Author's Note: Originally published on AO3. I just really wanted to know what was going on in our boy's head during the beginning of The Last of the Starks. Also, I love borrowing titles from Taylor Swift songs, sorry about it!

You're a virgin, Tyrion declares, and for some reason, the statement makes Jaime's blood run cold.

It isn't as though he hasn't used things he knows about Brienne without a shadow of a doubt in this game to his advantage. He's loved every second of it, really - the way that those sapphire eyes of hers light up delightedly that he's remembered things she's told him, the way she laughs indignantly when he gets to take another turn as a reward for his successes, the way she looks looser and freer than he's ever seen her as he causes her to drink more and more.

It doesn't feel as fun when Tyrion's the one tossing statements her way, though. Why , though? Why does such a simple statement have him on edge?

Maybe it's the fact that he doesn't know the answer to this without a shadow of a doubt, not anymore. They've been separated for many moons, and it's obvious that she's got an admirer in Tormund Giantsbane. Maybe they've…

That thought trails off, Jaime swallowing harder than he expects to. Or maybe there were others, besides the wildling . Once, it was nearly impossible to picture. But that was before he knew her. Before he realized her kindness, her bravery, her loyalty…

It was also before he realized just how easy it was to get lost in those startling blue eyes.

He's not jealous, though. Of course Jaime's not bloody jealous. He's just… concerned for her. It was always a sore topic for her in the past, and if her hesitance to drink makes him wonder, well, it also makes him worry. Perhaps she isn't hiding some torrid affair with Tormund. Perhaps this simply isn't a conversation she wants to have, and so Jaime turns to Tyrion, interjecting -

And his baby brother doesn't take the hint. Instead, he barrels forward, and Brienne has shot up from her seat, her spine straight as a rod, discomfort clear on her face.

"I… have to piss," she finally utters, and true though it may be, it feels like the flimsiest of excuses to get as far away from them as possible. Jaime's not sure why his heart sinks into his stomach the way that it does. He's supposed to be drunk , and normally, being drunk means that he's as happy and loose as she was just moments ago.

Apparently tonight, though, being drunk for Jaime means overthinking . Is he disappointed that Brienne's leaving their - his - company? Is his stomach all in knots because she hasn't taken a drink, and a part of his brain is burning, wanting to know what that means? Is he simply worried that his brother's gone too far in hurting her feelings?

Jaime doesn't have enough dwelling time to find the answers. Tormund Giantsbane is in their - her - space, and he finds himself standing up from the game, too. He pats the wildling on the chest, hoping that the other man feels all the condescension that Jaime is putting into the act, and then he follows in the direction that Brienne has gone.

Seven hells , he doesn't know what he means to do. Go and stand guard at her door to keep Tormund away? Go and inquire after her feelings, make sure that Tyrion hasn't hit a sore spot that'll leave her dwelling on all those arseholes of the past when she's got so much to be happy for in the present? Go and demand answers about what her failure to drink means , even though it's none of his damn business?

Why, oh why , does Jaime suddenly feel with absolute certainty that he wants it to be his business?

He watches Brienne disappear around the corner, and this isn't like all the times he's watched her walk away before. Obviously it's not; this time, they're staying in the same bloody castle. They've just fought the same bloody war, side by side, back to back, almost like two halves of a whole. They're too intertwined now; letting her go right now just means letting her go for now, giving her the space she so clearly wants, with the promise of seeing her tomorrow.

Those other times, Jaime never knows if he's going to see her again at all. Tonight, the thought of such a thing, of a world where Brienne of Tarth isn't a certainty for him, makes his stomach drop.

He'd ridden North because she'd said to him fuck loyalty . He'd fought with her because there was no one else he trusted more, no one else he'd rather lay down his life for. He briefly thinks, what if this were like those other times , and he realizes that if she were walking away for more than a few hours, there are so many things he wants her to know. So many things he's barely understood himself, until he rode North for weeks alone with nothing to do but ruminate on them.

Jaime had made excuses not to tell her such things even when death had been knocking down their door. Why did he keep bloody waiting ? Even now, when his body had urged him to follow after her, his brain found itself pausing.

Brienne of Tarth was one of the few people left in this miserable, stinking world who meant anything to him. And more than that, she was one of the few people Jaime knew without a shadow of a doubt was worth a damn , not just to him, but to all who crossed her path.

And just like that, the drunken musings were back.

Did her heart beat for someone else ? Was that why she hadn't answered the question? Jaime wanted to know, if there was someone out there who adored her the way she deserved, who brought that rare smile he'd seen earlier to her face. Gods, if he didn't wish that person were him, like it had been when she'd had his undivided attention during the game - but maybe knowing there was anyone who made her feel that way might be worth… something. Might be some kind of peace, a reassurance that good things actually did come to good people once in a while.

Or maybe… Had Tyrion's words made her feel lesser ? Had it reminded her of the japes, the taunts, the ironic utterings of Brienne the Beauty ? Had it flooded her with the cruel words tossed her way in the past, left her feeling undesirable even though Jaime himself couldn't get her off of his bloody mind and would gladly show her just how untrue such things were?

It would drive him mad, if he didn't continue what he'd started. He stopped briefly, to gather two glasses and more wine, so that he could ask the question again without watchful eyes, all in the name of the game… and if he took a long gulp of that wine before he was on his way, what harm would a bit of liquid courage really do?

No more unfinished declarations of how he was here for her . No more unspoken questions. No more letting her think that she was less than she was to him.

Jaime Lannister raised his good hand and rapped his knuckles on her door.