The celebration happening at the front of the hall eventually seeped into the rest of the room, as if for one evening the North could put aside their pain and loss, and embrace their survival. The wine flowed more quickly than the stewards of Winterfell had anticipated, and barrels were being brought up from the cellar regularly.

From his place near the hearth, Tyrion had watched his older brother at the table by the door, drinking and laughing with the woman he so clearly loved, while Pod seemed to get sloppier by the minute. Perhaps he shouldn't have plied the squire with so much wine earlier in the day, he thought. But then, the younger man had been very helpful.

But now their table had gone quieter.

Brienne and Pod were turned toward the table across the threshold where Tormund and his compatriots were arguing mirthfully, a smile playing on the knight's lips. But Jaime wasn't smiling anymore. Instead he seemed to be concerning himself with some bits of food on the table, chin down, mouth set in a straight line, occasionally glancing up at Brienne through his lowered lashes.

I think that's my cue, Tyrion thought to himself. The pitcher in front of him was full and he looked at it somewhat regretfully before he excused himself to the queen and shuffled around the head table to take a turn of the room in search of weaker stuff. He didn't want them drunk, he just wanted them talking.

He finally found a pitcher of what he affectionately termed Lannisport honey piss at a side table across the room. After a few melancholy words with Ser Davos, Tyrion hefted the pitcher and continued his arc until he arrived at his destination. With a wink to Podrick, Tyrion deposited the flagon onto the table and climbed onto the bench beside his brother.

Brienne noticed him out of the corner of her eye and turned to face him fully with a pleasing sort of grin. "Lord Tyrion, welcome."

Tyrion grinned back at her openly, "Ser Brienne, a pleasure, but please - while you certainly earned your title, I cannot make the same claim for myself. Besides, we're all friends here. Tyrion is fine."

Brienne nodded, "And please call me Brienne."

Jaime put on a look of mock offense, "I seem to recall you telling me that I had to use your title."

She flattened her face into a look of commanding disdain, and Tyrion thought she looked positively regal. She arched a brow and looked down her nose at Jaime, all seriousness. "Yes well you, Ser, are making up for your years of abusing me by calling me My Lady."

Jaime saw a twinkle in her eye, observing the way she sucked in part of her her upper lip, just below that scar that cut into it - a tell, he realized, for when she was holding something in - a shade of the way she used to grimace before she struck while sparring. It gives away the game, he'd told her. "What about Podrick, he calls you that all the time." She was gritting her teeth to keep from laughing now. "Yes, but I like Pod," she said, the mirth in her eyes sneaking out, and she tried to swallow her laugh when she saw Jaime unable to hide his own she lost herself in the most unbound and joyous laughter Tyrion thought he'd ever heard.

They were all laughing now, save Pod who had perked up when he heard his name, but could only grin inwardly while the others wiped pleasant tears from their eyes. Tyrion was well pleased at his presence having improved the mood. He poured himself some of the yellow wine and looked about the table. "Let's play a game."

Jaime eyed his brother suspiciously and Brienne's eyes ticked to Jaime before looking back at Tyrion. "I don't know any games."

"This is an easy game. We try and guess things about each other's past - guesses mind you, nothing we've told each other or experienced together. If I guess right about you, you drink. If I'm wrong, I drink, and so on."

"I'm not terribly keen on drinking."

"Oh there's no volume requirement. It's just for fun, a way to get to know each other. We'll play as teams - after all it wouldn't be fair for Jaime and I to guess things about the other, and you and Pod are close as well." He saw the hesitation on her face, but then she cast that glance at Jaime and he watched it melt away, her grin meeting his brother's.

"Oh alright." She held out her cup and Tyrion filled it gleefully.

"Who goes first?" asked Jaime.

Tyrion looked over at Pod who had crossed his arms on the table and laid his head on top of them, face dutifully turned to Brienne. "I say we let Podrick go first lest he fall asleep before his turn comes."

"I'm awake, Tyrion," came the muffled response from the other side of the table.

"Excellent. Go on, make it a good one for you may not stay conscious for your next turn."

Pod grinned into his arms and looked across the table at Jaime. "You were knighted in the field."

Jaime have the boy a good natured nod and drank. Even as Pod's lids started to droop.

"Our turn - go Jaime. Maybe," he muttered, "stick with knight - her squire won't keep us entertained much longer." But Jaime's eyes were already focused on Brienne. He peered at her, "You've always preferred lobster to chicken." Tyrion's stomach did a tiny flip - his plan was working, he was sure of it. His brother had absorbed at least part of his earlier pointed ramblings, if not the accurate bits.

Brienne gave Jaime a curious glance and lifted an eyebrow, apparently relishing in telling him to drink. Jaime sipped his wine, maintaining his grin and then gestured to signify that it was her turn.

She turned to Tyrion, squinting at him, guessing, "You have fed a dragon."

