The Adventures of Super Jock and Awkward Girl

A/N ~ I am so, so, so sorry this took so long! Things have been hectic, what with all my theatre stuff. Ugh. I can promise faster, more regular updates from here on out.

Disclaimer ~ It would really freak you out if I said it was mine, and I was actually George, wouldn't it?

Coming Up… As the camping trip draws to an end, Jaime is forced to think – shock horror – things through, Lyanna's marshmallow obsession is resolved, Lyanna gives some questionable relationship advice, Rhaegar is a perfect gentlemen to compensate for his pig girlfriend, and marshmallows go to waste. Find out in The Adventures of Super Jock and Awkward Girl!

16.Marshmallow Ash

Jaime had managed to stumble through the majority of the following day in a mixture of confusion, guilt, happiness, and concern. It was an odd, deeply unsettling but not altogether unpleasant feeling, and so he managed to smile and joke and laugh, if a little sporadically, at life, as he and the rest of the poor sods here endured cartography and mudslides.

(He'd kissed Brienne Tarth.)

(Brienne Tarth.)

He magnetized around Brienne and Podrick all day, and thanked the gods that she had the sense not to bring anything about the previous night up (he did see that familiar blotchy red creeping up her neck, but what else was new? She was handling the situation, that he was faintly sure she'd never been in before, with awkward dignity). He was not convinced that what he had done was a bad thing; he was not convinced that what he had done was anything, in all fairness. He was however bothered by the thought that he probably did need to take some serious time to think about what the fuck he thought he was doing. (Then again, why?) ( Why did he?)

Surely he was not going to pursue an open relationship with this girl as a life choice, surely? (But then, why, why not?) Did he want anything more with Brienne Tarth, of all people? No. That answer was instinct. Absurd. But it had felt different last night. Less complicated. Like he'd shucked off everything he tried to be, to keep being, and just existed, and in that existence, everything had felt different than it did now. It was nice, he supposed, looking back. Nice was nice, but nice was not often practical. And if he did or didn't do anything – he'd still have to face up to everything every science class.

Ugh.

Jaime Lannister vowed never to start thinking again.

So he managed, by some miracle, for the sake of the rest of the day, to put everything he'd said and tried last night aside, to forget about it until he really had to remember. (He wasn't sure he ever did have to remember, Jaime thought cheerfully.) (At least, what he thought was cheerfully.) (He was all hormonal and shit, he didn't know anything.) (Yeah, Jaime.) (That's what it is.)

He was wallowing in his own self pity on one of the cold logs around a pit of ash that had been and would later be their campfire - he'd decided to join in this time. Rhaegar had said it wasn't so bad, and he just wanted a distraction from decisions, truth be told – when Lyanna came running over the tree-speckled grey horizon, waving a packet of something over her head and shouting about something Jaime couldn't hear. Rhaegar soon came into view behind her, slower, struggling to keep up but ultimately happy. Theirs was a relationship he would never understand.

"I found them!" Lyanna was shrieking, blue hair completely mental, tangled around something that had once been a rubber band. As she drew closer, Jaime could see that the 'them' was a bag of the marshmallows she'd been whining about last night.

"That's great, for you, Lyanna, really great." Jaime glanced over

"Yeah, it is, you motherfucking cripple." She grinned and tore open the packaging, waving the open bag around in front of his face. Jaime frowned and tried to dodge his head back a little. Why am I friends with these people? (Ooh, friends.) (Kissing Brienne Tarth.) (Friends with a Stark.) (Whatever next?) "Because –" Lya grabbed a handful of the pink-white sweets and stuffed them in her mouth at once. He didn't understand what she was trying to say through the mouthful, except that it was disgusting and he wanted to hit her.

Rhaegar came panting to sit down beside them. "Sorry, Jaime. She's been looking for them for ages, the shop finally had them. Lya – Lya, stop, for one minute, you're going to be sick. Save them for the fire."

