effect on one another. It may only make things worse if you were to pull them apart. And I know you’re tempted to.”

He is very tempted, actually. The only thing that has stayed his hand is the worry of what Arya might do if he tried. “My… father never had a single kind word to say about Jaime Lannister. Even now when I see him, I’m only reminded of my father’s words. It is difficult to set that aside. Ser Jaime has proved to be a surprisingly helpful ally since finding his way to the Wall. But… I don’t trust him around Arya. Not because I think he’s a danger to her. I just don’t want to see her get hurt. My family has suffered enough at the hands of yours.”

“That is fair,” Tyrion concedes. “I can’t promise he won’t ever hurt her. He can be rather callous when he wants to be, and has an unfortunate habit of throwing away a good thing when he has it. I can only hope he is not so foolish as to do that with Arya.”

“Why are you so invested in this, anyway?” Jon asks idly.

Tyrion shrugs. “At first, it was amusing. Jaime hardly likes anyone, so to hear he'd struck up a friendship with your sister of all people had me curious. It was even more so when I witnessed it in person. But now? Somehow Arya brings out his better qualities. With Lady Brienne gone, I’m worried he’ll regress back to Cersei’s pet if he loses that influence. I would rather not see that happen if I can help it.”

Jon exhales. “Arya usually has good instincts about people. I know she wouldn’t trust him lightly. That does not mean I approve of their familiarity.” He relaxes a little, then. “But there’s not much I can do to dissuade her once she’s put her mind to something. Except be here to kill him should he hurt her.”

Tyrion chuckles. “From my understanding, you’d have to get in line behind her to do it.”

Jon cracks a small smile at that. 

It’s an excellent point.

 

 

 

Notes:

Lots of conflicted feelings all round. We're moving into the final arc now so should be interesting to see where this goes. lol

Chapter 75: Lions, and Dragons, and Stags, Seven Hells!

Summary:

In the middle of her turmoil over Gendry and Jaime, Arya is thrown another curve ball when a shocking secret is revealed to the Starks.

Notes:

I’M ALIVE I PROMISE. I’m so so sorry for the absence of updates. I had some conflicting ideas on how I wanted these next few chapters to go and a lot of scenes to juggle and it led to a big case of writer’s block just as work got super busy.

BUT I found my way through it! and hopefully I won't disappear off the face of the earth again before finishing this fic. lol

This chapter picks up right where the last one left off and is quite angsty but there are some fluffy times to come on the horizon if that helps :)

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

 

Jaime is exhausted, and yet he can’t sleep at all. So when Arya materialises in his room, he notices her immediately. Given everything, he should probably be surprised to see her here, but maybe he’s just grown used to it by now. “You really do have serious nerve to keep coming back here after all that’s happened.”

Arya scoffs at him. “You could have killed Jon today, but I’m the one that needs a lecture? I got enough of those from my siblings, thank you.”

Jaime rolls his eyes. “I didn’t even come close to killing him, thank you.”

“You punched him with your gold hand Jaime. How many would you have thrown if I hadn’t stopped you?”

“Not enough to kill him. I do have that much self control.”

“Then why couldn’t you have just kept your mouth shut? Now everything’s a mess.”

“That is not my fault.”

“So it’s my fault, is that it?”

Jaime exhales in frustration and sits up to face her. “Arya, I’m tired, and not in the mood to take you picking a fight right now. I got enough of that from your brother today. Either tell me why you’re here or get out.”

For just a moment, Arya looks so stricken that Jaime almost immediately wants to take his words back. But before he can, her blank mask shifts back in place as she squares her shoulders.

“Fine. I’m sorry I came here,” is all she says before she’s gone again. 

Jaime sinks back down to his bed, berating himself for his lack of tact. But seven hells, he really does forget how young she is sometimes. As confusing as this all is for him, it must be doubly so for her.

I should probably talk to her tomorrow.

If she’ll let me.

 


 

 

Arya storms into her room, too furious for words, and immediately needs to hit something. She marches over to her desk and sends its contents crashing to the ground with one decisive swipe. It does not help. Now she’s only angry AND has a floor covered in quills, sheets of paper, smashed inkwells and various weapons and tools.

She turns away from the mess and throws herself onto her bed instead, deciding she’s had quite enough of the day and just wants to shut it all out.

She doesn’t even know why she went to Jaime in the first place. It certainly had not been to pick a fight and yet that’s what ended up happening anyway. 

She’s just so… angry. And she doesn’t even have an outlet for it anymore.

I shouldn’t have yelled at Jaime, she thinks regretfully.

Though a small part of her still thinks he deserved it for taunting Jon into a fight. He could have done serious damage. They both could have.

It’s my fault, she can’t help but think. If I hadn’t asked Jaime to stay, they never would have fought and everything would be much simpler. 

It’s all a big mess now. One she has no idea how to clean up.

Arya doesn’t get much sleep at all that night. Her head is so heavy with thoughts of… everything. The dead. Gendry. The Night King. Jaime’s arms around her. Jon and Sansa. Jaime punching Jon.

At least when she was with Jaime, her thoughts didn’t haunt her nearly so much. Maybe that's why she went to him.

She can’t very well go back to him now.

All the same, she can’t quite shake the feeling of absence that plagues her. And she can’t help but wonder if Jaime might be feeling the same.

 


 

The next morning, Arya is filled with reluctance to leave her room. She’d spent all last night restlessly tossing and turning and didn’t get much sleep at all, her head at war with itself over missing Gendry, feeling guilty for lying with Jaime and angry at him and Jon for fighting each other. More guilt for being the cause of it in the first place.

It’s a bloody big mess, and Arya doesn’t really want to face any of it. 

Still feeling restless even now, she paces around her room, twirling one half of her spear in her hand. The spear Gendry had made. It’s broken now, snapped in the wrong place. She can’t bring herself to do anything with the pieces so they’ve stayed in her room; a constant, nagging reminder of losing him. 

A knock on the door interrupts her thoughts. She suppressed a sigh. “Come in.”

She honestly didn’t know who she should be expecting, but she’s surprised to see Sansa step through the doorway. “I was concerned to hear you hadn’t left your chambers yet. Are you alright?”

Arya just shrugs in answer and goes back to pacing, twirling the spearhead in hand. 

“What is that?” Sansa tries again.

Arya sighs and turns to Sansa. She drops her gaze to the spearhead in her hand. “I had Gendry make this for me for the Long Night,” she says with a flat tone. “These pieces are supposed to connect to make a double-headed spear. But it snapped in the wrong place at some point during the fight.” She shrugs. “So now it’s just broken. I’m not quite sure what to do with it so they're just… here.”

“I’m sure it can be fixed,” Sansa offers. “We can have the blacksmith take a look at it.”

A new wave of emotion swells in Arya as she looks up at the ceiling in an attempt to stop tears forming in her eyes. “I know,” she says quietly. “I just can’t…. Gendry could have fixed it. He would have been so annoyed at me for breaking it. Probably told me off for not treating it properly, but then he would have fixed it easy. He was… he was really good at fixing things.” Her breath hitches as she speaks the words. She takes a deep breath to try and calm herself, but it doesn’t really help. “But he’s gone, and I don’t want anyone else to fix it. It should have been him.”

“Arya…” Sansa crosses the room and pulls Arya into her arms. Arya is startled by the gesture, but accepts it, relaxing into her sister’s arms. 

“It should be him,” she says in a small voice. “He should be here to fix it, but he’s not. And Jaime was there. He…. With him, everything didn’t hurt so much for a little while. But now it just hurts more and I’ve made a mess of everything.”

“No, none of this is your fault. I know Gendry meant a lot to you. It’s alright for you to miss him, and to mourn him. No one here will ever hold that against you. But you also shouldn’t feel bad if you have better days. And its okay if those better days happen with someone else. Don’t let yourself feel guilty for it. It’s just the way things are.”

“Just not with Jaime,” Arya says with a bitter edge to her voice.

“Things certainly might have been simpler if you had chosen someone else, that is true.” 

“I just want things to be simple,” Arya says quietly.

“I know. They never are. But both Jon and Ser Jaime should have known better than to let their feelings come to blows. It’s on them that it spiralled out of control, not you. Men have such fragile tempers.”

Arya pulls away from Sansa’s arms to scrub the wetness from her eyes. “They never would have fought at all if not for me.”

“Maybe so. But you still shouldn’t blame yourself.”

Arya simply nods, wiping at her eyes again. “You can’t have come here just to see my stupid tears,” she says, trying to move the conversation along.

Sansa smiles sadly. “You’re right. Jon’s called a council with the northern lords and his dragon queen.” Sansa does not look pleased, Arya notices.

“I know,” Arya says simply. 

“You should be there.”

Arya picks up the broken spearhead again, twirling it in her hands. “I will be. I just… need a moment without everyone there.”

“I understand,” Sansa says graciously. “They’ll convene in an hour.”

Arya nods and turns away as Sansa takes her leave. 

Arya doesn’t want to face the day today. But she squares her shoulders and forces herself to do so anyway. 

I’m a wolf. Wolves aren’t afraid of anything. 

Especially stupid feelings.

 


 

With everyone still reeling from the Long Night, it’s easy to forget there’s a whole other war to fight. At least, Arya had forgotten. Jon’s meeting brings the reality crashing back down upon her and Arya just feels tired thinking about it. All this fighting never seems to end. There was a time when she would have rejoiced in the idea, but after spending so many years fighting, she wouldn’t mind resting for once.

The tension in the air is so thick Arya wishes she really could cut it with her knife. Jaime being present does not help. He tries to pull her aside outside the hall, but Arya brushes past him without a glance.

She should talk to him. About last night. About all of it. But her feelings are still a jumbled mess and Jaime’s presence only confuses them further to the point that all she wants to do is rage at him. She doesn’t want to do that again, so best to just avoid him until that feeling passes. 

Jon is standing with Daenerys at the head of the table when she arrives in the hall. They are already deep in conversation while waiting for the others to file in. Jon looks absolutely horrid and Arya prickles at the look of concern on the dragon queen’s face. She turns to ignore them.

Spotting Sansa at the other end of the table, Arya moves to stand beside her instead. 

“This is ridiculous,” Sansa mutters for only Arya to hear. “The great hall is still one giant infirmary of wounded soldiers. We barely have enough resources to survive the rest of winter, and now we’re discussing hopping straight from one war into another. It’s completely unsustainable. She’s going to get everyone killed.”

“They might just be taking stock of what we have left,” Arya says. 

“Yes, so we can launch it all into the south and lose everything we’ve built.” Her eyes dart to the side. “Ser Jaime keeps looking at you.”

Arya startles at the sudden change in topic. She glances to where Jaime had moved to stand beside his brother. He’s not looking at her at the moment, but she had felt eyes on her before, so… “Just ignore him,” she says.

“Is that what you’re doing?” 

“Trying to. Will you stop making that so difficult?”

“Arya. You can’t keep ignoring all your problems. You should talk to him.”

“Why do you care? You’re the one who said what an inconvenience Jaime and I are. Maybe I’m just listening to you.”

Sansa’s lips thin. “I also said he might make a useful ally. He certainly won’t be if your Needle finds its way into his eye.”

Arya snorts. “I would never stab him in the eye. I would cut his throat. It’s much cleaner.”

“I stand corrected. A clean death makes all the difference.”

“Father would approve.”

It’s Sansa’s turn to suppress a laugh just before Jon calls the meeting to attention.

It does not go well.

 


 

“Married?!” 

With the meeting over, Sansa had dragged the Starks out to the godswood to speak alone. Arya wisely stays silent as she watches Sansa and Jon face off against each other.

“How could you agree to something so foolish without consulting your council?”

“We needed her alliance. Her dragons and armies are the ONLY reason we’re still standing here, and I would make the same choice again to protect the north and all of Westeros from the threat beyond the wall. You don’t have to like her but at least you should appreciate what she has done for the north.”

“She cannot be trusted, Jon. The north sought independence for a reason. We’ve suffered too much for too long to return to southern rule now. Especially under the Targaryens. Or have you forgotten what her father and brother did to our family?”

“Daenerys is different. She’s given you no reason to distrust her, and she put her war aside to fight with us.”

“She’s destroyed every city she’s conquered. Why do you think Westeros will be any different?”

“ENOUGH, Sansa! Our decision in this matter is final. Daenerys and I will ensure the north is well protected. I won’t abandon my home, I promise you.”

Sansa is still seething, but her words falter under Jon’s commanding conviction. Instead, she turns to Arya. “You’ve been awfully quiet. Have you nothing to say on the matter?”

Arya curses under her breath as three sets of eyes turn to her. She does not want to be put in the middle of this, nor does she want to cause any more trouble with Jon. She swallows. “Jon’s right. We needed her armies.”

Jon and Sansa are both taken by surprise at her statement. Sansa’s eyes narrow. “So you’re fine with this arrangement?”

“I didn’t say that,” Arya insists, thoroughly annoyed now. “I don’t trust the dragon queen either, but we needed her. I respect that.”

Sansa sneers. “You respect it?”

“I do,” Arya affirms. Then she turns to Jon. “But you can’t trust her, Jon. You saw her face in there. She’ll destroy that city and everyone in it if it gets her what she wants. I know a killer when I see one. I know her type.”

Jon levels her with a warning glare. “Explain to me how my trusting Daenerys is any different to your trusting Jaime Lannister.”

“That’s not the same thing! Jaime is different.”

“How so?”

“He just is! He’s already proven himself here.”

“And Daenerys hasn’t?”

Arya hisses in frustration and turns away from Jon. “Jaime is different because I know he wouldn’t hurt us. He might have once. But not anymore. I can’t say the same for Daenerys.” When her frustration is back under control she turns back to face Jon. “We’re the last of us. The last of the Starks. We have to protect that.”

Jon holds her gaze for a long moment, a conflicted look in his eyes, before he breaks contact, looking down at the ground. “I’m not a Stark, Arya,” he says so quietly she barely hears it.

Arya frowns in confusion. "Of course you are. You’re my brother.”

He shakes his head, stumbling back a step. “I wish…” He swallows heavily, his expression wrought with pained emotion. “But I’m not a Stark. I never have been.”

Sansa steps forward, her anger having given way to concern. “You're as much Ned Stark’s son as Robb or Bran or Rickon. The north stands with you as a Stark.”

Jon closes his eyes, his brow pinched in frustration. “No, I’m not.” When he opens his eyes, his gaze shifts to Bran, who is watching everything with his usual sereneness. 

“It’s up to you,” Bran says calmly.

Arya looks from Bran to Jon, a mix of confusion, worry, and apprehension washing over her. “What is it?” She asks, fearing the answer. The secret passing between them.

Jon’s jaw clenches as he avoids looking at them. “I’m not Ned Stark’s son,” he says at last. “Bran saw it. Sam found the records. I’m the son of Rhaegar Targaryen and Lyanna Stark.”

Arya doesn’t know what she had been expecting but it certainly wasn’t even close to this. She shakes her head. “What?”

“Rhaegar and Lyanna married in secret,” Bran supplies when Jon struggles to speak. “Jon was never a bastard. He is a trueborn Targaryen.”

It doesn’t make any more sense a second time. 

Jon is her brother. He’s her brother. He’s always been her brother. Arya can’t even process this properly.

“Jon,” Sansa voices quietly. All eyes turn to Sansa who has a strange look in her eye Arya can’t quite read. “This means.… that you’re the rightful heir to the Iron Throne.”

“No.” Jon says fiercely. “I don’t want that damn chair. I don’t want to be king. I don’t want any of that. It belongs to Daenerys.”

Arya inhales sharply. “She doesn’t know, does she?”

“I had to tell her.”

“Jon. She’ll kill you.”

Jon shakes his head. “She won’t.”

“All she wants is that throne, Jon. What do you think she’ll do to anyone who stands in her way? Even you?”

“I’m her ally. And she’s my family too. Maybe that’s enough.”

“We’re you’re family!” Arya snaps. “You’re my brother!”

“Arya,” he says, taking a step towards her, but Arya retreats a step.

We care about you, Jon! All she cares about is that bloody throne and you’re too blind to see it! How could you even want her as your family when she’ll only ever see you as a threat?”

“It’s not… it’s not that simple.”

“Yes. It is.” Jon opens his mouth to respond, but Arya is afraid to hear it. “I don’t want to lose you too.” Her voice cracks with strained emotion and she turns and flees before they can see her eyes glassing over. 

Jon has always been her brother. Her best brother. The one who knew her better than anyone. She can’t lose that too. 

She can’t.

 

 


 

On the way out of the Godswood, she runs into Jaime. Quite literally.

Because of course she does!

He steadies her with his arms. “Whoa, Arya. What-“ He clocks her distress, then. “Hey. What’s wrong?”

Arya pulls away from him, backing off so he can’t touch her. She can’t think straight when he’s touching her. “Are you leaving?” She blurts out, before she can even wonder where the question had come from.

Jaime frowns in confusion. “What? Leave where?”

“Leave Winterfell? With your army? Are you leaving?” Her question seems to stump him and Arya rambles on before he can come up with a response. “You probably should. Your family is all south, right? Or they will be when Tyrion leaves with the dragon queen. And we’re supposed to stand by our family, aren’t we? That’s the right thing to do, right? Although yours are fighting each other so that probably complicates things. Which do you fight for, then? But you should probably be there with them either way so I just figured you would leave with your men.” She looks up at him then. “So are you?”

Jaime blinks, as if struggling to process her stream of words. “No,” he says, his expression still full of confusion. “No, I’m not leaving, Arya.”

“Why not? You hate the north. Why would you even want to stay?”

Jaime reaches for her again. “Arya-“

But Arya takes another step back. “No, I.… never mind. I don’t actually care. If you want to leave, you should.” And she darts around him and hurries back to the Keep before he has a chance to form a single word. 

She doesn’t want to know his answer. Is too afraid to know. Because she does care. And she’s so tired of losing everything she cares about.

 


 

Once again, Arya struggles to sleep that night. This time, though, she decides trying at all is useless, and she grabs Needle and heads out to the Godswood, desperately seeking any way to distract herself from the thoughts plaguing her mind.

Taking up her stance, she goes through her steps, pacing through the water dancing forms, and strikes, jabs, and swipes at invisible opponents until day breaks across the horizon.

And even then, she doesn’t stop.

She just keeps practicing. Because when she has her sword in her hand, everything else falls away.

And all she is is a sword.

 

 

Notes:

I was gonna write the resolution into this chapter too but decided to bump it into the next one so I could at least post something for you guys.
If I am being honest, even though I knew the Jon reveal was coming up this chapter, it still snuck up on me a lil bit. So surprise! Now all the Starks know his secret. Poor Arya, though. She's already got so much going on. lol.

Chapter 76: I want you to stay

Summary:

Arya tries to forget her troubles in the usual way, but as she pushes herself too far, Jaime decides to intervene.

Notes:

Good thing I pushed this into a separate chapter because it turned out to be a lot longer than I initially thought. lol.

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

 

Jaime is worried about Arya. He doesn’t know if he has any right to be after everything, and yet this is what keeps him awake that night, haunted by the desperate look in her eyes as she asked him if he was leaving Winterfell. 

His worry for her mixes with outright curiosity as to what had brought on such heightened emotion in her. He’s witnessed similar bouts a few times, of course, but it fills him with a strange sense of distress every time, and an instinctive drive to fix it somehow.

Not that he knows how. Or even the cause in the first place. Though he does suspect it’s his fault somehow.

Needing a reprieve from his tossing and turning, Jaime decides to take a walk. He doesn’t know what compels him to do so when the air is still so thick with the winter’s chill, but he follows it regardless.

And moving surely has to be better than being stuck lying awake.

What he doesn’t expect though, is to spot Arya’s small frame crossing the courtyard.

Huh.

It seems he is not the only one kept awake with his thoughts. 

Curious and concerned, Jaime follows at a distance.

 


 

This is exactly what Arya needs. Time alone to work out her frustrations. It might be better during daylight when she could see better, but she can work with this. She’d been blind once. She’s no stranger to the dark. And with her sword in hand, it’s almost comforting.

The Godswood is a fairly perfect place to practice, actually. The only people who come here are her siblings, and only Bran does so frequently. It’s quiet here even during the day. 

She’ll have to tuck that thought away for later.

It’s curious, though. This is a familiar practice spot for Arya, yet she hasn’t done so very often since… well, since she was a child. She hadn’t thought much about those memories until now. But the familiarity of this place brings them rushing back. 

She used to come here with Bran a lot. She didn’t know anything about using a sword back then. She hadn’t been allowed to learn. So she’d dragged Bran out here after he’d started lessons and forced him to show her everything he’d learned. They’d even hid practice swords in the trees so they wouldn’t get caught stealing them from the armoury every time.

It would be funny if they were still up there, wrapped in cloth Arya had nicked from her sewing lessons. She smiles at the thought, pausing in her steps to glance up at their hiding spot. She hopes they are still there, a piece of her childhood left untouched by the horrors of everything that came after.

She doesn’t bother to check though. The memory is enough.
 
Back then, their practicing had been more like playing, really, and Arya didn’t have a clue what she was doing.

She knows what she’s doing now, though. It’s times like these she’s grateful for that.

 


 

He does not reveal himself to Arya as she begins going through her water dancing forms. Once again, he finds himself captivated by the elegant grace of her style. He has had so little experience with foreign styles. Arya’s water dance is a thing of beauty to be sure. The determination and discipline shining in her eyes and her stances is impressive. He never grows tired of watching her at work. It almost makes him forget his thoughts for a little while.

But they return soon enough, though, when he notices her pause and start again over and over without stopping or giving up, refusing to let herself rest. She’s fighting much more than simply an invisible opponent.

He should probably go over there and talk to her. She’s clearly tiring herself out and yet she does not let up and pushes through her exhaustion. Part of him is curious to know where her limits lie, she has a well practiced stamina for someone who has only ever fought one true battle in her lifetime.

And what a battle it was, he thinks, suppressing a dark laugh.

But part of him is concerned she’ll only hurt herself if she keeps up at this pace. There is something far more troubling on her mind and, as he’s come to expect from her, she's turned to sword practice to distract herself. 

He can’t exactly fault her strategy. It is the same as his own, after all. But he learned long ago to recognise when his body had had enough, and right now Arya is ignoring every one of the signals her body is giving her that she needs to slow down. 

He can’t keep watching her do this to herself, so as light cracks over the horizon, he makes his presence known.

 


 

Arya startles when she notices him, spinning to face him. “How long have you been there?” She snaps at him.

He can’t stop the smile that curls at his lips. He enjoys sneaking up on her far more than he should. But she is so on guard most of the time, that it feels like a win over her whenever he manages to take her by surprise. “All night, actually. The same as you.”

Arya blinks, surprised. “Why didn’t you say anything?”

He shrugs. “I like watching you practice. I didn’t want to interrupt.”

Arya looks down, and he suspects she might be blushing at his words, but it’s difficult to see in the shadowed light. “You could have joined me,” she says quietly, a strange flatness to her words. 

“I was tempted,” he admits. “I wasn’t sure you would appreciate my company given our last few interactions. But I couldn’t help but follow you when I noticed you crossing the courtyard. I was worried.”

Arya grips her sword just a little bit tighter as a slight pained look enters her eyes. “I'm sorry for what I said to you,” she says at last, her tone still flat. “I had a lot on my mind.”

“I know,” he says softly. “Do you want to talk about it?” He offers.

“Not really,” she replies. “I’d rather fight you, if you’re up for it.” Her smirk is forced, he knows. 

“Always,” he assures her. “I’m not convinced you are up for it, however. You’ve been practicing out here most of the night.”

“So what? I can still take you.”

He suppresses a sigh. He supposes he should have been expecting this. “Unfortunately, I happen to be woefully unarmed at the present.”

Arya blinks, as if only just noticing he isn’t wearing his sword belt. He’d left in too much of a hurry to even think to put it on. “Well that was stupid,” she says and his lips twitch at the bluntness of her words. 

“I confess I did not think it would be needed. I didn’t expect to find anyone out here so late at night.”

“Why were you out here, then?” She asks, and though her tone is still so very flat, there’s curiosity sparkling in her eyes now.

Jaime shrugs. “Couldn’t sleep. Same as you. Wanted to see if you were alright. I was concerned after that outburst of yours this afternoon.”

Arya looks away again. “That… that was stupid. I’m sorry.”

Jaime shakes his head. “You don’t need to apologise. What made you so agitated?”

Arya opens her mouth to reply, but then shuts it quickly, hesitating. “I don’t know if I can tell you that. It’s not… it’s all very complicated.”

“Arya,” he says, taking a step towards her. Arya takes a step back and he stops himself from advancing further. “You can tell me, if it will help.”

Arya shakes her head. “I don’t want to talk about it. Either spar with me or leave me alone.”

“You’re not in any state to keep fighting and you know that. You’re exhausted.”

“I am not," she says, and she’s marching away from him, towards a tree off to the side. 

“Where are you going?” He asks, curious now.

Arya huffs. “You said you didn’t bring your sword. I think I left something here a long time ago. If it’s even still there.” And then she starts climbing the bloody tree. 

Seven hells, could all Starks do this?

“What are you doing?”

“Bran and I used to hide these in the godswood when we were children. You know, before… well, everything. I almost forgot all about them.” A twinge of guilt flares in Jaime’s belly, but he is quick to push it aside as Arya triumphantly holds up two wooden practice swords. “Aha! See? I can’t believe these are still here. This is brilliant.” She throws the swords to the ground before clambering back down. 

Jaime’s first instinct is to scold her…. He has no idea why… and yet there is a lightness in her eyes and he finds himself wanting to see more of it. As Arya touches down on the ground, he is quick to scoop up one of the practice swords, inspecting it idly. “You stole these from the armoury?”

Arya shrugs as she picks up the second sword. “I wanted to learn how to use one. And Bran had just started lessons with Ser Rodrick and was too scared of me to say no.” A pleased gleam enters her eye as she describes it. 

She is watching him expectantly and Jaime realises she’s waiting for him to take his stance. He sighs. “This isn’t a good idea, Arya.”

She rolls her eyes. “You’re just scared you’ll lose.”

“To you? I’ve come to expect it, actually. But you won’t win this one.”

She looks insulted by the very idea. She lashes out at him, but he evades her blow before she can hit him. 

“Nice try.” He snickers, though he’s watching her carefully. Her movements have grown sluggish in her fatigue. She would not last long and he does not want to push her. But on the other hand, if he turns away and leaves her here, he knows she’ll only continue to hurt herself. He doesn’t want that either.

“Best prepare yourself then, Lady Stark. Though I am feeling generous today, so perhaps I’ll go easy on you.”

Arya’s eyes narrow. “Underestimate your opponent and you’ll end up dead,” she says, irritation prickling her words. At least it’s more than the flat tone she’d been using thus far. 

He hums to himself as he begins pacing, subtly encouraging her to mirror his movements. “Death by wooden sword, is it? Sounds painful.”

“It will be," she promises.

Jaime throws her a goading smirk as he moves into a comfortable stance. “Well, you’d have to hit me first.”

That’s all it takes for Arya to take a swing at him and they begin sparring in earnest.

 


 

Arya doesn’t know why Jaime came here, why he is indulging her when he was clearly hesitant to spar with her, or why he even cares at all.

But she is so desperate for something familiar to ease all her troubles, that she doesn’t want to question it either. And as they fall back into the ease of their familiar sparring routine, she finds herself grateful he showed himself here, even after everything she’d yelled at him for. Somehow he’s always here when she needs… someone. If he were to leave…

No, she doesn’t want to think about that. 

There’s a problem, though. Jaime is holding back. She knows he is. She would almost describe his movements as lazy, except that he’s watching her far too intently for her to call it that. He’s waiting for something. For her to mess up, probably. For her to prove him right.

That only frustrates her further. Does he really think she isn’t capable of taking him on properly? Incensed, her movements grow sharper and more aggressive.

But Jaime seemed to have been waiting for that because she sees a triumphant gleam in his eyes as he starts to press his own offence.

 


 

Jaime’s purpose isn’t to fight Arya, of course. Not really. He hopes it might bring her real troubles to the surface so she’ll talk to him instead of continuing to push herself to dangerous lengths. But as they moved through their steps, testing and challenging each other, he did actually get distracted from that original plan. 

Before Arya, swordplay had become a frustrating practice for him, the loss of his sword hand having soured the thing he had once loved more than anything else. But now with her it had become fun again. So he indulges her for a little while, sparring at her pace while knowing she should be much faster, much more agile than she currently is. 

He had been merely taunting her when he said that he would go easy on her, but he actually is holding back his full strength. The girl is exhausted and barely holding her own. He’s impressed that she is able to maintain her swift precision, but they are all instinctual, adrenaline-fuelled movements of one attempting to push through a fight despite exhausting her energy.

He expected this. In fact, he had counted on it. And as her movements grow aggressive and sloppy in her mounting frustration, he finishes indulging her and quickly disarms her, the sword clattering to the ground before she even knew what had happened. “Tired already, my lady?” He taunts with a smirk.

Arya scowls. “Of course not," she denies as she picks up the sword and slides back into position.

Jaime suppresses the urge to roll his eyes and as Arya lunges for another attack, he side steps around it and shoves her to the ground. She swivels to her knee but before she can rise, his sword is at her throat. “I beg to differ,” Jaime says, feeling just a little bit smug. “That was far too easily won on my part, considering your usual skill.”

“Will you get that out of my face?” Arya growls, trying to swat the sword away, but Jaime only presses closer. 

“Yield, and I shall oblige your request,” he says with a childish sneer. 

Arya kicks out at his legs, forcing him to stumble back to avoid her, and she uses the moment to grab for her sword and get to her feet.

She raises her sword to attack, panting in exhaustion, and Jaime’s brow furrows with concern. “You need to stop. You’re exhausted and barely holding yourself together.”

Arya scowls at him. “No. Go again.”

Jaime cocks his head slightly. “Are you sure?”

“Yes!” Arya huffs in frustration and lunges for him again. Jaime easily dodges her, knocking her sword out of her grip and pushing her back against the weirwood. “Let me go!” But her struggles are pathetically weak after using up so much energy already.

“Not until you come to your senses. Why are you doing this to yourself?”

Arya’s expression cracks with distress. “Because! when I’m fighting, I’m just a sword. I don’t have to think about anything else. I don’t want to think about anything else. It's too much.”

Jaime gentles his hold on her slightly. “What’s too much?”

“All of it! You. Jon. Gendry. The dragon queen. The night king. My father. I can’t stop thinking about them and seeing their faces and nothing else helps except…. Except for nothing. I have to fight. I can’t do anything else. So please let me go so I can stop thinking.”

“Arya,” Jaime hesitates under her words as he cups her cheek with his hand. “It won’t help. Trust me, I’ve tried. You have so many here who care for you. Talk to them.”

Like you?” Arya says, bitterness in her words.

“You can,” he says softly. “But you don’t have to. You’re close with your siblings, aren’t you? I’m sure you can trust Jon Snow with your words.”

That, apparently, was the wrong thing to say, because Arya’s eyes fill with tears and she slaps his hand away from her face. ”I can’t tell Jon,” she growls disparagingly. “He’s going south and never coming back whether he lives or not. Besides….” She hesitates over her words. “He’s not even my brother. I can’t tell him anything.”

Jaime frowns. “What? That’s ridiculous. Why would you think something like that?”

Arya bites her lip and looks away. “Nothing. Forget I said anything.”

“Arya. Hey.” He tips her head up to meet his eyes again. “Tell me what’s going on. You can trust me.”

Arya falters for a moment. “You… you can’t tell anyone.”

He blinks, confused. “I won’t.”

Promise me you won’t.”

“I promise,” he says firmly.

Arya lowers her gaze. “Jon isn’t my brother. He’s… well, he’s my cousin technically, I suppose. He… he’s Rhaegar Targaryen’s son.”

Jaime blinks, not quite able to comprehend what Arya had just said aloud. “Are you serious?”

“Yes. Bran…. He saw it. And Jon says there’s a record of Rhaegar’s marriage to my aunt so he’s not even a bastard either.”

Jaime pales at this new information. “Seven hells! That… no. That would make him-“

“Yeah, that’s the problem, JaimeDaenerys would never let him live if anyone found out. And he’s going south with her and I tried to tell him not to but he won’t listen to me. He’s going to die down there, I know it. And I can’t do anything.”

She’s trembling where she stands and Jaime instinctively pulls her into his arms. Arya only stiffens for a moment before letting him. “I know you’re worried but you can’t despair over maybes. He’s alive now. Fight like hell to keep it that way.”

“I can’t lose him. I can’t.”

“I know.”

“I wish I could… stop feeling like this. I feel so… stupid.”

“Don’t be. I wish I could help, Arya. I truly do.”

Arya sniffs as she looks up to him. “This is helping. Thank you.”

Jaime smiles as she burrows into his chest. 

He's grown to like holding her. He likes feeling needed, too.

 


 

There’s something about Jaime’s arms that always feels right, though she doesn’t know what exactly. It’s different from the safety she feels in Jon’s, though there’s a safety with Jaime too, and not quite the same as the gentle comfort of her sister’s, though Jaime has been a big comfort lately too. 

Maybe its both those things. Maybe it’s something else entirely. All she does know is she doesn’t want him to let go yet.

And she doesn’t want him to leave. "Did you mean it?” She murmurs in a small voice. “When you said you weren’t leaving?”

“Arya.” He gently pulls back to meet her gaze, brushing a stray tear from her cheek. “I made a promise to look out for you and your sister. I intend to keep that promise. No matter what lies South, my place is here, to be here for you and Sansa where Brienne cannot. I’m not going anywhere. Not unless you want me to.”

Arya shakes her head. “I don't want you to.”

He smiles, then, and she feels her own lips curl with a small, relieved smile. 

“Then I’ll stay,” he affirms.

“Good,” Arya says before throwing her arms back around him, burying her head in his chest. “I want you to stay, Jaime.”

Jaime reciprocates her embrace in turn and just for a moment, Arya can pretend that there’s nothing else in the world. It’s a nice feeling.

“I still can’t believe your brother is a Targaryen,” Jaime mutters into her hair.

Aya snorts a wet laugh, pulling away with a small smile on her lips. 

Jaime collects her swords and they make their way out of the godswood together. She still doesn’t know how he does it, but somehow he always knows what to say to make her feel better.

 


 

Arya is awake again that night, plagued by her thoughts. She’s so frustrated! She thought maybe… that after her talk with Jaime things might be easier now. But all her worries are still here. All her fears are still haunting her. And nothing seems to help.

Nothing helps except Jaime.

It’s a bizarre thought. She doesn’t know what it is about Jaime being there that helps, but somehow it always does. And she's so tired and just wants to rest for a little while.

So this time, instead of lying awake or fighting her feelings off, Arya goes to Jaime.

 


 

Jaime is awake and staring at the ceiling with his hand clasping his forehead. She doesn’t announce herself but he turns to face her almost immediately, sensing her presence.

“It’s a risky move, entering a man’s chambers at this hour,” he teases gently.

Arya scoffs. “I’m the only one who ever comes here.” She crosses the room to his bedside, Jaime watching her with curious eyes.

“So sure of that, are you?”

“Yes.”

She sits on the bed, crossing her legs underneath her. 

“What are you doing?” Jaime asks, a hint of suspicion in his tone.

Arya looks down at the furs of his bed, running her fingers along it idly. “I can't stop thinking about… everything.” she admits quietly.  “And the other night, I wasn’t bothered by it at all.”

Jaime exhales. “Arya,” he says carefully. “That’s not a good idea.”

She glares at him then, feeling embarrassed. “That’s not what I meant,” she hisses, crossing her arms. “I just…” she hesitates slightly. “…don’t want to be alone,” she admits. “I can go if you want.” She’s regretting ever coming here if he’s so resistant to her presence.

Jaime sighs. “No, it’s fine. Stay if you want. Just don’t expect anything more than sleeping.”

Arya huffs as she moves herself under the furs. “I wouldn’t want to fuck you again anyway!”

“Hm. You say that now…” 

“Shut up, Jaime.” 

He chuckles as she makes herself comfortable, but tenses up when she pushes her back into his chest “Arya…” His voice is quiet and strained as she reaches for his right arm, wrapping it around her. 

She exhales, letting herself relax into him, feeling better already. “It’s better here,” she murmurs so softly it’s almost inaudible. 

Jaime relaxes behind her and they drift off to sleep rather easily after that.

 

 

 

Notes:

Believe it or not, I had a scene planned with Jon and Arya in this chapter as well but it ended up being So Long with just the Jaime/Arya stuff, I decided to push it back to later. Ah well, at least Jaime and Arya are making progress, right?

Chapter 77: An honest conversation

Summary:

Arya shares an honest conversation with Jon. And also with Daenerys. Sandwiched in between Jaime/Arya fluff.

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

 

When Jaime wakes the next morning, he is alone as usual, and yet… with the feeling that this isn’t quite right. Something’s… missing.

He runs his hand down his face to wake himself up properly and then it comes back to him all at once. 

 

             I don’t want to be alone

             It’s better here

 

Arya had been here.

He looks around the room, perhaps expecting to see her skulking in a corner like she usually does, but no. The room is empty.

A strange sense of disappointment settles in him when he comes to the conclusion she must have left while he was still asleep.

He supposes he can’t exactly fault her. It would not go down well if they were caught together again, even if nothing untoward had actually happened this time. Still. He’s feeling a little bit stung that she’d left without a word.

He shrugs the feeling off and rises to start the day. 

Perhaps he’ll find her later. 

And see if she plans to come back again or if this was merely a singular occurrence. 

He hopes it’s not the latter. He’d slept much better with her beside him than he had in a long time.

 


 

He does not need to look very long, for he stumbles upon her in the dining hall, tucked away in the corner, hunched over to avoid attention. A few others populate the hall as well, mid morning meal, but the rest of the Starks are notably absent.

So Jaime doesn’t hesitate to slide into the seat opposite Arya, and is only marginally disappointed when she is completely unfazed by his abrupt appearance as she looks up at him.

“Finally,” she says instead. “I was starting to wonder if you’d died in your sleep.”

“Not yet,” Jaime says with an easy smile. “It’s the strangest thing, though. I could have sworn a little wolf crawled into my bed last night, craving my company, yet when I woke alone, I had to wonder if I’d imagined such an occurrence.”

Arya shoots him a glare but he doesn’t miss the twitch of amusement playing at her lips. “A wolf climbed into your bed? That sounds a bit farfetched even for you. A wonder it didn’t claw your face off.”

Jaime snickers in response. “Surprisingly, she seemed in gentle spirits. I admit, I did worry for her health.”

“You should be worried for yours,” Arya snarks back. “You’re the one who let a wolf into your bed in the first place. Or were you hoping to find out first hand how sharp their claws really are?”

“I’m already intimately familiar with the answer, actually.” And she flushes at that comment, averting her eyes. 

Jaime’s smirk softens then. “I worry I may have scared her off, however. It would be a shame if that were the case. I’d grown used to her company.”

Arya still refuses to meet his eyes. “Wolves don’t get scared.” she says quietly. “Maybe she thought she wouldn’t be welcome.”

“Bold of you. Why come at all?”

Arya is quiet for a long moment and Jaime wonders if she might avoid answering at all. Finally, she does. “I sleep better with you there. Less nightmares. I don’t know why.”

He softens at her words, the idea appealing to him far more than it probably should. “Arya, you are welcome to stay with me if that helps. And you don’t have to sneak away each morning, either.” He pauses, then. “Well, you probably should, just not from me.” His lips curl in a soft smirk.

Arya rolls her eyes. “I’ll keep that in mind,” she says, a touch of earnestness in her words despite her irritation with him.

“And how are you feeling about… the rest of it?” He asks casually, feigning disinterest in the hopes that it will encourage her to be honest with him again.

Arya shrugs. “About the same,” she says, failing to keep the sadness out of her tone. “A bit better, I suppose. I don’t feel like crying like a babe over it anymore so that has to mean something, right?” She stabs at her food with her fork, seeming to be mulling over heavy thoughts.

Jaime could push her on it if he truly wanted to, but he’d done enough of that yesterday. “Good,” he says instead before leaning over and nicking a bread roll from her plate. 

“Hey!” She bleats in protest as she makes a grab for it. Jaime pulls his hand out of her reach before she can.  “Isn’t it rude to steal a lady’s food?” She snaps at him.

He raises an eyebrow at her. “Since when have you ever called yourself a lady?”

“Fine, It’s rude to steal from someone who might stab you in the eye if you don’t give that back!” She makes another move to steal it back, but Jaime dodges her attempt, laughing at her indignation. 
 
“It’s most curious where you draw the line when it comes to sharing, Lady Arya,” he says with a teasing grin as he tears off a chunk of bread and pops it in his mouth, taunting her all the while. 

“I’m never sharing anything with you again if it means you’ll be stealing my food” she snarls, settling for a glare.

Jaime snickers and winks at her over his stolen bread. He’s learned well by now when her words are empty. 

 


 

Jaime had done it again, somehow managing to lift her spirits without much effort at all. Well, in his own annoying way, anyway. She’s grateful to him for caring enough to try. But she does wonder if she should worry about how easy it is for him to do that. If he were anyone else, she might worry he’s learned to manipulate her, and that is something she simply would not be able to tolerate.

Jaime’s intentions always seemed earnest enough whenever he attempted to make her feel better, though, even back when they were merely the most tentative of… well, friends, she supposes.

And he’s really not the manipulating sort at all. At least from her experience. Far too forward. Too impatient to play games like that.

Still. It’s very strange… how easy it is. Just the ease of being around him, really.

Regardless of that, though, her lighter mood helps her resolve herself enough to want to talk to Jon. She’d been… hesitant to do so before. Not scared. Just… apprehensive of what he might say to her. She could not handle another rejection.

But this is Jon. He would never reject her. She knows that. She just needs to talk to him.

She loathes the fact that there’s a jarring distance between them that was never there when they were children, and all she wants is for it to disappear. She wants something in her life to feel like old times and for the smallest of moments, that thing had been her and Jon. The feeling evaporated very quickly ever since he’d returned from King’s Landing but Arya craves it back.

She misses her brother.

And she just wants her pack to feel like her pack again.

So she searches for him, hoping to find him alone.

 


 

She manages to lead him down to the crypts where they stand before her father’s statue. It’s a place where not even Sansa’s informants have eyes and ears, so they can speak openly.

“I always hated coming down here,” Jon speaks first. “When we were children it was always a reminder I could never be a Stark. Not like… your father, or Robb.”

“He was your father too,” Arya says despite all her worries.

“Arya…”

She shakes her head. “He was. He raised you as his son. As my brother.”

“It was a lie, Arya," Jon says in a small voice. "I’ve never felt like a Stark.” Then he scoffs. “Now I know why, I suppose. I never was one.”

Arya chews on her lip, contemplating her words. Jon looks so pained, so conflicted, and she just wants him to know how much he means to her as her family. 

She looks away, resolving to tell him a hard truth of her own, but… she’s nervous about how he’ll take it. “I never told you where I went, when I was away. I thought about telling you, I wanted to, but… I was afraid.”

“You can tell me anything,” Jon assures, and that does feel just like old times actually.

Arya hides a small smile. “I know. It’s just…” She takes a deep breath. “I was in Braavos.”

She feels Jon start from beside her. “Braavos? How did you get there?”

She shrugs. “That’s a longer story. I… tried to go to the Wall first. To you, but I didn’t have any money. Just a coin that could guarantee passage to Braavos, so that’s where I went. And while I was there I…” She swallows the lump in her throat. “I found the House of Black and White, and joined the faceless men.” 

Jon turns to her then, blinking in shock as if he hadn’t registered what she said. “What?”

Arya nods. “I met a man a long time ago who was a faceless man. He found me there and trained me in… well, in the ways of the faceless men. It’s… it’s freeing, you know? The idea of forgetting your life and becoming no one. But… well, I wasn’t very good at that part.”

She takes another deep breath. “When you join the faceless men you’re meant to give up your name. All your possessions. Your entire identity. You become no one.” She unsheathes Needle and cradles it in her hands. “But I couldn’t let go of Needle, so I hid it in the rocks by the dock and hoped no one would find out. I couldn’t let go… because it tied me to you.” She looks up at him then. “To my brother. That’s what you are. What you’ll always be, no matter what Bran says.”

Jon looks at her with watery eyes, as if her words mean the world to him. “Arya. I… I’m a Targaryen. I’m not-“

“You’re a Stark.” She rests a hand on his shoulder. “You’ll always be a Stark. But more than that, you’re my family. That hasn’t changed and it never will. We’re pack, Jon. Don’t forget that when you go South.” She sheathes Needle as she says it.

“Arya,” Jon says, faltering under the weight of her words. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry for the things I said. I’m so… confused. About all of it. But I never meant to make you think I don’t think of you as my family. As my little sister. All I wanted was to be your brother for true.”

“You are my brother for true. You’ve always been.” She steps closer to him and wraps her arms around him, squeezing him tight. “I don’t want to lose you, and I’m scare for you going South.”

“Don’t be,” he assures, embracing her in turn. “I’ll be alright. Especially knowing you’re here to help Sansa protect the north.” Then he lets out an impressed whistle. “The faceless men? Seriously? I suppose that does explain a lot.”

“You’re not the first to tell me that.” She looks up at him hesitantly. “Are you… disappointed?”

“No. I wish you never had to live such a hard life, but I’m just grateful you survived, however you managed.”

