The title for this chapter ewas inspired by something NCW said in an interview. Here's hoping for a "new beginning" for Jaime, rather than an end.

Jaime had been grateful when Brienne decided to accompany her father and the other Stormlords back to White Harbor rather than aid the host of men that marched toward King's Landing. Their fleet had put in there and covered the distance to Winterfell on foot, and when they returned to the port the people sent up a great cheer. Jaime kept his head down, unsure if anyone in these parts would even recognize him now but unwilling to take the chance. Once they were safely back on Lord Selwyn's ship, The Sapphire Star, Jaime finally let out a sigh. And then they set sail, aiming their fleet and the rest of the Targaryen ships southward to assault Euron Greyjoy's forces.

The old kraken put up a hell of a fight. So many ships were lost on both sides, but Selwyn had been prepared for a hard battle. Jaime often heard him speaking quietly with his daughter, talking about holding out just a little longer. "One more day," he'd say, "and then we will see victory."

The remainder of the Dorne fleet arrived the next morning, and Greyjoy had no escape. Selwyn offered a parley to give the Ironborn a chance to surrender. He refused. Jaime watched his ship sink beneath the dark blue waves and wondered if his Drowned God would meet him here on the Narrow Sea. He hoped not.

The Golden Company had earned their gold, and many Dothraki died fighting them, but Drogon and his mother bolstered morale for the mounted horde as his breath cut fiery swaths through the mercenaries' ranks. Listening to the words of her advisors, Daenerys never turned her dragon on the Red Keep. A large group of men from the North, the Vale and the Riverlands led by Jon took the city in a mere day.

Jaime had been right about Cersei; power and greed had driven her mad. Jon tried to keep the fighting away from the commoners as much as possible, but the moment Cersei realized this she sent her troops out into every part of the city to wage war. Jaime guessed she had been trying to turn the people against the new queen, but it had backfired. The commoners of King's Landing far outnumbered the remaining Lannister forces that had bolstered the city guard. Armed with implements of their trade, they swarmed the smaller armed forces and declared for the Dragon Queen by waving red and black banners from every rooftop and window. Cersei knew she was lost, and her last act was to order the Mountain to kill Qyburn and then her before tossing himself into the bay.

News of Daenerys' victory reached them as they put into Storm's End. The missive told them to return home and await the queen's summons, and so Selwyn was occupied replacing the dusty old stag banners with his own and organizing his new bannermen. Brienne and her father's former vassals would make for Tarth soon to shore up and recuperate while the new queen settled the realm into its new normal.

Jaime spent the first day wandering around the abandoned keep, its cold walls his only company as he grieved for his sister. He came to a large guest room with a balcony overlooking Shipbreaker's Bay and stepped out onto it. The familiar sound of waves crashing over rocks calmed him, though the waters beneath him were as foreign as the Free Cities themselves. If he closed his eyes he could almost pretend he was standing on the high cliffs of Casterly Rock, his sister begging him not to jump as he teetered on the precipitous edge. He had been so brash then, so sure of his place in the world. Where was his place now that Cersei was gone?

"Ser Jaime?"

He opened his eyes but didn't turn. He'd prefer her to not see him like this, morose and sullen. She should be celebrating their queen's victory with her family and her men, not attending to his grief. She couldn't possibly understand, he told himself bitterly. No one could.

He heard her boots on the hard stone as she came closer, stopping just inside the doors that led back into the room. Jaime still didn't turn. His gaze remained fixed on the horizon, watching the blue-black of the water fade into the dusk beyond.

"Is there anything I can do?"

"You can leave me alone," he snapped. Her boot scuffed the stone as she shuffled, probably surprised by his harsh tone. Another promise broken, he sneered.

"I don't feel you should be alone."

He whirled on her then, his sorrow easily replaced by anger. How dare she pity him! "What do you think I'll do, my lady? Throw myself from this balcony in grief?"

"My mother did."

Her blunt and honest confession brought him up short. The anger left him, leaving only a bitter pool of resentment in his chest. He wasn't sure who the feeling was for. Cersei maybe. She was gone - his twin, his other half, had left this world without him. He felt lost, adrift in the anguish that consumed him from the moment Selwyn had handed him the parchment. Thankfully, Brienne's father had done so in private, allowing Jaime to learn the news away from the prying eyes of the Lords of the Stormlands. Many of them still didn't trust him, but none would oppose Selwyn Tarth's word.

