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boschlingtumbles · 4 years

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White Wedding (Chapters 10-16)

Jaime (What Have You Done 1 of x)

The first day he kept him at bay through his normal mixture of sarcasm and superiority. Batting down Ned Stark’s pathetic attempts at ingratiation was almost satisfying. He deserved it, really, and Jaime almost laughed when after trudging after him through half the city, Jaime hailed a taxi and jumped in, slamming the car door shut in Ned’s face. Only for Ned to show up at Cersei’s, tired and dirty, two hours later right as Jaime was in the middle of inquiring whether Cersei had ever noticed that Robert talked with his mouth full. “I thought you were going to help Jaime childproof the kitchen?” Cersei eyed Ned’s disheveled appearance disdainfully. “I missed the cab,” Ned ground out, “and had to walk. I didn’t know the area and I got lost several times.” Good riddance. The second day, it was just annoying. Ned always got up to talk to Robert in the painfully early morning before Robert departed for practice, which doubled the volume of noises that Jaime had to sleep through. Even being mean to him wasn’t as fun as it had been the day before, when Ned just stoically endured it as he had yesterday. Plus Jaime couldn’t get a moment alone with Cersei. Ned just kept popping up with a stupid question or a corny joke. It was driving Jaime mad. “I can’t concentrate with his stupid horse face jumping out at me at every corner,” Jaime hissed on the phone to Stannis. “I made a perfectly good list of all the disgusting things that Robert does while eating and I’ve barely gotten through a third of them.” “Did you include the fact that he double dips?” “Everyone double dips, Stannis,” Jaime rolled his eyes. There was a distinct hiss on the line. “It’s so unlucky! Of all the times for Ned Stark to get a crisis of conscience, why did it have to be now?!” Jaime warmed to his theme. “It’s not unlucky. Robert’s fucking with you and he’s winning. Get your head in the game.” Jaime made a doubtful noise. Like that sod was capable of psychological warfare. “I think it’s just Ned. He’s really weird and irritating. I don’t see how Robert stands having him around.” “You underestimate him,” Stannis growled. “Ned? Maybe. Weird, irritating, pretentious, so fucking earnest, dull, mindlessly loyal—“ “Not Ned,” Stannis sounded exasperated. “Robert.” Jaime blinked. He had seen Robert get stuck in a revolving door once. “Look, you have to understand that he’s a person of average to slightly below average intelligence who has realized his life will be much easier if everyone thinks he’s a moron.” “That’s ridiculous,” Jaime scoffed. “Why would anyone ever do that?” “Because he’s very lazy. And I suspect he finds it funny.” “Well have you ever considered maybe he’s just really stupid?” “I did live with him for eighteen years!” That was a good point. Stannis was also weird and irritating. Probably Robert had just built up a tolerance. “Look it’s fine to be related to someone stupid. My cousin Lancel makes Robert look sharp. My point is that Ned is driving me mad and I’ve made no progress on planting seeds of doubt in Cersei’s mind because everywhere I go, he follows after.” “Maybe that will work to our advantage,” Stannis said thoughtfully. “Huh?” Jaime wondered if maybe stupidity didn’t run in the family. “Look we’ve been attacking the Cersei angle. Maybe there’s a Robert angle. And nobody knows Robert’s secrets like Ned.” “Why would there be a Robert angle? Of course the big doofus is happy to marry her.” “Happy to have Tywin Lannister as a father in law?!” Stannis sounded horrified. Jaime considered. “Ok I’ll ugh... talk to Ned,” he said begrudgingly. With a shiver of distaste he hung up, and stepped out of the closet where the washer and dryer were kept. Since Cersei sent all her clothes to the dry cleaner, he’d discovered this was the one place where he could plot uninterrupted. Unobserved, he could sneak into this room and call Stannis or just jot down random ideas in a solo brainstorming session, as Cersei and Brienne did muscle toning yoga or whatever faddish obsession Cersei had fixated on for the day, nobody ever suspecting that he was working from within to bring down this entire— “Hi!” Ned gave a forced smile from where he had been waiting outside the closet. “Whatcha doing?” “None of your business, Stark,” Jaime snapped. Ned flinched but stood his ground. Jaime reminded himself that perhaps this was not the best way to worm out Robert’s secrets. What was the best way? Alcohol. Alcohol was the best way. “Say, all this baby proofing has made me really thirsty,” Jaime said, shifting gears. “Do you want some water?” Ned offered. “Cersei also has some sparkling apple cider in the fridge?” “No,” Jaime shuddered. “I meant a proper drink.” “It’s noon,” Ned blinked. “So are you coming or not?” Jaime raised an eyebrow. Ned’s shoulders fell. “Just let me grab my wallet.” Ned drunk was not an improvement on Ned sober. It had been easy to get him drunk because Jaime had told him he didn’t like the first beer he had ordered and could Ned finish it so he could order a new one. And then he did it again on the third beer. And then he suggested shots and Ned was too tipsy to notice that Jaime was dumping his over his shoulder when he took them. But now that Ned was drunk, Jaime was discovering that he was a really REALLY affectionate drunk. “Stark, people are staring,” Jaime said through gritted teeth as they staggered into the sunlight from the dark cave of the bar. “At what?” Ned hiccuped, his chin resting on Jaime’s shoulder and his arms wrapped around him. “At you! Let me go!” Jaime tried to use his words. It was like talking to a rock. “I can’t,” Ned said in a reasonable tone, arms remaining firmly laced around him. “Can you walk slower? It’s very hard to walk like this without tripping.” “You don’t say,” Jaime growled, aiming them for the water fountain in the center of the traffic circle. Ned could clearly use a nice cold bath. “Remind me why you can’t let go?” “Because Robert said not to,” Ned said seriously. What? “What?” Jaime said trying to keep the slowly growing rage out of his voice. “Stick to him like glue he said,” Ned nodded, his chin digging into Jaime’s shoulder each time. Gods. Stannis was right. Jaime could never tell him, he’d be more insufferable than he was already. But that didn’t mean that Robert was secretly a person of normal intelligence masquerading as a moron. He had just gotten lucky. Per usual. “What else did Robert say?” Jaime prodded, now that he had the perfect window of inquiry. “That you were going to try and ruin the wedding,” Ned squeezed him tighter in what Jaime realized with dawning horror was a hug. “But you wouldn’t really do that.” “Of course not,” Jaime said, trying to get them closer to the fountain. “That’s good,” Ned continued obliviously. “Because Robert says that Cersei said if anything went wrong with the Vogue coverage, the wedding would be off.” “He did?” Jaime stopped in his tracks. “Mmmm hmmm,” Ned stopped. Eureka. No more trying to undermine Cersei’s bizarre affection for the idiot Baratheon. No trying to do vice versa for Robert (not that Jaime thought Stannis’ idea had any particular merit). All he had to do was create some kind of disaster that would lose them the Vogue coverage. How hard could that be? “You know Stark, you’re not so bad,” Jaime said magnanimously, patting the reddish-brown head currently lolling on his right shoulder. “Does this mean your forgive me for that Aerys thing?” Ned immediately said hopefully. “What?! No!” Jaime yelped. “But,” Ned finally let go and turned to face him, eyes wide, face pale and practically radiating injured innocence. “But...” “Go on, spit it out,” Jaime sneered. Ned opened his mouth and a stream of bile splashed out, spattering Jaime’s jeans and shoes. Jaime closed his eyes. When he opened them, Ned was still standing in front of him, miserably guilty. With a howl of rage, Jaime grabbed him by the shoulder and flipped him over his back into the fountain. A load of laundry, a shower, and a telephone call later, Jaime reported what he had discovered. “How do we make sure this wedding doesn’t have Vogue coverage?” Stannis said doubtfully. “I mean does it have Vogue coverage to start with?” “Not yet,” Jaime admitted. “But it’s only a matter of time. Unless we do something.” “I don’t see how we take something away from Cersei that she doesn’t already have,” Stannis repeated stubbornly. Ugh good co-conspirators were so hard to find. “Take for example the photographer,” Jaime pressed. “There is a shortlist of trusted Vogue wedding photographers, and the odds of getting a spread increase if you’re already using one. This close to the wedding, there’s only one that’s available.” He paused for dramatic effect. “The famously reclusive Ellyn Tarbeck.” “Never heard of her,” Stannis said flatly. Jaime kicked the door of his closet in frustration before remembering that this was supposed to be a secret phone call. “You’ve never heard of the Tarbecks?! Tarbeck International?! Lannister Corp. destroyed the company, picked it up in a hostile takeover and sold the pieces off for scraps. Walderan Tarbeck, the CEO, committed suicide? Ellyn Tarbeck went on the news and said my father as good as murdered him? Like it was thirty years ago but it’s super famous?” “Were they a shipping company?” “Uh no, mining.” “And this happened before I was born?” Jaime growled. “My father’s about to become your sort of father-in-law, you’d think you’d have done some research.” “But he’s not. At least not if we’re successful. If it makes you happy, I will dedicate an hour to the subject of the Tarbecks after work today.” “No it’s just, it’s general knowledge okay?! And Cersei certainly knows it. That’s why she asked Robert to ask her. Because Ellyn Tarbeck is a crazy recluse who doesn’t read the papers and won’t know that Robert is marrying a Lannister. So he might, just maybe, have a shot at hiring her.” “Okay?” Stannis asked uncertainly. “And that’s why you need to create a distraction for Robert tomorrow, the day he’s supposed to be driving up to Tarbeck Hall to ask her. I’ll offer to go, and the moment I introduce myself to Ellyn Tarbeck as the bride’s brother, it’ll be game over,” Jaime explained. “They’ll have to go with a non-Vogue photographer, Cersei will be furious at Robert for delegating something he said he’d do himself, and this whole excruciating ordeal will be over.” “Your plan may have some merit,” Stannis conceded. Was it the accolades that he deserved? No, but he would work with what he got. Jaime left the closet with a jaunty spring in his step. After days of banging his head against the wall, he finally had an evil plan. Who knew evil plans were so hard to come by? He had a newfound grudging respect for Cersei who had always shown a natural aptitude for this sort of thing. And even better, Ned was curled up in Robert’s bed, dead to the world. Jaime had an entire afternoon to himself. What to do, what to do... A short drive to the Citadel later, he found Brienne in an enormous library, struggling to unchain a book with an antiquated wrought iron key that looked profoundly unsuited for the purpose of being a key let alone being a key to that particular book. “Need some help,” he grinned. “Oh!” Brienne looked up startled, and then a smile spread across her face. “Aren’t you supposed to be child-proofing the apartment with Ned?” She asked, failing to hide the amusement on her face. “He’s feeling under the weather,” Jaime said lightly, taking a seat across from her and resting his chin on his hands. “So how’s this library gig treating you?” “Oh Jaime, it’s absolutely brilliant!” Brienne gushed, her face lighting up even further. “Archmaester Marwyn actually knows a surprising amount about the First Men and the Long Night. I’m learning so much! It’s given me a wonderful idea for my thesis this fall—I can’t wait to get started.” Jaime eyed the dusty leather tomes around her skeptically. He couldn’t imagine finding anything of interest between these pages. But if Brienne liked it, he could make himself take an interest. He reached for a book. “No touching!” Brienne slapped his hand away. “Don’t you want me to get an education?” Jaime pouted, shaking just hand out as if she’d hurt him. “Not with these books, it’ll be my head if anything happens to them,” Brienne eyed the book he’d reached for with some concern, as if his mere presence might have damaged it. “So I’m not allowed to touch anything old,” Jaime furrowed his brow in pretense of thought. “Please don’t,” Brienne turned back to the sticky key, frowning slightly she tried to gently jimmy the lock mechanism. She didn’t even look up as he stood and walked around, although she certainly looked up when she felt his lips on the nape of her neck. “Jaime!” “What wench,” he teased, nuzzling her and letting a hand drift down to the top button of her shirt. “I’m not touching anything old. I just want a proper education,” his hand popped the button and moved down to the next. “Jaime! You certainly don’t need any more education in... that area,” Brienne leaned away from him but made no effort to remove his hand. He popped the next button. “Well a refresher course never hurt. Perhaps I could brush up on a few skills,” he kissed her collarbone. “I don’t think—“ Brienne’s breath caught as he sucked her collarbone. “That’s right wench, don’t think,” Jaime pulled her chair around so he could kiss her properly, cupping her chin in both hands. “I don’t think the reading room is the place for this,” Brienne managed to push him away after a minute. Jaime groaned, but obediently started to rebutting her blouse which he’d managed to get half off. She caught his hand. “No, I meant there’s a bathroom downstairs in the stacks. Give me a two minute head start and knock twice,” her blue gaze met his own evenly. Jaime felt weak at the knees. “I knew there was something you could teach me,” he managed. Brienne’s answering smirk was all the reply he needed.

Ned (What Have You Done 2 of x)

Ned had been dreaming that he’d been sleeping entangled with Catelyn, back in their cozy Winterfell apartment, safely removed from the rest of the world, when the alarm went off. He opened his eyes to discover that he was in fact sleeping entangled with Robert, who let out a completely undisturbed snore in his face.

“I swear if that alarm goes off one more time, I’m going to push you out a window Baratheon!”

And the rest of the world was very much not removed, Ned winced, scrambling over a still sleeping Robert to get to the alarm clock. Jaime growled something from the cot across the room and turned over, pillow over his head. His best efforts to repair relations with Robert’s future brother in law notwithstanding (well his best efforts and two quite unfortunate weak stomach incidents), Jaime still loathed him.

The mornings were the best times. Once Robert actually got up, they’d have breakfast together and it felt a bit like when they were roommates back in Aerie, and Robert would tell him his football stories and rib him about not having enough fun.

“What’s up with Cat?” Robert asked as he slopped some smoothie into a bowl for Ned. He added a sprinkle of granola and some banana and shoved it over to Ned.