"Does it turn you on that you have to watch your girlfriend like a toddler, or she'll end up eating bugs and getting lost twenty-four seven?" Jaime mused. Lyanna made an outraged noise through her marshmallows and whacked him on the head with the packet. Rhaegar just laughed.

"I don't have to watch her like a toddler." He smiled. "Sometimes I just like to,"

"Ugh, that's both sweet and disgusting."

"Lya's both sweet and disgusting. That's why I love her."

Lyanna, who had been struggling to swallow her enormous wad of marshmallow goo, made some sort of laugh-grunt noise. "And I thought he just loved me because forbidden fruit is hot, or some shit,"

Jaime gave Prince T a questioning look as he undid the Velcro straps on his sling, gently removing his cast-and-bandaged hand from it's restrictions. At least he could do that much now. (Actually, at least Tywin wasn't still threatening to sue Wall Academy now.) Rhaegar nodded as Lyanna tossed a marshmallow into the air and almost caught it in her mouth. It hit her on the chin and fell into the dirt. She was swooping onto it in a second, brushing off the clinging earth, and would have eaten it if her boyfriend hadn't smacked her hand away. Jaime was beginning to feel a little sick. "Yeah, Rick – Rickard, that is, Mr Stark, Lya's dad – he didn't want us dating. Nor did mine, actually. Kept trying to set me up with Elia Martell. Which is why she's so weird around us all the time."

Jaime nodded. Great. Just what he needed. For an expectation-defying relationship to be waved shamelessly around in right under his nose. "Good for you both." He was about to restrap his arm, get up and go somewhere that did not contain happy couples, when Rhaegar said the words.

"What about you? Anybody interesting caught your eye these days?"

Well, certainly not interesting, and she's only caught my eye because she's about twenty feet tall and looks like a horse. "No." He paused. "I'm just going to go –"

"Oh no you're not, mate!" Lyanna yanked his good arm so roughly he thought it was going to come off and he'd have to hit her with it, and he sat back down from where he'd been rising. She looked so smug. "I know that going to go shit, that means you've got something you're not telling us, you pretty arrogant bastard,"

"I don't have anyone in my life except for myself, I set extremely high standards, you see. Sometimes I have to turn myself down to keep it interesting. I'm going to leave now, and for the record I'm not a –"

"Yes you are and we all love you for it. Shut the fuck up and tell me who you're shagging."

"Lyanna!" Rhaegar scolded, but his purple eyes were still fond. She gave a so what look and continued stuffing her face with sweets. "Don't say anything you don't feel like you should, bro." Had he been any other person, Jaime would have been grateful to his teammate. But no. He had to be Jaime Lannister, and sit their stewing in the annoyance that these people indisputably thought he had some sort of girlfriend. Which, for the record, he did not.

Anything he said now would just convince them more of the fact.

"Are you sure it's a girl you're having trouble with, Lannister? Or maybe the girl doesn't like you? No, she lives far away! Ooh, ooh, or maybe it's a girl who likes you but you like another girl. There's a solution for that mate – threesome. Hey – hey – don't look at me like that, you know you were thinking it. What's it gonna be, quarterback? I'll help, promise, pinkie promise, look. I give spectacular advice. It is known. Tell him. Tell him it is known, Rhaegar,"

Jaime gave the couple a withering look and Lyanna took it upon herself to shuffle over so that she was practically lying on Targaryen, blue and silver. "It is known that you should probably never listen to what Lyanna says, ever." Rhaegar glanced down at her and absently took a marshmallow. "You mean well, love, but come on…"

"Right, thanks for the help, both of you, it was appalling –"

Lyanna jumped up like she'd been electrocuted. "Help – see, there is someone, I'm right, I'm right and I'm the queen of everything!"

"You're wrong and you're the queen of nothing. Goodbye."

