Yes, Lady Brienne?

Other girls would make halfhearted attempts to cover up love bites then smile coyly when someone at school noticed the telltale mark. There was always a certain smugness and pride in being claimed in such a way that accompanied such exchanges.

Brienne felt no such warm glow when she saw the bite Red had taken out of her in the mirror. No, she flinched at the thought she’d been branded like cattle.

She was still fussing with the collar of her shirt when there was a knock at the door. She let Jaime in and he briefly pet Pod hello before turning to stare at her scarf as if the very sight of it offended him.

“How bad is it?” Jaime gestured at her neck. “Show me.”

She glared at him, but tugged the scarf loose and bared her neck so he could see the mottled mark.

A muscle in Jaime’s jaw jumped as he swore under his breath. She felt a vicious surge of satisfaction that the mark had earned his fury and disgust, too.

“You really think you’re gonna get away with wearing a scarf indoors and nobody’s gonna comment on it? Nobody’s gonna ask you about the wild weekend you had?”

She shrugged. “I don’t own a turtleneck. And besides, I think that’d be more conspicuous than the scarf. I’m open to suggestions.”

He sauntered over to her dresser and rummaged through her limited assortment of makeup atop it before making a triumphant noise.

“Come here.” He wielded the concealer, foundation, and powder like he knew how to use them. Which on second thought, of course he would.

He’d know better than most about the need for camouflage. His relationship with his sister likely would’ve necessitated regular removal of any and all incriminating marks.

Whether he simply watched his sister at work or provided a helping hand, he’d have more experience with this than she did.

She tentatively ventured closer, let him undo her scarf and move her collar aside so he could dab at the mark gingerly.

She didn’t know which affected her more…his fingers brushing over her skin so softly yet surely or his warm breath tickling her cheek with every exhale. Her heart raced and she shivered a little at his touch.

She imagined this was close to the way she might’ve felt if she’d been given a hickey in earnest by a boy she liked. She hoped he attributed her blush to the aftereffects of having been swaddled in a wool scarf not five minutes before. She was overheated, that was all.

When he captured a wayward strand of her hair and tucked it behind her ear, she went a little weak in the knees and thoughtlessly reached out to grab his elbow.

Instead of recoiling as expected, he drew closer, his expression more serious than she’d ever seen it. His thumb feathered over the bite mark.

“Who did this?” he asked in a quiet voice that was startling in its intensity.

“Red.” It’d hurt when his teeth clamped down on her.

He laughed in a way that was the opposite of amused. “Well, that’s fitting. I knocked out some of Connington’s teeth. The fucker should be on a diet of pureed peas for the foreseeable future. It’s too bad his regular dentist along with several of the other prominent dentists in the area were all mysteriously invited on a whirlwind, last minute all expenses paid trip to Dorne for an extended conference and won’t return until the end of the month.”

“Karma’s a bitch.” Brienne huffed a laugh of her own and released his elbow in as natural a fashion as she could manage. As if her having latched onto him was something commonplace between them rather than a stunningly intimate action to have initiated on her part.

When Jaime finished applying the powder and Brienne saw that the mark had indeed vanished as if it’d never been, his gaze flitted away from hers and he shuffled his feet as if uncertain.

She wondered if he was rethinking driving her to school. She would understand if he was. Maybe she should speak up first and let him off the hook…

But before she could open her mouth, he awkwardly asked if there was anywhere else she needed to have covered up.

She was confused until he gestured at her legs. “The bruises on your thighs,” he said, visibly uncomfortable.

Mortification ripped through her, bright and scalding.

She’d been so fixated on the attack, her fears and shame, that she hadn’t had time to properly process the fact that Jaime Lannister had seen her in her bra and underwear.

Her mismatched bra and underwear. Not that she owned any other kind.

She’d had on a boring beige bralette and blue cotton panties with tiny pink hearts around the waistband. She hadn’t exactly planned on Hyle or anyone else seeing them that night.

And she certainly hadn’t anticipated her hairy legs making an appearance. It was winter. Who shaved and waxed year-round? She usually waited until summer rolled around to fish out her razor.

