Chapter Text
There it was; Padua Stadium High School, large and looming, and full of unfamiliar faces. Jon Snow adjusted the straps of his backpack nervously, the only consistent action keeping the nausea at bay. He could turn around, head home, drop out of school…
“Oops, sorry!” someone shouted over their shoulder after slamming into him.
“It’s all right,” he mumbled under his breath, thankful that no books were in his arms to fall to the ground. Continuing to fiddle with his backpack, Jon managed to make his way into the building. He was thankful that the guidance office was relatively close to the front doors, and that his aimless wandering didn’t last longer than about five minutes.
“Hello!” A burly boy intercepted his entrance into the office. “I’m Sam Tarly,” he held out his hand, “I’ve been assigned to show you around. You must be Jon Snow!”
“Uh, yeah, hey.” Jon clasped Sam’s outstretched hand. “Thank goodness, I thought I’d have to figure this all out by myself.”
“Nope, at your service,” replied Sam with a face-consuming grin. “So, you move around a lot? Your dad’s in the army? I mean, not to say that I looked at your folder…it was just lying on the guidance counselor’s desk, so…Here’s your schedule.” He shoved the piece of paper into Jon’s chest in an effort to smother his embarrassing speech. “You’ve got chemistry first period.”
Jon nodded and managed a small smile. Though Sam seemed rather awkward and unsure of himself, Jon felt pleased to have at least one acquaintance. “Where do we begin?”
“Padua Stadium is your general high school…full of cliques and clubs and outcasts. You’ll learn quickly who’s friendly to talk to and who isn’t. ‘Cept the artsy kids, they’re a hit or miss so just be careful with them.”
Jon followed Sam through the halls, as he explained in great detail the layout of the high school while occasionally sprinkling in little tidbits of the social aspects. There were too many groups and types of people for Jon to keep track of. He’d almost wanted to write all of Sam’s advice down.
Then, there she was; a vision in a light-blue sundress that perfectly complimented her eyes. It seemed that the crowd parted for her, her white tennis-shoes practically floating off of the pavement as she walked.
“Wow,” Jon breathed, his entire body freezing up as she walked past him. “Who’s that?”
“Don’t even think about it,” Sam quickly retorted. “That’s Dany Targaryen, she’s a senior and she’s practically queen-bee of the entire school. And besides for her not even noticing you—no offense—she isn’t allowed to date. She was adopted and her dad is super uptight and protective of her…everyone knows that.”
“Sure, sure. I got it,” Jon said dismissively, watching Dany prance away in the opposite direction.
***
The locker-door slammed against the tiled wall. The sickly green paint was completely shielded by images of various people, quotes, and places. A Sarah Lawrence college sticker was plastered in the very center, with a portrait of Joan Jett to the left and a “Fuck You” banner to the right. Brienne Tarth stood in front of the opened locker, adjusting the pile of books in her arms. She was incredibly tall for a girl her age and put little effort into her plain appearance. From behind, Brienne could pass as a boy, with her short, light-blond hair.
“Brienne,” a melodic voice sang, Dany appearing as Brienne closed the locker. “You want to go out this weekend?”
Brienne shook her head with a slight laugh. “We don’t hang out at the same places, Dany.”
“Oh, but you should come! You might really enjoy yourself,” Dany pressed, her forehead crinkling into a frown.
Brienne and Dany had a peculiar friendship. They had been friends since kindergarten, bonding over animal crackers and colored chalk. While their interests had begun to split in middle-school, the girls found a way to remain friends. It was almost a longevity thing; they couldn’t imagine not being friends with one another. Dany had her popular group of friends at school, but she never hesitated to smile at Brienne in the halls or sit with her at lunch. Brienne attempted to the very best of her abilities to not make snide comments about Dany’s friends, but always made sure to watch out for her all the same.
“No thank you,” laughed Brienne, snapping the lock shut with one hand and cradling her books in the other. “You always go without me and you fare just fine. Plus, I have soccer practice this weekend, you know that.”