“She and Robb are doing well,” Ned took a spoonful, to avoid wincing. His Ravyn conversations with Cat would be the best part of the day, only they had been... sparse. The Summer Islands had bad reception, and it seemed like Hoster always had something that demanded Catelyn’s immediate attention whenever they finally did manage to connect. They were going to give it another shot later this morning.

“What’re your plans for the day?” Ned asked to change the subject.

“I’ll have practice and lifting until three or so. Then Cersei wants me and Beric to film some footage for the foundation she... I mean I am setting up,” Robert scratched his head sheepishly. “She’s rounded up a couple kids to throw the ball around with. She says the commercial’s going to go live tonight. Whaddaya think Neddy, I’ll be on tv!”

“You’re always on tv, Robert,” Ned laughed. “Every Sunday.”

Robert pretended to sulk at his triumphant moment being taken from him and Ned laughed again, and for a moment, he was having fun, as he’d promised his wife. Then Robert looked at the time and realized he was running late and yelped. Ned chuckled ruefully—the more things changed, the more they stayed the same. How many times had he helped Robert find his missing cleat in college? Then, as he found it (under a still-attempting-to-sleep Jaime’s bed), Robert opened the door.

“I’ll see you this evening to watch my spot! Play nice with my wifey and don’t forget to spend some time planning the stag party!”

Ned had been mid-toss of the shoe when that bomb dropped, and his throw went badly wide. Robert, with the reflexes that had probably earned him a living as a professional athlete, managed to catch it anyway.

“The stag party?” Ned repeated in a strangely high-pitched voice.

“Chyeah!! It’s gotta be the best ever! I am the stag king right?! My last hurrah!!!”

“I thought,” Ned cleared his throat, “you were asking one of the other groomsmen...”

Robert snorted.

“You want Stannis to plan my stag party?”

Ned winced at that image.

“I just assumed Thoros...”

“Look I love the guy, but I’m pretty sure he’d be happy camping in the Riverlands. I need five star hotels! I need Michelin Star restaurants! And most of all...”

Ned rolled his eyes, knowing what was coming.

“I need women!”

“But Robert...” Ned scratched the back of his head sheepishly. “People don’t tend to think I’m... very fun.”

“That’s nonsense! I think you’re fun!” Robert gave him the same smile that he’d always given him right before persuading him to do something he really shouldn’t. And as always, Ned felt his willpower ebbing away.

“Well if you’re sure you want me to do it,” Ned felt his lips forming the words despite himself.

“Attaboy!” Robert grinned. “And don’t forget...”

“Best. Stag. Ever,” Ned recited dutifully along with Robert.

The door slammed, and Ned wondered what he’d just done. He wasn’t the party person. Robert was the party person. But of course Robert couldn’t plan his own party. And if he didn’t want Stannis doing it, and he didn’t want Thoros doing it...

Let it never be said that Ned didn’t do his duty.

“Have you ever even thrown a party, Stark?” Jaime asked from the cot where his eyes were still closed.

Ned glared.

“It’ll be fine,” Catelyn said, when the Ravyn call finally went through. She was beaming at him, looking tan and happy, and Ned felt their distance as an almost physical ache.

“Gods know you’ve been to enough of Robert’s parties to know what he likes. You can make the hotel reservations and the restaurants and then just delegate the night clubs to Oberyn Martell,” she continued.

“Delegate?” Ned repeated doubtfully.

“Of course! Who’s going?”

“Robert, me, Stannis, Jaime, Thoros, Beric, Oberyn and Mace,” Ned recited. Renly and Tyrion were still not of legal drinking age, despite Tyrion’s protestations that he knew a guy who made the most amazing fake IDs.

“So put Oberyn on entertainment, Mace on restaurants and Beric on hotels,” Catelyn shrugged. “Your work is practically done.”

“But what’ll we doing during the day?” Ned fretted.

“I guess that’ll depend on where you’re going. Where are you going?”

“I don’t know!!!”

“You’ll figure it out,” Cat rolled her eyes, and then the screen jostled and there was a squeal of ‘Da Da!’ and then he could see his son.

“Robb!” He beamed until his cheeks hurt, his heart practically bursting from his rib cage. His boy, his darling boy. This was what was important, the three of them. They’d get through anything together.

“How is he doing? Is he behaving himself? Has the cough gone away yet?” Ned asked, fingers touching the laptop screen where Cat was struggling to get a squirming Robb situated on her lap.

“The cough is gone, and he’s learned a new word! It’s...”

“Catelyn!” A brusque voice interrupted from off screen. The trace of a frown creased Cat’s forehead as she turned.

“Daddy, I’m trying to talk to Ned,” she said. Robb, sending his mother’s distraction, clambered off her lap and crawled away. Ned’s fingers touching the screen grasped frantically at his vanishing son.

“Our friends the Estermonts just walked in the door. You remember Lomas don’t you? He’s your age and already a city council member! Come talk to him Cat, please,” Hoster Tully said from off screen.

“Daddy—“

“Catlyn!”

Cat gave Ned an apologetic look and he tried to smile back. The screen blinked to black.

Ned sighed.

That day, he accompanied Jaime to Cersei’s. She in turn dispatched them to a superstore with a list of items she still needed for the nursery.

Jaime spent the first hour resolutely not talking to him. Ned resigned himself to his polite ice breakers going ignored, knowing that Jaime Lannister was constitutionally incapable of staying quiet forever. Sure enough, by the time they’d hit the second store to find all the things the first store didn’t have, Jaime had transitioned to casual malice.

“You didn’t talk very long to Cat,” he said, pretending to examine a diaper genie.

“Oh you know,” Ned swallowed. “She’s so busy with her family.”

“They sounded like they were having a great time,” Jaime batted at a mobile, sending it spinning. “So nice of Hoster to try and introduce her to some people her age.”

“Yeah,” Ned looked at the ground.

“Hoster was a little annoyed about your wedding as I recall. I’m glad he’s gotten over that,” Jaime smirked.

As if Hoster Tully has ever gotten over anything.

Mercifully, by the time they got back to Cersei’s, Brienne had returned from her morning at the Citadel. Ned got sent to put together a day bed in the nursery, and tried not to think about Cat and Robb while sitting in a child’s playroom.

When he was finally released from duty (Brienne had assured him that she would keep an eye on Jaime and Cersei had disappeared to supervise that commercial Robert had been talking about), it was 5:30. Robert wouldn’t be done for another hour or two. Ned felt vaguely at loose ends and more than a little sad. Basically, he could use a drink.

And really, Ned thought, as he walked to High Heart, this was perfect. He could catch Thoros alone and discuss the bachelor party. Everyone was coming later to watch the darn commercial, so he’d already be in the right place, and he could even get some dinner while he waited.

“Why the long face?” Thoros grinned as collapsed on the bar stool. Ned, aware that he had a long face, rolled his eyes.

“Oh c’mon, that was funny,” Thoros poured him a pint of beer without asking and pushed it over.

“Robert wants me to throw the stag party. I’ve never thrown a stag party!” Ned took a long sip of his drink. If nothing else, his alcohol tolerance would be significantly higher at the end of this summer than at the beginning.

“Me neither,” Thoros shrugged. “What were you thinking?”

“Well the first step is deciding what to do. Any chance you have any ideas?” Ned asked hopefully.

“Um camping is pretty fun and easy to plan,” Thoros started.

“Robert already vetoed it,” Ned sighed. “He said you’d say that. He wants five star hotels.”

“Right,” Thoros grimaced, using a rag to wipe down the counter a patron had just vacated. “Maybe I can sell a kidney on the black market.”

Ned winced. He knew that Thoros couldn’t afford casual trips to Braavos or wherever Robert wanted to go. And that of course Robert would pay for him to go if Thoros asked, and of course Thoros would never ask. There had to be a way around this...

“I think Olenna Tyrell has a summer home in the wine country outside of Highgarden. Maybe we can call Mace and get him to ask her if we can go there for a long weekend,” Ned said slowly.

“Wine country?” Thoros looked up hopefully.

“And it’s Olenna Tyrell. Whatever her summer home is like, you know it’s better than a five star hotel,” Ned continued, gears clicking in his hotel.

“The restaurants in the Reach are supposed to be amazing...”

“We won’t need plane tickets, everyone can drive...”

“Highgarden has plenty of nightlife...”

“We’ll go wine tasting during the day, maybe even go boating on the Mander one afternoon,” Ned took another deep gulp of his beer and they grinned at each other. This could really work!

“That won’t work,” Mace said flatly, when they Ravyned him from Thoros’ laptop. From off scream there was a howl.

“Loras, no screeching when Daddy’s on the phone!” Mace protested. A glob of food hit him in the face. “And no food fights!”

“Sorry,” Mace winced at the two of them through the screen, “just hold on—“ there was a pause as he wrestled a cherubic toddler into his lap. The cherubic toddler landed a chubby fist in his eye and then blew a raspberry at the screen. Mace gave them a haunted, desperate look. Behind Ned, Thoros was stifling a snicker.

“Daddy can’t go wine tasting because Daddy’s losing his fucking mind,” Mace crooned, bouncing little Loras up and down. “Daddy needs strippers and booze and cocaine. Daddy wants to do a line off a stripper’s ass Ned. Not discuss the Honeywyne burgundies. Please.”

His voice broke on the last note. Ned realized that he had the dark shadows under his eyes of someone whose child was not sleeping through the night.

Thoros was still snickering.

“Don’t laugh you bastard,” Mace hissed. “Alerie knew he had chicken pox and left me with him all week. I’ve put on twenty pounds since we got married. I spend my working hours as a glorified errand boy for my mother. This stag party is the only thing that is keeping me going, I swear.”

His eye had started twitching. Loras began attempting to gnaw at his arm.

“It’s okay Mace, we understand,” Ned began in a pacifying tone.

“Do you? If I have to watch Frozen one more time, I will use this stupid plastic spork to remove my eyeballs, so help me Stranger! Promise me Ned!” Mace gestured at the screen with a happy green spork.

“Frozen?” Loras burbled looking up.

“Oh no,” Mace breathed.

“FROZEN!” Loras screeched. The screen went black.

“So it sounds like a no on wine tasting,” Thoros said glumly.

“Back to the drawing board,” Ned mumbled. Five star hotels for Robert, night clubs for Mace, budget for Thoros. What was he going to do?

“Maybe I should just develop an illness,” Thoros poured a glass of beer for himself as well. “A debilitating illness that prevents me from going.”

“As long as you plan to rent a hospital room for Robert to visit you in,” Ned shrugged.

“What if I said it was a work emergency?”

“Robert would probably hire a bartender to replace you on the weekend in question.”

“Do you think I’m being stupid? It’s just he’s done so much for me already, and I really don’t like the idea of taking his money...”

“It’s not stupid at all. I’m sure we can find some place in Westeros that has nice hotels with good discounts...”

When Robert and Beric joined them an hour later, they had made little progress. It didn’t help that summer was the height of the tourist season. Ned shut Thoros’ laptop guiltily.

“Turn on the television!!” Robert demanded, already grabbing at the remote.

“Relax, it’s not running for another twenty minutes,” Thoros laughed. He turned to Beric. “Ready to be famous?”

“I just want to be left alone,” Beric said dolefully.

“What’ve you been up to?” Robert asked Ned.

“Oh the usual. Um, I talked to Mace today.”

“How is the old windbag?!“

“Um...” Ned was unsure how to describe the nervous sleep-deprived wreck he’d seen. “He’s very excited for your party.”

“Obviously,” Robert smirked. “It’s only going to be the —“

“Best. Stag. Ever,” Ned, Beric and Thoros recited dutifully in unison.

“Hey! Here it is!” Robert suddenly interjected, turning up the volume.

“Yo, EVERYONE SHUT UP!” He shouted are the rest of the bar, who fell silent.

There was a brief highlight reel of Robert playing football, then a cut to him walking down the Maesters’ field.

“Hi! I’m Robert Baratheon, the quarterback of the Oldtown Maesters. Sports teaches us leadership, teamwork, and drive. But it’s not just for professional athletes. Ask my friend Beric.”

The camera panned out to include Beric, who waved. Thoros wolf whistled.

“Stop it,” the real Beric groaned.

“Shhhh, my boyfriend’s on tv,” Thoros shushed him.

“I played three years of football with Robert, until a motorcycle accident ended my career. I might have lost an eye, but I didn’t lose my love of the game.”

Now the camera panned to a whole group of children adorably doing drills.

“Here at Oldtown, we want everyone to have a good time,” Robert said cheerfully. “Even children with physical limitations.”

“I don’t think I can do that,” a boy with a prosthetic leg tugged at Robert’s sleeve, pointing to a footwork drill.

“No worries, Lommy, let’s work on throwing instead! Hey, Beric, go long!” Robert shouted cheerfully and snapped the ball to the boy. With a cute grin, he slung the pig-skin and Beric caught it, diving dramatically through the air to hit the ground and roll.

“Touchdown!” Robert shouted and high-fived Lommy. Beric came jogging up, a tad mud-spattered.

“So the next time you’re looking to make a donation, I hope you’ll consider Storm’s Ending,” Robert winked at the camera. “Where all children get the chance to be kids.”

The last shot was Lommy waving from Beric’s shoulders, giving a gap-toothed grin as a little jingle played with the number to dial.

The commercial ended.

“AWWWWW,” Thoros ruffled Beric’s hair. “That was adorable!”

“Not bad,” Ned admitted, trying to disguise the fact that he had gotten a little teary eyed. He just missed Robb so much!

“I still don’t see why you need a commercial asking for donations when you’re planning to privately fund the whole thing,” Beric sulked, batting Thoros’ hand away.

“Publicity,” Robert shrugged. “Cersei’s going to run the spot every day until our wedding. It’ll elevate my public profile outside of sports and ensure that everyone who thinks of me thinks of summer camps for kids and not...”

“Public drunkenness,” Thoros offered.

“Assault and battery,” Ned offered.

“Three interceptions in one game,” Beric said under his breath.

“... other stuff,” Robert finished, crossing his arms and glaring at them.

