In that moment, Jaime felt a light somewhere inside him go out and one of the thousands of silvery thin threads that bound him so inextricably to Arya snap; and in that moment he knew, as surely as he knew his own name, that he was going to lose her. The excruciating pain of the idea made him very angry, very quickly.

Arya was still speaking.

'It's something we all want!' she exclaimed, 'you're a Southerner, you don't understand these things!'

'How can I understand? You've never spoken to me about this! Not once!'

'And when was I meant to do that? You've been gone for the past three years, and before that, you were too busy fucking Cersei to –'

The colour drained from Arya's face so quickly that Jaime momentarily thought she had fallen sick.

'Oh gods, I'm sorry –'

'Fuck off, Arya.'

'I'm sorry, I didn't mean it!'

'Then why did you say it?'

'Jaime –'

'It hardly matters anyway. My sister is dead, and so are her children. Problem solved! You must be thrilled!'

'I'm delighted!'

'You should be! When you decided to remove Robert Baratheon's head, you avenged both them and your father! Talk about killing two birds with one stone!'

'Fuck you, Jaime!'

She was crying. Regretting his words, he tried to speak. She didn't let him.

'I dressed up specially to kneel with Sansa in front of that half-mad, sex-addled drunk of a King, in front of the entire court, to beg for Father's life. 'Refusing to kill the Targaryen Queen is mercy, not treason,' we said, 'He's your friend. Let him take the black. He'll be out of your way, and he'll be home.' Robert promised he would be merciful, but he cut my father's head off. The miserable coward didn't even have the balls to do it himself. So when Robb called the banners, I was glad, because the North would finally be free of these simpering Southerners with their flowers and their intrigues, who don't know cold, or winter. When Tywin declared for Daenerys, I was glad, because I'd be able to take Robert's head myself. And when Robb marched back North, daring Daenerys to follow him, I was glad, because he finally understands. He knows that the North has nothing in common with the South, apart from having bowed down to some silver-haired shit three hundred years ago.'

'The descendant of that silver-haired shit will get the same thing from Robb, one way or the other. She has dragons!'

'We'll kill them!'

'Kill them?'

'Yes!'

Jaime was so angry at her stubbornness and stupidity that he was finding it difficult to speak. Nonetheless, he tried.

'Are you mad?'

She scoffed at him, shaking her head in disappointment.

'You really think that because my name is Lannister now, that I was ever really one of you?'

He had.

'You can dress me up in all the lions you want - I will always be a wolf.'

'But you can't do this!'

'STOP TELLING ME WHAT TO DO, JAIME!'

'NO!'

She took two involuntary steps backwards. He'd frightened her. Maybe that was no bad thing. He wanted to kiss her lips, stroke her hair and apologise; to promise to break his allegiance to Daenerys and ride away with her to fight for the North. His common sense would not allow him to. If he lost this argument, she would die.

He stepped towards her. She stepped back. He seized her wrist and pulled her against him, crushing her to his chest and murdering each attempt she made to move. He whispered hoarsely into her ear. If she wouldn't listen, he would make her. Better traumatised than dead.

'If your brother does not bend the knee, he and everyone that fights for him will be incinerated. Thousands of people will die. Winterfell will be nothing but a blackened ruin, and Catelyn, Bran, Rickon, Sansa, little Alyssa and Steffon, and everyone you love, will die. And if Robb doesn't die in battle, which he probably will, then the gods know what Daenerys will do to him.'

She tensed up against him, and he felt his words pulling her into their depths. She was seeing Winterfell in flames, and the ashen body of her sister bent over those of Alyssa and Steffon, having died trying to protect them. She was feeling the fire on her face as Robb, Bran and Rickon were roasted alive in their armour. Her hands grew tight against his back, and he knew she was imagining holding them up before her eyes. Was she seeing ash, or blood?

She relaxed. And Jaime knew he had convinced her.

As he held her, she asked if he would come with her to Winterfell.

'Being apart is horrible,' she mumbled, 'I don't like it.'

Jaime closed his eyes as they filled with tears.

'Remember how young she is,' he told himself, 'So. Very. Young.'

Notes

'Field of Fire', sequel, coming up soon! Reviews help me spread the love!