Dany rolled her eyes. “There’s more to life than soccer and hating your peers, Brienne.” Her attention left the conversation for a brief moment, as she saw a football jersey out of the corner of her eye. “Drogo” was across his broad shoulder-blades in large, dark-blue print. He looked like a Greek god, all tanned skin and brawn.
“Oh, god, Dany,” scoffed Brienne, a scowl painting across her features. “He’s the biggest—”
“You don’t know him,” Dany interrupted, anticipation lilting her voice as Drogo turned around and made his way down the hall.
He winked as he passed her. “Looking good, Dany.”
“Not everyone is worthy of your kindness,” Brienne sighed, nudging Dany as she waved to Drogo’s retreating form. “He certainly isn’t.”
“If I’m too nice, then you’re too judgmental,” was Dany’s good-humored retort, as she nudged Brienne back. “I’ll see you later, okay?”
“Yeah, yeah. Bye, Prom Queen.”
“Bye, tomboy!” Dany shouted over her shoulder.
***
“The most interesting friendship on the entire school grounds,” Sam narrated, as he and Jon watched the exchange between Brienne and Dany. “Everyone stopped questioning it in 8th grade. I’d stay away from Brienne, though, if I were you. She’s the toughest girl I know.”
“Oh, come on now, Sam. She can’t be that—” The swift sound of Brienne ripping a prom poster off of the wall and throwing it in the trash silenced Jon’s statement. “Okay, point proven.”
The cafeteria doors flew open. “Calm down, calm down! It was a joke.” A handsome, slightly disgruntled looking boy backed out of the lunchroom. His hands were held up in surrender, but a sly smirk was plastered across his golden features. “It was just a bratwurst.”
“Jaime Lannister!” The lunch lady shouted after him as he sprinted down the hall.
***
Jaime Lannister deemed himself the resident troublemaker of Padua Stadium High School. He would stick his head out of the hallway windows to smoke in between periods, had an A+ in skipping classes, and was generally feared and quietly admired by his fellow students. His persona allowed him to do what he pleased, and he liked that just fine.
He was currently holed up in the boys’ room, standing atop the radiator to smoke out the small crack in the window.
“Figured I’d find you here. The principal is looking for you, Jaime.” Tyrion Lannister stood at the head of the radiator, glancing up at his elder brother. He was a sophomore, a few years younger than Jaime.
He’d been born smaller than average, standing no taller than 4’5. Tyrion had found his niche, however, and had many friends due to his humor and cleverness. Jaime didn’t have to worry about him too much.
“Shh, I’m not here,” Jaime chuckled, blowing a thin stream of smoke out of the window. “She’ll get over it.”
Though Tyrion came into the restroom to admonish his older brother’s behavior, he couldn’t help but laugh. “You can’t expose yourself in the cafeteria…”
“I didn’t! It was the bratwurst, I was having a laugh with the lunch lady, but apparently I was the only one laughing,” Jaime mock sighed and flicked the dead end of the cigarette. “No sense of humor, that one.”
"Well, I won’t tell dad, but he might get a phone-call home anyway.”
Jaime ran the tip of his tongue over his teeth with a grimace. He pressed the cigarette into the windowpane to kill the smoke. “I’ll worry about that if it happens. Maybe I’ll strike a deal with the principal, I think she fancies me.” He jumped down from his perch and rustled Tyrion’s blond hair. “Get to class, young man!”
***
Jon Snow had successfully made it to the end of the school day. He’d even say he’d made a friend out of Sam, who had stuck with him for a good portion of the day. He sat on the front lawn of the school, watching Dany and her friends hop into the football star Drogo's fancy, cherry-red sports car
“There’s got to be a way to hang out with her,” Jon grumbled as Sam plopped down beside him.
“Well,” Sam said, slightly out of breath from his long trek across the school-grounds, “she is looking for a French tutor.”
“Sam, that’s brilliant!” Jon clapped him on the shoulder.
“Oh, you speak French?” Sam’s smile brightened.
“No.” His smile fell, while Jon’s increased. “But I will!”