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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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Author's Note: This chapter was beta read by the brilliant BronxWench. Thank you so much for all of your help and encouragement! :)

Chapter Eighteen

As it turned out, the place where Daenerys and her company were camped was quite a bit further out than he'd guessed, and his bad mood was beginning to return as they got there. He asked for Tyrion, and they were both shown into a tent, within a tent, full of billowing sheets of coloured silks. It was bloody ridiculous, but at last there he was, same as always, all decked out like he was somehow winning the game. The only man with a dick in the whole place until they arrived, Tyrion Lannister smiled at them both as he walked over and looked up at them, that ludicrous scar set at a diagonal on his face.

“This is an unexpected,” he stopped and paused. “Well, I was going to say 'honour' but then I realised...”

“Let's get one thing clear right now,” Clegane grumbled, speaking over him, looking down. “I don't much fucking like you, dwarf.” He was here on the strength of Tyrion's potential knowledge, and some very rare moments where he'd thought Tyrion Lannister wasn't quite as big a cunt as the rest of them.

“And there it is,” Tyrion said, just as if he'd been expecting it. Something about the way he was just seemed to rub Clegane up the wrong way, and he felt his lip curl a little bit. He wasn't in service to them now. Before anything could escalate, Tormund stepped forward.

“Hello,” he said simply, looking down in awe. The big wildling had seen giants. He'd probably never seen a dwarf before. Just his bloody luck. “I am Tormund Giantsbane.”

Tyrion nodded once. “Good name, and might I say, very fitting. Tyrion Lannister, Hand of the Queen. At your service.” He offered his hand to shake, and Tormund took it, enveloping it in his with a little rumble of laughter.

“I like you,” Tormund said, then turned to Clegane, all kind of excited lunatic again. “I like him!”

“Thank you! Would you like a drink as well?” Tyrion asked, turning to a convenient drinks counter. Such things were scattered around the room, so that no matter where he was, he didn't have to walk far for more wine. Tormund smiled, completely genuinely, and turned to Clegane.

“Why don't you like this little man, Clegane?”

“You can say 'dwarf' it's quite all right,” Tyrion said, handing Tormund a oversized glass of red. The wildling sniffed at it and pulled a face as if to say: well, can't have everything. Tyrion offered them both a seat, which they took, Tormund with much more grace than Clegane. “So, why are you here?” he queried of Tormund, settling beside him after getting the rest of the alcohol, then glanced at Clegane. “Especially since he doesn't like me?”

“Ah... we are both in love with a woman,” Tormund said, more seriously. He was completely open, proud even, and Clegane understood a little bit more about the wildling then. He had no inhibitions at all. Not sexually... and not socially. Inwardly, he sighed and knocked the wine back in one. He found himself strangely unsatisfied, and wondered if Tormund had any of that clear spirit he liked secreted anywhere, because it was quite a bit stronger, and he had a feeling he might want it for this.

Tyrion's face seemed to fall, and he frowned. “Oh, woman trouble, is it? I'm afraid you've come to the wrong man for advice there.” He became suddenly pensive, swirling the wine around in his own glass as if it might tell him something. “I murdered the last woman I loved.”

“We didn't come to ask about your damned love life,” Clegane snapped, sensing he was being manipulated in some way. “And if you breathe a word of this to anyone I'll kill you so slowly you'll wish you'd never climbed out your mother's cunt.”

For a moment there was silence, and then Clegane realised he hadn't really advanced the conversation any, and they were here for a reason, after all. He let out a short, exasperated breath. “We both want the same woman.”

Tyrion's eyes widened slightly, and he looked at them, from one to the other. “Does she want either of you?” he asked, then continued right on without waiting for the answer. “May I ask the name of this exciting paramour?” He seemed to think he had it all figured out. “Would she by any chance have blonde hair? Blue eyes?”

Tormund sighed. “Yes, she is blonde,” he stated, looking off into the middle distance. Clegane studied him for a moment, and it occurred to him just then that he didn't merely accept sharing Brienne with Tormund. He actually wanted to now. Nothing else would do. He was in this up to his neck, and he liked it even so.