He'd left Brienne behind, only vaguely hearing her father tell her quietly to let him go. Jaime wondered how long she'd waited before she went looking for him. Knowing her, it had likely been mere moments. He stared into her blue eyes now, searching for some sort of anchor in the storm. A thousand words passed between them in an instant, and Jaime knew he didn't have to hide from her. Moreover, he found he didn't want to hide from her. He wanted her to know everything, every dark secret and deep desire, and in turn he craved to learn more of her as well.

"Let's go inside," he gestured toward the room behind her, all trace of irritation gone from his tone. "At least in there we'll be out of the wind." He closed the doors behind him and settled back against them as Brienne moved to lean against the darkened hearth. After a few moments of contemplative silence, Jaime cleared his throat. "Your mother?"

"It was after Gal...after my brother died," she answered. Her tone was even and calm, but he could see how much it was affecting her to speak about something so very personal. He wondered if she'd ever gotten the chance to talk about it. He guessed not. "I was very young at the time and didn't quite understand what was going on. It wasn't until I was much older and the dreams started that I pieced together what had happened."

"You dreamed of your mother's death?"

She shrugged. "After a fashion. I was there the day my brother drowned in Anchor Cove, but I had blocked it out. Then, one night when I was about twelve, I started having these dreams. I would see Galladon's face beneath the water just before hearing a woman's scream." She sighed and pushed away from the wall. "When I asked my father, he initially brushed it off as childish nightmares. After a while I guess he realized that I wasn't dreaming. I was remembering. It was my mother's scream I had been dreaming of as she jumped from her balcony onto the rocks below."

"That must have been awful for you," Jaime said. "I was old enough to understand what had happened when my mother died. My father sat Cersei and I down and explained that she had died in the birthing bed, but something had gone terribly wrong. Our new brother wasn't normal, and it had been his monstrousness that had killed our mother."

Brienne shook her head. "That's terrible."

"It was, but what was more cruel was the way we treated Tyrion because of our father. I could say we didn't know any better, but that would be a lie. I knew the way he was treated was wrong, but I couldn't think of any way to change it." Jaime felt the shame of those years quite keenly each time he thought of his brother. Tyrion had done nothing wrong, except for being born in the wrong proportions, and for that he was doomed to a life of misery. Jaime hadn't understood it, but he wouldn't dare go against his father's wishes or his sister's whim. Not publically, anyway.

"I tried to be kind to him when I could, but I was hardly ever without my sister in those days. Cersei seemed to relish the cruelty; she always wanted to impress father, to prove to him that she was as good as any son and certainly better than a dwarf. But to Tywin, she was a means to securing a better position in the realm and nothing more." He smirked at Brienne, still clad in her armor even now. "He would never have allowed Cersei to even look at a sword, much less wield one."

"More's the pity," Brienne returned. "I have a feeling she would have made an excellent swordsman. She was a very cunning and perceptive woman."

The compliment - for it could be nothing else coming from Brienne - caught Jaime by surprise and he stared at her in wonder. Her cheeks reddened under his scrutiny and she made for the door. She hesitated there for a moment, then licked her dry lips as she turned her head for one last parting word. "I'm sorry. For your pain, I mean. I can't say the realm is worse for it, but she was your sister, and I'm sorry that she is gone...for your sake." She couldn't meet his eyes as she muttered a quick goodbye and left him to his thoughts.

He stayed in that drafty room until dinnertime. He'd skipped lunch, not that there was much fare at Storm's End at the moment. The ex-Lord of Tarth was still trying to coordinate everything, and they had only what remained from the rations they'd eaten on the ships. Still, it was something and Jaime's stomach was protesting its neglect.

He found the great hall easily enough; Storm's End wasn't built like the other lordly manors of the south. Jaime recalled Casterly Rock sprawled atop a cliff face, its majesty visible even from the Feastfires. By contrast Storm's End was simple, an imposing edifice to be sure but built to combat the fierce storms that had given the castle its name. The entire estate consisted of a large curtain wall that circumvented a drum tower, its parapets rising to an impressive height. The great hall was situated on the ground floor, just beyond the large open entrance hall. The back wall curved outward, and a long table was sat atop a raised dais at the rear of the room, the banner of House Tarth already hanging prominently above it. Rows of tables stretched in either direction from the double doors, though only the first two were occupied at the moment.

