The Adventures of Super Jock and Awkward Girl

A/N ~ I'm such a tease. In other news I came up with a new headcanon in which in canon verse Jaime gets all jealous of Hyle, even with the Brotherhood and Stoneheart and shit going off, and tries to undermine him, like; where's your friend, Kyle, is it? –Oh, it's Hyle actually –Oh really whatever HA HA HA

Disclaimer ~ You can sort of tell that I'm no Georgie from that last sentence.

Coming Up… Tywin may or may not be an actual human being, Facebook fails to cheer Jaime up, Cersei's sober for once but there's really no difference and LYANNA IS EVERY J/B SHIPPER EVER. Find out in The Adventures of Super Jock and Awkward Girl!

18.Parental Guidance

It was still raining harshly when the coaches arrived back at Westeros High School three hours later. The school day had ended. The ride back had been the least enjoyable thing Jaime had ever endured, including having his hand broken. Lyanna, thank the seven, didn't raise any questions or even bring it up, but aside from that, everyone was cold and annoyed. Elia put-out, Brandon dour, Lya bored and Rhaegar just kept quiet.

And Jaime was in considerably lower spirits than ever. He didn't even know why.

He did not feel like walking home. He really ought to learn to drive at some point. Instead he leant against a tree in the steadily falling rain in front of the school gates and phoned a cab to drive him the twelve or so blocks to his house. It took a while.

Jaime didn't utter a word as he paid the driver and stalked out and slammed the door, shoving through the immaculate hedges and plots and shouldering through the door dripping wet. Tyrion was seated on the sofa, Apple laptop balanced across his knees, bowl of cereal dangerously near as he shovelled the stuff in his mouth. He looked up and grinned when he saw Jaime, despite the damp look he got in return. "Welcome home, brother. Wasn't the same without you here taking the piss out of life."

Jaime let his enormous, saturated bag thump to the floor and shook his head violently once, drops of rain flying everywhere. Tyrion made the mandatory joke about dogs and bitches. He kicked off his boots and made his way into the kitchen, expecting to find the new maid, or Cersei, and instead walking straight into his father.

That sent a jolt through him, because Tywin Lannister was never at home at – Jaime checked his Rolex – half three in the afternoon. "Hi?" He tried, slightly disturbed. He was having a shitty day. He didn't need his father there to make it even shittier.

"Good afternoon, Jaime." He greeted mildly. "Get changed, you'll catch a chill." Jaime stared at him. Was this Tywin Lannister home early and actually parenting? Something strange was happening here. "Now. Go on, go,"

Jaime stood marvelling for a moment. "Why are you home so early?"

"They let me go at lunchtime."

"They don't let you go, you let them you, you're the boss."

"Yes, I am the boss, and I'm telling you to go and get changed before you contract hypothermia. Now go."

Jaime rolled his eyes and wandered out, into the hallway and up the staircase, going into the bathroom and turning on the shower, testing the water and cursing the lack of towels in there. Today can officially get no worse. He dug around in his bedroom a while before coming up with a satisfactory towel, a Casterly Lions one (come on, of course he was going to support the team that originated from his birthplace!) and kicked the door shut. Then he ran into Cersei on the landing. She looked better than she had when he'd last seen her, though maybe that just constituted more makeup. (Even if Cersei frequently stated she was far too beautiful to wear makeup.) (But then again, Cersei's captions for all her Facebook pictures were I don't need to Photoshop these at all, I am this beautiful in real life.) (So.) (You know.) I was wrong. It just got a thousand times worse.

"Oh, it's you." She said carelessly.

"Yes it is. You'll remember me, roughly the same height as you, footballer, remarkably good looking, shared a womb with you for nine months?"

"Shut up."

"Wow."

She shoved past him, surprisingly sober, and down the stairs, frowning at the screen of her iPhone. Jaime rolled his eyes and showered, relishing the warmth of it, and loathing the mirrors to Podrick Payne. Podrick Payne. And to think, he'd actually been having a good time with Podrick Payne that morning of the raft building. Stupid, stupid.

That campsite did mental things to his brain.

(Yeah Jaime, a sliver of him thought – blame it on that.)

He turned the shower off and yanked back the curtain, and ventured back into his bedroom, towel around his waist. His bedroom was a fucking mess. He very nearly ventured right back out of his bedroom, but then thought better of it, dumping the piles of various stuff onto his bed and ransacking his wardrobe for clean clothes. When he was finally successful, Jaime threw himself onto his bed and stared at the ceiling. It was boring.

After a while of gearing himself up for the effort, Jaime leaned across the king-sized duvet to grab for his own netbook, flipping it on and opening up Facebook. The first thing he saw on his feed, annoyingly, was a post from the school's page. (Was he really following the school on Facebook?) (How sad was that?) (He resolved to unfollow immediately after he was done poking about.) He sighed. They'd uploaded the pictures from the camping trip. Howland Reed doing a grinning thumbs-up on the zipwire. Shots of Highgarden Manor, and the grounds. He was clicking through, uninterested, when he stopped short.

There was a picture he hadn't even been aware had been taken, of his and Brienne and Podrick's raft, pushed out into the silvery-skinned lake, with his back being the primary focus, half in the water, Brienne actually smiling in attempt to haul him up, Podrick laughing, useless as he tried to help. He was so enveloped in the memoir that it took him a moment to be terrified. Oh shit. Oh shit. No, no, it was fine, he told himself – he wasn't tagged in it, it was just his back, there was no way you could tell it was him, and even if you could, no way to tell he was laughing too. No way.

