Two
Her bosom heaved with some emotion she was too frightened to name as Ser Lancel clasped her in his strong arms and yanked her flush against his broad, firmly muscled chest.
"Insolent wench," he growled, and she gasped with outrage. "I'll teach you to tease me so unmercifully!"
His lips descended towards hers and she wondered if he could feel her wildly fluttering heart, her trembling fuelled in equal measure by fear and forbidden desire. Her breasts tightened, her breath caught in antici—
"Godsdamnit!" Brienne yelps as her phone rings, making her jump and breaking her out of the first torrid sex scene in the latest Aurora del Moniko Age of Magic bodice ripper. The novels are her guilty pleasure during the first few days of every academic break she gets even if the historical inaccuracies make her grind her teeth. Still. The heroes and the torrid sex scenes are second to none.
While Brienne may not personally know anything about torrid sex, she definitely knows guilty pleasures, and she has the chocolate stains and cookie crumbs to prove it.
Her phone rings again and she scrambles for it, wiping one hand against her chest, leaving yet another chocolate stain on her t-shirt as she picks up her phone with the other.
She peers at the number and frowns.
She presses the phone against her ear while she fruitlessly tries to brush the cookie crumbs from her lap.
"Catelyn?"
She's not sure why she feels so embarrassed by her appearance since Catelyn can't see her anyway. There's just always been something about the older woman that makes Brienne feel like she's somehow let her down.
"Ah, Brienne. Good. You're not busy."
Brienne fights the urge to roll her eyes and just says, "I was reading."
"Like I said: not busy."
Brienne pinches the bridge of her nose and this time fights the urge to sigh. "How are you?"
"Oh, same as usual. Listen, I need a favour."
Of course you do, Brienne thinks. It's the only time you call.
She immediately feels guilty. Catelyn is one of her oldest friends, practically a second mother to her.
Mayhaps it's that guilt that makes Brienne say, "Anything for you, Catelyn, you know that."
"That's good, because I need you to go to some tacky tourist trap of an island and drag my erstwhile daughters back home."
Brienne scowls down at the book on her lap as she does her best to process the words before finally saying, "...sorry?"
Catelyn heaves an impatient sigh. "Please put the book down and focus, Brienne! I'm desperate! Sansa and Arya went on holidays to some stupid little island they found online and have decided they like the life. They're refusing to come home."
"Arya I can see, but Sansa?"
"She says she's in love. Again. I swear to the gods, that girl falls in love every five minutes. I need someone to go and drag them back."
"Why can't you or Ned—?"
"We can't possibly leave now! Robb's at a very delicate point in his latest hostile takeover and without us to help him keep his head, he'll lose not only his shirt, but also the family's fortunes. I warned him that Tywin Lannister plays for keeps. No, my only hope is to send you after them."
"But my research partner is back the day after tomorrow and we—"
"Are you saying no?"
Brienne bites her lip at Catelyn's incredulous tone.
"Of course not," she hastens to say. "I'll...I'll work something out with him."
Which won't be difficult, she thinks bitterly. Hyle will be only too happy to be rid of her although she will deprive him of the ability to embarrass her while they research their topic. His idea of 'historical' research into Prostitution During the Age of Magic is to try and drag her to any number of modern brothels in order to, as he claims, understand the current context of the issue. With anyone else, Brienne might be inclined to agree with the idea but not Hyle.
The man is dull and not even subtle in his contempt for her, and he'll be more than happy to take the project and 'research' it on his own. She only agreed to work with him because she was warned by the Dean, Dr. Randyll Tarly, that she needs more publications to qualify for tenure and he refuses to support any more of her solo research projects since her last one ended up being "a distraction for his office and an embarrassment to the faculty", end quote. Hyle's the only colleague willing to work with her...probably because he's the only one who, like her, doesn't yet have tenure and has fewer publications than she does. Not that it really matters. He'll still be more than happy to help her pack up her office and wave good riddance with all the others as she's escorted from the building.
Catelyn's voice brings Brienne back to the matter at hand.
