The Adventures of Super Jock and Awkward Girl
A/N ~ This is so much fun to write, oh my gosh, and yes I am drawing on my own experiences at school camping trips. Sorry this one's a shortie, but I'm drawing out this little trip of fluffery as much as humanly possible. You'll soon see why. As always, thank you for your lovely reviews, and your patience with my imbecilic internet. This fic doesn't exist without y'all.
Disclaimer ~ It's still not mine :c George's creations, I'm just borrowing them so they can endure whatever whims I see fit.
Coming Up… The poor little over-indulged spoilt little rich kid struggles to do things for himself, news is received that may be the best thing or the worst thing that has ever happened to Jaime, distractions are good, fresh air is good, and insects are not good… Find out in The Adventures of Super Jock and Awkward Girl!
1. Like Little Kids (With Tents)
Jaime was pretty certain, when he boarded the coach, that he was about to have the worst experience of his life.
His twin sister was an alcoholic conniving little bitch, his mother was dead, his father was condemning him into this whole wretched affair with the promise of the best uni in the world, his right hand was useless, his science partner was Brienne Tarth, and he hadn't played football in months. And get somehow, this still got the crown for most dreaded.
The only person he remotely liked going on the school camping trip was Rhaegar Targaryen, so he crowded into the sprawling back seat of the coach with him, Lyanna Stark and her blue hair that heralded his sister's drinking problems, Brandon Stark, and Elia Martell. Rhaegar was coming for the extra credit – or that was his official tagline. Jaime knew Rhaegar, and he knew he was coming because he wanted to. Lyanna was coming because she had been promised the chance to throw someone in a lake. Brandon was coming because he was still fuming about the incident at the party, and his breakup with Cat, and needed to escape the sight of her pretty red hair for a bit, and Elia because her family were moving house and wanted a weekend away from the stress. The remainder of the cool crowd had been scraped together by the Main Event, the Main Event's mental girlfriend, the Hot One – Jaime knew his place – the Pretty Much As Mental As His Sister One, and That One Who Doesn't Really Make An Impression And Just Tags After Ashara D Who Is Not Here. What a fucking golden squadron they made.
Few others were tagging along. There were of course the usual suspects who leapt at any chance to evade people and school in general for a week; Littlefinger Baelish, poor sod, with his nose all crooked where Brandon broke it – tensions between the two were still high, and Jaime doubted it was a clever idea to shove them on the same bus; Podrick Payne with his stutter and his rabbit-in-headlights eyes; Brienne; one of her three point two friends, some ponce named Hyle Hunt; some girl named Pia who would be going to the same skiving point as Tysha if not for some random rich relative, and a smattering of every other Pate-Tansy-Willem he barely knew.
They made for a sad little bunch. Some guy who worked at the grounds they were going to had hopped on board with his thousand-watt grin, rambling about what they'd be doing, and the food and board, but Jaime could see in his eyes he wanted to raise an eyebrow at the collection of idiots he'd been burdened with. He wanted to jump up and scream.
But he didn't, sadly, so the coach groaned to life and rolled on. Rhaegar and Lyanna were animatedly chattering about something or other, whilst Elia made futile attempts to join in, looking quite miserable. It was no secret she was one of the million imbeciles who fancied the Prince of the Dragons. Brandon joined in, but half-heartedly, and nobody was missing the deadly, nearly-frothing-at-the-mouth looks he was giving to Petyr a few seats ahead.
Jaime glared at the fingerprinted glass beside him, and the hastily fleeing roads and houses and trees beyond. This was a good thing. This just brought him closer to gaining enough favour to contribute to getting into Kings Landing. Because he wanted to. Despite everything, he so wanted to. The day was bright but his mood was dark. He didn't know why. He'd barely slept last night, having left his packing to then, and when he had his fragmented dreams were full of guns and empty glass bottles and a bright and brilliant blue.
It took but a couple of hours to arrive at the Highgarden Manor Grounds, and it took about five minutes before Jaime grew so fucked off at his two happy acquaintances and their nattering that he ignored them completely in favour of his iPod headphones. The next thing he knew, Elia was tapping him awake and everyone around him was undoing seatbelts and filtering off the coach. Oh. Well then.