“Well it’s great. Nice catch, Beric! Back to your old form,” Ned patted his former teammate on the back.

“Where did you get that outfit?” Thoros asked. “Because you looked like... really good.”

“Cersei picked it out. I think the shirt was tailored. I don’t even want to know how she got my measurements,” Beric shook his head.

“Well I thought you looked good,” Thoros repeated slightly dreamily.

“So did I,” a new female voice breathed behind him. They all turned. A pretty if innocent looking high school girl was staring at Beric in fascination.

“Um guys, this is Jenny, the owner’s granddaughter,” Thoros said blinking. “Jenny, this is Ned, Robert, and Beric.”

“You were awesome,” Jenny giggled, still ogling Beric who had begun to blush. She took a step toward him. “Are you like, an athlete?”

“I’m in law school,” Beric took a step back.

“I’m an athlete,” Robert said hopefully. Ned smacked him in the back of the head and Thoros took that as his cue to usher Jenny away from the bar.

“Dondarrion, did you see that?” Robert craned his neck to look at the clearly underage girl’s ass. Ned smacked him again.

“You’re like... a sex symbol now!” Robert continued cheerfully, rubbing the back of his head.

“It was one girl,” Beric mumbled, his face now fully red.

“Says you,” Robert snorted. “Take it from somebody kind of famous, you gotta enjoy it while it lasts. Because the next thing you know, you have ONE BAD GAME...”

“I’m not a sex symbol am I?” Beric shot Ned a panicked look.

“Of course not,” Ned said soothingly. He looked over his shoulder where another group of girls were giggling and pointing at them. He put his arm around Beric’s shoulders and angled them so their back was to the rest of the bar. “Everything will be better with a good night’s sleep, you’ll see.”

He wasn’t sure who he was trying to convince, Beric or himself.

At any rate, when he and Robert finally got back to the apartment, it was with a deep sense of relief that he let himself collapse back into the bed.

It had been a long day, but it was finally, thankfully over.

Ned wasn’t sure what woke him up, only that he woke with the uneasy sense that there was someone picking their way through the apartment.

A soft rustle.

He squirmed deeper into his blankets. Robert was snoring next to him, he could dimly make out Jaime’s back across the living space.

A floorboard creak. Closer this time.

What if it was a burglar? Worse, what if it was Tywin Lannister?!

Ned felt his heartbeat racing. He could see it now, a shadowy figure approaching the bed.

“Who’s there?!” Ned demanded, trying to keep the quaver out of his voice. If it was a burglar he’d wake up Robert. If it was Tywin Lannister, he’d wake up Jaime.

“Oh good, I thought I’d find you here,” said a smooth slightly over-confident voice that Ned knew and struggled to place for a moment.

“...Oberyn?!”

The shadow sat down on the bed.

“The man, the myth, the legend,” it said cheerfully.

Ned laughed, partly in relief and partly in disbelief.

“What are you doing here, Martell?!”

“Scoot over, you’re hogging the bed,” Oberyn kicked off his shoes and proceeded to slide under the covers with them. Ned was mildly relieved that Jaime was still asleep. He got enough jokes about him and Robert.

“There, now you’re comfy, now answer the question,” Ned prodded.

“If you must know, I was visiting my eldest, Obara. Her mother is an escort here in Oldtown.”

Ned sighed. Oberyn had always lived a little faster than the rest of them, so it shouldn’t have come as a surprise that he already had two daughters. Obara and... Nymeria. That was it.

“Do you always break in to Robert’s flat for a quick snuggle when you’re in Oldtown?” Ned snarked.

“Maybe I’m here to see you, Stark,” Oberyn smirked.

“Are you?”

“Yes, actually. At the behest of a mutual friend who called me in deep distress during a break in the Frozen marathon.”

Ned sighed.

“Look, I told Mace I’d do my best. And I will, I’ll find something.”

“See this is why you should be nice to me,” Oberyn flashed his perfectly white teeth and even in the dark Ned could see his sharp smile. “I’ve found a solution to your problem. Well, rather Mace and Thoros’ problem. It was for Thoros that you suggested a free summer house right?”

“I’m not made of dragons either,” Ned protested.

“But your father is,” Oberyn stretched languidly. “Anyway, you think too small.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Why settle for a summer home, when you could settle for a summer palace?”

Ned blinked.

“You mean...”

“I called my brother Doran. He said it’s fine. We are all cordially invited to the Water Palaces in Sunspear.”

Ned’s brain clicked frantically. Sunspear, in Dorne. In a friggin’ palace. Dorne with its famously beautiful women, its incredible cuisine, its reasonably accessible location...

“Thank you Oberyn... that’s amazing,” Ned stammered out. “I owe you one, seriously.”

“Great,” Oberyn yawned. “Then scoot over more. I’m going to crash here.”

“Wait, what?” Ned blurted.

“Had a fight with Obara’s mother. Took Mace’s call while we were... engaged,” Oberyn gave another slightly feral smile.

“You’re as bad as Robert,” Ned huffed, but he obediently scooted over further.

“I’m worse,” Oberyn said smugly.

Ned rolled his eyes and reminded himself to kick him out before Jaime woke up.

Brienne (What Have You Done 3 of x)

Brienne tried to ignore her growling stomach as she gently blew the dust off a tomb that Archmaester Marwyn had sent her to fetch. She felt the normal tickle of incredulity as she thought his name. She was working for Archmaester Marwyn! In the Citadel! He knew her name! Well, he often called her Brian, but it was with affection. Like a nickname. Archmaester Marwyn had given her a nickname!

These precious hours in the afternoon that she spent managing Marwyn’s bibliography were a much needed oasis of peace and quiet from the raging storm of Cersei Lannister beyond. She thought forlornly of Jaime’s attempts to save her from this fate. He had such a good heart. If only he hadn’t become one of the many nuisances she had to manage.

It was bad enough that she was running around with florists and musicians and club promoters and septons on speed dial. But now she was constantly running interference between Jaime and his sister, because he never stopped using those moments to try and get in some digs about Robert.

“He’s so clumsy, his apartment is full of things he’s managed to break and hasn’t replaced yet. And lazy. Have I mentioned how lazy he is?” Jaime had pretended to complain about his accommodations, while watching Cersei under his golden lashes to see if any of his words were having an affect.

Brienne also glanced at Cersei nervously. Her blond head was bowed over her phone, her expression hidden behind her hair.

“He’s not clumsy, he’s just strong,” Brienne interjected from Cersei’s other side. “And he’s very tall and big, it’s not surprising he has a little more trouble than most getting through an apartment. And he’s not lazy, he’s only a professional athlete who is really busy and doesn’t have time to replace the mixer or whatever it is you’re complaining about.”

Jaime rolled his eyes.

“I’m not sure staying out at all hours to go drinking with friends is really appropriate father material,” Jaime tsked on another day, when he’d managed to evade Ned Stark yet again.

“But I’m sure he’ll give that up once you’re married and the baby is here,” Brienne hastened to assure Cersei.

“Have you noticed how he always talks with his mouth full,” Jaime snorted after they’d all had dinner and Ned and Robert had been dispatched to do the dishes.

“It was only because he was so excited about what you were saying about the wedding,” Brienne offered weakly to Cersei.

Honestly it was a little exhausting spending all this time defending Robert, when most of Jaime’s critiques were true. But she knew that Robert’s heart was in the right place, even if Jaime couldn’t see it. Jaime was protective of Cersei, and maybe yes a little too stubborn for his own good. Brienne felt another surge of affection for her prickly knight in shining armor.

“And what exactly will Robert do once his football career is over? Be a house husband while you run Lannister Corp?” Jaime asked snidely as they watched his car pull up below.

All the same, she would kill him if she had to take much more of this.

“Robert has plenty of ambitions beyond the football field,” Brienne replied rather waspishly.

“He does?” Jaime’s lip curled into a sneer.

“He does?” Cersei turned, looking genuinely surprised.

Shit. Ummmmm think. Think think think. He must have said something to Renly?

“He wants to start a bar,” Brienne announced triumphantly, grasping at a wisp of memory. Or was it a brewery? “With Thoros.” Or was it Ned?

“Huh,” Cersei said, and then went back to deciding who could be trusted to sit at her father’s table.

“See, maybe you don’t know him quite as well as you think you do,” Jaime said triumphantly, shooting Brienne a smug look. “Why not postpone the wedding? Really take some time to learn everything there is to know about each other?”

No! How could he twist it! Brienne glared at him. Jaime winked back.

“Why even Brienne probably knows Robert better than you do,” Jaime said lightly and sauntered out.

“That’s definitely not true,” Brienne assured Cersei. “I just spent a lot of time at their house because Renly...”

“Oh Brienne,” Cersei took her hand and patted it. “You don’t have to worry, I know everything.”

“You do?” Brienne said, a wave of relief flooding her senses. Because finally, this whole ridiculous charade could be over and Cersei could talk some sense into Jaime and they could go back to planning this wedding which really was spinning somewhat out of control.

“It was so obvious,” Cersei smiled somewhat pityingly.

“It was rather obvious wasn’t it?” Brienne blushed, thinking of Jaime’s borderline blatant hostility.

“And you’ve been such a dear helping as you have.”

“Well of course! You are my fa—friend,” Brienne stammered, realizing she’d been about to say family. Which of course she wasn’t, it’s not like she and Jaime had ever talked about it, it was just all this nonsense about weddings that was making her fanciful...

“I can’t imagine how difficult it’s been for you,” Cersei said sympathetically.

Brienne cocked her head. Something about the gushing empathy felt a little... excessive? She flashed back on her conversation with Melisandre.

“What do you think we’re talking about?” Brienne asked suspiciously.

“You’re in love with Robert,” Cersei said matter of factly.

Brienne felt her eyes bulge slightly and her mouth twist in an expression of involuntary disgust at the idea. Because... Robert?!?!

“Oh please don’t cry, I’m not mad,” Cersei mistook her expression for something else entirely. “I should have realized that’s why you befriended Renly all those years ago. To be closer to him. You knew it was hopeless of course, but you just couldn’t help but torture yourself. And then you finally got over him and moved on to Jaime, but me asking you to be the maid of honor at our wedding has dragged up all these suppressed feelings and I just think you’re so... brave,” Cersei suddenly enveloped her in an awkward hug. Brienne stood stiffly, not really sure what to do with her arms. At length she settled on a gentle shoulder pat.

At least Cersei could no longer see her expression, because... Robert?!

Robert who could never remember anybody’s name, who leered at every girl in a short skirt, who belched and farted and scratched his ass in public. It wasn’t that he was aesthetically unattractive, quite the opposite (although Renly would definitely be the best looking of the three, Brienne added loyally), but the idea of thinking about him romantically was just... ugh!

But how could she say that to Cersei, who actually despite all odds and every indication to the contrary, really did like him?! There was no helping it.

“It is very... hard... sometimes,” Brienne tried to sound a little tragic.

“You mustn’t worry that I’ll tell Jaime, this is just between us. These old feelings will go away as soon as the wedding is over, you’ll see,” Cersei squeezed her more tightly. “And you and Jaime will live happily ever after. You know Brienne, you’re so much more than a friend to me. I’ve felt it for some time. You’re like... a sister,” Cersei stepped back and beamed at her.

Caught in the floodlights of Cersei’s dazzling smile, the warmth of her gaze, the faint scent of her perfume, light and feminine and perfectly Cersei, Brienne had no choice but to smile uncertainly back. Because more than anything, she wanted Jaime’s family to like her, to support their relationship. And she had just won over another member. All she had to do was make sure that this wedding didn’t blow up in her face.

Naturally the first person she wanted to tell was Jaime. She caught him shrugging his coat on to take the car back to Robert’s.

“Guess what?” She hugged him from behind.

“You’ve forgiven me for being better at this than you,” Jaime smirked.

“You are, but it doesn’t matter,” Brienne let him go to kiss him lightly on the lips. “She won’t listen, because she’s in lo—“

“Oh look at the time,” Jaime checked his watch ostentatiously. “I’d better get a move on if I’m going to get to Tarbeck Hall.”

“Tarbeck Hall?” Brienne frowned. That was where that photographer lived. The one Cersei was so hellbent on getting. “Isn’t Robert going?”

“Oh something came up with Renly, he had to run back to King’s Landing,” Jaime said nonchalantly. Brienne raised an eyebrow. Renly was at theater camp.

“Where is Ned?” She asked slowly.

“Stannis thought it would be better if he drove Robert. You know how Robert is with driving on highways. Stannis didn’t want him to get a speeding ticket.”

“So Stannis suddenly needed Robert and Ned in King’s Landing, and you just... volunteered... to get the photographer out of the goodness of your heart?”

“I do have a terribly good heart,” Jaime gave her a roguishly crooked grin.

“It’s not that good.”

“You wound me, wench.”

“Jaime!” Brienne hissed, the picture snapping into focus. “You’re going to do sabotage the photographer! You’re going to say something terribly rude or be an ass or a jerk or... or... SOMETHING, and then Cersei will blame Robert because he was supposed to go!”

“Cross my terribly good heart, Brienne,” Jaime crossed his heart easily, “I will not be rude or an ass or a jerk. I will be completely normal and polite.”

Brienne stared at him. He never lied to her, but he wasn’t above holding things back. What was she missing?

“Right then,” Brienne said matter of factly. “I’m coming with you.”

“I hardly think that’s necessary,” Jaime started to protest. “Doesn’t Cersei need you here for moral support?”

“She has phone calls all morning, an appointment with her publicist this afternoon, and then she’s meeting Melisandre in King’s Landing to discuss cakes. If you’re going to be a gentleman, I don’t see what the problem is,” Brienne tilted her head, voice treacly sweet.

Jaime rolled his shoulders back, prepared to do battle.

“As you wish, milady,” he took her hand and kissed it. “I will not have my gentlemanly credentials impugned.”

Brienne rolled her eyes, but still blushed as she retrieved her hand.

