We're All Going to Die

BY : pippychick
Category: G through L > Game of Thrones
Dragon prints: 8762
Disclaimer: I do not own Game of Thrones and I make no money from this work of fanfiction.

Author: pippychick

Title: We're All Going to Die

Disclaimer: I do not own Game of Thrones and I make no money from this work of fanfiction.

Summary: A bit of fun between Clegane, Brienne and Tormund.

Feedback: Yes, please.

Fandom: Game of Thrones (TV Series)

Pairing: The Hound/Brienne/Tormund and combinations thereof.

Warnings: 3Plus, MF, MMF, MM, Fingering, Slash, Het, Oral, DP, Anal,

Solo story or chaptered story: Chaptered



We're All Going to Die


Chapter One


Winterfell. Where the snow fell ceaselessly now, tumbling down onto the courtyard below that was filled with the clash of newly hewn dragon glass weapons. They all needed to practice, even the best of them. A short stop off was all they could afford, but it gave the King in the North a chance to catch up with recent events.


A familiar shadow watched from the balcony, unseen, but Lord Baelish was dead now. This shadow loomed far larger than Littlefinger could ever dream. His unblinking eyes were fixed on the Lady Brienne of Tarth. She'd taken on three swordsmen at once and was making easy work of it. Her technique he knew well, having been on the receiving end of it before. Having lost to it before. And yet that wasn't what occupied his thoughts as he watched her. Neither was it the army of the dead, currently swarming over the rubble of the wall and in their direction. No. It was something the wildling had said...


Our children would conquer the world! Well... he was half right. The Hound stared, face betraying nothing, but his mind imagined the warrior woman softened with child, and he could not even say why he thought upon it. How it might suit her. He enjoyed even more imagining how it might come to pass.


At last he blinked, when Tormund wandered nonchalantly into his line of view, half-blocking his sight of Brienne. “Fuck off,” he murmured, annoyed at having his voyeurism interrupted, then pushed himself away from the wall with a clank of armour, into the light, and made his way down to the courtyard three steps at a time.


The others had melted away, and Brienne stood facing off against the wildling, who had that lunatic grin on his face again. Clegane couldn't imagine that was going down well with the warrior maiden, who suffered no nonsense. And yet, they were staring at each other so intently they didn't even notice he was there until he drew his new dragon glass blade. Then their concentration was broken.


The dragon glass made a sound that was unlike steel. Steel was a metallic whisper of death. Dragon glass rang in a chime. A knell. Brienne looked into his eyes, unsmiling as always. Her ice blue eyes were nothing like the eyes of the dead. Expressionless, yes. Cold, no doubt. But there was a grace and a glory that shone in her more brightly than in any female Clegane had ever seen. Well, except perhaps for Arya Stark, but she didn't inspire the same interest in him that Brienne did. Not at all.


“You know I can't practice with anyone else,” Clegane said, as a statement of fact, seeing the slightest acknowledgement in those eyes. That fight of theirs, they were both thinking of it now. She'd won that one – twice over – and because of it she knew he had not one smidgen of the honour she herself possessed. For a moment his heart trembled, as if she might refuse him the match on that basis alone. To be unworthy of her consideration. Of her respect as an enemy. His breath steamed in front of his mouth in a puff as she raised her sword in a salute of acceptance, and now at last he smiled.


Before they could begin, an arm shoved him roughly where he stood, enough power behind it to move him a couple of inches. “My fight, dog,” the wildling growled. Clegane almost laughed. As if Brienne was a thing any man could claim ownership of – even the chance to spar with her.


“Not any more. The Lady desires a sword, not a cock. Fight her with that and she'll cut you to pieces.” Clegane didn't take his eyes from Brienne, and though she surely heard his crude words, she didn't even blink. She was a fighting machine, and his heart began to beat faster in excited anticipation.


There was silence for all of a single moment before the wildling clapped him on the back in that annoying jovial fashion of his, laughing. “She can take us both on!” he said, and that at last broke the spell between them, since both Clegane and Brienne looked at Tormund, disbelieving.