But no, her cardigan and jeans had been wrenched from her body and now not only had those assholes seen her in all her glory, but Jaime had, too.

Somehow that was worse.

He’d seen her flat chest, her great hulking frame, her freckles that covered her from head to toe. He’d studied her closely enough to notice the half-moon bruises riddling her thighs, for god’s sake.

A special kind of cringing embarrassment grabbed her by the throat, but she squared her shoulders. “It’s fine,” she said hastily.

“What about gym class?” His gaze continued to linger on her denim-clad thighs in a disconcerting way like he had X-ray vision or something.

“I’ll wear track pants as I usually do.” She spun around to get her backpack.

She refused to think of how his hands on her thighs might feel, how gentle and careful he’d be as he fit the pads of his fingers to the livid marks on her thighs and stroked them away with his cosmetic wizardry.

She refused to linger on how he must’ve already palmed a fair amount of her bare skin when he helped her put her clothes back on at the party.

After what she’d been through, the thought of any boy’s hands on her should’ve made her sick to her stomach, but she couldn’t deny that the thought of this boy’s hands on her wasn’t altogether…unpleasant.

*

When Jaime had walked her home last night, he’d offered her a ride to school the next day. She’d told him the bus suited her just fine. He’d insisted, though, and she’d accepted after she recalled that Ben Bushy sometimes caught the same bus.

She’d made peace with the fact she’d have to see her would-be rapists at school, but she wasn’t ready just yet to be trapped with any of them in a confined space. Inching along the highway at a snail’s pace during rush hour. With only the emergency exit roof hatch as a means of escape.

If only she hadn’t had to sell her car after her dad lost his job and money got tight. She missed the freedom and independence it afforded her. She’d been bussing it ever since and had yet to embrace the joys of public transit.

It’d be nice, she thought, to hitch a ride with Jaime and not be blasted with BO first thing in the morning.

Once she was seated in the passenger seat of Jaime’s Audi she had second thoughts, however.

As he wove through traffic in a haphazard way, flipping off drivers as he sped past the poor bastards, Brienne began to think of the ramifications of taking him up on his offer. Beyond simply risking life and limb by putting herself at the mercy of a maniac behind the wheel, that is.

They’d made a pact to be partners in anti-crime, sure, but Jaime giving her a ride was too much like they were friends…which they were not. And the other kids would read into it if they saw them arrive at school together.

Jaime probably hadn’t thought that far ahead. He was the impulsive leap-without-looking sort. The last thing she wanted was to embarrass him by putting them both in a situation that was begging for mockery.

So when he pulled onto campus, she suggested he drop her by the gym before he parked.

Jaime furrowed his brow. “Why? Your locker’s in the other direction.”

He followed her gaze to a few of his buddies congregating in the junior section of the parking lot. His eyes narrowed as he clenched his jaw.

“I see,” he said then discarded her wishes entirely and pulled into his usual parking space with a flourish.

She should’ve known better than to be so transparent. Her reservations backfired in a big way.

Now Jaime was offended that she’d thought he’d be offended by how their association might taint him in the eyes of his peers. And Jaime being Jaime, he was stubborn to a fault and was compelled to go so far in the other direction just to spite her presumption.

He killed the engine and then grabbed his bag. “Come on,” he said and then proceeded to stick to her like glue for the rest of the day.

*

Jaime ushered her through the throng of classmates filling the hall. It was infuriating how the crowd naturally parted before him, letting their golden god through.

It was like Moses parting the Red Sea and twice as unfathomable. To be so revered, so untouchable, was a feat Brienne had never managed even with her impressive stature. She was always jostled as she fought her way through the crush of students, but not today.

Jaime’s bubble that kept other lesser forms at bay seemed to have been extended to her. Which was good since she was already feeling a little claustrophobic and didn’t welcome strangers bumping into her.

She and Jaime shared their first period of the day. History with Mr. R. Short for Rhaegar. As in Rhaegar Targaryen. Yes, one of those Targaryens.

He was the black sheep of the family. He’d been disowned after he had the bad taste to pursue the noble vocation of teaching spotty teens useless historical facts they would promptly forget all about come graduation day.