Jaime winced as he stood up and shook his head, making himself smile as he walked away, fiddling with his arm, struggling to redo the sling whilst standing up and moving around. Multitasking was harder than it ought to be. Particularly when you added thinking into the mix, too. He wasn't entirely sure where he was going. Maybe to go and retrieve his emergency food stash from the tent, or maybe to find Brienne and pretend nothing happened and have a laugh, or something. He didn't know much these days, he reflected.

"Jaime – stop," Rhaegar called, jogging up behind him. Jaime glanced back at the firepit he'd left. Lya was lying on the muddy ground eating marshmallows and playing on a PSP he hadn't realised had been stuffed in her hoodie pocket. "Sorry, about that. She just gets a bit carried away –"

"Don't, I don't care, I'm fine."

"Those are the words of a guy who does care. So… I'm just going to say, if there is a girl, she's lucky to have you. And you her. I don't know why, but I know it'd be a whole lot worse if I didn't have Lyanna in my life. I don't know why. But maybe that's what relationships are meant to be, yeah? So I just feel like I need to tell you to trust yourself. Unless, of course, there actually is nobody, in which case… I'm an idiot. But whatever." Rhaegar grinned. "See you fireside?"

Jaime hesitated. Damn Rhaegar Targaryen, who was perhaps the reincarnated William Shakespeare, or Victor Hugo. (They were the wordy ones weren't they?) (He really wasn't famous for paying attention in bloody literature.) (He didn't even take literature.) (What idiots took literature?) (Rhaegar, probably.) Damn him and even damn Lyanna Stark, the repulsive revelatory. Damn everything. Damn Brienne Tarth, of all people, the most. Damn himself. Damn it all. "Yeah. Probably."

And Rhaegar ran back to his crazy girlfriend, and left Jaime alone with his doubts.

Eventually, Jaime did decide to go see what this campfire nonsense was all about. Mostly because he hoped things between Brandon and Petyr would finally crack. But still. It counted.

Though not entirely dark yet, the evening was drawing in, and the fire, sparking to life, did look pretty good against the dullness. Oh dear seven. He was turning into Eddard. By the time he'd drawn away from playing The Walking Dead on Lyanna's PSP – he'd badgered Rhaegar all afternoon until he finally relented and got Lya to lend it to him – most of the others were already gathered, and Lyanna, who had evidently bought more than just the one bag, was handing out marshmallows. She kept on, shouting marshmallows for all, I am the marshmallow god, until Randyll Tarly had a spectacular rant at her. Jaime quite enjoyed that.

Rhaegar was staring intently at the fire, opposite him, like Edward fucking Cullen, and Lyanna was practically on top of him, and stuffed full of sugar, so he avoided them. Brandon was talking to Howland Reed, and Elia had evidently decided to stay in her tent all evening, so Jaime once more found himself beside Brienne. She didn't look at him.

"So…" Jaime tried. "How's things? Lyanna, chuck us the marshmallows."

A crumpled, half-empty package hit him in the face. He peeled it off and found a suitable stick on the floor. After a moment of digging around for his penknife in the pocket of his chinos, he shoved the bag at Tarth and flicked the knife out, sharpening the end of the twig. "…What are you doing?"

"I'm making the perfect marshmallow skewer, if I'm going to turn into Eddard Stark, I might as well do it right."

"But that's pointless."

"Rude."

Brienne was turning red again. He was beginning to think she was more tomato than human by this point. "No, look –" She picked up a random stick from the ground and used that, totally unprepared, to hold a marshmallow to the fire. Jaime feigned a Renly-style oh, please.

"What are you, a cavewoman? I'm a Lannister, we're reared for perfection."

"Have the marshmallows." Brienne shoved them back at him, with a look that said bollocks.

Jaime busied himself with shaving the twig of bark, and then stabbed a marshmallow with the upmost efficiency. When he languidly held it out to roast, he turned to Brienne with his best smug expression, the one Cersei liked to use so much. "See. Flawless."

"A marshmallow is a marshmallow, Jaime."

