The Adventures of Super Jock and Awkward Girl
A/N ~ Has anyone else noticed that in terms of character evolution (for this fanfiction anyway) Jaime is basically Galinda? Wicked. Oh gods, the mental imagery!
Disclaimer ~ Wanted: A badass sexy team of four to five warriors, priests of the drowned god and/or the lord of light, and silent sisters to join me in my rescue-retrieval mission of certain characters and plots from a cruel, genius saint named George. (And my creative disclaimer flow is back on!)
Coming Up… Jaime's fate is decided, well the details of his recent fate anyway, hands hurt but pull through, matches are hard, Catelyn finally sorts her life out, poor Brandon, poor Barbrey, poor Petyr, poor Lysa, happy happy Ned, and will Brienne ever get a theme tune? Find out in The Adventures of Super Jock and Awkward Girl!
23.Reckoning Day
The two weeks between the Tragic Weekend of Extensive Studying and Tyrion's Pot Noodle Trials and the match that would perhaps decide his entire future passed fleetingly, and without a theme song for Brienne. And, quite frankly, he wasn't freaking out, so much as stifling his would-be freak out.
In fact, when everybody else was in the most soaring of all spirits because this was indeed their final proper day at Westeros High School (excluding the days just traipsed in for the rest of the exams, or the prom) Jaime was just trying to concentrate on the game. Which was quite unlike him. (He still existed most of the morning in a sort of surreal daze, to be honest.) (But he could celebrate after he'd one himself a game, made Westeros High history and got himself a sports scholarship to Kings Landing.
The morning of the match drew balmy and bright, and the sun's glare was risen too sharp in his face. Tyrion made several cleverly cutting remarks about the team they'd be playing – a honed squad from the Dragonstone Institute – and Cersei was almost human, hiding her obvious ecstasy at the last day of school, rushing about complaining about her everything as she rushed around gathering her cheerleading outfit and diabolical plans, and Tywin actually clapped his eldest son on the shoulder and wished him luck. Well, like he fucking needed it.
Today, the girls' team would play first. Lyanna Stark had gone on a craze of singe-minded, slightly scary determination to whip them all into shape, not that they needed it. Jaime frankly thought it was a bit unnecessary; Brienne was right. They were actually good. Dacey Mormont really was something now. (Of course, she had absolutely nothing on Brienne.) (But as if he'd say that to anyone.)
Rhaegar had alerted the avengers of Westeros High to assemble, and Jaime, being Jaime, had arrived fashionably late and snuck in at the back of the locker room where Targaryen was drilling everyone with a long-winded pep talk that included several big words that Jaime didn't understand. Great. It's my last day of school, save for exams and prom and shit, my last match at this school, my last fucking chance to make my mark, and how am I spending it? Listening to this ponce drone on. (This ponce was one of his best friends.) (But he was still a droning ponce.) Personally, Jaime thought Lyanna's pep talk would be more interesting. He had walked in on it once (whilst accidently falsely accusing Brienne of Cersei/Robert's crime) and it contained a deal more swearing and dangerously vast arm movements.
About halfway through it, Arthur Dayne started up an imitation of Rhaegar's serious expression and the dramatic sincerity with which he spoke. Jaime had to hit Jon Darry on the back to make him restrain his laughter. Poor Rhaegar. He was the most popular kid in school, one of the best looking, one of the most intelligent but somehow not nerdy, the principals son, the student captain of the guys football team, and yet somehow it all came back to him acting like a melancholy lost king in some stupid fantasy book written by a fat old guy who was probably born in the dark ages himself. (Or possibly Hamlet.)
At some point during the absurdly drawn out rally speech, Jaime heard a buzzer go off, and a distant cheering. Then Rhaegar looked quite upset, as he acknowledged that the girls game had already started. And yet he still carried on, after promising to 'wrap it up quickly'. Well, fuck that. This was his last day. His last day. Jaime motioned for Gerold Hightower to follow him, and, almost bent double, slowly slipped behind a block of the red lockers. From there it was just a quick darting step out the door. He grinned and double-high-fived Hightower, laughing down the echoey corridor. The nearest exit from the building was in fact the double doors out onto the pitch, so it was through them that they slipped out, with the filled pitch in front of them and the sides of the bleachers either side. Jaime, frankly, didn't give a shit was Gerold did, and just ducked under one of the bleachers, sitting there with a position that allowed him to see the play reasonably well.