“And she has the bluest eyes,” Tormund continued. For a second he brought Brienne to mind himself, until he thought he might be staring into the middle distance too, then he frowned and shook himself. Tyrion thought he was clever, but he had the wrong end of the wrong stick, and he was in the wrong damned forest.

“Keep your precious bloody Targaryen Queen!” he ground out through his teeth, feeling annoyed for some reason he couldn't explain. “It's Lady Brienne of Tarth.” He had the satisfaction of seeing Tyrion Lannister surprised, but then realised he'd had to give out information to do it. He hadn't wanted to say that much when he came here. He'd wanted to keep her name right out of it. He glowered. “Not that it's any of your business.”

“Oh! Well, now I suppose that does make sense, thinking about it.” Tyrion looked them both over carefully. “Seeing you two, imagining her. And yet here you both are, not fighting. Neither of you are dead yet.” He raised his glass in a little salute. “Quite the achievement all round, I suppose.”

“Little men can afford to kill each other over bloody women,” Clegane sneered. Tyrion knew nothing.

Tormund chuckled. “Yes, there are so many of them,” he said, with an amused glance at Clegane, as if it was a secret between them. “A death here, a death there.” He shrugged, and nudged Tyrion in a friendly way, who almost fell from his seat. Tormund was completely oblivious. “Ha! Who notices?”

“No offence meant,” said Clegane with a smirk, seeing Tyrion trying to regain his balance along with his composure.

“None taken,” Tyrion said at last. “Actually, I agree with your assessment.” He jumped up to stroll about the room, rather than be accidentally nudged again. “I see. So, rather than death, you are here to have me devise some kind of 'contest for the fair maiden' – that kind of thing?” He went to one of the scattered tables and picked at a grape or two.

“No. That's settled,” Clegane told him, smug. He found he liked keeping Tyrion off balance. He'd always been so clever. It was interesting to finally turn the tables on him.

“We share,” Tormund stated easily.

Again, he had the satisfaction of seeing Tyrion startled, and he began to believe that perhaps this conversation wouldn't be half as bad as he was expecting. “Excuse me?” Tyrion murmured, grape held in his fingers, forgotten. “Share?”

Tormund nodded happily. “Each other, yes. The three of us. All together.” Tyrion's mouth dropped open.

“Revolutionary.” He seemed to need a moment to adjust to the information he'd been given, until it became quite clear he was imagining it... graphically. Clegane narrowed his eyes and folded his arms, having put down his empty glass. Tyrion popped the grape into his mouth, chewing slowly. “Then, what I can't understand is why you are both here with me,” he continued, “instead of fucking her brains out between the two of you.”

There. They had come to it. Clegane looked to Tormund but this time he was no help whatsoever. The wildling gave him a look as if to say: you wanted to come here. Clegane sighed.

“Well... you have a reputation,” he said at last.

Tyrion seemed resigned all of a sudden. “I do...?” he queried, and poured some wine, which he knocked back immediately. Perhaps he was afraid of what that reputation was. Perhaps he genuinely didn't see what was coming next.

“You have lots of experience with whores,” Clegane said, abrupt.

“Yes.” Tormund nodded in agreement.

Tyrion almost choked on his wine, lowering the glass and spluttering for a good few seconds. He seemed to have gone rather a funny colour. “Well, that's undisputed,” he said then, shrugging as if it was nothing, “but I really don't think you should go around alluding to Lady Brienne like that or you're liable to regret it.” He nodded at them, his eyes widening. “Both of you.” Here he tilted his head in deference. “No matter how big you are.”

“That's kind of it,” Clegane said.

“It?” Tyrion echoed, clearly none the wiser.

Clegane hated this. “She's a virgin,” he said, rather more quietly.

Tyrion only shook his head. “Again, this is not coming as a huge shock to me. Lady Brienne of Tarth is a very respectable –”

“And we thought,” he cut in, quickly getting annoyed again, “rather than – fuck her brains out – there might be a way to make it...” He searched around for a way to put it that would encapsulate everything it had taken him an entire night to explain to Tormund.

“Easier,” Tormund said with a little shrug, jumping in to help.

“Painless,” Clegane put in, looking down and rubbing a hand over the back of his neck. “You know... kinder?”

