When Arya returned to their chambers that night, she found Jaime sitting in a chair before the fire.

'You should have told me,' he said.

She approached him without hesitation.

'Those summonses were meant to hurt you,' Arya declared, standing before him, 'I wanted no part in hurting you. I want no part in hurting you.'

'You lied.'

'I omitted.'

'You should have told me,' Jaime insisted.

'And how was I supposed to know that I should have told you?' Arya demanded, her mind and body still weighed down with Myrcella, 'you never discuss Myrcella with me, or Tommen. Joffrey and Cersei may as well never have existed, for all you ever say about them. If you act like you don't want to talk about them, how am I supposed to know when you do?'

A strange look crossed Jaime's face, as though the question disappointed him.

'I don't talk about my life before you, Lady Stark,' Jaime stated, 'because my life before you has nothing to do with you.'

Arya stared at him for a moment, paying vivid attention to the redness of the fire dancing across his face; distracting herself, waiting for him to take it back. When he didn't, and continued to stare at the flames rather than at her, she turned around and walked quietly to the bedroom, it's true, it's true, oh gods, it always has been, he doesn't –

A sudden scalding feeling under her skin left her with an irresistible desire to stab something. Don't think about it, it's not true, this is all some horrible dream – Arya rapidly drew her dagger, delighting in the glorious shiiiiiick the Valyrian steel made as it left its sheath. She was deliberating on whether she should attempt to stab the table or the window seat when a loud racket of wood scraping against stone sounded from the next room, followed by the sound of running footsteps.

'Stark!' she heard Jaime bellow, 'STARK!'

Arya ignored both him and the tears starting in her eyes, and had just decided that the table would be a most satisfying target when Jaime burst into the room, his eyes frantic as they flickered from the dagger in her hand to her face.

He was chalk white.

'Stark,' Jaime uttered, his voice shaking, 'give me the knife.'

'I'LL GIVE YOU THE KNIFE!' Arya screamed, realising what he was afraid of and hating him for it, and she flung the blade furiously across the room, where it buried itself up to the hilt in the doorpost.

'Stark!' Jaime shouted at her, alarmed, 'that was not my meaning!'

'Really?' Arya shot back, 'so what was your meaning? It sounded rather clear to me!'

'Discussing the past is not fair!' Jaime bellowed.

'On who?' Arya spat.

'On you!'

'On me? And what am I; some stupid princess in a song who needs to be protected?'

Jaime regarded her bitterly, and she once again sensed disappointment emanating from him.

'Well if you haven't thought about it, would you try, for once in your life!' Jaime hissed, 'if I had not spent my entire life fucking my sister and being the sword that she never bothered to learn how to use herself, Joffrey would never have been born and you would still have a family. Every horror that has ever befallen you was because of my lust and my stupidity. I spent my life creating the monsters that have destroyed yours. Do you think I could bring myself to rub them in your face; to expect you to sit and listen to my sad reflections on my poor, gentle heart? How could I make you happy, by discussing my sister with you whenever I felt like it; by casually slipping the walking, talking proof of what we did into everyday conversation, as though I were discussing the weather? I can't do it and I won't do it. You've suffered enough through my inability to tell what's stupid and what isn't.'

Her heart was turning in on itself, her chest aching like a nightmare. She stood across the room from Jaime, and the space between them was like an abyss.

'Then you…then you do regret it,' Arya stammered.

Jaime spoke as though the question amazed him.

'Of course I – '

'But you've never –'

'How could you doubt it, Stark – '

'But you've never said – '

'Said what?'

'That you regret fucking Cersei.'

'I've said it many times –'

'You haven't!'

'Stark, I have –

'You've never said that you regret fucking your sister, only that you regret fucking Cersei.'

'But Cersei is my – '

He ceased to speak, and in that sudden silence, Arya saw him understand.

'Why…Stark…why didn't you say something?'

'I've already told you why I didn't say something.'

He crossed the divide between them so quickly that she stepped back in alarm. But then his arms folded around her, his head coming to rest in the crook of her shoulder, and her hands were pulling him closer and her body nestling into his warmth, and within her she could feel that rightness, as of two magnets coming together, and embracing rather than fleeing each other.

'Stark, how long has this been weighing on your mind?'

'Forever.'

