A/N: Sorry that I'm late today. Busy day and rough week so I'm glad I still got the chapter out today quite frankly. Now we see the aftermath of Joffrey's death and, of course, the complex feelings that come along with the death of a person you don't even like. Hope you all enjoy!

Chapter 39: Complicated Mourning

Arya was no stranger to grief. She need only close her eyes to go back to those days after her father's death. The chaos. The tears. The numbness. It had swept through her whole family and left no survivors.

So it didn't matter what Arya thought of Joffrey in the end. She still felt extraordinary pity for his family. For Tommen, Myrcella…even Cersei. Even if she disliked the woman, her wail, which echoed through the house after she heard the news, sliced right through Arya. The sound of a mother mourning her child…no one was immune to that.

Had Arya's mother mourned her the same way?

The grief of the Lannister family robbed Joffrey's death of any sort of satisfaction for Arya. But not only that. It was Joffrey's utter defeat in the end. His acceptance of what he had done. It was the fact that he wasn't the mastermind and with him dead, they were further away from finding the real culprit than ever.

And then…there was the Waif.

"The deal has been fulfilled."

The Waif had not called her again. Neither had Jaqen. If they had orders to give her, they would, but the silence set Arya on edge. Clearly, the waif considered Arya's deal fulfilled. Did she speak for Jaqen? Or could Arya persuade him to let her keep searching?

More than that, the Faceless men clearly knew the ultimate culprit. They were behind Joffrey's death certainly, and who else would pay for Joffrey's death but the person trying to hide themselves from blame?

They had known from the beginning. But it was for Arya to find out for herself. And if she asked for the truth now…she knew she would have to give up her name for that truth. So she didn't call the Waif or Jaqen, though breaking the uneasy silence was tempting. She was too terrified of what they would say. Terrified about what the future held for Arya Stark.

So she did what she usually did when her fears and anxieties became too much—faded into someone else. Became Beth again. Beth was shocked by Joffrey's death but it meant nothing to her. Beth's only concern for the future was staying employed. Beth could be there for Myrcella.

Because she felt for Myrcella, truly. She saw the girl spiral between shock and sobbing and numbness over those next few days as she tried to wrap her mind around her brother's death. Neither Beth nor Arya had a clue what to say, but she could bring her water at least. Food. Keep her company when she asked.

The night before the funeral, Myrcella spoke. She had been silent for much of the past few days except to cry and occasionally thank Arya. This was the first real string of words Arya had heard from her in days.

"It's difficult…to mourn someone when you know they weren't good."

Arya blinked, turning to face her. "Miss?"

"It's happened to me twice now," Myrcella said bitterly. "First my father. Now Joffrey. I know neither of them were good. My father ignored us most days. He drank too much. He hurt my mother in more ways than one. I think he hurt Joffrey too. I was young when he and my mother divorced, so I don't remember much of living with him. But we weren't close." She stared at her hands. "But…I still cried at his funeral, because he was the one father I got, and he was gone." She looked up at Arya. "And now there's Joffrey. And I know that he was cruel to so many people. He said plenty of hurtful things to me, and I know I was luckier than most. But he was still my older brother and this hurts." She blinked hard and a few tears fell down her cheeks. "Am I wrong…to miss them as much as I do?"

Arya swallowed thickly. "You…don't miss the bad parts of them," she murmured. "You miss the parts of them that were good. Good to you."

Myrcella nodded, wiping her face. "And what was it like for you?"

"What?" Arya asked.

"When you lost your father," Myrcella looked up at her. "What was it like for you?"

Arya was about to answer without thinking. Until she realized she had never told Myrcella she had lost her father. Because Beth hadn't. She had run away from home. Lost an uncle. But even those false details…Arya hadn't told her those.

She studied Myrcella for a long time, trying to figure out how she should answer. Myrcella sighed, smoothing down her skirt.

"I heard Joffrey call you by your name," Myrcella said. "Your real name. I was just in ear shot. And when he said it, I realized I recognized you." Her mouth twitched. "I'm surprised I didn't sooner. We were in the same year. We weren't ever close but…you must think I'm a terrible person for not noticing, right?"

