As Jaime sat beside her in the window seat, his eyes enveloping her like an embrace, Arya stared down at her hands and imagined drawing a knife across every line and vein that she saw; if only it would change their shape for half a minute.

'Every time I look at myself in the mirror;' she murmured, her voice soft and numb and lifeless, 'every time I look at my own skin…I want to take something sharp and destroy it. All of it.'

'Don't ever say that,' Jaime commanded softly, his beautiful green eyes like midnight.

'It's like he's moulded every inch of me,' she said, speaking to her hands and not to him, 'like I'm clay between his fingers, even now. It's like he's taken my flesh and my bones and twisted me, and made me into something I hate; because now; today; even being myself reminds me of him.'

She looked up at Jaime again, and felt him gaze right down to her bones and her blood. Except this time, it hurt. It hurt that he knew her. It hurt that he was who he was. And it hurt that he had been right all along.

'You warned me about him,' Arya whispered, remembering, 'in the armoury, you warned me. You told me that it would have been better to die –'

'Arya –'

'– that it would have been better to die rather than be owned by him. I should have listened to you. I should have fucking listened.'

'That is bullshit,' Jaime growled in reply, his fierceness making her smile at him.

'You're actually admitting to talking bullshit?' she asked.

'Yes,' he declared.

Arya felt tears form in her eyes as she looked at Jaime and a bloody hole erupt in her chest as Robb and Mother's faces faded further and further away from her; their features bloated and disfigured; carved up to be eaten by dogs and crows.

They cut Robb's head off, like Joffrey cut off Father's. They cut Grey Wind's head off, like they cut off Robb's. They sewed Grey Wind's head onto Robb's shoulders and paraded it about like a banner. 'Behold the Young Wolf!', they shouted.

They slit Mother's throat and threw her naked into the river; the river that she loved; the river that had been a part of her.

The river that Tywin choked with corpses and blood and filth while I poured his stupid wine and read his stupid letters and did nothing.

'Let's go,' Jaime said, his abruptness making her jump.

'What?' she asked, not understanding, her skin tingling as his hand engulfed both of hers.

'Let's go,' he repeated, 'let's just leave. Let's get on a boat to the Free Cities and never come back.'

'What about Casterly Rock?' she asked, her heart leaping in her chest

'I don't give a fuck about Casterly Rock!' he swore, holding her hands harder, 'Tyrion can have it, for all I care'

I want to.

'But –'

'Come on, Stark!' Jaime exclaimed, 'let's go straight down to the harbour, get on a boat and leave. We'll be halfway to Pentos before anyone notices we're gone, and when they do notice, they won't be able to do a fucking thing about it.'

His face was hopeful and childlike and desperate, like she was; and though she knew she could never bring herself to do such a thing; that her ghosts would always hold her back; she allowed herself, for just a moment, to think about it.

We could go where we wanted and do what we wanted. Fight. Fuck. Forget. Live. And it wouldn't matter who his father was, and it wouldn't matter who mine was either, and it wouldn't matter what anyone had done.

'I can't,' she stated firmly, pulling her hands out of his and cursing herself for a sentimental little fool, 'not now, anyway,' stupid, weak, 'I have to stay for the royal wedding.'

Jaime blinked in surprise, and she could see him entertaining the possibility that he may have misheard her.

'The royal wedding?' he echoed in disbelief.

'I have to stay for it.'

'Why, for fuck's sake?'

She hesitated.

'I want to be there to see the king get married on the first day on the new century,' Arya declared bitterly, 'I want to remember the faces of every single smiling, simpering courtier who pretends to be happy that Joffrey's standing at the altar instead of rotting in a ditch in Flea Bottom. Someday, I want to be able to say that I was there when the world stood by and let a monster like that live.'

Jaime leaned forward and fiercely kissed her forehead.

'Believe me,' he countered, 'you don't.'

'What's that supposed to mean?' she demanded, impatient and eager to change the subject.

'I still don't understand why you need to stay,' Jaime insisted, refusing to take the hint.

The disarming sincerity of his concern almost made her tell him.

He might even help you, if you asked him to.

You promised not to tell anyone. So keep your foolish little mouth shut.

The expression on Jaime's face had turned from worry to suspicion, and she looked down at her hands again, seeing Tywin and blood and butchery in the construction of her very bones, and the knowledge that she'd soon have to bear it alone.

'When the wedding's over,' she said, corruption filling her lungs, 'I think I'll go to Braavos.'

She felt a stirring of apartness and realisation in her mind, and looking back at Jaime, she could tell that he had understood her. His face was like summer snow and spun gold, but there was no blood or life in either of them, no heat; and she could tell as he grew paler and paler that had she touched his face in that moment, it would have been icy cold.

'Oh gods,' he said, staring at her, 'you're leaving me.'

For one dreadful split second, she thought he was going to beg her. Then his jaw clenched, as she had seen it do a thousand times, and his eyes became dark and beautiful and angry.

'What's in Braavos, Stark?' he demanded, 'wouldn't you rather stay here and exact an admittedly-odd revenge on my father - who is dead, and won't feel a thing - by tormenting me with the sight of you day and night? It's the sort of thing that would please you.'

You son of a bitch.

'An excellent idea, Lannister,' she spat in return, 'but fortunately for you, I prefer going to Braavos.'

'What's in Braavos?' he growled.

'Jaqen's in Braavos,' she growled back.

He smiled coldly.