Tarbeck Hall was in the northernmost reaches of the Westerlands, and Oldtown in the Southwest of the Reach. It was a six hour drive, and Jaime didn’t miss an opportunity to show off his chivalric bonafides. She emerged from a rest stop to discover that he had picked her a garland of wildflowers.

“For my Queen of Love and Beauty,” he bowed and placed it on her brow.

“You know I’m nothing of the sort,” Brienne huffed, removing it gently so not to damage his hard work.

“I beg to disagree,” he frowned, looking a trifle sulky when she placed it on their dashboard instead. “You don’t like it?”

“Of course I do, it’s just, it’s hardly historically accurate. Those were reserved for princesses and ladies and great beauties,” Brienne stumbled a bit trying to explain. “Not for big athletic sorts like me.”

“I happen to think you are a great beauty,” Jaime said gently.

“Well the world disagrees,” Brienne snarked back, and slammed the car door to show she was done with the conversation.

A pensive, somewhat stilted silence ensued, and of course Brienne began to feel a bit badly. It wasn’t Jaime’s fault that Ron Connington had called her “Beauty” in fifth grade. It wasn’t his fault that the boys would throw flowers at her and run away laugh-screaming in terror lest the Beauty get too close.

Jaime would have never done that. Jaime had never been anything less than caring and protective. She loved him endlessly, adoringly, down to the last hair on his ridiculous blond head. She loved his harebrained ideas and his ridiculous family and... wait! She hadn’t even told him!

“I forgot to tell you!” She blurted into the awkwardness. “Cersei said I was like a sister to her,” she said proudly.

Jaime looked over, although he did not match her excitement, somewhat to Brienne’s disappointment. Instead his features seemed to be conveying more of an affectionate bemusement.

“You know she’s always liked you fine.”

“But that’s not good enough! I want her to like me more than fine, and now she does!” Brienne poked him, trying to prod him into some enthusiasm.

“That’s Tyrion and your father and now Cersei,” she smiled.

“Is that what all of this is about?” Jaime arched just eyebrow. “Getting my family to like you?”

“No...” Brienne said, not entirely convincingly.

“What on earth would make you think I cared one whit what my family thinks of us?!”

“But I care!” Brienne protested. “I don’t want to cause problems with your family!”

“And I don’t want my family to drive you away!” Jaime ran a hand through his hair.

Brienne paused.

“Why would you think they would drive me away?” She asked gently.

“Because they’re completely nuts! My dad is literally blackmailing my sister into marriage, she’s fine with it as long as it helps her raise her public profile, Tyrion’s fine with it because apparently he thinks forced marriages are a thing that can work, and I don’t want you to spend all summer in this black hole of insanity and decide I’m not worth it,” Jaime admitted.

Brienne rested her head on his shoulder.

“I will never think you’re not worth it,” she said quietly. “You are worth everything.”

Jaime leaned his own head against hers carefully, eyes still on the road.

“You’re just so good Brienne. And my family really REALLY isn’t.”

“I don’t think you have the clearest perspective on them,” Brienne sighed. “But even if you’re right, it wouldn’t matter. At the end of the day, nothing matters but you.”

“I love you,” Jaime lifted his head so he could kiss her temple.

“I love you too,” Brienne answered. “Is there any chance this was why you’re trying to torpedo the wedding?”

“Nope. Cersei needs to be saved from herself and as usual, I’m the only one willing to do what needs to be done. Well me and Stannis.”

“She doesn’t need to be saved from herself, she’s marrying the father of her child.”

“She’s marrying a promise that she’ll be CEO of Lannister Corp when father steps down.”

“She loves him.”

“She doesn’t,” Jaime squared his shoulders stubbornly.

“How can you be so smart and so wrong,” Brienne groaned, breaking their cuddle.

“Maybe the same way you won’t wear my flower crown,” Jaime huffed.

“If I wear your flower crown, will you stop trying to sabotage the wedding?” Brienne tried.

“Not a chance.”

They finally found Tarbeck Hall an hour past Lannisport, where the smooth highways had given way to crumbling pavement. They almost missed the shabby sign, which directed them up a winding dirt road.

Brienne was starting to think Jaime was deliberately hitting all of the potholes on purpose, but finally they arrived at the ramshackle mansion. Brienne shivered. She wasn’t superstitious but this place definitely looked haunted. She half expected storm clouds to suddenly gather and a thunderclap to greet their arrival, but the summer afternoon remained oppressively hot as ever.

“What do you know about Ellyn Tarbeck?” Brienne whispered.

“Elusive and world famous photographer who’s features have headlined every major magazine in Westeros?” Jaime smiled at her, and Brienne felt like he was making a joke that she wasn’t quite getting.

“And she lives here? She must be loaded!”

“It’s her husband’s family estate.”

“Is her husband... with us?”

“No he killed himself maybe thirty years ago. They say she went quite mad for a while.”

Brienne swallowed. A madwoman in a haunted house and she had to convince her to photograph a high society wedding while Jaime did... something nefarious. No pressure.

She walked up to the front door and pressed the buzzer, fully expecting some kind of trap door to open up beneath her feet. Instead a doleful bell sounded, chiming eerily off the crumbling stonework.

Jaime was humming something under his breath, still seeming oddly at ease.

“What are you so chipper about?” Brienne arched an eyebrow.

“I’m on an adventure with you, why wouldn’t I be chipper?” Jaime asked innocently.

“Huh,” Brienne gave back, unimpressed. She rang the bell again, trying not to wince at the sound. There was the sound of a door unlocking.

“Rush rush rush, all you young people nowadays in such a rush,” a woman with silver hair and sharp blue eyes stepped out. She was tall and slim, with a faded glamour about the sundress she was wearing, paired rather incongruously with hiking boots. Her skin was a walnut brown that spoke to long days outdoors, and made the blue of her eyes and the silver of her hair stand out all the more starkly.

“Ellyn Tarbeck?” Brienne asked politely.

But the woman had frozen, her eyes fixed on Jaime. For a moment, nobody spoke. And then her gaze narrowed.

“You!” She pointed at Jaime dramatically. “Lannister!”

“Jaime Lannister, specifically,” Jaime said politely.

“Why is a Lannister darkening my doorstep?” Ellyn Tarbeck hissed at Brienne.

Brienne opened her mouth, completely at a loss for words.

“I’m the bride’s brother,” Jaime interjected helpfully.

“The Baratheon bride?!” Ellyn Tarbeck took a step backward, hand on her heart.

“Yes, Robert Baratheon intends to marry my sister Cersei Lannister. Tywin Lannister’s only daughter. Since he’s paying for the wedding, you can really think of him as your employer,” Jaime replied in a faux helpful voice that Brienne distrusted deeply.

“Get out,” Ellyn Tarbeck hissed.

“Am I to understand that you no longer wish to photograph the Baratheon-Lannister nuptials?” Jaime said in a voice that fell a couple miles short of shocked.

“GET OUT!!!” Ellyn Tabeck screeched and then slammed the door in their faces.

Brienne blinked as the echo of the slam ricocheted off the world around them.

“Well I think that went rather well, don’t you?” Jaime smiled brightly.

Brienne glared.

“What?!”

Jaime (What Have You Done 4 of x)

Jaime didn’t feel bad. He really didn’t. It wasn’t his fault Brienne had decided to come along and shoulder the burden of trying to stop his evil plan. She could have stayed in Oldtown and had a perfectly pleasant day off instead of schlepping across all of the Reach and the Westerlands in an impromptu road trip.

“Cersei will be so upset,” Brienne twisted her hands as she paced to and fro in front of the car. She had her cell phone out and had been debating calling her for the last twenty minutes.

“Neither your fault nor your problem,” Jaime tried to give her a shoulder massage, but she shrugged him off.

“I can’t tell her Robert asked you to do it, because then she’ll call off the wedding. Maybe I can tell her that I insisted on doing it? But she’ll be so mad! What if she hates me?!”

“Then I would have a stern talk with her. She’s not allowed to hate you,” Jaime sighed.

Brienne gave him a very doubtful look and then resumed pacing. Jaime cast about for ideas.

“Look, just put the phone down. Let’s do something while we’re here. Didn’t we pass a turn off sign for a waterfall a mile back? Let’s go see a waterfall.”

“I’ve seen waterfalls,” Brienne fretted. “This is serious.”

“All the more reason not to make any hasty decisions,” Jaime said soothingly. “Some fresh air, some exercise, some nature—it’ll help you think clearly.”

“Maybe you’re right,” Brienne hesitated.

“When will you learn?” Jaime grinned. “I’m always right.”

There was a little empty parking lot for the waterfall, which they eventually found about a mile down a pleasantly wooded trail. Jaime had forced Brienne to leave her phone in the car, and she already seemed more relaxed. He could tell by the way the line of her neck had lengthened, the slight bounce of her blond hair, the spring in the step of her sinfully long legs... not a Queen of Love and Beauty indeed.

“What are you looking at?” She said, sensing that his gaze had wandered from splashing of the small waterfall.

“You know what I’m looking at,” Jaime dropped his voice, just to see her cheeks pink.

“Stop,” she pushed him.

“Let’s go swimming,” he proposed, not eager to return to the car, pending call to Cersei or otherwise.

“Now? Here?”

“Why not, it’s a perfectly lovely natural pool. There’s nobody around. It’s hot as balls.”

Brienne rolled her eyes.

“As you wish,” Jaime shrugged, but proceeded to kick off his shoes and strip to his boxers.

“Jaime! What if someone comes!”

“I’m not naked,” he laughed. “Unless you’d like me to be...”

While she stammered for a response, he picked his way down into the pool below them. It was even better than he had hoped, the crisp bite of the fresh water. He plunged his head under and then shook his hair, aware that his gaze was not the only one who had wandered from the waterfall. With a mischievous smirk, he started paddling out toward the center.

“Jaime, get back here!” Brienne whispered, as if someone might hear them.

“Not a chance,” he treaded water as the pool became deeper. “And you know I got a candy bar from that gas station. I’m going to get cramps, Brienne. You’ll need to rescue me.”

“I will do no such thing,” Brienne lifted her chin.

“You were a lifeguard in high school! Didn’t you take an oath?”

“Lifeguards don’t have to take oaths, Jaime,” Brienne laughed.

“I bet you took one anyway,” Jaime teased. He let himself slip under the water and pop back up with a sputter. “There it is! The cramp!”

“You don’t have a cramp!”

“Brienne, I’m drowning!”

“You’re not drowning!”

“Brienne, you need to rescue me!”

“You don’t—“

Jaime let himself slip beneath the water for a second time, and sure enough, he heard the splash seconds later. Brienne took easy sure strokes out to him, and towed him on with her to the other side. They collapsed on the bank dramatically. Jaime tried to give a pathetic cough.

“Oh stop it,” Brienne smiled down at him, resting on her side. She was still wearing her white tank top, but had removed her shorts to reveal the cotton panties underneath.

“Traditionally the rescuer gives the kiss of life,” Jaime pointed out.

“You’re incorrigible,” Brienne leaned down and kissed him. He savored the kiss for a moment and then slid his hand down her back to cheekily squeeze the swell of her ass.

“That is not part of the kiss of life,” Brienne joke scolded him. Then she pushed off and paddled backward toward the fall.

“Come back here!” It was Jaime’s turn to scold. She only splashed him in response. With a huff, he dove in after her.

Perhaps an hour later, they clambered back up toward the trail, retrieving their shoes and discarded clothing. Brienne seemed vastly more at ease, and Jaime found that his own restless anxiety had correspondingly subsided.

“I know you were peeking during Marco Polo,” Brienne butted him with her shoulder.

“Wench, I am shocked and appalled at your distrustful nature. I’m just naturally intuitive!”

“Naturally intuitive when your eyes are open!”

“Who hurt you to make you like this? Was it Renly? It was probably Renly. Little shit never met a rule he couldn’t br—“

They rounded the corner and Jaime trailed off abruptly. Ellyn Tarbeck, still wearing her hiking boots and sundress, now with a large camera complete with bulky lens, was leaning against their car.

“Hello again,” Ellyn said at last, when neither of them seemed inclined to speak.

“Ms. Tarbeck,” Jaime said cautiously, trying to edge between her and Brienne. She wasn’t supposed to be violent-crazy, but that camera would pack a wallop if she started swinging it.

With a snort, Brienne stepped back around him.

“Needless to say, I found your unexpected arrival very upsetting,” Ellyn Tarbeck said, fixing Jaime with a steely look.

He swallowed, and wondered what he would do if she sprung. Could he hit an old lady? He looked at her arms, dark brown and wiry. He rather thought he could.

“I went on a hike, as I often do when I want to be alone with my thoughts. Some of my deepest wells of artistic inspiration come from my time in nature, and this afternoon was no exception,” she cleared her throat, looking off to the side. Was she nervous?

“Young lady, I saw you at the Castamere falls. I had been taking some shots of the light beams on the water when the two of you quite rudely interrupted. But since I was already there... well I took some shots. And I am very pleased with them, and will need you to sign a waiver allowing my further use of your likeness should I wish to use the images in my work,” she rattled off in a rush.

Jaime arched an eyebrow. Brienne looked dumbstruck. Seeing that she appeared incapable of speech, he stepped in.

“May we see the images?” He asked, partly to buy her time and partly because he was intrigued.

She glared at him with an expression of undisguised loathing. He smiled sweetly back.

“Here,” she grunted, thrusting the camera at him. “Use that black switch to toggle. If you touch anything else, I will bury you.”

Jaime ignored that last part and blithely began to toggle away. The light on the water shots were he supposed well done, but it was all rather artsy and dull and not his thing... then he came across the first picture of Brienne. This was his thing.

It caught her mid backstroke, lips partly open in an infectious smile. The sun had caught her eyes and ever bead of water that cling to her windmilling arm—it was joyous, it was beautiful, it was... Jaime’s eyes slid to the way her white shirt clung to her curves... hot.