With his lithe physique, flowing, platinum mane and indigo eyes, Rhaegar resembled nothing so much as a trashy romance novel’s Casanova. (If that Casanova happened to favor bespoke tweed waistcoats and horn-rimmed glasses.)

He was nearly as beautiful and universally beloved as his baby sister Dany who was a decade younger than him and a year ahead of Brienne in school. She was the one who’d thrown the fateful party over the weekend and it was at their ancestral home that Brienne had been set upon by wild beasts.

Not that Brienne held it against them. On the ride to school Jaime had given her an elaborately detailed, lovingly crafted account of thrashing her attackers. Special attention had been paid to the damage he’d inflicted on the cowards so she knew for a fact that Targaryen interior design had played a crucial role in arming Jaime with a fiery hand that he’d used to devastating effect in defending her.

Jaime hovered near her seat in the front of the class until the second bell rang. But somehow he managed to make his hovering look totally casual and incidental so their classmates just accepted his loitering near Brienne like it was an everyday occurrence.

When it appeared Red wasn’t going to show, Jaime gave a jaunty rap of his knuckles to her desk and said he’d see her after class before taking his own seat.

Unfortunately, Red showed up 30 seconds later. Brienne had steeled herself for his arrival, but when he strode into the room, it was anticlimactic. He didn’t even glance her way, just marched up to Mr. R and launched into a whispered argument with him.

Brienne didn’t know what it was about until she remembered it was Red’s day to give his presentation. He was obviously trying and failing to get another extension.

Mr. R was usually a laid back, chill guy, flexible about deadlines...but Red had already pushed it off twice so it was no wonder the teacher put his foot down this time.

Brienne assumed he was simply unprepared, but then Red got up in front of the room with his index cards and the reason for his reticence became clear.

In spite of his best efforts to barely part his lips as he gritted out his speech, he still whistled every time he spoke, thanks to the gaps in his mouth.

Jaime hooted loudly from his seat in the back. And everyone else in class took their cue from him as they often did in these matters and joined in with glee. Jaime’s laughter could be downright contagious. The meaner it was, the quicker it spread.

At Mr. R’s pointed look of disapproval, the laughter faded to muffled titters. Red became increasingly splotchy with mingled embarrassment and rage, flushing the shade of a ripe tomato, more than living up to his name.

Brienne herself wasn’t amused. Her belly was roiling as she was bombarded with flashes of him holding her down, biting her, spewing vile insults at her. She dug her fingernails into her palms and met his eye unflinchingly when his gaze darted to hers, burning with impotent fury and palpable disdain.

He sneered at her but the effect lost some of its power when he emitted a high-pitched whistle that sent another gale of laughter sweeping through the class. She sneered back and wished she'd been the one to deck him and knock loose the offending teeth that’d taken a chunk out of her neck.

Five interminable minutes later Red finally was put out of his misery and retook his seat.

“Remember to put your teeth under your pillow,” Jaime said loudly enough for everyone to hear. “If you’ve been a good boy, maybe the Tooth Fairy will chip in…no pun intended. You’re gonna need every cent you can get. Dental work ain’t cheap. And let’s be honest, with that punchable face you should probably save up for the future.”

*

Brienne had just retrieved her sack lunch from her locker when Jaime made a troubling, predatory sound at the back of his throat. It was almost a growl.

She looked up in time to see Hyle exchanging a book in his bag for one in his locker across the hall. Utterly oblivious to the lion stalking him, the one practically licking his chops in anticipation of going in for the kill.

His nose was visibly broken. Unlike Red who lived in the exclusive gated community of Griffin's Roost, Hyle lived in an apartment building like her and wouldn’t have the wherewithal to call in some fancy plastic surgeon to perform rhinoplasty.

He’d always have a crooked nose to remember Brienne and Jaime by after this, and she couldn’t deny the thought appealed to her.

She shouldn’t be the only one scarred by what’d happened that night.

Jaime pulled out some cheap flip phone he wouldn’t be caught dead holding if he wasn’t currently involved in shady dealings he didn’t want traced back to him. The burner phone was a far cry from his usual iPhone in its flashy gold and diamond case.