Lord Selwyn sat in the center chair at the high table, his head bent in conversation with a man to his left. On his right sat Brienne, her keen eyes already on Jaime as he walked in and made his way up to the steps. He bowed in greeting to the Lord of the Stormlands, then turned to sit at the long table to his right.

"Ser Jaime," Lord Selwyn's voice boomed, causing him to turn back abruptly. "Sup with us, please." He gestured to the empty chair on Brienne's right hand side. Jaime was aware of several sets of eyes on him as he ascended the shallow steps and made his way around the table.

"Thank you, my lord," Jaime returned as he settled into the plush chair. All of the chairs at the high table were quite extravagant, he noted, cushioned with the finest black velvet and inlaid with golden studs. No doubt Renly's touch, Jaime thought wryly, though he wisely kept it to himself. A few moments later his plate was delivered by some of the squires that had been conscripted into service work until the smallfolk could be organized. It seemed someone had gone fishing during his short absence, and Jaime's mouth watered at the sight of the large filet in front of him. A hunk of bread had been set in a pool of rich, brown gravy and he began dunking it and biting small portions off as Lord Selwyn resumed his conversation with the man next to him.

Thankfully the fish was flaky enough to come apart with his one-handed use of the fork. It would have been quite embarrassing to reenact their dinner with Lord Bolton. Still, Jaime saw Brienne watching him carefully and he wanted to snap at her, to tell her he wasn't an invalid and he could do it himself. He quelled the impulse quickly; it would win him no points with the Lords of the Stormlands if he barked at her in front of everyone, especially her father. But more than that, Jaime had been trying to make a concerted effort to speak to her only with respect as she deserved. She was his friend - probably his only friend - and though he might tease her in the comfort of their private conversations he didn't want to do anything that might bring her discomfort or embarrassment in the eyes of others.

Lord Selwyn turned to him after a few moments and jabbed at Jaime's plate with his fork. "How is your dinner, Ser Jaime?"

"After weeks of sea rations, this is a meal fit for the gods," he joked. "I must commend the cooks."

The man on Lord Selwyn's other side leaned forward curiously. "Have you ever had Bay Snapper, Ser Jaime?"

Jaime was sure he must have at some point, but he couldn't recall. In the interest of being amicable, he allowed himself a small lie. "I don't believe so. Is it quite abundant on the eastern coast?"

"Quite," the lord - for he could be nothing less in his fine waistcoat and trousers - nodded. "My family owns one of the largest fisheries in the Stormlands."

Jaime wished he'd paid more attention when he was younger. Tyrion had a knack for remembering things like house names and sigils whereas Jaime had been more interested the tales of valiant knights and getting outside to practice his swordplay.

"Forgive me, my lord," he said finally, "but I did not catch your name."

"Casper Wylde," he answered proudly. "Lord of Rain House."

"A pleasure, my lord." Jaime raised his goblet in salute. Wylde did the same. Jaime had heard of the house, of course. There had been a Wylde on Daeron II Targaryen's Kingsguard a hundred years ago. Beyond that, though, he could not recall hearing the name before. He supposed that, as a newly sworn member of the Stormlands, he would need to spend time learning its noble houses. He would have to speak to Brienne about it later.

"Brienne," Selwyn took up the conversation as Jaime and Lord Wylde returned to their meals, "when will you be returning to Tarth?"

"Tomorrow, if possible," she answered. "There's much to be done."

"Very well. I would like to see you in my solar after supper to discuss arrangements."

"Yes, Father."

And then she fell silent. Jaime knew she wasn't much for small talk, but he thought she might have more to say to the father she hadn't seen in nearly seven years. He wondered if it was his presence or Lord Wylde's that kept her quiet, head turned down to finish her meal. She hated court, he knew that of course, but this was hardly the viper's nest that King's Landing had been all those years ago. She'd managed well enough until he'd gotten her out, and had even survived an encounter with Cersei without stumbling or saying the wrong thing. Jaime sometimes forgot that, underneath the armor and superb swordsmanship, she was still a highborn lady.

He decided to try and draw her out of her self-imposed silence. "And your dinner, my lady?"

"It's good," she said quickly, but didn't elaborate. Jaime stifled a smile and turned back to his half-eaten filet as he continued.

"This reminds me of our last meal together in Harrenhall." His voice was so quiet he was sure only her father could hear, but she shot him a reproachful glare anyway.

"I'd rather hope this meal turns out better than that one."