“Let me see,” Brienne pushed him gently. Mouth dry, he handed it over. She looked down at the screen and abruptly her face flushed.

“No, I’m sorry, but no. You can’t use this,” she firmly shoved the camera back into Ellyn Tarbeck’s chest.

“If it’s a question of money,” the woman said uncertainly.

“It’s a question of looking a fool for strangers to gawp at,” Brienne huffed. “Jaime, come on. Let’s go.”

He let her pull him into the car, where she carefully pulled it out into the highway without ever so much as looking at Ellyn Tarbeck. It wasn’t until they were a mile down the road that she pulled over, and he realized that she was shaking.

“What’s wrong?” He asked, reaching around her shoulders to pull her into a one-armed hug.

“I just feel so embarrassed,” Brienne mumbled into his shirt. He stroked her hair tentatively.

“That she was spying on us? I don’t think we were really doing anything...”

“No! Of that picture, I look ridiculous!”

Jaime pulled back so he could stare at her.

“Brienne, you looked athletic and happy and pretty sexy. What on earth is wrong with that?”

“I look like I don’t know...” Brienne bit her lip. “that I’m ugly.”

Jaime sighed, and pressed his forehead against hers.

“Remember on the ride up when I said that was in your head?”

Brienne nodded, eyes sliding down to the ground. He lifted her chin up to catch her gaze again.

“I can’t see better evidence. Why would Ellyn Tarbeck, a perfect stranger, care about embarrassing you? She took the picture because it was beautiful. She doesn’t know you from Addam.”

“Maybe she does that,” Brienne mumbled.

“Does what?”

“Takes pictures of... big girls.”

Jaime wasn’t sure whether he wanted to bang his head against the window or cover her in kisses to prove how beautiful she was.

“Ellyn Tarbeck is a wedding photographer for Vogue. She doesn’t take pictures of big girls. She does artsy crap like a groom lifting a bride’s veil at sunset. Now get out of the car.”

“Why?”

“Because we are driving back to Tarbeck Hall and she is going to show you her photography. Let’s make a deal. If you look at her other photos and think they’re beautiful, then it means the photos of you are also beautiful, and that voice in your head belongs to a prepubescent Ron Connington and he can go to hell. If you don’t like her other photos, then I’ll smash her camera to little bits.”

Brienne gave a watery smile.

“Even if I don’t like her other photos, you can’t do that. Just make her delete them.”

“Deal,” Jaime leaned over and kissed the tip of her perfectly freckled nose.

Had he thought the ride up was tense? It was nothing compared to the return, when he was so close to vanquishing this demon. If he’d fucked up his sabotage mission, he would have just moved on to the next plan, and the next, and the next. Never would he get such a perfect opportunity to make Brienne see herself as he saw her again.

They pulled up to the mansion and Jaime hopped out determinedly, before Brienne could change her mind. He rang the doorbell.

There was a pause, during which Brienne slowly let herself out and joined him with a hangdog expression.

The door opened.

“Have you changed your mind?” Ellyn Tarbeck demanded of Brienne while ignoring Jaime completely.

“I... I mean we,” Brienne stammered.

“Brienne would like to see some of your other art. She wants to know in what kind of context you might conceivably reproduce these images,” Jaime cut in.

“Oh,” Ellyn Tarbeck looked blankly surprised. “Well I suppose there’s no harm.”

All the same, she seemed dangerously close to shutting the door on Jaime. Only Brienne lacing her fingers into his stayed the woman’s scowl.

“I’ll let you look at a few coffee table books,” the photographer ushered them into an enormous library. She began pulling out large books, seemingly at random, and tossing them on a sofa for Brienne to peruse. “If I’m not working on commission, this is my bread and butter. I like that one there—Life in the Ruins of Valyria. Here’s a couple wedding books; not my best work, but it’s what the public wants. Here’s one from my time in the Iron Islands. I’ll give you a few minutes to flip through, while I make some tea. Please let me know if you have any questions.”

Brienne nodded with a polite smile and Ellyn Tarbeck excused herself.

Jaime claimed the book of the Iron Islands, flipping through it efficiently, and shortly finding a similar photo of some girls sunbathing on a rocky outcrop. There could be no doubt that they met all traditional definitions of beauty—one caught lowering herself into the water could well have been a mermaid. He turned to show Brienne, but caught her looking down at a photo from old Valyria, a child touching her mother’s face, oblivious to the melted spires of rock behind them. Brienne was smiling down at it a trace wistfully. Jaime decided to let her explore at her own pace, though he did leave the Iron Islands book open to the page he’d found.

There was a companionable silence while Brienne buried herself into the books, meticulously studying each page. Jaime meticulously studied the way she wet her lips in concentration, the way the light caught her white-blonde eyelashes.

Just as he was starting to feel rather drowsy, the Tarbeck woman returned, holding a mug of tea. She had not offered to make them any, Jaime noted with some disdain.

“I can’t promise I’d ever use your photos, but I might include it in a collection, or a similar installation in an art gallery. If it were in an art gallery, it could be conceivably purchased for a private collection,” she explained crisply. “You could neither limit its distribution nor would you be entitled to any profit I might make. On the other hand, they are quite stunning. My models are typically happy with the results. What do you say?”

“I think,” Brienne blushed, “that might be acceptable.” Jaime squeezed her hand encouragingly. His girlfriend the model! Suck it, Ron Connington.

“But,” she bit her lip. Oh no, was she second-guessing herself? She was making such strides!

“I have a condition,” she said finally.

“No strings on the distribution and no profit-sharing,” Ellyn Tarbeck said sternly. “I will not have you interfering with my artistic expression. And certainly not my bottom line.”

“It’s not that,” Brienne squared her shoulders. “I will sign your waiver if you agree to photograph the Baratheon-Lannister wedding.”

Wait what?

“That is, if it’s okay with you?” Brienne squeezed Jaime’s hand back, an almost imperceptibly triumphant look in her eyes. Jaime managed to smile through gritted teeth.

“Of course...That’s... why we came out here, after all.”

“Good,” Brienne nodded, then turned back to Ellyn Tarbeck. “Do we have a deal?”

Maybe she’d say no. It was only a handful of photos after all. A handful of insanely gorgeous photos. What was that compared to a decades-long blood feud?

Ellyn Tarbeck delicately set down her glass of tea.

“We have a deal.”

Fuck. Fuckity fuck fuck. This had been such a perfect plan. How had it failed? Well he knew how it had failed, and even now he couldn’t be completely upset about the way things had turned out. Still. It had been such a good opportunity. But there would be others. Of course there would. That’s what they had to focus on. That this was just one bite at the apple. One bite that he had slightly screwed up, but only with the very best of intentions. He wondered what Stannis would say to that.

Stannis (What Have You Done 5 of x)

Stannis gently closed the door to his office. He walked over to the couch where he typically had important clients, board members or investors sit and laid down. Delicately he inserted the ear buds into his ears, and closed his eyes as the classical music washed over him.

Today had been... appalling. First, he had to deal managing Robert’s estate, and Cersei’s hare-brained idea for a charitable organization. He knew the Lannisters created “charities” for any passing fancy that they promptly abandoned, but that was not how the Baratheons did business. It didn’t help that she had been swigging a glass of champagne during their Skype call. How was he the only person who didn’t think she was actually pregnant?! The signs were right there!!! It was SO OBVIOUS!!

Then he’d had to deal with a shareholder’s meeting regarding unexpected storms in the Jade Sea that were playing havoc with their shipping routes. There was a possibility that they might miss their projected earnings for the quarter, and everybody was in a testy mood. It didn’t help that Melisandre had been making him sleep on the couch. He was developing a terrible crick in his neck and could barely keep his eyes open.

All because she was annoyed at him for keeping secrets. Of course he was keeping secrets! She certainly wouldn’t approve if he had told her the truth!

After he’d half dozed through the shareholder meeting, he’d had to hurry over to the hospital to meet Robert and Ned, who he had convinced that Renly had been injured in an accident at drama camp.

“So it turns out it wasn’t him,” Stannis said, as they hurried into the waiting room. Ned came to a halt and Robert promptly plowed into him, sending Ned sprawling.

“What do you mean it wasn’t him,” Robert growled.

“Erm, there was a mixup with the campers,” Stannis said tentatively, having not particularly thought this lie through beyond luring Robert and Ned away from Oldtown.

“And you didn’t think to call us?” Ned pushed himself stiffly to his feet.

“Errr... no,” Stannis said blankly. Well playing dumb worked for Robert.

There was a long pause as Ned and Robert stared him down.

“That was very inconsiderate,” Ned said at last.

“I’m sorry,” Stannis offered tepidly.

“We traveled three and a half hours to get here. Robert had engagements he had to cancel,” Ned continued sternly.

“I’m very sorry,” Stannis tried insincerely.

“It’s unlike you to be so careless,” Ned went on. Stannis wanted to grind his teeth, as Ned continued to lecture him on the importance of thoughtfulness, selflessness, family, duty, honor.... Who did he think he was talking to? Robert?!?!? As if Stannis had ever fallen short of the standards of good behavior. Even this was a thoughtful and selfless attempt to save his brother from his worst instincts, and did he get any credit? Of course not!

Speaking of his brother, Robert had been quiet the entire time. Something of a record. When Ned FINALLY ran out steam, Robert only eyed him suspiciously.

After a long pause, Robert cleared his throat.

“You know you can always... talk to me,” he said awkwardly.

“Of course,” Stannis said quickly, the biggest lie he’d told yet.

They stared at each other again.

“Well come on,” Ned finally tugged at Robert’s arm. “We have to get out of city limits before rush hour hits.”

It was with some relief that he had headed back to his and Melisandre’s apartment. Only to confront someone heading down the stairs with an enormous box.

“That looks heavy, let me help,” Stannis scrambled to assist, even as his brain was registering that the person was too short to be Melisandre.

“Don’t worry, I’ve got it,” said the allegedly pregnant Cersei Lannister, shifting her grip on the giant box and continuing down the stairs.

How was he the only person seeing this?!

After a brooding pause, Stannis had decided to go back to the office.

Now as Bach soothingly lulled him into calmness, he was able to let go of some of the outrage that had dogged him all day. It was all about to be over. No more lying or subterfuge, which he had always been terrible at. No more distractions from work. And most importantly, no more Cersei Lannister.

Yes, any moment, Jaime would call on his cell to let him know that Ellyn Tarbeck would be photographing the Lannister-Baratheon wedding over her dead body. Cersei would let Robert know she would be marrying him over her dead body. And this would all be gloriously over.

His cell phone rang. He glanced over. It was Jaime Lannister.

“Success?” Stannis picked up immediately.

“Um... not exactly,” Jaime answered cautiously.

Or it wouldn’t be over. Because nothing ever went according to plan.

“What do you mean, not exactly?” Stannis bit out.

“Well I introduced myself and she naturally freaked out and told us she would never do the wedding and to get the hell off her property.”

“Okay?” Stannis sighed, waiting for the shoe to drop.

“And then she might have snapped some photos of Brienne while we were taking a dip at a local watering hole. Brienne was terribly embarrassed and I encouraged her to go back and meet with Ellyn Tarbeck, so she could see that the photos really were quite lovely. And then one thing led to another, and Brienne said she’d let Tarbeck have the rights to the photos if she did the wedding,” Jaime blurted.

Stannis slowly slid off the couch onto the floor.

“If you think about it, this is actually a good thing,” Jaime said nervously into the silence.

“How?” Stannis asked hollowly.

“Well it’s really done wonders for Brienne’s self-esteem. You know how fixated Cersei is on appearances, and I think it was starting to mess with Brienne a bit, but she’s been pretty proud of the photos. I actually heard her telling her dad about them, and she never brags about things like that.”

“I understand why it might be good for Brienne Tarth’s esteem. I fail to see how this development is good for out objectives,” Stannis ground out.

“Oh,” Jaime said. There was a pause. “Well it’s not.”

There was another long silence.

“I’ll come up with something else,” Jaime said a tad defensively.

“I think you have done QUITE enough,” Stannis retorted. “I will come up with a plan to interfere with the Vogue coverage without your assistance.”

“You?” Jaime sounded doubtful.

“Me!” Stannis huffed. And then he hung up. Because he had been taking a lot of guff from people all day, but one person who was in no position to cast stones was Jaime-can’t-even-take-advantage-of-a-perfectly-good-blood-feud-Lannister.

But Jaime maybe had a point. Hadn’t he just been thinking how bad he was at lying and subterfuge? He wasn’t a particularly sneaky person. How was he going to subtly interfere in the runaway train that was this wedding? Subtly interfere in a way that didn’t make Robert hate him forever?

He needed help. He needed advice.

“Why are you still here, everyone’s gone home,” Davos Seaworth stuck his head in, blinking at finding Stannis sprawled on the ground.

Stannis stared at him. Thank you gods.

“Are you... er... alright?” Davos raised an eyebrow.

“You are my best friend, Davos,” Stannis began. “I hope you know that. I would literally trust you with my life.”

“Did you like have a fall or something? Should we be taking you to the hospital?”

“And I have the utmost respect for your intelligence,” Stannis continued, ignoring him.

“What did you even fall off of? Can I drive you or do we need to call an ambulance?”

“I’m fine,” Stannis struggled to a sitting position, looking up at him. “If you were going to stop a wedding and nobody could know it was you, how would you do it?”

“Bribe the priest?” Davos tried to joke. Stannis considered.

“It’s the High Septon of the Great Sept of Baelor, he probably doesn’t do that sort of thing,” Stannis decided.

“Great Sept of Baelor?! Stannis, are you trying to stop your brother’s wedding?” Davos glared at him.

“Not the wedding per se. Just certain media coverage,” Stannis frowned.

“Well don’t piss off the Sept of Baelor or you’re screwed. I can’t believe Robert and Cersei even managed to get that place. It’s super orthodox you know, and I can’t really picture them taking pre-Cana,” Davos laughed.

Stannis tried to smile, but he really had no idea what Davos was talking about.

