OK dokes, a quick roundup of ages. Jaime: 45. Arya: 20. Joanna: 5. Janei: 10. Aunt Dorna: 50.

309 AL

Dear Lady Arya

The other day I heard a little bird telling Lord Varys that you don't want to come to the royal wedding because you don't want to bring Lady Joanna, and you don't want to leave her at home either in case she disappears (is that a normal thing for her?) I am writing to you, first of all to tell you that you have an extremely good spy at Casterly Rock, and that you need to root him out before he discovers something more important than that; second of all, to beg you to come. Please come. Tommen, Uncle Kevan and Uncle Tyrion want me to marry Trystane Martell, and he's an idiot who thinks he knows everything and is always being impertinent and insufferable and just… horrible and blaming me for things I didn't do, and mocking me about my archery when he's never seen me shoot, and accusing me of reading romances – can you imagine such a thing? I hate him, and our betrothal is set for the opening night of the wedding festivities, and I don't know what to do: I don't want to marry him, and I need your help, or at least your advice; there's nobody else I can trust, and I daren't put anything to paper in case Varys finds it. Let Uncle Jaime stay at home with Lady Joanna – in fact, I'd prefer it if he would – but please make sure that when Tommen marries Margaery, you are there. I need your help. Please.

Yours in desperation

Myrcella

'Varys knows I don't want to go to the wedding,' Arya gravely said; suddenly feeling quite unequal to eating her blueberry pie.

'Who says?' Jaime asked; sounding annoyed.

'Myrcella says,' she replied; sounding equally annoyed.

Arya watched her husband's jaw tighten, as it always did at the mention of Myrcella, and with a quick glance at Joanna, Janei and Aunt Dorna, Jaime took a long draft of mead, and continued.

'Maybe we should smash all the walls in,' he nonchalantly suggested; the light from the windows dancing golden in his hair, 'I doubt the little birds would have any place to hide in without their perches.'

'Birds don't hide in walls, Cousin Jaime!' Janei laughed, 'they only hide in trees and hedgerows.'

'Maybe the birdie isn't hiding at all,' Joanna mused, 'what birdie would want to, when they are all so pretty?'

Aunt Dorna cleared her throat and glared sternly at the two girls, as though they had committed a mortal sin.

'What have I told you two about talking when grown-ups are talking?' she scolded, sounding like a septa.

'I apologise, Mother,' Janei murmured; looking down at her folded hands like a trained poodle.

'Shit,' Jo sulked, and stuck out her bottom lip.

Arya listened to Aunt Dorna scolding Jo, and to Jaime telling Aunt Dorna to mind her own business, and thought about what her daughter had said: that maybe the bird wasn't hiding at all.

Of course there were little birds at Casterly Rock – she knew the names of most of them – but getting information out of the inner sanctum required a bird of considerable talent, and she had no knowledge of such a person's being at the Rock.

Aunt Dorna was talking to her.

'Arya, my dear child,' she said, with a trace of nervousness in her voice that made Arya feel rather proud, 'perhaps a great deal of trouble, spy-hunting and wall-smashing would be spared if you simply decided to go to the wedding.'

'Aunt,' Jaime sharply reprimanded as the sounds of a blade falling and birds fluttering against the sky seemed to fill the room like a waterfall in flood.

Arya closed her eyes and told the vision to go away. She could smell the blood on the paving stones: fresh, and her father's.

She had been to King's Landing only once since her marriage, and the visit, though unpleasant, had not been beyond endurance. But this time, she had had her fill of weddings and all the associations they carried: this time, it was the occasion, as well as the place that filled her with dread.

'But I do so dislike King's Landing,' Arya mumbled; hoping that would put the matter to rest.

It didn't.

'Only because you associate it with the passing of your poor father,' Aunt Dorna insisted.

'Not to mention Joffrey, black cells, laughter, ridicule and other unpleasant things,' Jaime snapped, and he reached out and held Arya's hand; his fingers surreptitiously loosening hers from the hilt of her fruit knife.

Arya glared at him. He grinned at her.

'What's a black cell?' Jo was asking.

'A cell that's black, you stupid!' Janei was replying.

'Stupid yourself!' Jo exclaimed.

'Mute mute!' Janei rejoined.

'Stupid fuck!' Jo shouted.

'Jo!' the entire table groaned.

'Please don't say such things, my love,' Jaime half-heartedly told Joanna.

'You and Mother say them all the time!' Jo scowled.

'You can't argue with her logic,' Arya mumbled, her head in her hands, I am the worst mother in the world; the worst worst worst –

'You need to engage a septa, my dear,' Aunt Dorna suggested.

'No,' Arya and Jaime replied together.

'In that case, may I propose a potential solution?' Aunt Dorna asked.

'Saying 'no' won't stop you, will it?' Jaime grunted.

'Please do, Aunt Dorna,' Arya said. The old lady could be a pain in the arse, but she tended to know what she was talking about when it came to etiquette.

Aunt Dorna folded her hands in her lap and spoke gravely.

'Go to the wedding. Take Joanna along. Come home –'

'That is not happening!' Arya snapped.

'Arya!' Aunt Dorna cried, scandalised.

'Mother!' Jo squealed, 'I want to see the queen in her white dress!'

'She is not going anywhere near that rat's nest they call a capital until she's at least thirty-five,' Arya growled; suddenly furious.

'Or forty,' Jaime shrugged, 'forty is a nice round number.'

'She's going to have to be presented at court sooner or later,' Aunt Dorna persisted, 'send her with Janei. They can keep each other company.'

Janei sat up very straight and tossed her golden head.

'I,' she declared, 'am going to court to see Father and Cousin Tommen, not to look after babies!

'I'm not a baby!' Jo protested, 'I'm five!

'What happens when you want to marry her off and nobody knows who she is?' Aunt Dorna hypothesised.

'MARRY HER OFF?' Arya and Jaime protested together.

Aunt Dorna kept going. Arya had to admire her persistence.

'Janei is only just ten, and we're already receiving offers for her hand. But who's good enough for her father? Nobody.'

Arya slammed her fist onto the table; making the silver jump.

'She is not going to court and I am not going to court! End of story!'

'Feel like going for a ride today, Stark?' Jaime enquired; not looking the least put out.

She glared mutinously at him.

'I can't; I have my morning levy.'

Jaime gave her a long, pointed look.

She rather wanted to ask him what the fuck he was looking at, but somehow found herself ringing the bell for Hill.

The castellan of Casterly Rock appeared at the door; looking as undead as he always did.

'My lady?'

'Cancel my appointments and present my excuses to the lords,' Arya grumbled, 'I'm suddenly inconvenienced.'