Chapter 8: Wings

Jaime's apartment had become a hazardous zone. He could hardly walk around these days without tripping over something. And yet, despite the endless time he had stretched before him, he could not find the energy to clean the place.

Any professional would call him depressed… if he went to a professional. But Jaime had no desire to subject himself to a long session of talking about his feelings. He didn't need to "get to the root of the issue". He knew the root of the issue. He was depressed because he lost a fucking hand.

Five months. That's how long it had been since the incident. The KLPD got a call about a hostage situation and he answered it. But things had gone badly and a shotgun at point blank range took off most of his hand.

You're lucky it wasn't your head, the doctor had told him later, after he had amputated the rest of the ruined flesh to Jaime's wrist. But in that moment, Jaime didn't feel lucky at all.

Next thing he knew, he was on medical leave, no longer fit to serve with only one hand. There were too many things that would be too difficult for him now. Driving, handling a gun, and even writing reports. So much to relearn that made him unfit as an officer. He wouldn't even do well at a desk job because he would be half as efficient as all the others who had both hands.

Gods, it made him furious. It wasn't like he needed the money, but he needed something to do with his day, and being a cop had been the only thing he was really good at. After the second war in the Free Cities ended, it seemed a natural fit. Something that still used his skills. So he joined the force.

His father had been furious about it. Jaime was his eldest son. He should learn the business and rise in the company. That was the life his father had planned for him since he was born. But he did not have a knack for any of it. So he had ignored his father's wishes.

And now he had lost a hand. He wondered sometimes if his father had a direct line with the gods or if he himself was a god bound in human form, bringing down judgement on Jaime for defying him.

After the accident, his father had asked him to come home and start taking responsibility. That had been quite a fight between them, and Jaime hadn't talked to him since then. Mostly he heard what was happening in the family through Cersei.

A knock came at the door. "Jaime, open up. I know you're in there."

Jaime sighed. Speaking of which.

He stumbled his way to the door and opened it up. Cersei breezed into his apartment, looking around with an expression of undisguised disgust. "Gods, Jaime. This is how you live? You can afford a maid, you know."

"Hello to you too," Jaime said. "Take your shoes off. Wouldn't want to track mud into my pristine apartment."

"If I take my shoes off in this place, I think I'd end up in the hospital," Cersei picked her way through the apartment until she reached the kitchen table. His work was still spread out across it. Old copies of files from cases he had never solved. He liked to look them over and torture himself every once in a while. "You should let all of this go, Jaime. It's been five months. You're not a cop anymore. Time to move on."

"Been speaking with father?" Jaime asked.

"Obviously. I work for him. Like you should," Cersei said.

"Yes, it clearly makes you very happy." Jaime leaned back against the wall.

"It's not about happiness. It's about our obligation to the family," she said.

He pointed at her. "See that? That's definitely a direct quote from father."

She glared at him. "I swear to the gods… you and Tyrion don't know the meaning of the word responsibility."

"Well, you drink too much," Jaime said. He could tell just by looking at her she had already had more than one glass of wine and it was just after noon. Not that he blamed her. Playing General Counsel to the Lannister Corporation had to make one want to drink all the time. "So I guess we all have our faults."

"Tyrion also drinks too much," Cersei pointed out.

"That's true," Jaime said. "So both Tyrion and I are irresponsible. You and Tyrion are alcoholics. What do we share, sweet sister?"

She thought about it for a moment. "We're tall."

He laughed at that and she grinned too, in spite of herself. Even Tyrion would have chuckled if he was here. A rare joke from Cersei was meant to be cherished.

The three of them had been close once. Well… not Cersei and Tyrion. They had been snapping at each other since Tyrion learned enough vocabulary to argue. Jaime was the mediator between them. But lately, he had felt distant from both of his siblings. They all lived in such different worlds now. Cersei worked hard for their father, Tyrion worked hard at irritating their father and Jaime… did not work at all. Perhaps that was adulthood-watching one's siblings become strangers with each passing year.

