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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 Twenty-six

They'd been playing for longer than he realised, because it was well past lunchtime once they emerged from her room. They had to retrieve their armour from the courtyard, and it worked out quite well that way, once they'd joked around helping each other into it – all of them – they had to pass the mess hall on their way out, so they picked up a few things to take with them to the hill.

She was eager, but then they all were. The mornings were missing something when she couldn't join in, but they would rectify that now. They had the whole afternoon to test each other. Then all night to please each other. It seemed to Clegane that somehow, they were managing to make themselves a little bit of Heaven right here, just before... he shied away from thinking about it. What was the point in thinking about that now?

All the food they'd brought with them was in a basket, and Tormund was carrying it, peeking into it occasionally and teasing Brienne with a commentary of all the wonderful things the staff of Winterfell had put inside, getting more and more elaborate and ridiculous until he was lying his head off and she was dancing around him, trying to get her hands on it to see.

Clegane watched them, but didn't join in. She was becoming more playful outside, in public, and it was good to see somehow. If he drew her attention to it, she would surely stop. So he said nothing.

“I'll let you see the cherries,” Tormund said, “if you give me something.”

Brienne shook her head. “I want something! I'm hungry!”

Tormund appeared to deliberate, walking backwards so as to keep his eye on her, because she was still trying to reach around him to get hold of the basket, almost embracing him. Clegane laughed quietly. “I'll give you... an apple!” he bargained, and Brienne licked her lips.

“All right, what do you want?” she asked, smiling.

“A kiss, beauty,” he replied.

At that, her face darkened and she looked around her. They were still in Winterfell, and there were plenty of people around to witness such a thing. Tormund tilted his head. “Ah, then you can't be that hungry,” he said sadly, making a show of it, sighing heavily.

Brienne glanced at him, and he shrugged. Then, as if she'd made up her mind, she drew close to Tormund and kissed him on the lips briefly, drawing back a little as she looked into his eyes. The wildling instantly dropped the basket onto the ground and pulled her close.

“A real kiss,” he said. And then he was doing it, and she didn't fight him, only wound her arms around his neck as he kissed her thoroughly, deeply, right there in the middle of everything. A few onlookers nudged each other as they walked by, giggling. Clegane scowled at them to make them move on quickly.

At last Tormund drew back. “There. That is good. One apple, I think we said.” He let her go and picked up the basket, peering inside it, drawing out a shiny green apple and tossing it to her. She caught it with a laugh.

“Just for that, husband,” she said. “I think I'll start with you once we get there.”

Tormund clutched a hand to his heart in a dramatic fashion. “Yes!” he exclaimed, and Brienne laughed at him.

Before they got any further, Clegane felt a hand on his arm, and he turned, still smiling, only to find himself facing Jon Snow. He immediately frowned.

“What?” he said at once.

“We need to talk,” Snow said. Tormund and Brienne had stopped too, and were waiting. The wildling gave them both a questioning look and Snow shook his head. “Just him,” he said to Tormund.

Clegane hoped Snow wasn't fool enough to try and interfere in this. “I'll catch you up,” he told the two of them, then he glanced at the basket. “Save me some of everything,” he warned.

Snow walked off, leaving him with no option but to follow, and he did, scowling now. What the hell did Snow want with him? They'd done what they set out to do together. He couldn't think what this could be about now.

He looked back once, and saw Tormund and Brienne going on without him. They could take care of themselves, and whatever this was, it wouldn't take him long to catch them up. He just hoped – genuinely – there'd be some food left by the time he was done.

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

They walked on together towards the hill, and Brienne drew in deep lungfuls of the cool air. It didn't feel right, not being able to train in the morning. To be honest, that alone made her feel out of sorts because it usually set her up for the day ahead, but now she could feel her blood beginning to ease in anticipation of the swordplay. She glanced down at the apple in her hand, and took a smallish bite from it, the sweet and tart taste spreading over her tongue as she chewed, waking her senses a little more.