Jaime couldn't help the laugh that bubbled up in him. A few of the men closest to the steps looked at him curiously. "Of that I think we can be assured." He was feeling in higher spirits now that his belly was full, and he could see that Brienne was at least happy to see him so relaxed, even if she wasn't quite enjoying herself. He would take what he could get.

Once dinner was over, Jaime walked with Brienne to her father's solar and took up position to wait outside until she was finished. She very nearly rolled her eyes at his posturing.

"I don't need a guard, Ser Jaime. I hardly think my life is in danger within these walls."

Old habits die hard, he thought to himself. Aloud, he said, "Very well. Then I'll retire for the evening. I'll see you at breakfast, my lady." He bowed and turned to walk back down the hall, trying to ignore the way her blue eyes burned into his back as he did.

He wandered the upper levels for a while before returning to the room he'd found before. Renly Baratheon had furnished every guest room with large beds and soft sheets, dusty though it all was. It took Jaime a while to remove his own armor, but he didn't fancy clearing the room of its years' of neglect while still fully clad in his mail. The task took nearly an hour, and it wasn't as clean as he would like, but it would suffice for one night. Brienne had said they were to make for Tarth in the morning, and so Jaime resigned himself to musty sheets and flat pillows as he laid down to sleep.

Thoughts of Cersei plagued him into the wee hours, and not even the comforting shush of the waves below his open window was enough to lull him. Some time after the moon had passed overhead and the candle he'd lit had burned down, he felt his cheeks grow damp with tears and he turned to muffle the rather sudden sobs that erupted from him. Foolishly, he wished for his door to open, for Brienne to come to him now so that he could feel her arms around him again and allow her to comfort him. But she was likely already asleep in her own bed, her dreams far from his own hellish nightmares. Each time he closed his eyes he could see Cersei dying in the Red Keep, her green eyes pleading with him to save her. But even if he'd been there he couldn't have. Not without losing his own life to the Dragon Queen.

He tossed and turned most of the night, and by the time the dark sky began turning he had given up on getting any rest at all. He stood and studied his armor, debating on wearing it at all today. It was unlikely he would need it, but he had no clothes except the filthy ones he wore now. He was in sore need of a good tailor and a deep purse, though it would be hard to find either right now. Jaime stretched out the kinks in his tired muscles and decided to put his armor back on after all. It took a while to do it one handed, and there were some straps he could not tighten on his own, but by the time the sun was peeking over the curtain wall he was mostly presentable.

He found a squire gulping down hot porridge at the base of the stairs and asked him for assistance. The boy glanced up from his bowl, sneered and promptly ignored him. Jaime fumed.

"Did you hear me, lad? I said I require assistance."

"I heard ye," he said around a mouthful, "just don't care. Don't matter who you swear to, you'll always be a Lannister."

Jaime tried to recall if he'd ever been spoken to by someone of such a low rank before. He didn't think so. Most people had trembled before the name Lannister and scrambled to curry favor with the lions. But a dragon ruled now, and lions were no more than carrion for her children. No one feared their sharp claws any longer.

He was so flustered by the boy's response that he didn't notice the man standing just off to the side of the staircase. As the squire went back to his meal, the man stepped forward. He was of a height with Jaime, but his face was clean shaven. His black hair was flecked with silver and trimmed neatly just above his ears. He had storm gray eyes and a hawkish nose that turned down slightly at the tip.

Jaime didn't know him, but the boy certainly did. He scrambled to his feet hastily and sketched a sloppy bow. "Lord Peasebury," he greeted.

"Are you a squire?" the man asked, his voice a nasally tenor that oozed nobility.

The boy sputtered. "M-my lord?"

The lord repeated his question slowly and clearly. "Are. You. A. Squire?"

"Y-yes, m'lord."

"And is Ser Jaime a knight of the realm?"

At this the boy's eyes cut over to Jaime angrily, then back again. "Yes, Ser."

"If you wish to remain a squire, then you would do well to remember what your duties are. Assist him with his armor." Peasebury waited with an arched brow as the boy set his bowl down and tightened the straps around Jaime's armor. He tugged so tightly that Jaime fought to remain still, but he refused to show any discomfort. Finally, when the boy was done, Peasebury cuffed his head and sent him on his way.

"Thank you for your assistance, my lord," Jaime nodded in thanks. "Good help is hard to find these days."