Lyanna's blue hair was easy to keep track of, as, hastily (and crappily) ponytailed it whipped about, and Brienne too was thankfully easily tracked by her abnormal height. The others he couldn't really make out, but could make educated guesses. And damn it, they were good. The only problem, of course, was that Dragonstone Institute was very almost better.
It was like a battle, almost. And although Jaime's eyes immediately gravitated toward his friends on the pitch (or, rather, the only friends he could track through the electrically-fast play), they also immediately gravitated to flicker toward the two representatives of Kings Landing. Damn it, he wanted this, he needed this. If he didn't get this… (Well, he'd still go to Kings Landing, courtesy of daddy's money. But he'd probably get better accommodation if his cash hadn't been primarily spent on attendance.) To their credit, they seemed impressed. Too impressed.
Jaime was beginning to worry that the guys team would not quite be able to live up to Lyanna's teams' standard. In the KLC reps eyes, of course. Not his. As if. As if he'd worry about that. As if he'd even be nervous. Psssh.
By half time, the rest of the guys came out to join them, and the score was a dead tie. Brienne was scarlet, actually, bright scarlet, all over; Lyanna immediately fell to the grass, panting like an exhausted dog as she rolled around breathlessly; Dacey Mormont was groaning and clutching her side and her head and pretty much every muscle in her body. These Dragonstone guys were the real stuff. But on the plus side, the Dragonstone team looked just as dead the other side of the pitch.
Jaime, with yet another anxious glance and the Kings Landing people, realized they were looking at him. Not at him. At the girls, and one of them was pointing as she said something to the other dude. Fuck. No, not fuck. Hooray. The girls were just laying a mighty groundwork for Jaime and the guys to come in and do their thing and Jaime could make his mark on the college reps.
By the time the game started once more, Jaime was pretty sure he wasn't alone in thinking that this could well be one of the closest and most intense matches he'd ever seen played. He almost forgot about everything else, the entire bleachers on the edge of their seats. When Brienne somehow finally managed to score the winning touchdown, a cheer louder than maybe any that Westeros High had ever seen roared up, deafeningly strident. Jaime was almost sure he saw Lyanna do a backflip, shrieking and screaming and swearing.
After what seemed like forever of dancing and cheering, the team flooded into the locker block. Or rather, into the guys team. Lyanna was swooping to jump on Rhaegar within a second, screaming her head off with her legs wrapped around his waist. Oswell Whent took it upon himself to lift a hysterically-laughing Dacey Mormont up into the air, and several others rushed in to help. And before Jaime's mind quite realized what the fuck he was doing, cheering along with the others, he'd called her name twice through the crowd, elbowed his way to her and gone in to hug Brienne Tarth. Apparently she seemed quite shocked and/or put off, because she did not hug him back for quite some time. Jaime pulled back, slightly confused when he realized what he had just done. "Well, thank you for blowing us out of the water before we've even begun. Do you think they realize there's another game to play?"
Brienne was grinning – it was the first time he'd seen her so happy. "You'll do well," She managed, still out of breath and crimson from the game, blue eyes alight. Around them, cheers and laughter still erupted.
"You did well." Making the school look good made Jaime look good, after all. "That last touchdown, I – I have to admit, I didn't think you were going to make that, it was amazing!"
"I didn't think I would either,"
Of course you didn't. (Did she really have no idea how well she actually played this stupid damn game?) "That was crazy," He speculated. "Really, fucking crazy. I mean, the future Westeros High Dragons will be talking about that for years! You did it, you actually did it, you – " He cut himself off, feeling a smile on his face and turned around before he said or did anything really stupid. Friends could wait. Brienne could wait.
Right now, he had a game to win.
They had a five-minute interlude, meant for prep and whatnot, but it mostly consisted of more screaming. And then, Jaime doggedly suppressed whatever the fuck that was that knotted his insides – not nerves, he told himself, how fucking stupid would that be – and he made his way onto the pitch. A coin flip gave the upper hand in decision to Dragonstone. Jaime didn't let that bother him as he made his way to his starting position. He was Jaime fucking Lannister. And he would not let some stupid fucking coin ruin his confidence. Well aware that the Kings Landing College scholarship representatives were watching him, he steadied his breathing and forced any thought but the ball and the play from his mind. It wouldn't do to have them there. He needed to be entirely focused.