“You... you want to be kind to her?” Tyrion's voice was softer now, inquisitive, almost reverent. Was it really so difficult to believe? Clegane looked up.

“I am not a damned monster!” he shouted. Tyrion, having approached him quite closely, hand outstretched, jumped back about half a foot.

“Of course not! I can see that,” he said, and then sighed. “Believe me, I identify personally with the feeling.” They stared at each other, and there was another one of those moments between them, where Tyrion didn't seem as big a cunt as the other Lannisters. As if he might really know that feeling. He probably did. Didn't people call him a monster too?

“So, to summarise,” he said carefully, and for once clearly trying not to annoy him, “you want me to tell you how to take this woman's virginity with as little pain to her as possible?”

Clegane bit his lip, nodded once.

There was a heavy sigh, particulary heavy seeing that it came from a dwarf. “Well, then I fail to see your logic. I may be renowned for visiting brothels. The main reason I visit them is because the ladies there are most definitely not virgins.”

“But you are Tyrion, Hand,” Tormund said, as if to argue, frowning at Clegane in confusion, as if he had somehow led them astray by coming here. “You know things, yes?”

“Look, can it be done or not?” Clegane asked. If there was no point being here, may as well know now rather than prolong the bloody experience.

“Well, I suppose you'll need to...” he stopped short, as if thinking, then revised his words, giving them a brief glance of assessment up and down. “Well, you'll need something a lot smaller than either of you have, I presume.” He paused for a beat. “I could source what you need. I wonder... would you be willing to come back?”

As easy as that? Clegane was actually fairly suspicious, but much too relieved to actually mention it. “I suppose so,” he managed at last. If he had manners, he wasn't saving them for anyone except her.

Tyrion nodded. “Good. Then come back to me in a few days.”

“A few days?” He felt as if the bottom had just fallen out of the world. A few bloody days? How would they get through that?! Any of them? He spared a single glance at Tormund, and didn't reckon much to Brienne's chances. Not at all. Actually, he didn't reckon much to her chances even if she only had him to mess around with, come to that. Sooner or later, he was bound to just think, what the hell, and slip it right on in there anyway. Thinking that made him instantly imagine it, and he tried to squeeze himself up a bit smaller in his seat. It didn't help.

“Such things do take a little time,” Tyrion was saying, in slight annoyance at his reaction, then he seemed to get it. “Oh... oh, I see your predicament,” he said. “Yes. Hmm.” He wandered over slowly and grimaced. “Blue, are you? Oh, well.” He reached out a hesitant hand, and patted Clegane on the shoulder. “There, there.” Then he seemed to remember he had another guest and looked around at Tormund, seeming to shrink. He gulped audibly. “Yes, you, too,” he murmured softly, again with the damned patting. “There, there.” Clegane thought he was getting far too much fun out of all this. It was exactly as he had feared all along.

“We have waited our lives for her. We would wait longer, if we had to,” Tormund said slowly, unblinking.

Tyrion seemed thoughtful and somewhat melancholy. “She is very lucky, your woman,” he said, addressing Tormund directly. Clegane couldn't be certain, but it seemed that Tormund and Tyrion were having some other, different, conversation without him.

“She is not 'our woman,' dwarf,” he growled, because the way he said it... they didn't possess her. Even when they did, she would always be... Tormund knew this better. He would be able to explain this. Brienne was no more theirs, than he was. Or than Tormund was. They were all on the same footing. They were free, and it was the sharing that made it so.

“My apologies. I see. So you are, um, her men, then?” Tyrion queried, uncertain where to go next. For a moment, he seemed incredibly dense to Clegane. Because for him, suddenly the context of their relationship clicked into place, and he understood it exactly.

“It's Brienne, of Tarth,” he said, as if explaining to a child. “We're equals, you daft fucking...” He stopped himself, reined in his temper. “We are equals. The three of us are together, inseparable. Comrades in –”

Tormund was smiling slightly at him, knowing again, as if he could see right into Clegane's head and had seen that moment of sudden understanding. He jumped in again, shortening Clegane's diatribe. “We are a little clan,” he said simply, nodding.

“I see,” Tyrion said, stunned, though clearly he didn't. Not really. “Equals. As Hand of Queen Daenerys, I feel safe to say she approves of this.”