Peasebury's lips quirked ever so slightly and inclined his head toward the great hall. Jaime followed. "Quite." Then, almost as an afterthought, he added, "Will you and the Lady Brienne be returning to Tarth soon?"

"Today, I believe. She is eager for the trip."

The older lord nodded at this. "She hasn't been home in nearly seven years. It's a wonder her father let her play at being a warrior for so long."

"Lady Brienne does not play at anything," Jaime returned sharply, any trace of their brief friendliness gone. "She is a great warrior. Her actions in the North saved lives."

"And now it is time for her to do her duty as her father's sole heir. I hear he already has some of the lesser lords asking for her hand. I wonder how long it will take for him to make a match for her." Peasebury's tone was almost teasing, malicious in a way that Jaime knew well. Cersei could do that, too - insinuate awful things in the midst of seemingly polite and droll conversation.

Jaime ground his teeth together and resisted the urge to clench his fist instead. "I imagine none of them are strong enough to defeat her in combat. The lady and her father agreed to that term some years ago, I'm afraid."

Peasebury drew up short just before the doors to the great hall. "Then for that I must be grateful."

Jaime wasn't sure he wanted to hear the man's reasoning, but his own curiosity got the better of him. "May I ask why, my lord?"

"Because the Lords of the Stormlands have enough to deal with without worrying about a lion vying for a spot in Lady Tarth's bed." Peasebury left him there alone to chew on those words. Jaime thought they tasted bitter. Was that what they thought he was doing? Was that what Lord Selwyn thought he was doing? Surely not, Jaime thought, or else he'd have dismissed Jaime back in Winterfell. No matter Jaime's feelings on the matter, Brienne deserved more than an old, disgraced, landless knight.

"Ser Jaime?"

Brienne's voice startled him, and he turned quickly at her approach. Lord Peasebury's words still echoed in his ears and for once he found himself without a thing to say to her. Luckily - or unluckily, as the case may be - she noticed the dark circles under his eyes immediately.

"You didn't sleep well."

"I've always had difficulty adjusting to new places," he told her easily. It wasn't a lie, precisely, though he still felt bad for it. "Once we get settled, I will find rest."

Her look told him his words hadn't convinced. She knew what troubled him now and he could tell she wanted to ask him about it, but Jaime didn't want to reopen the wounds so soon after he'd closed them over with his weeping. With a grand flourish of his left hand (because his right was no longer suited for such things) he motioned for her to precede him into the great hall.

"After you, my lady."

Breakfast was a quiet affair at the high table, for which Jaime was grateful. More than once he glanced up only to find Peasebury's cold, calculating eyes on him. Each time Jaime would glance back down at his plate as though it held the answers to every question his heart could ever ask. Finally, when both of their bellies were full, Brienne asked him to accompany her to the docks.

"Father has arranged a farewell surprise," she told him. "Have you everything?"

Jaime wanted to laugh at her ridiculous question. He had nothing save the armor on his back and the sword at his hip. All of his worldly possessions had either been destroyed or lost in the ransack that had no doubt taken place when Daenerys' forces had abandoned Casterly Rock.

Instead of pointing out her misstep, however, he just nodded. "I am ready to see Tarth, my lady. I have heard wondrous things about it."

Brienne just pressed her lips together and led him out of the great hall. Jaime couldn't help but cast one last look over his shoulder. Lord Peasebury was deep in conversation with Lord Wylde, but neither man looked terribly pleased with the arrangement. Jaime could guess what they they were talking about, and it was confirmed a moment later when their eyes lifted to follow Brienne out of the room. Something urged him to go back inside and demand they stop their conspiring, to protect her honor the way she had safeguarded his. But the gesture would be neither welcome nor appreciated by the lady, so he remained at her side as they walked through the entrance hall and out into the courtyard.

The walk to the docks was shorter than Jaime remembered, or perhaps there was just more to look at now. People milled about, shoring up buildings and setting things to rights. Jaime didn't imagine it would take Lord Selwyn any time at all to have Storm's End put together again. The sound of children laughing caught him by surprise, and he had to turn aside as two young boys dashed down the frost-slick stones toward the castle keep.

Lord Selwyn was waiting at the entrance to the docks with a small contingent of men and women. Brienne didn't seem surprised to see them, and so Jaime paid them no mind. He came to a stop as Lord Selwyn embraced his daughter firmly before wrapping a strong arm about her shoulders.

"I've just gotten you back and now I'm sending you away again," he said sadly.

