Ten years had passed since King Bran the Broken began his rule of the Six Kingdoms from King's Landing. Ten years since the horror of The Long Night, and the Dragon Queen's destruction of King's Landing. Ten years since Sansa Stark was crowned Queen in the North, and Arya left for western lands unknown, and Jon Snow returned to the Wall and took the black again.
For ten years, Ser Brienne of Tarth had served King Bran loyally as the Lord Commander of his Kingsguard. At first, she had been honored to sit on the Small Council, to serve the king and help rebuild the kingdom. She still was proud, ten years on, to be the first woman in this role; but truth be told, something had begun bothering her in recent years.
Brienne was bored.
There simply wasn't much in the way of conflict under Bran the Broken. Doubtless this was a good thing – the people of Westeros deserved a season of peace after the chaos of the wars – but as a soldier, Brienne preferred action. These decidedly quiet times were trying her patience, but she had no idea how to resolve the conflict within her. She had always done her duty, and would continue to do so as long as Bran required it of her; she never broke her oaths, but sometimes her mind wandered and she found herself longing for adventure.
What exactly did she want? To go chasing after Arya, seeking her fortune in unknown lands? To venture north and give her allegiance to Sansa instead? She doubted either of these options would please her any more than her current situation.
So she filled her days with training and drilling the Kingsguard, meeting with the other members of the Small Council, and any other menial task that could keep her busy, even if underneath it all she was restless and unsatisfied.
She had loved Jamie Lannister, for all the good it had done her – she still thanked the old gods and the new that she hadn't fallen pregnant during their brief interlude. But he was ten years dead and buried, and before he died he had left her bed to return to his hateful sister; he did not deserve any more of Brienne's tears, and she had, after some time passed, been able to gradually let go of that hurt and appreciate the beauty of the few moments of happiness they'd had together.
But at night, her dreams weren't about the golden one-handed lion; in her dreams, the nights were cold and snowy, and the lover that warmed her bed was the flame-kissed Wildling. She hated that he haunted her dreams. That obscene grin he had given her whenever he caught her eye in Castle Black or Winterfell should have offended her – and it usually had. But in the sterility of her current life, she sometimes wondered what opportunities she had missed out on by not taking him up on his advances.
These thoughts were silly, and useless, and she tried not to give them much of her mental energy. What was the point? Tormund Giantsbane had gone North to his homeland after The Long Night, and he probably didn't even remember her. It's not like they would ever see each other again.