Arya smiles. “Well, you helped,” she says, resting her hand on Needle’s pommel as she says it. “You helped me to fight. If I didn’t have that, I’m not sure I would have survived.”

Jon’s expression brightens. “I’m glad for it. Truly.”

As they leave the crypts, Arya feels like a weight has been lifted from her shoulders. There’s still a… heaviness in the pit of her stomach, but its not nearly so all-consuming. 

Despite all her concerns, perhaps things wouldn’t be so awful moving forward. 

At least… that’s what she hopes, anyway.

 


 

Jaime would surely call her stupid if she’d told him about this idea ahead of time. Jon will likely be furious when he finds out. But she can’t help herself. She has to know what the dragon queen might be feeling.

So she ventures into the part of the wolfswood her dragons had called home, deciding to tackle two curiosities at once. The dragon queen’s mind, and the dragons themselves.

It really is fascinating seeing dragons up close. Oh, she’d seen drawings of them. Sketches and paintings and even the skulls of them beneath the sellers of King’s Landing.

But seeing one in the flesh?

Arya will never get used to the sight. Or the feeling. They’re magnificent creatures. She can’t help but admire them.

The dragons spot her almost immediately, but they don’t seem particularly bothered by her presence, too caught up in their meal to pay her much mind.

“Beautiful, aren’t they?”

Arya turns as Daenerys Targaryen approaches to stand beside her.

“They are,” she admits quite honestly. “I still wonder if my eyes are playing tricks on me sometimes.”

The dragon queen looks to her dragons with an expression of pride. “They make the impossible believable, don’t they.”

They make Arya believe all the stories could be true, actually. “I still can’t believe Jon got to ride one,” she says, allowing a hint of jealousy through.

“Neither can I. It's a rare gift, to be accepted by a dragon.” She pauses. “Would you like an introduction?”

Arya’s brow shoots up and she momentarily forgets the purpose of her being here. “Are you serious?”

Daenerys offers her a smile. “You and Jon are cut from the same cloth. Perhaps they’ll like you too.”

“What if they don’t?”

Daenerys tilts her head. “You’ll find out quickly.” There’s a hint of amusement in her eyes that tells Arya she is not entirely serious. 

Far be it from Arya to pass up such an opportunity. “Alright, then.”

Despite how eager she was to observe the dragons, she is wary in her approach of them. But the dragons both look… well, bored by her presence, though they are quick to acknowledge the dragon queen.

She leads Arya to the green one Jon rode. Rhaegal, he had called it. Daenerys must have caught the hesitation on Arya’s face. “They won’t harm you while I am here. It’s perfectly safe,” she assures her, and Arya believes she is telling the truth.

So she steps up to Daenerys’s side as the dragon queen raises a hand to Rhaegal’s snout. 

“Hold your hand out, if you wish,” Daenerys instructed.

Same as her wolf in that regard, Arya supposes as she holds her hand in a loose fist and has to force herself to stand firm as Rhaegal dips his head to her to sniff her hand. Then he moves his attention back to Daenerys.

The dragon queen smiles. “He likes you.”

Arya shrugs. “Maybe he senses my connection to Jon,” she says.

Daenerys nods. “It’s possible.”

Arya chews on her lip before speaking her next thought “He told me about his parentage,” she says at last, deciding to get straight to the point.

Daenerys purses her lips. “So he informed me.”

“You’re not happy about that.”

Daenerys glances to Arya before watching her dragons in silence for a moment, contemplating her words. “The Iron Throne is mine by right. I’ve spent years fighting to take it back from those who usurped and slaughtered my family. Jon…”

“Has a stronger claim.”

Daenerys turns to face Arya head on. “Would you put him on the throne?”

“No. No good comes to whoever sits on that throne. I just want him alive. Jon doesn’t want it either. You know that.”

“I do know,” she says, and her posture softens slightly as she says it. “I am… worried for him, though. The more people find out about his heritage, the more they will push for him to take it.”

“Jon is a Stark.”

“Not according to the registry.”

“I don’t care what a piece of paper says. We might not have the same father, but he’ll always be my brother. A Stark. We look out for one another and protect each other. But Targaryens aren’t so loyal to their kin.”

Daenerys’ eyes narrow. “I’m not sure what you’re implying.”

“I’m not implying anything. Just stating history. The Targaryens have fought and killed each other for the iron throne for three hundred years. Jon would never fight you for it. But he is still a threat to your claim.”

“Lady Arya. I love your brother very dearly. I would never harm him, I promise you.”

Arya meets Daenerys’s gaze in silence for a long moment before she speaks. “Do you love him more than power?”

“What?”

“It’s a simple question. If you do, then his parentage shouldn’t bother you. But if you don’t, it may drive you to do something you’ll regret.”

Daenerys’ expression turns cold. “Is that a threat?”

“No. It’s just a simple question. So. Do you?”

Daenerys holds Arya’s gaze for a moment before turning away to her dragons. “I think you’d best leave us, Lady Arya. My dragons are growing hungry and don’t appreciate strangers watching them eat.”

Arya does leave her then, making her way back to Winterfell in quiet contemplation. She is unperturbed  by the dragon queen’s dismissal. She got what she came for anyway.

 


 

Jaime is already asleep when Arya sneaks into his chambers that night. She hesitates, wondering for a moment if it might be considered rude for her to just climb in when he isn’t awake to ask. Not to mention a few other bawdier words, probably.

She dismisses this thought though. Jaime did say she is welcome here. He seemed to mean it. She approaches quietly and lifts the covers of his bed to slip in beside him, but is surprised when he rolls over to face her and drapes an arm over her, allowing her to snuggle into his chest. “Are you aright?” He murmurs, and Arya wonders how he knows to ask.

She sighs into him. “I think so. I spoke to Jon.”

“How did that go?”

“Good. I think. I told him about Braavos.”

Jaime cracks an eye open at that. “He didn’t know before?”

“No. I was afraid to tell him. But I shouldn’t have been. He seemed to take it alright.”

“Of course he did,” Jaime says, settling again and pulling her a little bit closer. “He’s your brother.”

Arya smiles at that. “Yeah, he is,” she says in a small voice. Her smile fades as she is quiet for a moment, contemplating a thought. “I spoke to Daenerys as well.”

His eyes snap open again, his body suddenly tense. “Why?”

“I wanted to know how she felt about Jon.”

Jaime lets out an exasperated sigh, rolling onto his back. “Do you have a death wish, Arya?”

“No,” she says, instantly defensive. “Just the promise of one. If I have to.”

“Exactly what made you think it would be a good idea to threaten the woman with two full grown dragons in her arsenal.”

“One of them is injured.”

“That’s not the point, Arya.”

Arya rolls her eyes at his scolding. “I didn’t threaten her, if you must know. I just asked her some questions. I think she tried to threatened me, but I’m not afraid of her.”

Jaime stiffens. “What did she say to you?” He asks slowly.

Arya shrugs. “It doesn’t matter. Her dragons will be gone soon. And we’re staying here, aren’t we?”

Jaime rolls his eyes. “You of all people should take death more seriously than that.”

“Death comes for all of us. I’m not afraid of mine. I just keep telling him not today.” Jaime meets her gaze with an annoyed look but doesn’t comment and goes back to looking up at the ceiling. 

Arya realises, then, that Jaime might be worried for her. She finds herself oddly touched by his protective concern and shuffles closer to him, curling into his side. “You needn’t be worried. She wasn’t serious.”

“How could you know for sure?”

“Because. She still wants Jon to see her favourably, so she’d have to be an idiot to try and kill his sister.”

“Hm. I’ve yet to be convinced she’s not.”

Arya nudges him playfully. “So it’s okay for you to insult her but not for me to have an honest conversation with her.”

“It’s entirely different. She’s not here to listen,” he says dismissively.

“You never know. Walls have ears, even here.”

He sniggers as he wraps an arm around her again, drawing her closer to him. “Gods, I certainly hope she can’t hear through our walls or we have bigger problems.”

Arya snorts as they shift into a more comfortable sleeping position. She wonders if this will ever stop feeling strange. This… ease between them. 

And yet… she does like it. It’s… comforting.

At least Jaime’s staying North. That’s one less person to worry about.

 

 

Notes:

I will never stop being salty that Arya and Dany never got a scene together in the show so of course I had to take another opportunity to rectify that here with something... similar to how I imagine one could have gone if the showrunners had bothered to give themselves time to flesh everything out better. Adjusted for my own narrative of course.

Arya finally told Jon about her past! The gorier details will come further down the track. Its one thing to open up to him about where she's been but quite another to be honest about the things she's done. later though, for sure.

Chapter 78: Oathkeeper

Summary:

As Jaime's guilt still weighs heavily upon him, The Lannister army moves back south while he stays in Winterfell. He has a promise to keep, after all.

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

 

This time, it’s Jaime who wakes before Arya, and he takes a moment to remember what the warm figure snuggled into him actually is.

He’s quite unused to the feeling of warmth that envelopes him when he does remember. Doesn’t know what to do with it, quite honestly. 

He’s never really had this before. Someone to wake up to. To hold through the night. It obviously couldn’t fly with Cersei because it would run the risk of them being seen together. Jaime had tried to push her to allow him to stay many times, but her answer was always the same, and so he always left and never stayed. 

He hadn’t really dwelled too much on it at the time, but now that Arya is here…

He can’t help but like having her here to wake up to. She is softer in sleep, curled into him and allowing him to see her vulnerable. It awakens… a feeling.

A strange one he can’t quite place.

Whatever it is, it is replaced quickly with one he definitely understands; guilt. 

Arya trusts him, and has for quite some time. But he hadn’t really thought about the extent of it until now, seeing her seek comfort from him.

To feel safe with him.

He doesn’t deserve it. Doesn’t deserve any of her trust. Not when she’s so unaware of the truth about him. 

His heart clenches thinking about it. 

She should know.

He needs to buck the fuck up and just tell her. She’ll never look at him the same again. She’ll probably resent him for the rest of her life. But at least she’d know. Only…

Arya shifts and burrows further into his arms.

He softens at the simple movement. 

He is quite suddenly resistant to the idea of losing her. Of losing this. He doesn't even know what this is. Camaraderie? Kinship? Something else entirely? He doesn’t know. Perhaps it’s nothing at all. Two lonely people finding comfort in each other’s presence and nothing more. 

But if it is nothing more than that, then why does the idea of losing her concern him so? It shouldn’t bother him in the slightest. In the past, he wouldn't have cared one whit was a lowly Stark thought of him.

And yet… Arya believing in him, and trusting him…. The idea of losing that is quite unbearable to him. 

He should tell her, but…

But.

 

 


 

 

Arya wakes slowly that morning, blinking as she brings her surroundings into focus. She is surprised to see Jaime is already awake, and when her eyes fall to his, he smiles as the light catches in his green eyes just so…

Arya feels her face heat slightly and she ducks her head from his gaze. “Morning,” she mumbles into his chest instead.

“Good morning to you,” he answers back, his voice low and husky from sleep. And yet, somehow she can still detect the amusement in his words. Asshole.

Suddenly feeling… strange, Arya sits up quickly. “I should probably go.”

“Yes. Probably,” he agrees, and is she imaging the hint of disappointment in his tone?

She turns away from him, busying herself with… well, nothing at all. But pretending anyway. She’s itching to distract herself from these… feelings. “You have somewhere to be anyway, don’t you? Isn’t your army leaving today?”

He sighs from behind her. “Quite. Those fit to travel anyway. A few will stay until their health improves. I’m seeing the rest off this morning.”

Arya nods. “I’ll leave you to it, then.”

As she rises to leave, Jaime calls out, “Arya….”

She turns back to him, expectant.

Words seem to get stuck in his throat, for he hesitates. Then he shakes his head. “Nothing. I’ll… find you later, alright?”

Something’s weighing on him again. Curiosity sparks in her, but she forces herself to tamp it down for now. Maybe she’ll ask him later if he does manage to find her. 

She shrugs. “Maybe. If I want to be found.” She allows a smirk.

Jaime’s lips quirk in a smile. “Far be it from me to refuse such a challenge, my lady.”

She rolls her eyes as she takes her leave, Jaime chuckling behind her as she goes.

 


 

True to his word, Jaime’s contingent takes their leave that morning, returning to their families in the Westerlands. He would never ask his men to fight their own, which is what would happen if he aided the Starks in the war against the Crown. So he had bought their neutrality instead, assuring the Targaryen girl that her assent to the throne would be unchallenged by the Westerlands should she win.

If Cersei won….

He highly doubts Cersei could win against the dragon queen and her armies and her dragons. If she does, though, he’ll have to find a way to protect his men from her eye... he's not sure how. Or hope she forgets about them entirely if they’re out of sight. He had given them the opportunity to fight for Cersei, but to no one’s surprise, they had taken his offer to return home to their families instead. 

In all honesty, Jaime should be going with them. He is the Lannister heir after all. He’s expected to take his place as Lord.

But…

He never wanted to be lord of anything. Could never take on such responsibilities. He would only fail them.

And he has a promise to keep.

 


 

The thought of telling Arya the truth about Bran’s fall has his insides twisting in knots.

She should know the truth. But she’s the first Stark to ever believe in him. To trust him fully. He can’t lose that. 

If he proves his worth now, though, maybe she can forgive his past. See that he has changed, that he is worthy of her trust, and of Brienne’s faith. 

Gods, but has he really changed? He wants to be better. To be the person Brienne saw in him. The kind of knight he believed in his childhood (however naive such notions were). But he simply doesn’t know if any of that is even in him anymore. Or if it ever was at all.

Brienne saw it. Somehow

So does Arya, for that matter. 

He doesn’t know if he is deserving of it, but he so wants to be. He can’t do anything to change what he has done. He can only live with it. But… perhaps he can lead them to look past that. To accept the man he… well, prefers to be. 

He hopes so. 

He catches sight of Lady Sansa crossing the courtyard and resolves himself.

“Lady Sansa,” he calls out as he crosses to her. She stops at the sound of her name. “Might I have a moment?”

Sansa turns to face him fully, mild curiosity in her eyes. “Of course, Ser.”

Jaime inclines his head at her allowance. “As you might have seen, I’ve dismissed most of my army this morning. They’re to head back to the Westerlands. To their families.”

“I did notice, yes. And I suppose your continued presence here means you don’t intend to join them.”

“No,” he says. “Before Lady Brienne died, I made a promise to her, that I would take her place serving you and your sister. With your permission, my lady, I wish to keep that promise.”

Sansa tilts her head slightly, analysing his expression. “You’re asking for a position as my sworn shield?”

“If you would have me, yes.”

He really can’t read this Stark girl. She’s not quite as cold as Arya’s expressions used to be, but just as closed off and guarded. “Will you walk with me, Ser Jaime? I have something I’d like to show you.”

Jaime blinks at the invitation. “Yes. Of course.” He falls into step beside her, curious about where this is going.

 

 


 

Curiously, she leads him to her solar. Jaime stands in the doorway for a moment, filled with trepidation, until Sansa turns to him, raising an eyebrow.

“Is something wrong?” She asks almost sweetly.

“Ah, no,” he says, cringing internally at his own hesitance.

“If you’re concerned about this solar being converted into a private execution hall, you needn't be. I’d rather not stain the floors.”

He blinks. Had Lady Sansa Stark just told a joke?

He shakes his head, bringing his thoughts back into focus. “No, I’m not worried,” he repeats, stepping into the room.

Sansa appraises him with careful eyes. “Of course not.” She moves further into the room, crossing to her desk. “In any case, I didn’t bring you here to trap you or punish you. But to present you with this.” Jaime had missed the sword leaning on the wall behind the desk. Missed it entirely until Sansa places it on the desk between them.

And it’s not just any sword, either. It’s Brienne’s.

Oathkeeper.

Jaime swallows. “Why are you giving me this?” He asks, his voice strangely thin.

Sansa watches him with curious eyes. “Did you not present this sword to Brienne on her quest to find me?”

“I did.”

“Then the answer should be obvious. I am returning it to you.”

“But- my lady, this sword-“

“Is made from my father’s, I know.”

Jaime starts at the truth. He swallows. “Then why give it to me? It belongs here, with your family.”

“I don’t know much about swords, Ser Jaime. But one such as this shouldn’t sit on a wall. Jon already has a Valyrian steel blade and Bran cannot wield it. Lady Brienne used this sword in service of the Starks. I don’t see why you shouldn’t do the same.” She raises an eyebrow. “If you truly mean to uphold her mantle, that is.”

Ah. A test. Of course.

“I already have half of it, Lady Stark.” he says, resting his hand on the pommel. “Would it not be wasteful to put another in my hands?”

Sansa tilts her head to the side, eyeing him curiously. “I don’t quite understand why you’re so opposed. Lady Brienne would have wanted this to be returned to you, I am sure of it. And this sword would surely serve you better than— what was it he called that one? Widow’s Wail?” Sansa’s lips curl in disdain at the name.

Jaime looks down, feelings of regret and shame rushing through him. “It was unnecessarily cruel of him, my lady.”

“That is a charitable way of putting it, Ser, but I can’t argue with you there. If you wish to refuse my token, you may. But I hope you will not. It will serve you well as a reminder of this promise that means so much to you.”

Jaime swallows as his gaze falls to Oathkeeper. Lady Sansa is right. Brienne would have given it back to him no question. It may have been adorned in Lannister colours and gifted to Jaime, but it will always be Brienne’s sword. Is he really worthy of wielding it?

And yet… he can’t bear the thought of it hanging on a wall either. That would be a far greater insult to her memory.

He steps forward and takes the sword. “Thank you, my lady. I will do my best to wield it with honour.”

Sansa, in a rare gesture, smiles. “In that case, I accept your pledge. You are free to make it.” She rounds the desk to stand before him expectantly.

Jaime unsheathes Oathkeeper and kneels, holding it point down in front of him as he bows his head. “Lady Sansa. I offer you my services and my sword. I vow to shield your back, to keep your council, and to give my life for yours if need be. I swear this by the old gods and the new.”

Sansa raises her chin proudly. “And I vow that you shall always have a place by my hearth, and meat and mead at my table. I pledge to ask no service of you that might bring you dishonour. I swear it by the old gods and the new.” 

He suppresses a shiver at the words and almost misses when Sansa says, “arise, Ser Jaime.”

He does so, meeting her gaze with as much conviction as he can manage. He feels the weight of this vow. The expectations of Brienne’s memory. 

Brienne would be proud, he reminds himself. And perhaps even Catelyn Stark’s memory will stop haunting him now. 

He inclines his head. “Thank you, Lady Stark.”

“No need to thank me, Ser. I surmised you would already be staying. At least now you can also make yourself useful.” Her lips twitch in an almost smile, and Jaime doesn’t know what to do with it.

So he nods to her and takes his leave, Oathkeeper in hand. 

He can’t believe this sword had completely slipped his mind. Of course Sansa Stark would have seen it retrieved. And now he is expected to wield it with the same honour and virtue as Brienne. He so wants to do right by her but… now that he has been presented with this physical manifestation of his promise, he feels the heavy burden of it.

I won’t fail, he tries to assure himself. Not this time.

…. But what is he supposed to do with the other one?

 


 

“And here I thought you were the one supposed to be finding me?”

Jaime looks up from where he’s standing by the desk at Arya’s sudden entrance. So used to her abrupt appearances by now, Jaime is barely fazed by it as she moves to stand beside him.

He offers her a brief smile. “Apologies. I got a little distracted,” he says.

Arya shrugs. “Doesn’t matter.” She looks to the desk, where he’d placed Oathkeeper. “That's Brienne's sword, isn’t it?”

Jaime nods. “It is, yes. Your sister gifted it back to me today.”

“Why?”

“There aren’t many other candidates to wield it, I suppose. After I offered to take up Brienne’s place as Lady Sansa’s sworn shield, she thought it more useful in my hands than decorating a wall. And… considering it’s your sister, it’s no doubt some test of loyalty.”

Arya’s lips twitch. “That does sound like her. But you already have a Valyrian steel sword.” She points to its twin at his hip.

“Ah, yes.” He unbuckles the sword from his belt, holding it up as if inspecting it. He’d been thinking on this ever since he’d left Lady Sansa’s solar. “I was actually thinking you might like this one.” He holds it out to her.

Arya blinks, not quite processing his words. “Is that a joke?”

“No.” He smiles. “This one was made with… a smaller wielder in mind, so it’s already a decent size fit for you. After some practice, anyway.”

Arya rolls her eyes. “I know how to wield a sword.”

He raises an eyebrow. “When was the last time you fought with a proper long sword?”

Arya hesitates. “A while?”

“Exactly,” he says with a smirk. “The weight is completely different to that toothpick of yours.”

“Needle’s not a toothpick!”

“But I’m sure you’ll get the hang of it after some practice. I can assist you with that if you like. And anyway, this sword is better off in Stark hands. It’s not especially useful to either of your brothers, and your sister doesn’t fight, so that leaves you.”

Arya frowns. “Why should a Stark have it? It’s covered in Lannister colours.”

Jaime lets out an exhale and passes the blade to Arya, which she accepts tentatively. He had wondered if she suspected the truth, but it clearly never occurred to her. “The Lannisters once had a Valyrian sword, but it wasn’t either of these. Brightroar, it was called. It was lost across the sea many years ago. This sword, and its twin over there, they were reforged from the same weapon.” He hesitates. “Your father’s great sword.”

Arya looks up, surprised. “From Ice?”

Jaime nods. “My father had it melted down and made into something more… appropriate for a Lannister.”

Arya blinks slowly as she takes in his words. “They used his own sword when they executed him,” she mutters. “I didn’t see the moment it happened, but I remember this. Of course they would have taken it afterwards. I just never thought about it.”

Jaime’s heart clenches with guilt. “I’m sorry Arya. It was cruel, what they did to him.”

Arya nods. “I know.” She looks up at him with glassy eyes. “This is… thank you. But I’m not sure I can bear the reminder.”

Jaime tilts his head slightly, thinking. If Arya were to wield this sword, they would need to make some adjustments anyway. She would never want to wear Lannister colours, he’s sure. “Well, with the right resources, we might be able to locate a blacksmith who knows how to work with Valyrian steel. Restore its Stark ancestry.”

Arya nods. “That… that would help. But in the mean time, I should probably learn to swing it properly.” And there’s a glint of challenge in her eyes, breaking through the sadness.

A laugh bubbles in his chest. “Best get to work then,” he says with a wry smile. 

Arya returns his smile with such an open expression, that Jaime is struck by it. Her open smiles are rare, he knows, but have become more frequent of late, and always feel like a precious gift.

Jaime, you have to tell her.

But if he did, would he lose that smile forever?

 

 


 

Notes:

Me, the writer, who makes all the decisions: Fucking hell just TELL HER JAIME.

Is it my fault if he doesn't listen? I don't think so.

Next chapter, Dany and Jon's army should be departing, after some... conflict. Because naturally.

Chapter 79: Loyalty

Summary:

Arya and Jaime's growing relationship does not go unnoticed and other character interactions on the eve of the Targ army marching south.

Notes:

Once again, I did not fit everything I originally intended to in this chapter and it still ended up being the longest I've written so far. Remember when I thought I could never progress past short form drabbles? Good times. I'm hilarious.

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

 

“Ugh”

“Fuck”

“Oww”

This is what rouses Jaime from his sleep that morning to the realisation that there’s no warm figure pressed up against him like he’d grown rather used to in the last couple of days.

He props himself up on his elbows as he slowly opens his eyes to find the source of all that cursing. 

He locates her rather quickly, in the corner of the room balanced on one leg with his sword poised, sheathe and all, above her head. He blinks several times to be sure of the ridiculous sight in front of him. “What are you doing?”

Arya startles at the sound of his voice, promptly losing her balance and dropping the sword in the process. The hilt hits her in the head on the way down. “Oww!” (That explains the cursing). “I’m trying to remember Syrio’s lessons,” she says, rubbing her head where the sword had hit.

He frowns. “Who?”

She rolls her eyes. “My dancing master. From King’s Landing? I told you about him.”

“I’m going to be honest with you, I likely didn’t care enough to remember his name. You look ridiculous.”

Arya jaw clenches as she returns to what she was doing. “You laugh now, but his lessons are the reason I can knock your sword out of your hand whenever I beat you.” She allows a smirk.

Jaime raises an eyebrow. “I’m fairly certain my missing sword hand is the reason for that.”

She shrugs. “Whatever helps your ego. I have no problem with my left hand.”

He prickles with irritation. “Exactly how long have you been at this?” 

“A while.” Her brow is wrinkled with concentration as she keeps her eyes facing forward while balancing. “I was waiting for you.”

“Were you now?” The sword droops in Arya’s hand as she struggles to keep it above her head. “You’re supposed to keep it up,” he reminds her, smirking when she shoots him a glare.

“I know what I’m doing.” Jaime sniggers as she adjusts her sword. “And I didn’t want to leave without-” She flushes a little as she cuts herself off. “I just wanted to wait.”

“I see.” Jaime watches her curiously. She must be taking this Syrio’s lessons seriously. She really is trying very hard to concentrate. It would be a shame if something broke it.

He grins. “Couldn’t sleep?” He asks innocently.

She seems to be paying him very little mind. “I just woke early.”

He tilts his head to the side. “Why not wait where it’s warmer?”

“It’s plenty warm here,” she says dismissively.

She’s better at this than he thought. “Have you tired of my company so soon, Lady Arya?”

She huffs, lifting her chin as she balances. “No. I like lying with you fine.”

His brow shoots up just as she realises what she said. She breaks her stance and whips around as he opens his mouth to speak.

“Don’t” She snaps, blushing furiously. “You know what I meant.”

He smirks. “I surely don’t. You’d better explain yourself or I might get the wrong idea.”

Oh, if looks could kill, he’d be a dead man ten times over. “Fuck off,” she growls as she pads to the desk to put her sword away.

“Not quite, it seems,” he drawls.

She buckles the sword to her belt and turns to shoot him another glare. “I’m leaving now.”

He laughs as she storms out the door. “Meet you in the training ground?”

“Later!” She snaps back before disappearing from sight.

Jaime shakes his head with an amused smile.

It really is too easy with her.

 


 

True to her word, he does find Arya in the training grounds later. But he’s surprised to see her already engaged in a spar with Podrick Payne. She seems to be really putting him through his paces, too, hitting at every single one of his weak spots and testing his endurance with little mercy. 

Jaime quirks a smile at the sight as he makes himself comfortable to watch for a bit. 

Podrick has the same determination and adoration in his eyes he always seemed to wear while training with Brienne. He wonders what had prompted Arya to practice with him. As far as he knows, she hasn’t shown any interest in the idea before now. 

Not long after Jaime’s arrival, Arya puts Podrick out of his misery by disarming him, and as they break for a rest, Arya turns to face Jaime. “There you are. I was starting to wonder if you’d changed your mind. Or died.”

Jaime hides a smile. “You don’t seem overly concerned by my apparent demise. Should I be feeling slighted you managed to find a replacement sparring partner so soon?”

“No. If you’d died, you wouldn’t be feeling anything.” She sheathes her little Needle and approaches him. “And I wasn’t replacing you, Stupid. Podrick swore his sword to Sansa as well. I’m just making sure he knows how to use it.”

That… is new information for Jaime. “I see.” His eyes flit over to Podrick who is currently moving through his forms. “And did he pass your test?”

Arya shrugs. “He’s not bad. I’ll make sure he improves.”

He grins. “That I don’t doubt. Fancy a real challenge in the mean time? I know you’re itching to learn the sword I gave you.”

Arya frowns. “It’s a bit charitable of you to call yourself a challenge, isn’t it?”

“I like my chances just fine, actually. I’ve already seen how terribly you handle a long sword.”

“I’m not terrible! I’ve beaten you loads of times.”

“With a toothpick. Real swords are very different.”

Arya huffs. “Well you’re the one who lost to that toothpick. Imagine the damage I could do with a ‘real sword.’

Jaime snickers. “Oh, I’m sure soon enough you’ll make me live to regret my decision to give you that sword. One day, perhaps. But not today.”

That seems to settle something in Arya as her expression steels over. “We’ll see about that.”

 


 

Arya is far from terrible with a long sword. The extra weight does slow her movements somewhat, and she tires much faster, but that doesn’t stop her from holding her own reasonably well for having rarely fought with one.

Jaime is caught between being impressed and ever so slightly… jealous. She needs very little correction from him to adapt to the new weapon and is a quick study, he can tell. True, she is learning with her good hand, whereas his re-learning of the sword had been much slower and far more frustrating.

His mild irritation with her natural ability doesn’t stop him from enjoying the handicap while it lasts, though.

But after their months of sparring and learning each others styles, it’s strange to see her fight with the different blade. A knight’s blade does not compliment her water dance nearly so well. She’s still good. Very good. 

But… it doesn’t quite suit her. He's not sure why. 

Jaime wins their first round, much to Arya’s chagrin. She doesn't dwell on it, though, and merely resumes her stance. “Again?” She asks, a smile in her eyes that encourages him to indulge her.

“Again,” he agrees and they start again.

 


 

Jon only happens to be passing by the bridge above the training ground when he spies Arya sparring with Ser Jaime. Sansa is standing by the bridge overseeing them as well. She has a concerned look in her eye that causes Jon to stop and watch with her. He moves to stand beside Sansa without a word, and they watch the two of them spar each other. Arya typically spars with Needle but today she’s set it aside for a blunted blade from the armoury. Ser Jaime is fighting with the same, even seemed to be instructing her how to wield it better.

Jon had been watching the two of them for a while now. He is still far from comfortable with the ease of their familiarity in each other’s company, but right now… there’s a carefree smile on Arya’s face Jon hasn’t seen in a long time. And even more interestingly, a light ease in Ser Jaime’s stance as he smiles and jokes with her. 

“She never lets her guard down around anyone, yet she’s completely at ease with him,” Sansa voices from beside him. “When we were on the Kingsroad all those years ago, Arya wanted nothing to do with the Lannisters. Especially after Nymeria bit Joffrey. She hated them all. Now…. I’ll never understand it.“

Jon looks off to the side. “When we were children, she fought so hard to learn to fight. Sometimes she bullied Bran into showing her his lessons, sometimes a few of the younger household guards would indulge her behind Lady Stark’s back.” He almost smiles at the memory. “Sometimes I would help her when no one was looking. We all knew we would face Lady Stark’s wrath if she ever saw it, but that smile on Arya’s face,” he nods to Arya as she twists away from Ser Jaime’s strike, a broad, teasing grin on her face as she goads him into trying again, “always made it worth it. 

“She was so miserable in her lady’s lessons, told all her girlhood that she could never be the thing she wanted most in the world while feeling inadequate in all things she was learning from her septa. It was hard to see her so miserable, so I always did what I could to cheer her up. It meant the world to her then. If Ser Jaime has been indulging her, I can understand why she’s warmed to him so quickly. But I have no idea why he does it.”

“Perhaps a lady with a sword is amusing to him. He seemed to like Lady Brienne as well.”

Jon has nothing to say to that, but he finds he doesn’t need to, for in that moment Daenerys approaches. “There you are,” she says with a smile. “I was looking for you.” Jon could not help the smile that slipped onto his face. Daenerys’s eye turns to Sansa and her expression cools slightly. “Lady Stark,” she greets pleasantly.

Sansa eyes Daenerys for a moment before turning back to watching Arya. “Your Grace,” she returns with an icy tone chillier than the northern winds. 

Jon sighs. At least when he marches south, he’ll no longer need to be in the middle of these two. Physically, anyhow. 

Daenerys turns to watch as well. There’s a slight irritation in her eyes Jon can’t quite understand the reasoning for. Then again, she loathes Ser Jaime’s presence here more than anyone else. 

“I’m surprised you trust him enough to allow this,” Daenerys says with an icy tone. “What if he were to harm her?”

Jon snorts. “Arya can hold her own.”

“Yes” Daenerys agrees stiffly. “I suppose she can. Still, he is the Kingslayer. It doesn’t seem wise to me.”

“He won’t harm her,” Sansa says quite confidently from Jon’s other side, earning a raised eyebrow from both him and Daenerys.

“How can you be sure?” Daenerys asks almost curiously.

A hard edge enters Sansa’s serene expression now. “Men are all the same. Trust me, Your Grace, with that look, it’s not killing on his mind.”

Jon’s stomach churns at the thought but he holds his tongue, not wanting his anger to get the better of him again.

“Besides," Sansa continues. “He wouldn’t dare try. He is my sworn shield now. It’s his duty to protect me and my home.”

“Forgive me if the word of an Oathbreaker doesn’t inspire much trust.”

“You don’t need to trust him, your grace. Arya does. She has good instincts. If she has a feeling about someone, she is usually right.”

Daenerys’s lips thin at that comment and Sansa’s eyes flit to Daenerys before returning to Arya’s sparring. 

Jon is itching to leave, feeling the need to be anywhere else right now than between two women spitting hostilities at each other. 

“Still,” Daenerys continues. “It's rather odd that he deserted his family so easily. Tyrion was marginalised by them all his life so I can understand his disloyalty, but the Kingslayer… Apparently in love with his sister one moment and abandoning her the next. If his own family isn’t enough to inspire loyalty in the man, I can’t imagine what would. I hope finding the answer doesn’t cost you, Lady Stark.” Daenerys takes her leave then.

Sansa’s expression does not even shift as she walks away in the opposite direction.

Jon sighs and watches Arya and Jaime for a little while longer. They stop their session when Jaime disarms Arya, knocking her sword to the ground and levelling his at her neck. Protective worry flares in Jon at the sight, but Jaime drops the sword immediately when she yields. Arya looks dismayed by the defeat but then Jaime says something to her that causes her to beam with pride and… gods, is she blushing? He remembers when he and Arya would make fun of the other girls for such behaviour.

He had been worried about her developing friendship with Jaime Lannister for a long time now.

But Seven Hells, It’s worse than I feared. 

 


 

Jaime and Arya are leaving the training ground when their path is blocked by a tall, shadowy figure. And for a figure to tower over Jaime, that is saying something.

“What are you doing here?” Arya asks as the Hound turns his glare to Jaime.

“Heard you swore your shield to the little bird,” he says, ignoring Arya for the moment. 

Jaime blinks. “Who?”

“He means Sansa,” Arya says quietly from beside him.

“Oh. Well, you heard correctly. What’s it to you?”

The Hound snorts. “You really think you can protect her? You’re only half the fighter you used to be. And most of that other half was all show.”

Jaime’s smile is sharp. “At full strength I would have bested you easily, Clegane. You’re all brute force and no finesse.”

“Doesn’t matter how you fought then. You’re not that now, are ya. And you still think you can keep the Stark girls safe? Even the wild bitch bests you most days”

Jaime bristles at the Hound’s reference to Arya, but she speaks before be can get a word in on it. “He’s getting better,” Arya snaps, glaring at the Hound. 

“Better’s not good enough. At least the Tarth bitch could fight. Even bested me. You shouldn’t be the one to guard the little bird.”

Jaime sneers. “And let me guess. You should have the honour instead?”

The Hound does not rise to the bait of Jaime’s sneering but does step forward with intimidating resolve. “You’re damn right I will. The Stark girl is safe now, away from your family and their cage. One of us should make sure it stays that way.”

Then he continues on his way as if he hadn’t stopped at all.

Jaime blinks several times, stunned by the Hound’s parting words. He turns to Arya. “Well. That was interesting. Who knew even the Hound could have a soft spot for a pretty face.”

Arya snorts. “Men are all idiots. Still, between you, Sandor, and Podrick, at least Sansa won’t have a shortage of protectors.”

Jaime’s lips quirk in a grin. “If you ask me, she has all she needs with you by her side. The rest of us are all for show.”

Arya ducks her head to hide her smile. “True. You might be right there.”

“I am right about most things, in fact.”

Arya rolls her eyes playfully as they continue on their way.

 


 

With the Targaryen forces departing on the morrow, Lady Stark had arranged for a small feast as a send off and a thank you rolled into one.

Jaime thought it a smart idea, but that doesn’t stop him from feeling absolutely miserable at the affair. He loathes feasts, due in part to the ostentatious, expensive farces they had been in King’s Landing. This one is a far cry from that, but it doesn’t stop him from despising it on principle.

His only comfort, if it could be called that, is knowing that at least Arya seems miserable too. She had been forced to sit with the Starks at the high table and looks bored out of her mind sat beside her sister to Jon’s left. Jaime would be lying if he said the sight wasn’t amusing to him, seeing Arya sharing his discomfort over the affair.

Needless to say he had not been granted a place at the high table, and sat hidden amongst the rest of the men and women instead, hoping to avoid attention. 

He conversed with Podrick for a bit and indulged the lad as he chattered on about his training with Arya. The boy appears besotted, and Jaime can understand why. He himself appears to have a certain preference for women wielding swords. All the same, after a while he starts to grow a bit irritated with the line of conversation. He’s aware of how talented Arya is, thank you very much. He does not need constant reminders from Podrick Payne.

He gets up abruptly. “Excuse me,” he says tersely before taking his leave from the table. And the hall, for that matter.

He could use some fresh air, however icy said air may be. It was certainly a better alternative to staying in the hall.

 


 

Arya wishes she could stab someone in this moment, stuck up at the high table with eyes constantly flitting towards her with whispered words Arya doesn’t care to hear. Sansa had spent so long lecturing Arya on why it’s important that she stand by her family and blah blah blah that Arya had gotten sick of listening to her and agreed to sit here just to shut her up.

How she wishes she’d just ignored her sister. The feast is boring. The hall is stifling. Jon is busy talking to the dragon queen and Jaime is elsewhere. 

“Did you know the Hound wants to be your sworn shield too?” Arya says to Sansa, just to make conversation.

Sansa blinks. “That does not sound like him. He has never particularly cared for making vows.”

“Well he probably won’t say the words but he nearly fought Jaime today for the honour of guarding you.” She smirks. 

Sansa goes quiet for a moment. “No,” she says softly, and is Arya imagining the upturned corner of her sister’s lips? “I did not know.”

Arya studies her sister curiously. “It’s all you wanted as a child, wasn’t it? Men pledging to die for you?”

Sansa’s expression steels over. “We’re not children, Arya. I’m not taken by such fanciful notions anymore.”

Arya shrugs. “Still, you have a lot of people loyal to you now. You can’t tell me it’s not a nice feeling.”

Sansa doesn’t say anything to that and they fall into silence. 

Already bored, Arya glances around the hall, and when her eyes land on the dragon queen, the Targaryen is watching them with a slight frown on her face. 

Arya wonders if she heard their conversation. Probably. She does not look very happy with what she heard. The dragon queen rises to leave, nodding to Jon and her council, and Arya watches her leave the hall, a stab of jealousy flaring through her. The only good thing about being queen is being able to leave whenever you want. 

Who would even care whether Arya sits with her family or not, anyway? “Can I go now?” She asks Sansa. “Or do you think the people feasting down there still care if I sit here or not.”

Sansa does not roll her eyes, but Arya recognises the expression on her face. “Do as you like,” she says dismissively.

Arya smiles and leaves the hall immediately. 

 


 

Jaime had not ventured far from the hall, in the end, standing on the balcony overlooking the courtyard as the icy air ghosts around him. Not that he’s paying much attention to that.

He is interrupted by footsteps approaching from behind him and he turns, his first though being that maybe Arya had followed him out here. But when he is surprised to see the dragon queen instead, he remembers that Arya is much lighter on her feet. He wouldn’t have heard her coming so easily.

Daenerys Targaryen stops when she sees him and he sees the moment she contemplates turning and retreating the way she came, but then she resolves herself and continues forward.

He hides a smirk, happy in the knowledge that his presence makes her uncomfortable. 

“Kingslayer,” she greets in a chilly tone.

“That I am,” he says with a sharp smile. 

“Are you not even slightly ashamed of your titles?” She asks, moving to stand beside him.

Jaime internally sighs. He had hoped she would simply continue on her way, but apparently she is in the mood to talk. “Are you ashamed of torching people with your dragons?” He bites back.

Her expression steels. “They were deserving of that fate.”

“Oh. Well, so was the mad king. I don’t regret it for a moment and I would do it again.”

“You are a coward, Ser. If your actions were truly about honour, you would have done something sooner, instead of waiting until after your father’s army had breached the gates.”

Jaime laughs. “You are right about that. But it simply wasn’t necessary before that moment, and I admit I was the idyllic sort in my youth. I thought being named Kingsguard was a great honour. I was wrong, and your father was only too happy to correct that notion.”

The Targaryen girl is quiet for a moment and Jaime hopes she will leave. But then she speaks again, to his dismay. “I do not wish to emulate my father.”

Jaime raises an eyebrow. “Really? The dragons show otherwise.”

Her lips thin. “I am the rightful queen of the seven kingdoms and the iron throne is mine by right. Why should I not use the advantages I have in taking back the throne from those who usurped my family.”

“They were usurped for a reason. Why would anyone jump to see another on the throne? Particularly one prone to threatening her subjects with dragon fire should they refuse to bow to your whims.”

“Sometimes a show of force is necessary. Any other ruler would do the same if they could.”

“Has it ever occurred to you, Lady Targaryen” - the dragon queen’s brow pinches in anger over his blatant snub of her title - “that burning everything to the ground isn’t a very inspiring trait in a ruler?”

The dragon queen actually manages to hold his gaze, which he begrudgingly respects. “It is not my intention to be Queen of the ashes, Ser. But I will do what needs to be done to secure my throne. If that means using my dragons, then so be it.”

“You will not have very happy subjects if you do. Despite whatever you were told about your father, he was hated and feared by all. He liked burning things down himself. And look what happened to him. Surely you don’t want the same for yourself.”

She raises her chin, eyes full of anger and hatred. “Careful, Ser. I am your rightful queen and threatening me would be a grave mistake.”

“I am much more direct when I am threatening, your grace. I can’t very well raise a sword against you holed up in the north as I will be, can I? I am merely offering you some much needed advice. If your council wasn’t full of snivelling cowards, they would tell you the same.”

“You speak out of line, Ser.”

He barks a laugh. “Why? Because the truth hurts? Best accept it before you do something you’ll regret. Those dragons of yours will never inspire loyalty in the people of Westeros. Only fear. You may win allies through that fear, but they’ll never respect you. And they certainly won’t love you.”

She raises her chin. “And what would you know of loyalty, Kingslayer? You killed one king, abandoned another, failed to protect two more, and deserted your own sister. Will the Starks be next? I hope so. When they wake up to who you truly are, perhaps they’ll give me your head and save me the trouble of burning you myself.”

She leaves him with those words and Jaime has to take several deep breaths to stop himself from charging after her and running her through the same way he’d killed her damn father. 

Gods, he wishes he could stab someone right now.

 


 

Arya wanders through the courtyard for a bit before she notices the Hound drinking alone. Her curiosity spikes and she approaches him. His eyes land on her as she does. 

“What the fuck was that?” Arya blurts out before she can think on her words.

“What the fuck was what?” He throws back with bored disinterest.

“With Jaime this morning. Are you really staying to protect Sansa?”

He shrugs. “Why not? Got nothing better to do.”

“That’s it? You’ve got nothing better to do? That’s a shit reason.”

He rolls his eyes. “Why do I need a bloody reason? Fighting’s all I’m good for. Spent so long fighting for cunts, figured now I’ve got a chance to fight for someone who deserves it.”

Arya raises an eyebrow. “And that someone is my sister? Why?”

He shrugs again. “Couldn’t in King’s Landing. Wasn’t right what they did to her. At least you escaped. She wasn’t so lucky.”

Arya looks down. “I guess not.” She pauses. “Thank you, I guess.”

He scoffs. “I’m not doing it for thanks. Certainly don’t need yours. Save it for that Lannister twat. I’m sure you’ve already thanked him plenty.”

Arya frowns. She did not like the way he said that. Like it… meant something else. “I’m not fucking him, if that’s what you meant.”

He raises an eyebrow. “That so? I’ve heard different. For all your whining about Lannisters on the road, never thought you’d have it in you to bed one.” He laughs. “Or him anyone but his cunt sister for that matter.”

Arya scowls. “We’re not fucking.”

“Does it look like I give a shit?”

“You brought it up!”

He rolls his eyes. “I don’t make it my business to care who fucks who. You want to climb into bed with a lion, have at it. Just don’t be surprised when he shows his teeth.”

Arya glares at him. “I don’t need you of all people to warn me about him. I’m a wolf. I can bite and scratch as well as any lion.”

“Yeah, I bet you do,” he says dismissively. 

It takes all of Arya’s self-control not to flush scarlet at that comment. “You are such a shit,” she snaps, storming away from him.

Sansa deserves the best of protectors, so for the smallest of moments, Arya had been happy the Hound was staying to fill that role. Until he’d ruined it. 

 


 

Jaime is still fuming about the dragon queen so he decides to shut himself away in his chambers early, not really wanting company right now.

So he’s surprised to find Arya already there, pacing the floor. Something is bothering her.

She looks up immediately upon his entrance.

He raises an eyebrow. “So you’re not even waiting for my invitation anymore? A bit eager, aren’t you?”

Arya flushes red. “I’ve never waited for an invitation,” she says, ignoring the second part.

“So I noticed. What are you doing here?”

She shrugs. “The Hound is a shit. You’re here earlier than I thought. Why’s that?”

He shrugs. “The dragon queen is insufferable.” He crosses to his bed, collapsing on it as he fiddles with the straps of his gold hand. “I don’t have the energy to deal with anyone else so… here I am. Didn’t expect to find company here.”