Tormund strode beside her. She considered him for a moment as they walked. If she was honest, she could still feel what they had done over lunchtime, particularly what he had done. Just the thought of it made something in her ache pleasurably. It didn't hurt though, or feel sore, not like it had for the past day and half. That was something. Tormund looked around, stared at her, and she held up the apple.

“Want a bite?” she asked, deliberately teasing. He grinned and grabbed hold of her wrist as they stopped walking. She held it for him as he bit into it, looking down at him slightly, free hand resting on his shoulder. He tried to take it from her, but she shook her head, tutting until he let it go, biting down properly and she pulled the apple back and away.

About a third missing. She ate the rest, then tossed the core to one side as they resumed their walk.

Some things about her life had changed, because of them. Now, she tended to think of her life before what they had done, and her life after, because it was the easiest way to deal with it in her head. It had happened so fast, but she didn't regret it at all. The person she had been before didn't understand, didn't know. Now she knew things, and it was like a whole other world had been opened up to her, and there was so short a time to explore it.

Yet this world they were walking into now, a world of swords and steel and fighting. This had not changed at all, and it belonged to her. Let there be any number of Queens in Westeros fighting over the Iron Throne – here, she was Queen, and there were no challengers. Well, there was Arya Stark, but she was an assassin, not a warrior. Again, she drew in a deep breath. She couldn't imagine training without the two of them either now. Not because she wanted them like that – not while they were out here, not really – but because they matched her. They challenged her. And in that too, she had a sense that they were meant to be together, all three of them. Not in the same silly romantic way she had once thought about Jaime Lannister, but in a deeper way.

After what they'd shown her, thoughts of Jaime held no interest for her now. Why was that? She remembered how he'd looked at her once, so long ago, when they'd been travelling together, long before they'd been captured. When she'd killed the men who'd hung those women. He'd been afraid of her, for an instant it was true. That fear in others, it was too familiar. She looked to Tormund, and he wasn't afraid of her like that. Not ever, and it meant she could relax around him somehow. She could be herself. Sandor too, despite the fact that she thought she'd killed him that one time. He wasn't afraid of her either.

Tormund had noticed her gazing at him. “What is it, beauty?” he asked, and she shook her head. He'd be fast out there, with Heartsbane. She looked forward to it. But for now, she slid her hand into his as they walked, felt his fingers slide between hers as he smiled.

He called her beauty, having stolen the word from those who meant to hurt her so long ago. They were just ghosts now, but he'd defeated them and cut them down nevertheless. He'd done so much more than Renly. He'd claimed it back and made it true somehow, and then married himself to her without so much as a by your leave. He was a maddening mixture of contradictions. One moment he was playfully submissive, the next he seemed to be able to draw responses from her body and mind that she'd never guessed herself capable of... and she liked it all the same. To be his. Brienne shook herself.

The upshot of the past week was that she didn't regret it. Not one single thing. There was no future to concern herself with, no consequence, no fear for what going forward might mean. Only what was left to them. She squeezed Tormund's hand in hers, and hoped it would be enough somehow. She knew what they faced, or thought she did. She'd seen that dead thing. But they'd seen more, an entire army of them. She knew when it came to that, she'd be furious to have that army steal them away from her, and that would help her fight, but it wouldn't save her. Or them. When it came to the end, she wanted to know that she had taken everything she could, tasted everything she could, to have known them both as well as she could.

And she wanted to be ready to do as much damage to that army as possible. They were here. She let Tormund go as he put down the basket and stretched out her limbs slowly. The brisk pace had warmed her muscles, and she waited for him to straighten up and face her, then she drew her sword. He wasn't afraid, and her heart soared.

“Ready?” she asked, feeling the first tendrils of that lovely adrenaline beginning already, just for the thought of it.

His eyes darkened with anticipation as he drew Heartsbane, and they were the same. They wanted the same thing now: to fight.

Tormund was actually a very challenging opponent. His technique did not conform to set rules or patterns, which meant that fighting him required a certain level of focus and concentration that had to be sustained over the course of the duel. He could easily surprise you. Now that he had Valyrian steel, that challenge had increased ten-fold.

