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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.

Chapter List
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Chapter Two

They didn't walk far, after all, only to the mess that served a dinner of ale and warming stew to the fighters and soldiers of Winterfell and their allies, which at the moment included all three of them.

He hadn't even realised the Lady's manservant had followed them until he began assisting Brienne with her armour before they could be seated. Tormund, in the manner of the wildlings, was bundled up with furs but wore more flexible armour, and so he wandered into the maze of tables and benches to find them an empty one.

When Pod was done, Brienne jerked her head towards Clegane in unspoken instruction, and the lad started towards him hesitantly. The Hound scowled.

“I've been taking care of my own armour for years, boy. Touch it, and it'll be the last living thing you ever do.” He thought it was considerate advice. To Podrick's credit, he scurried off quickly, while Brienne rolled her eyes at him and went to the table.

He loosened the armour in bad-tempered jerky motions as he watched the wildling pull out the entire bench for Brienne in a childish display of strength. But she settled down, allowing him to sit beside her. Clegane turned away, dropping the bothersome pieces down in a pile, before stalking to the opposite side of the table.

Giant-sized bowls of meat and gravy were placed before each of them, along with a loaf of bread in the centre of the table. To break bread together. Did this mean Brienne considered them friends now, rather than enemies? Clegane studied her in silence. Neither of them were given to making conversation, something which the wildling more than made up for.

Tormund interrupted his flow of ceaseless chatter with a happy roar of approval when tankards of ale appeared. For some reason they'd fetched Brienne a pitcher of water. Unable to see the need for it, Clegane folded his arms and cleared his throat loudly in the direction of the serving staff, nodding at the offensive water.

“Bring ale for the Lady too,” he advised with a growl, and the girl hurried to obey, so that soon they all had a decent drink. There, that was better. He looked up and met Brienne's eyes.

“I usually ask them for water,” she pointed out coolly.

Oh, fuck it.

“But, thank you.”

Then the wildling was laughing – at him – and the only reason he didn't lose his rag right there is because he saw a twinkle in her eyes too. It occurred to him he was glad he had amused her at any rate. “Drink,” he said, gruff. “The fighting is over.” He paused. “For today at least.”

They ate, and drank, and at last he had to pay attention to Tormund, who as it turned out was a lunatic, but an honest one. His desire for Brienne was sincere, and he was somewhat consequential. He did merit space at the table with them, after all. And as he paid attention, he realised that the wildling was not as clownish as he'd been assuming all this time. In fact, towards the end of the meal, he turned quite serious.

“We have little time before the battle,” he said, and Clegane and Brienne both nodded once in assent. “No time at all to put things off.”

Oh, fuck no. Clegane prayed he wouldn't do it, but he ploughed on right into danger like a lemming.

“How would someone like me go about winning your heart, Lady Brienne?” Tormund asked outright.

Clegane watched her reaction carefully. Brienne didn't even look in Tormund's direction, but she blinked once or twice, and then she looked at him.

Damn the human part of him to Hell, but he looked at the two of them seated beside each other, squirming, and he sighed inwardly. Then he shrugged. “His intentions are honourable,” Clegane advised at last, and he thought of himself, of what he sometimes imagined himself doing with her, to her. “You could do a lot worse.”

He endured the grateful grin the wildling directed at him with bad grace, scowling in return. Brienne blinked again, then appeared to collect herself. Her lips pressed together in a thin, straight line. She still didn't look at Tormund, Clegane noticed.

“Unfortunately, there is no one present at Winterfell capable of acting in the capacity of chaperone for me,” she said at last, quite formally. Well, that was surprising! Was she actually turning him down? Clegane sat back and felt his eyebrows draw together in a frown as he tried to make out her motives. It seemed inconceivable. Did she actually imagine Tormund was teasing her? Did she imagine any man would dare? A rush of something in his gut told him that any man who treated her that way in his presence would find himself on the end of the Hound's sword, begging forgiveness.

“Chaperone?” echoed Tormund, without understanding, pleading for Clegane to explain it to him.

Damn him to Hell. “She means someone who can oversee the courtship, and make representation for you to her father. An older woman,” Clegane said, then stopped. This required a delicacy he didn't possess. “Someone experienced, who can ensure nothing occurs to... damage the Lady Brienne's reputation.”

“Ahhh...” Tormund nodded, then winked. From the corner of his eye, he saw the wildling draw closer to her, his hand slipping under the table. “We don't need a chaperone,” he said, his voice low and somewhat dirty. Clegane might have warned him, if he'd seen it coming.