He sighed and sat down at the kitchen table, sliding around one picture absently. "You know the business is better off without me. You're the one who has a knack for it. Well… you and Tyrion but… we all know how things are between him and father." He shrugged. "I would be a liability."

"Well, you can't read a contract," Cersei agreed, sitting down in front of him. "And you don't have any of the schooling. But you have something else."

"What's that?" he asked.

"Personality," Cersei said. "You charm people without trying. They like your smile. They want to make you happy. In negotiations, that can be lethal."

"So that's what Father is after? My charm?" Jaime asked.

"Yes. Well, that and he wants to train you to take over for him," Cersei said.

"He should train you," Jaime said. They both knew it. Cersei and Tyrion were both good at that sort of thing. But Cersei was the only one between the two of them who wanted to please father. If only he would see that… but Tywin Lannister saw whatever he wanted to see.

Cersei drummed her fingers against the table. "I fell out of his favor a long time ago."

"We all did," Jaime said. "I became a cop . You think that gained me favor in his eyes?"

"No," Cersei said. "But you're the golden son, Jaime. You can get away with anything you want… but if you came back to the house with me right now and said you wanted to join the family business… he'd forget all of it."

Jaime sighed. Yes. He would.

Cersei stood abruptly and went to the kitchen. "Do you have any wine in this place?"

"No," Jaime said. "Whisky."

"Good enough." She found the bottle and poured a shallow glass for them both. He raised an eyebrow.

"Remember what we said about your drinking problem?"

"Fuck off, Jaime." She sat down at the table and slid the glass across to him. "Anyway, I came here for a reason."

"Really? And here I thought you came here to criticize my life choices."

"No, though I could keep going on that a while yet." She sighed. "Father wants you to come to the charity gala."

Jaime cursed inwardly, swiping up the glass and taking a long drink. "I can't think of anything worse."

"I told him you'd say that," Cersei said. "Come on. I'm going to suffer through it. You may as well give me some company."

"I won't have time to be much company for you," Jaime said, standing. "Let me tell you what will happen. The moment I walk in there, every one of our shareholders and business partners will spot me and wander over. They'll ask 'how have you been' as if they care and then they'll stare at my stump of an arm and say 'real shame about that'. And then, once they're done feigning sympathy, they'll ask about the business. Am I coming back to work for the family? Am I finally stepping up? And I'll fumble through an answer while I flash a winning smile." He finished the rest of his drink. "And I'll do that at least one thousand times."

"Well, seems you have it all figured out," Cersei said dryly. "Should give you time to practice."

"It's just… painful, Cersei," Jaime said.

"It's one night," Cersei said. "I deal with those fucking shareholders and business partners every day. When they ask about you. When they ask about my children. When they question my judgement on the contracts and try to subvert my authority, because I'm a woman, and they think they know better." She finished her drink. "If I can put up with that all day, you can put up with it for one fucking night."

Jaime had nothing to say to that. He knew that Cersei's job wasn't easy, but then she chose to do it. Why should he return to it when he'd been fighting his whole life to escape?

"Father is extending an olive branch, Jaime," Cersei said. "You know he doesn't do that often. He might only do it with you, actually. Just… please. Come. Promise me."

Jaime studied her for a long time before nodding. "All right. I'll be there."

"Good." She set down her glass. "When you come, shave. You look like a vagrant."

"I love you too, sweet sister."

She flipped him the bird as she made her way to the door which was a good enough goodbye. When the door slammed shut, Jaime was left alone in this mess of his apartment, already regretting his promise. He'd heard tell that his brother Tyrion was throwing a party on the same night as the gala, and he would much rather attend that. He would much rather sit on his couch with a bottle of booze to be frank.

But Cersei was right. She was on the front lines of dealing with their father and giving her reinforcements every once in a while was the least he could do.

With a resigned sigh, he wandered back over to the kitchen table where some of his old files lay scattered. His unsolved cases. The thing he used to pretend he was still a detective.

