Ten years had passed since the night the dead came to Winterfell. Tormund still found it hard to believe they had defeated the Night King, that he no longer had to worry about his people's villages being overrun by armies of undead in the night. The North was still cold, and he liked it that way – but his people were free to hunt and fish, and even farm and build more solid communities than they'd been able to for generations.
He had been glad for the return of Jon Snow. He had known his friend was not meant for the politics and subterfuge that thrived in the Southron climate. Tormund had rejoiced to see him enter the gates of Castle Black, but he had to admit his heart had fallen when he realized Jon was alone. He hadn't realized until that moment that he'd secretly hoped the Big Woman would change her mind about him and decide, for some unknown reason, to come north in search of him.
But ten years had passed, and although the years had been kind to Tormund and the Free Folk, he continued to be restless. This surprised no one, as he was a true Wildling at heart, but they didn't comprehend the reason for his ongoing agitation. He'd hardly been visibly pining for Brienne – that just wasn't in his nature – but though he'd on occasion taken women to bed, he'd never taken one to wife, and he knew he probably never would. Who could compete with the memory of the woman he'd wanted to have great, big monster babies with?
He hadn't begrudged her the dalliance with the pretty Lannister; it was evident even to an outsider like him that they had a history together, though he didn't understand why the smaller man hadn't courted her in the Southron custom before The Long Night. He would have jumped on that opportunity, had she given him so much as a second glance. But long nights with Jon around the fires north of the wall had led to some interesting discussions, and he now knew about Jaime and his bizarre relationship with his sister, Cersei the queen. He was aware that Jaime had left Brienne's bed to chase after his doomed twin, eventually dying in her arms beneath the keep in King's Landing. He could only hope his blonde beauty hadn't suffered too greatly from that loss, but he was sure her stoicism and strength had served her well and helped her recover.
He still wished for her, late at night when he burrowed in his bed of furs, and he knew in his heart that he would never meet her equal. But bygones were just that, and there was no point wishing for something that could never be.