One moment, everything was peaceful, the next moment, Brienne lashed out. Less of a slap, more a deliberate uppercut to the jaw that sent Tormund reeling. To his credit, he didn't take it in bad spirit, only laughed. Clegane found himself laughing too.

“I probably asked for that,” Tormund said, rubbing his face ruefully as Brienne glared at him.

“Yes, you did,” Clegane noted.

It was strange how he didn't have any desire to impale the wildling on his sword for Brienne's sake, not even when he fell to his knees beside the bench and begged her forgiveness. He simply watched the proceedings, to see what would happen next.

At last Brienne considered Tormund with a cold, stony stare that made Clegane's heart pick up. “Sit down, you idiot,” she hissed. He scrambled to obey. “And, while I still like you, let's have no more of this 'winning hearts' business.”

She turned to look at the other tables. “Do you see them?” Clegane and Tormund looked at the others, pitiful in stature compared to them. “We three are better equipped for what we have to face than twenty of them.” She kept her voice low, because she wasn't boasting, she was speaking a simple truth. They all felt it.

“Together we are more effective. We should fight together, the three of us. It might give the others a chance if we can cut a swathe through the ranks of the dead. Thin the numbers for those who follow us.”

“Agreed.” Clegane couldn't fault her reasoning. And if the truth be told, when it came right down to it, he'd feel better with Brienne and Tormund at his back than fifty of the others.

“Me too. Agreed.” This from Tormund, who reached inside those swathes of furs and pulled out a flask, along with three tiny tarred leather cups. Clegane watched, slightly suspicious, as he poured each of them a small dram. “Team Tarth,” he said, and drank quickly. He might have winced. With all that ginger stuff clinging to his face it was impossible to tell.

Clegane took up his cup and downed the spirit in one, feeling it burn past his throat and settle in his stomach like dragonfire. He whistled between his teeth and glanced at Tormund, who winked at him.

They both looked to Brienne. She lifted the cup in her hand and peered inside, dubious. Clegane felt the warmth of the tot spreading outwards, and thought he knew just what the wildling might be up to. And, as he had told Brienne once before, he was not a knight. He had no claim on the so-called 'virtue' of knights. “Drink,” he said. “The battle is not here yet. Drink to us all.”

He watched with a grim smile as she swallowed it, then nodded for Tormund to pour again. A look passed between them. You will share, Clegane thought, if we manage to get that far.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

After several cupfuls of fire, Brienne raised her hand, palm outwards, in a gesture to stop. Having learned over this short meal to respect her wishes, the flask went away. Now all that remained was to see what effect the alcohol had on her.

Clegane watched as Brienne rose to her feet, hands gripping the edge of the table tightly. She towered over them both, looking down on them like a Goddess. The liquor had dilated her pupils, darkening her eyes, brought pale pink colour to her cheeks and lips, and she licked over them, leaving them wet and shiny in the light.

“Isn't she the most beautiful woman you ever saw?” breathed Tormund. Brienne blinked slowly, and Clegane noticed her eyelashes, long and sweeping, the same cornsilk colour as her hair and fine eyebrows.

“Yes,” he said, without thinking. Brienne swallowed, and then swayed where she stood. Immediately, there were the two of them, one at each side, holding her steady.

“I think,” she breathed, somewhat startled. “I think I need to go to my room. To rest.”

The drink. Clegane still didn't know what it was, but it was damned strong. He felt quite tipsy himself, and if Brienne didn't usually drink, not even ale...

“Lean on me,” he advised, as he felt her centre of balance shift unsteadily, and she shook her head.

“I can't. I'm too big to...” she stopped mid-sentence, then seemed surprised she had to look up into his eyes. Clegane smiled.

“You can with us,” he said. Her eyebrows drew together in the most adorable way, and she turned her attention to Tormund then.

“Am I shrinking?” she asked, almost dreamily. “Because that would be good.” She shook herself. “But really very, very bad timing.”

“No, my love. We are just two of the biggest bastards you'll ever meet.”

Brienne only grunted in response, but she did lean on them both. Luckily for her Clegane knew where she rested at night, and they led her there without incident between them. She opened the plain wooden door, then stepped out of their hold and turned around.

“You two, you can't come in,” she announced, her voice breezy in a way Clegane had never heard it.

