Two

The first responders arrive, and confirm what Brienne already knows: Joffrey is dead.

Cersei's wailing grief is both heart-wrenching and a distraction that Brienne simply doesn't need right now. Lancel rushes to Cersei's side, but she quickly rebuffs him, and Brienne isn't surprised when Cersei throws herself into Jaime's arms and clings to him.

Ned Stark steps forward. "No one will be allowed to leave," he says, raising his voice to be heard over Cersei's wails. "This was obviously murder—"

Cersei's sobs get louder, and Brienne grits her teeth and struggles with the urge to give the woman a slap in order to knock the hysteria out of her. She immediately feels guilty at the thought and promises to say extra prayers to the Mother and the Crone in penance and to ask them for patience.

"This was obviously murder," Ned says, raising his voice even further, "and no one will be allowed to leave until we've interviewed all of you."

He turns to Randyll Tarly, who arrived with the Gold Cloaks. "Get more men, then work with Clegane to get as many interview rooms set up as you can."

Tarly looks around the room. "There are hundreds of people here!"

Ned slaps Tarly on the back and says, "It's going to be a long night."

Brienne steps forward. "You can't be in charge of this investigation, Ned."

Ned scowls. "What are you talking about?"

Now Brienne's grateful that Cersei's weeping is almost deafening. She pulls both Tarly and Ned closer and says, "You know better, Ned. Your oldest son threatened Joffrey's life in a public setting. Your oldest daughter left him at the altar because he abused her. Your youngest daughter is...well...Arya, and you, yourself, have had a rocky relationship with him ever since you became executor of his father's estate. There's no way you will be considered impartial."

Ned considers her thoughtfully, his eyebrow raised. "Are you suggesting you should lead the investigation?"

"Gods, no! He abused my best friend and I would have gladly run the little shit over with my car if I had the chance."

"Then your boss instead?"

Brienne glances over to where Jaime is still comforting Cersei. She sees Tyrion and the bald man who had arrived with Cersei hovering behind the pair.

"No," she murmurs, "he's compromised, too."

*/*/*/*/*

In the end, Brienne reluctantly agrees that Randyll Tarly is the only one who can lead the investigation. He's a judgmental asshole, but he's one of the few people in the world, it seems, who hasn't threatened Joffrey's life at least once.

Still, Tarly reluctantly agrees that he needs all the help he can get, and as much as he dislikes Brienne, he also has to admit she's the least compromised of everyone in the room. She may have hated Joffrey's guts, but she never actually threatened to kill him.

Brienne pulls Jaime aside, prying him away from Cersei's clutching hands with an effort, and explains the situation.

"I can help," he says.

"He's your son, Jaime. Once people realize that—"

"That's not likely to become public," he says.

"It's a murder investigation! You should know by now that everything becomes public. You and Cersei need to decide what you're going to do if it does come out. In the meantime, however, you can't be part of the investigation."

"Not officially, no," he says, "but the Gold Cloaks will need all the help they can get." He scans the room, where the party guests are milling around, some sobbing, some stoic, some looking shell-shocked while still others have their phones out and are recording it all for posterity...or the Internet. Whichever comes first.

Jaime grimaces as he turns back to Brienne. "What we have here is a veritable orgy of suspects. There are hundreds of people in this room, and most, if not all, of them, at one time or another, had the urge to murder Joffrey. How many of them actually had a motive and the resolve to do it is the real question."

Brienne gives him a fleeting smile then says, "You may be best used in keeping Cersei calm."

They turn as one to look at the woman in question, now leaning against the tall, bald man and weeping quietly against his shoulder.

"Who is he?" Brienne asks.

Jaime sighs. "That's Tywin. Introduced tonight as an old friend of Cersei's family."

Brienne raises her eyebrows and thoughtfully considers the older man. He must feel her eyes on him, because he looks up and meets her gaze with an unblinking, impassive stare of his own.

She nods her head and he tilts his own in acknowledgement.

Brienne turns back to Jaime and sighs. "Whatever we do, we need to make sure we don't compromise the case."

Jaime puts a hand over his heart and says, "I swear." He glances around then cups her face and gives her a quick kiss. "I love you," he whispers.

"I love you, too," she whispers in response, but with a lilt of a question in her voice, "and I'm sorry. He was your son."

He sighs. "And such a horrible little shit." He shakes his head, kisses her again and says, "Try to avoid Cersei and Tywin, if you can."

She scowls. "Why?"

He smiles. "Trust me," he says, and gives her one last quick peck on the lips. "I guess we should get to work."

*/*/*/*/*

Most of the interviews go quickly. The minor celebrities who attended the party as a publicity stunt barely knew Joffrey or Margaery, and were there for the photo op and the open bar. Some obviously found other substances to enjoy as well, but that's not Brienne's focus at the moment. She hands them over to the Gold Cloaks when she's done, and wonders if the varysazzi are already camped outside the DragonPit and descending like vultures whenever the doors open.

Stupid question, she thinks. Of course they are.

They cycle through these guests more quickly than Brienne expects, but then again, it's not a surprise. Their statements need to be taken, and anything suspicious noted and flagged, but she suspects the culprit will be somebody with a much closer relationship with Joffrey.

She leans back in her chair, pondering the question as she waits for the next guest to be escorted into the room.

Poison—and it's obviously poison that's the cause of Joffrey's death—is an impersonal method of murder, since it can be set up to happen at any time, when the person doing the killing isn't even in the room. Yet it can also be an incredibly personal method as well: administered slowly, methodically, and while looking the victim in the eyes. Brienne thinks of Lysa Arryn and the way she poisoned her husband Jon over a period of time, and shudders.

Brienne glances up as the door opens and the next drunken would-be-celebrity staggers in and collapses on the chair across from her.

The Gold Cloak assigned as her partner gives her a speaking look. She bites back a sigh, and begins the interview in the way that's already become standard.

"My name is Brienne Tarth; I'm a private investigator with Jaime Lannister Investigations. I've been asked to assist the King's Landing City Watch with questioning the witnesses to Joffrey Baratheon's murder. You've already met Officer Allar Deem. We'll be taking your official statement. Now, for the record, please state your name and address."

*/*/*/*/*