“Do you want me to leave?” Arya asks.

Jaime looks up at her. “No. Stay if you want.” He goes back to unfastening the straps, all too aware of Arya’s eyes on him now. He’s still uncomfortable with people seeing his deformity but Arya’s already seen it a few times now. And the stinging is starting to grow irritating. 

Arya immediately crosses to the bed to sit beside him. He watches her with apprehension and she sets his gold hand aside before looking up at him, a question in her eyes.

He rolls his eyes. “Very well, have at it.”

She flushes again and averts her gaze. Jaime watches her curiously as she takes his stump in hand, cradling the marred flesh between her hands. Sometimes she has the most curious reactions to him. Most of the time he teases them out of her on purpose. But the most amusing ones always arise when he hadn’t even meant to elicit them at all. And he’s tempted to push her further still, but…

He’s not really in the mood.

“But if this is a pity thing, you really needn’t bother touching it,” he says instead.

She huffs. “It’s not. The warmth will help,” is all she says.

She has no idea how right she is, Jaime thinks. He watches her in silence for a moment longer and when she meets his gaze, they hold it. Something… different passing between them.

But then a loud, incessant knocking at the door snaps them out of the moment. Arya’s wide eyes snap to the door before landing on Jaime again. 

“Shit,” he swears under his breath. 

The knocking continues. “Jaime!” It’s Tyrion. “I know you’re in there you great idiot.”

“Fucking hells,” Jaime mutters, getting to his feet and heading to the door.

Only… he shouldn't answer the door while Arya is here.

“Arya, you should probably-“

But when he turns back to the bed, Arya is already gone.

How does she keep doing that?!

“Jaime! Open the door!”

He lets out a long exhale before crossing to the door. This had better be good.

 

 

Notes:

umm yeah, so I bumped the Tyrion scene into the next chapter along with the Jon leaving South stuff. But I think I've given you enough to unpack for one chapter without it ^__^

Chapter 80: Another goodbye

Summary:

The eve of a departure for war is probably not the best time for Jaime to get into a row with his brother. And other character interactions as the Targ army marches south, leaving Arya and Jaime stuck in the north.

Notes:

Heads Up: I had to draw a tiny bit from Tyrion’s book motivations for this scene so you’re probably not going to like him very much after this. BUT I had some justifying to do and this is what came of it. I hope it’s not too jarring?

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

 


What, Tyrion!”

Tyrion barely acknowledges Jaime before barging past him into the room. Thank the gods Arya had already left.

“You are a great fool, that’s what,” Tyrion says, turning around to face Jaime who rolls his eyes as he shuts the door. 

“I am called that quite a lot. You’ll have to be more specific.”

“Just what in the seven hells was going through your mind when you thought it a good idea to threaten the queen with dragons in her arsenal.”

Oh. He probably should have guessed it would be about this.

“I didn’t threaten her. And I told her the truth. As well as a few other things it seems she didn’t want to hear.”

“Do you have any idea how hard I’ve worked to keep her from taking your head? You’re lucky she’s not calling for it as we speak.”

“Come now. Do you really think she’d take my head when she has dragonfire to execute her enemies with?”

“This isn’t a joke, Jaime! She is the queen of the seven kingdoms and-“

“No, she’s not.”

Now it’s Tyrion’s turn to roll his eyes. “You don’t have to like her. You don’t even have to endorse her. But you do have to respect her claim.”

Jaime crosses his arms, levelling a glare at Tyrion. “Respect? The last Targaryen I served burned innocent men alive in his halls and relished in their screams as they died. He was a mad old cunt and now his daughter is threatening the same with her dragons.”

“She is not her father, Jaime. I never would have become her Hand if I thought she was anything like him.”

“You didn’t know him Tyrion. You were a child when the rebellion happened, while I was forced to stand at his side while he tortured people to death in front of the entire court. Do not tell me I don’t know what I’m talking about when it comes to that damn house. That dragon whelp has the same look in her eyes as he did when she looks at those damn dragons.”

Tyrion exhales through his nose, his frustration clear in his face. “We’ve been talking strategies. Using her dragons is an absolute last resort. If we can get the city to surrender-”

“Cersei would never surrender to anyone and you know that. I can’t imagine the Targaryen girl has much patience for drawn out sieges.”

“Cersei doesn’t have to surrender. Only the city. Once we breach their walls-“

“She’ll burn. It. down. You mark my words on that. If the stories are correct, she has left a trail of dragon fire across the free cities. Just how do you imagine Westeros will fare any different?”

“I am trying to win her the throne with as little bloodshed as possible, but this is war, Jaime. Casualties happen. Who else would you have take back Westeros from Cersei’s clutches? You can’t seriously tell me you want Cersei to stay in power.”

“Of course I don’t. But the dragon queen is far from a lesser evil. Tell me why I should support her? She is no more deserving of the throne than Cersei. She certainly doesn’t have the stronger claim.”

“She’s the last Targaryen, Jaime. It is her’s by right.”

Jaime snorts. “No. She’s not.” He laughs again. “Jon Snow is the unfortunate offspring of Rhaegar Targaryen and Lyanna Stark. A trueborn Targaryen with a greater claim. I can’t imagine the Targaryen girl will garner much support when they learn that little detail.”

Tyrion scoffs. “And do you have any proof of these claims?”

“The Tarly boy has the annulment of Rhaegar’s marriage to Elia, as well as the registry of Lyanna Stark’s. It’s all in writing, I believe.”

Tyrion pales white as a sheet. “No. Daenerys is the rightful queen. No one else can take that throne.”

“Are you even hearing yourself? She has already burned cities with those dragons of hers. I can’t see Jon Snow doing the same, even if he has ridden one himself.” 

“She is the only choice.”

Jaime exhales in frustration. “Tell me, Tyrion, are you afraid of her? Is that it? Or do you care more for punishing Cersei than you do for everyone else’s lives? I certainly didn’t kill the mad king just to watch his daughter finish his work for him by burning that city to the ground!”

“Maybe it’s what they deserve!” Tyrion snaps, causing Jaime to recoil at the sudden venom in his brother’s tone.

What?”

“I tried to save that damn city and all I got in return was scorn and ridicule. My own damn family set me up to take the fall for a crime I had no involvement with! I did not kill Joffrey, much as I wanted to wring the little shit’s neck for his actions. They all stand by and cheer, and bow, and scrape at every king and queen’s feet while jeering for their deaths behind their backs. I saved their worthless lives and for what? Why should I waste my time trying to save them again”

Jaime is stunned by Tyrion’s tirade and has to shake his head to snap himself out of it. “So you bring the Targaryen girl across the narrow sea so she can punish them all for you?”

“No! I support her claim because I know she will make a far better queen for Westeros, and I will gladly help her rip Cersei out of King’s Landing to take it back. What are you doing to help? You know Cersei will drive the seven kingdoms to ruin and instead of doing anything about it, you’re hiding out here in the north playing at being a noble knight while fooling around with Ned Stark’s daughter!”

Jaime is quiet for a long moment, unable to stop Tyrion’s words from striking a chord. “Get out,” he says at last.

Tyrion falters for a moment before his expression resolves. He turns and walks out of the room.

 

 


 

 

Jaime’s exhaustion threatens to overwhelm him and he collapses on the bed, running his hand over his face in an attempt to scrub away his frustrations. Tyrion’s words echo in his head, bringing his old memories and new anxieties bubbling to the surface and it’s all Jaime can do to keep them in check.

He and Tyrion had had their disagreements over the years, of course they had. But this felt… worse. He’s furious at Tyrion, but… 

He’s not sure he can handle losing anymore of his people. He doesn’t have many left as it is.

He is not alone for long before he notices another presence in the room.

He turns his head to Arya, who is standing by the door with a hesitant look in her eye.

He reverts his gaze back to the ceiling. “I suppose you heard all that.”

“Yes,” she says in a very small voice. And yet… there is something steely about her tone that puts Jaime on edge. “You told him about Jon.”

Ah, fuck, he hadn’t thought about that. Jaime closes his eyes for a moment as guilt bubbles inside him. “I suppose I did. Sorry about that.”

“You promised you wouldn’t tell anyone.” Her voice is slightly firmer now and Jaime suddenly worries he’ll have to brace himself for another fight. He’s not sure can handle more right now.

“It just slipped out, Arya. I truly didn’t intend for it. If you’re here to fight me about that, come back tomorrow. I don’t have the energy for another one right now.”

He closes his eyes again, expecting her to leave, but is surprised when instead he feels her weight settle on the bed beside him a moment later. He cracks an eye open as she rolls into his side and wraps her arms around him, nestling into his chest. “I’m not going to fight with you,” she says quietly.

Jaime swallows a lump in his throat, unsure of what to do with Arya’s sudden softness. “That doesn’t sound like you,” he says instead.

She huffs. “Shut up.” She shifts to look up at him. “Are you alright?” She asks hesitantly.

No. He definitely is not alright. 

But he can’t even put how he’s feeling into words so instead he wraps his arms around Arya in turn and draws her in closer, tucking her head under his chin. “Better now,” he murmurs. Surprisingly, it’s the truth. 

“Can I do anything?” 

His worries bubble to the surface again.

Don’t leave me.

Stay with me.

Please don’t hate me.

“Stay,” is all he can manage to put into words.

Arya snorts. “I’m already doing that.”

Jaime can’t help the chuckle that escapes him as he presses his lips to her forehead absentmindedly. “Thank you,” he almost whispers.

Arya stills for a moment before relaxing into him again. Jaime isn’t even sure where the gesture had come from, but it had felt right. 

It’s curious how these gestures always seem to feel right with her.

 


 

Arya wakes early, definitely before Jaime. She should probably get up, but… she doesn’t want to leave him just yet.

She’d been so angry at him for telling Tyrion about Jon’s secret. She’s not sure what Tyrion might do with the information and the uncertainty sends her back into her worries for him. And she’d wanted to tell Jaime as much, but then…

Then she saw how tired and wrecked he’d looked and her anger had extinguished immediately. She’s still annoyed at him for forgetting his promise not to tell, but she couldn’t bring herself to bring it up when he already looked like a beaten dog. 

So she’d tried to offer him comfort instead, remembering all the times he’d been there for her. It seemed to work. He’d kissed her, so…

She feels her face heat as she remembers the feeling of his lips on her forehead.

Stupid. It wasn’t even a proper kiss.

A peck on the forehead probably doesn’t even count. It had been so quick she wasn’t sure at first if he’d even realised what he’d done.

…. It still felt nice, though. 

Her thoughts are interrupted when Jaime begins to stir beside her. He must be waking up. And with all these fluttery feelings now, she is not sure she should still be in his arms when he does. She moves to slip away from him.

Only for his arms to constrict tighter around her, keeping her in place. “Not yet,” he murmurs, pulling her in tighter. Arya stiffens at the movement. She’d grown used to Jaime’s arms around her by now, even sought them out at times. But… this felt… different. 

“We should get up,” she murmurs back, though she doesn’t make a move to do so yet. “We shouldn’t stay here. People will notice.”

Jaime snorts. “Does it matter?” His voice is still hoarse from sleep. “All that’s out there is disgusting cold, family fighting on opposite sides of a war, reminders of everything we’ve suffered and lost. It’s too much. At least in here it’s warmer. And the company tolerable.”

There is humour in his tone, but Arya senses some of that is forced. She turns around to face him. “Jon’s leaving today. Don’t you want to be there for that?”

He raises an eyebrow. “To see your brother off? Not particularly, no. I don’t really like him all that much.” Arya smacks him lightly. “Oww!”

“What about Tyrion?” She questions.

Jaime exhales and roll onto his back. “I’m not sure that’s a good idea either.”

“He’s your brother.”

“You heard what was said last night. We’re not exactly in a good place for fond farewells.”

Arya is quiet for a moment, unsure of what to say to that. “We should still get up. We shouldn’t lay around in bed all day. It’s stupid.”

“Do we have to? We could stay here for just a little while longer.”

Arya huffs. “Don’t you have to guard my sister?”

He shrugs. “I’m sure the Hound is on it.”

“We could spar in the godswood then?” She says it knowing it will be the most appealing way to get Jaime out of bed, but she’s also keen to practice anyway. She’s starting to improve with Jaime’s sword. She wants to get better still. And Jaime is always keen for a fight.

He raises an eyebrow. “Are you trying to manipulate me, Lady Arya?”

“Of course not,” she says, putting on an innocent expression. “I’m trying to get you to come and spar with me. Do you want to or not?”

“Later,” he says with a smirk as drapes his arm back over her and pulls her into him. "Stay with me,” he says in a smaller voice. 

Arya softens, tempted to stay for a little while, until she remembers herself and rolls away from him again. “You might be able to lie around like a lazy lion all day, but I have things to do.” She gets up to leave, feeling Jaime’s eyes on her the whole way. “I’ll see you out there. Maybe."

He doesn’t say anything in reply as he watches her go.

Arya wonders if he’ll be far behind her. She hopes not.

 


 

Arya is watching Jon as he prepares his men to march. So many worries and concerns are flying around in her head. It seemed impossible that they would make it out of the long night, but they had. Arya’s not sure if its tempting fate by marching straight into another war. Death is always hovering nearby, waiting in the shadows for a moment to strike and take something else from her. 

She can only fight so much to protect everyone she cares about, but how can she do that when her family is separated across the kingdoms? She can keep Bran and Sansa safe here in Winterfell. She can protect her home. Jaime’s even here to help with that. She can't do anything for Jon when he’s marching south. She has no control over the situation at all. 

As preparations finish up, Jon finally notices her there. Though, from the look on his face as he approaches her, Arya suspects he’d already known she was there. 

“Seems like we’re always watching each other walk away,” she says, unable to keep the dejected note from her voice.

“Hopefully this’ll be the last time, if all goes to plan.”

Arya shoots him a skeptical look. “Nothing ever goes to plan.”

“I know. That’s why I’m glad you’re staying here.”

Arya scowls at that. “Where it’s safe?”

“No. Where you can protect our home where I can’t.” Arya looks up at him, meeting his gaze with surprise in her eyes. Jon quirks a small smile. “If I’m helping Daenerys win her war, it’s a relief to know I have someone I can trust protecting Winterfell in my stead. I know you’ll do it well.”

Arya looks away, feeling her face heat under the unexpected praise. “I’ll do my best,” she mumbles before returning her gaze to his. “I just… you should be careful.”

Tyrion knows. You might be in danger.

She shakes her head. “You still owe me a spar,” she says instead. “I can’t collect if you let them turn you into something you’re not.”

Jon smiles and ruffles her hair, much to Arya’s chagrin. “When I get back. I promise.”

She smacks his hand away. “You said that last time.”

“Ah, well, next time there shouldn’t be anymore wars to fight keeping me away.” His gaze flits over her shoulder. “Not that you seem to need my expertise with your stray lion still hanging about.”

Arya turns her head to see Jaime hovering not too far away. He’s not watching her, though, but Daenerys and Tyrion conversing on the other side of the courtyard. He has a… blank look on his face, but there’s turmoil lurking beneath his eyes. 

She turns back to Jon. “He’s… not too bad. Anymore.” She can’t help the twitch at her lips, but she tries not to let the smile slip through. “It wasn’t him that gave me my first sword though. You should at least get to know what I’ve learned with it.”

Jon smiles. “I’ve seen plenty already.” His eyes drop to her sword belt where she currently has Needle and Jaime’s sword strapped in place. “Still. It’s hard to compete with Valyrian steel.”

She looks down, fiddling with the hilt. “He told me it was made from Father’s sword. Said it was right that I should have it.”

Jon lets out a heavy exhale. “He’s not wrong, I suppose.” There’s a strange glint in Jon’s eye that Arya can’t quite read. Her gaze trails back to Jaime and he is watching her now. She starts at that. “Hey,” Jon says softly, returning her attention to him. “You do know what you’re doing, right? With him?”

Arya looks away with a  shrug. “Things aren’t so bad when he’s around. It’s strange, I know. Even to me sometimes. But I don’t know how else to explain it.”

Jon’s jaw ticks. “Strange is putting it mildly.” He sends her a sidelong glance before his posture relaxes. “I’ll tell you what. I’ll be careful in the South if you be careful here. If he tries anything-“

Arya rolls her eyes. “Do you really think I’d let him do anything I don’t want him to? I have two swords and a dagger and several knives-“

“Wait, where are you keeping the-”

“-so I’m quite capable of handling him myself. I don’t need every idiot threatening to kill him for daring to breathe the air around here.”

“Alright, alright. You’ve made your point. I won’t bring it up again.”

Arya glares at him, raising an eyebrow.

“I promise,” he continues, raising his hands in surrender. “You know I’m only looking out for you. It’s natural for brothers to be worried about their sisters, isn’t it?”

Arya softens instantly at his words and, forgetting all about her irritation, throws her arms around him. “Yeah, it is,” she says into his chest. “Thank you.”

He engulfs her in his arms in turn. “I’ll do everything I can to come back. That I can promise you.”

She nods. “I know.” Then she pulls away to look up at him. “Even though death seems to have it out for us, we’ve done alright so far. Maybe we’ll get lucky again.”

He smiles. “I hope so.”

Somehow, against all the odds, she, Jon, Sansa, and Bran have survived alone and found their way back to each other. She hopes they can survive this too.

 

 


 

Jon has a lot to do, and much to prepare. But even in the face of all of that, he can’t help it when his eyes trail back to Arya as she approaches Jaime Lannister. As they engage in conversation with each other. As she smiles and nods as he brushes a hand along her cheek.

As she frowns when she says something to him and he shakes his head, looking resigned. As they leave the courtyard together. 

His fists clench at the sight. They’re beyond simply familiar with each other, and the thought still grates on him. Part of him wishes he’d put a stop to all this back at the Wall. But the other part of him…

How can he think about taking away one of the few things that allows her to smile and laugh like that. All he wants is for his family to be happy and safe after everything they’ve suffered. Even if it is Jaime bloody Lannister who brings that out in her. She does seem happy to be around him. He’s still not so sure about the safe part.

He shakes his head to rid himself of the conflicting thoughts. He has a war to fight. He can’t let himself grow distracted with these thoughts. 

Still….

He takes one last look at the direction Arya and Jaime had disappeared down. 

He hopes it’s not a mistake trusting him. The last thing he wants is for Arya to lose that smile now that she’s found it again.

Arya trusts him and you trust Arya, he tells himself, trying to put it out of his mind. She can take care of herself. She has two swords, a dagger, and several knives.

He frowns.

He’s not sure he wants to know where she’s keeping those knives.

 


 

Jaime should have stayed in bed.

That is his thought as he watches the army pack up to march down South. He hates all this watching. Can’t stand it, as a matter of fact. He’s a doer, always has been. And it goes against almost every fibre of his being to stand and watch while other men prepare for war. Especially a war in which he has family on both sides.

Who do you fight for when you have family on opposing sides?

Arya had asked him something like that once. She’d been in her own head at the time, but the question is laughably relevant now. 

He supposes it always had been. He just hadn’t thought much about it until now. 

Now, it’s all he can do to stop him from thinking on it.

What are you doing to help? Tyrion had snapped at him last night. It is an excellent question. Very little, is the answer. When he’d fled from Cersei’s reign all those months ago now, he had thought he would be satisfied with his decision to withdraw his support from her. If she wants to burn her enemies just as Aerys Targaryen had, Jaime certainly can’t stop her. So he’d left her instead.

Only now Tyrion has brought another queen fond of burning things to Westeros, and Jaime doesn’t know where he should be standing. Perhaps that’s why he’s so eager to stay in the north. He doesn’t have to pick a side when he’s so very far away from it all. 

But can he really turn a blind eye to it all? He had been just as responsible for all of this chaos in recent years as Cersei. Why should he stay up here and let her deal with the consequences of choices they both made together?

You’re a better man now. Brienne said so. She believed in you. You are fulfilling a promise. 

But is he really a better man for abandoning all his family to their war in the south?

He doesn’t know. The questions weigh on him. And as he watches the Targaryen girl’s amassed forces prepare to march south, as he sees Tyrion in conversation with the dragon queen and Arya bidding yet another farewell to her brother… it’s all becoming a bit too much for him.

And Arya must have noticed, because despite his best efforts to push it all aside and focus on her, she sees something anyway, and lures him into a private conversation. 

He’s appreciative of her effort. He has so very rarely had someone worry over him. For a long time, he thought Cersei did but… he’s not so sure now. Tyrion sometimes. Brienne for a while. Maybe his mother when he was young. He doesn’t remember much of that, though. So the fact that Arya is doing so now is… well, he won’t deny its a nice feeling, but he really wishes now isn’t the time she’s started to take an interest in such things.

 


 

“So,” Jaime says, trying to shrug off all of his pressing concerns as he scans the Godswood trees surrounding them. “Is this where you lead unsuspecting victims to their deaths now?”

Arya snorts a laugh. “No. I thought you might like the quiet. I come here sometimes, when I want to get away. We could spar here too, if you want.”

Jaime sighs. “I’m… I don’t think that’s a good idea right now, much as I would prefer to take you up on that offer.”

Arya nods. “Alright.” They fall into silence for a moment. “Do you want to talk about it?” She voices at last.

He shoots her a wry smile. “No. I do not. But thank you.”

She frowns. “What for?”

 He shrugs. “Asking, I suppose. Not many do.”

“Right.” They fall into silence again. Jaime has to admit, Arya is right. He does like the quiet out here. It’s less stifling away from all the movement happening in the rest of the castle. 

“Are you upset about Tyrion?” Arya asks.

Jaime exhales. “I don’t want to talk about it,” he affirms. 

“He said some pretty awful things. It’s alright if you are.”

He laughs. “Is it really awful if it’s true?”

She frowns. “If what’s true? That the dragon queen will be good for Westeros? Or that King’s Landing deserves to burn. I won’t lie, I thought about it.”

He blinks at her. “You have?”

“Of course I have.” She crosses her arms. “I was there when they cut off my father’s head, remember? They all cheered and screamed for it, so, yeah, I thought about it. But…” she shakes her head. “I don’t know. You killed the mad king to save them all, and they shunned you for it. Would you do it differently if you knew how it would turn out.”

Jaime does think for a moment. “No,” he says at last. “Killing him was about… about my own honour, I suppose. I chose the vow I thought more important at the time. Everything else was incidental.” He shakes his head. “That doesn’t mean I would condemn any men to die by fire. I’ve seen enough of that to last me a lifetime.”

Arya thinks for a moment. “That’s true, I suppose. So then… what is Tyrion right about?”

He exhales. “What am I doing, holed up here while they all fight for the future of Westeros down south? I’ve done unspeakable things for Cersei, and the devastation wrought across Westeros is just as much my fault as hers. And yet here I am, staying out of it and letting her take the fall? I’ve forsaken every vow I’ve ever taken and I don’t know why she thought I could be any different now.”

Arya tilts her head to the side. “You mean Brienne?”

“Of course I mean Brienne.” And his raging emotions are threatening to overwhelm him again. “Maybe Tyrion’s right and I’m wasted here.” He laughs. “Hells, maybe even that damn Targaryen girl is right about me. I do want to do right by Brienne. I do. But… what if I made a mistake. What if I got it all wrong? What if staying away is worse than fighting for something greater?”

A thought dawns on Arya, then. “You don’t want to stay.” And he can feel her withdraw from him, which only makes it all the worse.

“No, Arya. I- Of course I want to stay.” He reaches for her, but she pulls away before he can. “I do. I meant it when I said I would stay with you. I just… what if it was the wrong choice? I… with my family… what if….” He feels his lungs constrict and he can barely see anything in front of him as he tries and fails to take a breath.

Arya steps into him and reaches up to clasp his head between her hands, pulling his gaze back to her’s. “Do you want to leave?” She asks him, her voice level and expression giving nothing away. 

“No,” he says, and it’s the truth.

“Then why do you think you should? Where would you go?”

“I…” he can’t get his thoughts straight. “I don’t know. King’s Landing maybe. With… with Tyrion and your brother. Cersei is there, too. Though she won’t want me either. And I can’t… fight for her after…” he shakes his head “I don’t know. I don’t know.

“What about the Westerlands? That's your home. Wouldn’t you go there?”

He shakes his head. Certainly not that. “They would... only want me to rule there. I've never made a good lord. My cousin… he leads them just fine.”

Arya’s thumb caresses across his cheek, and strangely, the gesture seems to bring everything back into focus. “So what if you stayed?”

He swallows. “I promised Brienne I would stay. I want to do right by that.”

She nods. “You could leave, if that’s what you want. If that’s what you think is best. Or you could keep your promise to Brienne. And to my sister.” She pauses, a moment of hesitation flickering on her face. “And me," she adds quietly. 

Jaime swallows and takes a deep breath, the restriction in his chest easing as he exhales. Arya is looking at him with a calming strength, and Jaime lifts his hand to rest on hers still cupping his cheek. “I’m sorry. I don’t know what…. I apologise for my outburst.”

Arya shrugs. “I’ve had my fair share of those. You helped me through some of them. Figured I could return the favour.” She smiles at him.

Jaime doesn’t even try to fight his smile in return. “If memory serves, those favours usually came with hugs.”

Arya rolls her eyes. “Gods, you’re an idiot.” She shoves him but then steps into him and wraps her arms around him.

Jaime startles, not believing she would actually do it.

He wraps his arms around her in turn, leaning into the embrace as she burrows into his chest.  

 


 

Jaime and Arya return from the Godswood just as the army is ready to leave. Arya stands beside her sister and Jaime decides he may as well take his new post at their backs. 

He meets Tyrion’s gaze and hold it for a long moment. Tyrion hesitates, as if contemplating approaching, but he offers Jaime a nod instead before climbing into the wheelhouse. 

Jaime does not return it. 

“He’ll make it back,” he overhears Sansa say firmly as she slips her hand in Arya’s. “The pack will always survive.”

Jaime wonders if the same could be said for a pride. 

 

 

Notes:

Gods, I’m so sorry. I’ve left quite a bit to unpack this chapter. The old me would have separated it all out into multiple chapters so I could get your thoughts on everything. lol. But I never like lingering for very long in one structural place and, believe it or not, I HAVE an end chapter, and its gaining on me too. lol.

Am I in trouble for the Tyrion stuff? I did leave a few fluffy Jairya moments to help the medicine go down so does that make up for it?

I also switched up how Tyrion learns the truth about Jon because I thought Jaime's thoughtless impulsivity a better motivator for throwing Jon under the bus than Sansa's calculated cruelty. Tyrion might have some scathing thoughts about the future of King's Landing but I think this little truth might wake him up a lil bit. I hope.

I actually nearly cut Jaime’s panic attack but I thought it was important to strengthen his developing feelings for Arya so I kept it in.

Chapter 81: Feelings unfold (when we're alone together)

Summary:

Arya develops a bit of a one-track mind when she's left alone with Jaime.

Notes:

.... I think you're gonna like this one :)

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

 

Jaime should have expected it, really. But when his first shift guarding Lady Stark found him standing by her door through the night, he couldn’t help the snort that escapes him. 

So she does know where Arya has been spending her nights.

That’s the thought that had arisen in his mind when Lady Sansa had sprung the last minute issue on him, anyway.

Sansa must have caught his brief confusion, though, because she’d arched an eyebrow at him. 

‘Will that be a problem, Ser Jaime? I can’t imagine you would have anything better to do tonight?”

Never one to back down from a challenge, he couldn’t help the reflexive, sharp smile that crosses his face as he bows his consent. ‘Not at all, my lady. My will is to serve you.’

Sansa holds his gaze for a long moment. ‘Yes, I’m sure it is,’ she says coolly before returning her attention to other matters.

So that’s how he had found himself standing at relaxed attention by Sansa Stark’s door. And though he believes it a ridiculous assignment, he knows he can’t simply abandon his post without proving Lady Sansa right about whatever point she is trying to make. 

He had not told Arya about the assignment, but of course, she manages to find him anyway. And the second her eyes land on his, she bursts out laughing.

“Is she serious?” She manages to say through her far too gleeful smile for Jaime’s liking.

“Apparently so,” he replies. “I suspect our secret is out, Lady Arya,” he says with a wink.

Arya crosses her arms, raising an eyebrow. “You mean the one about me lying with you every night?” She smirks.

Jaime’s brow shoots up. This is new.

“Lady Arya,” he admonishes playfully, unable to hide his amused grin.

Arya’s eyes widen. “What? Isn’t that what we’re doing?”

He snickers. “What if your sister is awake to hear you say such scandalous things?”

Arya shrugs. “Serves her right for sticking her nose into places she’s not wanted.”

“You tell her, Arya.” She rolls her eyes playfully and they fall into silence for a moment. Arya seems reluctant to leave. “Hey,” he says, touching her shoulder. “Is everything alright?”

Arya gives a small nod. “I think so. It’s just not the same…” her lips twitch in a smile. “…lying without you.”

A gentle laugh escapes him. “I bet it’s not.”

Arya bites her lip with a smile, her face flushing red despite the fact that she started the game this time. It’s interesting. Jaime always figured it’s the concept of bedding in general that has her blushing like a maiden but… perhaps it’s not that alone after all.

“I should go,” she says after a moment. “What if an assassin attacks and you’re distracted talking to me?”

“You’ll kill the assassin and then me, I assume.”

She laughs. “Probably.” She backs away from him with a smile. “I’ll try not to feel too lonely without you,” she says with a teasing lilt.

He shakes his head. “Enjoy your night, Arya,” he calls after her.

“At least one of us will!”

She’s gone then, leaving Jaime chuckling alone. 

He likes this carefree side of Arya. It’s become a rare sight in recent weeks, with all that’s happened.

He hopes this means he’ll see more of it. He feels a lot less weighed down when he’s smiling and laughing with Arya.

Hm.

That’s another interesting thought. But now that he thinks about it, it’s been that way for a while now.

He’d been so consumed with everything else, he hadn’t really noticed it before.

 


 

Jaime hadn’t really expected Arya to sleep in his bed when he’s not there. And yet, when he arrives back in his room after a night of standing guard at Lady Sansa’s door, there he finds her, sound asleep on the side of the bed he usually occupies. 

He smiles at the sight and as quickly as he can manage, changes out of his armour and into his night clothes before slipping into the bed beside her, unable to help himself from nudging her back to her side of the bed.

She stirs when she feels his presence. “Took you long enough,” she mumbles, curling into his chest.

Jaime huffs a laugh. “Did you sleep alright?”

“Not really.”

“You can stay a bit longer if you like. Try and get some now.”

Arya just nods her answer, and Jaime falls asleep with a small smile on his face, that familiar warmth settling in again.

He doesn’t think he’ll ever quite get used to this softer side of Arya, far too used to her sharp edges. But he has to admit, he likes seeing it. It’s a side of her few others get to see.

He likes that thought as well.

 


 

Arya has little to do with herself now that things are settling down around Winterfell. 

Sometimes she visits the soldiers still in recovery from the long night. 

Sometimes she walks among the small folk (or hides in the shadows alongside them), listening out for rumours or important information Sansa might need to know about. She’s not in a position to invite them to her table and listen to their accounts the way her father had, but she can still listen from the shadows.

And sometimes she spars with Jaime, of course. 

Their usual spot had moved from the training yard to the godswood. Jaime gets irritated by the judgmental eyes of the north always watching him and Arya gets annoyed by all the people stopping to watch the hero of winterfell in action. Especially when she’s only just started learning a new sword.

So to the godswood they had migrated. 

Arya always gets this little thrill when she has a sword in hand and something to swing it at. And since she’d started practicing with Jaime’s longsword, the dynamic of their sparring sessions had changed somewhat. Now, Jaime has an active role as a teacher in his own right. He’s good at it. Of course he is.

And Arya likes training with Jaime. She does. But for so long she had been the one with the upper hand over him, and though he had been steadily improving over time, she’d still been confident in her own abilities.

That’s changed now. 

And Arya is starting to get a bit frustrated that she hasn’t beaten him yet. It’s making her sloppier, she knows, but the more she fails, the harder it is to set her frustrations aside and focus on what she’s doing. And she’s tiring faster, and Jaime just keeps giving her the same stupid advice over and over again.

“Keep your sword up,” he tells her for what feels like the hundredth time.

“I am!”

“No, you’re not,” he snickers. He runs his sword along the blade of hers to demonstrate her error.

Arya lifts her sword back into position and Jaime nods.

They resume again. 

“Up, Arya. You’re leaving your defences wide open.” She lashes out at him, but he knocks her blade aside with ease. He steps closer and levels his sword at her throat. “Don’t give me an opening to take your head.”

Arya huffs as she yields. “I’m trying.”

“I know.” He smiles as he drops his sword. “Stop overthinking. You’re not faring nearly as poorly as you think.” He circles around behind her. “You have the right instincts. Sharp reflexes. Your footwork is faultless.” Arya looks up at him as he stops behind her. “Hold this,” he says, passing her his sword, which she takes with a confused furrow of her brow. 

Before she can question it though, he steps in very close to her back and her words die in her throat as he manoeuvres her back into her water-dancing stance. His sudden close proximity throws her a little. She’s not sure why. He’s regularly a lot closer, but this feels… different.

“Remember, you can’t wield a longsword the same way you’ve used Needle,” he says as he adjusts her grip casually. “It’s longer, wider, and heavier, not nearly as nimble as the blade you’re used to.” Arya inhales sharply as his grip on her arm tightens a bit. “And you are a much smaller fighter, so you have to keep your sword-“ he lifts her arm up into the correct position. “Up. Like this.” His hand drifts down to her shoulder. "Does that make sense?”

Still rendered mute, Arya can only manage a nod.

“Good.” Jaime steps away from her and her nerves recede along with his presence. He swipes his sword back from her right hand and moves to face her. “Again?”

Arya takes a deep breath and steadies herself. “Yes.”

She feels herself improving as they practice, and when Jaime tells her so, she can do nothing to stop the fluttery feelings that well up inside her at his praise. His grin. The spark in his green eyes.

Her thoughts are stuck on that moment for the rest of the day.

 


 

Jaime is irritated when he returns from his shift guarding Sansa. That much Arya can see as he rips his sword belt off and throws it on the desk. “You’re here early,” he addresses her with clipped words as he sets about unfastening the straps of his gold hand.

Arya shrugs. “So what?” She moves over to stand by him, taking over unfastening his hand. “You’re in a mood. Has something happened?”

“No. It’s nothing,” Jaime grunts.

Arya sighs as she slides the hand free. 

After a moment Jaime elaborates. “It seems your sister has a watchdog at almost every hour of the day. Does he expect me to draw my sword and cut her down at any moment?”

“Has he said something?”

“No. He’s just-“ Jaime lets out an exhale. “Around, watching, all the time”

“Oh.” Arya laughs. “I don’t think that has anything to do with you. Just ignore him.”

“It feels a little redundant standing there when he’s keeping guard as well, like he doesn’t trust me to carry out my duties properly. I was a Kingsguard. I know what I’m doing.”

Arya sets the hand aside and sits herself on the desk in front of him, rummaging through the little drawer. “So tell him to fuck off. You’re Sansa’s sworn shield, not him.”

Jaime snorts a laugh. “Yes, I’m sure that would go down well.”

Arya shrugs. “Honestly, he’d probably respect you more if you did.” She pulls out a whetstone and reaches for his sword and Jaime’s eyes narrow. 

“What are you doing?”

“It seems like you’re determined to sulk for the rest of the night, so I might as well settle in with something to do in the mean time.”

“I don’t think so.” Before she can pull the sword into her lap, he crowds her at the desk with his arms either side of her, his hand coming to rest on hers clasped around the hilt as he leans in close. “First rule of swordplay, Arya Stark. It’s rude to sharpen another man's sword.”

Arya has to fight to keep the grin off her face. “I thought the first rule was stick him with the pointy end.”

Jaime smirks. “I do believe you’re right.” 

He’s close. Very close. And Arya wonders, just for a moment, if he might kiss her. She’s startled by the thought that she wouldn’t mind it if he did. 

But then he snatches the sword from her hand and moves away, and the warmth in her chest disappears with it. “You have two swords now, Arya. Sharpen your own,” he scolds playfully as he stows the sword back in its place in the closet.

Right. Stupid. Why would he want to kiss you again anyway?

Arya shakes her head to bring herself back into the present moment. “Can we spar again tomorrow?” She changes the subject, hopping down from the desk.

“I don’t see why not. I’ve grown to like defeating you for a change.” He throws her a taunting smirk.

Arya crosses her arms. “I’ll be beating you again soon, don’t you worry,” she promises.

“Yes,” Jaime agrees, rummaging for his sleep clothes. “I’m sure you will.” He turns back around to look at her. “Now, do you intend to stand there and watch me undress?” He raises an eyebrow.

Arya’s not sure whether to laugh or snap at him. A moment ago she’d hoped Jaime might lean in and kiss her, and now she wants to run at the idea of seeing him undress. 

This is getting weird, she think to herself as she makes herself scarce.

 


 

Arya wakes early the next morning, determined to put thoughts of kissing Jaime out of her mind. And the easiest place for her to forget about all that is out in the sparring yard. Or the godswood, as had become her habit with Jaime.

These feelings she’s having around him… they’re more familiar to her now. But she should not be feeling them. And maybe if she’s focused on finally beating Jaime Lannister with her new sword, those feelings might leave her be.

The thought of finally knocking Jaime on his ass with his own sword does appeal to Arya quite a lot, regardless of why she’d suddenly become so determined to do so.

Before Jaime was even close to stirring, she’d run back to her rooms to change into her sparring leathers ready to go, and waits for him outside his room, practically bouncing on the balls of her feet to get out there and get started.

When Jaime does eventually emerge, he takes one look at her and sighs. “Really? Now?

“Come on,” she says with a laugh. “You have to guard my sister later. This is the only time we have to practice.”

“I’ve created a monster,” Jaime mumbles.

Arya just rolls her eyes. “You didn’t create shit. I’m a monster all on my own.”

“Isn’t that the truth,” he mutters, but there’s the trace of a smile twitching at his lips. “Very well, my lady. Lead the way.”

Too wound up to even glare at him for that bloody title, Arya practically beams her smile at him as he falls into step beside her.

Jaime’s brow furrows.

“What?” Arya says.

“I’ve never seen you like this. Is something the matter?”

Arya hums in thought. “Maybe the idea of beating you puts me in a good mood.”

Jaime laughs at that. “I would have thought you’d be used to it by now.”

She looks up at him, then. “This is different.” 

He raises an eyebrow. “How so?”

It’s different because she’s never really had to fight for a win with him before, and the challenge of that excites her more than anything else has in quite a long time. “I’ve never beaten you with your own sword before,” is what she says instead, not daring to admit the truth.

Jaime just snickers as they make their way out to the godswood.

Arya hopes he’s not onto her. 

 


 

Arya does not win. Not that day.

But not once had thoughts of Jaime’s lips crossed her mind, so she decides to take that as a win of its own.

They sparred for a good hour and Jaime had been relentless with his strokes, really putting her through her paces, but it had the desired effect of making her fight harder. Work for it. 

Seven hells, maybe he had known what motivates her after all.

And it had worked. Arya had actually come very close to winning their last round until Jaime had managed to overpower her at the last moment. 

And by the smile on his face as he lets her up, she can see he knows it. “Keep fighting like that and my winning streak won’t last much longer,” he says, helping her to her feet. 

“I’ll fight better than that tomorrow” she says assuredly.

Jaime’s grin softens to a fond smile as he scoops her sword off the ground and hands it back to her. “I look forward to it.” As Arya takes the sword back from him, he holds her gaze for a moment, Arya’s breath hitches, and then he clears his throat and steps away. “I’ll see you later?” 

Arya just nods her answer and he takes his leave off to his duties for Sansa. 

That familiar fluttery feeling resurfaces as she watches him go. And alright, maybe she is thinking about Jaime’s lips now. But not about kissing them. Only that when he smiles at her like that, she feels as though she’s won every match she’s ever fought. 

And she hopes she’ll get to see him smile at her like that again tomorrow. When she beats him.

A smile tugs at her lips as she takes her water-dancing stance and resumes her practice.

 


 

She only happens to be turning down the corridor when she spies Jaime guarding the door to Sansa’s solar. 

He has not noticed her yet.

With a mischievous smile, Arya creeps through the shadows, pulling a knife from her sleeve as she goes. 

She’s so close, she could reach out and touch him, and she adjusts the grip on her knife to catch him unawares-

Jaime’s hand snaps out, catching her’s in a vice like grip. “Playing at being an assassin, are we?” A smug smirk plays at his lips.

Arya huffs as she squirms in his grip. “I am an assassin, you shit. You can let me go now.”

Jaime laughs. “So you can murder my Lady? I think not, faceless girl.”

“Maybe it’s not her on my list.”

He puts a little more pressure on her wrist and Arya is forced to drop her knife. “Is that so?” Then he backs her slowly against the wall. His hand slides up her arm to rest lightly at her neck. “And how is that going for you?” He’s smirking down at her with a raised eyebrow, amusement playing in his eyes as he hold her still.

 Arya’s heart is racing in her chest, but… not from fear. “Maybe I have you right where I want you,” she says boldly. 

“Oh, really? And what is your next move, my captive killer?”

“You know I have more than one knife, right?” She pokes her hidden blade against his abdomen, poised to puncture a lung. “And more than one hand.”

Jaime laughs. “Well played, Arya.”

“You weren’t bad yourself.”

His hand is still resting on her neck. Her blade is still pressed to his torso. And Arya is thinking about Jaime’s lips again. And not just wondering if they’ll crash into hers, but wanting them to. Wanting to feel his lips pressed to hers. His tongue battling her own. His teeth biting down on her lower lip as his hand slides up into her hair and-

Sansa’s door rattles open and Jaime immediately retreats from Arya as she slips her blade back up her sleeve as if she hadn’t just been moments from attempting the fantasy her mind had concocted. 

Sansa steps through the door just as Arya rights her knife and drops her sleeve. She looks surprised to see Arya there, then her eyes drift from Arya to Jaime and back again, mild suspicion entering her gaze. “I hope I’m not interrupting,” she says coolly.

“Not at all, my lady,” Jaime says quickly just as Arya says “I was just passing by.”

“I see,” Sansa says slowly. She turns her attention to Arya. “Is there something you needed of me?” 

“No.” Arya says simply, trying not to let any embarrassment show on her face. 

Sansa straightens her shoulders. “Good.” She turns her attention to Jaime. “I have a meeting with my steward in the library.”

Jaime nods and falls into step behind Sansa.

His gaze flits briefly to Arya. “Lady Arya,” he bids courteously enough, yet Arya does not miss the humour dancing in his eyes as he winks at her before leaving with Sansa.

When they’re gone, Arya lets out a long exhale. 

That had been a very, very close call. 

Kissing Jaime is a bad idea. 

Sure, they’d kissed before. Done much more than just kissed before. But that had been a mistake. A lapse. She shouldn’t want it again.

…. But would it be the worst thing in the world? If he kissed her again?

Despite all of the glaring reasons why they shouldn’t, Arya is stuck hoping he does.

 


 

For the first night since she’d started sharing Jaime's bed, Arya feels too restless to sleep. Normally with him, she doesn’t have much trouble falling asleep at all. Jaime certainly hadn’t, fast asleep beside her, his arms wrapped securely around her as usual. 

It should have been easy enough, but Arya’s mind is on other things.

On other very distracting things about Jaime. 

She’s starting to recognise the things she’s feeling for him. Like how her body reacts to Jaime’s proximity. Or how distracting his vibrant green eyes have become whenever they land on hers. Or how her favourite moments of the day are not actually when she’s sparring with him, but when she’s curled in his arms at night. Just like this.

Jaime makes her feel… safe. She likes that about him. She likes that when his arms are wrapped around her, she doesn’t have to worry about anything else. About Gendry. About Jon. About her future. 

It’s peaceful.

Jaime makes her feel a lot of other things too. Heat in her belly when he levels his sword at her throat with a stupid, smug smirk. Warmth in her chest at his gentler touches. Elation welling inside her whenever she sees him. 

She knows these feelings. Because she’s felt them all before. 

But the fact that she’s feeling them all for Jaime

She doesn’t know what she should do with them all. There’s so many reasons why she shouldn’t be thinking about him touching her, or kissing her, or… anything else.

And as Jaime lies there, fast asleep, completely oblivious to her turmoil,  Arya is stuck wondering if he would even want her in that way.

Probably not, is her answer. 

So there’s no use dwelling on such things in the first place.

It’s all very complicated, that’s all.

 


 

As day breaks, Arya is not sure if she actually slept or not. All she remembers is lying awake thinking about Jaime. Whether she got any sleep in between any of that, she can’t be sure.

It’s funny, really. When she first started sharing a bed with Jaime, it was because the comfort of having him there distracted her from other, darker thoughts. But now Jaime is the distracting thought keeping her awake.

Arya can’t help it. She snorts a little laugh thinking about it.

Jaime stirs beside her, his arm constricting tighter around her as he wakes, slowly opening his eyes. 

His green eyes meet hers and he blinks a few times before his lips curl in a sleepy smile. “Were you laughing at me, Arya Stark?”

Arya breaks eye contact, suddenly finding herself unable to hold his gaze. “Yes,” she lies. “You are very amusing.”

Jaime quirks a lazy eyebrow. “You know. You used to be a better liar than that.”

Arya frowns. “I’m not lying.”