From across the flames, Lyanna gave an indignant yelp of a marshmallow is the key to heaven, thank you very much and Jaime rolled his eyes. Then he wondered why Lyanna could pick up on their conversation. (If you could call it a conversation.) Oh Gods, was she… Eavesdropping bitch. Did she think their little girl talk before meant Brienne Tarth? (It sort of did.) (But that was hardly the point.) He yelled a quick mind your own business before setting that rather uncomfortable thought aside.

"So…"

"Jaime, what are you doing?"

"I'm roasting marshmallows, why are you so obsessed with me?"

"I'm not – obsessed with you!"

"Oh really?" Jaime grinned, wiggling his eyebrows. "Oh really, really? You're not obsessed with me, really? Everyone's obsessed with me, really, really."

"Jaime." Brienne snorted.

"What?"

She looked as if she was about to smile, and then glanced back down at the dirt. After a long, silent pause, she told him, quite solemnly, he thought, "Your marshmallow's dripping on the floor."

"My marshmallow's – Shit." Jaime struggled to life his now-sticky stick from the goo attaching it to the hard dirt ground in pale pink strings. It looked like something out of a crappy low-budget alien movie. Well then. The remaining molecularly integral marshmallow was all but ash. Eh. "Who's to say marshmallow ash wasn't my intention?" Nice save, dickhead.

"You're to say. We're reared for perfection."

"I hate you, you perfectly memorizing bitch."

"Thank you?"

Jaime discarded his branch in favour of another, and he sharpened that one better anyway. He went on like that for a while, trying not to think. He didn't really see the point in thinking anymore – made life so much harder. Or maybe it was just that being away from everything else that made him feel like that didn't matter so much.

After a few of Highgarden workers' failed attempts to start a sing-along, a few people began to retreat into their tents. Lyanna and Rhaegar almost succeeded in sneaking off to the bushes, before Mr Tarly caught them and screamed bloody murder. Jaime very nearly laughed. After that, it didn't take long before there was only a smattering of people remaining, and none of his friends being any of them.

He turned back to Brienne, pointedly not thinking about the words that were leaving his mouth. "You know what?" She glanced up. "I've had a better trip than I thought I would." Brienne nodded, unsure of whether he was leaving it there or going to continue. He was quite unsure of that as well.

"That's – good."

He studied the flames. "I'm sorry, by the way."

"What for?"

"For the other night, by the lake. That wasn't…"

"It – it's fine."

"I had to try it. And frankly, I'm not sure if anyone stays in the moment as much as I do." Act first, think later, damn the consequences. That was always his motto. (Now he was starting to subconsciously question that.) (He wasn't talking about that though.) He did have to try it, because it was just… different. Good different. He thought. Maybe he should try it again. Just to see. "And Brienne, I –"

He felt his phone vibrate in his pocket.

"I have to take a call, apparently." He withdrew his iPhone. Robert Baratheon's face, laughing, in the contact picture. Oh, what the shit fuck do you want now that can't wait, you stupid fucking idiot? He answered anyway.

Robert's voice filled his ear immediately, half-laughing, half-slurring, clearly quite drunk. Despite the hint of a guffaw in his tone, he was hollering about how angry he was. Occasionally Jaime could pick out the odd word, like Cersei or Lyanna, or stupid siren blonde bitch whore. He very nearly hung up, to finish whatever the hell he thought he was playing at with Brienne Tarth.

But by that point, the worries were begin to seep back in. How the hell would Baratheon respond if he heard Brienne Tarth with him? How would any of them? Ugh. Robert's voice was rising on the phone, and Jaime wondered if perhaps he was even aware of who he was calling. Jaime suddenly was. Oh, Gods, this wasn't him. This couldn't be him. Not now, not now he had to be the quarterback and be the golden boy and get everything right so he could go off to Kings Landing.

He had to. He had to get there.

He pressed hang up on Robert's drunken ravings.

Then he stared from the phone to the fire.

"Night, Tarth."

And then, with that, he slunk back to his tent.