She is taking this all very calmly, Arya thought. Why is she taking this so calmly?

"You…weren't supposed to notice," Arya said at last. "And why would I think you're a terrible person? I'm the one who's been lying to you."

"I guess so," Myrcella murmured. "You don't have to explain. I spoke to grandfather this morning."

"Oh," Arya said. "What did he tell you?"

"That you were missing not dead. That you came to work for my family because you suspected one of them might have something to do with your father's death. That you found out it was my brother." Myrcella exhaled. "So I suppose your suspicions were correct."

"They were," Arya said.

"I'm sorry for what my brother did to your father. To your family," Myrcella said.

"That's not your apology to make," Arya said. "You're not to blame for any of it, Myrcella."

She nodded once, staring at her lap. "Was it all a lie? Everything that you said and did. Was Beth just a fiction?"

"Beth is a fiction," Arya said. "Her past. Her name. But there are parts of her that came from Arya Stark. And there are many things I said as her…that I meant."

"So you do consider us friends then?" Myrcella asked.

"Yes," Arya said. She didn't have to hesitate to answer that.

"Good." Myrcella's green eyes shone with tears. "That's good. I don't think I could take losing a friend in all of this."

Arya hurried over to her, sitting beside her on the bed as the girl began to cry. She pulled her into a tight hug, throwing all of Beth's professionalism out the window. Because now that Myrcella knew the truth it didn't matter.

They could deal with the lies later. Right now, Myrcella needed someone in her grief, and Arya was glad to be that someone.

Jaime knew in his heart that Joffrey's death was not a suicide. The moment he heard of it—the moment Brienne called him with the news—he knew.

Even after police took Joffrey into custody, Jaime insisted on following behind them. Making sure his nephew made it to the station in one piece. And he would have waited outside of Joffrey's cell as an extra guard too, if they let him. But Jaime wasn't an officer anymore and he had no authority to stay once night fell. All he could do was wait across the street from the station with some of the other Lannister security, watching people go in and out.

He wasn't sure what made him so suddenly protective of Joffrey. He and his nephew never got along famously. Joffrey didn't get along famously with anyone, to be frank. But there was something about him that day when Stannis died. A dead man walking. Jaime had seen faces like that in war time and time again. But not on Joffrey.

He's afraid, Jaime realized. Not just of the consequences. Of something else.

It didn't take Jaime long to reason out why. Someone was pulling Joffrey's strings. If they saw him as a liability—they might cut them. And he knew they had some access to the police. Doubtful that Joffrey had been the only one to use Slynt.

He couldn't go in, but maybe someone else he trusted could. He called Brienne and asked if she was on shift. She said she wasn't. She didn't officially start back at work until that Monday. He messaged Jon Stark as well, but though he was on his shift, he was on patrol that night.

And Jaime knew that watching the entrance of the station wouldn't get them far. All manner of people went to and from that building on a weekend night in King's Landing. Teens and adults brought in on drug charges, assault charges, theft. Sobered up drunks released from the lockup. And plenty of officers. They couldn't possibly keep track of every suspicious person.

As night fell further, his bad feeling grew. So he messaged Brienne again and asked if she wouldn't mind stopping by just to check on Joffrey. She could make up whatever excuse she needed, but he needed the peace of mind. She agreed to be there in an hour, and he appreciated her for humoring him.

It was past midnight when she entered the station. He waited for news. And the news he got was his worst fears confirmed.

The press would say Joffrey had hung himself. But Jaime knew…he knew someone had gotten him out of the way. That way his guilt over Stannis' death was assured and he could never implicate anyone else. He could never confess to Ned Stark's death either and any evidence they brought forth would sound like a conspiracy theory.

Jaime went straight to the manor after he found out. He went to Cersei and comforted her as best he could as her grief and rage turned her into a hurricane that would have knocked down the whole house if she could. And when she had nothing left to cry, he went home to his apartment and waited for… well he wasn't sure what he was waiting for. The funeral would be in a few days. And then…

And then…

What came next? Where did they go from here?