Jaime laughs and pulls her in closer. “Liar,” he whispers, so close to her ear his breath tickles her skin and Arya feels her pulse quicken at the feeling. Before she can think of a retort, he presses his lips to her forehead in a quick kiss and rolls away onto his back as if he’d never been there.

Arya is stuck on that quick kiss. Had he even registered what he’d just done? Well, a forehead kiss is nothing, isn’t it, so maybe not. Jon used to kiss her forehead. Her father used to kiss her forehead. Jaime probably didn’t mean anything by it. 

But somehow, that idea hurts more. 

“I should go,” Arya says, a dejected quality colouring her flat tone as she sits up to leave. 

Jaime’s brow furrows. “Is something wrong?”

“No.” She slips out of the bed, reaching for her boots and tugging them on her feet. 

“Arya. Talk to me.”

“I just said nothing’s wrong.” She pads to the door, unable to even look at him.

Jaime sighs. “Are we sparring today?” He calls after her.

“Yes. The usual place.”

Then she shuts the door behind her.

Stupid, Arya.

She is quick to change into her sparring leathers and make her way out to the godswood. She needs time to work off her mood before Jaime gets here if she has any hope of winning today.

 


 

Arya has a thought. And it’s a dangerous one, too. 

The thing about practicing is that it always helps clear her mind and think things through properly.

And so she is now absolutely of the mind that she completely overreacted this morning. It’s so silly, worrying over what a kiss means. Seven hells!

Yes, she is still a little stung that Jaime’s kisses all appear to be thoughtless gestures while she is still stuck wanting him to kiss her for true. And yes, that thought is still quite terrifying.

But surely Jaime wouldn’t have done it at all if he didn’t like kissing her. Even if it was just a forehead kiss. A familial gesture.

This is where the dangerous thought had sprung from.

Because… If Jaime likes kissing her forehead…. Then maybe he might like kissing other parts of her too. He’d certainly seemed to like kissing her the night she had lain with him for true. She could blame it on the wine, she supposes. It has a way of clouding people’s judgment, after all.

But…

What if it wasn’t just the wine?

Anyway, this is what she had been in the middle of pondering when Jaime arrives.

He cocks an eyebrow when he stops in the clearing. “Have you been out here long?” He asks curtly.

“Yes,” Arya admits, dropping her form to face him.

Jaime unsheathes his sword and starts circling around her, adjusting his grip and twirling his sword in his hand as he goes. “Are you feeling better?” Another curt question.

“Yes,” she says again. “I’m sorry. For this morning.”

Jaime doesn’t acknowledge that and instead lashes out with a strike that she quickly evades and diverts. 

“Good,” Jaime says, and whether its in response to her feeling better, her apology, or her defense, Arya doesn’t know. “You won’t win if your mind is elsewhere.”

Arya smirks up at him. “Don’t worry. My mind is entirely focused on knocking that sword out of your hand.”

He laughs and backs off, returning to circling around her, Arya mirroring the movement. “I’m glad to hear it.” His posture relaxes as he slides into position, beginning their match for true.

Arya’s blood sings as they revert back to their familiar dynamic. 

She’s still not sure what to do about the whole kissing thing, but at least when it comes to sparring, she knows exactly what she wants.

 


 

Most days, they only spar for about an hour before Jaime has other duties to see to, but today they surely must be going much longer than that. Arya has lost track, focused as she is on the fight. They stop a few times for a break but each time Arya is eager to get back to it and Jaime seems in the mood to indulge her, because he agrees every time without a second thought and back into the fight they go.

Arya feels herself improving with every match, and that only spurs her on to keep going. And the harder and better she fights, the bigger the smile on Jaime’s face grows as she matches his hits and evades his blows.

“Finally, you’re making me work for it,” he taunts with a teasing smile as he only just manages to evade her own attack. 

He’s only goading her, she knows, so instead of giving him the retort he’s looking for, she just hits out at him again and this time he blocks it, pushing her backwards with the force. 

“Come on, I know you can do better than that,” he goads her again, And Arya narrows her eyes. He’s underestimating her, she can tell. And he’s overconfident now too, cocky and stupid, his guard way down.

Seeing her opening, Arya feigns right and when Jaime goes to block her, she twirls around to strike at his left side, whacking his leathers with the flat of her sword and kicking out at his knee. As Jaime stumbles and tries to right himself, Arya easily knocks his sword away with a swift, hard strike, sending it skating across the ground.

When he straightens to his knees, Arya’s sword is at his throat, and she’s smirking at him victoriously. 

“I win.”

 


 

They’ve been in this position before, Arya recalls. Jaime on his knees before her, her weapon at his neck. And just like that time, Arya is drawn to thinking about his lips on hers. It had been a startling thought then, because she did not know what it might feel like and was scared to find out.

This time, though…

Jaime is smiling up at her as if he’d just won instead of her, amusement sparkling in his green eyes. “Not bad, faceless girl.”

…. Fuck it.

She drops her sword, steps in close to him and leans down to him, capturing his lips in a confident kiss.

Jaime is frozen for only a moment, clearly taken by surprise at her sudden impulse, and when his lips open with a sharp inhale, Arya slips her tongue between his lips brushing against his and deepening the kiss as she wraps her arms around his neck and draws him in closer.

And then Jaime wraps his right arm around her, pulling her flush against him, and returns the kiss, sucking her bottom lip between his teeth as he guides her down to straddle his lap. A little moan escapes her, as his hand clamps down on her waist, holding her in place as they kiss each other slowly.

When they break apart, she’s breathing heavily as he smiles at her. “What was that for?” He asks, still not letting her go.

“I just wanted to.” And her nerves return as she wonders if he might still reject her. “Should I not have?” She adds, keeping her tone confident, despite her doubts.

“Probably,” Jaime says before he leans in and kisses her again. Elation wells up in Arya as she presses into his chest and returns the kiss enthusiastically, biting down on his lip and eliciting a groan from him as his hand on her waist tightens its hold.

Arya had been worried he might not want her like this. That the first time they’d kissed and more, the wine had addled his senses enough to not care about her faults. Next to Cersei Lannister, thought of as the most beautiful woman in Westeros, who would ever spare a glance for Arya horse-face?

But those doubts fly from her mind when evidence to the contrary presses between her legs as she feels him harden beneath her, and she groans as she grinds into it on instinct.

Jaime inhales sharply and breaks the kiss. “Arya,” he breathes out between heavy breaths. “We should stop.”

Or maybe not. 

She sighs. “Right” She brushes his hand away from her and gets to her feet. “Of course. Sorry.” She takes a step to retrieve her sword when she is jerked back into Jaime as his hand encircles her wrist and pulls her into him. “You don’t have to-“ he cuts her off with a firm kiss, stilling her words and making her forget what she was about to say entirely.

He breaks the kiss gently. “Don’t mistake me. It’s taking quite a lot of restraint not to throw you down on your godswood floor and have my way with you.”

Heat rushes through Arya at the words. At the low growl of his tone. “Oh.”

“Yes.” He smiles. “Oh. So none of that hiding yourself.” He kisses her again. 

Arya sighs as he trails kisses down her neck. “Jaime?” 

“Mm?” 

“Is this another lapse?”

He laughs as he pulls back from her neck to look into her eyes. “You tell me, Arya. It’s difficult to think straight with a beautiful woman grinding on my cock.”

She flushes red as heat pools in her lower belly and she buries her head in Jaime’s chest to hide her reaction from him. “Stop being stupid,” she mumbles.

Arya.” He gently slides her off his lap. ”There. Thinking clearly.” He bring his hand up to cup her cheek. “It’s taken quite a lot of restraint not to kiss you for some time now,” he says.

Arya bites her lip. So she wasn’t imagining it. “Why didn’t you?”

“I’ve learned kissing Stark girls is hazardous to my jaw. And being the disgraced, old, one-handed knight that I am, this flawless jawline is one of the few things I’ve still got going for me.”

Arya punches his shoulder lightly. He never takes anything seriously, she grumbles privately. “We should go now,” she says out loud, the spell well and truly broken as she gets to her feet. “You’re late for guarding my sister.”

Jaime lets out an exasperated groan. “Do you know how hard its going to be guarding Sansa Stark after I’ve just had her sister’s tongue down my throat?”

Arya scoffs. “You used to guard a king while secretly fucking his queen who happened to be your twin sister.”

He blinks. “Good point,” he says, slowly getting to his feet. “However, I don’t think I’ll be feeling nearly so smug in this instance.”

“I’m sure you’ll manage.”

“Perhaps,” Jaime says as he scoops up her sword before she can. He holds it out to her, not yet letting go when she clutches it. “But if any assassins sneak past my watch to murder your sister, it’ll be your fault for making it so hard in the first place.”

That heat pools in Arya’s belly again as she snatches the sword away from him. “I’m regretting kissing you now.”

Jaime laughs as he retrieves his own sword. “Liar,” he throws back at her.

“Nope. Truth. You’re an idiot.”

Jaime just smirks as he sheathes his sword and runs a hand through his hair, as if fixing it. 

Arya rolls her eyes as she adjusts her own sword. 

“Arya,” Jaime calls to her, getting her attention. He waits for her to look at him before continuing. “Well fought today,” he says with a smile.

Arya’s heart flutters at his praise. “You’re not a bad teacher, either.”

When Jaime takes his leave of the godswood, Arya watches him go. 

She allows herself a small smile.

 


 

Notes:

Okay so I had a different end point in mind when I was drafting this chapter, but once I'd fleshed it all out and finished the kissing scene I thought it a better natural end point than... uh, well you'll see when you read the next chapter.

And also because it turned out to be really, really long, and because it's me, I couldn't just have them kiss without working up to it a lil bit ya know?

Chapter 82: So it goes...

Summary:

And all the pieces fall right into place

Notes:

Anyway, here's the chapter you've all been waiting for. You're welcome :)

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

 

Jaime had only been half serious about being too distracted by Arya’s unexpected kiss to carry out his duties properly. Really, he’d been aiming to get another rise out of her. He simply finds her reactions far too amusing to help himself. And he’d take her flustered, snappy reactions over her closed off mask any day.

But now he does actually find himself distracted by the incident. He’s honestly still a little stunned it had happened at all. Pleasantly stunned. More often than he’d dare admit, he had considered throwing caution to the wind and claiming Arya’s lips with his own. Feeling her heart beat against his chest, letting him know she’s real and here with him. He finds he can’t get enough of the warmth in his chest that Arya’s presence and touch provides.

He had not believed Arya would want that intimacy though. The panic in her eyes when she’d woken up naked beside him is still fresh in his mind and he’d feared if he gave into his newfound desire to feel her lips on his own, he would scare her away again.

And then she had kissed him first.

A laugh escapes him at the thought. 

This, of course, gets Sansa’s attention.

She raises an eyebrow at him. “Is something wrong, Ser?”

“No, my lady. Ignore me.”

Her lips thin but she follows his advice. 

Jaime returns to thinking about Arya.

Gods, he can’t get her out of his head. That smile on her face when she’d won their match. The look in her eyes just before she’d kissed him. Her eager little tongue slipping into his mouth as she ground against his cock, all but begging him to slide inside her cunt.

He shakes his head, trying to rid himself of the thoughts. Could be potentially dangerous thinking such things about Arya Stark. No matter how he’d wanted it in the moment. 

As he brings himself back to the present, he feels eyes on him.

The Hound’s.

“Got a problem, Clegane?” He drawls.

“Damn right, I do. Pull your head our of your ass and do your job.”

Jaime narrows his eyes. “Excuse me?”

“Can’t guard the Lady of Winterfell if your head’s elsewhere. Get it together.”

Jaime rolls his eyes. “My head’s fine, thanks, Clegane. I’m perfectly capable of doing my duty.”

“Yeah. I bet you are,” Clegane says, taking a step closer. “I know where your head’s at. And I know where you wish it was. Maybe you swore to the wrong Stark girl.”

Jaime snorts a laugh. “Arya doesn’t need anyone to protect her.”

“I know. That’s the only reason you’re still walking.”

Jaime is left hoping Sansa wasn’t listening in on any of that. By the way she keeps glancing at him out of the corner of her eye as they make their way through the grounds, he is guessing she was absolutely listening.

“Have you got something to say?” He asks pointedly, his irritation with her getting the better of him.

Sansa is silent for a moment as she studies him. “What is she to you?”

Jaime blinks. “What?”

“Arya. What is she to you? Is she an amusement to play with? A way to pass the time? A key to the north, perhaps?”

Jaime bristles at the insinuations. “I assure you, it’s nothing of the sort.”

“Then, please, tell me what it is like. I confess, it doesn’t make much sense to me why someone with your… history would genuinely enjoy the company of your enemy’s daughter.”

Jaime does NOT want to be talking about this with Sansa Stark. “It really isn’t any of your business.”

“Oh? Arya is my sister. My family. You’ll find I’m quite protective of the ones I have left. I say that does make your intentions my business.”

He hesitates to answer. This conversation is making him rather visibly uncomfortable. “I’m not entirely sure,” he settles on. “You already know I’m not exactly fond of Starks and I won’t bother pretending otherwise.” Then he shrugs. “Arya has become an exception, apparently. Being openly disparaged everywhere I go grows rather tiring after a while. I don’t expect that to change, but it is nice not having to worry about that with her. She makes the north tolerable, at least.” He pauses, hesitating. “I like spending time with her,” he admits. “Things are… easier when she’s around.”

Sansa is watching him carefully and it takes all of his training as a kingsguard not to squirm under her gaze. “She cares for you,” she says at last.

He diverts his gaze. “I know. I care for her. The last thing I want is to hurt her.”

“I’m afraid I am not as trusting of men’s intentions as I once was. You’ll have to forgive me if I’m suspicious of yours.”

Jaime sighs. “Yes, you’ve had rather poor luck in that regard, haven’t you.” He contemplates his next words, unsure of the best way to assuage the girl’s worries when she seems to have already made her mind up about him. “I’ve never cared for power or politics, Lady Stark. So I’m not after your sister’s name or status. It’s not a trick. I’m not manipulating her. I’m not playing with her either.” He pauses. “Not in a malicious nature anyway.” He allows a small smirk, to which Sansa rolls her eyes at in an eerily similar expression to her sister.

He hesitates again as he is about to stray into a territory he has never been comfortable talking about. “As a kingsguard, I was forced to stand outside Rhaella Targaryen’s door while she was frequently raped by the mad king, unable to stop it because I’d sworn to obey the king above all else. And then I killed that king. If anyone were to attempt hurting Arya in that way, or you for that matter, I would run them through without a second thought. That I can promise you.”

In a rare occurrence, it is Sansa who diverts her gaze, a hint of emotion flickering in her eyes as she looks away. “Most men would not bother.”

“I am not most men. I have little patience for senseless cruelty.”

Sansa is quiet for a moment before she speaks. “Perhaps you are right, Ser. For Arya’s sake, I hope she is right to trust you.”

She ends her questioning of him there, returning her attention to other matters, and Jaime is left with her words to ponder. 

He wants to prove himself here, as he has in Arya’s eyes. He’s just not entirely sure he’s deserving of it.

 

 


 

Arya tries to keep herself busy through the day with various tasks. She’d sparred with Podrick for a bit, even used a blunted practice blade about the same size as her new one to get some experience fighting someone else.

She’d scouted Winterfell’s defences for a bit. Checked on the small folk who had moved back to their homes in Wintertown. 

For the most part, she’d spent her hours trying NOT to dwell on that kiss.

But it’s quite difficult to ignore when she still feels her skin tingling where he’d touched her, as if he’s still kissing her and holding her and touching her. 

She warns herself that she has to tread carefully. She can’t be so careless with her desires as she has been. What if she attempts something more only for him to leave or die or reject her? In the grand scheme of things, she hadn’t really known Jaime all that long. What if it's all temporary and he gets bored and moves on? She doesn’t want to try crossing that line if it’s not going to last.

And so often these things never last. So many people in her life have either walked out of it, died, or betrayed her. She hopes Jaime does not follow this pattern but… she can’t be certain. And the uncertainty scares her.

That being said…

It had been a really good kiss. It feels good whenever she feels him on her skin, actually.

Whenever she feels his touch, it seems to banish all her other worries and all she sees is him. Is it so bad if she leans into it while she has it? 

And maybe… maybe if he likes it as much as she does, it might be enough for him to want to stay in her life, beyond his duty to Sansa and Brienne, simply because he likes her.

It’s a big maybe, she supposes. It’s one thing to declare he wants her when she’s pressed up against him, and quite another when they’re not too distracted by each other’s touch to think clearly. He might have changed his mind. He might think she’s not worth the trouble. There’s a possibility of all these rejections.

But the more Arya dwells on this, the more she decides there’s really only one way to find out. If he accepted her kisses so easily, maybe he’ll accept the rest of her as well. 

And even if he is having second thoughts…. Maybe she can convince him otherwise. 

Sometimes she’s rather good at convincing people.

As day wanes and she crosses through the courtyard, she spies the Hound there, sitting and sharpening his sword.

He pauses in his work when he sees her. “Careful, girl,”  is all he says, and Arya has no idea what that’s supposed to mean. He can’t possibly know where her head is at. 

“I always am,” she counters as she continues on her way.

It’s a lie, though.

She’s had quite enough of being careful.

 


 

Jaime is sitting at the edge of his bed, fiddling with the straps of his golden hand, when Arya arrives. He looks up when he notices her there. Some of her thoughts must be showing on her face because he sits up a little straighter, raising an eyebrow at her as she hovers where she stands.

“That’s a dangerous look,” he says in that low tone that twists her insides.

“Is it?”

“Mm.”

Arya crosses the room to stand before him, trying to feign the confidence she lacks in this area. “I am a dangerous person, so I’m told.”

Jaime’s lips quirk in a barely there grin. “That you are.” There’s tension in his neck as he swallows the lump in his throat.

She tries to gather her courage. You’ve already kissed him once today. He seemed to like it then. You can do it again. 

She rests her hands on his shoulders and leans in to his lips, kissing him softly this time, almost tentatively. Jaime returns the kiss but he doesn’t linger. “Arya,” he breathes out softly. “It’s a bad idea,” he cautions her, his voice slightly strained with the words.

“I don’t care,” she says, moving to sit herself atop his lap. “I like how you kissed me.” She reaches for his hand, clasping it in hers and guiding it to cup her cheek. “And I like when you touch me.” Jaime’s hand slides down her neck and she leans into his touch. “Every day hurts, Jaime. Worrying about Jon hurts. Thinking about Gendry and my family hurts. Living in the home they cannot return to hurts. It hurts to move, to breathe. The only time it doesn’t hurt is when I’m here with you.” She dares to look him in the eye. “So much of our lives feels horrible. Why shouldn’t we feel the good things too?”

And that seems to snap the resolve in Jaime as he captures her lips in a searing kiss, wrapping an arm around her waist and pulling her closer. Arya gasps at the suddenness of the movement and Jaime slips his tongue between her lips as she wraps her arms around his neck, wanting to feel him everywhere.

Jaime hardens beneath her. A moan escapes her lips as she rocks her hips into his. He, in turn, grips her tight and rolls her down onto the bed, pinning her beneath him. His hand slips beneath her tunic, running across her bare skin. Arya inhales sharply, pressing insistently into his touch.

“Aren’t you receptive,” he purrs as his hand roves her skin. “Remind me, Arya. Weren’t you rather against the idea of fucking me again?” The whispered words ghost across her lips with his breath and she presses to close the distance between them. Jaime restrains her with a teasing smirk. 

She whines in protest. “That was before,” she huffs, frustrated with her failure to reach his lips.

Jaime tilts his head to the side, amusement sparkling in his eyes. “Before what?”

“Before I changed my mind!”

“Whatever could have happened to change your mind so suddenly” He teases, humour lacing his tone.

Arya tries to kiss him, but he holds her firmly in place. “Please, Jaime,” she whines.

He smirks as he leans into her, nuzzling her neck instead. The brief flash of disappointment disappears when he sucks an insistent kiss to her nape instead.

And the way he’s touching her is strange. Deliberate. He runs a hand down her arm and it trails to her waist and down and around her thigh, pressing into her skin, feeling for something.

“What are you doing?” Arya says with a giggle in her voice as his hand continues it’s exploration.

“Looking for your knives, dangerous girl” he answers simply, capturing her lips again as if to distract her.

Arya breaks away from the kiss. “Well, I’m not wearing them now.” An undeterred Jaime trails kisses down her neck instead and she leans into the feel of it. “Do you think I just wear knives to bed?”

Jaime looks up at her then, pausing in his movements. “Do you?” He asks with a raised eyebrow.

Arya bites her lip. “One,” she admits, and Jaime’s lips quirk in a smirk before he resumes what he was doing, nipping at her neck while his hand moves down her back and along her waist. “But I’m not…” She gasps when he sucks a bruising kiss to her neck. “I’m not wearing it right now.”

“Well you’re no fun.” He grumbles. “Why not?” He quirks a curious brow.

“Because.” She gathers her courage. “I’d hoped you would fuck me.” His eyes darken at her words. “I didn't want it getting in the way.”

Arya inhales sharply as his hand slips beneath her waistband, gliding down between her legs. “Say it again, Arya,” he says in a low, growling tone. 

Frustrated with his games, Arya grips his head with her hands and brings his lips crashing down to hers, kissing him furiously as he huffs a laugh at her efforts. She breaks the kiss with a moan when his fingers delve into her dripping heat. “Please, Jaime,” she repeats, smiling at the way his nostrils flare as she says it. “Fuck me.”

The dangerous glint flares in Jaime’s eyes as he rears up, pushing her further up the bed and ripping her shirt off over her head. He captures her lips, kissing her furiously as Arya fumbles with the drawstring of his trousers, pushing them down. Jaime kisses her neck, and her shoulder, and he fumbles with the fastenings of her breastband as he rips it apart and kisses the skin between her breasts. Arya arches up to him, ridding herself of her breeches before pushing him back and climbing onto his lap. Jaime grips her hip hard as she sinks down onto him and loses herself in him once again.

And true to her word, in this moment, with Jaime, she doesn’t feel any hurt at all.

 

 

 

 


 

 

 

 

When Arya wakes with an unmistakably naked body pressed up against her, she instinctively stiffens. 

And only relaxes when her brain catches up with her senses.

She barely feels the guilt that had slammed into her the last time she was in this position. She doesn’t regret it at all. She even feels slightly giddy thinking on it.

Jaime seemed to like it too.

She wonders if he might have regrets when he wakes. He'd been eager enough last night, but... well, these things could change.

She shifts to move away from him, but his arms constrict around her, telling her that he is already awake.

“Good morning” he rumbles, nuzzling into her neck. 

Oh. This is… different.

“What are you doing?” She mumbles out.

Jaime hums as he places a kiss to her neck. “Simply enjoying the feeling of waking up with a beautiful woman in my arms.”

“Get off me.” She nudges him with her elbow. While she does like these gentler touches, she is still unused to the fluttery feelings that come with it. Flowery words only make it worse.

Jaime chuckles and pulls her in closer instead. “Is it not you who climbs into my bed, Lady Arya? How very improper,” he tuts.

“I’ll go somewhere else then!”

“No, don’t. I’ve found I rather like waking up beside you. Waking up with anyone is a rather new feeling.”

She frowns. “That’s a terrible lie, Jaime. Everyone from here to Essos knows about you and Cersei.”

“In Essos? Truly?” He sounds far more amused than she thinks he should be.

“There are entire plays about the two of you over there.”

“Of course there are,” he says rather flippantly. “In any case; no, Lady Arya, I’ve never stayed the night in Cersei’s bed. Not since we were children anyway, but it’s really not the same… Well, actually it’s not too far off if we’re getting technical.” She could practically hear his grin.

She elbows him in the gut for that but he only chuckles behind her. 

“You seriously never stayed with her?” He had so readily agreed to Arya sleeping with him, she assumed he was used to having someone there.

“It was supposed to be a secret, Arya. It wouldn’t have stayed that way for long if the maids happened upon me sleeping there.” The coarse hair of his beard scratches her skin as he kisses her neck almost absentmindedly. “No,” he continues, that smirk still present in his tone. “It was always hard and fast with her, fucking like rabbits in secret hideaways, lest we be discovered.” 

His words send a familiar heat coursing through her and she pushes him away. “Fuck off,” she says, though she fights down a laugh at the absurdity. 

“Hmm, close,” he mutters pulling her in tighter.

Arya lets out an embarrassing giggle as his beard scratches the skin of her neck. “Jaime! Stop being stupid!”

Jaime laughs but lets her go, rolling onto his back. “Very well.” He waves her away. “Off with you before I change my mind and decide to keep you here forever.” 

She sits up, glaring at him suspiciously. “Why are you in such a strange mood?”

“You bring it out in me, I suppose.”

He smiles at her and Arya rolls her eyes. “You’re an idiot.”

“If you say so, my lady,” he says cheerfully.

Arya fights down a snappy retort as she gets out of bed to scoop her clothes up off the floor and start dressing. A retort would only please him more anyway. “Besides,” she says. “How is our sneaking around any different from you and Cersei? Would you prefer the maids to happen upon me in your bed?”

He scoffs. “You are not my twin sister, thank the gods, nor am I committing treason by lying with the queen. It’s entirely different.”

“My brother is the king in the north.”

“Fair point, Princess Arya.” 

She spins around to glare at him only to find his eyes drawn to her hands currently finishing tying off her breast band. “What?” She says.

That seems to shake Jaime out of his distracted state. “Nothing,” he says as his gaze meets hers.“Come here.”

Arya blinks. “Why?”

“Because I asked?”

She snorts. “That was not asking.”

He rolls his eyes. “Princess Arya, would you please come here so I don’t have to leave this warm and comfy bed?”

“No.” And she smirks at him. “If you want it that badly you should come to me.”

Jaime laughs once. “Well if you insist,” he says before tossing the covers aside and rising to stand, still very much naked. 

Oh.

“What are you doing?” She blurts quickly as he stoops to pick her tunic up off the ground and hands it to her. Arya swallows, trying very hard to keep her eyes on his face as she takes it hesitantly. 

Then he reaches out to brush his hand over her cheek. “This is not the same as me and Cersei. It wouldn’t be ideal if the entire castle found out, of course, but what are they going to do if they do?” He runs his hand down her arm to clasp her hand in his. “I have the fiercest protector in Westeros in my corner. I think I’m safe from losing my head for being found with you.”

Arya can’t help the small smile at his words. “I suppose you do have a point.”

“I do, don’t I.” He raises her hand to his lips with his usual stupid smirk before pressing a kiss to the back of it.

All these fluttery feelings flare up at the gesture and Arya yanks her hand away. “You should get dressed,” she mutters.

Jaime laughs and turns to find his own clothes while Arya finishes dressing herself, trying to ignore the heat coursing through her and the fluttering in her chest.

She doesn’t even bother trying to hide her smile, though.

She could live forever in moments like this.

 

 

Notes:

...yyyeahh I might be pushing the boundaries of that mature rating with this one. lol.

Anywya, What did you guys think of this one? I know, I know, the big thing is OBVIOUSLY when Sansa begins to accept that there might be more to Jaime Lannister after all, and-

Oh, what’s that?

Yeah, alright, I suppose the sex stuff is pretty good too ;)

Ugh. They're both such dorks.

Poor Arya, tho. That girl is so in love but not ready to admit it yet. But at least she’s stopped running from it so that’s something :)

Chapter 83: Bury the guilt in her touch

Summary:

Jaime has a lot to unpack as things get serious with Arya. He begins to crack under the weight of his burdens.

Notes:

(….. yeah, okay, I updated the rating just to be safe. More on that at the end.)

So…

Okay, so this chapter is like….

You know that episode of Bridgerton where Simon and Daphne are… hm.

and a random strings cover of Taylor Swift’s Wildest Dreams is playing in the background somewhere while they

You know what, never mind, you’ll get it ;)

But, like, with typical stray lion angst woven into the background instead of wildest dreams.

Jaime’s repressing some feelings so… brace yourselves. He IS happy with Arya, he’s just not happy with himself :(

… for some reason I’m the most nervous about sharing this one. lol.

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

 

Jaime should probably be feeling guilty for lying with Arya yet again. The first time, he could certainly blame on the wine, but what excuse could he make this time? 

He could blame it all on Arya, he supposes. 

She’s the one who came to me, kissed me and begged me to fuck her. Who am I to refuse?

Well, he supposes he could have, but… Why should he?  

And she had made a compelling case. Why not seize the opportunity to feel the good amongst the bad? And he really can’t resist her when she’s looking at him like that. He doesn’t want to either.  He can’t get enough of the the way she seeks out his touch.

He’s missed the feeling of being wanted. And for no other reason than she enjoys his company. 

So he simply can’t bring himself to feel bad for lying with Arya.

He does feel guilty, just… not for the bedding part.

Instead his thoughts are consumed with his terrible secret.

She trusts you.

He wants to push these thoughts out of his mind and focus on what he has now, but… he just can’t shake it.

What if I just didn’t tell her?

It would be easier if he didn’t. She could go on trusting him, believing in him for the man he is now instead of by his past self. But… 

Arya’s trust is such a precious thing. Given to so few people, and yet she’d given it to him. Brienne would probably call it an abuse of that trust, to not tell her. Arya trusts him without knowing all the facts.

He sighs, running a hand through his hair and fidgeting with discomfort over all these thoughts. 

Things were so much simpler when I didn’t care about any of this.

 


 

They don’t fuck again the next night, and Jaime feels a strange tension leave him when Arya doesn’t even ask him for it. And not because he’s opposed to fucking her again. Not at all. It’s simply that… well, he’s not really sure what.

But the night after Arya had kissed him and straddled him and pleaded with him to fuck her, she seems to be content to just… lie with him - and not in that way -  But simply to be held in his arms.

It catches him off guard and it takes a moment for Jaime to relax his arms around her. If this had been Cersei, she would have immediately demanded his touch and his cock. It makes him uncomfortable to realise he had been expecting Arya to do the same, and that he had been apprehensive of such an occurrence. 

She hadn’t though, curling into his chest as usual instead.

And Jaime feels… relieved.

He shudders with repressed emotion.

He hadn’t felt apprehensive when Cersei sought him out, of course, far too wrapped up in his own feelings to pay it any mind. In fact, more often than not he had been the initiator, desperate to feel her around him. But gods, had he ever just held Cersei without fucking her first? When they were too young to really know what they were doing, perhaps. These gentle touches he’d been experiencing with Arya were almost entirely absent from his relationship with Cersei. It hadn’t bothered him then, but it does now.

He shakes his head, trying to rid himself of these thoughts.

I should not be comparing Arya to Cersei. 

This is not the same thing. Arya is not his other half. He doesn’t crave her to feel whole. She’s simply…

Arya. 

And then the storm hits.

 


 

The castle is flung into a flurry of activity preparing everyone to take shelter indoors for what the maester reports will be several days of raging snow. Lady Stark is a paragon of leadership, making sure everyone is equipped with what they need. Jaime is by her side for some of it, but with the Hound lingering nearby at all times, he often finds his presence superfluous and retires to his own devices. 

And as the storm arrives, he finds himself growing restless, stuck indoors without a true purpose to fulfill. 

This is how he returns to his chambers to find Arya already there, lounging at his desk with her feet propped up. 

“What are you doing here?” 

“I’m bored. There’s nothing to do indoors.”

He raises an eyebrow. “And you think I can help with that? Do I look like a jester to you?”

“Sometimes.” She smirks. 

He crosses the room to stand before her, resting his hands on the armrests and smirking when her cheeks flush pink at his proximity. “And just how are you expecting me to entertain you, my lady?”

She inhales sharply. “Well, right now I’m thinking you could fuck me again.”

He snorts a laugh. “Bold one, aren’t you.”

“Why shouldn’t I be? We’ve already done it before. You seemed to like it too.”

He shakes his head with a rueful smile. “You’re a bad influence, do you know that?”  He pulls away from her and rests his hips on the desk behind him as he fiddles with the fastenings of his golden hand. “I should stop keeping you around if you only plan to lure me to your bed.”

“We’re in your chambers,” she points out helpfully. 

He levels her a look as he removes the gold hand, unable to stifle the relieved exhale when the metal leaves his skin. 

Arya watches the movements with curiosity. “It’s hurting again,” she notes, saying it like a statement and yet he hears the question in there all the same.

He shrugs. “The usual mild irritation. Nothing to worry about.”

“I’m not worried.”

He smiles. “Of course not.”

Arya stands, then, and moves to sit on the desk beside him, taking his stump between her hands and gently removing the thin fabric meant to cushion the metal from his skin but is all but useless in the cold. He tenses as her fingers brush over the bare skin. Arya is more familiar with seeing his stump than anyone else in his life, but he can’t stop himself from tensing whenever she touches it. It’s a vulnerability he is still getting used to. 

“You know you don’t have to keep doing that” He says, unable to help himself.

She looks up at him with confusion. “Keep doing what?”

He shrugs. “Holding it like that. Doesn’t it repulse you?”

Arya runs a thumb over the skin tinged red with inflammation from the cold metal. “Why would I be repulsed by it? It’s just a missing hand. You’re the one stupid enough to wear a metal hand in the middle of the North. I’m trying to help.”

“But I’m not whole without it. I’m not… me.”

Arya studies him for a moment, clearly confused by his words, and indeed he’s wishing he could take them back right now.

Then a thought seems to occur to her. “Did Cersei say that to you?”

He looks away, suddenly feeling the need to leave. He resists the impulse. “Not in so many words,” he mutters, still feeling the pathetic instinct to defend his sister, though it’s a weak attempt. 

A spark of indignation flares in Arya’s eyes as she looks back down to his stump, steadfastly avoiding looking at him. “Cersei was cruel to everyone. Even you, it seems. I don’t know why you loved her.”

“Arya.”

“Sorry. It’s true though. There’s nothing wrong with you, Jaime. If anything, it’s made you better.”

He prickles at the words. “I’m only half the fighter I was, and that’s being generous. I wouldn’t call that better.”

She shrugs. “You’re improving at that too. Even when I’m using Needle, I don’t beat you nearly as much as I used to.” A smirk plays at her lips. “And I would never let you win.”

Jaime looks up at the ceiling, unable to stop the smile from spreading. “I’m relieved to hear it.”

When he returns his gaze to her’s, a gentle wave of warmth envelopes him again at the softness in her eyes and then something in her expression shifts.

“Jaime,” she says quietly.

“Mm?” Is all he can manage, distracted as he is by her piercing grey eyes.

“We really don’t have much else to do,” she murmurs.

Jaime only just manages to huff a laugh before she leans into him and presses her lips to his, and as she parts her lips to brush her tongue against his own, Jaime is unable to contain the moan that escapes him at the simple, gentle gesture and he deepens the kiss as he wraps his arms around her, pulling her in closer and lifting her up into his arms. Arya bites his lips and he growls as he stands to move them over to the bed, dropping her without much ceremony. 

“How long is this storm supposed to last, again?” He asks, kicking off his boots as Arya shrugs out of her doublet and tosses her tunic aside.

“I’m not sure.” She shifts up onto her knees to meet him at the end of the bed, making quick work of the fastenings of his coat and his doublet. “A few days maybe?”

“How dreary,” he drawls, brushing his hand down her cheek as he captures her lips in a lingering kiss. “No wonder you need me to keep you entertained.”

Arya smiles a mischievous smile. “It’s not as though you have anything more important to do. You may as well make yourself useful.” 

He laughs as she pulls him onto the bed, kissing him furiously, but when she moves to straddle him, Jaime is having none of it. “I don’t think so,” he growls out, using his vastly superior strength to still her movements and coax her down onto her back, pinning her beneath him. Arya’s eyes flare with arousal as he locks eyes with her, holding her gaze with a smug smile. “We have several days to occupy, Arya.” He kisses her lips softly before working his way along her jaw. “I plan on taking my time with you.” He sucks a kiss to the corner of her jaw just below her ear, and Arya inhales sharply as she arches into him, imploring him for more.

Jaime is only too happy to comply.

They are slower this time, exploring each other with gentle touches and quiet sighs, and Jaime finds he rather likes taking his time bringing Arya to pleasure.

For three days the storm rages, but Arya and Jaime pay it no mind as they spend almost all of those three days in Jaime’s bed, exploring each other, fucking each other, but also merely talking and being with each other.

Jaime could live in these moments with her forever, getting lost in her touch.

 

 


 

When Jaime is alone with Arya, it’s easy to forget about his secrets and his past deeds and just get lost in her. It’s only when they part that it all comes crashing back down on him and he is plagued with guilt.

He loathes the feeling and can’t bear to think on it. The only time he doesn’t dwell on it is when he is with her. When they’re sparring sometimes, but mostly when she’s curled into his arms.

He much prefers to see Arya this way. So stubborn and strong, soft only when they are alone together.

He craves the smile on her face as she looks up at him after she’s come down from her high, and can’t get enough of the way she stares into his eyes with such adoration (and oftentimes mischief) as she sinks down onto him.

He doesn’t want to face his guilt, doesn’t want to contemplate what life would be like without her should she learn the truth about Bran’s fall.

But when she smiles up at him, he forgets all his doubts and in that moment he feels like he’ll never be alone again.

He craves that feeling more than anything.

 


 

Arya makes for a pushy and insistent lover, not unlike Cersei, actually. But unlike Cersei, who took her pleasure from him just as he took his from her, with Arya… Well, it’s different. He doesn’t feel as though he is with Arya to find his own release, but to give her her’s.

And isn’t that a startling revelation about his relationship with Cersei? For almost his entire life, Jaime had believed he and Cersei to be two halves of the same whole, only complete when wrapped up in each other. How blinded he’d been by his love for her. 

Arya is certainly not his other half. He doesn’t pine for her touch when she's not around or crave to have her alone when others are near. He is simply content with being around her, seeing her smile, watching her fight, admiring her strength… and yes, alright, enjoying their time abed together. 

Arya’s touch is very different from Cersei’s but no less pleasurable. And she never seems to expect anything else of him. She merely seeks his presence and his company. And more often than not, eagerly competes with him over who can make the other come undone first. As soon as the crafty little she wolf realised just how sensitive certain areas of his body truly are, the game had begun.

Jaime doesn’t mind, for the most part. Not when it leads to stolen moments like the one where, after a particularly heated sparring match, she’d pushed him down to the floor of the godswood and climbed atop him, riding him until they’d thrown each other over the precipice together.

Or that time they’d absconded to the wolfswood and he’d pushed her up against a tree and drove her to pleasure hard and fast until she’d howled as loud as a wolf for true.

Or his personal favourite so far when Arya had suggested they play ‘find my knives’ and he’d devoured every inch of her skin when he found all ten and proceeded to fuck her slowly, working her up to her peek at a torturous pace. He’ll never forget her wide-eyed surprise when he’d drawn his lips to her cunt for the first time, and he’d preened internally with pride that he’d managed to introduce her to something the Baratheon bastard hadn’t already taken. Her first kiss and her first time belonged to the bastard, but this… this first is all his.

He had taken his time with her, then, tamping down her pushy insistence as he finally pushed her over her precipice. Then she’d proceeded to take back control as she flipped him on his back and rode him hard and fast to another completion, but he was hardly going to complain about that.

It’s the slower moments he relishes in the most, though, when he takes his time with her and watches the way her expression shifts and changes as he finds a new pleasure spot on her skin. He’d never been able to take his time with Cersei, and he finds he can’t get enough of the opportunity now. 

Arya is not nearly so patient for these slower moments, often pushing him to go faster to give her more, harder, but Jaime takes great pleasure in ignoring her requests and pinning her to the bed as he continues his explorations at his own languorous pace, listening with great amusement as she tries to stifle her sounds of pleasure. 

She may be resistant to the idea of him taking her slowly, but she’s all smiles whenever she comes down from her high, so he really doesn’t feel bad at all for making her wait for it.

In these moments with Arya, the guilt disappears and he can just be with her, giving her everything she craves, and relishing in her response to him, and the way she pleads for him. He is surprised at how easily he has come to treasure these moments with Arya. That soft smile on her face when she cuddles into him as they settle in for the night.

It’s only when they emerge from the bubble that the guilt slams back into him with the force of a raging storm. He is undeserving of her smiles. Undeserving of her

But she believes in him, sees the good in him as Brienne had. She trusts him. He can’t bear the thought of losing it all should she learn the truth about him.

So if he can’t bring himself to give her the truth, he can at least give her this instead.

One day I will have to tell her, he tells himself after each time they come down from their high. But for now…

For now he just wants to live in this moment with her for a little while longer.

 


 

“This one is my favourite,” he says, kissing the jagged scar on her abdomen, sucking the skin there and drawing a breathy moan from Arya, who is not amused by the diversion.

“You have a favourite scar?” She rolls her eyes. “Wait. Don’t answer that. You would.”

Jaime chuckles. “I love all your scars.” He kisses her skin again. “But this one is my favourite.”

Arya huffs. “Can we go back to fucking me please?”

“Be patient, Arya,” he admonishes playfully, tapping her hip pointedly. 

She glares at him. “Fine. Why is that your favourite,” she asks blandly as if giving him an opening he’d been angling for (which to be fair, is exactly what he had been doing). 

“Because it looks the most serious,” he says.

Arya rolls her yes. “Yeah, I almost died. Not exactly a memory I want to be thinking about right now, Jaime. I shouldn’t be able to think at all.”

Jaime smirks and shifts back up the bed. “I know,” he murmurs, capturing her lips in a kiss. “It reminds me that you survived.” He kisses her again. “That you’re the strongest person I know.” He kisses the corner of her jaw. “And that you’re here, alive, with me, in spite of all you’ve endured.” He trails kisses down her neck with his words. 

Arya presses into the touch. “And hopefully about to get fucked by you,” she growls.

Jaime nips at her neck as if in admonishment. “Here I am saying all these pretty things and all you can think about is my cock.”

Arya sighs, threading her fingers through his hair as he continues his ministrations at her neck. “If you want to do this,” she concedes. “I don’t like thinking about them much. But the way you tell it doesn’t sound so bad.” She reaches down and clasps his hand in hers, moving it to the long scar at her side. “And if you’re so determined to talk about this, I much prefer this one.”

Jaime smiles, trailing his fingers along the familiar scar. “Why this one?”

“It was when you stitched me up, remember? It’s the first time I remember liking you.” He raises an eyebrow at her. “What? It’s a much better memory than the time I nearly died in a river in Braavos.”

“Hmm, not nearly as exciting though.” He says. Then he frowns. “You didn’t like me before that?”

Arya snorts. “Gods no. You were so irritating. I know I said I would only kill you if you hurt my family, but I swear I was tempted whenever you asked your stupid, pointed questions trying to get a rise out of me.” Jaime feels a twinge in his gut at the reminder of her promise at the Crossroads. Arya doesn’t seem to notice as she arches up into him again. “Speaking of rises.” She presses into his hard length. “Weren’t we supposed to be relieving yours?”

Jaime pushes his distracting feelings aside and kisses her, bringing his focus back to her. “I do believe you’re right,” he says against her lips before trailing his down her neck. “Later, though.” His lips work their way across her shoulder and down to her breasts. “When I’m finished finishing you with my tongue.” She arches into him with a sigh as he sucks a nipple into his mouth, scraping his teeth along her skin. “Again” He shifts back down the bed, draping kisses across her scars. “And again.” His hand caresses up her thigh and dips between her legs. “And again.”

He smiles up at her. “Now where were we?”

 


 

 

It grows harder to ignore his guilt, his doubts, his fears, as he tries to settle into life in the north. It’s difficult to settle at all when it might all disappear with a few truthful words. 

Even Arya isn’t enough to distract him.

He tries to think of Brienne. How she would feel to see him here, fulfilling her dying words. He is doing a good thing here. Taking up Brienne’s mantle. Protecting the Stark girls. 

He tries to think of Arya’s seemingly unshakable belief in him. But it’s difficult to think about that, too, because the only reason she trusts him at all is because she is blissfully unaware of the truth about him. The truth about what sort of man he really is.

No. You’re not that man anymore. You’re better. She believes you’re better.

But is he? 

Sometimes he doesn’t know.

In his darker moments, Tyrion’s last words and the dragon queen’s cutting remarks echo in his head, making him doubt everything he’s tried to strive for.

I just want to be the sort of man Brienne would be proud of. The man Arya Stark believes me to be.

But sometimes… he just can’t see it.

 


 

It’s late. Jaime is alone, lying on his back and staring up at the ceiling, trapped in his thoughts.

Arya’s not here yet. Probably still at the evening meal. Jaime had taken his in his room instead. 

He’s so very… tired.

Tired of his secrets. Tired of his guilt. Tired of worrying about what might be. Tired of living with it all. He just wishes it would all stop. 

If he tells Arya the truth, maybe he’ll stop feeling so tired. Or maybe he’ll just feel worse. It’s impossible to know.

He’s tired of worrying about it too.

He notices Arya the moment she arrives. She still uses that mysterious entrance of hers but… he’s not surprised by it anymore. Grown used to it, perhaps.

He doesn’t look her way, but she slides into the bed next to him anyway without a word, turning to face him.

“You weren’t at dinner,” she says softly.

Jaime closes his eyes momentarily “No, I wasn’t,” he says quietly.

“Is everything alright?”

Jaime turns his body to face hers and his eyes hold her gaze. “It is now.” He leans in to kiss her. Arya’s hands move to caress his face as she returns the kiss and he shudders at the feeling.

Then she pulls away. “Jaime. We don’t have to,” she says quietly.

