Arya was dimly conscious of Aunt Genna shouting at her; her podgy Lannister fingers digging into her shoulders and her lips moving as her face curled and uncurled in hysteria disguised as anger.
The maester had hastily concluded that Jaime's injury was self-inflicted and had had nothing to do with her.
Aunt Genna hadn't believed him.
'That boy is like a son to me,' Aunt Genna bellowed; spraying Arya with spit as her considerable bosom heaved in agitation; 'and if anything, ANYTHING, happens to him, I will have your skinny Northern posterior broken at the wheel and –'
Leave me alone, Arya thought; her voice gone; her strength gone; please leave me alone leave me alone leave me alone
The walls of the antechamber were closing in around her; the entire world alighting on the golden-haired woman before her whose eyes were enflamed with the same wildfire-green anger that Tywin's had had, and she was melting, then – Aunt Genna – her body submerged and torn apart by the moisture leaking from Arya's eyes and turning the present into a distant illusion; like music being played three rooms away.
Jaime's blood was still wet on her clothing and hands, she could smell it all over herself what have I done dear gods what have I done she could hear his voice hissing in pain as his hand gripped hold of the dagger and pushed it deeper into himself; she could see each bead of sweat erupting on his forehead as his body screamed out at the violation; she saw his hands twitching, fighting not to fight, Jaime, gods; she saw herself just sitting there; she hadn't seen herself, just sitting there, until it was too late, until the maester had her and Aunt Genna thrown out of the room while he tried to save her husband's life, moments wasted minutes wasted in which she could have called for help or gone for help, she should have gone for help immediately instead of sitting there and thinking about revenge, because this was revenge, revenge was what was happening in the next room, revenge was what was going to happen in the next room in the next few minutes; she clamped her hands over her ears and she could still hear Jaime moaning her name as he bled out; still hear him, Arya…Arya…ARYA…
She felt her mind cry out for milk of the poppy as Aunt Genna cried for her head, and then Tyrion was bursting into the room, 'What in seven hells is going on?' he roared; and her mind still wanted the drug, but her body didn't, she couldn't feel it anymore, couldn't feel the need sinking from her skin right down to her bones; not now; because it wasn't the foundation of her life anymore, not it, but him; and Aunt Genna and Tyrion were shouting at each other, 'I tell you the girl is responsible in some way!' 'In what way? SHE CAN BARELY WALK!'
She could see Jaime again, his head in her lap, and the bloodied mess of where his shoulder was, the blood spreading everywhere, getting onto everything, and it was like her blood her blood her blood, no, Lucion's, like Lucion's blood being everywhere; there was too much light and too much noise; she was crouched on her haunches covering her ears while the two Lannisters quarrelled; Aunt Genna turning redder and redder and Tyrion turning whiter and whiter; there was a scream of agony from next door and her knees buckled beneath her, 'TOWELS!' the maester's voice shouted; a ghastly silence; the sound of hot metal meeting flesh; another scream no gods not that don't hurt him don't Jaime JAIME NO
A moment of darkness, then light again, she must have fainted, neither Lannister had noticed, they were still fighting; her head was a mass of confused fucked-up lightness and weight; she tried to stand, she couldn't; she could feel the heat from next door coming through the wall what have I done dear gods what have I done and everything she had thought of earlier, every reason she had thought of to save him came back into her mind to kill her; he helped me, he saved me, he didn't laugh at me, he could have fucked me bloody a thousand times and he didn't; Ramsay would have had me whipped each time I threw up, each time I soiled myself, each time I said things I shouldn't have in fever; he wouldn't have played fucking nursemaid, or let me share his bed for all that time; he'd have held me down and laughed and fucked me no matter how sick I was
Jaime what have I done
Jaime what have I done
Hours later, no sleep, bundled into the room with the heat; heat and candles and fresh bed linen, Jaime lying in the midst of it, pale, alive, silent, gaze cutting like a knife.
A rush of blood to the head; a searing pain in her eyes and throat; a desire to rush across the room to him.
Maester approaches.