“Um pre-Cana?”

Davos saw his expression and sighed.

“Have you ever even been to sept?”

Stannis scratched his head. Cassana Baratheon was the sort of person who considered herself ‘spiritual’ rather than ‘religious’. And Steffon Baratheon was the sort of person who considered himself neither.

“Maybe a couple times at Sevenmas?” Stannis frowned. He definitely remembered Robert getting into the sacramental wine and puking on Renly’s shoes. Renly had cried the whole way home.

“Uh right, the big septs don’t let you get married unless you meet with a septon beforehand. They talk to you about the sacredness of marriage and kids and sex and divorce and stuff. It varies from sept to sept how intense it is. Sometimes it can go for like six months.”

“And you were saying...”

“Just that picturing Robert and Cersei sitting there promising some septon that they’re virgins is a funny thought.”

It was a funny thought. Somehow he couldn’t picture either of them doing that. Something was fishy. And Stannis was going to get to the bottom of it.

“Thank you Davos, you’ve been very helpful.” Stannis stood, brushing himself off.

“I have?” Davos asked doubtfully.

“Yes. Now I’ve got to go make some calls.”

“What about the hospital?”

“What are you talking about?”

“For your concussion?”

“I assure you,” Stannis gave a slightly unnerving grin. “I am thinking perfectly clearly.”

The easiest way to get to the bottom of this was to talk to Robert. And as luck would happen, Robert had been brought up talking quite recently.

Stannis once more picked up his cell phone.

Robert answered on the third or fourth ring. (While such response was not particularly prompt, that he picked up at all was unusual. Stannis was used to having to call several times, and leave copious voicemails and texts before getting any kind of response. Usually in emoji form.)

“Stannis, what’s up?” He said, sounding a little stilted. Like he was on stage but didn’t know his lines. Well that made two of them.

“I was thinking about what you were saying earlier,” Stannis began tentatively.

“Oh?”

“About how we can always talk.”

“Um right.”

There was a pause.

“Did you want to talk?” Robert finally asked, sounding as though he rather hoped the answer was no. Stannis face palmed.

“Yes.”

“Okay, what did you want to talk about?”

Stannis racked his brain.

“I just feel like we haven’t really... talked... in a while,” he finally said tepidly, cursing his lack of a good segue.

“Oh is that what the Venmo request was about?”

Stannis frowned.

“What Venmo request?”

“You were mad I didn’t tell you about the wedding and you’re worried that we’re drifting apart? Awww Stanny!”

Stannis had literally no idea what he was talking about. He habitually split everything. He knew Robert tended toward the belief that over the long run, all expenses would eventually net out. But as far as Stannis was concerned, the best way to net everything out was to split everything and that was that.

But Robert seemed markedly less cautious, and this was at least a path toward discussing the High Sept of Baelor.

“Yes,” he said. “I feel like I don’t know what’s going on in your life.”

The statement was ludicrous. He could literally turn on a television and see what was going on in his brother’s life.

“I’m sorry, that makes complete sense,” Robert said. He could practically feel Robert nodding along earnestly on the other side of the phone.

“How’s er... wedding planning going?” Stannis asked.

“Eh it’s fine. Did I tell you I booked Tom Sevens for the after party? It’s going to be epic!!! And on Tywin Lannister’s dime too, ha!”

Stannis rolled his eyes.

“Cersei does most of it, honestly. The only thing she really put on my plate was getting the photographer today. Good thing Jaime was there to cover right?”

“Yeah, good thing,” Stannis growled.

“He’s not my favorite, but he really saved the day you know.”

“You don’t say.”

“Credit where credit is due right? The whole wedding might have been sunk without him!”

Stannis tried to breathe in through his nose and out through his mouth.

“Say, I had a question about the Sept of Baelor,” he said.

“Ugh, church is such a drag. Remember when we got kicked out because Renly wouldn’t stop crying during Sevenmas mass?”

“We got kicked out because you drank a bottle of sacramental wine!”

“No, it was definitely because Renly wouldn’t stop crying.”

“He was crying because you threw up on his new shoes!”

“Hahahahaha that’s right. See, I told you it was his fault. So what’s the question?”

“Well Davos said there’s some kind of pre-ceremony education course you have to do?”

Robert groaned.

“Ugh it’s the worst. Cersei had her father make a huge donation to get the space, so they’re letting us do most of the classes online. It’s like three hours on Sundays. Cersei just texts me the answers.”

Stannis frowned, first at the flagrant rule bending for those with money, second at the flagrant rule breaking by Robert, and third at the fact that there didn’t seem to be an angle here.

“So it’s a done deal? You just have to do some stuff online?”

Maybe he would have to bribe the septon...

“Well that and meet with some deacon next weekend to get the final nod. They just want someone to talk to you and make sure you’re living in the light of the seven and all that jazz. Cersei is worried they’ll be able to tell she’s pregnant, so she’s sending me with Brienne.”

“How’s that work? Won’t they notice when you show up with a different bride?”

“Nah, it’s not the same guy. This is just some little foot soldier. As long as we seem like good sept-going people, it’ll be fine. Anybody could show up really, it’s not like they check.”

Stannis blinked. And then he smirked. Anybody.

“That gives me an idea,” he said casually. “It seems so silly for you and Brienne to come all this way to King’s Landing when you’re both in Oldtown. Why don’t I take Melisandre?”

“Really? You’d do that?!”

“I would be delighted to assist.”

“Wow that’s… huge. You’re such a good brother. I don’t think you’ve ever let me down in your whole life.”

Stannis shifted uncomfortably.

“Well let’s not get carried away.”

“I’m serious! I would trust you with my life. You would never deliberately screw me over and there’s not many people in the world I can say that about.”

Stannis was having an acute pain somewhere in his gut. He wondered if this was acid reflux.

“I would certainly always act in your best interest,” he managed finally. His gut uncurled slightly.

“No it’s more than that. You always keep your word to the letter,” Robert continued blithely. The stomach ache intensified. “If you give me your word that you’ll go the High Sept and impress the deacon, I know you’ll do it.”

“Eh,” Stannis managed, clutching his side.

“So I have your word that it’s done? I can’t afford something like today’s mix up happening on Sunday!”

Stannis sat heavily, bringing his knees to his chest.

“Stannis, I have your word right?”

There was no helping it.

“Yes,” Stannis managed. He wondered if it was too late to get Davos to take him to the hospital.

Melisandre (What Have You Done 6 of x)

Melisandre did not do weddings. She just... didn’t. She hadn’t liked weddings at the red temple, which were simple hand-tying ceremonies followed by a jump over a pit of coals. She didn’t like weddings, but if you were going to have a wedding, that’s how a wedding should be. Just a pledge of love before R’hllor and maybe a little fire. But even back then, when she had been going to temple, she had felt suspicious of all the guests, the dress, the ring.

It felt performative. Like love wasn’t love unless all your friends and family saw you declaring it. It felt ostentatious, with the five thousand dollar dress that you’d wear once. It felt... fake.

And this wedding, this Frankenstein horror of white lace and pink tulle, was everything that was terrible about weddings rolled into one. Weddings under the faith of the seven already were especially irritating. Melisandre didn’t think it was crazy to point out how completely sexist and archaic the concept of a father giving away his daughter to take on her husband’s family name was. Sure, why not treat an adult woman as chattel? And don’t even get her started on the vows. The woman was supposed to love, cherish and OBEY?!?! Get a fucking dog.

Then add in Cersei, for whom the ostentatious and performative aspects of the wedding were the whole point.

Then add in the part where Stannis was plotting behind her back, thus undoing literally six years of working on their communication issues together.

Then add in... whatever this was.

Cersei delicately put a bite of red velvet cake with vanilla frosting in her mouth. She chewed, an expression of concentration on her face. Then she spat, into the bucket held by the Crossroads Inn pastry chef’s assistant.

“Too moist. The cake overpowers the frosting,” she announced. The chef and his assistant and the owner of the Crossroads Inn all nodded gravely. Melisandre looked out the window.

“Are you getting this down, Melisandre?!” Cersei snapped. With a sigh, Melisandre produced her notebook.

“Sample 63: Too moist. Frosting overpowered,” she read dully.

Cersei nodded in satisfaction, previous equanimity restored. She took a swish of her sparkling apple cider to cleanse her palette and waved an imperious hand for the next sample.

But the worst part of this whole wedding nonsense, hands down, was her involvement. It had been a terrible confluence of needing to beat Stannis at his own game and needing to save Brienne from her silly self-effacing self. And now, she was watching as Cersei took a mere sniff of carrot-cake before bellowing “NEXT!”

Sample 64: Carrot-cake.

The dreary fact was that Melisandre was the only bridesmaid in King’s Landing. There were good, sensible reasons that she should be shouldering some of this burden. At least if she didn’t want Cersei Lannister, Queen of the World, to pitch a fit and ban her from the wedding. Cake tasting, at the time, had seemed like a low-key, even fun activity to choose. But she didn’t even get to try the samples!!

Cersei spit a piece of what looked like German chocolate cake into the bin.

“Too rich!”

Sample 65: Too rich.

“I think I’ll do four layers, each with a different flavor,” Cersei said to Melisandre as Melisandre carefully drove them both back to her apartment.

“The largest base layer will be vanilla and vanilla cream icing. Simple, elegant, and it will taste completely boring. I can give it to the second tier wedding guests and anyone who has displease me,” Cersei turned the rear view mirror so she could fluff her hair.

Melisandre turned the rear view mirror back to its original position.

“The second layer will be that devil’s deluxe chocolate with the sea salt sprinkles,” Cersei continued, ignoring her entirely.

Melisandre tuned out the discussion of the third and fourth layer, idly wondering what she would have for dinner. And what Stannis would not be having for dinner. Let’s see how he liked fending for himself when he got home from the office.

She pulled into her parking garage. She had gotten into the service elevator, gotten out on her floor, walked down the hallway and had her key in the lock before she realized that Cersei was still trailing after her, wondering where she could get a tiny bride and groom of spun sugar perfectly modeled on her and Robert.

Melisandre grudgingly let her in, while fantasizing biting the head off a tiny spun sugar perfectly modeled on Cersei Lannister.

“This is nice,” Cersei looked around their lofted apartment. “It will be so easy to child proof when you and Stannis get married.”

Melisandre schooled her features into a smooth blankness so that she wouldn’t flinch at Cersei’s remarks. She hated weddings.

“Let me give you the grand tour,” Melisandre said politely to change the subject. Unfortunately that meant Cersei pursing her lips over every streak of dust—“you should just get a housekeeper, that’s what I do”—and shaking her head over every pot in the sink—“you don’t have a chef?!”—and even the box that the tv had come from that she hadn’t bothered to ever move out of their bedroom—“really it’s an empty box, I’ll move it myself.”

It was as Cersei accomplished the latter task that Stannis came in. Melisandre took some dark joy in the expression of frozen outrage when he spotted her.

“Stannis, don’t mind us. We’re just doing some wedding prep,” Melisandre slid her arm around Cersei’s waist. Cersei beamed at her. “You know how excited I am about the wedding!” Melisandre added, just to twist the knife.

“Excuse me... I... I forgot something at the office,” Stannis muttered, looking like he might puke. He hurried back out the door.

“Melisandre, I’m touched,” Cersei said. “You know, maybe this is silly, but I always got the sense that you didn’t like me very much.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Melisandre said weakly.

“And you seemed very unenthused about the wedding,” Cersei continued.

“Nothing to do with you,” Melisandre said, this time truthfully.

“I suppose it is silly. Well I’m glad to share this moment with you,” Cersei squeezed her into a hug. Melisandre went stiff. She didn’t do hugs. “It’s nice to have another friend I can trust.”

“Well off you go,” Melisandre gently disentangled herself. “I’d hate for you to hit the rush hour traffic getting out of here.”

“Oh so true,” Cersei dropped the tender act briskly. “Let’s circle up regarding the final menu. Toodles.”

And she was gone.

Melisandre went to the freezer and got out a pint of ice cream. She proceeded to collapse on the couch.

She was still there when Stannis came back several hours later.

“Is she gone?” He asked abruptly.

Melisandre arched an eyebrow at him, and took another spoonful of ice cream.

“You’re being so childish, just tell me what’s wrong,” he huffed.

Like he didn’t know exactly what was wrong.

After a brief staring contest, Stannis looked away.

“I signed us up for some more wedding duties,” he said stiffly.

What?

“What?” She said, ice cream forgotten.

“Well you did say you were so excited about it,” Stannis said in a faux innocent voice that wouldn’t have fooled Robert.

“What are we doing?” She growled.

“Pretending to be Robert and Cersei to meet with a deacon at the High Sept of Baelor this weekend,” Stannis shrugged.

Huh. Obviously he was planning something, but this sounded kind of innocuous?

“You know it would be highly unethical to volunteer to help, and then use that opportunity to mess up this wedding,” Melisandre pointed out.

Stannis took a deep breath.

“As a matter of fact, I do. So let’s make a deal.”

“A deal?” Melisandre inquired suspiciously.

“You’ll do all the talking,” Stannis said.

Melisandre considered. If there was a trap here, she wasn’t seeing it. What better way to make sure Stannis behaved?

“Deal,” she said firmly. And caught just the tiniest glint of triumph in his eye.

Honestly, between her job at the research lab and staying mad at Stannis and Cersei’s incessant wedding related chatter, she kind of forgot about it. The engagement party was coming up, and Cersei had been doing her level best to drum up the publicity to an unbearable level. Some tidbit of news about the wedding was front page of the Daily Ravyn every day—Melisandre could only imagine what strings Cersei was pulling with Varys to make that happen. She’d given the exclusive engagement party coverage rights to Agora (but confided that both Varys and Petyr Baelish had been invited as guests, so if they happened to snap a photo or two or write about their own experiences, it was hardly her fault).