No. He doesn’t want her looking at him like that. With that concern in her eyes. Concern for him. He captures her lips again, working her’s apart and slipping his tongue between them to coax her own. Arya lets out a little moan as her fingers thread through his hair. 

Good. Thats better. 

He slowly presses his weight into her, pushing her down onto her back and sliding on top of her, moving to trail kisses down her neck as he fiddles with the fastenings of her trousers.

“Jaime,” she says again now her mouth is free. “I… we don’t…”

He looks up at her, pausing in his movements. “Do you not want to?” He says, a husky quality in his voice as he looks into her eyes.

“No, I…I do. It’s just… if you’re still upset about something we can just-“

He cuts her words off with a kiss. “I’m not upset,” he says simply and kisses her again, finishing with her trousers and pushing them down her legs. Arya reaches for his, pulling them apart and pushing them down with quick fingers, but Jaime pushes her hands away before she can remove them completely, leaning back in to capture her lips, desperate to feel her.

“If you… if you’re sure,” Arya says as he slides his hand up her thigh between her legs.

Jaime looks into her eyes again. “I’m sure.” He leans in and kisses her again. “I just want you.”

Arya wraps her arms around him as he lines himself up and sinks into her. There’s none of her usual pushy insistence as she holds him and kisses him as he moves inside her slowly, quietly, deliberately. Their movements are quieter, tender, yet there’s an urgency in his strokes as he pushes her towards her climax steadily instead of teasing it out of her like he usually does in their slower couplings. He doesn’t want to tease her today. He just wants to feel her. He reaches between them, circling the little nub between her legs, and she grips him tighter as she rides the quiet wave of her pleasure.

I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, he chants in his head as he follows after her, breathing heavily as he collapses into her and feels her warmth surround him.

He feels Arya nuzzle into his neck as he returns to himself. “What are you sorry for?” She mumbles into his chest.

Fuck, had he said that out loud?

“Nothing,” he says, kissing her forehead as he slips out of her. “I’m sorry for worrying you,” he adds. He cleans her up and rights their clothes before falling in beside her, pulling her in close, needing her warmth. “Thank you for staying with me.”

“I always stay,” she grumbles back, and Jaime fights a smile.

I wish I could be the man you see in me.

 


 

The next night, Jaime makes sure Arya is asleep before returning to his rooms. He told her he would be busy guarding Sansa until late, but really…he just didn’t want a repeat of last night.

Arya deserves better than that.

But when he does see her curled up on his side of the bed again, he softens at the sight, and kisses her forehead as he comes to lie beside her.

She stirs briefly but doesn’t say anything as they settle into each other.

He still marvels at how readily she accepts him.

He’ll miss that… when it’s gone.

 


 

Podrick is guarding Sansa through the bulk of the day today, and so Jaime finds himself feeling restless. He doesn’t know where Arya is. He knows sometimes she disappears from Winterfell; to the town below or the godswood nearby. He knows she skulks around the castle, keeping an eye on things to report any issues to her sister.

He knows all of this. But none of that helps him find her when he’s not sure where she starts.

With a sigh, he drifts towards the godswood. He doesn’t expect her to be there. But maybe he hopes she is anyway. 

As it turns out, she is not there. Jaime shrugs off the disappointment that twinges in his gut.

That does not mean he is alone, however.

Bran Stark sits in his wheeled chair below their heart tree. He is alone. Jaime is not sure how long that would last.

He considers turning and leaving, but before he can, Bran opens his eyes.

“Ser Jaime,” he greets blandly.

Jaime suppresses a sigh and steps into the godswood. If the boy hadn’t wanted to talk, he likely would have ignored him. “Lord Bran,” he returns.

Bran is looking at him with a strange expression. Blank, and yet as if searching for something. “You look tired, ser,” he says at last.

A single laugh escapes him. “Do I? I suppose I’ve been kept busy, Until now.”

“Yes.” Bran agrees. “It’s not just Arya keeping you awake, though.”

And Jaime blanches. “Uh, it’s not- we’re not-“

“You don’t have to explain. I know. I haven’t seen. But I know.”

Jaime clears his throat. “Right.”

“Your secret also weighs upon you. I’ve seen it trouble you.” Something in the boy’s eyes shifts, as if he’s becoming more… present. Jaime’s not sure. It’s difficult to tell. “You should tell her.”

Jaime sighs. “She won’t like it,” he says dryly.

“No. She won’t. But you should tell her. Today.”

Jaime runs a hand through his hair, a nervous tick. He’s thought of so many scenarios of telling Arya about this. It’s just… it’s not easy. He can’t think of a way to tell her without hurting her. Damaging her belief in him. Her sheer trust. “I don’t suppose you know…” he clears his throat. “How she’ll react?” His voice is frustratingly timid as he asks the question.

Bran just stares at him. “It depends,” he says at last.

Jaime sighs with frustration. “On what?”

More silence. “You should tell her today,” Bran repeats.

Jaime rolls his eyes. “Right. Of course.” The silence stretches between them, and in that silence, Jaime’s fears resurface. His fears about Arya. “Will she forgive me?” He asks in such a small voice he can barely hear it himself. “I have to know. Will she… even be able to stand the sight of me?”

When he looks to Bran, he is surprised to see something almost akin to sympathy in the boy’s eyes. He balks at THAT look. “She cares very deeply for you, Ser Jaime. Be honest. About everything. And how it changed you. You’re different now. She already knows that much. Trust that. And tell her.”

Jaime nods. “I will.” 

“Today. You have to tell her today.”

“Yes, yes, I’ll tell her today” Jaime hisses dismissively. “Gods. You’re pushy for an old raven.”

Bran almost smiles. He thinks. “When it’s needed,” he says. “You should go now. She is waiting for you.”

Jaime nods and leaves Bran to his thoughts. 

He’s not sure why Bran is so insistent it has to be today.

Maybe he’s simply put it off long enough.

 


 

As it turns out, Arya is waiting for him in the practice hard. Well, Jaime is not entirely certain she’s waiting for him, but this is where she finds him, and perhaps Bran knew it’s where she would be.

She’s practicing alone, going through her forms with the sword he’d given her, her expression full of determination. 

He smiles at the sight, watching her for a moment. He still maintains a longsword doesn’t look quite right in her hands. Too clumsy a weapon for her movements, perhaps. She still wields it well though. 

His smile disappears when he remembers why he’s there. 

Today. You have to tell her today. 

But he can’t tell her here. Not somewhere so open. Perhaps if they went somewhere quiet…

But then his doubts kick back in. 

He doesn’t even know what to say yet.

Perhaps he should formulate his words and approach her later. He doesn't want to make a mess of it. Well, not more than what is sure to happen once she knows.

He should formulate his words first.

Yes. That’s it.

He leaves her to her practice, promising to find her again later. 

There’s still plenty of hours in the day.

 


 

This is the thing about putting it off. Avoiding the issue. In the past, he wouldn’t have cared enough to bother avoiding it. He was no stranger to harsh truths, nor for dolling them out, either.

Yet this one. This one is threatening to pull him apart. 

He doesn’t know what to say. He doesn’t know how to soften the blow. Perhaps he should just be blunt about it. Honest, like Bran said.

He sees Arya a few times that day. But like a coward, he can’t bear to approach her. He fears the look she’ll give him. The betrayal. The distrust. 

He fears she’ll want him gone. Where would he go? He has so few options left.

Or she may simply call for his head. Kill him, like she promised. Cut his throat with one of her many knives. Or Needle. Or the sword he gave her.

Maybe it’s what I deserve, is the intrusive thought entering in his head. He has no doubt Cersei is about to pay dearly for all the hateful things she’s done. Why should he be exempt from the same judgment?

Perhaps he should just let Arya be the judge of what he deserves.

 


 

 

When Arya arrives in his chambers that evening, Bran Stark’s words are echoing in his head. You have to tell her today.

This is his last chance. His last chance to tell her today. 

He turns to face her and she approaches him without any hesitation at all, reaching for his gold hand to unfasten it, as had started becoming their routine of late.

“Arya,” he says softly, so softly it is barely audible.

Arya looks up at him, her expression so open and earnest. “What?”

He hesitates. “I… I’m not… I’m not a good man, Arya.”

She frowns, confusion written all over her face. “Not… not always. But neither am I all the time. What… what’s wrong?” 

“Why did…” he hesitates again, loathing this. “Why didn’t you kill me at the Crossroads?”

Arya looks stricken by the question. “Why are you asking me that?”

“You could have. You probably should have. But you didn’t. I don’t… I don’t quite understand why.”

She stares at him for a long moment, trying to read his face. Then she looks down. “It doesn’t matter why. I’m glad I didn’t.”

“Why?”

She looks back up at him then. “Because then you wouldn’t be here. You would just be dead. You don’t have to be a good man for me to want you here.” She slides the gold hand from his wrist and cradles his stump between her hands. “I want you here, Jaime.”

He falters under the weight of her trust. Of those words. She wants him here. But she doesn’t know-

Then Arya leans in and kisses him, and Jaime shudders at the gentle touch. At her hand on his cheek and the other arm sliding around his neck. It’s a soft kiss, and she doesn’t linger long. And he realises she’s trying to reassure him. 

“Arya…”

And then before he can even resister the thought, he surges forward and recaptures her lips, kissing her furiously. Arya gasps at the sudden move and Jaime deepens the kiss as she wraps her arms around his neck, pushing into him. He wraps his arms around her, desperate to feel her form against his. But it’s not enough. She’s not close enough. He tugs at her clothes as he sucks bruising kisses to her neck, fumbling with her fastenings before Arya is quick to assist him, tossing their clothes aside haphazardly until he can feel her skin on his; her touch, her lips, her nails.

His movements are desperate and frantic as he buries himself inside her. Arya clings to him, her nails sliding down his back and her lips and teeth nipping and sucking at the flesh of his neck as he drives her to pleasure with hard, swift strokes, needing to feel her and see her and know her.

She shatters around him with a stifled howl as she bites into his neck and Jaime roars his own release as he collapses into her, breathing her in and feeling her folded into him.

And this time, as he comes down from his high, the guilt crashes into him right away. Guilt and self loathing

You’re a coward, Lannister.

He rolls away from her, too ashamed of his own cowardice to look her in the eye. He’s a coward. And Arya might be smiling that smile at him, that smile that he had been so desperate to see a moment ago, and yet in this moment, he can’t even bear to look.

“Jaime?” 

He barely hears her, and he doesn’t answer, can’t even summon the words.

Arya falls silent after that.


Coward. Coward. Coward.

 

 

 

Notes:

….yeah. yep.

Okay so I’ll be honest, when I was plotting out this thing, I hadn’t originally intended for there to be much sexual content at all and while the post-funeral one was always in the works, almost all the rest I’ve been adding in mostly because you guys really wanted it and I aim to please so I found ways to make them work.

They’ll never be super graphic or anything but just to be safe, I did up the rating. And then made some tweaks once i decided to just go with it. lol.

For those of you who have been waiting impatiently for them to reach this point in this hecka slowburn, the bulk of this chapter is a bit of an apology for… well, you’ll see.

But I've Also always tried to provide reasons for them to be there, so I hope I bring that across okay and it doesn’t just come across as gratuitous. And There were a Lot this chapter but the POINT is that he doesn't want to feel certain Emotions so he... well, he falls back on some old habits instead. Which is why it ended where it did.

I am sorry I had to leave the chapter on a bit of a sour note, but… well, actually no, I’m not. Jaime reaps what he sows, I’m afraid :)

 
Anyway, I’m done teasing it out now, so it’s all coming to a head next chapter, I promise.

Chapter 84: Hateful things

Summary:

Jaime is already cracking under the weight of his own mounting pressure when Winterfell receives news from the south.

Notes:

Hoo boy. I’ve been sitting on the end of this chapter for so long, I feel a bit like the Joker waiting for all hell to break loose.

 

joker

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

 

 

 

 

 

So many vows. They make you swear and swear.

 

When you donned that white cloak, you swore to obey

 

You’ve forsaken every vow you ever took.

 

Protect my family, Jaime.

 

Kingslayer.

 

Oathbreaker! You swore to protect your king.

 

We are sworn to protect her as well!

 

You’re a good man, Ser Jaime.

 

How old are you, boy?

 

Make them see that.

 

I’ll send for your baby boy, and I’ll launch him into Riverrun with a catapult.

 

No matter what you do, you’re forsaking one vow or the other

 

How do you live with yourself?

 

A good sword needs a name. What will you call it?

 

I’ll kill every last man, woman, and child, until you and I are all that’s left in this world

 

Oathkeeper

 

For someone so convinced you’re not a good man, you’re trying awfully hard to be one

 

Kingslayer!

 

I would have believed you, Jaime

 

Oathbreaker

 

I want to do right by her

 

Man without honour

 

I’m worried I’ll only fail her.

 

Promise me, Jaime

 

I want her DEAD

 

I’ll look out for them

 

You’ve forsaken every vow you ever took.

 

You have my word

 

Kingslayer.

 

I want you here, Jaime

 

The things I do for love

 

 


 

 

Jaime wakes with a start. 

He’d been plagued by dark dreams and restless sleep all night and when he wakes, the weight of everything crashes down upon him. 

Coward, coward, coward.

Shame washes over him as he turns over, fully expecting to find Arya’s side empty.

So he’s surprised to see she’s still here, curled up close to him, though facing away from him. As far as he can tell, she’s still fast asleep too.

Must be nice, he thinks bitterly.

Gods, he doesn’t deserve this. He’d treated her horrendously last night and she’s still here.

Why would she put up with that?

Why would she… stay, after he’d been so callous, so wrapped up in his own selfish guilt, that he’d completely shut her out. That's what he’d done. He’d expected her to leave, and so he’d withdrawn first, unable to face her. Unable to even explain any of it.

And yet she’s still here. 

Why?

Well, quite obviously, it’s because she still doesn’t know. She’d stayed because she still trusts him. Because why wouldn’t she?

No. Why would she even trust him in the first place? A Lannister? A Kingslayer? A man without honour? Why would she trust a man like that? Seek comfort from a man like that? Choose to spend time at all with a man like that?

At least when Brienne placed her trust in him, she knew everything about him. Arya doesn’t even know the worst of it. 

I can’t even bear to tell her the worst of it.

Coward, coward coward.

And quite suddenly, he resents her presence beside him. How easy it is for her to trust him. To sleep so soundly in his presence. If she knew what sort of man he really is, would she still trust him so completely? Or would she leave? Turn her back on him? Pass an executioner’s judgment upon his head?

He can’t claim he’s undeserving of such judgment.
 
For the first time since they’d started sharing a bed, Jaime feels the need to leave before her. To get away. To get some air. To breathe.

As gently as he can, he shifts away from her and slips out of the bed, clambering for some distance between them.

He watches her for a moment, still sleeping soundly, before he dresses as quickly and quietly as he can and leaves the room.

She’ll never forgive me.

 

 


 

 

He knows he can’t avoid Arya forever. It would be foolish to try. 

Still, there’s a listless quality to him as he moves about the grounds of Winterfell, wondering if he might get away with avoiding her for a bit longer anyway.

But the weight of his secret is threatening to crush him. He has two options at this point without being driven mad by the unbearable weight on his shoulders. Leave. Or tell her. 

And he can’t leave.

He’d sworn to protect Sansa. To watch the Stark girls. To stay with Arya.

I promised Brienne.

Gods, what would Brienne think if she could see him now?

He shakes his head. 

He can’t bear to think on that thought either. 

Although, maybe if Brienne were here, everything would be easier. If Brienne were here, her strength and unshakable faith in him might smooth the blow of however Arya would react. Maybe she could help somehow.

He shakes his head again. 

No point dwelling on it. Brienne is not here. She’s dead. And Tyrion is gone. And Cersei may as well be dead. 

All he has is Arya. And his promise. 

And he may have neither when the day is done.

 


 

 

Jaime was under the impression the weight pressing down on him couldn’t get any worse. 

He was very wrong in that assessment.

And he knew, or suspected at least, that when he sought out Sansa to take up his post only to find her in concerned, hushed conversation with Arya, it was about to get worse.

Arya sees him first.

Because of course she does.

And their conversation dies instantly. He has to work to stop himself from recoiling at the guarded expression on Arya’s face. 

Her walls are back up.

But really, what should he have he expected? 

“My lady,” he nods to Sansa respectfully before turning to Arya. “Lady Arya.” Her expression does not shift.  He tries not to feel stung about that. There’s an awkward pause between them, and Jaime clears his throat. “Has something happened?”

They hesitate to answer and Jaime's gaze falls to the missive in Sansa’s hands. And suddenly he has an inkling. A hint of a sardonic smile curls at his lips. “Cersei’s made things worse, hasn’t she.”

Arya looks up to Sansa, who looks down at the missive before returning her gaze to his. “A lot worse. One of the dragons is dead. Shot out of the sky in an ambush.” She hands the missive to Jaime. “Your sister had the dragon queen’s handmaiden executed at the gate.”

Ah. He sees. Cersei had struck a decisive blow against the Targaryen girl, certainly. But not enough to hold that city now that she’s angered the dragon queen. Jaime’s sure she’s all but assured King’s Landing’s fall. And her own.

It’s strange. He knew Cersei was set to die should they rip her out of that city. Knows she probably deserves it. But there’s a sinking feeling in his gut as he processes this new development, and the expected consequences. He doesn’t like it, but it’s there all the same.

He clears his throat. “Knowing Cersei, she’ll be too emboldened by this to foresee the consequences. She’ll never surrender the city.” No. She’d surely rather let it burn.

He suppresses a laugh. 

Both Stark sisters are watching him carefully but its Sansa who speaks first while Arya doesn't say a word. “I’d hoped to be there when they executed Cersei,” she says coolly. “Now I suppose they’ll be lucky if they can find a body at all. I would offer my condolences, but I’m afraid they would be rather hollow.” She turns to Arya then. “Excuse me.”

She leaves him there with Arya who is watching him carefully. Perhaps gauging his reaction to the news. Perhaps even already suspecting how he might be feeling. How he might be taking the news.

Not that he even knows, himself, how he’s feeling.

He scrunches up the missive left in his hand. “I suppose you’re happy about this as well. Cersei’s on your list, is she not?”

“Yes, she was,” Arya says coolly, and he forces back a shudder at the past tense. “I wouldn’t say I’m happy about it though. I would have preferred to look her in the eyes as she dies.”

Something Jaime can’t quite catch flares in Arya’s eyes. He’s almost certain she’s pressing to hurt him. Or test him. She always did hate Cersei, and has every right. He shouldn’t be surprised really, given everything. “And you have every reason,” he answers tersely. “Excuse me.”

He moves to take his leave, perhaps to follow Sansa (he’s supposed to be guarding her after all), but Arya follows after him.

“Where were you this morning?”

He suppresses a sigh. “No where. I had a matter to attend to.”

“Right.” He tries to continue on his way, away from her, but she sticks to his heels. “And what about last night? What happened? Why were you so moody and out of it and asking all those-“

“Arya!” He stops suddenly, whirling to face her. “It’s nothing. Forget it.”

“Forget it?” She drops his gaze. “I know something was wrong with you last night. And then this morning you just left without a word. So I know it’s not nothing. Did you already know about King’s Landing? Is that why you were acting so strange? Are you worried about Cersei?” She fails to conceal the venom in her tone. Or perhaps she didn’t care to.

Jaime sighs. “No, I didn’t know about that.”

“Then I don’t know what-” She exhales, showing her frustration and her hurt. “Have I done something, then?” She asks in a quieter tone. “Or are you just bored of me.”

Jaime’s irritation crumbles. “No. No, I’m not bored of you, Arya.”

“Then what is it? I don’t understand what I’ve done, but if you tell me I can at least do something about it.”

He sighs. “You haven’t done anything,” he says in a low voice. “I’ve never placed any value in what the Starks think of me until you. You hate Cersei to such a degree you wish you could be there to see her suffer, yet you trust me. You should hate me just as much. I truly don’t understand why you don’t.”

This time when he walks away, Arya does not follow.

But as he crosses the courtyard, a different Stark catches his eye. Bran Stark, watching him with knowing eyes.

You should tell her today.

Jaime snorts a derisive laugh and continues on his way.

Coward, coward, coward.

 

 


 

 

Winterfell carries on with painful normalcy while Jaime imagines what might be happening in King’s Landing. Jon Snow’s missive noted their army had retreated to regroup. How long that would take, Jaime doesn’t know. He doesn’t know who’s safe and who isn’t. He doesn’t know how close Cersei is to death or… is there even a chance she could escape?

Highly unlikely. 

She would never surrender. Never simply leave. She would rather die. 

Now she just might.

And Jaime feels… stuck. He doesn’t know if he even deserves the protection of the Starks, holed away in the north as he is. If abandoning Cersei to her fate was the right thing to do or not. It had felt right. But… she’s still his sister. His twin. His… well he doesn’t know what anymore. Shouldn’t he feel some loyalty towards her for that?

He doesn’t know if he wants to never see Cersei again, to rip her out of the dragon queen’s clutches and steal her away somewhere safe, or to kill her himself. 

We were born together, and we’ll die together.

Those are the words they had said to each other for almost their entire lives. 

And now…

Now she’s facing near certain death while he’s safe in the north. He does not want to go back to her. But what sort of man evades deserved punishment for his crimes while leaving his sister to suffer all the consequences?

Certainly not a good one.

Definitely not an honourable one.

Perhaps if I tell Arya the truth, she’ll execute me on the spot. Then he might see Cersei again on the other side. In whichever of the seven hells they’ll wind up in. 

That would be a fitting punishment, wouldn’t it.

He snorts a laugh.

Gods, it’s all… so very complicated. 

 

 


 

 

Sansa had dismissed him early. Perhaps she recognised his distraction. She had not said a word about Cersei or the South since earlier in the morning, and for that he is grateful.

Or perhaps it makes things worse.

He is surrounded by people who don’t give a whit what happens in the south, who will cheer when Cersei is ripped from power. Meanwhile he can’t stop worrying about it. And Tyrion. He worries about Tyrion, too. How he’s handling the dragon queen. Whether he can talk down her volatile impulses. Whether he even wants to.

He suppresses a shudder.

Taking a leaf out of Tyrion’s book, Jaime calls for a carafe of wine in the vain hope of distracting himself from his thoughts and locks himself away in his chambers for the rest of the day, away from everyone. Especially Arya (not that he could stop her if she truly wanted to get in.)

It’s a coward’s move, he knows, but… well…

Coward, coward, coward.

He laughs. 

Oh, if Brienne could see him now. 

She’d probably still call me honourable just for being here. She always was a naive wench. 

How could she die believing he was truly a good man? That he would actually live up to his promise? How could she have that much faith in him? 

Insipid wench. 

It’s beyond ridiculous. 

He looks to the sword she’d left him and feels the sudden need to fling it across the room. He refrains, though, tossing it on the bed instead, staring at it for a long moment. 

It still stings that Brienne is gone and all he has is her bloody sword. And her remnant words of trust.

She should never have died. It should have been me.

His hurt dissolves into irrational anger. Anger at her. “How could you leave me like this?” He hisses the words at the damn sword, but it’s Brienne he means them for. “With all these words of honour and how… how good I am? How did you see it in me? I truly never understood your foolish mind. Believing me to be this… this paragon of honour when I am not.”

He runs his hand down his face, as if trying to scrub all the assaulting emotions away with it. “I pushed a child from a tower for my own sister. The sister I was fucking. The sister that I loved. The sister I cuckolded a king for. I killed a member of my own family for her. Threatened the life of an innocent babe for her. You knew all of this. All of it. And yet you had the… the gall to tell me I’m a good man?” He sneers at the words. “I wanted to be the man you saw in me. Wanted to be honourable for you. Now you’re gone and I… I don’t even know what I am anymore.”

He looks away, his hand clenched into a fist as he tries to suppress the well of emotions pushing behind his eyes. “Now look at me. Hiding away in the north and leaving Cersei to pay for all our sins. How honourable of me to remain here instead, pretending to guard one Stark girl while fucking the other.”

A bitter laugh escapes him. “I don’t deserve to be here. I certainly don’t deserve their protection. But it’s far too late to do anything about it now, isn’t it? Yet another foolish oath to get tangled up in.”

He picks up the sword then, holding the hilt with his real hand while resting the blade on his gold one. “Oathkeeper,” he sneers. “A perfect name for the sword of Ser Brienne of Tarth. Utterly ridiculous in the hands of the Kingslayer. You didn’t know me. You didn’t know a damn thing. You had no right to see any of that in me. No right.”

He sheathes the sword and flings it across the room, suddenly unable to even look upon it.

“Arya should have killed me,” he mutters. “She should have killed me back at the damn Crossroads. It’s all I deserved.”

Why didn’t she?

Why didn’t she kill me?

Suppressing a dry sob, Jaime calls for more wine.

 

 


 

 

As daylight fades across Winterfell, Arya sits curled up at the base of the heart tree, resting her chin on her knee as she’s far away with her thoughts.

She’s avoiding going back to Jaime. But she doesn’t want to go back to her own chambers either. It feels… empty there. And she doesn’t know which one’s worse. 

Sometimes… Sometimes she forgets that her Jaime is the same one who loved his twin sister. It’s ridiculous that she should forget such things. Not that she forgets, truly, she just… doesn’t think about it much anymore.

Until now, anyway. 

He loved her their entire lives. It doesn’t just go away, does it?

She obviously never loved her own family in that way (she wrinkles her nose at the thought), but she still loves them as her family. That never went away, even the ones that died. Surely even the Lannisters cared for their own. So then Jaime must be feeling something now that he’s confronted with the realities of the war being fought in the south.

The problem is, Arya can’t even bring herself to feel sorry for him over it, because no one should be upset to see Cersei die. Arya certainly doesn’t. 

But… if Jon died, she would be furious if Jaime only scorned Jon’s existence and offered little sympathy over it. She just… can’t bring herself to say anything nice about it. 

About Cersei.

About Cersei and Jaime

Cersei doesn’t deserve him.

Yet he seems worried for her all the same. Arya knows it. She saw it in his eyes.

Add that to his strange behaviour yesterday and…

Arya doesn’t know what she’s feeling.

Hurt. Angry. Worried.

It’s not the first time Jaime has shut her out of how he’s feeling, but…

Well, if it’s about Cersei, she’s not sure she wants to hear it anyway. And if it’s about her….

She’s not sure she wants to hear about that, either. Not if he only plans to leave her.

It’s all just… so complicated.

After a while, she hears footsteps approaching. She rests a hand on her dagger reflexively, but drops it when she sees its only Sansa. “What are you doing out here?”

“Finding you, obviously.” 

Arya looks away as Sansa comes to stand closer. 

“Are you alright? You weren't at dinner,” Sansa notes carefully.

Arya just shrugs. 

“Have you eaten anything today?”

She shrugs again. No. She hadn’t. Too angry and worried about Jaime and the war in the south to remember. She’s surprised Sansa noticed, though.

Sansa sighs. “You can talk to me, you know. Instead of hiding out here and refusing to eat.”

“I’m not refusing to eat. I just forgot. I had a lot on my mind.”

“I have a lot on my mind every day, Arya. I still look after myself.”

Arya doesn’t respond to that. Sansa is sounding way too close to their mother for her liking. 

There’s silence between them for a moment before Sansa breaks it. “Do you want to talk about it?” She offers.

Arya purses her lips. “Not really. You won’t want to hear it.”

“Because it’s about Ser Jaime?”

Arya scowls. “I don’t care about Jaime.”

Sansa actually laughs. “Gods, you’re stubborn. Have you two had a disagreement?”

Arya sighs. “Not exactly. He’s just… acting strange. And then this morning with the news from the South…” Arya shakes her head. “He wants to go back to Cersei. I know he does.” She picks at her nails as she avoids Sansa’s gaze.

“I don’t think that’s true,” Sansa says after a moment.

Arya does look up at her then. “What makes you so sure?”

“I’m not sure,” Sansa replies, and to Arya’s surprise, she moves to sit beside her by the heart tree. “I simply feel that if he wanted to go back to Cersei, he would have by now. He wouldn’t bother staying here, helping Jon, swearing to me…. spending time with you. I’m sure he does want to be here. I’m sure it’s also difficult for him, with his siblings fighting each other in the South.”

“Yeah,” Arya says, resting her chin on her knee again. “I know. That’s why he wants to leave. If it was me, I would.” Sansa huffs a laugh again, and Arya frowns. “What?”

Sansa shakes her head. “You really are so clueless. He stayed with you, Arya. He wants to be here. Maybe you just need to remind him why.”

Arya ponders her words, unsure of where to put them. 

She rests her head back against the tree. “Why do you even want him here. You never liked him.”

Sansa lets out a breath, her brow furrowed in thought, before she answers. “He has his uses, but if I’m being honest, it doesn’t matter to me whether he leaves or stays. But it matters to you. And you won’t solve anything by hiding out here in the godswood.”

Sansa has a point.

Arya lets out a long exhale before getting to her feet, pulling Sansa up with her. “Fine. I’ll find him.”

“Good,” Sansa says simply.

They exit the godswood together before heading in different directions. 

Arya does decide to find Jaime. Not that she really needs to find him. She knows where he is. 

And if Sansa’s right and he does want to stay here with her…

Arya can be quite good at convincing people when she wants to. 

 

 


 

 

When she finds Jaime in his chambers, she immediately knows something is very wrong.

He is slumped in a chair with his feet on the little desk in front of him. Carafes litter the desk as he holds a goblet in his hands, drinking deep. 

He rouses when he notices her there. “Arya,” he greets with forced enthusiasm. “I thought perhaps I’d seen the last of you materialising in my chambers after last night’s disaster.” He pauses. “Well not all of it was a disaster. The fucking was adequate, I suppose.” he shudders before holding the goblet out to her. “Wine?” 

Arya hesitates as she stares at him in confusion. She’s never seen him quite so out of sorts before. “No thanks.”

“Fair,” he says, refiling his goblet. “It tastes godawful.” He downs the goblet in one go with a grimace and refills it again, poised to repeat that action. His eyes are reddened and he’s swaying slightly in place. 

“Are you drunk?”

Jaime laughs. “I suppose I am.”

“Why?”

“Why not? What is there to be sober about? The dragon queen’s army is all the way in king’s landing. The Hound is doing a perfectly fine job guarding your sister. Mine is likely to be burned alive with the rest of that godsdammed city while I hide out in this frozen wasteland, all but absolved of the crimes she and I both caused.”

Arya picks at her nails as she avoids his eyes. “Are you going to leave?” She asks tentatively. “I know you’ve said you wouldn’t but… well, there isn’t really anything stopping you if you really wanted to. Would you go back to her?”

He laughs again, and it’s a bitter sound. “That would be fitting, wouldn’t it? Forsaking my last vow to run back to my sweet sister. S’pose they don’t call me an oathbreaker for nothing.” 

The sneer disappears from his face for a moment, replaced with something deeply sadder. “I promised her I would look out for you and Sansa. I thought it my last chance for honour.” He bites a laugh. “But Sansa’s well guarded and you…” he looks at her with a strange expression that makes her squirm uncomfortably. “Well, you hardly need anyone to protect you, do you, faceless girl.”

Arya frowns. “I’m not a faceless girl.”

“Oh, I know.” He’s smiling sardonically. “If you were, you would have killed me at the Crossroads. You should have. I’m not deserving of the mercy my sister will surely be denied.” He takes another swig of his drink.

Arya doesn’t know what to say. “You’re nothing like Cersei, if that’s what you’re worried about."

“This isn’t about Cersei,” he spits out, taking his feet off the desk and leaning forward in his chair. “Do you know, she wanted you dead once?”

Arya blinks. “You’ve told me before.”

Jaime nods, a strange glint in his eye she can’t quite read as he leans back again. “She wanted it so vehemently, she demanded I do it for her, while I was balls deep in her cunt, no less.”

Arya has to fight not to cringe at the venom in his tone. 

“I would have done it, too,” He’s looking down at his golden hand now, shame written all over his face. “I would have done anything for her, then. Even murder a child who’s only transgression was protecting a friend from a cruel prince’s ire.”

“But you didn’t, though.”

“Luck that I didn’t find you first. There are many things I did for Cersei. Truly hateful things.” He looks up at her then, an accusatory glare in his eyes. “You wanted to kill me the day we met. Why didn’t you?”

“Why are you bringing that up again? It doesn’t matter.”

“But it does matter, Arya Stark.” He leans forward, resting an elbow on his knee as he glares at her. “If you truly knew the things I’ve done, you never would have spared me that day. I’m not deserving of your mercy, so why did you grant it? You’ve killed without it before.”

“That's different.”

“Why?”

“It was my life or theirs, that’s why. You weren’t out to kill me, and you’re not on my list. I don’t kill for fun, Jaime.”

Jaime laughs and shakes his head. “Oh, we both know that’s a lie, Arya,” he says, realising his goblet is empty and tossing it back on the desk. “Perhaps you just didn’t have it in you.” 

“What?”

Jaime’s lips curl in a taunting grin meant to infuriate her. “It’s so easy in the heat of the moment, isn’t it? All quick strikes and frantic jabs. It’s different when you’re looking into a man’s eyes as you pass your sentence.”

“I know what it’s like, you shit! More than you ever will.”

“That I find hard to believe.”

Arya looks skyward in frustration. “Seven Hells! Do you want me to kill you now? Is that it? You think you can goad me into drawing my sword and cutting your throat?” The thought alone makes her want to retch. Why would he want this of her? “I wont- I’m not so easily manipulated.”

“Oh, I’m sure I could sway you with a little more incentive.”

“I’m not going to kill you!” 

“Why?!” He is on his feet so quickly Arya almost flinches. 

His sudden roar startles her out of her anger, though, as she sees the deeply pained expression on his face. 

She crosses the room to him, urging him to look at her. “You’re not your sister, Jaime. Do you think I would have put up with all your shit if I thought for a second you were anything like her? You’re a better man than you think. Even if you’re not a good one, you don’t deserve to die.”

“You don’t know what I am.” he mumbles. “What I’ve done.”

“I don’t care. I know who you are.”

He pushes her away, turning his face away from her. “Stop doing that, Arya. Don’t make me out to be better than I am. I don’t deserve it.”

“I’m not making out anything. You showed me who you are. I’m calling it as I see it.”

Jaime rolls his eyes. “I never would have gotten into bed with you if I knew it would make you this naive.”

Arya falters a step. Okay, that one stung. She looks away. “You being an asshole right now isn’t going to change my mind about you.”

“Really? Then how about the truth?”

“What truth?”

“That I pushed Bran Stark from the broken tower all those years ago!”

 

 


 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Notes:

Meeeeeep I'm too stressed for jokes right now. See y'all next chapter.

Chapter 85: his last confession

Summary:

Jaime makes things worse

Notes:

I'm sorry for the cliffhanger last chapter. I saw an opportunity to be a dramatic bitch and I took it xD

Anyway here's the rest of it.

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

 

 

She can’t breathe. The air around Arya suddenly feels thick as she struggles to process his words. 

She shakes her head. “What?” Surely she heard wrong.

Jaime rests his hands on the back of his chair, his gaze locked on her. “Cersei and I were fucking in that tower together when he climbed up and saw us. We couldn’t have the king finding out about us so I shoved him to his death. Or, what I intended to be his death. He survived, obviously. But I’d say that’s even worse, considering it left him crippled and broken.” 

Each word is thrown at her like a sharpened blade and Arya staggers backwards as if he’d physically struck her. “No. You…you’re lying.” He has to be. He has to be.

Jaime rounds the chair towards her and grabs her chin, forcing her to meet his eyes. “You trained with the faceless men. You know I’m telling the truth. It would have been kinder if he had simply died. Instead it crippled him for life. An innocent boy of ten. He wanted to be a knight, I believe. I took that away as surely as I would have killed anyone else who threatened the safety of my family. For Cersei.”

The sound of the queen’s name snaps her back to reality and she slaps his hand away. “Stop it.” Her eyes sting and she feels dizzy as fury and hurt rage within her like a hurricane. 

“What’s the matter? I thought nothing could change your perception of me. Though I suppose nearly murdering your brother is a list-worthy transgression. What was it you said when we met? That you’d slit my throat if I hurt your family? Well I have. And I didn’t regret it.”

Arya shakes her head, taking another step back. “Why… why are you telling me all this?” Her voice cracks with emotion as she tries to hold herself together.

“Because you’re wrong about me,” Jaime sneers at her, as if gloating at her failure. “You think I’m a good man? Honourable? I’m not. I’m just as hateful as Cersei and you should have killed me when you had the chance.”

“Maybe I should have!” she hisses, glaring up at him as her hand slips defensively to the dagger strapped to her waist.

Jaime follows the movement with dark humour in his expression. “That can be easily rectified.” He shifts to kneel before her and his expression turns deadly serious. “Do it now, faceless girl.”

Arya’s hands are shaking as she unsheathes the dagger and holds it to his throat.

Jaime doesn’t even flinch. “That's the the dagger meant to finish him off, isn’t it? How fitting that it be used to end the man who ruined him. Do it, Arya.”

But she hesitates to deal the killing blow. Looking into his green eyes, the thought of Jaime dying hurts her even more than his terrible truth. 

Why… why does this hurt so much?

Jaime’s hand snaps up and grips her own, stilling the dagger at his throat. “Go on! You’ve thought about it enough times, haven’t you? A cold-blooded killer like you? Now’s your chance to do it.”

But Arya hasn’t thought about killing him in a long time. She can’t even recall when she stopped thinking about killing him.

The room is spinning. She wants to throw up.

Arya drops the dagger and staggers away from him. Her voice is a shaky monotone when she says, “go… die with your sister, Kingslayer. You two deserve each other.”

She turns and walks away from him without another word.

 

 


 

 

Arya spends the rest of the night carving a sparring dummy to pieces with Jaime Lannister’s stupid sword, hoping to blunt it enough to really make it hurt when she shoves it through his skull!

He’s hardly a widow, but she reckons she can make him wail like one.

It’s a pointless endeavour, she knows. Valyrian Steel can’t be dulled no matter how she tries. 

And she’s tried a lot. 

This is the third dummy she’s ruined. 

And it's not even helping! She only feels worse. Giving up with an enraged cry, she flings the sword across the courtyard, furious at Jaime for reducing her to such a weak, emotional little girl.

She should have killed him. Cut his throat and avenged Bran. It’s what she would have done, once. Now…

Now she doesn’t know why she can’t. She’s so filled with fury, she could march right back to Jaime’s chambers and gut him with his own sword, watch him bleed out in retribution, and then cut his head off.

She should.

That’s exactly what she should do.

So why can’t she do it anymore?  She never would have hesitated before she met Jaime. But now…

She must be broken.

This is all his fault and she can’t even kill him for it.

“Arya.”

She startles and spins to see Bran watching her. “What?” She snaps. 

He’s watching her carefully with a strangely piercing stare. He’s never been so present before. “Will you walk with me out to the godswood?” He asks her.

Arya breathes, trying to reign in her temper. It’s hardly Bran’s fault she’s feeling this way. Or maybe it is. He could have warned her about Jaime and instead kept it to himself.  “Of course. We need to talk anyway.”

Bran almost smiles. “I thought as much”

 


 

 

"Why didn’t you tell me?”

Bran stays unconcerned even in the face of her upset. “It wasn’t for me to tell.” And he’s so calm about it, while Arya just wants to throw something.

“You should have told me anyway, before all of this,” she snarls. “I never would have- if I’d have known-“

“If you’d have known before, neither of you would be here. The truth was unnecessary then."

Unnecessary? Bran, he took everything from you. How can it not bother you?”

“I’m not bothered by anything anymore. Everything happened as it was supposed to. That is what matters. We all had our roles to play. If it helps, he has already paid for the things he has done. And he is atoning for his actions.”

Arya scowls. “You mean losing his hand? Thieves get their hands cut off, Bran. What he did to you was much worse.”

“Perhaps it was. But it was necessary.”

She scoffs. “To protect his precious secret?”

“No. So that I could become the three-eyed raven. My destiny was never to be a knight, Arya. I wanted that once, but it’s not where I was needed. It also set Ser Jaime on his path. It led him here. And he was needed here. He is a different man now. You know this.”

Arya purses her lips at that. She knows he’s different now, but… it doesn’t stop it from hurting. And it doesn’t stop her from thinking he should have been on her list all along. “You knew all along. You could have said something and he would have been executed for it. I would have done it for you.”

“No,” Bran says simply. “You wouldn’t have done it for me. Revenge is an easy road to take, Arya. But not always the right one. Even if I could resent him for what he did, I don’t. And I don’t seek justice for it. How you’re feeling and what you choose to do with what you’ve learned, that’s your own path, not mine.”

Arya picks at her nails, frowning at the ground. “You’re saying I can’t kill him, then?”

A shadow of a smile crosses his face. “You can if you want. But I don’t think you do.”

That just makes her even more angry. She doesn’t know what she wants.

But she does know one thing. She never should have trusted Jaime Lannister.

 

 

 

Notes:

Oww. I forgot Jaime’s an asshole.

So…

How are we feeling?

Chapter 86: oathbreakers

Summary:

Jaime flees the North in the wake of his confession to Arya. Arya makes a choice.

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

 

Go die with your sister, Kingslayer!

                          Kingslayer

                 Kingslayer


You two deserve each other.

 

She’s right, of course. But the words cut deep all the same. He’s stuck staring at the slammed door she’d left through, unable to move, unsure if he's even breathing. And wondering vaguely at what point Arya had stopped calling him Kingslayer. 

He won’t lie. Hearing that name from her now feels like a bigger slap in the face than it did from anyone else. Including her damned father.

Kingslayer.

He’d been unable to shake that monicker after the action that cemented his reputation for as long as he’ll live. So instead he’d let it become him. And look where that has gotten him. 

He’s lost everything now. 

Except his life.

Because Arya, against everything he’d been led to believe about her, had left him alive.

Why?

He saw her anger. Her hurt. Her hatred. He saw it all in her eyes. And instead of passing her judgment as she’d sworn she would do, she’d walked away.

Maybe this is her judgment. Maybe his sentence is to live with it. 

A bitter laugh escapes him.

He can’t imagine he’ll live much longer either way. Plenty of Northerners will want his head for this. Perhaps even Lady Sansa herself, if not Jon Snow when he returns.

Or maybe he’ll take up Arya’s advice, and go back to his sister in the South. Where he’s sure to die at the dragon queen’s hands. Or Cersei’s, even. She’d been unstable enough when he’d left her. Who knows how paranoid she’d become in his absence. 

At least Arya knows the truth now.

He certainly doesn’t feel better. But the guilt doesn’t weigh on him anymore. Nor his constant state of worrying. Now all he feels is… well, numb, he supposes. 

His head is clearer at any rate. Maybe. 

He’d been right. Arya can’t stand the sight of him now that she knows. He wouldn’t deserve it if she could. 

Go die with your sister, Kingslayer.

Maybe he should do just that. He can’t stay here at any rate. Just thinking about living in the north with Arya’s hatred burning brighter than any of the other northerners makes him sick to his stomach. He can’t face that every day. 

Perhaps he should die with Cersei after all. He doesn’t deserve to live in a world where Cersei is the only one to pay for their crimes.

Or maybe he can get her out and they can flee Westeros altogether. He feels strangely defeated at the thought, but… it’s not as if he deserves anything else. 

Either way, he certainly doesn’t belong here in the north.

It’s time he returned South.

He wanders over to where Oathkeeper is lying on the ground after he’d thrown it haphazardly. He stoops to pick it up and moves it back over to the bed. 

I’m sorry Brienne, he thinks softly as he places the sword on the bed. 

Looks like I’m about to break another oath.

 


 

 

Arya expected Jaime to leave. Knew he would. Told him to go.

And yet, when she stands in the doorway of his room and sees it completely barren of his things, of his presence, save for Brienne’s sword laid out on the bed, she is gripped by so many raging feelings, she can barely identify any of them.

It was one thing to want him to leave.

Quite another to see the reality of it in front of her.

Good. It’s good that he’s gone. I don’t want him here anyway.

The rage and hurt she’s feeling isn’t because he’s gone. It’s because he completely and utterly shattered her trust into a million tiny pieces and watched those pieces flay her skin.

It’s because he tried to kill Bran and ruined his life in the process.

What could he have been if he hadn’t been crippled? What could her family have been if not for that?

Mother and Father had been right about him.

Jon had been right about him.

Sansa had been right about him.

Bloody Sandor Clegane had been right about him, and she hadn’t listened. To any of them. Because she thought that she alone knew the real Jaime Lannister. She hadn’t known a damn thing.

Gods, I’m so stupid.

Now everything’s ruined. 

It would all be much simpler of he was nothing but a stranger to her. An enemy she could comfortably hate from a distance.

I do hate him. 

He tried to kill Bran. And he couldn’t even have the decency to be honest with her about it. To own his fucking choices. Not until it was far too late.

I wish I’d never met him at the Crossroads.

“I heard he was gone,” Sansa’s voice interrupts her thoughts as she comes to stand beside Arya by the doorway. “I'm sorry.”

Arya shrugs. “I’m not. It’s good that he’s gone.”

Sansa raises an eyebrow. “Is it?”

 “Yes,” Arya says, letting the venom seep into her steady tone. “He’s a Lannister, right? He doesn’t belong in the north. I’m sure you’re pleased he’s gone, too. Now he’s not a problem anymore.”