'He's very weak,' the maester says, 'and he's lost a lot of blood. You should not stay longer than five minutes.'
'I thought he wanted to see me,' Arya mumbles.
'All the same,' the maester continues, 'he needs to rest.'
The maester leaves. Guards are standing inside the door.
'Get out,' Jaime says to them.
'My lord, Lady Genna has ordered us –'
'Get. The fuck. Out.'
They run.
Arya is left standing in the middle of the room with her heart turning black with shame. Jaime remains silent, watching without fear; an alert, glassy-eyed look from the milk of the poppy they've given him. Arya shuffles towards the bed. No speaking. As she gets closer, blood seeps through his bandages. Guilt and horror smart with every footstep. They incarnate into the shape of his face and his eyes that are alive; his eyes that were closed and dead Jaime what have I done.
He looks at her. He smiles at her. Her heart breaks.
In his smile, she sees him dead. She sees him as she thought she wanted him. She sees herself standing beside him, alive, but dead as well, her hand reaching out for him, her hand still too afraid, too proud to touch.
In that moment, the full weight of what she had done, or not done, came crashing in on her like the fall of light; as if all of her perished in a single moment of horror and left nothing but a gaping chasm that might have been all of her life to come. Jaime was speaking, but she couldn't hear him; she was walking to him in a rush of excruciating, searing relief and leaning down; her mouth sealing his awkwardly and messily, and pulling back ever so slightly as more tears came, and more.
'I'm sorry,' Arya sobbed as Jaime stared up at her, his face gentle and his lips parted; 'I'm sorry –'
Jaime craned his neck and brushed his lips against hers; his free hand coming up to touch her cheek, and the void was there again, then disappearing again; her tears salty in her mouth, then his.
The world contracted suddenly into him and her. It felt like she was going to pass out again. His entire body was heavy with the stench of blood, but his lips as they captured hers were alive and sent blood rushing to the surface of her skin like a naked flame that only hurt in a good way; is that even possible
It was like she had been released from something. Her hands framed Jaime's face and helped him sink back down into the mattress, and her lips when she kissed him again were harder than she would have liked; heated and frenzied in a way that made her feel bare and vulnerable and defenceless; an innocent with no idea what she was doing as Jaime's mouth opened beneath hers and kissed her softly; sighing into her as though she were beautiful.
Jaime hissed in pain as her fingers touched the bare skin of his neck; waking up the corridors of pain coursing outwards from his shoulder; and when she tried, panicked, to pull away, he only pulled her closer and kissed her deeper; the fingers of his hand stroking her hair as though she were made of porcelain that lived and breathed and broke.
'You stupid,' Arya sobbed against his mouth, 'you stupid, why did you do it; why the fuck –'
Jaime kissed her once more, fiercely; his fingers tracing the line of her jaw as she quaked and trembled and cried; her heart beating so fast she was sure it would kill her.
'I did it as a peace offering,' Jaime murmured; his sweat-drenched hair golden in the candlelight; 'I'm so tired of all this shit –'
'What if the wound goes bad?' Arya sniffled; wiping her nose on her sleeve.
'I don't want…I don't want forgiveness or…' he plunged on, ignoring her, 'I keep my word as before –'
'I know, but –'
'But can we at least be bloody friends?'
Arya stared at him; her muddled brain almost blotting out her vision in its attempts to understand what the fuck that was supposed to mean.
It didn't succeed.
'Do you always kiss your friends like that?' she eventually mumbled.
'No,' Jaime confessed, 'but then I didn't have much of a choice in this case; you just came at me – '
'Fuck you, Jaime!'
'I'm not insulting you, you little fool!'
'You could have fooled me!'
Arya folded her arms with a humph and sat glowering at him; her smouldering eyes strongly indicative of a desire to remove his head from his shoulders, though he thought he saw the ghost of a smile around her lips: just a little one.
He waited for her to stab him again, or at the very least to start arguing with him again.
When she did neither, he reached for her, and when his fingertips brushed her lips, she kissed them.
END OF PART 2