'Of course! Jaqen's in Braavos! The exotic Lorathi with no command of grammar! You surprise me, Lady Stark. I thought your taste fell to broken cripples.'

'I thought yours fell to people you're related to.'

The hurt in his eyes almost made her take that back.

'And once you've got to Braavos,' Jaime continued, pretending to ignore her, 'what then? Will you two fight and fuck and live happily ever after?'

'I'll fight and fuck and forget!' she shouted, shoving him, 'I'll forget your fucking father, and my family, and your family, and you; I'll forget godswoods, I'll forget Winterfell, I'll forget the Common Tongue; I'll forget my own name; I'll stop living; I'll stop dreaming; my heart will stop beating and I'll no longer think about Death; I'll be Death; and if the day ever comes that I run into your spineless, unfeeling arse again, I won't even know who you are.'

He was looking at her in an extraordinarily disturbing and heart-breaking way; like he knew everything about her, but didn't recognise her. His eyes blazed with anger and grief, and he looked at her and away from her, again and again, as though repelled by something despicable that he couldn't help but gaze upon; and she remembered the sound of his laugh, and what hers sounded like when they laughed together; in tune; right; complete; don't use that word, you sound like a stupid song. And this isn't in tune or right or complete. It can't ever be in tune or right or complete. He's a Lannister. And you are a Stark of Winterfell.

Jaime's lip curled as contemptuously as though she had spoken that last thought aloud.

'You're a shit liar, Stark,' he said.

'I wasn't lying,' she declared, steadfast and annoyed by his tone.

'No,' he said, 'I don't think you were lying about all of it. You'll remain in this godsforsaken place until the wedding is over, no doubt for some mischievous reason of your own, and you'll leave me. You'll even tell yourself you want to. You'll come up with a lot of bullshit about honour and guilt and respect for the dead, because you're your Father's fucking daughter, and being permanently miserable and permanently sore from the permanent stick up your arse makes you happy.'

'Don't you talk about my father like that!' Arya shouted shrilly.

'But you won't forget,' Jaime continued, ignoring her, 'you're not the forgetting type. Even if you are the breaker of chains this time round.'

'Will you forget?' she asked, wanting to cry from how well he knew her.

'Do you want me to?' he replied.

She couldn't reply. She wouldn't. Not even to stop him glaring at her like that.

'I'm curious as to what will happen to Sansa while you're sailing off into the sunset,' Jaime remarked nonchalantly, 'the last time we spoke, you were rather concerned for her welfare.'

'I don't care about Sansa,' Arya replied disdainfully.

She can run away with stupid Lord Baelish if she wants.

Jaime's eyes were bright with scorn.

'You don't care about your last living sibling?' he repeated, 'now you're just being a selfish little bitch.'

'I'm being a selfish little bitch?' Arya shrieked.

'Are you calling me a bitch, Stark?' Jaime shouted back in indignation, the veins in his neck threatening to pop.

'Can't you just accept what I've told you and get out?' she demanded, wishing that they would.

But he remained gallingly firm despite his anger.

'I'll get out when you give me an answer that doesn't involve crying and screaming like a bloody adolescent!'

'I am an adolescent!'

'Oh for fuck's sake!'

'And you're a callous, self-obsessed shit!'

'Why?' Jaime bellowed, 'because I think you're a miserable fucking coward and a stupid little fool for leaving, and I'm not afraid to tell you that?'

'How can you expect me to stay with you after everything that's happened?' she snapped, wishing he would understand and get out of her room, 'how can you expect me to be your wife, to bear your name, to bear your fucking children –'

'You want children?' he repeated, making her blush.

'Don't flatter yourself!'

'Don't flatter yourself!'

Arya knew she was being ridiculous and immature; that she was only fighting with him to conceal how utterly miserable she felt; to keep him there for longer because she might never see him again; and because he was so fucking beautiful when he was angry stupid weak stupid but she kept on screaming anyway, if only to save face.

'If you're so concerned about Sansa,' she shouted, 'why not marry her instead? Don't even wait for me to leave! I give you my blessing! You'd be marrying the eldest daughter, you'd have control of the North, and you'd have a dutiful, submissive, obedient little wife who'd agree with every stupid thing you say and who is much, much prettier than I am! I'd even be willing to bet that her cunt tastes better than mine!'

'I'm sold!' Jaime bellowed.

'Fine!'

'Fine!'

She shoved him.

'Now get the fuck out of my room!'

'With pleasure!'

She jumped as he slammed the door behind him, and felt tears well up in her eyes as the visions began again; a whole new parade of spectres to add to her nightmares and her waking dreams.

It's only right that I leave. I can't stay with him after this.

It's even more right that I become Death. I know more about it than life. Than love.

And she curled up in the window seat and let her spectres take her, Jaime's scent still lingering like armour around her.

Chapter notes

Greetings, awesome people! This is yet another note of thanks and appreciation for the amazing reviews and support. You all inspire me and make me dance jigs of happiness that you read my work!

On that happy note, I must also announce that there'll be no further chapters till Monday, as I have a massive family gathering this weekend and will probably not have much time to write amidst all the chattering and visiting and general craziness. Also from Monday, I'll no longer be able to honour my chapter-a-day arrangement due to the absolute and completely unexpected exhaustion doing this has caused (I have a full time job and am doing a PhD). I'm DEFINITELY not going to take weeks to do one chapter, however, and will update every second day instead.

Much love!