“Oh? And how are you going to get to that bed over there?” he asked, nodding at it. Brienne turned again, but this time she lost her balance. Quick as a flash, Clegane crossed the threshold and caught her in his arms as she fell forward. They'd been this close when they fought, but it hadn't felt like this. He'd imagined how she might feel in his embrace, how she might fit. The reality was beyond his dreams. When he held her, he didn't feel like a monster. He felt like a man.

It all seemed inevitable as he pulled her closer, his arms closing around her waist without him needing to reach down or stoop over, without him lifting her clear from the floor. The wildling closed the door behind them as he nuzzled at her jawline, his nose nudging the lobe of her ear, her hands pressed flat against his shoulders.

“Clegane?” she said, uncertain. He brushed his lips over her neck, and she drew in a sudden sharp breath.

What was he doing? As suddenly as he had begun, he let her go, and Tormund caught her then.

“Sorry,” he murmured, looking away.

“She fits in your arms like a dream,” Tormund said, obviously finding that out for himself. Clegane looked up then. “Aren't we going to share?”

Brienne struggled, and Clegane couldn't believe he was doing it, but he shook his head. “We should put her to bed and go. She'd kill us both in the morning before we even woke up.” And she'd be right to, he added, to himself. What had he been thinking?!

“Well, that's true,” the wildling said, regretful, looking down at his love. Then he seemed to snap out of it. He swung Brienne up into his arms easily. “To bed with you then!” he announced cheerfully.

Tormund carried her over to the bed, which was unusually large for her comfort. Clegane followed, unable to help himself. He was pretty sure the wildling didn't get to sleep anywhere like this, and he certainly didn't.

They laid her down, and Clegane found himself staring down at her, with himself seated on the edge. She frowned, as if she was trying to recall something. “That thing you did, over there.” She gestured with her hand. Clegane nodded. “Do it again?”

She reached up, grasping handfuls of his hair to pull him down towards her. “You know you don't mean it,” he said seriously, and yet she was so willing, and he was so weak. He buried his face in her neck and kissed her there again, trailed his lips up to her jawline, pressing down lightly.

Brienne sighed. “No one's ever... not like... I mean, I... It feels so nice.” She said it as if she'd never known nice things; something else they had in common. Clegane had drawn back to allow her to speak, but not far. She held his face in her hands and looked in his eyes as if she didn't even see the scar. “Clegane,” she said. He wanted her more than anything in the world. He'd willingly sacrifice himself to the army of the dead if he could have her right now.

“Sandor,” he corrected, and then he kissed her lips. He could have her, but she would hate him. She would hate him for every single second this continued, and yet he couldn't help it. He would hate himself. To live all this time and to end up no better than his rapist bastard of a brother. And the kiss, which had at first tasted sweet, turned suddenly bitter.

He pulled back and stood up, turning away, before the ball of savage need that was growing in him could take control of this – of everything. Before he could do the thing that there was no coming back from. He'd forgotten Tormund was even there. But how he wanted her! The need shrieked in him to be satiated, and there she was, too drunk to know better. Too drunk to know herself.

“I'm sorry,” he managed, his voice strangled with dread and desire. And then there was Tormund.

“Come on,” the wildling said, dragging him towards the door. “You're right. We really shouldn't have done this.” He cast a lingering look to Brienne, who was already turning over on the bed, sinking fast into a light slumber. “Will she remember that we didn't?”

Clegane shrugged, still conflicted. “I don't know. Will she remember that we intended it?”

That seemed a much more pertinent question, and the answer wasn't something either of them wanted to say out loud, yet when they were safely outside, things seemed brighter.

“Well, I've got a hard on you wouldn't believe,” Tormund said.

Clegane ran a hand through his hair. “I might, if it was anything like mine.”

The night was still quite young. “Want to go and find a woman?” There were whores to be had here, if you knew where to go, but the thought held no appeal whatsoever.

“Are you serious?” Clegane asked. “I want her. I'd ruin any other woman right now.”

Tormund nodded seriously. “I hear you. Wanking it is, then.”

He expected the wildling to walk off and go about his own business. When he didn't, Clegane was nonplussed. “What? Do you want us to go at it together?”

Now Tormund grinned, and clapped a hand on his shoulder as they began walking. “Well, I was thinking you could tell me about that time she nearly killed you, and that might get us both off, and give us some idea what to expect tomorrow...”

It might at that.

Author's Note: Thank you for reading. Are you having fun? Please drop me a line to let me know. Review responses are here: http://www2.adult-fanfiction.org/forum/topic/61848-pippychicks-review-replies-tv/
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We're All Going to Die