He groaned and blinked, resolving to splash some water on his face next chance he got. It was his go to response following unwanted sleep. The truth was, even if Jaime was far too stubborn to ever admit it to himself, he felt better for his sleep. his head was still heavy, but he saw clearer and absorbed deeper. Vague images swam in his subconscious – better ones than last night, of calm solitude and peace against a pretty cobalt backdrop. Those fleeting pictures swam away as he woke – but it was as if he'd had a very, very good dream that he didn't remember, but knew he had, and that had reset the tone of the day.
Jaime threw himself off the bus and blinked in the sudden rush of shocking sunlight.
Mr. R Tarly, their woodwork teacher and the leader of the adult staff on this particular expedition was barking orders at everyone in sight, as he was so happiest doing, even if he always looked so fucking grim, and Jaime gathered that the general idea was to grab your bag from the storage under the coach, follow the crowd and hope for the best.
Jaime did just that, taking special care to put in some pure platinum snide japes regarding Tarly, to Rhaegar and Brandon, as he lugged his enormous North Face bag along the gravel path that cut through the tree-lined grass. The annual extra-credit camping trip to Highgarden was an awards programme for something or other, and something Jaime had never experienced before. Mostly because it was a bunch of losers sitting around singing Kumbaya or some shit; it primarily existed because Willas Tyrell's dad was a wealthy benefactor of the school and some distant relation of his owned Highgarden Manor. Manor. You'd have thought if it was such a fancy Manor house they wouldn't have to sleep on the floor with a bit of cloth over their heads, but whatever. Jaime was willing to let that pass.
At least Rhaegar was here. (Jaime pointedly refused to admit that Rhaegar's time would be taken up with his blue-haired loudmouth of a girlfriend.) (Who coincidentally happened to be his alcoholic twin's arch nemesis.) (Yeah, nemesis.) (That's what Cersei called her anyway.) (But Cersei had problems.)
So he followed Rhaegar along, letting himself laugh, and hefting his quite possibly overpacked bag with considerable difficulty, considering his limited use of a certain hand. It took about five minutes before the grass-and-gravel opened up onto a tree-ensnared field. Beyond which Jaime could see a sliver of a lake. Huh. Maybe the Tyrells were more loaded than he thought. Not more than the Lannisters though. Of course not. At the head of the field sat a large, grubby once-white tent.
"Right, hey kids, welcome to Highgarden!" Jaime didn't take half a second to begin loathing their assigned staff member more than life itself. Patronizing, grinning, dead eyed. Bloody hell. "I'm Leonette Fossoway, but feel free to call me Lea, and I'm going to be your guide for the next couple of days. Now, you guys are from –" She scanned a clipboard. "Westeros High? Cool. As you can see, that over there is the staff tent, where we'll be putting up the week's schedule for you to check and sign up for things as you like. You'll be offered a whole range of super-cool stuff here, but no pressure, only do what you want to do. But remember – you'll also be competing against a bunch of other schools, so try to do as much as you can, as best you can." Oh, right, because that was no pressure, only do what you want to do. What were they competing for, anyway? Some marks on a scoreboard? A claim to a pile of bunny shit? "Orientation will begin after you set up, so I'll be back in about an hour to show you the cafeteria, showers, and everything else," She spoke with the enforced jubilance of a hired helper, but it was so freaking military – she'd said that same thing hundreds of times. Jaime decided never to ever become any sort of guide at any sort of place.
Lea jogged off, possibly to greet some other group of reluctant teenagers, and Mr Randyll Tarly drifted back in to face the pathetic cluster of volunteering students. Oh good gods. Jaime whispered some joke to Brandon, slouching beside him, who sniggered. Tarly fixed them with a purely satanic stare. "Is there something amusing you'd like to share with the whole group, Mr Lannister?" Yeah, there is, but I don't think you'd appreciate it you emotionless bastard. "No?" Well. "As Mr Lannister and Mr Stark just so kindly demonstrated, I think it's necessary to separate you from those who are distraction to you." Like me, you mean. Jaime knew that Randyll Tarly hated few people more than he did him, and that was saying something. "So Jaime Lannister, I think you can share a tent with –" Clipboard funtime. "Hyle Hunt and Petyr Baelish." He heard Hunt give a theatrical groan from where he was standing. As Mr Terror Tarly went on, rattling names off for tent assignments, Jaime revelled in his misfortune. Then again, it hardly surprised him, what with his luck these days. And it could always be worse. Cersei could be here.