“We're so glad,” Clegane grumbled, derisive, because he didn't give a damn what some dragon Queen cared about. Or not. It wasn't any of her business.

“Do you want my help or not? I wasn't sarcastic with you.”

“He is sorry,” Tormund said.

“Fuck that!”

“Aren't you?” And then Tormund nudged him. Clegane growled under his breath, but said it anyway.

“Sorry,” he muttered.

“Well, you have a few days,” Tyrion said, turning away from them. “I am sorry for that. I will send word as soon as I have it.” He stopped in the act of pouring more wine, and seemed to slump, his shoulders shaking a little. He was laughing! “Wait, no, I can't do it to you,” he managed at last, turning again to look at them. “I mean, those things, maybe they do even exist. I really don't know, but...”

“But, what?” Clegane demanded, angry and getting more pissed off by the second.

“There's a much more simple solution, which I'd advise.”

Tyrion waited, and when no one said anything, he continued.

“Not to be crude, but really, fucking her would do the job wonderfully well. Just as well, in fact, if not better. What she needs is a cock. Either of you could do it.”

Clegane began to wonder what Tyrion would look like with hands wrapped around his neck. When his face went purple and his eyeballs went red, little black tongue peeking out between his teeth. Killing Lannisters was an act of heroism, he reminded himself.

“Use lots of oil,” Tyrion was saying, ignorant to his fast approaching death. “She'll bleed. And it probably will hurt her a lot. I mean, what with the size of you. Really, you can't avoid that.”

He stopped, and shook his head at them in disbelief. “Do you really mean to say that neither of you has done this before?”

“We have,” Tormund put in quietly, drawing Tyrion's attention. “We just haven't done it with her.” Tormund spared Clegane a quick glance. “She is different.”

At once, Tyrion regained a more serious demeanour. Was there no one who wouldn't fall under the wildling's spell? Clegane looked to Tormund in amazement. “Clearly,” Tyrion said, with a little nod, suddenly deeply respectful.

“It's Brienne,” Clegane said, looking at Tormund. “She's never...” He stopped and tried again. “I mean, she's lived and fought like a man all her life. She's like one of us.” He glanced at Tyrion and sneered. “Would you like to be the one to make her know what it means to be a woman?”

Tormund smiled slightly, as if he knew something Clegane did not. “He thinks it will weaken her.”

It was a like a light had come on in Tyrion's eyes, and he raised his head heavenward. “Ah! Now I understand! This...” he said, “you should have said this in the first place.” He went back to pouring the wine for himself. “You know, if you talk to her, you might be pleasantly surprised by what she has to say about it.” He turned towards Clegane. “Do you think she hasn't been through this in her own mind?” he asked earnestly.

Clegane thought of her, of her inexperience, of all he knew about women and safety and how the world worked, and he said: “I think she doesn't know anything.”

Tyrion smiled. “You want to protect her.” He nodded in understanding. “It's admirable, really, and quite gallant of you... But!” he announced. “I really do think you might be underestimating her,” he said, and raised his eyebrows in warning, and his glass. “At your peril, I might add.”

Clegane shook the warning away, as if it was an annoyance. There was only one thing that was becoming clear. “One of us has to take it from her,” he surmised, twisting his lips. “One of us has to fucking hurt her.”

Tormund nodded, maddeningly happy about it. “And the other, pleasure her.”

Tyrion stared at them both for a long moment. “And you, you came all this way. Seems kind of excessive,” he noted, finally putting down his glass. “Oh, well...” He reached into a pocket and withdrew a coin, tossing it into the air and onto the back of his hand before covering it. He looked to Clegane first.

“Heads,” he said.

Tyrion uncovered the coin, and tilted his head, stretching his hand out to show the result, which was heads. “You win,” he said to Clegane.

“Fuck me!” he swore, getting up and kicking the chair so viciously that the seat came off.

“Or perhaps you lose,” Tyrion said faintly, blinking. “Astonishing!”

“You were saying?” Clegane muttered darkly.

“Well... when it's healed in a day or two, there'll be no pain for her during intercourse, only pleasure.” He shrugged. “But, you already know that.”