This morning he had been looking at the case of a girl named Ros who was murdered nine months ago. She was a high-class call girl, known for visiting wealthy clients. She was a professional, of course. Never gave away any names. But perhaps one of her clients hadn't trusted that and killed her.

He thought about her case because another call girl had turned up dead that morning. Sex workers in King's Landing had a dangerous profession. But every time one died, Jaime couldn't help but wonder if there was some kind of connection.

Probably not. Most murders didn't have a connection between them. They were random acts of rage or coldly plotted acts of revenge. And then when it was over, the murderer moved on and spent the rest of their life glancing over their shoulder, worrying about whether they would be caught. Sometimes they were. Sometimes they weren't.

In this case, they were rarely caught. Most people in King's Landing didn't care about a dead call girl.

This one, Ros, had fallen on the back burner after they discovered Arya Stark's body two years ago, because a great deal of people cared about a murder girl from a wealthy family. Looking at their two files next to each other, they were as different as two victims could get. Red-haired vs. brunette. Poor vs. rich. "Lady of the Night" vs. "Innocent young girl".

No one cared about Ros. Everyone cared about Arya Stark.

His brow furrowed as he looked over Ros' pictures again and his eyes narrowed as he noticed the corner of one peeking out from behind. It was a picture taken of her pale wrist, which was tattooed with a set of bird wings. Common enough as a tattoo but…

Wait.

Jaime hurried to the computer, searching up the girl they had found a few days ago. She was a Jane Doe because her face had been so badly bashed in. But there was a description of her on the news websites. Dark-haired, dark-skinned. But it was one particular detail he had remembered. A tattoo on her wrist. Bird wings.

There was no picture of it so he couldn't compare them. But he was sure they had a picture at the station. He found himself calling the chief before he could stop himself. It was something. A small connection, but it was something that made him feel useful.

"Hello?"

"Chief Selmy," Jaime said. "Sorry to bother you. I just had a question."

"Lannister," Barristan Selmy's voice was already exasperated. "We've talked about this. You're on leave. I'm not giving you any information on any cases."

"I know, I know." Jaime paced back and forth through his apartment, his foot knocking into the coffee table as he passed. He bit back a curse. "Its just… I noticed something about an old case. Maybe something small, but I just wanted to be sure. Can you just… pull up the file on that Jane Doe they found a few days ago?"

"No. I can't," Selmy said. "Because it's not your business. The other detectives here will handle it because it's their job."

"I'm not trying to be difficult, chief," Jaime said. "I'm trying to help."

Selmy sighed heavily. "I know you are. But… and I mean this in the kindest possible way Jaime: you need to stop trying."

Jaime sank slowly onto the couch. "Fine… all right." He glared down at his stump of a hand, the very thing that had landed him in this position. "Sorry for bothering you."

He hung up the phone, fighting the urge to chuck it across the room. No. He wasn't done yet. He shot a quick text to one of his old coworkers, Janos Slynt. He hated the man, but he would never turn down a request from a Lannister.

J: Who is working the Jane Doe case?

It was two minutes before he responded.

JS: Tarth.

Jaime's stomach twisted. Ah. Brienne. Fuck. The one person at headquarters who would absolutely not want to talk to him. Wonderful.

J: Thanks.

JS: Anytime.

Jaime hung up the phone and tossed it onto the couch. Ah, of all the people in the world. Jaime had been well liked in his department, though there were a few who saw him as a rich, pretty boy who didn't belong. He won most of them over with the so called 'charm' that Cersei said he had. Brienne though…

They had not gotten off on the right foot.

She was a giant of a woman, with broad shoulders, even taller than him by a few inches. Not what you would call graceful and certainly not what most men would call pretty. She had become a bit of a laughingstock in the department and Jaime… well he had joined in on the insults more than once.