Brienne had to concede privately, he was also much more agile than either her or Sandor, which meant that as she swung her sword wide, he could fade back in a way that Sandor couldn't. While she might have scored a hit against him, against Tormund, she only managed to over extend her arm and leave herself open to his next attack.

He got that first hit, but they were straight back into it, and they were grinning at each other, enjoying it as they circled. The clash of the steel was fast and vicious. He bellowed at her, and she found herself almost echoing him, indulging in roaring back because it did help, but she wouldn't be allowing Podrick to do it any time soon.

Her experience was total, and though she yelled back at him, she didn't become emotional about the fight, and so she began to win, scoring the next two hits in quick succession. They'd been at it for about twenty minutes before it descended into a wrestling match, and he actually barrelled into her, knocking her to the ground.

The armour shielded her from most of it, so she wasn't winded, but she was disarmed. He'd thrown his blade to the side before he attacked, and they were fighting hand to hand, and though she was taller than him, he was strong!

Now, having the experience of fighting with them both like this, it occurred to her – too late – that Tormund might have more physical strength than even Sandor, and she growled in frustration as she ended up trapped beneath him, her sword well out of reach. She'd have lost even if he wasn't holding her arms down to the ground.

With an enraged scream, she tried to roll them over, and she might have managed it, but the same armour that had protected her was a hindrance now, its weight aided him instead, until she slumped in defeat. Or, almost. As he looked down at her, victorious, then lowered his head, she snapped her teeth at him, and he moved back suddenly with a little laugh of admiration.

“There you are, my wild beauty,” he said, and she turned her head, still searching for a means of escape and advantage.

Wild... only when you forget what you are doing...

She came back to herself, to where they were, and did not move. For the time they'd been fighting, she forgotten everything else. Forgotten all those other things. Now she recalled them, because his weight on her was warm and somehow enticing, and she wanted to welcome it.

Her heart hadn't slowed at all. In fact, it was beating fast now for some other reason than the thrill of the fight. She struggled, though it was only to ensure she really was helpless, then moaned quietly. She was his, and he was hers, even now. “Husband,” she whispered, because in this moment she believed in it with all her heart. Ever since he had taken her, it was as though she trusted him more than she trusted herself. That he knew just what to do, that he loved and adored her, that he would show her more than she dreamed. She believed in him completely, and it didn't matter which God had witnessed it.

She turned her head again, and gazed up at him. He seemed enchanted. “Oh, beauty,” he said, drawing in a deep breath that he let out with a kind of shiver. “I'll fuck you right here, if you want, or we can fight more. You choose for us.”

While they were out here, there was no hesitation. Brienne jolted up with her left hip, to make him move. “Fight me,” she said, almost growling at him, and Tormund grinned suddenly, nodding.

“Yes.” He moved away and they got to their feet, retrieving their weapons before the slow circling began all over again...

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

“You plan to fight together?” Snow asked, making his way around the far side of a large black carved wooden desk in the centre of the room. Clegane turned slowly, keeping his eyes on Snow. The entire room was dark wood panelled, cherry and ebony. Even the pale light that came in through the window didn't help. It was kind of cheerless. He liked it.

“Aye,” he replied, his voice short. “What of it?”

“You've got a good chance of making it through,” Snow said, nodding. “The White Walkers. If I'm right, they'll be hanging back, behind the ranks.” His stare was intense. “You and Tormund, you've both seen them do it.”

Clegane narrowed his eyes as he stared back. He still didn't know where this was going. “Right.”

“Their swords can kill White Walkers,” Snow announced, like it was a surprise.

“I know.” Clegane felt something in him begin to burn.

“Yours can't.” And here he began to get pissed off.

“So I'll take some of the damned dragon glass,” he growled dangerously. “What the fuck you trying to say?”

Snow shook his head and sighed, as if Clegane had misunderstood him somehow. “Daenerys will be fighting from the sky. The rest of us will be fighting on the ground.” Snow used his hands as he spoke, just like a talker. Clegane was not impressed. “I want a secondary elite group, and I think you're it, but I don't want you to be cut down before you can take some of them out. All the wights that follow will go down with each of the White Walkers you can kill. So, I'm saying...”