“Yippee Ki-Yay, motherfucker,” Jaime sang softly.

With a tap of his finger, everyone's phone around them sounded, notifying them of a new incoming text message.

Jaime had made good on his promise, leaking the video of Hyle jerking off in chaps to every last member of the student body at King’s Landing High.

Jaime feigned tipping a cowboy hat to him. “Howdy, partner,” he drawled as the rasp of Hyle moaning in the video echoed through the crowd on cue and laughter began to ripple down the corridor.

Hyle went ashen and then had the nerve to look at Brienne with hurt in his eyes. As if she’d betrayed him.

His hands shook slightly as he hastily shut his locker and scurried away to the sound of catcalls and snide remarks about his shortcomings.

Jaime turned to her with a self-satisfied smirk. “Now who’s hungry? I’ve always found that revenge works up quite the appetite.”

Brienne grimaced without looking down at her phone. She felt quite nauseated herself.

The sounds coming from the video in stereo sound just reminded her of what Hyle might’ve sounded like grunting away atop her as she lay pinned beneath him paralyzed.

“Funny. I just lost mine.”

*

In spite of her protestations, Jaime steered her over to the table at the head of the cafeteria, the one that was reserved for the elite and strictly off limits to the likes of her.

“I’m fucking starving,” Jaime announced, grabbing a slice of one of the pizzas spread out over the table. “You all know Brienne,” he added casually as if that was a point in her favor and reason to invite her to join them. When really, it was just the opposite.

The tune of one of these things is not like the others, one of these things just doesn't belong, began to play in her mind.

He nudged her down into a chair and took the one beside her, staring hard at all his friends in a defiant way as if daring them to look at her wrong. But they all just kind of seemed confused until Robert Baratheon slammed his fist on the table and pointed at her with a broad grin.

Brienne was sure he was about to say something cutting and cruel, but instead he said, “I won a fuckton of money betting on you last year.”

For the barest moment, she braced herself for him to announce there’d been some mean-spirited bet in the works that’d somehow escaped her notice, some nasty kind of wager about her freakishness, the kind that was usually associated with a girl like her, but Jaime grinned, too.

“So did I! Everyone said the Roosters had it in the bag, but I knew you’d crush them in the championships!”

Brienne relaxed slightly when she realized they were referring to the girls’ basketball team routing the defending champs last season. Their upset victory had been sweet. But she hadn’t known any money had exchanged hands over it. She was flattered…sort of.

Lyanna lifted her chin toward Brienne in acknowledgement, one jock to another. Robert had probably made a killing betting on her, too. She was an up and coming star on the soccer team that was helping them rise in the rankings.

Conversation continued around them and Brienne let out a breath she hadn’t realized she was holding. She tried not to be embarrassed that she was brown bagging it when she pulled out her turkey sandwich and began to nibble on it.

Catelyn Tully (“Call me Cat”) drew Brienne into conversation. They were in the same AP English class so dialogue flowed more easily than expected.

At one point in the conversation while the guys were making increasingly crude jokes at Hyle’s expense, Cat gestured at Jaime and said in an undertone, “He seems better. This is the first time I’ve seen him sober at lunch in months. Well done, you.”

“Oh, I had nothing to do with that,” Brienne stammered, but Cat just arched a brow and went back to discussing the essay that was due at the end of the month.

After lunch, Jaime nudged her with his shoulder. “Had to jump into the deep end sooner or later. After all, how are you going to solve Cersei’s murder if you don’t have access to the usual suspects? Statistically speaking, if my family didn’t do it, the killer was probably sitting at that lunch table today. They’re the ones who knew Cersei best and my sister was one of those people where the more you knew her, the more motive you’d have to do away with her.”

She hated when Jaime did that. Tried to be blithe about his sister’s death. It was the only time his gaze shuttered completely, going flat and glassy, and his smile grew thinner and thinner, sharper and sharper. But she understood it was a coping mechanism of his.

And there was some truth to what he said.

Brienne had tried to get a bead on the delicate social dynamics at play among this set, and had quickly concluded that at their end of the table, Ned Stark was the glue, the common denominator.