"Not away, Father," Brienne corrected gently. "Home."

"Yes," Selwyn beamed. "Home. Come, I must show you something."

Jaime followed several paces behind the pair, taking in the sights and smells of the docks at work. At the end of the row, Selwyn's ship stood proudly in dock, a lord over all of the other ships moored in Storm's End. But one in particular caught Jaime's eye, and it was this one that Selwyn brought Brienne to.

It was a beautiful caravel with pointed sails and planks made of rich pine. Atop the highest mast the banner of Tarth flew proudly, its sunbursts and crescent moons waving in the crisp morning breeze. Jaime knew very little about ships, but even he could see the craftsmanship that had gone into creating such a magnificent gift.

"I had her built for your name day a few years ago," Lord Selwyn admitted. "I had hoped to see you return home after your run in with Lord Bolton's men."

Brienne looked torn between guilt for the pain she'd caused her father and the pride of the mission that ultimately led to the return of Lady Sansa to Winterfell. Finally, she seemed to settle on, "It's wonderful, Father. Thank you."

"She'll need a name, of course," Selwyn grinned, "but that can wait for another day. The crew is ready to return to Tarth at your command. I have sent word ahead of your arrival."

Brienne embraced her father again, and Jaime looked away to give them at least the appearance of privacy. When they parted, Selwyn whispered something to her. Brienne stiffened, glanced at Jaime for several long seconds, then turned to board the ship.

Selwyn stepped closer to Jaime and extended his hand. His left hand, Jaime noted with a touch of astonishment. He took it.

"Ser Jaime, it was an honor to meet you. I trust you will serve my daughter well."

"Of course, my lord," Jaime answered easily.

"You love her, don't you?"

Jaime dropped his hand back to his side in surprise. He didn't bother denying the older man's words; he couldn't. Brienne might not see the full depth of Jaime's growing affections, but that didn't mean others were blind as well. Even a lord he'd never met before could see it. Her father apparently hadn't been fooled either.

"My lord, I -"

"It's alright," Selwyn smiled. "In another time, I would have dreamed of such a match."

Jaime sneered derisively. "Not much of a match now. I am a landless, one-handed knight with nothing to offer her. Not to mention there's more stain on my name than can ever be erased, no matter how many good deeds I do. She deserves someone worthy of her."

"She loves you, too. I can see it in her eyes." He glanced up at the deck of the caravel where Brienne was inspecting the forecastle, then back at Jaime. "My daughter has always been of her own mind. I tried three times to see her wed, and three times I failed her. I resigned long ago to leave it up to her, so I will not meddle. But may I give you some advice, from an old man with more than his fair share of heartache?" He waited for Jaime's stiff nod before continuing. "Brienne closed herself off from the world after her brother and mother died. The string of failed betrothals did little to help the matter. But these last few days, seeing her with you? She's happy in your presence, Ser Jaime. Speaking as a father, that is worth more than all the sapphires in the world."

Jaime's head spun under the weight of Selwyn's words. He knew Brienne cared for him - they were friends - but he wouldn't let himself dare hope for anything more. Even if she never returned his affections, Jaime had contented himself to a life at her side. It was more than he deserved, and he could think of no better way to live out the rest of his days. But he was still a man, and Jaime felt a thrill of hope cut through him at hearing Selwyn's words.

Satisfied that he'd been heard, Selwyn clapped Jaime's shoulder firmly and stepped back. "Fair winds, Ser Jaime. I look forward to the first raven from Tarth."

Jaime felt Brienne's eyes on him as he walked up the gangplank to the deck of the ship. As he stopped by her side, he could see she wanted to ask him what had been said, though her honor wouldn't allow her to pry. Jaime gave her his best smile, hoping to reassure her that all was well. It worked.

One of the crew stopped a few paces from them and gave a curt bow. "Shall we set sail for Tarth, my lady?" he asked.

Brienne nodded, a deep drop of her chin. Jaime noted that it had begun to wobble ever so slightly, as it often did when she was trying to repress a strong emotion. Then her blue eyes found his and her lips stretched into a brilliant smile.

"Yes," she said finally. "Let's go home."

I wanted to end on a hopeful note, but not quite a conclusive one. If there is interest in a sequel to this (re: their life on Tarth) please let me know in the comments. Thank you to everyone who has been reading along! I hope you enjoyed my first foray into GoT fanfic. And a happy Premiere Day to you all tomorrow!