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We're All Going to Die	By : pip Category: G through L > Game of Thrones Views: 12196 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Game of Thrones and I make no money from this work of fanfiction.

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Chapter Ten

They did make time for more practice, cutting that short was not an option in his mind. Nor did it seem to be in hers. They needed the exercise even if there were no other considerations. It would be all too easy to let themselves become lazy in love, or lust or whatever the fuck this was, and so they went out regardless of everything. Regardless of how much they wanted to stay in that bed, exploring each other. It didn't matter that seeing Brienne strip out of her her breeches and underwear to change in front of them made it all that much harder to get up and think about anything else but having her.

They did it anyway. They did a couple of other things first. Tormund knocked the door through into the corridor with a roar, and then they went off to find Podrick. They came upon him hiding from some others, whom he referred to as unsavoury individuals. He appealed privately to Brienne, as if asking for her help. Unfortunately for him, she reminded him loudly about some lesson she'd given him about fighting his own battles and left him to it, with instructions to find a joiner to repair her door before she got back.

They got in the mood quickly once they were on the hill. It always seemed more serious out there. They remembered what it was for, why they were practising, and it was with a sense of urgency that they did it, taking as much time as they dared, sparring with each other until there wasn't enough light left in the day to do it safely, and then walking slowly back together in thoughtful contemplation.

We're all going to die. That thought was on his mind again, and while at first he'd used it to justify going in for this strange thing between them, now it was different. He found he couldn't bear the thought of losing her, short as their time together had been so far. Fuck, he couldn't bear the thought of losing Tormund, and that was even weirder. He said nothing. But when he looked at the two of them, he knew they were having similar thoughts.

Troubled, when they got back to Winterfell, he dragged Tormund off to bathe with a promise to see her at dinner in the hall. The wildling grumbled, until he muttered into Tormund's ear about the night to come, and it being their turn, and about how big Brienne's mouth happened to be. Then he went right along with it.

He'd never taken as many baths in his life, and yet as he idled in the warm water with Tormund, he realised he was growing pleasantly used to them. They didn't speak, just stared at each other while others came and went around them. There was more than Brienne between the two of them. When Tormund wasn't exaggerating certain things for comic effect, such as not wanting to bathe, he had a kind of stoic, masculine quality about him. It was hard not to respond to it.

Perhaps it was because they were actually quite similar. Neither of them needed to concern themselves with the petty concerns of little men. Neither of them needed to talk small. The mad lunatic was just an act, a front. Deeper beneath that, a mutual respect was springing up between them whether he wanted it to or not, and Clegane could sense it.

He cleared his throat. “So,” he said carefully. Tormund eyed him in silence, unblinking, and he had the disconcerting impression of being very carefully scrutinised and measured in some way. He licked his lips slowly.

“This war. Are we just going to let her walk into that with us?”

There. It was out. Tormund's eyes narrowed slightly, but he didn't speak. Any other war would be different. He'd take Brienne with him into any arena and be glad of her. After what he'd seen of her skill, he'd be happy with no one else by his side. He'd trust her with his life. But not this one. She hadn't seen it, she didn't know. He knew. The army of the dead was not like any living army any of them had ever seen. It wasn't like... it was fighting nightmares and horror stories. Not men, not flesh and blood. It was as much about fighting your own desperate terror as about fighting the dead.

Tormund still didn't reply. The silence gathered, and the longer it lasted, the more Clegane felt a need to fill it.

“I mean, we could let her stay behind. We could go alone, just the two of us. It's certain death. You know that, right?” He puffed out a breath. Tormund still didn't speak. “Course you fucking know that. You know that dread army better than me.”

At last, Tormund drew in a deep breath. His chest expanded under the water. He was covered in hair there as well. The wildling closed his eyes, and to Clegane it felt like a relief, not to be the focus of his attention any longer.

“Why do you go into this war? Why do you go into it knowing you'll die fighting it?” Tormund asked.

He huffed, careless. “Because it's there to be done,” he responded. But that wasn't right at all. It might fit for any number of battles and skirmishes he'd been involved in before. He didn't just like killing, he relished it. He liked the honest brutality of it, that was the truth. He liked taking lesser men to pieces, he liked leaving their stinking, steaming intestines in a pile on the floor. This wasn't about what he liked, because it wasn't about killing. You couldn't kill what was already dead. He thought more deeply for a moment or two, and Tormund gave him that time.

“Because it's the only war that really matters,” he said eventually. Tormund didn't speak. A fairly uncomfortable feeling came over him, and he shook his head. “Fucking hell! Because somewhere I still believe, stupidly, despite everything, there's something that's worth fighting for, all right? I don't have it. For me it's long gone. I'll fight in this war, and I'll die fighting it because I don't matter. It's too fucking late for me. I'm too far gone. But... something should survive this. And if it's going to, we need to win, or there'll be nothing at all. Just... nothing.” Just saying it made him feel bleak. Their chances of victory were slim at best, and he'd never see it, even if they did win. But he'd try his best nevertheless.

“Right,” Tormund said. “So you know why. Me too. Too late for me.” They shared a look across the width of the bath. It occurred to him they were alone at last, just as he had wished, and yet now he wished for the company of others. “Fuck. Most of the free folk are gone now. We are the last of us. We stand and fight. And we die.” Tormund gave him a strange, perceptive look. “Haven't you worked it out yet?”