Robert was his best friend. Lyanna was his sister. And Cat was his on-again/off-again girlfriend. As far as she could see, neither Cat nor Lyanna could stand Robert, but they tolerated him for Ned’s sake.

Brienne could relate. Her low opinion of Robert hadn’t been altered. What she’d previously observed from afar was only confirmed in person.

He was rude and sexist and seemed like the aggressive type who’d be quick to anger, the type you could imagine losing control and doing something rash like strangling an unfaithful girlfriend.  

Supposedly he had an alibi, but those could be bought. She made a mental note that she and Jaime should make an appointment to visit the strip club to get to the bottom of it.

No matter how she looked at it, Brienne couldn’t fathom how Ned had become so tight with Robert. Where Ned was serious and polite, Robert was loud and brash. And yet she could see there was genuine affection between the two.

When she asked Jaime about it, he rolled his eyes and snarked, “Picked up on their great homoerotic love, did you? It’s hard to miss it. Yeah, they’ve lived next door to each other all their lives. Robert’s the devil on Ned’s shoulder and Ned’s the angel on Robert’s.” Jaime laughed. “They complete each other.”

*

Brienne found herself at loose ends during her free period. It was strange to think that just last Friday she’d met up with Hyle at this time to shoot hoops and he’d given her her first kiss before inviting her to the party at the Targaryen’s.

It made her skin crawl now to recall it.

She wandered around aimlessly until finally she settled on taking refuge in the school theater. She slipped into the back and took a seat in the last row.

The drama club was busy rehearsing for their upcoming production of The Sound of Music.

Brienne was suitably impressed when Margaery belted out ‘I am 16 going on 17, innocent as a rose’ up on stage. She had the charisma and pipes to make the song a standout performance.

She was a good fit for Liesl, just as Renly was clearly born to play Captain von Trapp.

He stood off to the side with Loras, but when he glanced in her direction, his gaze didn’t pass over her the way it usually did. Instead he blinked and then did the damnedest thing…he straightened and made to approach her.

She wondered if he was going to boot her from the theater, tell her if she wanted to see the show she’d have to buy a ticket for opening night like everyone else.

She tugged on the sleeve of her shirt and debated fleeing before he closed the distance between them. She was halfway out of her seat when Renly motioned for her to sit back down.

He took a seat in the row in front of her and turned to look at her. “Brienne. Hi. Are you okay?”

Brienne felt like she’d missed a step. “Um, yes?”

“No, it’s just I saw you the other night. At the party.” His eyes were dark and full of…concern. “You looked kind of out of it and I saw Lannister dragging you off somewhere.”

Once upon a time Brienne would’ve been thrilled that Renly remembered her name, that he cared enough to spare her a modicum of concern, but now all she could think was that he’d idly thought her vulnerable and in danger and just passively stood by.

“I’m alright,” she said stiffly. “Thanks to Jaime, actually. He made sure I got home safely.”

“If you’re sure,” he replied, sounding extremely skeptical. “I saw you eating lunch together today and I just thought I should warn you that he’s been pretty fucked up since…well, you know. You might want to be careful there. He can be… unpredictable. Erratic. He’s not the sort of guy you can rely on, if you take my meaning.”

He gestured at the stage with a sarcastic smile. “Jaime Lannister would make a perfect Rolf.” He snorted. “Or Friedrich.”

Brienne glanced at the actor playing the eldest von Trapp son. Nobody could miss how he was watching Margaery’s performance with more than the brotherly affection that was due Liesl. Brienne’s breath caught in her throat at the implication.

“Just something to think about,” Renly said before ambling leisurely back up to the stage.

Brienne clasped her hands together in her lap as her thoughts spiraled. She scrambled to get a foothold.

What was it Renly had said to Jaime that day in freshman year? He’d made that dig about Narcissus and then he’d said, "You don't even need a pool of water, do you?"

Brienne hadn’t thought much of it at the time. She’d been a bit preoccupied, wallowing in the depths of despair at the revelation that her crush didn’t know she existed. But now she wondered if somehow Renly had known about the true nature of the twins’ relationship. Or suspected at least.

And just now, she couldn’t shake the feeling that him rattling off the name of Liesl’s brother had been his own private little joke that was meant to go over Brienne’s head.

