Warnings: Non-graphic discussions of murder and blood and domestic abuse. Not even sure it's worth warning about, especially in this fandom, but just in case.
A/N1: This episode is NOT turning out the way I expected AT ALL. Which isn't a complaint—LOL—it's just a constant surprise to me (and meant I needed to reshuffle the rest of the episodes ;) ).
Two
Brienne nervously waits for Chief Eddard Stark to be available to see her and wonders if she's just wasting her time. Then again, she thinks hopefully, it's been several years since she discovered Jon's true parentage; mayhaps whatever reason Ned Stark had for hiding Jon's paternity has finally been resolved.
Thankfully, she doesn't have long to worry; Ned calls her into the office and she makes her request, stumbling over her words as she watches his expression turn colder and colder.
Ned stares at her when she finishes and Brienne does her best not to fidget beneath the weight of his gaze. Finally, he says, "You want me to give you unprecedented access to one of our case files?"
She lifts her chin and her gaze doesn't waver from his. "The case has been cold for twenty-six years, Chief Stark. Has anyone even looked at the Elia Martell Targaryen case in the last decade?"
His eyelid twitches but his expression doesn't change. "King's Landing's City Watch policy is that access to all case files is restricted to those officers and detectives currently on the force."
"That's policy, not law," Brienne says. "Other City Watches allow private investigators full access when the cases have been officially declared cold, the proper paperwork is submitted, and the proper permissions have been granted. King's Landing's City Watch is the only one I know of that does not allow access at all...and that policy has only been in place since you became Chief."
The temperature of the room seems to drop several degrees as Ned's expression goes from cold to icy.
"Are you accusing me of something, Ms Tarth?" he growls.
"Pointing out a fact, Chief Stark, that's all." She leans forward. "I don't know the reasons behind the policy, but we've been hired to look into the murder of Elia Martell Targaryen and see if we can solve it. Our best first step is, naturally, to review the case files and speak to the investigating officers." She softens. "This has nothing to do with your sister, Ned." She feels her cheeks flush and hopes he doesn't notice.
For the first time, he shifts his gaze away then back again. "I would deny my concern has anything to do with Lyanna but I somehow doubt you would believe me."
"Did you implement the policy specifically to control access to Elia's case?"
Ned sighs and pinches the bridge of his nose. "Yes, because every two-bit reporter and conspiracy theorist in town kept clamoring for access. It was a pain in the ass when I was a detective; it was even more of a pain in the ass when I became Chief. No murder, no matter how sensational, should be treated solely as an excuse for a byline or a best-seller or to fuel vicious crackpot theories."
Brienne gives him a slight smile. "We're not two-bit reporters or authors or conspiracy theorists. You know who we are."
He deflates. "You're right," he mutters, "and I am usually more reasonable with these requests than this. All I can offer as an excuse is that Lysa's and Jon's deaths are weighing heavily on all of us. We also have Sweet Robin, of course, and he's struggling to understand that his parents are never coming home." He grimaces suddenly. "And then Sansa's sudden engagement to Joffrey Baratheon is sending Catelyn into another tailspin and Arya is threatening to come home and...I don't know...scream some sense into Sansa or something."
"Joffrey doesn't have the best reputation," Brienne murmurs, trying to keep her voice neutral.
"My Gold Cloaks have arrested him enough times so believe me, I know! I also heard about Bronna Stokeworth's black eye." He scowls. "Sansa swears Joffrey's been nothing but loving and kind to her and I have no reason to doubt her word."
"Do you want me to see if she would listen to Bronna?" Brienne asks.
"If I thought it would do any good," Ned says with a rueful sigh, "but Sansa doesn't give up her illusions easily. I only hope she's right and she won't end up with a broken heart." Ned shakes his head and says, "But you're here on business, not to listen to my personal concerns."
"Catelyn is very precious to me," Brienne says, "and to be honest, it's because of my past history with your family that I'm asking you to trust us—to trust me—with Elia's case file." She leans forward again. "It's been twenty-six years since she was murdered; doesn't Elia deserve to have somebody at least try and find some justice for her?"
Ned stares, his jaw set, for another long moment, then he relaxes. "You're right," he says. He taps his finger on his desk. "I'll give you and your agency full access to the case file. Once I've given the order, I'll be officially recusing myself from any further conversations or activities about the case; you will need to go through Randyll Tarly."
Brienne can't quite hide a grimace and Ned flashes her a quick smile.