He was completely thrown by the question. “Worked out what?”

Tormund smiled sadly, and swirled his hand through the water with a sigh. “For her too.” He quirked his mouth strangely under that facial hair. “Too late.”

Something splintered in him, and he shook his head in denial. “No. Don't...” Well, he'd be damned if he didn't feel his heart actually fucking hurt. “Not her.”

Tormund frowned. “If you managed to rescue her, and keep her away from the battle, what would you save her for? Who would you save her for?”

Clegane scowled, uncomfortable, imagining Brienne alone in the world without them. Tormund had no mercy.

“The idiots, perhaps?”

Never that. His hands closed into fists under the water. And yet, Tormund kind of had a point. Didn't she deserve the chance to live, though? Just because they were doomed, it didn't follow that she had to be. And he imagined her life, just like his, alone and feared by everyone she met as she got older day by day. More fearsome day by day. That bloody body count of hers rising, day by fucking day. Fuck, but he'd been lonely all of his life, and he didn't want that for her. Not like that.

“Or if you save her,” Tormund continued, contemplative, “and you back out, or I back out, or we both do. Do you think we could live with the consequences, any of us?” He paused, just long enough for Clegane to imagine how that kind of cowardice would tear them all apart. They'd probably kill each other.

“Do you think we even could live? Do you think the Night King would let us?” He closed his eyes. The way Tormund put it was impossible.

“All right, just fucking shut it, will you!” he said, loudly, covering his face with his hands. Then he felt hands on his. Soothing as a touch could be. He let Tormund uncover his face, and the wildling gazed at him with that serious look.

“Let her fight. She was born to it. You know it. I know it. She is one of us. We are one of her. Let her fight. Let us all fight together. And we will die together. Perhaps it's the best any of us can hope for.”

He sighed, and relaxed, just as if Tormund had instructed him to do it. “You're right,” he said at last. “She'd only kill me if I got in her way.”

Tormund nodded. “Good. Now you are seeing it as it is. We still have some time. Cheer up. Maybe, if we're really lucky, we'll get to know the pleasure of fucking her together first.” The wildling looked away, clearly imagining just that, and a little rumble of lust came from deep in his chest.

Clegane laughed shakily. “Perhaps. You're like a man after my own heart.”

Tormund grinned then, and clapped his shoulder. “Well, of course, I'll miss you as much as I'll miss her when I'm dead. If you do get the chance, burn my corpse, yes?” He shrugged. “I promise, when it comes to that, I'll do the same for either of you. For the sake of the living.”

Clegane didn't reply. He was staring into Tormund's eyes, so close to his own.

One moment, they were apart, the next they were mashed up together, all hard lines and teeth and tongue. Tormund's beard kept catching and tugging in his own as they kissed. He wanted it, he wanted it as much as he wanted her. More, even. Because this thing between them had an edge of danger to it that was unlike anything else he'd ever known. It made him feel alive, and if there was one thing he needed right now, after this odd, depressing conversation, it was to feel fucking alive, and he grabbed onto the experience with both hands, with everything he had.

Tormund was like Brienne but times about a hundred. Explosive as wildfire, and yet he was too excited to be afraid of it, of what it might mean. He had his hands on the small of Tormund's back, slid them down, until the wildling wrenched his face away and laughed out loud.

“Is that what you think, boy?” he asked. “Oh, I'd teach you many things, for certain. But we would be late for dinner with Brienne.”

Clegane could actually feel himself pout. “Fuck you, ginger cunt,” he said, insulted at the inference.

Tormund smirked. “Worth bearing in mind, in our little clan, just in case you get any new and interesting ideas. You're a southerner. I'm the only one of us who is involved with two virgins.” He winked, stole a quick second kiss, then climbed out of the bath, completely unashamed of his nakedness, and his raging hard on.

A short bit of mental arithmetic later, and Clegane splashed about in the water. “Wait... what the fuck does that mean?!” Only, it was quite clear what it meant. Tormund had already... both ways. Clegane tried to get his head around it and completely failed.

Tormund grinned down at him from the side of the bath. “Means I'm hungry. Hurry up and get out.” They stared at each other, and Tormund was bloody well thinking about it, right in front of his fucking face! And because he was thinking about it, Clegane couldn't help thinking about it either.

Hungry! Ha! A little too late for comfort, he wondered where his sword was. Tormund continued to stare, unblinking, and it wasn't making his hard on subside at all. For fuck's sake! He felt suddenly self conscious, which had happened to him, well, precisely fucking never. And then some of Tormund's earlier words filtered through.

...late for dinner with Brienne...

He was out of the bath in about three seconds, and getting dried off and dressed. Tormund chuckled at him.

“Don't ever call me 'boy' again you mad fucker,” he griped.

Tormund winked. “Go on,” he challenged. “Tell me how I'm still alive because of how much you fucking like me.”

Clegane threw the towel at him in a temper and stalked out of the bathing room, to the sound of Tormund's deep, rumbling laughter. The lunatic was back.

To be continued...

Author's Note: A shortish chapter, but I think it deserved to stand alone, for the serious content in it. Hope you enjoyed it. Please review. And yes, hopefully, we will get to see the next long night time smut scene next. Review replies will be found here: http://www2.adult-fanfiction.org/forum/topic/61848-pippychicks-review-replies-tv/
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We're All Going to Die