“Arya,” Sansa says, a hint of exasperation in the word. “What happened?”

“Nothing. You were right about him. We should never have let him into Winterfell.” She walks away from Sansa, from Jaime’s room. And it takes all of her energy to not turn back.

 

 


 

 

She's pacing her room; around, and around, and around, and around, an around, and around, like an animal caught in a cage. Unable to stop. 

She’s glad Jaime’s gone. She does not want him back. But it’s difficult occupying her time when for a while now, he had been the most consistent part of that. 

She doesn’t know what to do with herself, and she has all these awful feelings raging around in her head and no idea what to do with them all. 

This is all Jaime’s fault.

Gods, she’s so furious. At him. At everything.

And she remembers, then, how it felt when she didn’t have to worry about any of her stupid emotions. It had felt remarkably peaceful, especially compared to now. She’d been focused. She’d known what she wanted. 

She hadn’t been weighed down by all these feelings.

Now she’s angry, hurt, confused, upset, worried, frustrated, irritated, restless, lonely

Huh. That’s a weird one. 

She was all of these things before she’d found the faceless men. They’d helped her see the truth of the world. What mattered and what didn’t.

Death. Death is all that matters. Whether fighting it, fighting for it, or finally meeting it. That’s all everything ever came down to.

Today or not today. 

It had been so easy when that’s all she had to think about. Now she has all these other stupid things too.

And Jaime.

Jaime who should have been on her list. Who should have met death long before now. She should have been the one to introduce them. She’d made that damn promise, hadn’t she? 

Now she just can’t bring herself to put him on her list. To say his name out loud. To promise him up to the many-faced god.

Her list had stopped mattering… for a little while. Her family mattered. And she’d found them. 

Keeping them safe is what mattered. 

But now…

 

Cersei

Joffrey

Meryn Trant

Illyn Payne

The Hound

The Mountain

Polliver

Walder Frey

Tywin Lannister

Melisandre 

Berric Dondarrion

Thoros of Myr

…..

 

As with every time from the moment he had told her his horrible secret, she hesitates to add Jaime’s name to her list as her insides constrict painfully at the very thought of adding him.

No, I can’t kill Jaime.

The very thought still pains her. 

And rather than dwelling on the things she can’t do… her mind begins to turn to what she can.

Almost everyone on her list is dead now (or irrelevant). A few even by her own hand. But there are still two names left on it. Two names promised to the many-faced god.

Two names to collect.

She does not want to leave it all up to the dragon queen. She wants to look Cersei in the face as the light fades from that bitch’s eyes. She wants to see Cersei suffer. To watch her bleed out on the floor like any other mere mortal.

 

Cersei Lannister,

Cersei Lannister,

Cersei Lannister.

 

It’s time she finished her list.

 


 

 

Arya is careful as she readies herself and her horse to leave. It’s a good thing she learned the finer points in sneaking around from the very best in Braavos.

Sansa would disapprove of this. There’s no way she would let Arya go without a fight if she knew Arya planned to leave south to kill people very likely set to die anyway.

Arya simply resolved to not tell her. And to sneak out hopefully without anyone knowing.

And as Sansa is currently holding council, now’s the perfect time.

Her plan almost goes off without a hitch. She has her horse saddled. Her belongings packed. Her body armed. 

But as she gets to the back exit no one ever checks, there’s someone in the way.

The Hound.

She rolls her eyes. “Shouldn’t you be guarding my sister?”

“That idiot squire’s got it covered.”

“Right. So you’re here to stop me, is that it? I didn’t know you cared.”

He snorts. “You always were a stubborn bitch. Even if I dragged you away and locked you up, you’d still find a way out, I reckon.”

“You’re right. I would. So you may as well let me go.”

“Go where?”

Arya glares at him. “South.”

“Chasing after your Lannister cunt?”

Arya rolls her eyes. “This isn’t about Jaime, you shit. I don’t give a shit about him. I have unfinished business in the south. It’s time I collected on that.”

And Sandor laughs. “So it’s your little list? I thought it might be that. Bit late to go charging off to King’s Landing now, innit? It’ll be destroyed before you get there.”

“Maybe not. I’m fast on a horse.”

He snorts a laugh. “You’ve always had a death wish, haven’t you.”

Arya shrugs. “A wish for someone’s death, yes. You won’t change my mind.”

“I don’t plan on changing anything, girl. I’m going with you.”

Arya blinks, stunned. “What? Why?”

“You chanted that list every damn night. You think I don’t remember who’s on it? The Lannister bitch. And my brother. He’ll kill you before you get close to the queen.”

Arya scowls. “I’m better now than I was when you knew me. I can kill him easily.”

“No, you won’t. You haven't seen what he is now. He’s not even human. You don’t stand a chance against something like that.”

“I killed the night king! I can kill anything.”

“You got a lucky shot, wolf bitch. You won’t get that chance with the Mountain. I’m going with you, I’ll kill him for you, and maybe you can make it out of there and back to the little bird alive.”

“Why do you even care? You’re supposed to be guarding my sister, not me! I can take care of myself!”

“Your sister is safe. You’re not if you step foot in King’s Landing. I can’t stop you from going, and I don’t plan to. But I can stop your stupidity from getting you killed. Your sister would want to know someone at least has your back down there, so I’m going with you whether you like it or not.”

Arya doesn’t have time for this. The longer she debates this with Sandor, the closer she is to getting discovered by Sansa.

“Fine.” She grits out. “Have it your way. We’re riding hard, so I hope you stole a good horse.”

Sandor says nothing as he joins her in leaving Winterfell’s gates.

Arya tries not to distract herself with Sandor’s sudden concern for her.

She focuses all her thoughts on the South.

On The Mountain. And Cersei Lannister.

Time to kill that bitch.

 

 

Notes:

The interesting thing about Arya (in my story anyway) is that she has this belief that her training with the faceless men taught her to stop feeling her emotions, when really, they just taught her to channel them better into something constructive.

Anyway, it's just something I was musing on as I was writing this chapter :)

Chapter 87: Absence

Summary:

Jaime, Arya, and the Hound travel south. There's a lot to unpack.

Notes:

Putting Sandor in the role of 'person who cares' (but pretends he doesn't) is... well, it's interesting. I did have a little fun with it, though :)

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

 

 


Trekking south, Arya tries to put all her energy into thinking about killing Cersei.

Some of the time it works. She still carries around so much hatred in her heart for Cersei Lannister - For the Kingsroad. For letting Joffrey cut her father’s head off. For how she treated Sansa.

For being Jaime’s twin. And lover.

Why should she care that Cersei still has his loyalty? They’re both just as bad as each other. Jaime made that clear the night he left.

This is the thing about focusing on Cersei.

While it’s easy thinking about how much she wants to watch Cersei bleed out in front of her, inevitably thinking about her always leads back around to thinking about Jaime.

And thinking about Jaime is exhausting. Her feelings towards Cersei are clear as crystal, but Jaime was so… muddied. It’s not simple at all. And it should be fucking simple. He pushed Bran out of a tower! It doesn’t get much more simple than that. 

And yet….

She is furious. And frustrated. And hurt.

But when she wakes up every morning and he’s not there anymore, his absence makes her want to burst into tears.

Gods she hates him so much.

 


 

Sometimes, as Jaime makes the trek south, he hears a faint ‘what the fuck are you doing’ echoing somewhere in the back of his mind. 

Sometimes he even swears it sounds like Arya. As though she would even care either way anymore. 

He snorts derisively at that thought. He’d burned that bridge rather spectacularly.

The sheer hurt in her eyes won’t leave his mind, and is so often the last thing he sees before he falls asleep. If he even falls asleep at all. Most of his nights south are restless and full of echoed words. From Arya. From Tyrion. From Cersei. From Brienne.

All of them wanted something from him, had built him up to be something he wasn’t, and in the end he’d failed all of them.

Is it my fault if they had such false notions in the first place?

It’s difficult for him to distinguish who he’s angrier at; Himself or them. 

Perhaps he should forget Cersei and just disappear altogether.

What would she even see if he does manage to see her again?

A failure.

A coward.

Weak.

He can even imagine her tone of voice when she says it.

And she wouldn’t be wrong.

 


 

 

It’s a very quiet trek south. The Hound has never been very chatty at all, and Arya remembers when he used to snap at her for never shutting up.

She almost smiles at that.

Things are very different now. Arya can’t think of much to say to him. She just wants to be in King’s Landing already and puts all her energy into focusing on that. She doesn’t have much left for words or conversation.

And Sandor hates conversation anyway.

So Arya can’t for the life of her understand why, when they stop to make camp late one night, he suddenly changes this status quo.

“You really have changed,” he says as he finishes up stoking the fire.

Arya blinks. “What?”

“Before the Vale shit, you wouldn’t shut up. Now you won’t say a word. Even at Winterfell you were more irritating than this.”

Arya shrugs. “Don’t have anything to say, I guess. Are you complaining?”

“Nah. But more often quiet is more dangerous than loud.”

Arya hides a smirk. “Good. I’m a dangerous person.”

“Aye,” he says slowly. “I know you are. You weren’t quiet when that Lannister cunt was around though.”

She scowls. “Since when do you bother butting in?”

“Since it sent me on a suicide mission, I s’pose.”

She glares at him. “I didn’t ask you to come with me.”

“No, but your sister was worried you’d pull something like this. So make sure your head’s on straight at least so you don’t get yourself killed.”

“I know what I’m doing,” she says in a low voice. 

“Sure you do. That’s why you didn’t even think about leaving Winterfell until he left first.”

Arya holds his gaze with cold eyes for a long moment before looking away. “We’re not talking about this.” She’s not talking about Jaime with Sandor bloody Clegane.

Sandor grunts as he turns to set up his furs. “If you say so,” he mutters. And she doesn’t know if she’s imagining him calling her a coward under his breath when he has his back to her.

She prickles at that. She is not a coward. Cowards don’t kill Cersei Lannister!

She doesn’t give him a response, though, and ignores him for the rest of the night.

She would feel much better if she could never talk about Jaime with anyone ever, actually; If she could forget all about him.

She wishes she could.

 


 

 

Sometimes when he wakes up, he expects Arya to be there. When he realises she’s not, this strange disappointment sinks into his bones.

It’s strange, how used to her company he’d grown. He hadn’t really noticed all the time they’d spent in each other’s company. Or maybe he never really thought about it properly until now. Now, he’s noticing her absence far more than he ever noticed her presence. 

He feels her absence when he wakes in the morning, when he reaches for the sword he’d left behind, when he notices how quiet it is on the road.

Arya had been such a quiet travelling companion in those early days. The deafening silence between them had been what prompted him to prod at her walls to begin with. And slowly over time, Arya had given in to his prodding and let him see a little more of the real her beneath that cold, faceless facade of hers until all he saw was the real Arya.

He misses that. Her snappy retorts. The fierceness in her eyes. Her laugh.

He misses Arya.

He has no right to miss her. So he retreats into himself until he doesn’t feel anything at all. 

 

 


 

 

Sandor doesn’t bring up Jaime again, which Arya is grateful for.

This does not stop Jaime from interrupting her thoughts, though. 

She just doesn’t understand why she didn’t think of the possibility for herself. She remembers everything about the day Bran fell and everything after when they left Winterfell. She’d known it was strange. Bran had always been an expert climber. He even taught Arya how to do it better. He probably climbed that tower a hundred times and he never even slipped. 

She’d known it was strange. 

Even if she didn’t know then how horrible the Lannisters were yet, surely at some point the possibility could have entered her mind. 

It was obvious now, of course, but maybe only because she knows the truth now. 

Had anyone else figured it out? 

She startles as a thought strikes her. Her mother had figured it out. She’d been so sure Tyrion had tried to kill Bran that she’d had him captured and taken to the Vale. WHY would she do that unless she were sure of a motive.

And protecting one’s siblings was a glaringly strong one. She must have figured it out. Or found evidence.

Fuck.

“Gods, I’m so stupid,” she mutters to herself. 

“Finally having regrets about going south?” The hound pipes up, an amused quality lacing his tone.

Arya startles out of her reverie to look up at the Hound. They’d stopped again for the night and he was roasting a couple of rabbits over the fire. 

“No. I was just thinking about something.” 

She wonders if Sandor had known? He had to stick close to them to guard Joffrey. He could have heard something. Curiosity gets the better of her. 

“Did you know?” She asks tentatively, then realizes he wouldn’t have a clue what she was asking about. “About what Jaime did to Bran?”

Sandor frowns. “When?”

“When the king visited winterfell.”

Sandor doesn’t meet her gaze. “It wasn’t my place to know.”

A bitter chuckle escapes her. “So you did know.”

Sandor shrugs. “I know what they’re capable of. Doesn’t mean I knew. My job was to guard that shit, Joffrey, to stop him from getting himself killed. I didn't ask questions.”

Arya nods, unsure what to say to that and berating herself for being blind to the Jaime everyone else saw. 

“If you ask me,” Sandor continues from across the fire, and Arya looks up at him as a pained look crosses the man’s face. “That idiot I saw trailing after you at Winterfell isn’t the same cunt I saw standing behind his sister in King’s Landing.”

“You tried to warn me about him,” she counters pointedly.

“Aye, I did. But if I thought he was still that same cunt from King’s Landing, I never would have let him anywhere near the little bird.”

“What about me?”

He snorts. “You can take care of yourself. You don’t need me killin’ anyone else for you.”

Arya glares into the fire. “What if I did want you to kill him for me?”

He barks a laugh at that. “I’d tell you to fuck off and do it yourself, wolf bitch. I don’t do the hired dog bullshit anymore.”

Arya prickles with irritation. She throws a twig into the fire, watching it crackle. “Maybe I will when I see him again.” Sandor scoffs but doesn’t offer a response. Arya scowls. “You don’t believe me? I could if I wanted to. I should kill him.” She’s still so frustrated at herself for finding the thought so difficult. 

Sandor gives her a strangely pointed look. “You took me off your list, didn’t you?”

Arya startles. “What’s that got to do with anything?”

“You haven’t tried to kill me since we ran into you at the Neck. I have to assume it’s because I’m not on your list anymore. Am I?”

Arya looks away. “No,” she says glumly. 

“I still killed that friend of yours, what was his name?”

“Micah,” Arya scowls. She does not want to be thinking about that right now.

“Right. Still killed that little shit. I’m not sorry for it either. You don’t still want me dead for that?”

“I still hate you for it, if that’s what you’re asking.”

“Then why not have a go now? I’m right here. Reckon you could get a good hit in before I knock you flat on your ass.”

Arya huffs. “Why does everyone keep asking me to kill them? I stopped wanting to, alright?”

“What for? I sure as hell didn't do anything to deserve mercy from someone like you?”

 

I’m not deserving of your mercy, so why did you grant it?

 

She looks away, feeling a stab of pain in her chest. “Other things mattered more I guess.”

“Right. You know what I’ve done. You know what I am. You know who I fight for now. You know all this about your lion now too. All men are cunts. You can whinge about it, or figure out what really matters.”

Arya does not like thinking about this. Not at all. 

Everything would be so much easier if things were as black and white as her father always said it was. In a black and white world, she could condemn Jaime without a second thought. And she so wants to.  She should condemn the man who tried to kill her little brother and left him crippled. Her parents certainly would have. But for Arya…

She’s beyond angry at him for what he did. For Bran. For letting her trust him. For expecting her to just kill him. For being so cruel. But no matter how she tries, she can’t forget all the ways he’d been there for her since she’d picked him up at the Crossroads

More than anything, she hates that it’s difficult for her to stop thinking about how nice it was having him there.

“He’s not my lion,” she growls instead, pushing aside the rest of his points.

Sandor raises an eyebrow. “What is he, then?”

Arya stares into the fire for a moment. She doesn’t know what he is. She thought he’d been different. Now she worries he’d been exactly like the rest of his damn family the entire time and she’d been blind to it.

“He’s a Lannister,” she decides on, her flat tone cracking with a dejected quality.

The conversation dies there and they fall into silence after that. It wouldn’t have if Jaime was here instead of Sandor. Gods, that man loved the sound of his own voice.

Not that it matters now.

He’s gone, and Arya certainly doesn’t want him back.

 


 

 

The closer Jaime gets to King’s Landing the less he feels anything. 

It’s surprisingly draining, feeling nothing. But at least packing it all away is better than the agony of feeling everything, he supposes. 

He focuses instead on Cersei.

Whether she will want him there or not, he can still get her out. She’s with child, after all. Or… maybe she’s had it already? He’s not sure. Hasn’t truly kept track of the passing time the way he probably should have.

Either way, she’ll need his help. And he can’t just leave her to be burned alive when she’s carrying his… well, his niece or nephew, isn’t it. For true this time.

Gods is that a strange thought. Mildly irritating, actually. He doesn’t like the thought of Cersei bearing someone else’s child. But he certainly wouldn’t want to give her any more from his seed either.

What a confusing set of feelings that is. 

But the child shouldn’t suffer. It’s entirely innocent after all.

He snorts a laugh. When had he ever truly cared for the innocent? Men who push ten year old boys from tower windows surely don’t give a damn about innocent.

Oathbreaker.

Yeah yeah, he’s heard it all before. 

But the closer he gets to King’s Landing, the more people are around. Which is an amusing thought to him. Wouldn’t people flee away in panic with a war going on?

But no, instead they flee toward the chaos.

Idiots. 

It serves his purpose, though. Gives him more cover to slip through enemy lines unnoticed. 

Or…

At least he thought it would.

Until some northerner with a slightly larger brain had noticed his gold hand.

Fuck, maybe I should have taken that off.

Or maybe he didn’t care if they did see it.

It’s hard to distinguish which way he’s feeling when he’s so numb to any feeling at all.

“Oii,” the northerner says as he and his patrolling buddies form a minor barrier in Jaime’s path. He looks down at Jaime’s gold hand then back up at his face. “Kingslayer, is it? Thought you were supposed to be back in Winterfell.”

Jaime shrugs. “Didn’t take, I suppose.”

“Well, then.” The northerner smirks. “I suppose you’ll just have to come with us.”

Could be worse, Jaime says as they grab him and tie his arms behind his back. 

He could have been caught by the dragon queen’s men.

 

 

 

Notes:

I gotta admit, writing all the Jaime/Arya scenes came So Easily to me and now that I have to write them apart it's utter agony. I Had to keep them apart for a couple of chapters to really let the absence sink in (hence the chapter title up there). But I am hating every second. haha. Maybe that's why I threw Sandor in there. To give at least one of them someone to bounce stuff off of.

For those of you missing the Jaime/Arya interactions as much as I am, they'll see each other again sooner than you think, don't worry. :)

Chapter 88: Do you regret it?

Summary:

While Jaime is imprisoned in the northerners' war camp, he receives some visitors.

Notes:

 

 

 

I'm sorry I was away for so long. I was having some structuring issues with a few scenes in the next couple of chapters that needed to be straightened out before I could finish the chapter. To be honest, though, it might not have taken quite this long if Taylor Swift AND Little Mix hadn't released albums on the same weekend. haha. So that slowed down my progress a lil bit. ah well. Hopefully I won't take nearly so long to finish the next chapter. hehe.

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

 

Jon had been traveling back to the northern camp anyway when he’d gotten news that Jaime Lannister had appeared out of the blue.

Great. Just what he needs. It’s been difficult enough trying to return Dany’s focus to the war effort in the wake of her recent losses. If she finds out Jaime Lannister is here, there could be hells to pay. And he’s not yet sure if he wants to start that fire. 

For now, he’d given the order to keep Jaime’s presence here quiet. At least until he can decide on the best course of action. 

It’s curious that the Lannister has shown up here at all. Jon’s men had reported he’d been tight-lipped on why he’d left the north. The moment Jon had read this new development, he’d started to worry what it meant for Arya. She rarely seems to think things through when Jaime is around.

He sighs to himself. I don’t have time for this with a bloody war going on. 

His men are getting tired and restless. Dany is out for fire and blood. And now Jaime Lannister shows up to cause more trouble.

He’d better have a damn good reason for coming South.

 


 

Jaime doesn’t know how long he had been stuck inside this tent for, tied to a damn post without a soul to talk to. He does know that it’s late when he finally does get a visitor.

The tent flap opens and in steps Jon Snow of all people. Jaime supposes he shouldn’t be surprised to see the bastard.

But surely the war is more important than little old me.

“Lannister,” Jon greets him coolly.

“Jon Snow,” he returns rather snidely, his lips curling in his typical arrogant smirk. “How kind of you to pay a personal visit.” He tilts his head to the side. “Is it Snow or Targaryen now? It’s rather difficult to keep up these days.”

Jon stiffens at the Targaryen name. “Arya told you?”

He snorts. “Of course she did. She told me a lot of things. Well. You know. Before.”

Jon’s eyes narrow. “Before what?”

Jaime wonders if Jon Snow will carry out what his sister couldn’t. He’s an honourable fool like Ned Stark before him, so he’d probably make it quick at least. There are certainly worse ways to go. As always, he chooses to throw caution to the wind.“Oh, I suppose before I told her I pushed Bran Stark from the broken tower and crippled him for life.” He smirks at the undisguised shock on Jon Snow’s face. “That might explain why she’s not so forthcoming with juicy little details anymore.”

The poor bastard looks like he needs a moment to recover from his shock. He shakes his head. “Is that true? About Bran”

Jaime laughs bitterly. “Of course it’s true. He caught me up there fucking my beautiful sister, so, out the window he had to go.” He shrugs. “The things I do for love.” Then he laughs again.

Jon is looking at him with a very peculiar expression. Somewhere between shock, anger, and… something else. It irritates Jaime that he can’t quite read it. “And you told Arya all this?”

“Yes.” Jaime sobers a bit at the mention of Arya’s name. “Needless to say she did not take it very well. Hence my surprise appearance in your camp.”

“I don’t know about that,” Jon counters with that peculiar look still. “You told her to her face and you’re still alive. For Arya, I’d say that is taking it well.”

Jaime’s lips curl in a mirthless smile. “Fair point. And what about you, Jon Snow? Will you take revenge for my crippling the last Lord Stark?”

Jon is quiet for a long moment as he holds Jaime’s gaze, no doubt considering his options. Jaime is a little surprised there’s more options floating in his head besides the chopping block. 

The bastard shakes his head. “I told Arya that if you ever betrayed my hospitality, you would be her problem. If you’re here, now, then I assume that means she hasn’t called for your head.”

“No, she has not. I have no idea where her sudden sense of mercy came from.”

Jon frowns as he turns over Jaime’s answer in his head. “Did you speak to Bran about this? He would have to remember now.”

“Oh, yes. Naturally, his memory of the incident was restored in full when he became… whatever he is now, I still don’t really understand it. Interestingly, he held no strong feelings on the matter at all. Risen above, I suppose. How kind of him.” A bitter edge enters his tone at the last words. Neither Bran nor Arya had reacted the way he expected, he is now realising. And Jon seems far calmer than he thought the bastard would be too, so it seems he’ll be following the same pattern.

These damn Starks are far less predictable than their parents ever were. Its exceedingly irritating.

“Well,” Jon says carefully, his fists clenched despite his calm demeanour. “If Bran doesn’t want justice, and Arya didn’t call for it either, I won’t pass my sentence until they say otherwise.” 

Jaime sighs. How boring. 

Jon seems to hesitate before his next words. “It would have to wait, regardless. I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but we’re in the middle of a war right now.”

“Really?” Jaime looks around. “How’s that going for you.”

Jon shoots him an annoyed glare. “If you're here now, I’m assuming you know already.”

Jaime settles back, relaxing against his post a bit. “I did hear Cersei struck a masterful first blow, yes. Unfortunate for your dragon queen, of course.” He pauses. “And the rest of King’s Landing, I suppose.” His lips quirk in a smirk. “If whispers are to be believed.”

Jon doesn’t seem concerned with Jaime’s attempts to rile him. “We’re working on a counter strike. It’s been… difficult. Daenerys has taken the losses pretty hard. Forming a strategy has taken more time than we’d like.”

“Yes, I imagine it would. Such are the pitfalls of would-be kings and queens ruled by their emotions. Pesky things, they are. They’ve never done anyone any good. Especially Targaryens.” He tilts his head as he looks up at Jon. “I suppose the noble Stark blood cancelled all that madness out in your case. Aren’t you lucky.”

“Daenerys isn’t mad,” Jon says rather defensively.

Jaime smirks. “Of course not.”

Jon glowers at him. “But she is dangerous to her enemies. If her men had found you first, you’d likely be dead already. Your life is in my hands once again, it seems. I wouldn’t be so smug if I were you.”

“Heavens forbid I upset anyone."

Jon straightens, about to retort, when the tent flap opens and the onion knight steps through.

“Apologies for the intrusion,” he says, looking to Jon. “There’s something you’ll want to see.”

Jaime can tell it must be a very serious matter. Jon nods at his Hand before turning back to Jaime. “We’ll have to finish this later.”

“I’m counting the hours,” Jaime snarks back.

Jon takes his leave without another word. 

Gods, Jaime can’t believe he’d forgotten how infuriating Starks can be.

 


 

 

It’s late. Very late. And Arya is sneaking around, as usual. 

She and Sandor had made camp not too far from the northern army with the hopes of possibly hearing where the siege is at before deciding on the best way of sneaking into King’s Landing.

It’s a frustrating process for Arya because she would be perfectly able to utilise the best way of getting in on her own if Sandor hadn’t insisted on coming along. Now she has to factor him into the plan. 

But that’s not why Arya is sneaking around. 

No.

She’s sneaking around because of the little detail she’d overheard from the northern scouts earlier in the day. 



‘Mightn’t ‘ave recognised ‘im if not for that ‘and. You’d think the fucker would know better than to parade it around if he wanted to sneak past undetected.’

‘That’s Lannisters for ya. Can’t tear em away from their precious gold.’

 

They’d laughed and continued on while Arya was left rooted to the spot from this new information. Because they could only have been talking about Jaime.

Sandor had given her a peculiar look, but she’d ignored it and pretended like she had no plans to see for herself.

And to be fair to her, initially that’s exactly what she wanted to do. So what if Jaime had been caught? All for the best, if you ask Arya. He can’t get in the way when she kills Cersei if he’s chained up well away from the red keep.

But the more she thought about it, the more it ate away at her that he’s right there and she could slip in and out without anyone seeing if she wanted to. Imagine how much easier it would be to get to Cersei if she happened to be wearing Jaime’s face?

Just the thought of killing him and adding his face to her collection made her nauseous, though, so she’d quickly dismissed the thought.

But the urge to see him again was less easy to dismiss. Especially when Sandor kept shooting her those infuriatingly knowing looks.

He doesn’t know shit, she’d fumed quietly to herself for the rest of the day. 

Only when she’d taken her turn keeping watch after a sleepless rest and he was fast asleep did she decide she couldn’t leave it alone. She feels so conflicted about Jaime and now that he’s so close to her again, it’s all hurting so much more. Her anger. Her grief. Her guilt. 

All of that was swirling around in her head anyway. Adding having to pretend like she doesn’t want to see him again only made it worse. 

How ridiculous is it that staying away from him hurts just as much as thinking about him does.

Yet even now when she hates him so much, she can’t help but turn to him to make it stop hurting. Even if it does mean she might just kill him this time. 

He can’t do anything more to hurt her if he’s dead.

 

 


 

 

Jaime doesn’t really remember nodding off, yet when he rouses to find Arya Stark sitting in the opposite corner of his tent, twirling the dragonbone dagger between her hands, he nearly jumps out of his skin.

“Seven hells, you’d think I’d be used to this by now,” he grumbles out, his voice sounding weary and hoarse even to him.

Arya looks up at him as the dagger stills in her hand, her expression entirely blank. “You’d think so,” she replies in a dull tone he hasn’t heard since his early days traveling with her. 

So her walls are back up, stronger than ever, then.

Jaime has quite successfully numbed himself to most of his emotions by now, yet a prickle of guilt flares up somewhere inside him seeing Arya so cold and closed off.

And yet… here she is.

He eyes the dagger in her hand, wondering if she’s here because she plans to use it this time. But if she’s here to kill him, she seems to be taking her sweet time working up to it.

“You left,” she says eventually, and they’re monotonous words, yet they somehow still manage to sound like an accusation.

She said it like she cares one way or the other and Jaime lets out a bitter chuckle at that. “Would you have wanted me to stay, Arya? Somehow I doubt I would have been welcome now you know the truth about me.”

Arya’s expression doesn’t even shift. He has no idea what she’s thinking at all. Gods, he forgot how frustrating this is. “Cersei is going to die,” she says plainly. “Daenerys will probably be queen. She’ll kill you, too.”

She says that like she doesn’t care at all, and somehow that stings more than her fury ever did. “That must please you,” he says quite snidely. “One more name struck from your list. Did you come here to kill me yourself, then? Take your own vengeance before the dragon queen can beat you to it and burn me alive? Or are you simply here to gloat over my inevitable demise?”

You wanted me to kill you,” she reminds him in a flat tone. “I’m not sure if you deserve that gift.”

He tilts his head to the side, trying to read her. “I tried to kill your little brother. For no other reason than he happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time. Why not take your vengeance for that?”

Arya looks down, clenching her fist around the dagger in her hand. “I haven’t made up my mind yet." Then she gets to her feet, looking down at him with disdain shining through her blank mask. "I have to know, first. Do you regret it? Do you regret… pushing him?”

She looks him dead in the eyes, ready to read his answer.

She might kill him faster if he tells her no.

Before he can answer, she shakes her head and takes a step back. “Don’t… lie to me. Tell me the truth. Do you regret it?”

Jaime hangs his head, giving up the game. It’s too cruel now, anyway, even for him. She’s holding it together well, but little cracks are starting to appear. “Yes,” he says, barely more than a whisper. “I won’t lie and tell you I would have made a different choice, because I wouldn’t have. But… I’m not proud of what I let myself become. I try not to be that man anymore.”

Arya’s mask drops then and her face twists in pain. “I know,” she says. “You did it for her.” For Cersei, he assumes she means.

“I did.”

“You did so many things for her. And now you’re going back for her. But she… she would never regret anything.”

“No.” He agrees, trying not to flinch at the hint of venom in Arya’s tone as she talks about Cersei. “She was furious at me for it, but only because he lived to be a liability. She wouldn’t have handled it much differently either.”

Something flickers in Arya’s eyes then, though he can’t quite catch it. “How could you even… love someone like that? Even if she wasn’t your sister, how could you? Knowing what she is.”

Her tone sends shame through him. He shrugs. “I didn’t care. She was my other half. We belonged together.” He’s reciting the words they’d told themselves over the years, but they sound strangely hollow to him now. Like an excuse more than a reason.

“And now?”

Jaime huffs a low laugh. “Now it seems she’s all I have left. Fitting. I did always hope to die in the arms of the woman I loved.

Arya’s expression hardens. “Then why swear yourself to Sansa? Why fight for the north at all? You never should have come with me if Cersei is all you care about.”

“She wasn’t all I cared about!” Jaime snaps, feeling his temper flaring for the first time since leaving Winterfell. Then he lets out an exhausted sigh as he leans his head against the post behind him, avoiding Arya’s eyes. “What do you want from me, Arya? I can’t change what I’ve done or how I felt. You can kill me, or not. But nothing I say now will fix anything.”

“I should kill you,” she says coolly. Then something in her expression cracks. “But I can’t.” She sheathes the dagger to her hip. “I’m going to kill her."

He can see the pain shining in her eyes and despite everything, in this moment all he wants is to help her somehow. It frustrates him that he can’t. She won’t listen to anything he has to say. Not anymore.

“You shouldn’t,” is all he can manage to say. 

Arya clenches her fist. “It’s all she deserves. We’ll all be free of her then. Even you.”

When Jaime blinks, she’s gone, leaving him with only her words. And a sword on the ground, well out of his reach. His sword, he realizes.

Widow’s Wail.
 

 

 


 

Arya tries not to let herself grow distracted by how shaken her talk with Jaime has left her. She hadn’t intended to bring Cersei up at all. It just sort of… fell out. 

And Jaime

She’s so confused by him. By how she should be feeling about him. She can’t bring herself to reconcile what he did to Bran, but… she misses the Jaime she came to trust. And she hates herself for missing him. And she hates him for making her feel this way in the first place. It would be a lot easier to cut him off if he hadn’t made her care first.

Why is this so hard?

Her thoughts must have distracted her after all because she doesn’t even notice she’d been spotted until it was too late. And by the time she hears them, they already have her surrounded.

She draws her sword, ready to attack at a moment’s notice.

“Lady Arya,” the one in front of her greets as if he expected her to be there. “We’re not here to hurt you,” he tries to reassure her as she remains still.  “Your brother is looking for you.”

“Then where is he?” She snarls.

“We can take you to him. If you would please come with us?”

How had they even managed to find her here without her noticing? She should have heard them approaching well before now.

Then Arya’s eyes fall on the Hound standing further back, watching the whole thing with that stupid knowing look in his eyes like he’d known all along she would try to come here. Had he really followed right after her to sell her out to her own brother?

An unexpected bout of rage strikes her at the thought.

That’s it. I’m putting him back on my list.

 

 


 

Notes:

So... yeah, there's a lot of complicated feelings all round. Poor Jon always gets truth bombs dropped into his lap right when he doesn't have time to deal with it. haha. ah well. Maybe he can give Jaime a piece of his mind later if he survives the war first.

Arya's going on a journey of acceptance. We'll get her there, but it'll take some working through. There's a little more at play than JUST the fact that Jaime crippled Bran, and she's not really ready to think about it, let alone talk about it so.... should be interesting when it all comes out later :D

Chapter 89: Typical Tyrion

Summary:

Jon regrettably loses his temper and Tyrion arrives to fight for Jaime

Notes:

man, stacking all the pieces is hard work and I'm tired. haha. But we're getting there. slowly.

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

 

Jon’s temper is already fraying when he hears about Arya. 

He has no time for irrational anger. No time for a fight. He has to hold it together if they have any chance of winning this war. Someone has to. So he tries desperately to hold it together, especially when he enters his tent and sees her there, curled up in his desk chair, chin resting on her knee as she stares off into space.

She looks up the moment he walks in.

He sighs. “I was really hoping my men were wrong about this,” he says, hearing his own exasperation.

Arya shrugs. “They weren’t. Sorry.”

Gods, he wants to be so furious at her. But knowing what he knows now about Jaime, he can’t bring himself to take it out on her. “Arya,” he crosses the room and tries to rest a hand on her shoulder but she flinches away without a word. He drops his hand. “What are you doing here?” He asks instead.

“I heard Jaime was here.”

He looks up to hide his frustration. “Is that why you left home? To chase after Jaime Lannister?”

“No.” She picks at her fingernails absentmindedly. “I’m not here for Jaime. I came south to kill his queen.”

Well. Jon was not expecting that. But perhaps he should have been. He clenches his jaw in an attempt to bite back his anger. “You can’t be serious.”

She looks him straight in the eye then, her gaze unflinchingly hard. “I am. She’s the last name on my list. Someone has to do it.”

Why do you think we’re fighting this war?” He snaps. “For fun? When we liberate King’s Landing from Cersei’s clutches, she’ll face judgment for all she’s done then! You never should have risked your life by coming here.”

Arya flinches, but holds her blank expression as she meets his own frustrated grey eyes. “I could save more lives going in and doing it my way than your dragon queen trying to break the doors down and burning everything standing in her way. You know that.”

And Jon’s temper snaps. “Oh, don’t pretend that’s why you’re doing this!” He snarls. “I’m not a fool. I know the only reason you’re suddenly out for Cersei’s blood again is because you couldn’t kill him!”

“This isn’t about Jaime!”

Of course it is! You think I’m blind? That I haven’t been seeing exactly what’s going on between you two? Everything always comes back to Jaime Lannister! He’ll never be the man you want him to be!

“You don’t know anything!” She hisses.

“I know enough!” He lets out a long exhale. “I let him into our home because you asked me to. When I should have had his head for what he did to Bran.”

Arya blinks, surprise taking over her own anger. “He told you that? Why didn’t you kill him?”

“Why didn’t you?” He counters, raising an eyebrow.

Arya looks away with a scowl. She hesitates before replying. “Bran didn’t want me to.” As if that would have stopped her if she truly wanted the man dead. 

“I warned you what would happen if you got attached to him. You should have listened to me.”

“I know,” she growls with a glare, not meeting his eyes.

“You should have stayed away from him. And you certainly shouldn’t have followed him all the way to King’s Landing instead of helping Sansa protect the north.”

“I know!”

“Then what were you thinking!”

“I don’t know!” She rages before crossing her arms over her chest and taking a step back. “You were right, Jon! Is that what you want to hear? There you go. I thought I could trust him but I was wrong. And you-“ her voice hitches as she turns away. “You were right about him, alright?”

Jon’s anger evaporates instantly seeing Arya’s distress, replaced only with concern. “Arya.” He tries to reach for her but she flinches away. 

“Don’t,” she says and her voice breaks again as she wraps her arms tighter around herself. “Just- go back to planning your war, Jon. Leave me alone.”

Jon’s instinct is to pull her into his arms to try and comfort her. He hates seeing her like this. But she’s glaring at him like she might gouge his eye out if he tries so against all his instincts, he gives her the space she needs. “Arya...” He doesn’t even know what to say. “Do you want him executed? When this war is over, I’ll see it done if that’s what you want.”

Distress shines through her eyes before she can hide it from him. “I don’t know. I can’t- I don’t know if I can swing the sword. Is that horrible?”

Jon sighs. “No. It’s not horrible, Arya. I’m sorry you’re hurting.”

She glares at him. “I’m not hurting.”

He has to look up to stop himself from rolling his eyes. Gods, she’s stubborn. “Fine. First thing tomorrow I’m sending you back to Winterfell.”

Arya manages a snort. “I’m not going anywhere."

Jon just shakes his head. “I mean it, Arya. I’ll ensure you’re well protected. With men I trust. I’m not having you here with things as volatile as they are. You’ll go home, Arya. And you’ll stay there where it’s safe.”

Arya doesn’t say anything to that and only glares daggers at him before Jon turns and takes his leave in the silence. 

He was supposed to brief his men as soon as he arrived. But between his frustrations with Daenerys and the sudden influx of raging emotions from Jaime and Arya showing up, he knows that will have to wait until morning.

Davos is quick to carry out his change in instructions and Jon is left alone. He grips the hilt of his sword as he grits his teeth in thought. He can’t go and see the man he really wants to swing it at. He would only be acting out of anger.

He searches for a dummy target instead.

 

 


 

 

Arya is raging on the inside. It wouldn’t take much for her to kill the two men guarding the tent and make her escape. She’s surprised Jon placed men there at all. But then, Jon’s never been stupid. He might say its for her protection, but she knows that’s bullshit. He just knows her better than to trust her to stay where she’s told. Apparently she’s defied him one too many times. At least he’s learning, she supposes.

She doesn’t leave yet, anyway. She will. When the opportunity strikes. Every time she even thinks Cersei’s name she wants to carve the bitch’s heart out of her chest. Arya can’t understand why Jaime keeps going back to her. She doesn’t deserve that kind of devotion from anyone. 

Jaime’s simple response floats in and out of her mind as she thinks about Cersei. You shouldn’t. It sounded like… well, a warning. But she’s not sure why. Of course he wouldn’t want her to kill his twin sister. He loves her. It’ll probably hurt him to see her die. 

I don’t care about Jaime, she thinks venomously. 

She’s chewing on this thought when the tent flap opens and the Hound steps through.

Arya glares daggers at him without a word as he looks at her with a raised eyebrow.

“I’m surprised you stuck around,” he says.

Arya doesn’t say anything to that. But she does run her fingers along the knife up her sleeve, pondering throwing it at his head as Sandor makes himself comfortable in the chair she’d vacated, putting his feet up on the desk as he passes Arya a flask. “Here.”

Arya doesn't speak. She has nothing to say to him. And she continues to glare at him for a long moment before she takes the offered flask.

Sandor pulls another one from his pocket and they sit in silence for a while. 

“I don’t understand,” she says eventually. “All you wanted was to kill the Mountain for what he did to you. Don’t you want that anymore?”

Sandor takes a long swig from his flask. “Whatever that thing is guarding the lion bitch isn’t my brother. Even if he was… what’s it matter who kills him? They’re going to die here anyway.”

“You didn’t think like that before,” she points out flatly. “Don’t you still hate him?”

“Aye, I hate him. I always will. Killing him’s not gonna change my lot. He’ll just be dead. And what have I got?” He looks to Arya, then. “You think killing that bitch will change yours? It won’t. It’ll never be enough. You’ll just end up a miserable old shit like me.”

She is quiet for a moment as she turns over his words.

She has to do it. Cersei’s taken so much from her and her family. She deserves to die by Needle’s blade. Arya can’t take the chance that Cersei might survive. “It has to be me.”

Sandor just shrugs. “Suit yourself.”

They drink in more companionable silence after that. 

 


 

If Sandor intended to stop her from running away, he really shouldn’t have started drinking. Arya looks over at his slumped form with mild contempt before leaving him there.

The guards are asleep as well.

Arya rolls her eyes. She knows they’re for her benefit more than any outlying trouble, but maybe Jon should have explained that to the guards so they weren’t stupid enough to fall asleep on the job.

She would say something, but she has more important things to do.

Like kill the queen.

She slips away into the night like she’d never been there at all.

 


 

Jon thought the worst news he would receive that morning was learning Arya had disappeared last night (he may have lost his temper when he learned the guards fell asleep during the night).

Learning Daenerys would be arriving at his camp imminently might just be worse. Not that he doesn’t want to see her. He does. But not if the primary reason for her visit might be her learning Jaime Lannister is here. 

Which might not be quite as bad as learning that Tyrion had arrived first.

He barely glances up as the dwarf enters his tent. “No,” he says flatly.

Tyrion shoots him an amused look. “You don’t even know what I’m here to ask.”

Jon rolls up the scroll he’d been poring over. “You want me to release Ser Jaime before Daenerys arrives.” He looks to Tyrion as he finishes rolling the scroll. “And my answer is no.”

Tyrion drops his bravado and slouches into the chair in front of Jon’s desk. “Alright, so perhaps I’ve become a bit too easy to read.” He looks up at Jon. “What if I said please?”

Jon levels him with a wary look. “Daenerys has every right to demand your brother’s head. And I no longer have any further reasons to deny her.”

“He did ally with you against the dead and bring men to your cause.”

“Aye, he did. And then he abandoned his vow to my sister and fled back south. Forgive me if I have little sympathy for the man who crippled my brother.”

Tyrion frowns. “Ah. You heard about that.”

“And you knew when you asked me to trust him.”

Tyrion’s jaw clenches. “He’s done some terrible things in the past, yes. But who hasn’t? Are your hands clean, Jon Snow?”

Jon glowers at him before breaking eye contact.” I won’t go against Daenerys.”

“She’s not here yet to go against. There’s time.”

“Give me one good reason why I should spare Jaime’s life. He’s been nothing but trouble since he showed up at the wall.”

“Alongside your sister who would care a great deal if he suddenly lost his head, I imagine.”

“Do not talk to me about Arya. It’s because of him she’s on her way to getting herself killed by putting herself in the middle of this mess with Cersei.”

Tyrion frowns in confusion. “She’s what?”

Jon exhales in frustration and takes a seat beside the desk. “He told Arya the truth first. Now she’s convinced herself she has to kill Cersei herself. I tried to stop her but. Nothing can stop her once she’s put her mind to something. If you think she’ll have something to say in defence of Jaime now, you’re wrong.”

Tyrion is quiet for a moment as Jon watches him turn over his words. “Daenerys executed Varys.” He says at last.

Jon blinks at the sudden change in topic. “What? Why?”

“Well, he did try to have her poisoned, so it’s not exactly unwarranted. Still. She’s only grown more volatile after learning of his betrayal. I- I would follow her to the ends of the world, the same as you. But I can’t lose my brother.” It’s the first time Jon sees true emotion on Tyrion’s face and he’s almost taken aback by it. “He’s all I have. And I- I can’t believe I’m willingly putting myself in this position but - I’m asking you. Bastard to bastard. Please. spare his life. I know you have no reason to do so. But I’m asking anyway.”

Jon glowers at the desk, frustrated by the position he’s being put in. “I can’t go against Daenerys. I won’t.”

“Jon.” Tyrion hesitates before continuing. “You know that city is in trouble. Nothing short of a complete surrender will save it. Not now. You know that. Daenerys has the advantage and she will use it.”

“And what do you want me to do?”

“Cersei will never surrender the city. She would rather see it burn. If we want to-“ he hesitates again. “-save them, we need to ensure it’s surrender. I’ve convinced Daenerys that when the city surrenders, they’ll ring the bells.”

“What?”

“It’s a clear signal. One she will heed. Now all we need is to ensure that it happens.”

Jon sighs. “And you want Ser Jaime to ensure it for you.”

“He cares about protecting the innocent. He’ll do it. And if nothing else, he is expendable to you. What do you have to lose if he fails? Besides the entirety of King’s Landing, that is.”

Jon hesitates for a long moment as he considers Tyrion’s point. He does not want to trust Jaime Lannister with anything. 

But…

With Arya roaming free in King’s Landing, his anxiety over the outcome of the war has only doubled. 

Tyrion swallows nervously in the silence. “Well?”

 


 

It’s interesting being stuck in a tent with nothing to do but overhear the conversations going on outside. The Northerners have never been especially quiet folk, so Jaime hears quite a lot. 