“Right,” Clegane said, deciding at last to be resolved on it, for good or ill, then frowned. “Wait. So what was all that 'a few days' nonsense about?”

Here, Tyrion at last had the grace to seem apologetic. “Well, to be honest I was so surprised by your request I had to test your resolve because I wasn't sure you were being serious. Congratulations. You've restored my faith in something.” He frowned a little. “I don't know what exactly quite yet. But definitely something.” He smiled then, and nodded as an encouragement. “Good luck!”

With that, it seemed the conversation was over, and Clegane had nothing more to say anyway. What a useless load of nonsense all of that was! He grumbled and shook his head, stomping off to the door or the flap or whatever, ripping a couple of those annoying billowing silk things down on his way.

Tormund took a moment to speak though. “Well done, Tyrion, Hand,” he said. “You live up to your reputation indeed.”

“Thank you. I hope I helped.”

Again, it seemed they were having a conversation all of their own, that didn't include him, and he waited with his arms folded, but that appeared to be it. Tyrion turned to face him where he was stood at the exit flap.

“Oh.. and shame on you for your threats,” Tyrion said, actually scolding him. “As if I'd breathe a word of gossip about Lady Brienne. What do you take me for?” He made a little gesture with his hands. “Away with you now!”

As they waited for their horses to be returned to them, Clegane sighed and swore.

“What's the matter?” asked Tormund.

“He didn't help us at all!” Clegane exclaimed. “Fucking imbecile dwarf.” His bad mood had returned with a vengeance. Mostly because he was leaving a Lannister behind. Alive and well.

“He helped us decide who would do it,” Tormund pointed out calmly. “And it's still you.”

“Fuck me,” he swore, and passed a hand over his face. “It's always me who gets to do the bad thing.” Would she scream? Would she cry? Would she ever let him come near her again?

“She will live through it,” Tormund said, shrugging.

“I'm sure,” he said in response, his voice dry. “But will I?” It was Brienne, after all.

“Now?” Tormund mused. “After teasing her the way you did? That, my friend, is a question.” He clapped Clegane on the back and quirked his lips in an annoying way.

“A fucking good one,” he muttered, imagining her angry. “She already killed me twice. Know what? I've changed my mind. I reckon you're up, Giantsbane.”

Tormund frowned. “Ah, now. No arguing with a coin toss.” Their horses arrived, and they mounted, still arguing.

“What the fuck you talking about, wildling? You don't even have bloody coins!”

“Ah!” Tormund grinned, reins in his hands. “But I've...” he frowned a little, “what is the word? I've assimilated!”

“Fucking dick,” he growled.

There was a little laugh from Tormund then. “You a bad loser, aren't you?”

“Cunt. Told you I didn't like him.”

Shrugging, Tormund prepared to gee up his horse. “I like him. For a little guy. He's funny.” He nodded. “And clever.”

Something occurred to Clegane then. Something he should have seen right from the beginning of all this, from the moment he first began drinking with the wildling. “You've just been humouring me all along, haven't you? And he helped you do it. Somehow, he helped you.”

Tormund winked. “You feel better about it now though, yes?”

Clegane sighed heavily, and let it go, along with his mood. Fuck it. He did feel better about it, at least a little. He was resolved anyway, for what it was worth. “Aye, true enough.” It seemed to him that the wilding was actually quite a good friend to have, and on the heels of that, that he had a friend.

“Tormund,” he said, struggling. It was a close to a thank you as he could get right then. The wildling looked at him.

“Ah!” He got his horse close enough and hooked a hand around the back of Clegane's neck, pulling them close enough for their foreheads to touch.

“Time is short, and she's all alone. Let's go get her,” he suggested, and then rode off into the late afternoon, with Clegane following close behind.

By the time they arrived back at Winterfell, it was just edging into dusk, and they caught a late dinner before bathing. They couldn't very well show up to her smelling of bad blood and worse wine. At long last they were clean and ready.

They stood beside each other in front of her door, and then there was nothing else for it. Clegane raised his hand to knock...

To be continued...

Author's Note: Hope you had fun! Why not leave a word or two? Review responses will be here: http://www2.adult-fanfiction.org/forum/topic/61848-pippychicks-review-replies-tv/
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We're All Going to Die