"Good. I owe you one," that woman is saying, and Brienne can tell she's already distracted by other things. "I've booked you on a flight leaving in four hours. The car will be there in thirty minutes so please be ready. I have to go."
And Brienne is left listening to dead air.
*/*/*/*/*
Catelyn owes me more than one, Brienne grumbles to herself as she walks into the next bar. Her white button-down shirt is sticking to her back, she's seriously tempted to rip off the sleeves she can't roll up past her elbows, and she knows she has wide sweat-stains spreading beneath her arms. She also desperately wishes she had brought something lighter than the jeans that are clinging to her legs and chafing the tender flesh of her sweaty thighs.
In her defense, she had no clue where she was going when she packed, but she has still never felt so out-of-place in her life, and considering she's never once felt like she belonged wherever she happened to be, that's saying something. It doesn't help that she towers over everyone she's seen so far on the island and her clothes just make her stand out even more when she's surrounded by lithesome beauties in short shorts and bikini tops.
Well, it can't be helped right now.
She walks up to the bar and gives the beautiful, red-haired woman standing behind it a brief smile. The woman gives her a professional welcoming smile in reply even as her gaze slowly travels down the length of Brienne's too large, too awkward, too sweaty body and back up again, her expression never changing from one of polite interest despite what Brienne knows is her ridiculous appearance.
"What can I get you?" the bartender says.
Brienne hesitates. She doesn't drink much but she's been walking all day again and the bar isn't much cooler than being out in the full sun and she feels she's about to melt away into a giant puddle of sweat topped with a mop of straw-like blonde hair.
"Beer," she says, pulling herself onto one of the bar stools. "As cold as you can make it."
The frothy beverage appears in a frosted glass that feels like heaven against Brienne's sweaty palms. She takes a careful sip, then a deeper draught, and sighs with relief as the cold liquid slides down her throat and pools in her belly.
The bartender chuckles. "Just arrived, have you?"
Brienne shakes her head. "This is my third day here. I just didn't do enough research about the weather before I packed." Not to mention Catelyn never told her which tacky tourist island Sansa and Arya were on. If she'd known it was a tropical island…
Catelyn owes me one times a thousand, she thinks.
The bartender cocks her head to one side, her eyes thoughtful. "Three days? Research is fine but from the look of you, you still haven't learned to pace yourself in this climate while wearing those clothes."
"Well," Brienne says, "I wasn't planning on staying long enough to have to pace myself."
The bartender raises an eyebrow. "Oh? That's unusual. Most tourists are here for at least one or two weeks."
Brienne takes another swig of beer and shakes her head. "I'm not a tourist. I'm here looking for someone. Two someones, actually."
The bartender's eyes narrow and she leans closer. "Oh? That can be difficult here on Piratas. Except for a treasure hunter or two, most people here who can't be found don't want to be found."
"These are young women who are used to a comfortable life in Westeros. They arrived a couple of weeks ago and for some bizarre reason decided to stay. Their mother asked me to find them and convince them to come home."
"Well, that might be difficult, too. Most of the island's population started out as tourists who liked it here and decided to stay."
Brienne snorts into her mug. "Criminals, you mean. Most of the island's settlers—past and present—couldn't return to their homes because there were warrants out for their arrest. That's definitely not the case for these two." She finishes her rapidly-warming beer.
The bartender raises an eyebrow. "Well, I see you did some research at least."
Brienne gives her a long-suffering look as she puts her empty mug on the bar. "The island is named Piratas, after the pirates who settled it. That was my first clue."
The bartender laughs and her smile this time is real. "Good point." She gestures at the empty mug. "Another?"
Brienne pauses, considering, then nods.
The bartender returns with another frosty beer and says, "So, who are you looking for?"
"Two young women, like I said. Early twenties. White. Sisters. Sansa's a redhead, Arya's a brunette." Brienne pulls out her phone and shows the bartender the picture Catelyn sent her. "They're not at their hotel and haven't been seen for several days. I spent the last two days asking around their hotel and nearby bars and restaurants to see if anyone knew where they'd gone. No luck. I started going farther afield today."