"Now, go on. Go on! Tents, up! You'll find each them all in the staff marquee, use some initiative and help each other." And with that, Tarly disappeared into said staff marquee, probably to sit down and have nice cup of coffee whilst sadistically watching sullen teenagers fail at putting up tents.
People were drifting awkwardly toward their tent-mates. Baelish kept glancing at Jaime, almost uncertain whether he should come to him or not, and Hunt seemed to be ignoring the whole situation, instead complaining loudly to Pod Payne, and another one of his friends who had been dragged into this farce, something Ambrose. If you want something done right, you have to get the hell on with it yourself. Jaime glared and trudged into the staff marquee to claim a musty-smelling tent pack. Tarly smiled at him and he had to restrain himself from kicking him.
He dumped the tent on the sun-warmed grass, and squinted through the light at the idiots sharing his accommodation. Apparently everyone was just helping their own friends to put up tents and hence restricting time spent with idiots they loathed. Which was fine, by Jaime, but Rhaegar and Lya and Brandon and Elia were already working on a tent together, and he could only use one hand.
To his left, Hyle Hunt had began to help Brienne with hers. Jaime watched in stunned despise as they managed to construct the thing remarkably quickly. He stared from his useless hand to the tent and threw himself down in the grass for lack of anything else to do. He'd wait, Rhaegar or Elia Martell or somebody would come over and put his up for him in a minute.
A minute was apparently half an hour. That was when Petyr Baelish came over and started to draw out tent pegs and other shit Jaime didn't understand. They didn't speak to each other and they didn't progress all too far. Baelish drifted off again to probably go somewhere he wasn't wanted or needed. Jaime began to relinquish hope, since Rhaegar and his tentmates were already setting up and unpacking inside theirs. "Hyle!" Jaime called languidly, trying to mask his irritation. "I don't know if you've noticed, but we don't have anywhere to sleep tonight so if you could stop wasting time talking bollocks to Podrick Payne, get the hell over here and help the poor broken-handed bastard you've the honour of sharing with!"
Hunt said something quite obviously useless to Pod and hastened to Jaime's side. "Right."
"Yeah."
"Well, what do you want me to do?"
"Put it up, I can't do it."
"Why not?"
"Because of this thing, you moron," Jaime flapped his bound arm in Hyle's face. Hunt was about to say something, before Jaime continued his annoyed muttering. "And because I'm a Lannister, we have people to put up our tents, not that we ever have need of tents," Entirely unaware that he'd just condemned himself, damn it, he glanced up to see his tent-partner harder-faced than before.
"Oh, so you're rich and pretty and too good for me, is that what you're bullshitting?"
"No, that's not what I'm bullshitting, that's what I'm telling you."
"Then you can tell it to yourself, dickhead." Hyle sighed exasperatedly and trudged off to continue ranting at and aiding Pod Payne, who was somehow dangerously close to spearing himself with a tent pole. Classic Jaime one, Broken Hand Sod zero. Well fucking done, you stunning idiot. He could faintly hear Hyle and his friends' conversing. It mostly concerned him and whether anyone in the entire human race could stand him. Charming. And here I was, thinking everyone loved the quarterback. They now appeared to be debating who should go put his tent up for him, since Hyle did have to sleep in it after all. "Oh, bloody fucking hell, you can tolerate him, Bri, go on, help poor Hyley."
Jaime just about heard Brienne mutter something he would never have expected her to even know, let alone use so colourfully, and trudge over dejectedly, ignoring him completely as she started militarily assembling poles. "Oh, come on, Bri," Jaime tried to smile, at least satisfied that he'd have somewhere relatively dry to sleep tonight. "Friends, we agreed. And we were getting on so well."
"Jaime, please don't ever call me Bri again."
