When Tyrion refused, for the final time, to visit his brother, Arya opened her mouth and considered telling him where she was going. It felt important, somehow, to tell someone, just in case, by some miracle, they let her live. So she opened her mouth to speak, and no words came out, and when Tyrion asked her what the matter was, she stomped out of his rooms, and slammed the door behind her; cursing her own stupid hope.

After that, she only stayed long enough for night to fall, and to board a ship to Braavos; her hood hiding her features, and the weight of her bones only slightly assuaged by the ringing of Aegon's screams in her ears. Since his capture, he had screamed non-stop, and so loudly that he could be heard in every corner of the Red Keep; gripped, apparently, by fits of inhuman pain that seemed to ripple across his entire body and sink deep into his very bones. The queen had assigned a small army of maesters to work tirelessly at discovering the cause of his discomfort, but none of them had yet been able to determine even the source of the pain; the application of pressure to his wounded thigh making no difference to the intensity either of his keening, or of his suffering.

Just thinking about it made Arya smile. Having one's cheek scratched by a person who had painted her nails with Manticore venom was a painful occurrence indeed.

She stood up on deck in the darkness; watching King's Landing by night with a half-empty bottle of wine in her hand. Apart from the colossal ruins of the Red Keep, the desolation that she had caused by releasing the dragons was almost invisible. There were candles burning in thousands of windows, and snatches of song and raucous drunkenness in the streets as the Targaryen armies celebrated their victory.

Would I be there with them, had my masters not called me to Braavos to die?

Probably. She'd be there with both Jaime and Tyrion, in some squalid little tavern filled with Lannister soldiers, drinking herself into a stupor, trying to get the two brothers to talk and trying to forget that her entire pack was gone. Her sister that she had not known, murdered. The nephew that she had never met, murdered. The only pack that she had left was Jaime, and now he was gone too.

You could have told him, the wicked voice in her head told her, you could have told him everything and asked him to run away with you, somewhere…

But there was nowhere to run to where her masters would not find them, and besides, how could she ask him to give up his freedom; to spend the rest of his life in hiding, because of her?

True, she could have given him the chance to decide for himself, but even though she was no narcissist, she knew what his answer would have been:

'Fuck it. Let's run.'

No good.

She drank deeply from the bottle of wine and felt momentary relief as the warmth surged within her, and it grew colder on deck, and darker, until her sight was shaped only by stars, and as she listened to the sound of the waves lapping quietly against the sides of the ship, she remembered arriving in King's Landing five; six weeks ago; knowing nothing; not even herself.

If I hadn't disembarked on that day, I wouldn't be going to my death right now.

I don't care. At least I know something now.

Even though she didn't much want to die. Even though she'd only just learned how to live. Even though there was an abyss in her that grew wider and wider with every inch that the ship moved away from King's Landing, and with every inch that she moved away from Jaime. Tears welled up in her eyes at the memory of his breath on her fingers; the breath that had told her he lived, and for a moment, as she dreamed, the ache of being away from him grew less, then less, until she could almost swear that his fingers were brushing the back of her neck and gently curling themselves into her hair.

Arya spun around like a slingshot; her hand moving instinctively to her sword, and Jaime was standing in front of her like a dream; like a nightmare; alive, hers, alive: touching her; staring at her; his expression a mix of brutal condemnation and the strange, sweet recognition that she saw in him each time he looked at her; his eyes soft and eternal.

Disbelief flooded her. Then despair.

'What – what are you – what –'

'Tyrion told me.'

'I didn't say anything to Tyrion!'

'That's why he came to see me. It's not like you to keep your mouth shut.'

A brief euphoria shot through her, and was swiftly followed by guilt as she realised that she was glad to see him; that disbelief, anger and fear for him were the only things preventing her from seizing him by the front of his doublet and kissing him until she forgot what it felt like to breathe.

'How did you find me?' Arya asked; despairing.