The other woman looks at the picture and frowns. "Have you gone to the police?"
Brienne nods, scowling. "This morning. The police told me not to worry. The girls told their parents they wanted to stay on the island and didn't seem to be under any duress when they spoke to their mother. Besides, the police said they could be anywhere on the island, most likely somewhere in the interior that's apparently only accessible on foot. Tourists disappearing into the jungle for weeks on end seems to happen often, so they tell me."
"Well, that's true enough," the bartender says. "Jungle adventures are part of what draws the tourists to Piratas in the first place. Hunting for a mine filled with magic rubies is a pretty irresistible idea." She sticks out her hand. "I'm Melisandre, by the way, but you can call me Mel."
Brienne swipes her sweaty palm on her jeans then shakes the woman's hand. "Brienne. Do tourists often go missing here?"
"Not missing, exactly. Like I said, we have a fair number of tourists who fall in love with the place and decide to stay and they're not all criminals...unless my parents lied to me, of course!" Melisandre grins then shrugs. "They're people who are tired of the life they're living or bored with it or they just don't want to go home and face their problems. Sometimes, yes, they've broken the law in their home country and want a place to lay low. Most of them find themselves a village they like and settle down until they get bored with the life here, which happens far more often than people expect." She laughs. "For the most part, the residents here started out as expatriated citizens from somewhere else."
Brienne stares at her. "I just can't believe people want to stay here. No offense."
Melisandre takes in the expression on her face and laughs again, even louder this time.
"None taken, and you'd be surprised. The place grows on you."
Brienne plucks at her damp shirt and grimaces. "Like mold, the way I'm going." She shakes her head and gives Melisandre a slight smile. "I'll take your word for it."
Melisandre chuckles and says, "Let me see that picture again."
Brienne hands her the phone and Melisandre cocks her head to one side and frowns as she studies it.
"You know, I think I have seen them."
Brienne puts her beer mug down with a thump. "Really?"
"I'm not positive. I mean, all the touries look alike after awhile, but I think they were the two girls with that guy."
Brienne frowns. "That guy? What guy?"
Melisandre shrugs. "Some guy who had half his face burned off. It's why he was so memorable. That, and his size! He's not quite the largest man I've ever seen, but he's damn close to it! He was passed out in the corner and there were two young women with him, and they were a redhead and a brunette."
"Is he somebody who lives here on the island?"
Melisandre shakes her head. "Never saw him before and never heard of him, either, and sooner or later, we all hear about everyone who's on the island for any length of time. He has to be a tourie, just like the girls." She stops and frowns, thinking. "That was last week sometime, when I was working the night shift. You think they've gone into the interior?"
"I don't; the police do. They say everyone wants to go to Rhaegar's Ruby Mine and they think the girls are likely no different, especially since they haven't checked out of their hotel yet. I believe it of Arya, but Sansa doesn't like getting dirt under her nails, so I don't know what to think."
Melisandre's eyes are thoughtful. "Well, people do try different things when they're on vacation, especially here. If they did go to the mine, then they wouldn't have gone alone...although you need a guide to get there and nobody worth their salt would take them right now."
Brienne frowns as she takes another sip of beer. "Why not?"
"There was some trouble in the interior about a week ago. We're still cleaning up the mess."
Brienne scowls and sits up straight.
Melisandre hastily says, "It's an island thing. Don't worry about it." She taps a thoughtful finger on top of the bar. "Let me ask around." Her smile is quick and rueful. "Trust me, if anyone took them into the jungle, somebody will know."
*/*/*/*/*
Brienne tells Melisandre where she's staying then tiredly clomps her way back to her room where she gratefully strips out of her stifling jeans. She changes into a fresh button-down shirt and rubs soothing lotion on the heat rashes forming on the inside of her thighs.
She lays down spreadeagled on the bed and decides she'll give herself a few minutes to air out and then by all the gods, she's going to find somewhere to buy some shorts and tank tops and a portable air conditioner and anything else that's going to allow her to actually survive on this fucking island long enough to find Catelyn's wayward daughters.