She’d even had that thrice damned advertisement for Storms Ending Summer Camps playing non-stop every day. It was bad enough that the jingle at the end was unbearable catchy. Melisandre had found herself humming it in the shower. Much worse was the uncomfortable realization that in a certain light, her brother’s boyfriend might actually be... hot?

Which was terrible! It was BERIC. He was shy and awkward and if he and Thoros were doing anything, it was like holding hands or cuddling or something. That’s how Melisandre preferred to think about it anyway, and any intrusion upon that world view was most unwelcome.

And don’t even get her started on the invitation to the engagement party. It had come in a package, and Melisandre had immediately gotten excited, because who doesn’t love surprise packages? She’d opened the package and inside was a beautiful carved wooden box. She’d opened the box, and some kind of trigger activated a song—a music box? It was a jaunty little ditty, and the box was fully of sandalwood shavings that smelled heavenly. There had been a scroll in the shavings and she had plucked it out with some curiosity. Only to discover with horror that it had been sealed in red wax with a golden lion etched in the center.

Grimly, she had grabbed a letter opener and given the lion a sharp thrust to the heart.

In perfect calligraphy, she had been invited to a party at Casterly Rock to celebrate the engagement of Miss Cersei Joanna Lannister to Mr. Robert Orys Baratheon. The party was naturally on the weekend of Westeros’ national heritage day—so like Cersei to claim a long weekend when everybody might have better things they wanted to do, when the price of flights would naturally be higher and... Melisandre had suddenly realized that the tune was in fact a remixed version of “Rains of Castamere”, a folk song long associated with the Lannister family. With a shudder of horror she had slammed the box shut. Only to see that the wooden carvings which she had dimly registered initially were a border of intertwining lions and stags. Melisandre had hissed and shoved the box away.

So yes, with the lead up to the engagement party on top of everything else, it might have slipped her mind that Stannis had uncharacteristically volunteered them for this sept thing.

Slipped her mind, that was, until Stannis unceremoniously shook her awake at 8am on a Sunday morning.

“It’s the weekend!!” Melisandre groaned and snuggled deeper.

“We’ll be late to the High Sept,” Stannis said patiently. “I mean that’s fine with me...”

“Ugh no, I’m getting up,” Melisandre sighed. Then it turned out she didn’t really have any sept appropriate clothing. She ended up using one of her work outfits, and then putting a sweater on over that and then buttoning it to the top just to be safe.

Stannis frowned when he saw her outfit.

Melisandre blinked.

“Were you expecting me to go to the Sept in one of my red dresses?” She asked slowly.

“No!” Stannis said, but his gaze skittered away from her.

Melisandre brushed a bit of lint of this sweater, which she had worn in the lord knew how long.

“Are you expecting me to tank this meeting?” She scowled. That was totally it, wasn’t it?! He thought she was going to be all fire and brimstone and salt and smoke and get Robert and Cersei kicked out of the sept!

“No,” Stannis repeated, still staring out the window.

“Good,” Melisandre bared her teeth in an approximation of a smile. “Because I’m not going to.”

A promise that was perhaps easier said than done.

As VIPs, they were ushered first through the Great Sept itself, then through a series of gardens and courtyards and shrines to various aspects of the Seven, then, standing before a small unassuming door, they were asked to wait in an alcove with a beatific Maiden statue.

Melisandre scowled at its vacuous expression. Each successive space, overflowing with opulence and the kind of wealth that could be working to improve the lives of the faithful rather than smother their senses in unthinking awe, had left her in a worse mood.

It was quite different from the spartan halls of the Red Temple, and Melisandre felt a nostalgic ache for the smoky steps in High Hill. She and Thoros had left their temple on bad terms (well Thoros had been thrown out and she had left), but it didn’t mean that she didn’t miss it.

In contrast, here she was standing in front of a marble statue of a simpering Maiden some fourteen feet tall, clutching some kind of fabric in a strange pretense of modesty from what was an undeniably erotic piece of art. This is exactly what was wrong with the Seven, Melisandre sniffed. It fetishized and sexualized purity and demonized sex. You were an innocent, a mother or a witch. Those were your options. Melisandre would choose witch every time.

The door opened, and Melisandre pasted a demure smile on her face.

Except this time.

“Welcome my children, I’m Brother Ray,” the deacon beamed at them, and Melisandre fought not to roll her eyes.

He ushered them into a cozy room that had been furnished like a study, taking a seat in a plush armchair and waving a hand at the couch across from him. Melisandre sat, smoothing her skirt carefully, and Stannis followed suit.

“The online process is just so impersonal. We felt it was important to spend at least one afternoon getting to know you as people,” he gave a saccharine smile. “We just want to make sure it’s a good fit.”

We just want to make sure you conform to our oppressive, gendered and outdated mold, Melisandre snarked to herself.

“Of course,” she said instead, and tried to give a little laugh like Cersei did. When the deacon looked alarmed, she turned it into a cough.

“Are you frequent sept-goers?” The deacon asked Stannis.

“She’s really the religious one,” Stannis squeezed her shoulders.

R’hllorites didn’t believe in hell, but maybe she could make an exception for Stannis.

“And you Miss Lannister? Do you attend sept often?”

“Every Sunday,” Melisandre answered stoically.

“How would you say the Seven guide you in your every day life?”

Melisandre felt her mind blank out. This was like one of those nightmares she used to have in school about taking a test she hadn’t studied for. That was, if the test was also on principles that she loathed with every fiber of her being.

“Well... I pray to the Maiden, obviously,” Melisandre finally blurted.

“Do you? What do you pray for?” The deacon asked mildly.

“Ummm, protection? From... from... temptation!”

“Temptation? Like...” the deacon prodded.

“Sex! And um, lustful thoughts?”

Beside her, Stannis snorted. Ass.

“So you’re a virgin?” The deacon inquired.

“Of course,” Melisandre said through gritted teeth, kicking Stannis sharply in the ankle.

“My, that’s rather unusual in this day and age,” the deacon frowned. What?! Wasn’t that what she was supposed to say?

“I’m just... rather old-school in my beliefs,” Melisandre managed.

“And you?” The deacon turned to Stannis.

“I hadn’t had any sexual relations before we met,” Stannis replied, an answer which managed to be both literally truthful and situationally appropriate. Show-off.

“And have the two of you discussed family planning?” The deacon asked.

The ensuing lecture on remedial sexual education left even Stannis blushing. Melisandre FULLY believed in body positivity as much as the next person, there was something about being encouraged to explore an anatomically correct model of the vagina by a man who went by Brother Ray that left her thinking celibacy was underrated.

Finally, they were off that topic. Thank the lord.

“Now let’s discuss healthy conflict resolution,” Brother Ray beamed.

Shit.

“Open communication is key to any relationship,” Ray began.

“So keeping secrets would be bad,” Melisandre said sweetly.

“Or being passive-aggressive,” Stannis glared back at her.

How about just aggressive? Melisandre thought as she narrowed her eyes.

“I love how you’re engaging with this material,” Brother Ray piped in. “Now why don’t we try some role play. Robert, why don’t you pretend to be Cersei. I’m going to give you some criticism, and I want you to react as Cersei would.”

He cleared his throat.

“Cersei, it’s your turn to take out the garbage and I’m frustrated that you keep putting it off.”

Stannis crossed his arms and sat silently.

First, that was a terrible Cersei impression. Second it was an even worse Melisandre impression! She didn’t just launch into silent treatment when she was in the wrong, this was clearly when she was in the right and Stannis was being a frustrating asshat! He had failed at communicating first! She was just giving him a taste of her own medicine!

“So you’re saying Cersei shuts down,” Brother Ray leaned forward. “Cersei, what would you say to that?”

“Robert knows why I haven’t been taking out the garbage,” Melisandre growled. “It’s because he’s keeping a secret from me even though the last time he did that, things got really out of control and he ended up in the hospital.”

“Okay but first it’s not really a secret if you know about it—“

“IT’S THE PRINCIPLE!”

“and second it’s not that kind of secret and you know it—“

“AGAIN IT’S THE PRINCIPLE!”

“and third you’ll just yell at me!”

“Okay well why don’t we talk about yelling,” Brother Ray interjected hastily. “It’s important when resolving conflict for each party to feel heard. I want you both to start by paraphrasing the other’s point, leading with ‘I appreciate that you feel...’ and going from there. Robert?”

Stannis didn’t respond. Melisandre kicked him.

“Oh right! Ahem, CERSEI, I appreciate that you feel worried about me when I keep secrets. That it... hurts your feelings,” Stannis swallowed. “Please know that it was never my intention. I just knew you wouldn’t approve and I didn’t want to disappoint you.”

Huh. Okay maybe Brother Ray wasn’t a total waste.

“Robert,” Melisandre began, rolling her eyes. “I appreciate that you get frustrated when I won’t talk to you. Because... because you love me and it makes you feel shut out. And I only get so frustrated because I love you too.”

Stannis squeezed her hand. Melisandre swallowed.

“Wow, really well done,” Brother Ray nodded his head enthusiastically. “Okay, I admit I had some doubts initially, but I think we’re done here.”

“Done?” Melisandre frowned.

“Yes, I think the two of you are ready to get married,” the deacon stood. He shook Stannis’ head firmly, and as Melisandre reeled, he pulled her into a hearty hug. Ugh, hugging. Still, she had to admit, this Brother Ray gave pretty good hug.

They exited the Sept complex in kind of a daze. They didn’t speak to each other at all until they got back to Stannis’ car and sat. Automatically, Stannis locked the doors.

“I meant what I said back there,” he said quietly.

“I know. I did too.”

“So you’re not mad?”

“A little mad. But Stannis—I need you to call Jaime Lannister up right now and tell him you’re done with this. Please—I don’t know how much more wedding warfare I can take,” Melisandre said, trying to hold his gaze.

“You... might be right,” Stannis sighed heavily. “I just don’t want Robert to throw his life away on this. She’s not really pregnant!”

Melisandre massaged her temples.

“I assure you, she really really is,” she ground out. “Now call Jaime. On speaker.”

Stannis huffed, but did as she commanded.

“How did the High Sept go?” Jaime asked immediately.

“There was an issue,” Stannis scowled.

“...being?”

“That it went really well. The deacon assures us we’re ready to get married.”

“How very nice for you,” Jaime sighed. “I don’t suppose you have any more bright ideas?”

“As a matter of fact I don’t,” Stannis looked over at Melisandre. “I’m done.”

“Wait wait wait.... you don’t mean...”

“I’m out,” he said firmly. Melisandre gave him a small smile. She hoped Jaime wasn’t too upset.

“I should have known,” Jaime drawled.

Okay, not upset.

“Excuse me?!” Stannis sputtered.

“It’s just like you to give up when things get hard! This is exactly like when we tried to stop the mayor!”

“I GOT SHOT!!!”

“I’m disappointed in you, Baratheon. Melisandre got to you didn’t she?!”

“I’m evaluating my priorities,” Stannis growled. “Much as I believe you did in your interaction with Ellyn Tarbeck.”

“Hey!”

“I’m going to hang up now.”

“FINE! Well I didn’t want to have to do this, but you leave me no choice.”

“What? Are you going to call Robert and tell him I won’t help you break up his wedding anymore?” Stannis rolled his eyes.

“I’m activating my fail-safe. Just remember, you brought this on yourself.”

“If you had a secret atom bomb that would nuke this wedding, I think you would have dropped it by now,” Stannis said suspiciously.

“Maybe I was worried about collateral damage. And maybe I was holding back. But I’m not so worried any more,” Jaime growled.

“You’re bluffing,” Stannis scoffed.

“I assure you I’m not,” Jaime replied evenly. “But I suppose you’ll find out. See you at the engagement party.”

He hung up.

Melisandre and Stannis sat staring at his cell.

Why did she feel like things had not improved?

Thoros (What Have You Done 7 of x)

Thoros got to the bar early, as it was his turn to open. Honestly, he was a little relieved that he could go to his full-time job and just get a break from thinking about the hit his finances were going to take from this stag party, keeping Beric from having a nervous breakdown over that commercial and where he was going to find time and room in his budget to rent a tuxedo (naturally the engagement party was black tie... like everyone just had tuxedos lying around?!).

No sooner had he opened the bar than Jenny Oldstones and her grandmother appeared. He would have called it spooky timing, except Jenny had been basically stalking him to get closer to the love of her life. Which was great. She was a good kid. He just wished she had chosen someone more age-appropriate to have a crush on. Who didn’t happen to be his boyfriend.

“Ember,” the old woman beamed at him. Thoros gave a gallant bow back and she laughed. She always claimed he smelled of smoke, and he had learned to just play along.

“Wood witch!” He tossed her the keys and she made them disappear with magical swiftness.

“C’mon gran, he isn’t here yet,” Jenny whispered, tugging her toward the door to their apartment above.

“Um actually, Mrs. Oldstones, may I have a word?” Thoros asked.

She lingered as her daughter retreated with a wave.

“I’ve worked here part time for three years and full time now for three, and I was hoping I could get a raise,” Thoros said, holding his breath.

“I see two stags running with a wolf and a viper,” the tiny gnarled woman said wisely. “There’s a fat flower and lightning and I see you too. Not a lion in sight, but lions are far-seeing.”

“Um okay,” Thoros blinked. “Is that a yes?”

“It’s a no,” she patted his hand. “But I’ll give you time off.”

The door swung behind her and Thoros sighed. He wondered if Dorne would take IOUs. Maybe he could just show up with a huge handful of paper notes and hand them out everywhere they went. That would be fine right?

With a snort at the image, he started unloading the clean glasses. Maybe he’d get lucky on tips. Sure a lot of the students didn’t bother, but classes at the Citadel had finished last week and they were due to see some tourist traffic. Probably the very next person to walk into this bar would be some heavy drinking heavy tipping out of towner.

The door swung open and Thoros looked up expectantly.

Oberyn Martell strolled in.

Fuck. Well two out of three was a start.

“What do you want?” Thoros said suspiciously.

“Is that anyway to greet an old friend,” Oberyn grinned.