It was in the midst of his confused thoughts a few days later that Brienne called and asked if he was all right. He thought about lying, but he hesitated for too long.

"Not really," he said at last. "Funeral is tomorrow."

"I heard," she said. "Is there anything I can do?"

"Come over?" he suggested softly. "And bring beer? I could use a friend."

There was only a short pause before she agreed.

An hour later, Brienne was at his door, the promised beer in hand. She had the good grace not to comment on his state of living at least. She just came in and set the beers on the coffee table, passing one to Jaime.

"Have you ever lost family before?" Jaime asked, taking a swig of beer.

"My mother," she said, sitting down on the couch. "Died when I was young."

"Mine too," Jaime said. "What an awful thing for us to have in common."

Brienne's mouth twitched. "It was an awful thing. I felt lost and…and also somehow like it was my fault. I don't know what I possibly could have done against cancer. But…something."

"I was the same way," Jaime said. "For my mother it was complications in childbirth. Cersei always blamed Tyrion for that. So did my father, I think. But somehow, I was left wondering if I could have helped. Saved her."

"I understand that," Brienne exhaled. "It's nice that you have siblings."

"I suppose." Jaime raised his bottle. "We're all a bit fucked up if I'm honest."

"I can't relate," Brienne said.

"To being fucked up?"

"No. To having siblings." She exhaled. "I lost all mine too young. My mother miscarried two possible sisters. And my older brother drowned. I wasn't very old at the time, but I remember him."

Jaime stared at her for a long time. "Gods," he said. "You have lost a lot."

"I was very little, like I said," Brienne said. "That's long past now. In the end, I barely knew most of them. And I still have my father. I love him."

Jaime nodded. He had his father too, though he wasn't sure if love was the right word for what he felt toward him. He cared about him of course but love…love seemed too kind. Too uncomplicated.

He loved Tyrion though. He loved Cersei. And that, in the end, was what made this death hit so hard.

"I never cared much for Joffrey," Jaime murmured. "But he was still my nephew. And Cersei's son. And in a way, I do feel responsible for this. I knew something was wrong. He was expecting to die, Brienne."

"So you think someone killed him," she said.

"I do," Jaime said. "I don't know how much further down this rabbit hole goes. And I don't know what's at the end of it. But every step we take forward it gets darker. And maybe I'm worried I'm going to lose someone else."

Brienne rested a hand on his shoulder. It pressed almost tentatively through his jacket but it was warm and strong. "You have allies," she murmured. "Including me."

"I already almost lost you when you got involved," Jaime said. "I…I don't think I could ask you to put yourself at risk again."

"You're not asking. I'm telling," Brienne said. "If we're friends, then we're friends. I want to get involved. To help you if I can." She squeezed his shoulder. "You don't get a choice in the matter."

He exhaled, letting his hand come up to rest over hers. He allowed himself a small, tired smile as he looked at her. "Thank you. For…for coming over. For helping me. Its more than I deserve."

"Its not about deserve," Brienne said with a flippant shrug. But her blue eyes seemed to flash nervously when he placed his hand over hers and she ducked her head a little bit, letting shadows obscure her face.

If he wasn't so tired, Jaime might have questioned that expression. But his head was too foggy for any of that. Instead, he gave her hand a little squeeze before dropping it again.

The funeral was tomorrow. And so many other challenges lay ahead. So it was nice to share a drink with a friend before plunging back into the real world.

Cersei had attended many funerals before. The funeral of her mother. The funeral of her ex-husband. The funeral of uncles and friends and even strangers who happened to be important in the company. She had imagined she'd one day attend her father's funeral as well.

She never really stopped to consider what it would be like to bury a son.

It was pain for her. Pure, raw pain from the moment she heard the news all the way until they lay him in the family cemetery. And then she just felt an ever-present numbness. Because in the midst of all of this she had to be strong. She was a Lannister, and that was what people expected of her.

Occasionally she saw press skulking about, but the security team did well at keeping them out. If one had managed to get through, she would have put them in an open grave and buried them alive. But she tamped down on her anger. Stared at the grave as the seconds ticked by with agonizing slowness.