Her eyelids droop beneath the weight of the heat and the two beers she drank on an empty stomach.
She drifts into sleep.
*/*/*/*/*
It's early evening when Jaime saunters into the bar, surveying the latest crop of touries before he gives Melisandre a smile as he slides onto a barstool.
"About time you got here," she says as she puts a frosty mug of frothy beer in front of him.
He raises an eyebrow. "Oh? You've heard something about our wayward gang of ruby hunters?"
"No, and that worries me, but that's not why I need to talk to you."
He groans. "Why do I have a feeling I'm not going to like this...let me at least have a drink first."
Melisandre impatiently taps her foot as he chugs his beer.
"All right," he says, setting the empty mug on the bar in front of him with a satisfied sigh, "what's going on?"
"I'm not sure. A woman came in about an hour or so ago, looking for a couple of tourists who have dropped off the radar."
Jaime shrugs. "That's not unusual."
"I haven't found anybody who knows where they may have gone."
Jaime frowns. "Nobody?"
Mel shakes her head. "Of course, they could still be in the village but so far, no luck. The police think they likely went hunting for Rhaegar's Ruby Mine."
Jaime's frown deepens. "Not without a guide, and everyone knows to keep the touries away from the mine until further notice. Why would the police think they went there?"
Mel shrugs. "Probably because all the touries want to hunt for the mine and it's as good an excuse as any to give someone who's looking for people who may not want to be found."
"Do you think woman may take into her head to go after them if she can't find them in one of the villages?"
"Well, she's still dressed in jeans, for the gods' sakes, and she's been here three days!"
Jaime winces. "And not light summer jeans, I take it?"
"No! And a button-down shirt! With long sleeves!" Mel shakes her head. "She's not prepared for this climate but seems too stubborn to buy new clothes so gods only know what she'll do if she can't find them."
"Well, she'd be hard-pressed to find any guide willing to take her to the mine. They know they would have to answer to me if they did."
"Still. Do you think we should be worried about these missing tourists?"
"Who are they?"
Mel shrugs. "Two young women barely into their twenties. You saw them the night you got back from the mine. They were sitting with that huge man with the scarred face."
Jaime wracks his memory, thinking back. "I remember the man..."
"He's pretty unforgettable."
"True. I vaguely remember the women with him. A redhead and a brunette?"
Mel nods. "That's them."
Jaime sighs. "What do you want me to do?"
"Help this woman out. Take her to the other villages, maybe, if you can't find the girls here. But for the gods' sake, keep her away from the interior until we find those ruby hunting rat bastards and neutralize them."
Jaime scowls. "I should have killed them while I had the chance."
Mel puts a hand on his arm. "Not your fault, Jaime. Everyone knew they were dangerous."
Jaime picks up his empty mug then sets it down again, wishing for another beer.
The guilt weighs heavy on him. Two days after he abandoned Hoat and his friends in the jungle, two island residents, Pia and Jos, approached the group at the mine, explicitly going against the directions sent out by Mel on the coconut telegraph. They haven't been seen since but given the situation, everyone knows their fate.
Jaime shakes his head.
Pia and Jos were young and in love and new to the island and just wanted to help. Their disappearance has left the residents of Piratas scouring the island for Hoat and his crew while simultaneously doing everything they can to hide the situation from the tourists.
Mel gives his arm a comforting squeeze then lifts her hand away.
"You know we have to keep the touries away from the area," she says.
Jaime sighs. "I know. I also know that if those girls have gone to the mine, I'll have to go in after them." He frowns. "It's strange no one noticed them go."
Mel's smile is both cynical and a little worried. "It's been a strange time on the island all the way around."
Jaime grimaces. "Where can I find this woman of yours?"
"She's staying at the Piratas Baelish Hotel. Room 301."
Jaime slides off his bar stool. "Does she at least have a name?"
"Brienne o'Tarth."
Jaime wonders why the name sounds so familiar as he nods and strides out of the bar and into the street.
*/*/*/*/*
A/N: With apologies to the Stark Family Fans in the group. Sometimes I just need to have some characters be a bit more extreme than what's in canon.