“Leave the fighting to the women and wildlings?” Clegane demanded, almost snarling. “Fuck off!”

Snow shook his head again, and now there was some kind of desperate look in his eyes. “Once the White Walkers start seeing dragon glass they'll be expecting it,” he said, as if that was some kind of valid argument for keeping him away. “And they'll see it long before you get there. They won't be expecting the three of you.” Snow banged his hand on the desk. “And I want to keep that up. I want to see each of you armed properly.”

Now Clegane frowned, his anger cooling off a little. “I don't understand what you...”

His words trailed off as Snow turned away, then placed a bundle of cloth in the centre of the table.

“This. I brought it back to Winterfell in a trunk full of Maester Aemon's things without realising what it was.” He began to unwrap what was inside slowly, almost reverently as Clegane watched.

“I thought there might be items in there that Samwell Tarly would find useful. Didn't really have the chance to go through them properly until just recently, didn't see the point as he hadn't any family.” It was a sword in there, but what Snow meant by it, Clegane couldn't even begin to guess.

“Then, when I found out that... never mind. I shouldn't be doing this. If this belongs to anyone, really, it's Daenerys.”

It was uncovered, and Clegane couldn't breathe for a long moment. He stared at it.

“Fuck me,” he was almost whispering. “Is that...?”

Blackfyre. He couldn't say it, not out loud, because if he did, that thing on the table between them might vanish in a puff of smoke.

“I honestly don't know,” Snow said quietly, sharing a hesitant look with him. “It's possible, isn't it? Maybe, somehow, it was sent to him by someone in the end, and there it stayed, forgotten for years.”

Clegane swallowed. His throat was dry. That would explain its disappearance, but it raised about a million more questions than it answered, like who, why, and for what motive. Perhaps it didn't even matter now. Or perhaps it was just some nameless sword that didn't have histories written about it. The Targaryens had more than two, after all. “You haven't told her about it. Daenerys.”

“No. And, I'm not going to,” Snow said decisively. “It will be better placed in your hands. The three of you, an elite fighting force. A surprise for the White Walkers, each of you armed not with dragon glass, but with Valyrian steel.”

Clegane almost staggered. He looked around him. Why weren't there any fucking chairs in here?!

“I don't know what to say,” he said at last. “Are you sure about this?”

“Say you'll fight for me,” Snow said, staring at him intensely.

“Goes without saying,” he responded. Snow didn't look away. Clegane shook his head. “Oh, bloody hell, all right! I'll fight for you. Happy now?”

“It isn't yours,” Snow said. “You understand? If by some miracle we win, you'll need to give it back, and then I'll...” He paused then, a look of anguish on his face that Clegane didn't quite understand, “well, I'll tell her.”

“Right. But it's mine for this. For now.” Even having spoken the words, he didn't believe them, and he still didn't touch it. The sword laid on the table like a mirage. Impossible.

“For this. When,” Snow said, then inclined his head, “if you get through, and you start on them, they might well attack as a group.”

Tearing his eyes away from the sword, Clegane looked up. He imagined it, the three of them surrounded by White Walkers, finishing them off left, right and centre while the wights they controlled fell with them. It would be a harsh blow to the Night King, and he smiled slowly. “I expect they will. They'll want to end us.”

Snow frowned then. “You know it's suicide, don't you?”

Shrugging, Clegane looked to the impossible sword again. “We all do. Don't we?”

“Aye. I suppose we do.”

At last, he reached out his hand. The scabbard was elaborately decorated like the hilt, the black of the obsidian still polished and shiny after all this time, two dragons heads to either side of the grip. Wasn't there supposed to be a jewel? If there was, it was missing, either prised out or just a legend. He stopped short of touching it, even now.

“Can you wield this?” Snow asked, and it didn't seem like a ridiculous question right then. Not at all.

Finally making up his mind, Clegane grasped the hilt and the scabbard, picking them up to draw it out. Gods, but it was the most beautiful thing he'd ever seen in his life. But it didn't do anything to him. It was a sword like any other. It could be used with one or two hands, and he would need to practice with it in the time they had left. But...