"I know it's not ideal, but because of Lyanna's affair with Rhaegar Targaryen..." He shakes his head. "If you're lucky enough to solve the case and you find enough evidence for it to go to trial, there can be no hint of any conflict of interest." He lifts a hand in warning. "However, I expect you to keep this as confidential as possible. If the tabloids get any whiff that you're looking into this case, you won't be able to move thanks to the reporters dogging your every step."
She nods as she stands. "No one will hear about this from us, Chief Stark," she says. "If you can arrange for a copy of the file to be couriered to our offices that would be appreciated. We'll arrange a time later to examine the physical evidence."
Chief Stark nods and stands as well. He hesitates then holds out his hand. "I know Detective Tarly is not your biggest fan, but I hope you understand the position I'm in," he says. "I want you to know that I truly wish you better luck than we've had with the case."
She shakes his hand and says, "I understand completely, Chief Stark." She smiles. "Please give Catelyn my best and I hope she won't hesitate to call me if she needs to talk."
*/*/*/*/*
Jaime doesn't tell her how he managed to gain access to Rhaegar Targaryen, and after a moment of obvious struggle, she also doesn't ask. It leaves him amused for the entire ride to the Targaryen estate.
They drive through a gate bracketed by solid red brick walls and up a long roadway that ends in sweeping curve in front of a house that can only be described as palatial, although the building is not nearly as delicately built as that word would imply.
"I understand why the Targaryens nicknamed this the Red Keep," Brienne murmurs.
"But not within earshot of the royal family, I suspect," Jaime says drily. "No one wants a Targaryen—even if they're not truly from that historic family anymore—back on the throne, even metaphorically."
Her smile is fleeting but it makes her eyes sparkle. "No argument there," she says, and gets out of the car.
*/*/*/*/*
The man who answers the door is middle-aged, handsome, distinguished, and dressed all in white...which should have looked ridiculous, yet Jaime has to admit the man manages to carry it off.
"Jaime Lannister and Brienne Tarth," Brienne says briskly. "We have an appointment to see Rhaegar Targaryen."
The man flicks cold eyes over them both then steps aside. "He's expecting you," he says with a distinct lack of enthusiasm. "Follow me."
Jaime and Brienne exchange bemused looks as they do as ordered.
The man leads them to a set of closed double doors that he opens with a dramatic flourish.
"Jaime Lannister and Brienne Tarth," he announces in stentorian tones and Jaime bites down on his lip to keep from laughing out loud.
"Yes, yes, bring them in, thank you, Arthur."
They step into the room to find a slender man in his fifties relaxing in an armchair surrounded by five men, all of whom are also dressed in white. Rhaegar Targaryen seems almost suspended in time, his world-famous indigo eyes as mesmerizing as ever, although Jaime notices a slightly vague look in them. Rhaegar still wears his silver hair long, as he did during the height of his success, and his clothes, shot through with lines of gold, orange and red, are the only colour in the sea of white. As they consider each other in silence, Rhaegar languidly lifts the glass he's holding to his mouth and drinks.
Finally he says, "My sweet sister speaks highly of you, Mr. Lannister, and, Ms Tarth, I am forever grateful that you connected me with my son, who had been so cruelly hidden from me. Those are the only reasons I've agreed to meet with you. Elia has long been resting in the arms of the Stranger; we should not disturb her peace on a mere whim."
"How much peace can Elia find if the Father has not yet rendered justice on her behalf?" Brienne asks, her voice sharp.
Rhaegar's six companions bristle but Rhaegar waves their anger away.
"The Gold Cloaks and the reporters and the Martells have all buzzed round like flies for the last twenty plus years and have not been able to definitively determine who murdered my sweet wife. What makes you think you will be able to do any better?"
A muscle jumps in Brienne's clenched jaw and Jaime quickly steps forward and says, "Because we will devote our time to pursuing the case. Plus the world has changed dramatically since Elia was killed; who knows what new evidence will be revealed using new techniques?"
The silence between the seven men deepens as they exchange glances and Jaime mentally raises an eyebrow.
Finally, Rhaegar sighs and blinks sleepily. "What would you have from me?"
"A seat," Jaime says, his voice honey smooth, "and for you to answer our questions."
One of the men scowls—big and beefy, grizzled and wrinkled—and takes a threatening step towards him.
"Gerold," Rhaegar says, his voice sharp. "Mr. Lannister is right to call us on our rudeness. Take the others and leave us."
"Boss—"
Rhaegar raises his hand and says, "We'll be all right. You can all stand outside the door, if it pleases you, and rush to my rescue if it seems needed."
Gerold glares then bows his head. The five other men silently follow him from the room, with Arthur giving Jaime and Brienne a warning glare as he quietly closes the double doors.