(Images and worries still flashed through his head though, one after the other, like light bulbs popping on old cameras.) (What if his hand gave out, suddenly started to hurt again like it was prone to?) (Brienne's blue eyes, in post-win euphoria.) (What if Rhaegar used his poor judgement and stupid sympathetic nature to put in one of their shittier subs?) (Kings Landing.) (What if something, anything went wrong; a distraction, a slip of the foot, anything. This was it. This was the last match he would ever play in the Westeros Dragons uniform.) (He wanted it to be a game to remember.)
Then the buzzer went off, and silenced every thought but the game.
By half time, they were down by a touchdown. Down. Damn it, damn it, damn it, damn it, damn it. The Dragonstone team were as exhausted as them though, perhaps even more, and if their momentary lead gave them cause for over-confidence then that would give the WH Dragons an upper hand. Hopefully. As Jaime slumped on the bench, struggling to fill his lungs properly and gulping water by the gallon, he faintly recalled the day he'd been told he was on the team.
He'd been a sub for a while, under the watchful eyes of Coach Selmy, and a guy named Criston Cole, who was basically the Rhaegar of the position. But becoming a sub Dragon wasn't something to get so excited about; they all knew it was going to happen. He was just too good. Well, when Harlan Grandison took to an extended period of sick leave, of course Jaime had been the one who everyone chose to step into his place. Eventually, Harlan returned to the school and decided he'd lost his passion for the sport. As a lowly freshman, Jaime was made the youngest Westeros High quarterback the school had ever seen. He'd made his mark on the school when he was barely a student there; made Westeros history. And here he was, through the ever-changing team, about to play the second half of his final game ever at this school, and today he didn't feel like just making Westeros history. He felt like being Westeros history.
It was strange, thinking back. He'd had this momentary euphoria, when he got the position. And yet still he was too much of a self-worshipping idiot to even celebrate too much. He supposed he just always assumed it would happen at some point. It was strange, looking back over his time at this school, this chapter that was just finally, finally ending, like Rhaegar or Macbeth or some other ponce, and realizing he'd spent most of his time here not really taking anything in but his own reflection. Wow. This match was doing something to his brain. He needed to go out and win this before he started contemplating every fucking blade of grass.
The half time ended all to soon, and he was back out on the pitch, facing the Dragonstone Institute, a touchdown behind. Dragonstone were meant to be, like, the kings, of the high school league. Well, Jaime vowed, they were going to fucking slay those kings. They had to.
The buzzer sounded, and he dove into action. Shoving, running, shouting, and all of it with just the thought of how amazing it would be when he did this and won this and got into KLC on his mind. It was what drove him, and when they pulled ahead by a touchdown he felt his mindset pull ahead too. And the thought as well, of Brienne's eyes drove him too, because she had done it, she had beat these sorry-ass motherfuckers and for the first time she seemed so happy to him, and that was going to be him, except far prettier. (For no other reason.) (No other reason a fucking tall.) (Of course not.) That thought gave him a fresh surge of determination.
And then he was running, and the Dragonstone linebackers were right there, but he had to keep running, and his hand cramped, cramped like all the seven hells but he gritted his teeth and he got through it, and he all but roared, as he made it, and the ringing in his ears and the reeling in his head were drowning out the raucous screaming, the cheers and the swearing and the subs and the girls and Selmy and everyone running out onto the pitch and screaming and cheering and swearing because he had done it. Just as he knew he would. He let himself fall to the ground.
From his dizzy position on the churned grass, Jaime could see actual tears streaming down Lyanna's face. (He could see Brandon taking the piss out of her for that.) (He could see her pouring the contents of her water bottle over his head for that.) And everyone was hugging and lifting each other into the air and dancing and falling because they had done it, and this was it, that was it. His last game ever played at Westeros High. He wanted to remember that moment.
But after about half an hour of the whole school filtering onto the pitch to celebrate, Jaime realized Brienne was absent. And it wasn't until his eyes flicked again to the impressed-looking (hopefully) Kings Landing College representatives that he realized she was there. They seemed to be talking to her and he couldn't for the life of him understand what they were talking about. A tiny part of him dared to hope she was putting in more good words for him regarding his pending scholarship.
Eventually, the elation buzzed into the halls, and the rest of the day passed in a daze. The teachers were slacking a little. And by the time the bell went off, signalling his final, final goodbye to Westeros High (except for the exams and the prom) he was almost feeling emotional and the rumours of a celebratory party at Robert Baratheon's were circling.