'My stomach miraculously healed itself and somehow spat out an iron coin that turned you the colour of snow,' Jaime candidly replied, 'after which you disappeared for an entire fucking day, and wilfully left me trapped in the clutches of that bloody maester. That, Lady Stark, is suspicious behaviour. What I didn't work out for myself, Tyrion did.'

Arya stormed wordlessly away from him; her desperation almost making her weep.

'Where are you going?' Jaime demanded; coming after her.

'To tell the captain to turn the ship around,' Arya snapped.

'No, you're not,' he declared.

'Yes, I am,' she seethed.

'No, you're not!' Jaime growled; seizing her elbow and roughly yanking her around to face him.

Arya lashed out at him.

'I don't care who you are or what you know, Lannister, DO NOT TELL ME WHAT I MAY OR MAY NOT DO!' she bellowed.

'I'm NOT going to let you go and get yourself killed!' Jaime thundered.

'Well you're just going to have to,' Arya yelled, 'I will not lose another person that I love; I won't, I CAN'T!'

'Isn't that inconvenient?' Jaime yelled back at her, 'neither will I. What will we do, I wonder?'

She folded her arms and turned resolutely away from him; biting on the tears that were desperately stinging her eyes, why is this happening; WHY?

'What?' Jaime retorted, 'you choose now to start acting like a fucking princess in a song? Now?'

'Don't you fucking dare!' Arya growled.

'I love you, young lady,' Jaime snapped in reply, 'don't make me despise you.'

Arya snorted without replying, and Jaime demanded:

'You wouldn't despise me, were I doing what you contemplate doing?'

'Yes, but I would still love you.'

'Because of it?'

'In spite of it.'

'Then we have that in common.'

For one, dangerous moment, the argument died out, and Arya could feel the space between them writhing in its own kind of agony as it begged to no longer exist; to be filled up as it had been in her freezing, draughty chamber at Dragonstone, when his skin had seared and burned and melted into hers in an excruciating beauty and pain that she had wanted to feel every day for the rest of her life.

'So what should I do, according to you?' Arya spat; returning to the safety of arguing with him, 'go to my masters, beg for mercy and hope they'll be accommodating? Oh no, wait! I could just ask you to spend your entire life in hiding; looking over your shoulder and running from your own shadow! What fool would possibly say no to that?'

'While your company is charming, Lady Stark,' Jaime smiled in reply; his lips curling beautifully upwards, 'I'm afraid that's not the only reason that the prospect appeals to me.'

The remark stung, but only long enough for realisation to replace the hurt with dread.

'Jaime,' Arya said; staring at him; 'what have you done?'

Jaime gently cupped her chin and lifted it slightly; gazing with barely-concealed anger at the bruises on her face, and her breath caught in her throat as he drew close to her and kissed the worst of them; his lips brushing tenderly against each of the four angry welts that Aegon's knuckles had left branded into her cheekbone.

'Tonight,' Jaime told her, his fingers ghosting soothingly over her bruised face and making her tremble, 'I have been to ask the former King Aegon a few questions.'

'About what?' Arya demanded; covering his hand with hers; unable to stop herself.

'Dragonfire,' Jaime replied; winding his fingers through hers; 'articles of war. What right he thinks he has to lay so much as a finger on you –'

'Oh no, Jaime –'

'He did try to answer me, but I couldn't really hear him over the screaming –'

'What in seven hells have you done?'

Jaime's eyes were burning with the memory of blood (beautiful, Arya thought), and suspicion and anger made her heart thunder harder in her chest as she waited for him to answer her.

'I only opened his stomach with the bluntest blade that I could find –' he began.

'Jaime!' Arya exclaimed.

'– having so recently discovered how painful it can be, it only seemed right to profit from that knowledge –'

'You weren't seen?'

'Of course I was seen. But he was screaming when I entered, and he was screaming when I left. It'll be morning by the time Daenerys realises what's happened.'

'Daenerys will kill you!'

'Oh dear, what a shame. Looks like I'll have to run away, then.'