But gods dammit… If his life grew much duller, he would have no choice but to turn to his father's company and that was a fucking horrendous idea. So he steeled himself and snapped up his phone once again, scrolling through. He had her number. She was in his phone as 'wench'.

Ah. Good. More proof that she will not want to talk to me, he thought.

The phone rang five times before she picked up. "What do you want, Lannister?"

"Ah… hello," he said. "Tarth. Good to…" He shook his head. No greeting he could give would sound genuine. "I don't mean to bother you, but I hear you're on the case for that prostitute who was found dead a few days ago?"

"Yes," she said. Her voice was suspicious, as if he expected him to turn it into some joke.

"Well… I was looking through some old case files and I may have found a connection. Will you… Would you mind meeting up with me sometime?"

"You could just tell me over the phone," she pointed out.

"Well, there're pictures…"

"Email them."

Jaime was silent for a long moment, trying to think of an answer that wouldn't sound desperate. But quiet was unusual for him, and perhaps she took pity on him for it.

"Fine. No one else is helping me in the department, so I might as well."

He let out a breath. "Good. Thank you. Um… the coffee shop across from the station then?"

"Fine," she said. "Tomorrow at 10:00."

"Good. I'll see you there."

She hung up, and he exhaled, lowering the phone. That went much better than expected. The fact that she picked up the phone at all? That was good.

But now there was the actual meeting to worry about, and he didn't expect that to go well at all.

Beth had a uniform now, a simple tailored suit that made her look professional while still being easy to move in. They had to have it made for her, because suits just did not come in her size. But she liked the way it looked when she scanned her reflection in the mirror. Arya had never felt right in a dress. They made her uncomfortable, and she had to sit differently. This, however… she adjusted the collar and cuffs. Yes. This suited her just fine.

It suits Beth fine, Arya corrected herself. This allows her to blend in and keep professional. And not take any more clothing from Myrcella's closet.

She had won some of Cersei's trust when she properly protected Myrcella the previous night, but she knew well enough that she wouldn't be welcomed in the house as an equal. Not to mention being in the house made her far more likely to run into Tywin Lannister and he still struck her as a potential problem. Not someone to speak to for too long, lest he get suspicious of her.

Instead, she waited patiently on a bench just outside the security building, for Myrcella and her driver to pick her up. But as she waited, another car came screaming up the driveway. This was a car that begged for attention. Bright red, loud engine. No one would drive such a machine unless they wanted people to look at them. And Arya knew, without even seeing the driver, exactly who it was.

He vaulted over the top of the door rather than just opening it, spinning his keys around his finger. His sunglasses hid his often cruel eyes, but still showed just how much of a tool he was. No one could deny that he was pretty to look at, but his personality made him sufficiently hideous. Joffrey Baratheon, heir to the Baratheon fortune and perhaps the Lannister fortune as well.

He was just… the worst.

But Beth did not know Joffrey, so she tried not glare at him. In fact, she rather hoped he wouldn't notice her at all but no such luck. Joffrey had just made an entrance, and he scanned the front drive for anyone who might have seen. And his gaze settled on her.

Beth entwined her fingers together in her lap, taking a deep breath as Joffrey sauntered up. "Clegane in there?"

"Yes, sir," she said. And gods did it kill Arya to add that 'sir'.

"Good. Good." Joffrey tilted his head to the side, observing her like a hungry cat might observe a mouse. She supposed this was the best test yet of her disguise. "You can't possibly work for our security team, can you?"

"Yes, sir," she said. "I was just hired."

"For what? Did they need something pretty to look at?"

Arya clenched her jaw. She much preferred it when Myrcella called her pretty. Joffrey made the word sound gross somehow. Maybe it was his voice. She really hated his voice.

"No. I'm a bodyguard for your sister," she said. That was a slipup. He hadn't introduced himself yet, and she acted like she knew him. But then again, anyone who glanced at a tabloid knew Joffrey Baratheon, so she decided she was safe. Besides… he was not very bright.