“You’re just here for the free drinks,” Thoros sighed.

“Yup, got twenty minutes to kill before a date.”

“Aren’t you here visiting your daughter?”

“Can’t a man do both?”

“Apparently,” Thoros laughed and started to pour Oberyn one of the dry Dornish ciders they had on tap.

“Getting excited for the Water Palaces?” Oberyn asked cheerfully. “You haven’t lived until you’ve tried the Dornish spiced wine.”

“I can’t believe your brother has a summer palace,” Thoros said. Sometimes he forgot that while Beric’s parents were pretty wealthy, Robert and most of his other friends were like astronomically wealthy.

“I can’t believe he’s letting us use it,” Oberyn gave a languid shrug. “He doesn’t typically trust me.”

“I wonder why,” Thoros said drily.

“Is that any way to speak to the guy who rescued you from faking a coma to get out of the stag party?” Oberyn shook his head.

“Ned told you?!” Thoros groaned.

“I guessed. But you’re sorted now right?”

“Just need the money to pay for this rental tux, and then the restaurants in Dorne, and then the stupid morning suits and pink pocket squares Cersei wants us to wear,” Thoros rubbed his temples. “And nobody fucking tips around here,” he shot Oberyn a meaningful glare which he ignored. “But I’m the bartender, aren’t you supposed to be telling me your problems?”

“I’m worried about Mace,” Oberyn sighed. “Ever since he knocked up that Alerie Hightower in college, he’s been a nervous wreck. He was plucked before his prime, Thoros. He never got a chance to bloom.”

“We can’t all have two children with two mothers on two continents,” Thoros rolled his eyes.

“Three,” Oberyn said with some modesty. “Ellaria’s expecting.”

Thoros topped off Oberyn’s glass and poured one for himself to toast.

“What are we drinking to?” Beric came in, still wearing his suit from his summer internship at the courthouse and looking a little woeful.

“Oberyn’s a dad! Again!” Thoros laughed.

“Third time’s charmed,” Beric patted Oberyn on the back. Then he swiped Thoros’ glass and drained it.

“What’s wrong?” Thoros frowned.

“There’s a hashtag,” Beric said miserably.

“See this is why I don’t use social media,” Thoros replied patiently. Suddenly, they heard someone running down the staircase at the far side of the bar.

“Hide me!!” Beric blurted, his one eye huge.

Thoros sighed and let him around the back of the bar, where he crawled into the space normally occupied by the garbage bin, dragging the bin back in after him.

Jenny burst into the bar panting slightly.

“Hi!” She said to Oberyn, her face abruptly falling when she realized he wasn’t who she thought he was.

“Hello,” Oberyn put his phone away and gave her a smirk. Thoros smacked him in the back of the head.

“I thought I saw your roommate come in from the window upstairs,” she mumbled to Thoros. (Thoros hadn’t had the heart to embarrass her by breaking the news of their relationship yet.)

“Looks like you’re stuck with me,” Oberyn said smoothly. “Can I buy you a drink?”

Thoros was reaching to hit him again when Jenny saved him the trouble.

“Gross, I’m fifteen, old man. Now get lost, PERV!”

She stomped out.

Thoros tried to swallow his laugh. From Oberyn’s glare, not very successfully.

“Is she gone?” Beric whispered from behind the garbage.

“What in the seven hells is going on?!” Oberyn said slowly. “Since when does Beric have more game than me?!”

“You haven’t seen the commercial?” Thoros asked, dragging the garbage out. “Coast is clear,” he nudged Beric with his foot.

Beric emerged looking sheepish.

“With him and Robert? How could I miss it,” Oberyn rolled his eyes.

“It’s made him irresistible, but only to young women,” Thoros grinned.

“There’s a hashtag,” Beric repeated, shoving his phone in Oberyn’s face. Oberyn inspected it.

“#oneeyedhottie,” he read. Then he smirked.

“Hey Beric, while you’re back there, can you get me a bottle of that good tequila? The one Thoros can’t reach?!”

“I’m taller than you!” Thoros growled at Oberyn.

“No problem,” Beric meanwhile said politely, reaching up to get it. Oberyn lifted his phone and snapped a photo.

“Hey what—“ Beric turned back flustered on hearing the sound.

“#oneeyedhottie tends bar at #highheart,” Oberyn narrated as he typed in his phone, fending off Beric with one arm at the same time. There was a whooshing sound as he uploaded the photo.

“What in the seven hells?!” Beric snapped.

“Yeah, Oberyn, what gives,” Thoros frowned.

Sure he did kind of think it was good for Beric to internalize that not everybody just saw him as an eye-patch with scars, but Oberyn wasn’t the one that had to lure him out of the apartment every day.

“I’m solving your tipping problem,” Oberyn yawned. “Do you have a sharpie?”

“Here,” Thoros handed it over. Oberyn wrote ‘TIPS’ on one of the now empty cups.

“Gee, why didn’t I think of that,” Thoros snarked.

“Not the cup idiot. Beric. His many female admirers will come flocking to the bar to be served by him, and I’m sure they’ll be eager to impress.”

“First, they would be Beric’s tips not mine. Second, did it ever occur to you that maybe he doesn’t want to do this?”

“I’ll do it,” Beric said immediately.

Thoros turned and Beric blushed.

“I just... I know it’s been an expensive summer and you’re worried about it. And this is mortifying already, why shouldn’t we get some tips out of it? Plus I can’t actually make the drinks you know. I’m just handing them to people. It’s your money.”

Thoros considered.

“We’ll split it. If it works.”

“My post has... four hundred and sixteen likes,” Oberyn checked his phone.

“Well as always, the pleasure has been all yours,” he winked and strolled out.

Thoros and Beric looked at each other. From the far end of the bar, there was the sound of someone running down the stairs.

“Hi Jenny,” Beric said politely.

“Ohmygoshareyoutendingbartonight?!?! That’s so cool!!”

“Do you want a ginger ale or something?”

“Sure!” Jenny beamed at him, and stuck a dollar in the jar.

The bar was two-deep with mostly legal customers and Thoros felt serenely happy. He’d had to empty the tip jar twice. Oberyn might make a lot of trouble, but he wasn’t such a bad guy, Thoros decided. Also life was great. Beric was stammering and blushing his way through flirting with the customers and it was adorable. Plus this meant he’d be around when the bar closed. And Thoros could think of plenty of ways for Beric to... help him close the bar down. Heh. Nope, nothing could ruin this night.

Jaime Lannister walked into the bar.

Thoros mentally facepalmed and continued making the cosmo-tini a sorority girl had just ordered with renewed focus. If you don’t make eye contact, he probably won’t even notice you, he told himself as he twisted a lime peel.

Jaime arched an eyebrow at the crowd surrounding Beric and instead made a beeline to the stool across the bar from where Thoros was working.

Thoros kept his head bent to the task at hand, emptying another container of cranberry juice. Had they ever run out of cranberry juice before?

Jaime cleared his throat.

Thoros arced the cranberry juice into the recycling bin, and then bent down into the fridge to see if there was any more.

“Hey! Asshai!” Jaime yelled.

Oh! There it was in the back. Thoros started to reach in, only for someone to grab his top-knot and pull. Hard.

“What can I get you?” Thoros asked glaring and rubbing the top of his head.

“A fucking miracle,” Jaime huffed.

“Not on the menu,” Thoros gave an apathetic shrug. Great, another non-tipper.

“Of course you can’t help,” Jaime sulked, slouching deeper on his stool. “How could anyone understand what it’s like to have a sister that you would DO ANYTHING for, and have to watch her throw her life away on someone who’s not nearly good enough?!”

Thoros blinked.

“And the worst part of it is that she’s so friggin’ vicious when she gets mad! I can’t even tell her he sucks to her face! She would just marry him out of spite!”

Thoros sighed and poured him a beer.

“Nobody understands me,” Jaime sulked. He took the beer absent-mindedly without acknowledging it in the slightest.

“I need a fail-safe plan. Do you have a fail-safe plan?”

“Run away and live in the woods,” Thoros said matter-of-factly.

“Of course you don’t have a fail-safe plan. How could you? How could anybody have a plan to stop this disaster of a wedding?”

Thoros finished the next drink and passed it to Beric, who gave him a bemused smile as a girl wrote her number on a cocktail napkin. He really REALLY couldn’t wait until everybody left.

“If Cersei can’t ruin this wedding with her unreasonably high expectations, and Robert can’t ruin this wedding with his laziness, WHO WILL RUIN THIS WEDDING?!” Jaime demanded the moment he returned, waving his empty glass for emphasis.

Thoros yoinked the glass from his grip before he could break it and refilled it for him. He tried to be polite and neutral through the ensuing six hours as Jaime proposed increasingly absurd and/or illegal solutions to this disaster, including but not limited to burning down the High Sept with wildfire.

“I shouldn’t have threatened Stannis with a nuclear option when I didn’t have a nuclear option,” Jaime groaned, feebly pushing his glass toward Thoros. “Now I need to find a plan that ruins the wedding AND sticks it to Stannis.”

Thoros had been considering charging him for this drink but decided not to. Maybe that would teach the crazy old bat to give hard-working loyal employees the raises they deserved.

He refilled, and pushed it back.

“Thoros,” Beric whispered. “They keep ordering sex on the beach and winking! What do I do?!”

“Wink back?” Thoros teased. Beric glared.

“I’m doing this for you, you know.”

“I know, and I’m very grateful, my lord,” Thoros ruffled his hair. “I will make the cocktails, you just focus on survival.”

“It’s easy for you to say!” Beric snarked, but he leaned into Thoros’ hand anyway. “They’re completely besotted. It’s worse than ever!”

“It’s the bartender effect,” Thoros said wisely. “Everyone is hotter behind the bar. It’s magnifying your already dangerous levels of the hotness.”

“I don’t have dangerous levels of hotness!” Beric stammered, loosening his tie. There was a thud as a girl fainted.

Beric flushed.

“I need an exit strategy.”

“Don’t we all,” Jaime sighed, abruptly joining the conversation.

“You be quiet,” Thoros said sternly. “Your thing is completely different. Beric, you do a last call. I’ll hit the lights and you can duck under the bar. Then I’ll say you went out the back.”

Jaime rested his head on the bar and poked at the ‘TIPS’ cup that needed to be emptied once more.

“You’re just smug because Oberyn solved your money problems with the whole Water Palace thing. And pimping out your boyfriend on Ravengram.”

“How do YOU know about my money problems?!” Thoros growled.

“Do you have to put it that way?!” Beric called over his shoulder as he tried to signed a girl’s very tight t-shirt without actually making contact with any part of her.

“Oberyn said something about it in bed with Ned and Robert,” Jaime yawned. “And yes I do,” he turned to look at Beric.

“This is the last call!” Beric raised his voice while glaring at Jaime.

They managed to refill their ‘TIPS’ cup one more time before Thoros obediently hit the lights. And poof, Beric had disappeared. It was like magic, if magic involved his boyfriend once more cowering behind the garbage.

“I think he went out the back!” Thoros exclaimed in a shocked voice when the lights came back on. There was a general stampede, and as he hung the ‘Closed’ sign, Thoros let himself imagine a perfectly empty bar with just him and Beric.

The dust cleared.

Jaime Lannister was still perched on his stool, the very last customer.

Thoros glared.

“I said last call Lannister. Don’t you have a girlfriend to visit or something?”

“I am not moving from this stool until the answer to my problems comes walking through that door,” Jaime said stubbornly, shoving the glass at him.

Thoros gritted his teeth and began to fill it, resolving to DEFINITELY charge him for this one, when the door opened.

Jaime and Thoros both turned to stare. Even Beric furtively popped his head out.

Ned Stark came shuffling in.

Jaime began to bang his head on the bar.

Thoros considered joining him. He had closed the bar! He had hung the sign and everything! Why were people still here?! It was supposed to just be him and Beric!!!

“It’s last call,” Thoros said to Ned, trying to be polite.

“I hate you, now leave,” Jaime added, not trying to be polite.

“I got a text Jon Arryn,” Ned said in a hollow voice, ignoring them both and collapsing onto a stool.

“Our Lit teacher from high school?” Thoros frowned. Weird. He avoided contact with teachers as a rule.

“He’s like a second dad to me,” Ned said dully. “He’s in the Summer Islands this week, and he’s friends with Hoster Tully so they had drinks. Hoster tried to set him up with Cat! He said our marriage is on the rocks and if Jon had any interest he could arrange a date.”

Ugh fine. Thoros poured him a glass of beer too.

Ned took a long swig.

“Her father is trying to ruin our marriage!! And I know she can think for herself, but she places way to much importance on his opinion and I’m getting super freaked out!”

Jaime had straightened and was looking at Ned blankly.

“If her father demanded she dump me, would she do it??” Ned asked the world at large.

“Why would he ask? The whole marriage was his idea,” Jaime mumbled to himself.

Thoros started to tell Jaime to stop talking about his thing, that it was Ned’s turn, but Ned got there first.

“Her father hates me! And Jon Arryn’s his best friend! Like from childhood!”

Jaime opened his mouth to say something and then stopped. A slow smile was spreading over his face.

“It’s brilliant,” he whispered, and Thoros felt the back of his neck prickle with a sense of foreboding.

“Stark, c’mon. It’s late and we’ve gotta get back to Robert’s,” Jaime straightened and slung an arm over Ned’s shoulders.

“Why are you being nice to me?” Thoros heard Ned ask as Jaime ushered him out of the bar.

Thoros noted that neither had bothered to tip. His friends were assholes.

“Is it safe?” Beric asked, looking sheepish as he emerged.

Well, except for one.

“Just you and me,” Thoros drawled and Beric blushed. What to do, what to do, what to do…

That weird feeling of foreboding hadn’t really gone away, but Thoros resolutely ignored it as he hopped up on the bar and grabbed Beric’s tie to pull him closer. Jaime’s evil plans were somebody else’s problem. He just hoped he was somewhere far away when the bomb dropped.

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