Wrath, disbelief, annoyance and affection crashed together within her, and sent her reeling clumsily into the first words that she could coherently articulate:

'I wanted him to die slowly, you fool!' she shouted.

Jaime rolled his eyes at her.

'He will die slowly, with the size of the wound I – what do you mean, you wanted him to die slowly? Are you responsible for this infernal keening that's been going on all day?'

'Manticore venom on my fingernails,' Arya told him; unable to keep the pride from her voice.

'Thickened?' Jaime asked.

'Yes,' she replied.

Jaime shrugged.

'Looks like you'll have to run away too, then.'

Arya hit him in the face.

'You idiot!' she screeched.

'Nothing of the kind, Lady Stark,' Jaime replied; looking far too pleased with himself to truly feel the blow, 'I think it's rather brilliant.'

'Do you indeed, Lord Lannister?' Arya snapped, 'and where do you suggest we run to, now that we're wanted in both Westeros and Essos, thanks to you?'

"We' again, is it?' Jaime purred.

She clouted him again; miserable and furious at him for this damning of himself; miserable and furious at herself for loving him for his stupidity.

Jaime, however, was neither miserable nor furious. In fact, he looked quite happy.

'I suggest that we run somewhere they won't find us,' he remarked.

'And where in this miserable world could we go where the Faceless Men would not find us?' Arya demanded, 'where? Tell me, since you seem to know so much about it! Under a rock in Old Valyria? A reef at the bottom of the Jade Sea?'

'Beyond the Wall,' he said.

There was silence.

She had never even thought of it before now, probably because the idea was so absurd that it hardly merited consideration, but she thought about it now, as a former Faceless Man, and the very notion of having to track someone down in that wilderness made her shudder. But while one might be safe there from Faceless Men, one might die from a thousand other things. It was a land that changed, and only those born there could presume to know it well enough not to be swallowed up by it.

'It's… cold beyond the Wall, Jaime,' Arya stammered.

'Really?' Jaime laughed, 'I had no idea.'

'You do have no idea,' Arya insisted.

'Have you ever been beyond the Wall?' Jaime demanded; beginning to sound angry.

'No,' Arya replied, 'but the cold is in me. It's been in my family for thousands of years. Southerners, on the other hand…Southerners don't do well up there, and not only because of the cold.'

'Is there something else to worry about besides the cold?' Jaime snapped.

'Let's see,' Arya snapped back, 'you could get buried by an avalanche if you speak too loudly; fall into a ravine and break your neck if you put your foot in the wrong place; impaled on a glacier breaking apart; eaten by a shadow cat; squashed by a giant; gutted by wildlings or wights; taken by Others –'

Jaime snorted in laughter, and was rapidly silenced by the glare she gave him.

'Seven gods, you're serious,' he said.

'Beyond the Wall is hell,' Arya told him, 'hell, with ice. You might tolerate it at first, but eventually –'

'You'd rather we both die than even take the chance?' Jaime asked.

'– eventually, you'll hate it, and you'll hate me for ever allowing you to go there,' Arya replied.

She drew breath to continue, and felt it slammed out of her by Jaime's lips as they brushed softly against hers with a kind of gentle anger that she had never felt before; an indignation that only seemed to grow as he drew his arm around her waist, so that their bodies kissed like their mouths. The hot mystery of his tongue darted between her lips and coaxed them open; her fingers twined in his hair as her mouth sank into his mouth; his warmth; his light; and she was gasping in protest as he pulled away, and their foreheads kissed, and his breath once again became hers.

'Hating you is impossible, and I believe you know that already,' Jaime murmured.

Arya felt her fingers rising to cup his cheeks, and the anger going out of her; and along with her anger, her will to die; her will to be away from him.

'They may still find us, sooner or later,' she whispered; her lips aching to cross the two inches that separated them from his.

'They'll find us a lot later if we bribe the captain to take us to Eastwatch-by-the-Sea instead of Braavos,' Jaime remarked; his hand still and warm in the small of her back.

'We'd need a considerable bribe,' Arya pointed out.