Tyrion gave her an appreciative glance, "Technically that's true." He raised his cup to her and gulped the sweet drink, not missing when Jaime offered her another congratulatory smile. Either his brother was more affected by wine than he remembered, or this was going to be much easier than he'd thought. Setting his cup down, he looked at Pod affectionately as he slept. "I can't bear to wake him. Go ahead, Jaime. Your turn."

Jaime sat back, his elbow resting on the table while he chewed this thumbnail, considering her, remembering what Tyrion had said about her going back to Tarth eventually. "You," he said, pointing at her, "are an only child."

Tyrion was ecstatic with himself, and exuberant with the wine. He shot an exaggerated pitying frown at Brienne and touched his head to his brother's shoulder.

Brienne was sure that he'd known that already. Hadn't she told him that at some point, in all the days and nights they'd spent on the road as both foes and allies, all the afternoons they'd spent recuperating and then later walking the gardens in King's Landing - it wasn't possible that she'd omitted the fact that her family now consisted only herself and her father. "I told you I was."

"You didn't," he retorted with a shake of his head, reaching out to move her cup closer to her hand.

"I did!"

"I surmised it."

Oh, good word, thought Tyrion. "Drink."

With an exasperated sigh, Brienne sipped at her wine, putting the cup down too quickly for Tyrion's liking. Before she could even swallow, Tyrion was moving along.

"Go again," he muttered to Jaime.

Brienne swallowed hard, nearly choking on the wine. "Why does he get to go again?"

"Because it's my game," replied Tyrion with a glower.

Jaime was enjoying this immensely. It had been so long since he'd heard her laugh like that. And it wasn't lost on him that here he was with the only people who really mattered in his life anymore, and they were getting along. She was watching him consider his next question, seeming to dare him to ask the wrong one.

He was pointing at her again, and she was tempted to break his fingers for it, he looked so proud of himself."

"You have danced with Renly Baratheon."

Brienne blinked, and then swiveled her head toward Podrick, the only person she'd ever shared that story with. Podrick opened his eyes to her accusing stare. But too drunk to be afraid of her repercussions, Podrick just smiled and shook his head, "No." Brienne looked back at Jaime, his face all innocence, then looked at Tyrion who was watching her expectantly. Something was amiss here, and she was sure it was Tyrion's doing. He narrowed her eyes and glared at him over the rim of her cup as she finished its contents.

When she put her cup down, Jaime refilled it but, catching her glance, stopped halfway. Then he leaned back with a grin while she looked at him, considering her own question.

"My turn."

Her chin rested on her thumb while her forefinger rubbed absently at her bottom lip, and Jaime was lost. He wondered briefly for a moment if she could possibly know the emotions she was stirring in him with just that innocent look.

She dropped her hand back on top of the other and leaned her head toward him. "You learned to wield a sword before you learned to ride a horse."

Jaime cocked a surprised eyebrow at her and drank. Pleased with herself, she went again, unbidden. "You prefer the coast to the woods."

Here Jaime hesitated, but he finally assented, "That is true…though I do have some pleasant memories of the woods." When he drank this time, his eyes did not leave hers, and her mouth settled into a knowing grin tinged with sadness.

Tyrion looked at the two of them, knowing they were communicating some secret history that he was not privy to. He let out an exasperated sigh, "Well this hardly seems fair. Ser Brienne, you know my brother entirely too well – I fear the only way this game is going to stay interesting is if you and I question one another."

Brienne let out a laugh despite herself and looked to Tyrion, still suspicious of him. "Alright, go ahead, do your worst."

Tyrion pondered, "You…have always hated dresses."

Brienne pursed her lips with a laugh. "Drink."

Tyrion raised both eyebrows and drank.

"I was never fond of finery, but as a girl I enjoyed the way the fabric pooled under me when I sat on the jetty or on the beach. But as soon as my father realized that my dresses were all getting torn because I was using them as cushions only after I'd climbed over the rocks, he thought to put me in breeches instead."

Tyrion laughed with her. "Very well – I'll try again. You…dreamt of being a pirate."

Brienne and Tyrion were both laughing heartily now, and Jaime watched chuckling as his brother and his friend – if he could call her that – reveled in the silly game.

"Wrong!" Brienne was shouting through her laughter, "Wrong, wrong, wrong – drink!"

Tyrion laughed into his cup and downed the remainder of his wine, slamming the cup down, waking Podrick who reached for the pitcher and wordlessly poured what was left into Tyrion's cup.

Brienne leaned forward, her eyes darting first to Tyrion, but then to Jaime as if looking for confirmation of what she was about to guess. "You were married…before Sansa."

Tyrion's face dropped and he looked to his turncoat brother, assuming that he'd betrayed him to her and told the shameful story of his sham marriage to Tysha when he'd been but a boy. But Jaime showed no evidence of guilt on his face.

"Drink!" his brother commanded.

Tyrion gritted his teeth, and gave Jaime a vengeful look as he drank deeply.

"You're drinking wine, but you prefer ale!"

"No!"

All of them laughed, and Brienne took a long sip of her wine. Setting her cup down, she leaned forward on her arms, bracing for the next question.