Such as the dragon queen’s imminent arrival. He’s not sure if he’s feeling dread at this information or… well, he doesn’t know what else. If she's here for him, he’ll die for sure. He came south to reach Cersei, and he’s likely to be executed mere hours from the city. 

Jaime chuckles darkly at the thought. 

“Orders from the king in the north,” a much closer voice suddenly interrupted his reverie. He recognises the thick accent.

Jon Snow’s Hand, Ser Davos, enters the tent a moment later. Jaime forces a smirk. “Change of accommodations?”

“Something like that,” the onion knight says as two guards follow him in. “You’re to be taken to Dragonstone.”

Jaime can only sneer defensively as he’s roughly untied and dragged to his feet by the soldiers. “Of course I am.”

But he doesn’t bother trying to put up a fight as they rebind his arms behind his back. He smirks at Davos as he’s shoved forward. “Best not keep the dragon queen waiting, right?”

 


 

 

In hindsight, he probably should have been suspicious about what was going on when Davos became the only man escorting him to… wherever he’s being taken. That seems a little lax guarding in Jaime’s experience. But he’d been too caught up in his own head to pay it much mind. 

So he’s honestly thrown off balance when he sees Tyrion waiting for him instead of the dragon queen’s unsullied or Dothraki men.

“Tyrion? What are you doing here?”

“I’m saving your pathetic behind, that’s what,” Tyrion says as Davos goes about untying Jaime’s arms. 

Jaime blinks. “You can’t be serious.”

“I’ll explain on the way. Let’s go,” Tyrion says, motioning for them to continue walking. Davos doesn’t stop them. Indeed, he unties Jaime’s restraints before mumbling a quick exit. 

Jaime supposes he got lucky. Again.

He sighs in exasperation but doesn’t bother asking anymore questions as he follows Tyrion’s lead.

But the further they get away from the camp, the more Jaime’s curiosity grows until it starts irritating him. 

Just what is Tyrion playing at? It’s not as if they’d left things on particularly good terms as he departed Winterfell. And now Jaime is supposed to just believe Tyrion came here to rescue him from his dragon queen?

It doesn’t make any sense.

And the last thing Jaime wants is to be surprised by some sort of trap. “Seriously, though, if this is some trick, I’d rather know now.”

“It’s not a trick Jaime,” Tyrion says with tired exasperation. “I’ll have you know I worked hard to convince Jon Snow to agree to this.”

“Snow agreed to let me go? Didn’t he mention what happened?”

“As a matter of fact he did. And if I wasn’t too short to reach, I might slap you over the head for it.”

“For what? Telling the truth?”

“No, you idiot. For throwing away the first good thing you’ve had going for you since… well, pick a good memory, I don’t know. What were you thinking?”

Jaime frowns. “They deserved to know the truth. How they handled it is not my problem.”

Tyrion sighs. “Oh good. You’re in one of those moods. I suppose this is a bad time to mention there might be a… condition upon your release, then?”

Jaime lets out a bitter laugh. “Of course there is. I was waiting for you to get around to telling me that little detail.”

“Yes, well. I had to give Snow a reason to let you go. He really wasn’t very willing.”

“I can’t imagine why,” Jaime says dryly.

Tyrion just gives him a look. “Listen.” He stops walking and turns to Jaime. “Daenerys is… suffering from her losses. Not to mention recent betrayals. The only thing that will save that city now is its immediate surrender. And Cersei won’t do it. You know she won’t.”

“So you want me to convince her? She won’t listen.”

“No. I don’t expect her to surrender anything. But no one wants to fight a dragon. If the city surrenders, the soldiers will lay down their weapons. I have thought of a way of forcing their surrender. I just need your help carrying it out.”

“And why should I?”

“Because you care for their lives?”

Jaime snorts. “I never particularly cared for any of them.”

“So you would be fine with them burning after all, then? It seemed a problem for you before.”

Jaime exhales. “Why me, Tyrion? This isn’t my fight.”

“Perhaps not. But surely there’s at least one person there you do care about. This might just save their life.”

Jaime clenches his fist as he looks at the ground. “Since when do you give a damn what happens to Cersei?”

Tyrion snorts. “I don’t care one whit what happens to Cersei. She treated me like a monster from the day I was born. No. I’m talking about Arya.”

Jaime stiffens. “What about her?”

“Snow says she’s headed for King’s Landing as we speak. Right for the firing line. He’s worried about her. I thought you might be too.”

Jaime looks away. “I don’t have any right to be worried for her. She makes her own choices.”

“Jaime.” Tyrion looks at Jaime with very serious, imploring eyes. “What happened?”

Jaime exhales and takes a moment to formulate his response. “When I told her the truth, I may have… inflamed the situation.”

Tyrion sighs. “Of course you did. And how bad was it?”

He shrugs. “Well, I’m alive so it clearly could have gone worse. But after what I said…” he swallows. “I have no idea why. She certainly seemed angry enough to follow through with her promise.”

“Oh, Jaime,” Tyrion says, his voice a mix of sympathy and disappointment. “Tell me you didn’t crush that poor girl’s heart with your callous cruelty.”

“What? I was only being honest. She’s killed for her family before and yet she lets me live? She should have called for my head at the very least.” He lets out a bitter laugh. “Perhaps she thought dying by her sword to be too lenient, so she sent me to die by dragon fire instead.”

Tyrion snorts. “That’s not why and you know it.”

Jaime shoots Tyrion an annoyed glare. “I thought I knew. As it turns out, I really have no idea.” In a smaller voice he adds, “perhaps she really didn’t have it in her after all.” But that thought isn’t right either. He’s seen Arya kill without mercy. Knows the full story of how she dispatched the Freys. That girl doesn’t quite equate to the one who fled the room with glassy eyes instead of drawing the blade across his neck.

Jaime, you idiot.” Tyrion scolds, levelling him with his most infuriating knowing look. “Put that brilliantly perceptive mind of yours to work for once. It’s obvious that girl is in love with you.”

Jaime goes slack-jawed as he takes a moment to really process the words. They are so foreign to him, they may as well have been spoken in another language. “That- that’s ridiculous, Tyrion. We may have… sought comfort in each other, but it’s not love. I was there for her, that’s all.”

Tyrion rolls his eyes. “Yes. You were. I’m sure that alone meant everything to a girl deprived of someone like that for so long.”

“She wanted to kill me.”

“Before you went beyond the wall and saved her dearest sibling.”

“I’m a Lannister. An enemy of her house. She despises our family more than any other.”

“The name, yes. You, quite the opposite,” and he has the gall to smirk with those words.

Jaime shakes his head. “I crippled her little brother. Shoved him from a tower with no remorse.”

“Yes, well, we all have our faults. But if it’s proof you want, here it is. The only reason Arya didn’t kill you for your truth is because she loves you. Nothing else could have stayed her hand and you know it.”

Jaime sighs and can think of nothing to say to that. Tyrion has a point. He couldn’t think of a single reason why Arya would have spared him when he knows just how merciless she can be to her enemies. It’s possible, then, that she might have cared for him so deeply that it trumped her hatred for him crippling her brother. As a theory, it’s one that holds water.

But… why would she love him? It doesn’t make sense. It’s so foreign a concept, he is struggling to comprehend it.

And yet…

Hmm.

All this time he thought she was letting him see all of her - her thoughts, her doubts, her vulnerabilities - because he’d spent so long chipping away at her walls that she’d just given in. When maybe the truth is much simpler than that.

Gods, he really is the stupidest Lannister.

“It doesn’t matter now anyway,” he says, sounding pathetically defeated. “Whatever she may have felt for me died when she learned the truth.”

Tyrion is eyeing him curiously. “Does that disappoint you, Brother?”

He doesn’t answer. Because yes, it does, though he tries to shrug off the feeling. He has no right to feel that way now. No right at all.

“You can still do the right thing, Jaime,” Tyrion says quietly. “Whether you think you do or not, you have a choice here. You can run. You can go back to Cersei like you’ve done so many times. Or you can help make a difference. Save these innocents you swore to protect.”

Jaime gives Tyrion a wry look. He knows what his brother is doing. And he doesn’t appreciate it.

That doesn’t stop Tyrion from having a point though. He is in no rush to see the dragon queen take the iron throne, nor does he want to help her get it. But if it might spare King’s Landing from burning….

Brienne would do it.

And Arya is in there.

He sighs. What does he have to lose?

“Fine. What exactly do you want me to do?”

 

 

 

Notes:

Tyrion using his powers of manipulation once again while dropping truth bombs at the same time. Damn he's good. I’m debating writing a Tyrion POV at some point because he has… a lot of complicated thoughts and feelings and its difficult conveying them all properly. But we’ll have to see if I can work one in somewhere. Suffice to say Jaime may have made him feel pretty guilty all the way to King’s Landing, so maybe he’s trying to find a better solution for the city than burning because of Jaime's influence. And also because it was a convenient excuse to secure his release. hehe.

Tyrion and Jaime still have a few things to unpack, of course, but they're starting to get back on familiar ground again. Here's hoping Jaime can start to mend things with Arya too.

Chapter 90: All roads lead back to you

Summary:

Arya's intention to sneak inside King's Landing is rudely interrupted. Again.

Notes:

👀

Not me. Posting a new chapter. After all these years

 

 

Anyway, we worked through it. Made some major changes to my original outline, doubted my changes would be as satisfying, but then finally came up with some character moments that made me want to keep going and now here we are! Just know, I thought of a lot of ways the next few chapters could have gone. This is the one that works best for Jaime and Arya. Just trust me.

And that’s all I’ll say for now.

Oh and also, sadly I had to delete the author's note, which also meant losing some of your treasured comments. But I read all of them! And appreciate you for taking the time to leave one. Every little comment and kudos helps, you know?

Anyway, on with the chapter. At long loooong last.

Happy reading!

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

 

 

Daenerys and Jaime only just managed to miss each other passing through the northern camp.

For that, Jon should probably be feeling grateful. Instead, he is far too wound up with apprehension to be feeling much of anything else. 

And when Daenerys arrives at his tent looking like a woman on one hell of a mission, his apprehension gives way to frustration. Frustration that she would risk her life coming all the way here from Dragonstone with so many enemies surrounding them. 

“What are you doing here?” He asks as he moves to her side entirely on instinct. He is unable to keep the worry out of his tone, no matter how frustrated he is with the predicament he is placed in. “You shouldn’t have risked it.”

Daenerys brings her hands up to rest on his chest as he steps in to her. “I had to,” she says in a startlingly fragile tone. “I needed to see you. Only you. So much is unravelling before me, and I don’t know what to do. I don’t even know who I can trust. Except for you. I can trust you, can't I?”

A stab if guilt erupts within Jon at her words. She clearly mustn’t have heard about Jaime Lannister then. “Dany,” he says gently as he wraps his arms around her in an attempt to console her. “Of course you can trust me.” Except for the fact that he let Jaime leave knowing she would not approve. “I am loyal to you, as are my men. We’re with you until the end.”

Dany nods against his chest. “I know,” she says before she pulls away from him to look him in the eye. “I have lost so much to get here. I worry it will all be for nothing. After everything I've been through, I can’t afford to lose. Do you think we will?”

Jon truly wishes he could give her a placative answer, but he simply does not have one. “I don’t know,” he says honestly. “War is always impossible to predict, and we suffered a great loss. But I suppose having a dragon on our side is one hell of an advantage.”

Daenerys almost smiles at that. “True.” Then her smile gives way to sadness in her eyes. “I should have had all of my children with me for this day. Now only Drogon remains. I miss them so much.”

“I know,” he says quietly. “And I wish we had the time to mourn our losses, but we don’t. Dany. We really need to make a move. Our men only grow tired and more restless by the day. You are our queen and we won’t move without you, but we can’t stay idle much longer.”

Dany nods. “Tyrion tells me the same. I’m ready for the next move," she says, her conviction returning to her stance now.

Jon nods. “Good.”

Daenerys looks off to the side, then. “Speaking of Tyrion,” she says, and Jon braces himself for her next words. “I had heard Jaime Lannister is being held here in your camp.”

Jon swallows nervously. “Yes,” he says unable to lie. “He was.”

Her gaze snaps back to his. “Was?” She repeats, her brow pinching in irritation. “Where is he now?”

Jon hesitates. “I’m afraid he managed to escape in the night,” he lies. “My men are tired, your grace. It was a mistake.”

“A mistake?” Her nose flares in anger. “His life was mine for the taking the moment he stepped foot in the south. You should have had him brought to me.”

“With all due respect, your grace, aren’t there more important things to focus on right now than one man? What does it matter who’s custody he found himself in. He’s hardly our most pressing concern right now.”

“He is the queen’s twin brother! We could have used that, Jon! Cersei did not hesitate to use those close to me against us. We had the opportunity to pay her back in kind and you let it slip through your fingers! How could you be so foolish!”

“I was a bit preoccupied planning a war for you!” He snaps. “In case you hadn’t noticed. I don’t have time to waste playing these southern games. If Jaime Lannister is the reason you came here, I am not the one behaving foolishly. We have far more important things to contend ourselves with. We should be focusing on that! Not… Jaime Lannister.”

“That was not for you to decide,” she snarls at him. “I am your queen!”

“I haven’t forgotten,” he says, holding her gaze. “I’ll honour my oath.”

Daenerys is the one to break eye contact. “You said I could trust you,” she tells him in a low, dangerous tone.

“And you can,” he assures her, stepping in closer to her.

Daenerys holds up her hand, halting his approach. “Can I? A trusted ally would have at least told his queen when he’s holding a valued prisoner. Instead, I hear it from Varys, a traitor’s lips, right before I had him burned. Men say such desperate things before they are about to die. Do you know that?” She looks him in the eye with the question.

Jon’s apprehension returns to the surface. “You’re right. I should have told you,” he admits. “I’m sorry I didn’t. But I promise you, it changes nothing about my loyalty to you. I am with you.” He takes another step closer to her and she doesn’t stop him this time, allowing him to bring his hands up to her arms in a gentle gesture. “Until the end.”

Daenerys still regards him with suspicion in her eyes. “That is good to hear,” she says at last. Her gaze drops to his chest. “After Varys’ betrayal, I worried. Worried I couldn’t trust anyone. I’m glad I still have you.” She looks up into his eyes again with a softness in her eyes.

Jon is startled when she leans in and kisses him. He returns the kiss almost instinctively and Daenerys runs her hands down his chest to his belt.

Jon stiffens and pulls away. “Dany. We can’t.”

“Of course we can. We can do whatever we like.” She kisses him again, and Jon has to pry her away from him this time.

“No.”

Daenerys recoils from him, hurt in her eyes. “You said you were with me.”

"I am with you,” he affirms.

“Then be with me,” she implores him, stepping into him again. “I love you. Don’t you love me?” She looks up into his eyes.

Jon hesitates. Foolishly, he hesitates for far too long. 

Daenerys narrows her eyes. “I see.”

“No, Dany, that’s not… I’m not… I’m sorry,” he sputters, panicked, as he reaches for her, but Daenerys steps away from him this time. “My feelings for you are true, I promise they are. Everything is just.. it’s complicated.” He reaches for her hand and is surprised when she lets him take it. “Please.”

She looks at him for a long moment. When she speaks, her tone is as cold as a northern wind.  “Tell your men to rest well, your grace.” Jon winces at her detached manner. “We’ll take that city at dawn.”

 


 

 

It is almost strange seeing the gates of King’s Landing again for the first time since she left them as a child on the run. Arya had pondered what it would be like to return to this place many times as she contemplated her revenge on the people who took everything from her. She should have expected it would not be an easy sight. Seeing it now sends painful dread sinking into the pit of her stomach. She had lost everything the day her father was killed. Seeing the city again only brings those memories back to the surface. She never expected them to still be so fresh in her mind and yet…

Bring me his head!

Arya shakes her head to rid herself of her distracting thoughts. Everything about that awful day still plagues her. But she can’t afford to be so distracted when she is so close to finally finishing her list. 

If she can get inside the city.

The northern army had arrived outside the gates of King’s Landing well before the sun had risen. Arya watches now as the armies on both sides draw their lines. A small part of her almost wishes she were among them. Watching it all from the shadows, her blood almost sings with the anticipation of a good fight. There are many thoughts swimming in her head that she would love to distract herself from with a sword in her hand and enemies to cut down with it. Perhaps spilling more Lannister blood may ease the pain of her family’s suffering still pressing at her like a reopened wound. 

She cannot join them, though. Not when she has a far more pressing purpose. 

Cersei, the Mountain, Cersei, the Mountain, Cersei, the Mountain.

She could end the war much quicker by sneaking into the city and killing the queen. There might be far less bloodshed and burning if she gets there fast enough. This is what she tells herself as she repeats the last two names on her list over and over, narrowing her vision to that one singular purpose. She could get her revenge and end the war at the same time.

It helps everyone, really.

She is ignoring the part of her saying it has anything to do with Jaime. Cersei had been on her list long before she’d had anything to do with Jaime Lannister. It was thoughts of killing Cersei that kept her moving sometimes. She wants Cersei dead for herself. Not because of Jaime. Not at all. Even though thinking of Jaime’s loyalty to her fills Arya with so much fury she can picture the most vile ways to kill the queen and it still does not temper her rage. Even though it would surely give Jaime a taste of how much hurt he has caused her if she kills his twin lover right in front of him. Even though-

No.

It’s not about Jaime. It’s not about Jaime at all.

It is about her list. 

Cersei

The Mountain

Cersei

The Mountain

Cersei, Cersei, Cersei!

Jaime should really be on her list as well but it frustrates her how his name is not nearly so easy to add. If she’d known he was the one who had crippled her brother from the start, he most certainly would have been. Then he might never have made it to Winterfell to get in her head in the first place. He would just be dead. And his sister would be next.

But even though anger and hurt still rushes through her whenever he is pushed to the forefront of her thoughts, she just cannot add him to her list. Cannot even stomach the thought of killing him without an entirely different sort of pain erupting within her.

No. She can’t kill Jaime. 

It almost brings her relief that she holds no such reservations for his sister.


The question she now ponders is what is the best way into the city. Clearly not the front gate, as the Queen’s golden company holds a defensive line against the dragon queen’s forces. That matters little. There are other ways into the city. 

Her thoughts are interrupted by a sudden shadow rushing over her head. She startles at the sudden movement and jerks up as a crow settles in the lowest branch above her head. 

Just a bird.

She relaxes as the crow looks down at her. Until she notices it’s white eyes. Not an ordinary crow, then.

A blind one, perhaps. 

Or….

“Bran?” She whispers, feeling very foolish. 

The crow tilts its head as it looks down at her before letting out a loud caw, seemingly answering her. Could it merely be a coincidence? She’d had very little experience with her brother's green seeing ability, but the white eyes reminded her so strongly of him, how could it be anything else?

“Is that really you?” She asks, still feeling a little foolish.

The crow caws down at her again, and she decides that it must understand her at least.

“What are you doing here? Shouldn’t you be watching Jon?”

When the crow caws again, Arya can almost understand its meaning, which should have been a worrying sign, she supposes.

“You really want to help me?” She asks, more than a little warily. Her brother knows an awful lot. But she doesn’t entirely trust that he is here to help her. He could very well be on Jon’s side and Jon had made his thoughts on Arya’s presence here quite clear. 

But the crow caws again and this time seemingly nods.

With Bran’s green seeing ability, he might have a lot of insight on the layout of the city. It might be foolish of her to dismiss him so easily. “Do you know a way into the castle, then?” She asks.

The crow flutters its wings and takes off from the branch, flying in a circle around her head as it lets out another affirmative caw.

Arya allows herself a small smile. “Show me.”

 




 

Jaime watches with mild caution as the northern army converges in front of the city gates, contemplating his next move as he does so.

When he had left Cersei in King’s Landing, he had no idea, then, what his next move would be. He had simply meant to get away. Away from Cersei. Away from these people. He hadn’t wanted to return here at all. But when the dragon queen’s army marched back south, he started to feel he had no choice. He hated that he felt compelled to return here now. Feels compelled, even, to rip his sister out of that castle before the dragon got its claws on her.  He is still not entirely certain if he wants to be the roadblock to Cersei’s death or the cause of it, but picturing her dying by the dragon queen’s fire feels worse. And painfully reminiscent of serving under the mad king’s cruelty. 

Cersei may deserve her end. He may deserve to perish along with her. Perhaps that is the only outcome on the cards for them. But if they are to die in this place, better he do it trying to stop the Targaryen girl from finishing what the mad king started. And he fears that outcome far more than any for Cersei.

He will do as Tyrion requested of him. He will ring the bells to call off the dragon queen’s army and protect that damn city from itself once again. Then… then he should probably find Cersei.

And no, he is still not decided on what he’ll do when he reaches her. A bridge to cross when he reaches it, he decides.

For now, he really should focus on infiltrating the city in the first place. And the best way to do that would be-

A shadow passes over his head, interrupting his thoughts entirely as Jaime is forced to duck out of the way. He looks up to see a black bird land in the trees. 

A crow.

He curses. 

Stupid animals. 

Then he notices the white in its eyes and his brow furrows. Strange. But before he has a chance to contemplate where he recognises that look from, the bird lets out a loud caw just as a twig snaps behind him.

Jaime whirls around to see none other than Arya Stark standing before him, expression wide with a very conflicted look in her eyes.

 


 

Arya could kill Bran right now. How could he do this to her? The last person she should be running into right now is Jaime. 

Not when…

Not when everything is still so muddled in her mind when she thinks of him. 

And Bran, that traitor, knows better than most how painful this is for Arya. The path in front of her had been so clear, and Bran had the gall to lead her straight back to Jaime. Jaime who she can’t kill. Jaime who she can't even add to her list. 

And Jaime….

Jaime will try to stop her. Because of course he is loyal to his kin. To his lover. But she can't let him. Nor can she afford to let thoughts of Jaime distract her from her purpose. Her feelings on Jaime are a painful mess she doesn’t want to face, but at least her list is glaringly simple. 

She has to finish her list! She has to.

She forces the storm of emotions raging inside her down into a deep crevice of her mind, focusing instead on the clarity of her purpose. 

She can't kill Jaime. 

But she can’t let him get in her way either. 

 


 


 Jaime watches as the conflict in Arya’s eyes melts away into a mask of nothing, quicker than Jaime can process his own shock at seeing her there.

“Arya!” He sputters. Part of him fills with relief that she’s not yet caught up in the chaos of King’s Landing. Or worse still, inside the red keep poised to kill Cersei. He takes a step closer without thinking it through and Arya takes one back, her hand slipping to her Needle almost instinctively. 

Jaime’s relief is quickly replaced by irritation. It had been easier to dismiss his worries for Arya when she was nowhere in his periphery. Nothing to be done about it when he couldn’t have a hope of finding her on his own. But now that she has stumbled upon him by miraculous chance….

 What is he supposed to do about it now? Stop her? Drag her away? Ignore her?

Perhaps he should ignore her. Allow her to be on her way far away from him. If she gets herself killed trying to infiltrate the red keep, that’s of no further consequence to him. She certainly wouldn’t listen to him if he tried to persuade her otherwise. Not now. And Jaime has his own task to carry out.

I have no obligations to stop her. Not anymore.

And yet….

And yet.

It’s my fault she’s here at all.

The guilt begins to gnaw at his insides until it becomes impossible to ignore.

“You shouldn’t be here,” he says, trying to keep his tone level despite his rising irritation with her.

Arya’s eyes narrow. “You’re right. I should already be inside the red keep with your sister.” 

She turns to take her leave. Jaime crosses the distance between them and grasps her shoulder, pulling her back.  “Don’t be foolish. You’re going to get yourself killed. You’re good, Arya. But you are not match for her protector. That thing will squash you where you stand, quite literally. Is that what you want? To die in the same place your father was killed?”

Arya jerks her arm out of his grip, glaring at him. “You have no right to speak of my father, Kingslayer,” she spits the title at him sharp as a dagger. “He’s only dead because of her. If not for that, I might not have had a list at all. But I do, and you can’t stop me from finishing it. So If you will excuse me, I have names to collect.”

And she does try to shoulder past him, but Jaime doesn’t let her, catching her shoulder before she can and pushing her back. “I can’t let you go in there.”

Arya’s hand falls to Needle again. “I could go through you if I have to,” she warns him.

And Jaime has had quite enough of this faceless act, he decides. He rolls eyes at the challenge and grabs her collar, pushing her backwards into the tree. Arya slams into it with a wince as she glares up at him, but he pays it no mind. “I don’t have time for this,” he hisses at her through clenched teeth. “You want to go through me to your death, Arya? Try it. I won’t make it easy for you.”

Arya doesn't say anything to that and instead reaches for the knife up her sleeve. Jaime snatches her wrist in his hand, twisting it around behind her back, putting enough pressure on it to hurt as he spins her around and shoves her into the tree once again.

Arya let's out a grunt from the force of it. “Let go of me!” she cries out, pain in her voice, as she struggles against his grip. 

Jaime laughs once, and it’s a bitter sound. “You’re going to have to do better than that.”

“You’re only trying to stop me because you’re worried I’ll reach Cersei first. And you should be worried. I’m going to kill her.” There’s so much venom in her tone as she spits the words at him that Jaime almost flinches hearing them. But he holds her firm as she struggles to get free.

He is more than a little frustrated by the predicament she has put him in by running into him like this, and he struggles to decide what to do with her now that she has. He can’t very well leave her here to find her own way into the Red Keep. His conscience won’t let him. He certainly doesn’t have time to take her back to the northern camp where it’s safe. Well, safer. He could knock her unconscious, he supposes. But even if she remained unconscious until after the battle ends, the risk of someone else happening upon her while she lies defenceless is too great for him to even consider risking it. 

That only leaves one other option. Arya is not going to like it. But Jaime is not exactly feeling sympathetic to her cause right this moment.

He presses his other forearm to the back of her neck to stop her from struggling, his mind now made up. “Listen to me, because we only have minimal time,” he says, working to keep his voice calm as she stills in place. “I’m not here for Cersei. There may have been a moment when this was about her, but not anymore. Not when there are far more important things at stake. Certainly more important than wasting my time trying to stop a stubborn faceless girl from getting herself killed.”

He expects Arya to keep struggling, but instead she goes very quiet. A good sign, he supposes, because it means he’s captured her interest. It is a long moment before she speaks, though. “What things?” She asks through gritted teeth, and Jaime might have smiled at her inability to temper her own curiosity, but the urgency of their situation prevents him from doing so.

“The entirety of King’s Landing,” he answers firmly as he removes his forearm from her neck, now that he has her attention. “And everyone in it.” He turns her back around to face him, still standing very close to her so she can’t dart around him. “You’ve seen for yourself how unstable the dragon queen grows by the day. What do you think she’ll do to the city when Cersei refuses surrender?”

Arya fixes her gaze on his chest as she refuses to look at him. “Burn it,” she supplies quietly.

“Quite,” he says with a nod. “If we can't get that city to surrender, Aerys Targaryen’s dream will become a reality when that dragon sets fire to the city. Do you understand me?”

Understanding does dawn in Arya’s eyes as she looks up at him and her eyes are wide with apprehension as she nods without speaking. 

The tension in Jaime eases as her fury appears to calm down and he steps away from her. “Good. Instead of throwing your life away absconding into the red keep, You should consider-“

Before he can utter another word, Arya grips hold of his collar, pressing a knife to his neck. “Seven hells,” he curses. 

But he doesn’t move as Arya holds his gaze with renewed fury in her eyes. “Look me in the eye and say it again,” she hisses. 

It takes a moment for Jaime to understand her meaning. It dawns on him quickly though and he is sure to hold her gaze with steady resolve. “I’m not here for Cersei,” he repeats firmly.

Some of the fury softens in her eyes as she holds his gaze for a long moment. “I could end it all much faster by killing her,” she says in a low tone. “Your city would be safe then.”

Jaime risks placing his hand over hers. It is a gentle gesture and she flinches at the touch, almost cutting his neck quite by accident.

Don’t,” she warns him.

Jaime drops his hand, holding it up in acquiescence. “I know you could,” he says quietly. “And I know you’ve wanted it for a long time. But it won’t fix anything, Arya. And it won’t make you feel better. You’ve told me before how you want to do right by your father’s honour, well this is how. Forget your list. Come with me. Save the people who matter.” 

Arya’s gaze drops to his throat. “Why would I go with you?”

Jaime doesn’t know how to answer that, himself. What could he say? “I don’t know,” he admits quite honestly. “I’m merely trying to follow my own advice.”

Arya’s cold mask almost, almost, slips, then, as her breath seems to hitch in her throat. But she doesn’t say a word as she holds the knife to his throat for a long, silent moment. Jaime watches her eyes as she considers her options. 

She seems to come to some conclusion when she meets his gaze once again with a resolve of her own. “I don’t trust you,” she tells him at last.

Jaime lets out a strained breath. “I know.”

“I’ll never forget what you did to Bran.”

“I’m not asking you to.”

She holds his gaze for a moment longer. 

And then the knife falls away from his throat as she lets go of his collar. “We should be going,” she says as she returns her knife to her sleeve. “We don’t have much time before the fighting starts."

Jaime looses the rest of the breath he’d been holding as he registers the meaning in her words, and with it her acceptance. 

She really agreed to come with him.

Well. If she doesn’t stab him in the back first. 

 

 

 

Notes:

ehehehe this chapter was originally going to extend into King's Landing as well but then I changed my mind. Oh well.

Chapters will come more slowly than they did when I started this thing because busy life is keeping me busy, but hopefully I can still keep them semi-consisent. we'll see. There aren't really Too many chapters left to go so... we're getting there i guess.

Chapter 91: The bells

Summary:

Jaime and Arya rush to ensure King's Landing's surrender, but will it be enough?

Notes:

This chapter took longer to post than I intended on account of the fact that it was a bitch to write.

But we got there!

Rejoice!

And be afraid ig.

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

 

Jaime had hoped to pass through the Iron Gate while it was still open to the smallfolk stragglers hoping for shelter from the storm of swords and dragonfire on the horizon. 

His decidedly unwelcome delay had caused him to miss his window of opportunity, however, and he is now in the irritating position of having to turn to Tyrion’s plan for sneaking inside. 

Said delay had remained disconcertingly quiet as Jaime led her to his brother’s secret passage into the city. Until she sees the rickety, old fishing boat anchored by the rocks of the shoreline, that is.

“You can’t be serious,” she mutters.

“Do you know a better way in?” Jaime asks as he holds out one of the oars for her.

She turns her glare from the offered oar up to him with a very unimpressed look on her face.

“Would it help if I told you this was Tyrion’s idea?”

“Tyrion has shit ideas,” she says as she snatches the offered oar and climbs into the boat.

Jaime could have laughed at the outraged glare she shoots him with when he offers the other oar to her. “You’ll need this too.” She holds his gaze with stubborn refusal as she takes her seat in the boat. Jaime’s lips twitch in amusement. “Come on. I would do it myself, but in such limited space as this, I somehow feel safer knowing your hands are too preoccupied to reach for anything sharp.”

Arya’s glare only barely softens as she rolls her eyes and snatches the other oar out of his hand. Most people likely wouldn’t have even noticed the change in her expression, guarded as she still remains. Jaime is not most people. His words had amused her. 

He hides a smile of his own as he settles himself opposite her. 

“What if we’re attacked?” She asks him snidely.

“Feel free to stop rowing and fend them off.”

“While you do what, exactly?”

Jaime shrugs. “Cower behind my fearsome, faceless protector, I suppose.”

“How were you planning on doing this without me, then?” She asks as she moves them out to deeper water.

“With a great deal more exertion on my part, probably. You’ll have an easier time of it with your two good hands, don’t worry.” He shoots her a smirk which serves to deepen her scowl. 

She doesn’t say another word for the rest of their passage.

 


 


Jaime had honestly expected to take a turn at the oars once Arya’s pace started to slow upon inevitably tiring herself. He is mildly surprised to discover he doesn’t even need to offer. She keeps a steady pace as he verbally navigates their way to their destination.

He does offer, of course, out of the dregs of his last remaining honour as a knight (if there is even any there at all), but Arya simply glares at him without a word and continues on, probably out of stubbornness more than anything.

Jaime doesn’t protest her on it, though. Better that she be the one to tire herself out than him. He still carries the concern that she may yet decide to slit his throat and leave him for the fish to find. That look in her eyes as she glares at him whenever he speaks is only further evidence of his concern. He may overpower her in strength, but that would matter very little if she utilised her speed in a sneak attack. He’ll take any advantage he can get at this point. He doesn’t expect to live much longer, but it would be a great jape for him to be murdered in the shadow of the red keep before he ever had a chance to carry out his last good thing.

One last good thing. Everything on the cards for him after that doesn’t really matter. 

Arya doesn’t attack him, though. As far as he can see, her hands don’t even twitch in the direction of her sword once, no matter how much anger she throws his way with each glare. He does wonder how much restraint she is practicing in that regard. He is able to study her more closely now that they are stuck in such close proximity. Three times now since he had thrown the truth at her in a drunken stupor, she had the opportunity to kill him and take her vengeance. 

Three times she had refused. 

Every now and then when she is focusing on her task at hand, the anger melts from her face as her brow pinches in concentration. It’s in these moments, he can see the hurt she carries. As if it physically pains her to even be in his presence.

Jaime had spent many years ignoring the scathing opinions thrown around about him. With Cersei by his side and his sword in his (good) hand, it had been simple enough to tune them out. Why should a lion concern himself with the opinions of sheep? He certainly didn’t give a whit what Ned Stark had to think about him. Or any of the Starks for that matter.

Until Arya had come along and deemed him worthy of her trust. In fact, it irritated him to no end how much he came to value that trust she placed in him. Like a damn dog starving for a meal. Only two people before her had ever judged him as worthy

Tyrion.

And Brienne.

He used to think Cersei thought of him as such until she all but rejected him when he was no longer whole. When he was no longer perfect. Perhaps he had been nothing but a tool for her to use all along. The sword she was never allowed to wield. The cock she could never possess.

That stings to think about.

Almost as much as it stings to see the hurt in Arya’s eyes as she looks at him now. Hurt that he had put there.

In the silence that passes between them, Jaime turns over Tyrion’s parting words in his head. Looking at Arya now, it’s difficult to believe she feels anything but anger and hatred for him. It’s difficult to even believe she had ever felt anything else. Why would she? For a Kingslayer? It still doesn’t make any sense to him the longer he dwells on it.

But she had not killed him. In fact, she had outright refused even as fury and hurt shone so clearly in her eyes. Is that love? To show him such mercy despite the ruthless hatred she carries in her heart for those deemed worthy of her list?

Jaime thinks about what might stay his hand if he were in her place. 

He was supposed to kill Brienne of Tarth in Riverrun. Or at the very least, have her captured for the queen to decide her fate. Instead, he had let her leave and return to protecting Sansa Stark. His enemy at the time. But Brienne had never done anything to betray him. She had merely chosen the opposing side of a war. 

He had thought about killing Cersei. In his rage upon discovering how she had destroyed the sept of Baelor. But instead of killing her, he had simply left. Perhaps because the thought of having to kill her in the first place had pained him too much to have to face.

Is that how Arya had felt when she fled from him in that room?

Is that why her blade had fallen away from his neck in the first place? She had been tempted to kill him. It had been all too clear in her eyes how tempted she was to slit his throat. She should have killed him. But she had let him live. Let him leave. Let him drag her on his quest to save the city instead of killing the last name on her list.

Is that love?

He looks to her face again as he mulls that thought over. 

Arya notices him watching her and scowls again. “I’m not tiring.” 

Jaime shakes his head to rid himself of his thoughts as he hides a smile. "Good to hear, because we’re almost there.”

Arya watches him warily before she nods, accepting her words as she follows his instructions.

At any rate, it doesn’t really matter what she may or may not have felt for him once.

It’ll matter even less when the day is done.

 


 

 

Jaime leads them to a secluded beach in the shadow of the red keep. Arya is surprised they made it this far without being accosted. She can tell by the relief on Jaime’s face that he is feeling the same. Mayhaps the Queen’s navy is too preoccupied by the threat across the sea to worry about anyone sneaking past from behind.

That is a funny thought considering how easy it would be to slip inside the Red Keep now and kill their queen where she stands cowering behind the walls of her castle. Arya is not the dragon queen. But she is very much an enemy of the crown who managed to elude them. Cersei’s army surrounds almost the entirety of King’s Landing in an impressive barricade, but one lone wolf managed to sneak past undetected. She could kill Queen Cersei and end this war before the fighting even starts.

It’s a very funny thought indeed.

As she looks up towards the imposing shadow of the castle, anger bubbles inside her at the thought of Cersei so close. The last name on her list. It wouldn't be so difficult. And she is so close. It would not take much effort at all.

Jaime moves to stand beside her. “Thinking about it?” He asks in a casual tone.

Arya can barely contain her irritation as she turns her attention to Jaime. “Always,” she tells him.

Jaime nods with a resigned look on his face. “Me too,” he admits. He must be thinking of making a run for the Red Keep as well. It would turn into a race of who can make it to Cersei first. Arya is willing to bet she’s faster.

But Jaime looks to the ships in the bay with a heavy expression in his eyes. “Come on,” is all he says as he leads her in the direction of the city. 

Arya hesitates to follow him.

So close.

“Arya.” His tone is firm as he calls her name and she bristles hearing it. 

“Do I look like a dog you can bring to heel?” She growls at him.

“No, you look like someone about to attempt something stupid. I’d advise against it.”

Arya returns her gaze to the castle. “There's a bell tower in the Red Keep,” she says, only a little snidely. Jaime could surrender the city and then she could kill the queen before the first sword even falls. They would both get what they want.

“One we won’t reach without cutting down a hundred men,” Jaime counters in a pointed tone, his frustration more than evident. “Are you feeling that confident, Arya? Because I’m not.”

Arya raises an eyebrow. Had he forgotten so easily that she trained with the faceless men? “They might not even see me coming.” 

“And if they do? Your brother is currently leading their enemy’s army. What do you think they’ll do to you if you’re caught?”

Arya shrugs. “Take me to Cersei.” She could quite easily kill Cersei from there. 

“And how do you think that will go when you will be vastly outnumbered? Hm?”

“I’m quick enough to kill her before any sword is drawn against me," she snarls. 

“Then you’ll be slain where you stand before Cersei’s even drawn her last breath. Would it be worth it, Arya Stark?”

Yes. It would. And she’s considering crippling Jaime and making a run for the Red Keep when a loud, furious roar breaks through the sky and startles the both of them out of their argument. Arya looks up to see the dragon descend from the clouds in the distance straight for the queen’s navy. 

She is almost mesmerised by the sight of the beast dodging past the queen’s weapons and engulfing the first of the fleet with dragon fire. 

It seems the battle for King’s Landing has begun.

Jaime grips her shoulder, gaining her attention. “Come on, we’re running out of time,” he says as he pushes her forward to walk. “Ladies first."

Arya doesn’t fight him this time as he leads them up the rocks to the outskirts of the city. “Are you going to tell me where we’re going?” She asks.

This way,” Jaime says through clenched teeth, nudging her forward. 

Arya doesn’t protest further.

Strange that he keeps her walking in front of him. She supposes it is easier to keep an eye on her if she’s out front. If she tries to dart away, reach for a weapon, or turn and kill him, he would see it and react accordingly. Knowing Cersei is so close certainly makes the idea tempting. 

But with the dragon queen chipping away at the Iron Fleet, Arya turns her thoughts away from her list. Right now, Daenerys Targaryen is the more pressing threat.

She can deal with Cersei later. 

 


 

 

The streets of King’s Landing have erupted in understandable chaos as men, women, and children all rush to seek shelter while soldiers from the Lannister army usher them off the streets. Many are making their way to the Red Keep itself. 

The safest place in the city.

Jaime almost laughs. As if that would be enough to protect them from the dragon queen. 

He and Arya aren’t quite going that way, but their trajectory does involve shouldering past the masses all vying for safety. Arya appears to have little trouble with this. Her small stature makes it rather easier for her to weave in and out of the throngs of people without getting elbowed and jostled around too much.

Jaime possesses far less patience. The more smallfolk that shove into him on their own pathetic quest for refuge only pushes him closer to wishing he could take his sword in hand and cleave through them all to make a clearer path for himself. These people won’t find safety inside the walls of the Red Keep. Not even close. And now they are only getting in his way.

Much to his chagrin, though, he cannot take his sword in hand and cleave through the masses to clear a path for himself. So instead he settles for shouldering his way through in a bid to outpace them. All the while keeping Arya in his sights and hoping she won’t take advantage of the chaos to slip away. It would be easy enough to attempt such an escape. He can see her attention darting around here and there, most probably to avoid being trodden on and knocked around by the masses surrounding them. Or possibly keeping an eye open for a window of opportunity to make a run for the gates of the Red Keep. Her one track mind where her list is concerned had been made all too clear.

She doesn’t, though. In fact, he is mildly surprised by the couple of moments she looks over her shoulder to ensure he is still behind her, continuing in her trajectory upon confirming his presence. It wouldn’t be so difficult to dart away at all, yet she continues to allow him to lead them on his mission instead.

Speaking of leading-

“This way,” he murmurs as he uses his gold hand at her back to finally steer her off the main road. There is just as much activity on the smaller streets, of course, but not nearly so much chaos. It should be much quicker to reach the tower this way.

He notices Arya breathe a sigh of relief as they break away from the panicky mob of smallfolk. He had not noticed how tense she had grown until it eases off her shoulders in an instant. 

“I’d rather take your hundred men than walk through that again,” she mutters.

Jaime almost smiles. “I share your sentiments.” A troupe of around a dozen red cloaked soldiers march their way. Jaime doesn’t think they’ll be a problem considering the soldiers have bigger problems, but all the same, he’d rather not tempt fate either. “Down this way.” He ushers her down a smaller, cobbled street.

Where are we going?” She asks again. 

“I doubt it would clear much up if I told you,” is all he says. 

He hears Arya’s impatient little huff, but she doesn’t offer a retort as she allows him to steer her towards the bell tower. There are actually several spread throughout the city. Next to the Red Keep, the Sept of Baelor would have been the most ideal, but his sister had more than ruled that out as an option. 

No matter in this instance.

They emerge at the end of the cobbled street onto a wider road. This one also has soldiers barricading the streets. Most of the smallfolk have sought shelter by now, with only a few stragglers running for cover. In fact, the majority of activity on this road is from various red and gold cloaked soldiers marching in the opposite direction to Jaime and Arya. Most glance to them with little interest as they pass. A couple take notice of Arya with a glint in their eye that makes Jaime tempted to draw his sword.

He reaches for his hood instead, ensuring it is still shadowing his face. “Keep your head down,” he mutters to Arya. 

She rolls her eyes but says nothing, keeping a tight hold on the hilt of her sword as they walk, alert and ready for anything. 

One of the Lannister soldiers halts them in their progress. “You need to get off the streets. The fighting has already begun. Find safety.”

Jaime gives a tight nod. “Thank you, that’s exactly where we’re headed,” he says.

They turn the corner, and Jaime sees the bell tower that rises up ahead of them at the end of the street. “That’s it, up ahead,” he says to Arya. She merely nods and increases her pace. 

Jaime allows a breath of relief. With any luck, this will all be over soon.

A trio of gold cloaks stop them in their tracks, not five paces from the tower. “You there! That tower is off-limits to civilians.” The man in the middle declares. “You’ll not find shelter that way.”

Jaime suppresses an impatient sigh. He really doesn’t have time for this. These men are city watch. They should be easy enough to deal with. “We are here on orders from the queen,” he says, allowing them to glimpse his gold hand. “Let us pass.”

Arya looks to Jaime with a furious glare while the soldier on the left raises a shocked eyebrow. “The Kingslayer?”

Jaime curls his lip in a sneer. “That would be the one.” He says. “As I said. Urgent business. You should move to your posts.” 

The one on the left does almost move to let them pass, but the idiot in the middle stays them, lifting his chin. “Really? Orders from the queen? That’s interesting seeing as she declared you a traitor and an enemy of the crown some moons ago. No one’s heard a word from you since.”

Jaime lets out an exasperated exhale as he glances to Arya. She gives a nod and they draw their swords in unison. 

The ring of drawn steel sings through the air as the three gold cloaks follow suit. Arya is the quickest - because of course she is - and darts forward, weaving under Right’s poor defensive stance and slicing through his left thigh. Right crumples to the ground before the other two cloaks have even made it to Jaime. 

Jaime only hesitates for a moment seeing the two men rush towards him, swords drawn. He takes a swing at Left, and barely dodges out of the way of Middle’s sword aimed for his side. As he meets Middle's sword with a clang of steel, Left's swift kick to the back of his legs sends him buckling to the ground with a grunt. 

Fuck.

He arcs his sword around to meet Left, just managing to block a strike that might have taken his head and kicks out at the man’s feet, sending Left toppling over. Jaime’s sword pierces up through his neck as he falls and the man is dead in moments.

His reflexes are not nearly quick enough to block Middle’s sword, though, as the soldier looms above Jaime’s back. Though he attempts a move to block the strike, he knows he’ll be too slow as Middle is poised to take a swing at Jaime’s head. Jaime braces for the impact.

Middle suddenly shouts out in pain as his knees buckle beneath him. The man's sword swings wildly off to the side, giving Jaime the opportunity to thrust his sword upward, catching Middle through the chin quite by luck. He drives his sword up through Middle's skull as the man falls limp.