'I am… sorry; I never…I didn't…'

'Jaime –'

'Cersei and I were wrong. Mad. Mad…'

Arya closed her eyes tightly and pulled him closer, he's here, it's alright, he's not gone, he's here.

The words he had spoken to her made her think of everything for which he blamed himself, and squeezing his hand softly, she looked up at him.

'I forgive you,' she said, 'I always will. You are my love. But I can't forgive you for things that are not your fault. The ruin of my House is not your fault.'

'Stark,' Jaime murmured desperately, as though the subject were too painful to contemplate.

'You and Cersei chose to have Joffrey,' Arya insisted, 'I'll allow that. Both of you might have checked him and didn't. I'll allow that too. But can all the blame for his behaviour be laid at the door of his blood? Being the product of incest doesn't automatically make you a cunt. Look at Visenya Targaryen.'

'Look at Aerys.'

The remark silenced her, and he smiled at her affectionately, as though waiting for her to frown and storm at him. Arya reached up and cupped his cheek, and his smile disappeared.

'We have to talk about Myrcella,' she said softly.

Shame coloured Jaime's face, but he did not step back from her.

'Stark, weren't you listening to what I said?' he asked, severely.

'Being at odds with her is killing you,' Arya plunged on, please see, please listen, 'you may cover it up and deny it, but I know you. Her behaviour today was appalling, and I threatened her with unpleasant consequences if it doesn't stop –'

'You did what?'

'But she looks like you and acts like you, and you love her and you're proud of her and you hate that she knows about…about herself.'

Jaime suddenly closed his eyes. What he saw in the momentary darkness was sufficient to make him open them again, and Arya saw pain flood his eyes, and felt relieved. At least he wasn't hiding anymore.

'Being there…' Jaime murmured, his eyes locked with Arya's, 'watching her there…I couldn't stop thinking about Jo.'

Arya smiled sadly.

'No,' she said softly, her heart aching, 'me neither.'

Jaime suddenly took both her hands in his hand, his face earnest.

'What were you thinking about Jo?' he asked.

'Only what you said about me being a shit mother,' Arya shrugged, trying to sound indifferent.

Jaime frowned at her.

'You are twisting my words, little wolf. I can only recall saying we were shit parents, not dumping the whole sorry business on you.'

Arya felt tears burning the corners of her eyes once again, and a leaden heaviness blanketing her limbs. She blinked the tears away, angry at herself.

'We haven't been very good, have we?' she flippantly suggested.

Jaime, seeing her game, kissed her forehead and then her hair.

'The child is loved, and she knows it,' he said.

'Yes,' Arya agreed.

'But - ' Jaime interjected.

'But,' Arya repeated, 'but…the potty mouth is our fault, isn't it?'

'I'd say so, yes,' Jaime replied, smiling, 'and the general irreverent demeanour and talent for disobedience –'

'Not to mention that thing she does when she just vanishes and reappears miles from where she's meant to be,' Arya added.

Jaime abruptly raised his hand to his forehead, as though pushing the thought away.

'I can't think about that,' Jaime murmured.

'No. Nor I,' Arya mumbled back.

Jaime looked at her appraisingly and seemed discouraged by whatever conclusion his contemplation of her had presented to him. Nevertheless, he tried.

'Stark,' Jaime began, 'we're going to have to get a sep –'

'No.'

'I don't much like the idea either, but how else could we –'

'We're going to have to think of something different.'

'No. We're going to have to change. Both of us.'

He went pale before she could agree, and she knew that he was thinking of Myrcella again.

Arya took his hand and kissed it.

'What were you thinking today,' she softly asked, 'watching Myrcella?'

For a moment, she thought he would not tell her.

'I wondered,' Jaime replied, his voice unsteady, 'if Jo would have the same look on her face the day she finds out.'

Arya, having thought of this many times before, confidently replied:

'She doesn't need to know.'

Jaime stared at her.

'There's no way to keep it from her, Stark.'

'Oh, I'm sure someone, somewhere will feel the need to tell her,' Arya replied, 'all we have to do is deny it.'

Jaime's mouth curled into an expression of bitter cynicism.

'And you think she'll believe us?' he scoffed.

'Why wouldn't she?' Arya asked, 'we're her family.'

It was only when Jaime continued to stare at her as though she were mad that she realised that he had no idea what that meant.

The next morning, Jaime brought her moon tea. She drank it to the dregs.