"Oh, but Hyle can do it and it's fine. What happened to our truce, anyway?"
"Hyle can do it and I'll kick him in the bollocks later." She paused. "Nothing's happened to our truce. I just happen to have my own tent to put up."
"No, it's fine, look, Pia and Lyanna can do it themsel – no, wait, she's trying to swordfight Pia with a tent pole. That's not what they're for, Lyanna! Get a life or counselling or something!"
Brienne glanced up at him for half a moment, and for half that half a moment he thought she was about to smile. "Right," When he surveyed the current situation of his accommodation, he was adequately pleased to see it was actually coming along. "I'm going to get the poles in, you hold it steady. Do you think you can manage that?"
"Oh, it'll be horribly taxing." He feigned shock and performed his best Victorian-lady swoon, grinning as he came back up to swipe the canvas with his decent, retarded left hand.
"Jut hold it by the corner," Jaime felt as though a you idiot was missing from that sentence, but he complied anyway. He resolved to teach her about insulting people. It was an art, really, an art she of all people ought to learn. They worked in harmony for a while, Jaime joking about and good-naturedly ridiculing the universe, Brienne putting up his tent. When they had something that looked like an almost construction, he sighed a theatrical sigh of content and flopped back down in the grass.
"You're done, Jaime, you can lie in there. Don't expect me to unpack for you."
"What?" Jaime fell into mock-horror. "But that's the best part about breaking your dominant hand, having people do things for you!" She rolled her eyes, and Jaime began to realize he'd brighten up considerably since the bus. The sun hung high and strong above, and around them a ring of tents had begun to rise. Most who had managed to complete the task set before them had disappeared inside their tents to unload their stuff.
"No, Jaime, you've been having people do things for you your entire life." That was meant in jest but somehow clawed through. Huh. He had been having people do things for him his entire life, poor over-indulged spoilt little rich kid. And it was good. Gardeners, housekeepers, nannies and extra tutors when he was tiny. His thoughts returned unbidden to Kings Landing College. Dad'd get him a little property outside the campus, he assumed, but would he actually be able to do anything in it? Meh. I'll live on Dominos and takeout if I have to. Then he wondered if Cersei would share that property or get one of her own. Shudder.
"Maybe so," Jaime agreed, "But at least I know how to enjoy it."
"You know how to milk it, you mean."
"You love me really, everyone loves me, I'm amazing and loveable."
"Nobody loves you, Jaime. You're arrogant and annoying."
"I love me."
"Of course you do."
"I think Hyle Hunt loves you."
"Fuck off."
The open air really does bring out this one's cruder side. The one thought that kept returning to the forefront of Jaime's head was a simple this is nice, you're having fun. Surrounded by losers and sheep shit and old trees, and he was actually having an alright time not at the cost of somebody else. Weird. Weird. Maybe this was what other people felt like. No, of course not. Other people didn't have Classic Jaime annotating and commentating on everything in his head, and fighting for dominance, fighting to spill out free from his mouth. "Oh, get down here you great lump, the grass is lovely."
"Are you drunk, Jaime?"
No, but at home my sister probably is. Ah, that. Jaime was just shifting to rise and dump his enormous bulk of a bag into the tent when their irritatingly punchable guide returned, rambling about the grounds and facilities, and then congratulated everyone on constructing their tents. It was hollow, and hollower for the golden-haired quarterback who didn't actually do anything but swear and laugh. Maybe he was drunk. Drunk on sunlight. At least it was bright, and the previous days' rain had subsided. Maybe it had subsided just for this trip. Maybe this trip wasn't going to be quite so dismal as he first thought. It was almost like when he was a little kid, and he'd run around, and the sunlight itself seemed magical. Well fuck, I am turning into a Ned Stark. Nah – he was far more attractive.
He held out his good hand. Brienne just stared at it. "Yeah?"
"Pull me up, pity the half-cripple."
"You're not a cripple, you fool."
"No, I'm not." He smiled as she complied and he lurched to his feet, checking his iPhone hadn't fallen from his pocket as it was so prone to do, and made to follow the crowd of stragglers. "Come on, Brienne. Let's go orientate ourselves."