Jaime was reluctant, almost, to go to his shrieking friends as they finally departed this school that had been such a big chapter in their lives. (Fuck, he needed to stop breathing the same air as Ned Stark.) But then Brandon, poor, poor Brandon came stupidly cheering across the courtyard to the school gates, apparently following and making a very confident appeal to Catelyn Tully, with a stupid smile on his face.
A sharp tug on his shoulder from Arthur Dayne pulled him back in with his crowd. "I'm just sorry we don't got popcorn," somebody whispered in his ear. For the second time that day, the departing class of Westeros High were enthralled by watching a dangerous and brutal game.
"No, Brandon," Catelyn was saying, almost distractedly. Sorry honey, you aren't brushing that imbecile off that quickly. "I've told you no. I don't care what was going on! You're not taking this break up seriously."
"Because I don't want to take it seriously," Brandon shrugged, looking to his teammates for backup. None was provided. Why was Jaime not enjoying this as much as he should have been? Surely he wasn't pitying them. Surely.
"Well, too bad," Cat said firmly, and then, from the gathering crowds, Barbrey Dustin came foreward and tentatively took Brandon's arm, saying quietly something quite reasonable about letting it go and not causing a scene. Brandon just shook her off, but she still hung uncertainly behind him. Poor Barbrey.
"No, not too bad," Brandon insisted. "Look, you obviously still have feelings for me, you step away from me for five minutes and you start doing my brother!"
The amused aura of the exorbitant crowds died immediately. Classic Jaime might have given a stupid 'oooh' or 'burn' and encouraged the rest of the gathered students to do the same. Now, Jaime wasn't quite sure what he wanted to do. He wasn't sure what he was supposed to do. Should he help, be a more forceful Barbrey Dustin and yank him back, whack some sense into him. He thought so. Maybe he should. Then he saw Catelyn's face, the most furious he had ever seen it, and recalled the wrath of that girl. Maybe he shouldn't.
"Your brother and I," Cat fumed, doing that annoying thing she did where she over pronounced every single syllable that came out of her mouth. "Are nothing to do with you." A deafening silence ensued, and Jaime caught sight of Eddard and Petyr Baelish both, toward the front of the ring of kids that now encircled them. Jaime found himself shocked. He did feel bad for them all. He did. what was happening to him? (It was just that he was so fucking happy, and it was his last full day at high school, and he should be so fucking happy.) (He didn't really personally care about the pentagon's feelings, so he didn't know what it was.) (He just felt bad for them leaving their school years on this note.)
After a long silence, Catelyn raised her gaze from the floor and up to Brandon. Then around the crowd, landing on Ned, on Baelish. "Eddard. Petyr. Come here."
"Cat, I don't think –" Ned started.
"Sh." They both braved it, and Catelyn glared from Brandon to Eddard to Petyr to Barbrey, to her little sister in the crowd. "Now, quite frankly, I don't see how any of this is anyone else here but our business, but I need to sort out my life! Brandon, I am not your girlfriend anymore and I don't believe I will be again. I'm very sorry, but get used to that. You're a good person, you'll find someone else. Petyr, if you continue stalking me, I will actually get a restraining order. Don't you dare think I won't. It's not healthy. Eddard –" Catelyn paused, and then softened. "Come here."
Ned came. And then Catelyn kissed him, quite fiercely, and Jaime joined in when the entire school started cheering. That was a slightly better note to leave it on. Poor Brandon, poor Petyr, poor Barbrey and poor Lysa, but fucking good for Catelyn. It was about time she sorted out all the men that were randomly obsessed with her. As they were, light and laughing, walking away from a proper school day for the last time, Jaime said as much.
And the last thing anyone ever said to him on the school premises (from a proper full school day) came from Lyanna's mouth. "You know," She said, all seriousness for possibly the first time ever in her life. "You're starting to sound like her."
Jaime didn't have to ask who it was. His mind filled with blue, and he knew.
A/N ~ Now, I won't be able to update until after Monday, because I'm at my dad's without laptop all week and then on Sunday I'm back in the theatre. I just thought Cat needed more page time frankly because I actually love her. Six chapters and an epilogue left!
And also, just to let y'all know, the plot takes a drastic twist for the worst in that time. I mean it does resolve. But a few of those chapters were painful to write.. It's not just all denial and shipping. Sorry. And on that note, I'll leave you for a week…