"Oh, I see," Joffrey said. "You look kind of familiar though. Have we met?"

Shit, Arya panicked, but Beth looked up at him calmly.

"Sorry. I don't think I've had the pleasure. Beth Rivers."

"Beth Rivers," he repeated the name, trying it on for size. "Doesn't sound familiar. But you look like someone I know… can't figure it out."

I could punch you in the face to help you remember, Arya thought, though she tried not to let the thought register on Beth's face. Still, she liked Joffrey better with a broken nose.

"Joffrey!"

Beth released a breath as Myrcella approached.

"Don't bother my bodyguard. She's not interested."

Thank you Myrcella. I'm definitely not.

"Neither am I," Joffrey scoffed. "Just trying to figure out if I know her from somewhere." He looked back to Beth. "She looks kind of like someone I had a one-night stand with a few months back."

"Beth has way better taste than that," Myrcella retorted.

Joffrey flipped her off as he went for the door of the security building. "Whatever. You know you should get a bodyguard like Clegane. Who is she going to fight?"

"Whoever crosses her," Myrcella said.

"Yeah. Sure." Joffrey looked Beth up and down one more time before disappearing through the door.

"Sorry about my brother," Myrcella said. "He and Tommen look a lot alike… but it is very easy to tell them apart."

"Yes, I don't think I'll be in danger of mixing them up." Beth stood, rubbing her hands together. "Ready?"

"Yes, the driver is almost here," Myrcella looked her up and down. "They got you a uniform I see. It suits you."

"Thank you, miss," Beth said with a slight smile as the car pulled up in front of them. "Shall we go?"

"I hope you don't mind working nights," Myrcella said as the driver sped down the road. "Because there are a few major events coming up and I might be out late."

"They hired me to have a flexible schedule, Miss," Beth said. "It's fine. What are the events?"

"Well, there's this Charity Gala," Myrcella said. "All the major families in King's Landing go. It's not really an event that requires a bodyguard, but I think mother will want you there, regardless."

"Ah." Beth folded her hands together in her lap. She knew the Charity Gala. She had attended it before as Arya Stark and she had not enjoyed it. It was all one big show for the press and they focused more on what everyone was wearing than the money they gave. When she went four years ago, she had felt so awkward next to Sansa and Robb and so scrutinized by the press that she fled and hid in the hallway.

She remembered crouching between two statues, holding her head in her hands until her father came to find her. She worried he would be angry, but he laid a gentle hand on her shoulder and spoke in a soothing voice.

It's all right, Arya. We can go soon. The car is on its way.

Her father was always good at handling situations like that and being there when she needed him most. The memory made her chest clench.

"You don't have to be worried," Myrcella said. "You won't be the only one in the security team there, believe me. It will all be very fancy, but most of it is a facade. That's what mother says. It's just important that I attend since I'm a Baratheon and a Lannister."

"I'm not worried," Beth blurted. "I'll go. I don't expect anyone to give you trouble there."

She did, however, expect another sort of trouble. Her family would be there. Her mother and Robb. Perhaps Sansa, Rickon and Jon. Bran would avoid it, no doubt… but everyone else…

That would be a real test of her disguise and it made her heart race in her chest.

"And then there's my Uncle Tyrion's party," Myrcella said. "But Mother can't know about that one."

Beth blinked, shaking away Arya Stark's fears. "Your uncle's party?"

"Yes. He's hosting it the same night as the gala. Mother says he's doing it because he's spiteful but he really is very fun," Myrcella said. "I'd hate to miss it. That party will be a bit… crazy. They always are."

"That should not be a problem," Beth said. "Thank you for the notice, Miss."

Perhaps Cersei would not want Myrcella to go and it would be wise to report this to her. On the other hand, she wanted to meet Tyrion Lannister. She knew little about him and for now, everyone in the Lannister family was a suspect on Arya Stark's list.

Watch and listen. Be patient.

If you are truly a worthy student, you will find the truth yourself.

And she planned to do just that.