Rhaegar gives Jaime and Brienne a rueful smile. "They'll be standing with their ears pressed to the door," he says, waving them towards the sofa across from him. "They take very good care of me."
"Why the white outfits?" Jaime asks, honestly curious.
"A conceit of my sweet father's. My grandfather took the name of Targaryen as his stage name, and my father decided a king's name deserved a king's guard, even if even he did not quite dare to call them so. All of these men served my father long before they ever served me." He gives them a half-smile. "But you haven't come here for us to speak solely about my Valyrian Company. Ask your questions and I shall do my best to answer them."
Brienne pulls out a notebook and pen and says, "Tell us about your relationship with Elia."
"It was pleasant enough, but lacked passion."
"Was it always that way?"
"I'm sure it wasn't, but it's difficult to remember now." He shrugs. "It was a long time ago."
"Did you love her?"
He huffs a chuckle. "I believe we married more to please our parents than ourselves. My father and her mother were old friends. I didn't mind very much; she was sweet and pretty and biddable; shy and quiet, and was content to let me pursue my acting and music and my own interests." He frowns. "She was more frail than I expected before we married, or mayhaps the two babies she lost took a heavier toll than anyone expected. Either way, whatever fire may have lurked beneath her placid surface when we met was firmly doused by the time she died."
Jaime sees Brienne's lips tighten and says, "How did Elia react when she discovered your affair with Lyanna Baratheon?"
Rhaegar shrugs. "With resignation. She certainly never asked me to end the affair."
"Where were you the day she was murdered?"
Rhaegar shrugs. "I was here, in King's Landing. I had just finished a photo shoot for my latest movie—my last movie, it turned out—and returned to my apartments here in the east wing to find a scene of unspeakable carnage." He shudders almost delicately. "It was obvious she had been beaten about the head. There was blood everywhere and there was no doubt she was dead when I found her."
"Was anyone else in the house at the time?"
Rhaegar's smile is bitter and fleeting. "Look at the size of this place; of course there were other people here!"
"Humor us," Jaime says with a tight-lipped smile. "We need names."
Rhaegar lazily blinks then says, "Well...my parents. By then my father seldom left his apartments and he liked to keep my mother and siblings always nearby, so they would have been with him. And the Valyrian Company would have been in various places throughout the house, of course."
"Their names?" Brienne asks briskly.
"And where are they now?" Jaime adds.
"You've seen most of them; we value loyalty in this family and try to keep those we trust as close as possible. Arthur Dayne is the one who met you at the door; Gerold Hightower was the one ready to throw you out, Mr. Lannister. The others are Barristan Selmy, Gwayne Gaunt, Jonothor Darry, Oswell Whent, and Lewyn Martell."
"Martell?" Jaime says, his voice sharp.
"Some relative or another to Elia. He was a member of my father's Valyrian Company long before I married Elia and, as far as I know, had very little to do with her."
"All right," Brienne says, nodding as she scribbles in her notebook, "anyone else?"
Rhaegar frowns, thinking, then says, "Oh, Harlan Grandison, of course. He was also a member of the Valyrian Company. He died a couple of years after Elia's murder but before my father's...unfortunate fate."
Brienne's head snaps up and she glares. "Your father almost beat your mother to death," she says, her voice flat and cold. "I'm not certain how being locked in an insane asylum after committing such a crime is an 'unfortunate fate'."
Rhaegar's smile is pitying. "My sweet father is a very sick man. He will never again be free to walk the halls of the home he loves so well. Surely that deserves some pity?"
Brienne's glare doesn't ease. "Where is your mother now?"
"She's alive and well and living in an apartment on the opposite side of the house where the Unfortunate Event occurred. She raised Viserys and Daenerys alone, and they seem to have turned out well enough. Daenerys, at least, is a rising star."
Rhaegar stands, his movements slow and languid. Jaime can see now he's not simply slender but rail thin, more bone than flesh, and as he strolls towards the sideboard and the bottles there, the orange and red and gold lines in his clothes makes his entire body seem to shimmer like flame.
"I believe I've told you all I can," Rhaegar says as he picks up one of the bottles and refills his glass.
Jaime and Brienne exchange a glance but obediently stand.
"One last question," Jaime says. "Where was Lyanna that day?"
For the first time, something like anger flashes on Rhaegar's face. "We're finished here," he says. "Gerold will show you out."
Gerold truly must have had his ear pressed against the double doors because he opens them as they approach, his grizzled face cold and arrogantly haughty.
He leads them to the front door and Jaime turns back immediately after he steps outside.
"Do you just keep him high all the time?" he asks.
Gerold's eyes narrow. "It's not for you to judge," he says and closes the door in his face.