'I brought a considerable amount of gold,' Jaime declared; his eyes narrowing playfully, 'now come on, Lady Stark. Tell me you're not tempted by the idea. Thousands of miles away from this fucking mess; these fucking people; with no rules and no obligations except the ones we create for ourselves. All we need do is run, and live.'

When she didn't reply, he released her, and slowly circled her body like the needle of a compass until his chest was resting against her back; his chin nestling in the crook of her shoulder; his arms gentle around her waist; his hand pressing firmly against her stomach.

It was like sleeping in his lifeblood as it surged into his heart.

'Tell me,' Jaime said; his lips brushing her ear; 'that you're not thrilled by the prospect of our being able to spar all day if we wanted to.'

'I'd thrash you,' Arya whispered.

'I'd let you,' Jaime murmured.

'Liar,' she accused; enclosing his hand in both of hers and gasping as Jaime's lips fell open-mouthed on her neck and sent desire rippling through her like a naked flame.

'And… the prospect of staying in bed all day if we wanted to?' Jaime mumbled against her skin; his voice muffled as he trailed his lips down her neck.

'That doesn't appeal to me in the slightest,' Arya breathlessly declared.

'You're lying,' Jaime declared in his turn; his fingers tiptoeing mischievously up across her stomach.

'Are you calling me a liar?' Arya asked; breathing hard as his thumb brushed slowly against her right breast.

'Yes,' Jaime whispered; kissing the nape of her neck and sighing against her as he felt her nipple harden between his fingers, 'yes. Yes.'

Arya realised with some embarrassment that she was leaning heavily back against his cock that was grinding mercilessly into her buttocks and wantonly biting her lip as Jaime whispered against her neck; and she seized rapidly hold of his hand, and planted it firmly over her stomach again; straightening up, but not breaking away.

'You're a fool if you think you can seduce me into this,' she said.

'Am I?' Jaime laughed, 'it seemed to be working just fine.'

She squeezed his hand and looked over her shoulder at him. Jaime looked innocently back at her, and lightly kissed her nose and made her laugh, and when he laughed with her, it sounded like peace.

She was sorely tempted now, and the temptation was like a shining light. Jaime's hand was in hers, and she knew that it belonged there. Beyond the Wall, her fingers could stay entwined with his. Beyond the Wall, no one could make her let him go again.

She stared at Jaime; alive, hers, alive, and she could tell from the impish grin on his face that he knew her mind already.

'Fuck it,' Arya said, 'let's run.'

Chapter notes

Valar morghulis, awesome people!

A huge, huge, gigantesque thank you to everyone who read, reviewed, favourited, followed, left kudos! Your enthusiasm is inspirational, and no Arya/Jaime awesomeness would be possible without it! It's also something of a surprise that this story ended up with a happy ending, considering its more morbid elements. I put that down entirely to the influence of those who reviewed, and 'tempered the darkness' somewhat in doing so. :-D

To finish, here's a little note on future projects for those who might be interested.

On 1st May, I am moving to a new city and starting a new job that has about twice the number of hours that my present one has, so I will most likely confine myself to one shots and two shots (at haphazard and very weird intervals) until I've settled into some kind of routine and know how much I can write. Nevertheless, here's what I have planned for the future, in no particular order.

Two sequels to Remain Nameless, the first a one shot, the second a short work with multiple chapters.

A series of one shots provisionally entitled The Kingslayers' Daughter, bridging the gap between I Became the Daughter and the Son and its sequel, whose planning is causing me nothing but grief at present (the narrative is far too big for me to support, so I probably won't start the actual thing until I'm 100% sure that I have the skill to do it).

A whole load of Arya/Jaime one shots that I've been wanting to attempt for an absolute age, including a modern AU (been wanting to try one of those for a while) and a 'put Arya and Jaime together in a confined space post-Red Wedding and see what happens' fic.

A new Arya/Jaime long fic set during the Long Night.

That's all from me, dearies! Thanks for being awesome!