He shoved the screen away, about to flop back down uselessly when three sharp knocks on the door heralded something tedious or other. "Yeah?" Jaime called. The door opened. And there was Tywin, grim as always.

"How are you?"

"Oh, I'm fantastic."

"How was the trip?"

"Shit." He lied, exhausted. Exhausted with himself and everyone else.

"Mind your language."

Tywin sat himself down on the very edge of Jaime's bed, as if he thought he'd be contaminated if he engrossed himself too deeply in a teenager's bedroom. Or in a teenager's life, to be honest. The look of faint disgust at the state of the space reminded Jaime of Cersei, when she barged in to make him over for Rhaegar's Halloween party. He glanced at the open netbook on the bed. "Is this you?"

Assuming he asked of the photograph, Jaime raised an eyebrow. "What gave me away? Was it the fact I've been your son for –"

"Don't talk back. And don't lie to me. There's a distinct aura of laughter about this picture. Laughter is death to shit."

"They're laughing, I'm not laughing."

"Why not? Surely it was more enjoyable than you're letting on."

"I'm not laughing because I'm half immersed in revolting, freezing-cold pond water."

"That's quite clearly a lake and not a pond and you are quite clearly laughing, you can tell – don't talk back to me, I said." Tywin sighed. "You need to listen to me more, Jaime." Silence. "You're upset about something, I can see."

"What have you ever done about that?" Jaime snapped. He wasn't even sorry. He was just pissed off.

"Just remember, I was your age once too." Jaime doubted that. Jaime doubted that Tywin Lannister had ever been anything other than all he was now. "If there's anything that's bothering you, talk. I'm no Doctor Phil, but family is the most important thing. Correct?" No. Jaime's phone buzzed. He went to answer it, but a sharp look from Tywin stopped him in his tracks. "You should think less of what your peers want, Jaime." His father concluded. "And more of what you want."

And then he was gone. Why did people keep talking to him like that? First Rhaegar, with his Shakespeary shit, now his father? Cersei was about to start spouting ancient Chinese proverbs at the rate this was going. Ugh. He was only following his wants, he only ever followed his wants from the moment he took his first breath. He wanted Kings Landing College. He was going to do everything he could to get to Kings Landing College. (Which was sort of hard, because Jaime wasn't used to try. He was used to receive.)

Tywin put his head round the door again. "Oh, and Jaime? Good news. Doctor Qyburn called. You'll have that cast off in a matter of days."

Jaime forced himself to grin as he pulled Facebook back into his lap. Everything was falling into place. Everything. He was clearing the way for himself and the path was building itself. So why did he still feel like shit? Damn hormones. His feed updated again as Lyanna Stark uploaded a picture captioned MARSHMALLOWS ARE DA SHIZ (emoticon, emoticon, emoticon), a crappy-quality phone shot of the campfire that last night. Well, more a botched selfie of the top half of she and Rhaegar's faces. But he was in the background, if you looked close enough, lit crappily by the flames, golden head bent over a twig he was sharpening, engrossed in coverse with Brienne. He wanted to scream. Stop uploading these fucking pictures. Just. Just stop.

Then, when Lyanna saw he was online, a message quickly beeped through.

Hey, are you and Brienne Tarth a thing now?

He didn't reply. A second later, though, a follow up.

Because honest to fucking gods, Lannister, half my team are already going stupid over you and your stupid face and if I can't count on my best striker to carry on like she always has I'm going to disembowel you.

He almost laughed, and then thanked all the deities he didn't believe in that it was only Lyanna who had overheard. Only Lyanna. Annoying, overloud, crazy and yet ultimately careless Lyanna. She wasn't going to tell a soul.

All Jaime could reply was Gods no.

Oh, right, sorry. I don't mean to pry, it's just you seemed really close on the trip and then I heard you shouting about changing for her or something? Whatever. I'll say no more.

Jaime was relieved for one second. Before more messages clicked through beside her stupid blue-haired, tongue-out, cross-eyed profile picture.

And you were really close at the campfire. Like, physically.

Jaime wondered why he tolerated this person.

And HOLY SHIT you guys have this mental CHEMISTRY like dude

He was about to reply that they very much did not, when another came through.

Like actually you two should get together anyway

Regardless

I don't give a shit

YOU HAVE SUCH CHEMISTRY

You're basically the less cool me and Rhaegar

Kidding!

I'm not though

Jaime shut the netbook and stood up. He needed to get out more. He decided to see what was going on downstairs, and what was going n downstairs was Cersei having a screaming fit at Tywin. From what Jaime could gather, from where he sat, amused, on the sofa next to his little brother to view the show, was that Tywin objected to Cersei going out in the pouring rain with that much leg showing. Jaime was about to point out that all her precious hair products would wash out if she went outside anyway, but was robbed of the chance by the door slamming as Cersei stormed out regardless.

Now he was momentarily cheered.

He turned to Tyrion. "Ned Stark does like Cat Tully by the way."

Tyrion restrained a smug little smile. "Get me a notebook – I'm not going to be able to keep track of all this."

A/N ~ Sorry that one was so short. But come on. Lyanna is every J/B shipper ever. And by the way, the reason for the sudden influx of updates is basically me making it up to you for putting of for so long. Love you more than jam on toast.