Clegane knew the idiot too well to doubt the double meaning. In all of the ten minutes of conversation they'd had. But to suggest the Lady should duel with them both was nothing short of insulting. Even he, The Hound, possessed more gallantry than that.


“I accept.” Brienne's voice, cool and calm as ever, taking the challenge on as if it were something that came along every day. Clegane turned his head, but he would not back down and lose this chance. So be it.


While they had been so intensely focused on each other, the others in the courtyard had downed their weapons and retreated to the sidelines to watch, anticipating a great show of swordsmanship. The three of them had a lot of room, and Tormund broke away to circle around the other side of Brienne, forcing her to split her attention between them.


In his secret heart – what little was left of it – and in some other life, Clegane might have made it easy for her, but he couldn't. She wouldn't allow him to. Her attacks were as dangerous as they ever were, and it was all he could do to hold his own when her attention was upon him. When it wasn't upon him, he rested deliberately, anticipating her next move, watching how easily she dealt with the wildling, who soon bowed out of the arena with a bruised arm and leg. Then it was just the two of them, like it always had been, ever since that day. Something in him was jubilant that she didn't take the ginger cunt seriously. She didn't have any desire to kill him. Between them, it was different. Between them it was blood.


Clegane tried to keep his attention on the fight, and he was forced to for the most part so as not to lose any of his favourite things – like his limbs and appendages, his one remaining good ear. And yet, the things he noticed were odd. The length of Brienne's thigh pressed against his when their blades met and clashed close together. The feel of her fingers when she grasped his wrist with her free hand to keep his sword arm up, out of the way, leaving his body vulnerable to attack.


How natural that it should descend in a real, honest-to-goodness feel good fight, the dragon glass forgotten in the snow and dirt as they went for each other. The whispering feel of her hair against his face as they wrestled. The warmth of her breath on his jaw. And all the while, that same otherworldly cool blue of her eyes, cold but passionate, all of her concentration on him. On winning, whatever the cost might be.


And he knew he could not lose, not again, not a third time. Because underneath all the trappings and talk of duty and oaths, they were exactly the same kind of creature. She was so strong it made him hard, and he was harder on her to make up for it.


It had gone beyond the practice they were supposed to be engaging in, and moved into new territory. This was about settling the score between them, and Clegane used all of his might to emerge victorious. Brienne was screaming in battle rage, but Clegane expected her to try every trick this time, and he countered, until it was all spent, and she slumped beneath him, captured and exhausted. Coming round from the temporary madness in front of their audience and realising that this time, she'd lost, she didn't say a word, and she was just as beautiful as ever.


Clegane had to hand it to her. Brienne didn't complain or make excuses, merely picked herself up, dusted herself off, then nodded curtly at him and stalked off to where her forgotten dragon glass sword lay on the ground and picked it up. Perhaps she was already making plans to adjust her strategy for the next time. That's what he would be doing.


The spectators' attention drifted, and the courtyard filled with the usual sounds of sparring and comings and goings. Clegane stared at Brienne's back, willing her to look around, to look back at him, but then the wildling cunt... again!


He could only watch from a distance as the wildling made his advances – carefully – lifting one of the warrior maiden's hands to his lips to kiss it. Clegane scowled and scoffed. Surely she wouldn't entertain that?


People drifted in and out of his line of vision, and Clegane could hear the heated rush of his angry heart again, only this time there was no relief for it. Just the stillness as he watched his prize walk away with someone else. Something sweet was on his tongue – blood from a cut on his lip. He wiped it away in a temper. And then...


Then she looked back. Right at him. In her eyes, the same cool maddening challenge as always, only this time, it said: are you going to just stand there?


Clegane licked over his lips deliberately, tasted the sweetness, and before he could think, his feet were taking him in their direction, following them where they went.


He'd been invited.


Fuck it. They were all going to die, anyway.


To be continued...

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