It has always broken his heart to see her disappointed.

That is why he shouldn't have allowed himself to sleep with her - even though she was so tempting, and Tormund was so godamn unnecessary, and everything in him called him to do it.

He shouldn't have, because he knew his hard battle wasn't done.

It would always come down to him and Cersei. If he had honour left in his heart, and the way Brienne said stay with me, the way she begged, well it makes him feel like he has none. But if had, part of it would be that if his sister needed to be killed for the good of them all, he would give her a good death.

He was the Kingslayer. He could be the Queenslayer too.

It could never be anything, but a lonely role.

Jaime rides fast and hard away from Winterfell. It keeps his focus on the the aches of the saddle and away from everything else.

At the end of the first day on the road, he spots a huge man at the turn ahead. He's dark-haired, riding a large horse, next to a smaller figure on a lighter one. The Hound? Jaime can't risk confronting them, here, now. He doesn't know how much he might give away when he explains why he left. So he dismounts, walks his horse through the trees at the side of the road until the sky begins to darken.

As he treads quietly he creates and discards a hundred plans for how best to approach Cersei when he reaches King's Landing.

It would be safer to wait longer, but he can't afford to lose the time, so he returns to his horse and rides through the start of the night.

He reaches a town in the midnight darkness. He chooses the worst-looking pub and keeps his head down, just in case.

As he goes round the back to find feed for his horse, a small, wide man ambles up to him. The man looks like an idiot, with loose jowels and unmuscled weight. He has a mean look though, like he's too lazy to create real trouble, but he'll do what harm he can to easy targets.

The man stands idly as Jaime offers feed to his horse, posturing. Maybe he saw a man without his hand and thought Jaime was easy pickings.

"You looking for something?" Jaime asks, keeping his voice rough, low-bred. It reminds him of travelling as Brienne's captive.

"I've a message."

"Not for me. I've got no friends round 'ere."

"It's from a Lady, up at Winterfell."

"Lady - Brienne? Do you mean Ser Brienne of Tarth?" Jaime's voice is tight, his breath quick. He can't help himself from grabbing the man's shirt.

"Not that lady, Ser. The Lady's that the Queen, up here in the North."

"Lady Sansa. Well, man, what is it?"

The cold blade of a dagger presses against Jaime's throat. He staggers backwards, throws a punch, but the blade presses deeper, and another knife points to his stomach.

No way can this man be this quick. This is the speed of an assassin, and a killer's eyes.

"Did Lady Sansa send you to kill me?"

"Lady Sansa," Arya Stark tells him, ripping off the man's face to reveal her own. "Sent the message to me."

"And you stabbed the messenger?"

"This man was on the town pyre for [his crimes]. I simply sped up his execution."

"Between you and the beast you travel with, you hardly needed to sneak up on me."

"I'd rather my journey not be known to any watching eyes. Besides, I think I might need the practice."

The blade presses closer into Jaime's throat. He feels warm blood trickle down his neck. Does she mean to kill him, and wear his face to gain Cersei's trust?

He holds both hands up in surrender.

Author Notes:

Will be continuing soon, so follow/favourite if you want updates! I'm trying to create a fix-it for both Arya and Jaime, but it might take some work to create after the heartbreak of 8x04...