*/*/*/*/*
"Well," Jaime sighs as they drive away, "that was a whole load of nothing."
"I disagree," Brienne says, tightening her grip on the steering wheel. "I'm even more interested in the case files now."
He turns to look at her, raising an eyebrow.
Brienne glances at him with a half-smile. "If Rhaegar truly was at that photo shoot during the time of the murder, then he should have been easily cleared of committing the crime. However, Aerys Targaryen was in the house along with his wife...and seven men who apparently only live to follow a Targaryen's orders."
*/*/*/*/*
They order Myrish take-out and Brienne is both relieved and disappointed they're staying in the offices and there's therefore no intimate dinner settings or candles. There isn't even any wine.
Foolish woman, she growls to herself as she sits across from Jaime in the boardroom, WNN silently playing off to the side. Pages from their copy of Elia's case file litter the table along with their now-empty plates. It's late, they've been reading for hours, and she's finding it more and more difficult to stay focused on the page in front of her instead of surreptitiously sneaking glances at Jaime's far-too-handsome face, now creased with a puzzled frown as he reads.
Finally he sighs, tosses the page he's holding on to the table and leans back in his chair.
"For such a violent crime," he grumbles, "there was very little physical evidence left behind. I mean, I would have expected a fingerprint, a footprint...a murder weapon—something!"
Brienne nods, scowling, tapping her finger against the list of physical evidence waiting for them in the Gold Cloaks' evidence archives. "There's still Elia's clothes and apparently a rape kit was done during the autopsy. We can ask the police to send the clothes and rape kit for testing; see if they can find any foreign DNA somewhere."
"Detective Tarly may not agree to that if there's no hint of a new lead," Jaime warns.
Brienne scowls. "True," she reluctantly says, "but you would think a case like this, cold but with potential biological evidence just waiting to be discovered, would be high on their list of cases to re-test."
"I know," Jaime says with a sigh, and scrubs a hand over his face. He frowns down at the papers on the table. "Is this all of it?" he asks.
Brienne looks again at the inventory then at the memo that accompanied the documents. She shakes her head. "There are several calendars, notebooks and daytimers they haven't copied yet, as well some as investigator's notes."
Jaime nods. "I expect we'll get those tomorrow, then."
"I expect so," Brienne says glumly.
Jaime watches her in silence for a long moment then grins. "Well, don't look so downhearted. If the killer was that obvious, he would have been arrested by now." He glances at the television. "It's almost midnight. Let's put this away for now; I'll take you home and we'll start fresh in the morning."
Brienne's eyes narrow. "I drove us today," she says.
Jaime grins, his green eyes sparkling. "All right, then how about you take me home and we'll start fresh in the morning." His grin turns wicked. "You could always spend the night at my place."
She feels the heat rush into her cheeks and silently curses her fair skin and blushing tendencies. She hastily looks away and starts gathering papers together. "I think not," she says and hides a cringe at how prim and proper she sounds.
Jaime chuckles as he helps her gather the papers and put them back into some semblance of order.
"Are you saying I need to find my own way home?" he asks, scandalized. "At this time of night?"
She rolls her eyes and he chuckles again.
They make short work of cleaning up and Brienne picks up the remote to turn off the TV and pauses.
"Oh," she says, "they finally found that missing woman in the Dreadfort."
Jaime frowns and turns towards the TV as Brienne unmutes it.
"...were found by a hiker in a ravine. A positive identification may take several days, but it is speculated the remains are those of Lady Donella Hornwood-Bolton, who was officially declared missing ten days ago. Lady Donella's husband, Lord Ramsay, is away on a hunting trip and could not be immediately reached for comment. For more, we go now to—"
Brienne clicks off the TV, her lips pursed with disgust. "What is it with callous husbands and their dead wives?"
She glances at Jaime and blinks at the expression on his face as he watches her.
"I don't know," he says, his voice as gentle as the look in his eyes, "but isn't this why you got into this line of work? So you could help those who couldn't help themselves?"
She feels caught by the green depths of his eyes as she slowly nods.
He smiles and says, "Then let's get some rest and we'll start again in the morning. Maybe we can at least find some justice for Elia."
Brienne nods again then frowns as she follows him out of the boardroom.
"How do you know why I became a private investigator?" she asks.
He shrugs as he opens the office door for her. "Lucky guess," he purrs and follows her out.
*/*/*/*/*
A/N2: If anyone knows what the Mafia would be called in Westeros, let me know in the comments! I wanted to call the Valyrian Company the Valyrian Mafia (in a shout-out to Elvis' "Memphis Mafia") but the word doesn't really fit in this universe.