Arya is standing behind the man, blood splattered across her brow and glaring at Jaime furiously. A very pointed glare, at that.

She doesn't say a word as she pulls him to his feet, but Jaime bristles under that look all the same. “I had it handled,” he growls defensively in the face of her ire.

Instead of a retort, Arya merely raises a disbelieving eyebrow before turning away to wipe the blood from her sword. “Sounds like Jon's army breached the gates,” is all she says as she sheathes her blade. “We should move.”

Feeling frustration and shame for still needing Arya’s assistance at all, let alone with three lousy gold cloaks, Jaime is very tempted to smack her as she walks away with that haughty attitude sitting on her shoulders. Or trip her mayhaps.

Unfortunately she is correct. Now that the immediate threat is gone and awareness of his surroundings has returned to him, he can hear the disturbance of battle rising in the air.

Until quite suddenly, the city falls silent.

Waiting.

He curses before following after Arya to the tower.

 


 

 

The bell tower is thankfully (and rather surprisingly) unoccupied as Jaime races up the stairs to the platform. 

Arya stands by the doorway, poised and ready for any trouble that may rise as she nods once at Jaime.

Get on with it, her eyes seem to say.

He doesn’t know if they made it in time.

He doesn’t even know if it’ll be enough.

Nevertheless, he crosses the floor and pulls down, hard, on the line until the bell tolls in a clear signal. They wait for only a moment before more bells toll throughout the city calling for surrender.

 


 

 

As the sound of the bells ring through the sky, Arya crosses to the window, looking out to the city below. They are not so high, but high enough that she can see the city gates from the window.

“Will it be enough?” She can’t help but ask.

She can feel Jaime’s eyes on her back, watching her, but she is too much of a coward to turn and face him. “I’m not sure,” he answers. “I suppose we’ll find out quickly.”

Arya nods as she scans the view of the city, tense and waiting. The entire city seemed to quiet at the toll of the bells, and now it is as though everyone is holding their breath waiting for the next move. 

Arya included.

If the dragon queen accepts the city’s surrender, that’ll be it. They’ll breach the Red Keep, root out Cersei, and probably kill her. Or would they arrest her for execution later? Arya’s not sure. But either way, the last name from her list will finally be struck. After everything she’s suffered and been through, it’ll all be over.

She can’t even imagine what it’ll feel like, having been burdened by these thoughts for so long.

She wonders what thoughts are currently burdening Jaime. Is he thinking about Cersei too? Is he thinking about what’s to come next? Will he want to stop it?

If it was Jon behind the walls of the Red Keep, Arya would already be on her way there to protect him. Jaime might very well be itching to do the same, no matter what truths he’d told her outside the gates.

Arya’s heart clenches in her chest as she is reminded of his truths. And the ruthless one that left her brother crippled for life. 

The secret he kept from her all this time.

“You know. This window isn't much higher than the broken tower at Winterfell,” she says, a slight bitter edge to her flat tone. “Bran could have scaled these walls just as easily, I think. Do you see his face in the windows sometimes? Or does it never occur to you anymore?” 

There is silence from behind her for a long time.  “Sometimes,” she hears him murmur behind her in a voice so soft, it almost makes her shiver. Guilt drips from his tone, and Arya does not want to hear his next words.

She suppresses a shudder as she feels him move closer to her, and she shakes her head. “Don’t,” she can barely whisper, putting all her strength into keeping her composure when she can barely keep herself from trembling with hurt where she stands. 

Gods, she loathes this feeling. This feeling of… heaviness weighing her down and threatening to split her in two from the pressure of feelings she wishes she could keep buried forever. She can’t afford to fall apart. Not here. Not now. And never in front of Jaime Lannister. 

Never again.

He never touches her, but when he moves closer, he is so close she could lean into his strong frame at her back if she wanted to. That thought alone causes her head to feel dizzy. “Arya…” he murmurs in an even quieter voice. 

Arya closes her eyes as she braces herself before turning to face him. It is a mistake, because looking into his pleading, green eyes causes her to falter. 

She breaks eye contact almost immediately. “I wish-“

But her words are cut off by a bone chilling roar splitting the silence and setting Arya’s every nerve on edge. 

Her attention snaps back to the window. ”What was that?"

Jaime moves to stand beside her as a look of dread crosses his face. “We need to go,” he says quite suddenly.

Arya does not respond as she scans the city for the threat.

Jaime grabs her arm. “Arya, we need to go now.” His tone is uncompromising and just as her wits return to her and she gives him a nod of agreement, Daenerys Targaryen's dragon descends from the sky and lights the city streets ablaze with dragonfire. 

The city erupts into terrified screams, and a stunned Arya is frozen in place as the dragon flies straight towards her.

 

 

 

Notes:

oh.

Chapter 92: Flight from King's Landing

Summary:

hey, how is one supposed to outpace a dragon? Just asking for a friend.

Notes:

This is quite an eventful chapter and I apologise for that in advance but I really didn't want to push any of it into the next chapter so it just ended up being super long.

whoops.

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

 

 

At first, Arya cannot tear her eyes away from the nightmarish sight before her. The smell of burning debris attacks her senses as the dragon flies over her head and unleashes its terrible fury upon the tallest tower of the Red Keep, sending it crashing down into a cloud of dust and debris. 

All she can do is stare at the carnage, watching helplessly from the bell tower as the dragon turns an entire street to smouldering ruins within mere moments.

And the screams… Gods, she can hear the screams from here.

Arya… Arya. “Arya!”

She looks to Jaime and his hand is outstretched to hers. “Come on,” he urges her, his own eyes wide with fear and desperation.

Arya shakes her head, trying to pull herself out of the foggy reverie she is stuck in. “I thought… I thought it would be over,” she mutters painfully helplessly. 

Jaime grips her shoulder tight, pulling her back into the present. “We’re as good as dead if we stay here. We can make it out, but we have to move quickly!”

Arya looks back to the window, to the pillars of smoke, dust, and debris rising up from the streets. “Make it where,” she mumbles. “The city will collapse on top of us before we even see the gates.”

“We’re not going that way. The beach is much closer. We’ll go the way we came in.”

Arya nods, but she struggles to grasp his words. The foggy feeling in her head is slowing all her senses as the thought of attempting to outpace a dragon sends her spiralling into a state of shock she hasn’t felt since…. Well, not in a long time, that is for certain.

Jaime squeezes her shoulder again. “Hey. Look at me.” His hand clasps her cheek and she looks up into his fearful green eyes.  “All we have to do is make it to that beach. Can you do that?”

A simple task. Make it to the beach. Yes. She can do that. She nods again and the present slowly starts to come back into focus as she takes a deep breath.

“Good,” he says as he clasps her hand with his. “Come on.”

Arya does not even question his touch and in fact clings to his arm as they descend the tower together.

The beach is not so far. She can make it with Jaime.

Right?

 


 

 

An overwhelming wave of panic crashes down upon Jaime's every nerve as he and Arya hit the streets of King’s Landing at a run. The city is in complete chaos. He can barely see five feet in front of him as he joins the masses all scrambling to flee the dragon queen’s fury.

The smell of smoking ruins and burning flesh assaults Jaime’s senses in an instant and sends him spiralling back to standing before a mad tyrant with a cruel laugh in the face of his victims’ tortured screams.

He shakes his head to clear his thoughts. He must stay present. He can't afford to simply go away inside and block out all the memories. Not until he has seen Arya to safety. 

He keeps hold of her hand in an almost crushing grip, pulling her down a smaller alleyway as the dragon flies low overhead. They both flinch as it passes directly over their heads with a chilling screech and sets the bell tower ablaze with dragonfire. He blocks out the sound of it crashing to ruins behind them as he pulls Arya along.

But, seven hells, that had been a very close call. 

They break out onto the main road and there are people everywhere, all running in every which way. Jaime slams into one body the moment he joins the sea of people, bounces off them and gets an elbow to the face from another. Arya’s grip is like a vice around his arm and yet when she stumbles in her steps as he is sent reeling from another panicked body slamming into his, her grip slips from his. 

“Jaime,” she whimpers, scrambling to attach herself to him with a look of unbridled panic in her wide eyes as another boy slams into her and wrenches them apart.

“Arya!” He cries out in a panic, reaching for her, only for another body to shoulder between them, shoving her out of his reach and out of his sight as the masses drive her away. “Arya!”

“Jaime?!”

The sound of his name is faint amongst all the chaotic screams and cries from the people surrounding them, but he hears it. She is somewhere in front of him. But there are too many people. Too many panicked, frenzied people and he can't see her anymore as he shoves through them all in an attempt to follow her voice. 

“Arya!”

 

 


 

 

“Arya!”

She hears him calling out to her, but there are so many people swarming around that she can't see a fucking thing amongst all the hysteria.

“Jaime!” She calls out, hoping he has not disappeared completely or she’ll likely never see him again. “Jaime!” 

If he is calling for her, she cannot hear it.

Fuck!

Fighting her way back to Jaime is like trying to swim upstream against smothering, unrelenting rapids and Arya can barely breathe as she is shoved into and knocked around until she is forced to give up fighting and let the current of people take her. 

A shriek from above momentarily halts the crowd and Arya flinches as the dragon’s shadow passes over their heads.

Arya doesn’t know where she’s going and she can’t for the life of her remember the path she’d taken with Jaime to get to the bell tower in the first place, but the one thing she does know is that she has to get away.

There is no safety in shelter. The dragon sets another tower on fire as if to prove her point. All she can do is run and hope she is lucky enough to escape its wrath.

 


 

 

Where the fuck is Arya?

“Arya?!”

It’s the third time he's called out her name and not gotten a response. Or not one he can hear at any rate. 

The onslaught of people rushing past him is unrelenting and Arya is so small among them he could have long passed her and not even known. 

He can’t lose her. Not in this damn city. Not on this damn quest he dragged her on.

“Arya!” But it is beginning to feel useless calling out for her when the chaos obscures her from his sight. 

If she is even nearby at all.

 

 


 

 

Buildings crumble around them as Arya is swept away amongst the frenzied crowd, and she starts to wonder if it's just a ringing in her ears or if she can hear Jaime’s voice, calling to her. She pauses in her steps to look around behind her, but it is a mistake. A large body slams into her and she trips as she stumbles to correct herself, hitting the ground with a grunted thump.

Fuck!

She tries to breathe. She tries to get back up. But finding her feet again is impossible as she is kicked back to the ground and trampled over with each attempt. Surely the current of people will slow so she can get back up.

Surely. 

She can’t hear Jaime anymore and wonders if it was just her mind playing tricks on her after all, hoping for something that just isn’t there anymore. 

She tries again to get back up and is thrown back down with a pained cry as a heavy foot stomps on her ankle. Black spots erupt behind Arya's eyes and all she can do is cover her head and pray that the sea of people trampling over will stop.

If she doesn’t first.

 

 


 

 

Jaime ducks reflexively as the dragon passes over his head, the entire crowd seeming to shudder with him as it leaves them miraculously untouched. Instead it unleashes its fury on a tower further away and Jaime is just relieved it wasn’t their street. For now.

This is madness. 

It feels like running from the inevitable. 

For how long will he get lucky until it is his turn to be engulfed in dragonfire? Or buried beneath crumbling ruins? 

He watches the skies as he scrambles to stay clear of the dragon’s path. He has never felt quite so helpless before, not even while facing an unrelenting army of dead men. At least that was something he could fight his way through. There is no fighting a dragon in the skies. He can only run. Run and hope the dragon doesn’t catch up to him.
 
I failed, he can't help but think.

Failed to protect King’s landing. Failed Tyrion. Failed Cersei. Failed Arya.

Arya.

Jaime is no fool. It would take a miracle to happen upon her with the unrelenting torrent of people all pushing to be the furthest from the dragon’s fury.

She’s likely long gone by now.

I’ve lost her.

 

 


 

 

So many feet trample around Arya as she tries desperately to keep her bearings. Most leave her miraculously untouched, while a few trip over her legs and leave her winded as they trample over her back. And they aren’t slowing down.

Mayhaps this is where she meets death after all. Trampled and crushed by panicked smallfolk on the streets of King’s Landing. It feels pathetic just thinking about it.

And then a voice above her, clearer than all the panicked screaming. “Here. Take my hand.”

What?

“Take my hand!”

A hand grabs her arm and Arya snatches for it instinctively. Small but strong hands wrench her up and Arya could have cried with relief as her lungs suddenly fill with a full breath. She looks to her saviour. A woman she neither knew nor recognised. 

“Thank you,” she says nonetheless.

The woman simply nods, holding onto Arya’s hand with an iron grip. 

Like Jaime’s.

Arya can’t help it. She glances around again, helplessly and in vain. 

But he really is gone, isn’t he.

The dragon’s shriek pulls her out of her thoughts as she sees it behind her in the distance. And flying closer.

She grips the woman’s hand. “This way. Come on,” she says, pulling the woman with her as she tries to dart out of the crowd. She doesn’t know why she offers help. Mayhaps because this kind stranger had been the only one to stop and help her

But as the dragon flies closer, the crowd surges with renewed frenzy and Arya’s grip slips from the woman’s hand until they are forced apart and out of sight.

Arya can barely process the sudden absence as she is pushed and shoved in a different direction with the raging crowd all scrambling to escape the gaining dragon. It is a breed of chaos she hasn’t ever experienced before, and with her own thoughts stuck on survival - on running - she doesn’t even have time to despair over the brutality of such chaos.

Where to run? Where to run?

As if the buildings themselves were shaking under the dragon’s wrath, several collapse and smash to pieces under the dragon’s powerful screech before the beast itself has even reached them. One so close to Arya she is thrown sideways as debris and dust fly through the air. 

The breath is knocked from Arya’s lungs and she wheezes a cough as she struggles back to her feet, only to hear the dragon’s wings beating practically above her. 

No.

No!

She dives for a tiny laneway off to the side just as the dragon unleashes its fury upon the fleeing crowds. The scorching heat of the dragon’s fire blisters her skin even as it misses her as it decimates the road she’d fled from, and the sheer force of it knocks her off her feet and sends her flying through the air.

She feels the impact of hitting the ground for only a moment before darkness claims her and she feels nothing at all. 

 


 

 

The air is thick with ash and dust as Jaime stumbles back to the open air in the wake of the dragon’s utter decimation of the road he’d been on only moments ago. 

It had been so quick. Standing one moment, a charred ruin the next. Jaime can only stare in shock at the carnage. Some buildings completely destroyed, others a mere skeleton of the sturdy brickwork they once were. Scattered survivors lay crying and moaning from the pain of their burns. Others screaming. The luckier ones died instantly. Bodies so burnt, they are nothing more than charred husks littering the ground. Had it been wildfire, there would have been even less of them. 

Jaime almost retches thinking about it. The fodder from his worst nightmares come to life. Yet the dragon queen is not done wreaking her havoc across the city. He can hear the destruction in the distance, even if the dragon is concealed from his sight by the cloud of ash hanging in the air. 

Jaime hacks a cough as he stumbles down the road. His chest tightens in pain, but he forces himself to breathe. And to keep moving. 

He can just make out the structure of the Red Keep rising through all the smoke. If he just keeps… moving in that direction… he may make it out. 

He wonders if Cersei has fled the Red Keep yet.

He wonders what Tyrion might be thinking right now.

He wonders if Arya is still alive.

Each thought pains him more than the last as he staggers down the road. 

A collapsing building forces him off the main road as he hauls himself down a smaller laneway to avoid the debris. 

His legs feel shaky as he makes his way down the laneway, opening up to yet another street filled with ash and dust. There is no escaping it. 

More bodies litter the ground. Some charred to a crisp, some not. Most covered in a thick layer of dust. There are far less living people swarming the streets now. He is not sure if that is a depressing thought or not. But at the very least, he no longer faces being pushed and shoved aimlessly around the city. 

Gods, he thought the wight army’s aftermath was bad. And it had been. But this is so much worse. So much more pain and suffering. So much more destruction. And it’s not even over yet. 

Jaime almost flinches seeing the shadow of the dragon through the smoke in the distance. Reducing more of the city to ruin, no doubt.

He really needs to get out of here.

As he steps out onto the road, he collides into another body. He lets out an exhale of frustration, but stops when he notices the blade in the scrawny man’s hand.

Needle.

Jaime’s eyes widen as feelings shock, worry, and then fury well up inside him and before he’s even registered himself moving, his hand is around the man’s neck. “Where did you get that?” He growls.

Fear fills the man’s eyes. “It’s mine,” he stutters.

Jaime tightens his grip. “Try again.”

I found it! I only found it. Over there. It was just on the ground, I swear. The dragon woman’s army! They’re everywhere! I just-“

Jaime let go of the man’s throat and he wheezes as he doubles over. “Give it to me,” Jaime commands.

The man’s eyes widen. “It’s mine! I found it!”

Jaime draws his own sword. “Give it to me. Now. Or the dragon queen’s savages will be the least of your concerns.”

The man offers Needle to Jaime without another word. Jaime sheathes his sword and takes Needle from the man. 

“And you got it from?” He prompts as he fastens Needle to his belt.

“Just there,” the man says, indicating the way.

Jaime nods. Then he hesitates before drawing the knife from his belt. “Take this,” he says, tossing it at the man's feet. Then he turns away without another word in the direction the man had indicated. 

She may have simply dropped it as she fled. She may not even be here at all.

Or mayhaps that snivelling lowlife picked it from her corpse. 

Apprehension fills Jaime as he scans the street for signs of Arya. Fear that he will find her a charred husk or crushed beneath fallen debris slows his steps. 

His heart nearly stops beating when he does see her. Lying motionless and dust covered on the ground. Had the situation not been so dreadfully dire, he might have found amusement in finding her on the steps of the Stranger’s sept. Of all places. 

He doesn’t have time to think on that, though, as he rushes to her side. 

“Gods,” he mutters as he kneels beside her. Regret and guilt sink in his gut. She looks so very… lifeless. “I’m sorry, Arya,” he murmurs as he brings his hand to her cheek. “I’m so-“

Arya coughs, startling him so severely that he almost stumbles as she grabs hold of his forearm, her eyes wide open and unhinged. 

“Seven hells, Arya,” he exhales. “You’re alive.” And a strange, painful elation fills his chest as the realisation washes over him. 

Arya is looking at him with fear and confusion in her eyes as she coughs again instead of answering. Her gaze turns to her surroundings, darting around, ever assessing.

Jaime clasps her cheek again. “Hey. Look at me.” She does. “Are you alright? Can you move?”

It seems to take a moment for her to process what she was seeing. “Jaime?” She manages to rasp.

“Well, your eyes are working at least. That’s something.” 

Arya coughs again as she sits up quite suddenly.

“Be careful,” he can’t help but scold her. But Arya isn’t paying any attention to him as she tries to scramble to her feet. Jaime exhales his frustration with her as he grips her arm and helps her to her feet. 

She looks up at him and for the briefest of moments something in her eyes softens.

A tower further down the road suddenly collapses in on itself, and Arya and Jaime both jump at the sudden cracking noise. Jaime wraps his arm around Arya, shielding her, as the entire street shakes from the impact. “Come on,” he murmurs urgently as he pulls her along, all too eager to escape the chaos. 

They are both thrown from their feet when a moment later, green flames shoot up into the sky where the tower once stood, engulfing it and the buildings immediately surrounding it in wildfire.

Jaime gapes at the sight while Arya grips his arm as she pulls him to his feet. “Move,” she rasps as the ground beneath them shakes all the way to the sept at their backs. The entire structure sways where it stands before starting to fall forward towards them and in their fluster to get away, Arya’s hand slips from Jaime’s as she darts ahead of him, running like a panicked rabbit.

Jaime catches up to her and grabs her arm. “Not that way.” He pulls her off the road and out of the path of the sept just as it comes crashing down upon them.

 

 


 

 

It takes a long moment for Arya to process her continued state of living. Is she truly still alive? Had she really gotten that lucky?

Her heart is thundering in her chest, her wrecked nerves cause her whole body to tremble with adrenaline, and every part of her aches from exertion. All signs that she is still alive.

She can hear another heart beating alongside hers and recalls quite suddenly why she is still alive.

Jaime. Jaime found me.

Gods, she had come so close to death, and Jaime had pulled her out of his clutches once again. 

But they are far from safe. 

She can hear the screeches of the dragon as it flies over the city, the deafening sounds of buildings crumbling and smashing to pieces under the blazing heat of its dragonfire, and the horrified screams of the people caught in its fury.

All the noise from outside seems to fade into the background, though, as she realises he is still holding her tight as though protecting her from the danger outside. There is a familiar feeling of safety in his arms, and Arya does not want him to let go.

It's too dark for her to see his face as he pulls back slightly to inspect her. “Are you alright?” He asks her with a hint of urgency in his soft tone. 

He’d already asked her that, but she nods anyway. She is alive, at any rate.

Jaime’s hands move to cup her face, bringing her gaze to his, though his face is completely in shadow. “You’re not hurt?” 

The shock and adrenaline coursing through her is preventing her from feeling much at all, but she does try to take stock of herself. The debris from that tower has knocked the breath out of her and her forehead pains her so much it’s a struggle to keep her eyes open, but she shakes her head to Jaime’s question. “I can walk,” she tells him.

Jaime does not say anything to that right away, and she can feel the weight of his attention on her as he inspects her. But then he nods, lifting his gaze to the ceiling, listening. It’s impossible to tell where the dragon will strike next. If it will come back and bury them in this tiny, temporary shelter.

Another explosion cracks the sky very nearby and rocks the foundation of their shelter. Arya flinches as the walls shake around them, threatening to fall. 

Jaime only holds her tighter as dust and debris fall from the ceiling, and Arya whimpers as she buries her head in his chest. She has tried so hard not to let despair consume her, to keep moving and stay strong, but it presses on her with every passing moment and the improbability of their survival is near crippling. 

“We’re not going to make it, are we,” she mumbles.

Jaime’s attention returns to her. “It's not much further. We just need to keep moving.”

Arya nods, but her breath hitches in her chest as she struggles to even think about moving.

“Hey,” Jaime says, shifting away slightly to regard her better. “It’s not over yet. We’ve faced worse odds, haven't we? Our luck might hold true yet. Well. Your luck. I hope you know, I'm borrowing some of yours”

Arya might have laughed if she wasn’t feeling so overwhelmed with fear. “Starks haven’t had much good luck lately, if you haven't noticed,” she says in a shaky voice.

Jaime is scanning the ceiling again listening out for the proximity of the dragon’s destruction, but he lets out a chuckle at her words. “Hm. And I was thinking you might be the luckiest Stark I've ever met.”

Arya’s chest constricts with emotion at Jaime's light words. Gods, she's still so furious with him, and yet…

And yet, he’s here. And his touch still feels so safe to her despite all the noise in her head screaming at her to hate him. Her feelings feel so… insignificant in the face of near certain death. They may very well die here. And she certainly doesn't want to die hating Jaime.

“Jaime?” she murmurs in a voice barely audible.

Jaime looks to her again.

Arya hesitates. “I… I’m sorry I told you to leave," she says, hating how fragile her voice sounds to her own ears. “It's not what I wanted at all. We might die here and it’s all my fault.” Her breath hitches at her admission. 

Jaime doesn't answer at first and she wishes it wasn’t so bloody dark so she could at least see what he might be thinking, but all she has is darkness and silence. 

Then Jaime caresses her cheek with his thumb. “None of this is your fault,” he tells her firmly. 

He might have said more, but they both startle as the dragon’s powerful wings beat above them, and Arya cringes as it lets out a loud shriek that rattles the walls. 

She can feel the heat of its breath as it unleash its fire on a structure close enough to rattle the whole street as it comes crashing down not far from them. With the way the walls around them shake more rigorously with each assault, this shelter might become their grave if they don't move soon. 

Jaime is evidently thinking the same. “We have to keep moving, Arya. We can't stay here.”

Arya swallows the lump in her throat and nods. “I know.” And they should. But…

Jaime’s hand falls away from her face as he reaches for his belt. ”Here. Take this.” He holds something out to her.

Needle.

She hadn’t even noticed she wasn't wearing it. “Thank you,” she says as she takes it.

Jaime touches her shoulder. “Stay strong a little longer, alright?”

Arya nods again, feeling tears prick in her eyes. She steps out of his touch and wipes them away before they fall. 

She is Arya Stark of Winterfell. She will not let death take her today.

“I’m ready.”

 

 


 

 

The streets are chaos again. 

And not the chaos of overwhelming mobs of people all fleeing the dragon queen’s assault. But the chaos of a lawless city in shambles. Smallfolk scuttle around, trying to avoid the dragon queen’s soldiers as they sack the city. The dragon queen still flies above, burning any structure that still stands. 

Jaime pulls Arya out of the way of a dothraki horse before the rider's curved sword can slice her in two. Arya throws a knife at someone’s head who’s sword clatters to the ground before Jaime even registered it had been aimed his way.

And still they keep moving, keep ducking from broken street to broken street, hiding from the dragon’s war path and fleeing from the toppling buildings and explosions of wildfire.

It's the wildfire that affects him the most. The streets are lined with people struggling with severe burns, the sights and smells assaulting his senses as he passes. It is enough to send him tripping back to the throne room of the Mad King.

Arya keeps a firm grip on his arm, urging him on despite the sensory overload threatening to make him retreat so far into himself that he won’t be able to see, hear, or smell any of it. 

No. He can’t afford to lose himself just yet. 

The Red Keep looms up before them. It looks like the dragon queen had already taken a sizeable chunk out of it. Gods, Cersei might still be in there!

“Jaime!” Arya’s fearful cry pulls him out of his reverie just as the dragon descends towards their location. He pulls her off the road, but it thankfully passes without turning it to rubble, instead focusing on a bigger structure further away.

He exhales in relief. 

“Come on,” he mutters. “We’re nearly there.”

 

 


 

 

They finally break out onto the beach and Arya is so relieved they made it, she very nearly bursts into tears as the sand crunches beneath her feet.

But they are not safe yet. 

The dragon still flies over the city, laying waste to the buildings in its path and Arya flinches as its shadow flies above her head. It unleashes its fire on a tall standing tower of the Red Keep, and Arya stumbles in her steps as the parapet breaks off and crashes to the ground, taking a chunk of the castle walls with it. Jaime is there to catch her and urges her forward. “Don't stop,” he tells her, and she nods. 

Jaime looks up at the castle with fear and horror in his eyes, but he doesn’t say another word as they race for the water. They’re nearly there. 

We’re nearly there.

And Arya breathes out in relief seeing the boat still beached on the shore. 

Thank the gods.

They make it to the boat and Jaime helps her step into it before he starts pushing it out past the rocks. “You see that rock out there?” He says, nodding to the large shape jutting out of the water.

Arya nods, fixing her attention on their evident destination.

“Head out that way and you should see the adjacent coastline" he continues. He’s not looking at her as he speaks. “There should be a safe place to land just past there.”

Arya turns to him with a frown. He is telling her all this as though he doesn’t plan on being with her. But he is coming with her. Right?  “Is something wrong?” 

Jaime does not answer her and in fact avoids eye contact entirely as he pushes the boat out past the sand.

“Jaime!" She hisses. 

He shakes his head. “Don’t worry about me. Focus on where you're going.”

Arya grabs his hand. “And where are you going?”

Jaime does look at her this time, hesitating with an expression filled with conflict.

Arya does not need him to answer. “No," she says softly, shaking her head with disbelief. “You... you can’t.” She is ashamed of the way her voice cracks with the words.

Jaime only looks at her regretfully. “I know you don’t understand, but I have to try." 

She grips his hand tighter. “Jaime, no. If you go in there, you won’t come back out.”

Jaime musters his conviction before he pulls his hand out of her grip. “You would do the same for yours.” Arya recoils at his words, but Jaime avoids her gaze as he pushes the boat out as far as he can. “Go. I’ll find another way.”

Then he straightens where he stands and turns to wade back to the shore, leaving her there alone. 

“Jaime, don't be stupid!” she calls after him with clear desperation in her tone. But if he hears her, he does not show it, nor does he turn around.

Arya's heart very nearly stops beating.

“Jaime!”

 

 

 

 

Notes:

Just when you think they’re safe, Jaime has to go and be a dumbass. It is his eternal curse, I’m afraid.

Chapter 93: In the end

Summary:

jaime faces the instantaneous consequences of his actions

Notes:

Hm, nope, I have no excuse this time, I just gave up for a bit there. And now here we are. More on that at the end.

here we go!

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

Jaime races up the beach towards the castle, attempting to keep a quick pace that prevents him from second guessing himself as he contemplates just how he’s supposed to even find Cersei in that damn castle. A daunting feat, but he must try. He can’t simply abandon his family to this chaos when he is all too aware of how close she is. Hells, even when he tried to abandon her, he’d still felt the pull to go back. Mayhaps it’s weakness for him to give into the compulsion, but what would it make him if he didn’t even try for his own family?

"It's the right thing. I'm doing the right thing."

That’s the thought he repeats to keep himself going.

So lost in his thoughts is he, that he doesn’t even notice the threat until it’s calling out to him.

“Kingslayer!”

The unfamiliar voice startles him, but it’s the ring of drawn steel that causes him to halt in his steps. 

He turns to the voice but does not recognise the man it belongs to. Then again, plenty have claimed to know him when he cannot return the sentiment. This one is tall, almost as tall as Jaime, much heavier set, he would be difficult to knock down, with fair hair and material drawn over one eye as some kind of eye patch. Quite a blind spot. Could make up for Jaime's lack of a sword-hand. If he’s lucky.

“At last!” The scruffy, drenched man declares. He looks like he walked straight out of the sea. And Jaime realises, then, that this man must belong to the Iron Fleet.

“Am I supposed to know you?” He asks as his hand slides to the hilt of his sword, prepared to draw. He tries to temper his flaring irritation, but it rises nonetheless. He doesn’t have time for this when he needs to get to Cersei.

“I,” the man says as he draws to a halt. “am Euron Greyjoy. King of the Iron Islands. Soon to be King of all of Westeros, when this war is done.”

Jaime curses. He recalls Cersei agreeing to meet with the pirate before he’d left. “Congratulations, Edmond” he spits out. “I’m sure you’ll be well rewarded. But we don’t have time for this. We have to get Cersei out of King’s Landing.”

“Do we?” Euron cocks his head to the side with an arrogant smirk. “I’ve been waiting for this moment, Kingslayer! Reckon she might reward me quite handsomely if I brought her your head. And if not, I think the dragon queen would owe me thanks as well.”

Greyjoy steps sideways, drawing Jaime into the dance as they circle around each other. “Brave man, playing both sides for fools," Jaime spits out, anger coursing through him. Cersei always did have bad taste in allies. But this surely had to be one of her worst yet. "Do you really think either of them would make you a king? A snivelling weasel like you?” 

The Greyjoy merely smiled. "I'd say I have more of a chance than you do, sister-fucker."

Jaime exhales his frustration as the Greyjoy moved to strike. “Really don't have time for this, Elrond,” he mutters as he moves in to block the strike. But it’s a weak effort and he is sent stumbling backwards to hold his balance.

Greyjoy cackles with glee. “This'll be an easier fight than I thought,” he said with another swing that Jaime has to evade entirely to avoid the blow. "I'm even a little bit disappointed.”

Jaime just grits his teeth as he holds firm against the Greyjoy’s barrage. He looses a breath as he forces himself to calm and wait, searching for an opening.

Euron smirks at him. “I see now why the Queen was so eager to be rid of you. The famed Kingslayer reduced to… well, you.”

Snarling, Jaime moves in to strike. The ring of clashing steel sings through the air as Greyjoy matches him stroke for stroke, pushing him backwards as Jaime struggles to gain the upper hand. But damn him, a fool this pirate may be, but he makes for a formidable opponent as he puts his weight behind each driving blow. Jaime just grits his teeth as he holds firm against the Greyjoy’s barrage. He’d recovered much of his strength since leaving King’s Landing, but its not enough.

In his prime, this would have been over already, he curses inwardly as he steps wide to evade once more. 

In my prime, he would be dead before he even had a chance to get in my way, and I would be with Cersei by now.

Cersei.

How funny that he once promised to burn the world down for her, and now here he is barely able to even fight for her. 

He grits his teeth as he strengthens his resolve. So close to his last task, and he’s blocked by a fucking Greyjoy.

He roars in fury as he lunges forward. Euron parries his sword away and slams his elbow into Jaime’s face. Jaime’s head snaps back, hard, and he grunts in pain as black spots erupt behind his eyes. He lashes out blindly, slamming his gold fist into Euron’s chin and sending him reeling backwards. 

Just as he advances, they are interrupted by the dragon’s screech echoing from overhead and Jaime flinches as its shadow passes over them, its fire destroying a parapet above and sending it hurtling down the cliff face. Jaime stumbles as the ground shakes beneath them and Euron collides into him, sending them both sprawling across the rocks as his sword clatters uselessly across the rocks.

Oh, for fuck’s sake, he curses inwardly as Euron slams his elbow into Jaime’s gut, knocking the air out of his lungs with a wheeze. Jaime swings his gold hand up, catching Euron’s jaw and sending him sprawling to the ground. He climbs on top of the pirate and punches him, hard, and then again for good measure!

Not in seven hells was he letting this lowlife get in his way.

A sharp pain erupts in his side and he straightens, suddenly. Euron smiles as he shoves Jaime off him and punches him in the gut as he pushes the knife in deeper.

Jaime sprawls onto his back, the knife slicing further up his side as he collapses. His vision clouds as his own blood soaks the rocks beneath him.

Euron rises in his periphery. “Not a bad fight, I suppose. For a cripple.”

Jaime can feel his body growing tired.

No. It can’t… it can’t end like this. Not with Cersei still…. he has to save her first.

His sword gleams from somewhere above his head and it takes all of Jaime’s remaining strength to push himself up the rocks to reach for it.

He hears Euron growl from above him and he grabs for his sword just as Euron kicks him hard in the abdomen, knocking the air from his lungs as his blade slices through Jaime’s ribs. Jaime grunts as he turns to meet Euron and buries his sword in the pirate’s gut, stopping him in his tracks.

Euron glances down at the blade in surprise. Jaime can’t stop the triumphant grin from spreading across his lips. “What was that about your reward?” he sneers at the pirate as he presses his advantage. He kicks the pirate in the gut and sends him reeling backward, stumbling to the ground. Jaime retracts his sword from the pirate’s gut and staggers to his feet. “You’re nothing, Elmo. Cersei will never remember you. The dragon queen will never remember you. And when you succumb to your injuries, all you’ll be is another nameless corpse.”

Euron’s face contorts with fury and he kicks out at Jaime, catching him in the chest. Jaime hits the ground with a grunt and Euron clambers on top of him and wraps his hands around Jaime’s neck. “I got you,” he growls in Jaime’s face as he squeezes the breath from his lungs. “Before I die, I’ll still be the man who-“

He stills, suddenly, and a look of shock crosses his face as his grip slackens instantly. Jaime’s breath is painful as his gaze falls to the small blade protruding from Euron’s chest. The blade disappears just as quickly and Euron slumps to the side.

Standing in his place is Arya Stark.

 


 

Arya’s gaze meets Jaime’s and she falters for a moment, looking into his pained, green eyes. When she leapt from the boat and made her way back to the shore, she hadn’t yet made up her mind if it was for Jaime or Cersei. She still doesn’t quite know. She fights the urge to run to his side now and instead moves her attention from him to Euron sprawled on the ground and breathing hard.

Well, not for long.

She retrieves Jaime’s sword from the ground, turning it in her hand once, and recalling the weight of it.

This will do.

Wordlessly, she aims the sword squarely at Euron, the pointy end resting against the flesh of his throat as she looks down at him with steely resolve. “Euron Greyjoy, was it?” She asks in a cold, bland tone that masks the rage building beneath her skin. So tempted was she to deliver much worse than a clean death.

And Euron smiles a bloody smile, mirth shining in his eyes despite his circumstances. “Call me Kingslayer slayer, if you wish. I know I got him. The Queen will be pleased, I’ll wager.”

Arya’s entire body grows cold with a lethal fury. She ignores his taunts as her sword digs into his neck, drawing blood. He can keep talking nonsense. He’d already sealed his fate. “Euron Greyjoy,” she recites dispassionately. “Valar Morghulis.”

“I killed him,” he declares, raving up at the sky filled with ash. “I killed Jaime-“

Arya draws her sword across his throat, cutting off his words as she sliced through bone. He slackens instantly and his last words silence in his throat as he chokes on blood until he falls still, dead all too quickly. 

Arya doesn’t spare him a second thought as she turns back to Jaime.

 


 

 

Jaime is dying.

That much is clear to Arya as she watches the blood seep through his clothes into the ground beneath him; his skin pallid with death’s touch as the colour slowly drains from his face. 

He looks so frail, it might be kinder to put him out of his misery. But even the thought of doing so causes a painful twisting in her chest.

How unfair, given everything he’d put her through.

It was bad enough that he went back for Cersei at all; a fool’s errand. 

And now he’s dying for her. 

Of course it’s Cersei’s fault. Everything always seems to come back to Cersei.

Fury erupts in Arya’s chest as she looks up to the red keep keep half in ruins now. Would Cersei even be alive in there somewhere or crushed beneath the rubble? Would they have stood a chance of finding her at all? Arya is almost tempted to take that chance, now, except…

Jaime is dying.

She can’t leave him here.

Loosing a shaky breath, she turns her attention back to him. 

Jaime looks surprised to see her as she kneels down beside him to inspect his wounds properly. “You… what are you... doing here?” He asks though shaky breaths. 

She curses when she sees how deep his injuries truly are. They’ll kill him if he doesn’t get proper attention quickly, and Arya certainly can’t do that here. “We have to get you to the boat. Find help outside the city,” she says as she rips off her tunic and wraps it around his bleeding torso. It’s not nearly enough, but it would have to do for now. “We can… we can get help. But you have to move.” She tries to keep her voice controlled despite her growing worry over him bleeding out in front of her. 

Jaime lets out a long, shaky breath. “You shouldn’t… you shouldn't be here.”

“I’m not the only one,” she growls back. “ Now, come on. You’ve got to get up.” She tries to pull him up, but he either doesn't have the energy to move or simply won't try. Both possibilities are worrying thoughts for Arya to confront. 

“Cersei...” he mutters, his eyes fluttering closed with pain pinching his brow.

“Don’t remind me,” Arya growls. “And you said you weren’t here for her. You’re a better liar than I thought.”

He shakes his head. “I wasn’t. Not then. Thought I could... at least save her. She's still… she's still in there.” His voice is filled with quiet distress. 

Arya grips his shoulder to pull his focus back to her. “It’s over, Jaime!” she hisses quietly. “There’s nothing you can do. You’ll only bleed out on the steps trying to make it to her corpse. Do you really want to die knowing it was a damn Greyjoy who did it?”

Jaime coughs a laugh. “Sounds… rather pathetic when you put it that way.”

“That’s because it is.” She pushes on his back, trying to move him, but he does nothing to assist her. “Now come on. You’re not dying here because of one stupid choice.”

Jaime sputters another laugh. “Had to try, right?" he mutters through his pain, trying to smile, though it looks more like a grimace. “Suppose I am simply... destined to remain a failure.” He closes his eyes. “What a… jape.”

Arya can feel the panic starting to well up inside her, but she squashes it down and clasps his head in her hands. “No you don’t. Look at me, Jaime,” she implores him. 

Jaime only gives the slightest shake of his head. “Too late,” he mutters. “You should… find your family. See they're safe. Don’t... don't worry about me.”

“I’m not leaving you," Arya growls firmly “You have to get up.”

“Do I?”

“Yes!” she hisses through gritted teeth as she tries to wrench him up again. But he is so very heavy and stubborn in resisting her efforts. 

Until he grabs her hand with a tight grip, startling her. “Arya.” He is looking at her with pleading eyes now. She knows what he wants.

Damn him. “No.”

“Please,” he implores her.

Arya’s breath rattles in her chest as she shakes her head. “No, Jaime.”

“You never made it to her either,” he implores her. “If not a… mercy, think of it as a proxy. Whichever works.”

Arya shoves at his chest, refusing to hear him. “I’m not leaving you here to die.”

“You know… that’s not… what I’m asking. Arya.”

But she shakes her head again as she tries in vain to pull him up. “I said no.”

“It’s more than I deserve.”

“I don't care what you deserve! You have to fight, Jaime! I need you to fight!” She pulls him up with all the strength she can muster. 

Jaime only looks at her with a strange expression. “Why?” he asks her in a gentle tone.

“Because,” She growls through her endeavour to pull him to his feet. “You’re an… idiot.”

Jaime is still looking at her strangely but he seems to muster his last remaining strength, and with a lot of help from Arya, he manages to push himself to his feet. He sways dangerously when he stands and Arya holds onto him firmly to keep him from stumbling back down. She knows he won't get back up again if he falls. 

She can feel his eyes on her as she pulls him back down the beach towards the boat. “What?" she growls through gritted teeth, refusing to look at him.

“Nothing, I suppose,” he murmurs. “It’s strange how you care, s’ all.” His voice is so raspy his words are barely a whisper. 

Arya doesn't know what to say to that, so she says nothing at all, and focuses her efforts on getting them to safety. 

The dragon shrieks from somewhere across the city and the thought troubles her that there is not much safety left to find with the dragon queen on her rampage. 

But she must try. 

 



Jaime feels the heavy wave of unconsciousness tugging at him as Arya hauls him into the small vessel, doing her best to prop him up. “We’ll get help soon,” he hears her tell him as she settles herself opposite him. 

But her voice sounds muffled and far away to his ears and he struggles to see her face clearly. He is assuredly fading. And he can tell by the look on her face that she knows that too.

Of course she does.

He can only manage a nod as he closes his eyes, the pain of his wounds starting to feel numb already. 

Until a sharp strike from Arya jolts him back to the present. 

“Stay awake, you dolt,” she scolds him like a child. 

Jaime tries to laugh, but winces with a pained cough for his efforts. She's trying awfully hard to save him. He honestly hadn't expected her to think him worth the effort. Hells, he hadn’t expected her to follow him at all. “All this… for an oathbreaker,” he mumbles out loud, trying to focus on Arya’s face to keep himself from slipping into unconsciousness. “What a curiosity you are, Arya Stark.”

Her expression falters for only a moment before returning to hardened determination.

Jaime begins to sway in place, dangerously close to toppling over the edge of the boat. Small, strong hands land on him, holding him upright, “Jaime?” She says, and he can hear the panicked edge to her word, but he can’t find words of his own as he slumps against her. Gods he feels so useless. 

Let the gods take me already. 

He almost resents Arya for refusing him in that request.

The one thing she promised him, and she couldn’t even do that. Some faceless girl she was.

Then she says his name again. “Jaime?” Her grip on him constricts tighter, bringing her into focus, if only slightly.

Something in him softens at her concern and he covers her hand with his. “Arya…”

She shakes her head. “Don’t.” She scrambles for the oars to move them back in the direction of the shore and Jaime can't do much but watch her work and the fear that slowly starts to show in her eyes. Though Jaime can feel cold numbness slowly take him, it seems to only heighten the sudden sharp pain that erupts in his chest as he notices how scared she truly is. For him. 

She must be as aware of his fate as he is. With his injuries…

He reaches out to her, and his hand finds her cheek. She flinches at his touch, but doesn't pull away this time as she looks back down to him. “It's alright,” he attempts to reassure her.

But Arya is shaking her head. “No. You’re not dying, Jaime. Not today,” she says insistently. Determination flares in her eyes as she continues on.

Jaime almost smiles at the sentiment. But everything feels so heavy, and instead he closes his eyes, allowing darkness to claim him.

 



He’d stopped responding halfway to the shore. His breathing is slowing to a dangerous degree and yet Arya just can’t bring herself to give up.

He’s not dying today. He can’t die today.

She won’t let that bitch, Cersei, win. Not this time.

So she summons all the resolve she can muster, and she gets them to shore, out of the city of ashes and with little idea of where to take him.

But she can’t give up. As long as Jaime still draws breath, she has to keep going.

Why?

Well, she doesn’t have time to think on why.

Despite her strength starting to fail her, Arya drags Jaime up the shore, trying desperately to stay calm as her nerves threaten to shatter completely. “Hold on, Jaime,” she mumbles under her breath. Hold on.

She startles as a large shadow passes over her, and she jumps to her feet instinctively, drawing her sword in a protective stance above Jaime’s dying form.

But she recognises the figure.

Sandor!

“Going to kill me, girl?” He asks with a raised eyebrow.

Arya is so relieved to see him, she almost cries. Almost

Her hands start shaking as she lowers her sword. “Help me."

 

Notes:

The great tragedy of Jaime Lannister: He tries so hard, and in the end it doesn’t even matter.

Okay, so here’s the thing. Early on, I thought it would be really funny if Euron Greyjoy showed up like “At last! Our battle will be legendary!” And meanwhile Jaime doesn’t even really know or care who he is because thanks to canon divergence shenanigans they never officially met yet. And then we got here and suddenly I realised I had to write a fight scene and I hate those.

So anyway, 1 year later and it’s finally over with. Phew!

and you know, it’s funny. In an earlier draft of this story, Sandor was supposed to die too, but because they never made it inside the red keep, I guess he gets to live now, too, so, yay for that I guess. Haha

Except now Jaime might be dying so…

You win some you lose some?

idk

Notes:

:)

Thoughts? Questions? Concerns?