Tyrion watched as she and his brother traded smiles again before she looked back to him. Tyrion swallowed, knowing that with the wine gone this might be the only chance he had to force them to confront the redheaded elephant in the room. He didn't want to do this. He loved his brother and his brother clearly loved Brienne. These were two people who were inevitably very important to him, but he saw no other way about this. And he hated himself for it.

He saw it all so clearly in his mind – she would drink, his brother would be assured that nothing had happened between her and the wilding, and honor would compel him to come to her defense and remind Tyrion that Brienne was an unmarried noblewoman, thereby planting the seed that Tyrion saw for their future. All these two needed was a shove in the right direction. And if it backfired, he could always hide behind the wine.

"You're a virgin," Tyrion finally said quietly, immediately sucking the air out of the room. Brienne froze, and Jaime turned to her, their eyes meeting painfully – hers filled with disappointment, his with shame, both sharing the same memories of their earliest days together. Memories of him taunting her with comments unworthy of him and undeserved by her. Memories of him wanting to die after losing his sword hand in defense of her maidenhead. She broke away and looked at the table, the past too raw for her to confront. Pod threw back what was left in his cup, a final attempt at drowning the shame he felt for betraying her secrets to Tyrion.

The younger Lannister had underestimated the depth of his brother's feelings. He'd already eclipsed the summit of his jealousy and what Tyrion was doing was not helpful. It was unkind; a low blow, even for him. But Tyrion couldn't read their minds as they could each other's.

"That's a statement. About the present," Jaime snapped, trying to manage the situation. His brother didn't take the hint.

"At no point in the past up until this very moment have you ever slept with a man…or a woman."

Brienne's eyes were glued to the table. Jaime alternated between glaring at his brother, and trying to catch her eye, silently urging her to just drink the damn wine. It didn't matter whether it was true, and it didn't matter what Tyrion thought about it. But if she drank, his brother might drop the subject.

Brienne met Jaime's glance one last time and he could see her donning the armor she usually wore beneath her skin for others, and the realization that she was shutting him out too sobered him. She was not going to give Tyrion the satisfaction of her answer. Instead she stood, towering over them, her mouth a scalding frown. Tyrion was cowed by her look of disdain, and further shamed by his brother's silent disappointment. He'd miscalculated, he realized. There was something between them that he'd missed, and now they were all suffering for it. "I have to piss," Brienne declared, her attempt at sinking to Tyrion's level. But before she could move off, the wildling was in her path.

Jaime tensed as Tormund approached, ready to knock the man into the ground if he had to, but his eyes were on her alone, worrying over her. Her manner was polite, but her voice was like ice as she excused herself from the wildling's reach, staring past him. When he made to follow her, Jaime sprang up to block his way. He looked down at the wildling's surprise, realizing suddenly that he was taller than him, and tapped his shoulder sympathetically with as much confidence as he could, and then spun on his heel to follow Brienne out of the hall without a single glance at his brother, cursing him. When Jaime had arrived at Winterfell he'd promised himself that he would strive to never give her cause to walk away from him again, and now she was practically running.

You and me we're searching' for the same light

Brienne wasn't going back there. She picked up her pace. She had to get out of the sweltering hall. She made for the privy, and then ran up the steps to her chamber where she peeled off her jerkin and leathers, breathing a sigh of relief when the warm but dry air of the room touched the skin under the ties of her shirt. Only then did she allow herself to stop moving.

She sat in the chair by the fire, Oathkeeper glinting from the corner post, and sank her face into her hands. If she'd been more sober at the time, or if she'd been quicker at least to respond to Tyrion, she could have shamed him then and there for drawing attention to something that should remain unspoken in polite company.

Jaime had understood her hesitation. He'd guessed the same as Tyrion when he was first her captive, but he'd been cruel about it. She'd forgiven him that long ago. There was no shame in her maidenhood, and Tyrion's words had not been cruel as Jaime's had when he'd been trying to provoke her as they trudged through the woods, but those memories warring against her affection for him in her mind was too much, and she'd had too much to drink to pull her thoughts apart under Tyrion's scrutiny. So she'd run away.

Now, sitting in the safety of her chamber, she started to pick those thoughts apart, separating the man Jaime had been from the man he was now, the man that she cared for, loved, desired even, she thought, with an ache deep in her belly. She'd never so much as kissed another man, but she knew what that ache meant. And she knew that she felt it for no one but him. She flattered herself that he cared for her – perhaps he loved her too – and that would have to be enough. She would never be beautiful or desirable, but she could and would return loyalty and love.

She stood and added a log to the fire. As the flames claimed the fresh tinder, she became aware of a slow and deliberate knock on her door. Podrick must have finally gotten his wits about him enough to realize that she'd left.

She opened the door ready to send the squire to his chamber, but that instruction died in her throat the moment she saw Jaime standing on the other side.

A/N: I do not own Game of Throne or these characters; some dialogue may be taken verbatim from HBO's Game of Thrones or George R. R. Martin's A Song of Ice and Fire. Lyrics used are directly from "You and Me" by Alecia Moore and Dallas Green (C) 2014

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