She barely heard anything said at all. Her mind was elsewhere. On her son. The day he was born. The way he used to laugh before he got all twisted up.

The way he spoke to her that night he died.

It all played in a loop in her head, and she could not escape it.

As the funeral concluded and they shifted into the awful ordeal of mingling with friends, family and business partners, Cersei would have rather been anywhere else. She fought the urge to stab a fork into her leg just to have an excuse to leave. She did not want to talk to anyone about Joffrey, especially not with the recent news. Everyone was sure of his guilt now. And none were here because they liked him. No. It was obligation, nothing more. An obligation to their family.

They could take their polite smiles and condolences all the way to hell.

As she scanned the crowd, her gaze ran across some of the only people that had any right to be here. Her father, who was stone faced and handling many of the business partners, thank the gods. Jaime who had at least tried to get into the police station. Her children who were keeping together remarkably well. Even Tyrion's presence today did not phase her. He was family at least.

It was the sight of Arya Stark, still dressed as a bodyguard, that made Cersei stiffen. And before she thought better of it, she approached.

"What are you doing here?" she muttered at the girl. "Couldn't stay home just this once? You don't need to keep up the act."

"Myrcella wanted me to be here," Arya said. "So I'm here."

"Because she thinks you're a bodyguard."

"No," Arya said simply. "No she knows the truth now. She wanted me here as a friend."

There was no malice in the Stark girl's voice, and somehow that irritated Cersei more. After all of the times Joffrey and Arya clashed, she expected her to be smug. Not blank. Calm.

"You must be happy," Cersei said. "Happy that you got the justice you wanted."

"Unfortunately, no," Arya murmured. "I'm not very happy at all right now. I thought I might be. But I'm not."

Cersei glared at her. There was a storm of anger and grief inside of her and she wanted someone to push back so that she would have an excuse to unleash it. But Arya was not giving her that excuse.

"I'll keep searching," Arya murmured. "Searching for who's behind it. The one who blackmailed him is the same as the one who paid for his death. I'm sure of that." She looked up at Cersei. "And then maybe we'll both get the justice we want."

Cersei did not reply. And before she could, Myrcella returned and Arya rejoined her. She watched her daughter clutch onto the Stark girl's arm for support. More and more her family was tangling with the Starks and she still didn't like it.

But on one matter at least she and Arya could agree. Someone was still out there. Someone who had escaped justice.

They both had a vested entrance in finding them now. And they would. If Cersei had to move heaven and earth and all the seven hells, she would.

Arya lingered after the funeral. She didn't have much of a reason—just that this was the closest she had come to her father's grave in a long while and she wanted to visit it again. So as the crowds dispersed, she made her excuses to Myrcella and promised to be along shortly. Then she went to the Stark family plot.

The gates were locked, just as they had been on that day. That day long ago when everything had started for her. She realized now that had been the start of this whole mess of a revenge quest. The day she found a Braavosi coin and wondered if it held the answers.

Such a foolish thought to have. The foolish thought of a child filled with grief. If only she hadn't seen it. If only she had gone home and stayed with her mother and her siblings.

But then, she had been right. Someone had killed her father. Someone else was behind it. So was she wrong to seek justice? Was she wrong to look for answers as some shadowy figure tried to bury them?

There was a flash of movement out of the corner of her eye. She half expected to see Tywin Lannister. That was where she first really talked to him after all. But when she turned, she did not see him—she saw the Waif.

The Waif, standing next to her, dressed in mourning clothes that did not match the pleasant smile on her face as she looked upon the Stark graves. "Well?" She looked up at her. "What is your name?"

Arya stared right back at her, hardly daring to breathe. "No one."

The Waif clicked her tongue, shaking her head. "No. A girl is Arya Stark. And it is time for her to pay her debt."

A/N: Again, apologies for the delay (and for the cliffhanger, but you all expect that from me). I will catch you all next week with a continuation of the chaos. Review, subscribe and I'll see you next time!