What if on Homecoming night, he told his big brother Robert that his girlfriend was cheating on him with none other than her own brother? What might that have driven Robert to do?

She needed to warn Jaime.

*

On the ride home, Jaime was shockingly dismissive about her fears regarding Renly.

She told him about her exchange with Renly in the theater, about all he’d possibly alluded to, which was slightly awkward since they’d never actually spoken candidly about what she’d seen that day in the library. (Other than that first time on the bridge when Jaime lobbed her knowledge of their incestuous bond at her like a grenade.)

Jaime waved off her concerns. He said that when the Lannisters moved to King’s Landing and he didn’t immediately start dating every girl in sight, Renly figured he must be gay.

“He came onto me. I turned him down. He was bitter and I think the scandalous idea that I was fucking my own sister tickled him. That he got it right won’t have genuinely occurred to him. He likes to make quips about my narcissism run amok and make other clever insinuating asides in that vein, but I don’t think he actually puts any stock in any of it. Believe me, if he’d had even a shred of proof, he’d have rubbed it in Robert’s face.”

“What if he did?” It had to be said. What if this was the thing that sealed Cersei’s fate?

Jaime’s hands tightened on the wheel. “Robert would have tried to kill me with his bare hands. But I’m still alive and kicking, ergo Renly’s got fuck all. Don’t worry your pretty little head about it.”

Brienne didn’t rise to the bait of pointing out that there was nothing pretty nor little about her. And that that was a condescending expression to boot.

The day had taken it out of her. She barely mustered the energy to rub her eyes as she stifled a yawn.

“Am I boring you, baby girl?” he asked in that lazy, teasing drawl that warmed her to her toes and made her want to take a nap right then and there, if only he’d keep talking, keep calling her baby girl.

“Just tired. Couldn’t sleep last night. Every time I closed my eyes, I was back in that room…with them. The sneer on Hyle’s face is burned into my memory.”

“Been there. Whenever I try to sleep, I always see Cersei’s eyes staring blankly back at me. The light had gone out of them and it was…she was...”

That woke Brienne up. She bolted upright where before she’d been slumped in the passenger seat. “Wait, what? Pull over.”

Jaime looked at her like she was crazy, but at her resolute scowl he pulled into a grocery parking lot and killed the engine.

“Her eyes were open when you found her? You – you closed them,” she said slowly, working it out. “You tampered with the crime scene.”

A shadow passed over his face and she instantly regretted her choice of words. “I’m sorry. That was insensitive. But it’s important how you found her…how the killer left her…Did you do anything else?”

He pinched the bridge of his nose and swallowed a broken-off curse. “Her nightgown was yanked up above her waist, her limbs were splayed out. I pulled it down to cover her. Placed her hands together. Shut her eyes,” he confessed in a monotone.

Holy shit, that changed everything.

All this time Brienne’s father had made assumptions about the identity of the killer based on the respectful way her body had been positioned in death.

It’d suggested family members or someone else who loved her was the perpetrator. Someone who regretted what they’d done and tried to appease their guilt by staging a peaceful tableau.

“Did you place the tiara on her head?” She remembered the detail from the newspaper photo.

“What? No.” He turned to face her. “I didn’t even notice she was wearing it. Why?”

“Well, unless it was pinned into her hair quite thoroughly with a bunch of bobby pins, it’s hard to imagine the tiara wouldn’t have gotten dislodged during the struggle.”

“So you think the killer placed it on her head afterward? They crowned her, but also tried to degrade her by posing her like that…”

“It’s a weird mix of idolatry and degradation,” Brienne agreed. “Unless they were trying to make some point about her power being meaningless in the end.”

Jaime nodded thoughtfully. “Maybe they wanted to revel in her being this almighty queen who they alone dethroned.”

There was an off-hand chance the murderer possessed a more calculating mind and that they’d tried to throw the police off their scent by staging it to look like a sexually motivated crime dripping with hate and envy. If so, they hadn’t counted on Jaime stumbling upon the scene and ruining their efforts by covering Cersei up so she looked positively angelically demure by the time the cops arrived.