“Yes.” He nodded. “I can use it. And I'm fairly sure I can let it go too, after,” he added. That's the real question Snow was asking, after all. He put it back down, just to reassure himself, and as he looked up Snow was actually smiling.

“Jon Snow,” he said then. They looked at each other. To wield that thing was an honour and a pleasure of its own, even without the imperative and purpose to which it would be put. “Thank you.”

Again he picked it up, and this time it did draw something from him, something he'd never have envisaged himself doing ever again in his life after leaving King's Landing. Clegane placed the tip of the blade to the floor and knelt behind it, lowering his head. “King in the North.”

If the sword wasn't pleased, it wasn't saying anything. It remained in his hands, slightly warm and thrumming with energy, longing to be put to good use. Clegane meant it. If he'd been in Snow's place, he wouldn't have done this in a million fucking years, and yet the reasoning... he saw that too. The three of them could do a lot of damage, should they get that far, and he made a promise to himself right then that they would get that far. He'd make this work somehow. This gamble would pay off for Jon Snow.

He looked up, and Snow was staring at him in shock. As shocked as he felt to be handed Blackfyre like it was just some bastard sword that was hanging around.

“Well, don't fucking get used to it,” Clegane commented as he stood up. “None of us are gonna live that long.” Snow laughed then, and he did too.

“If anyone asks where you got it,” Snow said, hesitant.

“I'll tell them to fuck off and mind their own business,” Clegane replied.

“Aye,” Snow said, laughing in relief. “That works.”

Clegane put the sword down, and removed the one from his belt, replacing it with Blackfyre, if it really was Blackfyre. “Save this for me,” he said. “I'll be back for it later.”

Now that it was done, he imagined catching up with Brienne and Tormund, and fighting her with it. At last, they would face each other equally, and it would be a damned good duel. His heart beat faster just thinking about it. “If you don't mind, I'm, erm, just going to go out there and finally win a sword fight.”

Snow laughed.

“She's good for you,” he commented casually. Clegane gave him a sharp look, and Snow looked right back as if to say: no one in Winterfell is blind. “I mean, she's good for you both,” he added. Clegane nodded.

“She's always deserved better,” he said. “But we can make her happy, I think. For what that's worth, for what's left.”

He reached a hand over the desk, and so did Snow. They clasped each other's arm, and then he was gone, walking as briskly as he could to the hill. He might have run, but he was still utterly stunned, and he wanted to have come to some kind of terms by the time he got there to them.

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

When he reached the hill, it was to the sound of their steel, and he grinned because he was going to surprise the hell out of both of them. Ha! Maybe he could knock them both down without even doing a thing.

They were so intent on each other, they didn't even see him enter their arena. But he drew that sword, and it must have sounded different, because they backed away from each other and stared at him – at what was in his hand.

No one said anything for ages, then actually Brienne dropped her sword. “Impossible!” she breathed, actually running over to him to look. She swallowed.

“What is it?” Tormund wanted to know. “Which one of the five is that?”

“It isn't...” Brienne said faintly, finally tearing her gaze away from it to look into his eyes. He grinned. “It isn't one of the five,” she said to Tormund, without breaking that stare. Clegane reached out with his free hand and slid his fingers into the hair at the back of her head. He gave her a brief kiss.

“Go get your sword, Brienne of Tarth,” he said then, and she laughed, open mouthed.

“Oh, wait! You actually think you're going to beat me, don't you?” she asked, disbelieving. He drew in a breath, and nodded.

“With this? Oh, I know I will,” he said, and she laughed again, but she went to pick up her sword.

Tormund was looking between them. “So which one is it?” he queried, confused.

“Only the most famous missing sword in the world,” she said.

“Actually, we don't know that,” Clegane put in seriously.

“Right,” she said, nodding. “Well, then! If you win, you get to claim Blackfyre. If I win, you get to claim nothing but a cheap Valyrian forgery.”

Clegane laughed out loud, as if there was such a thing as a cheap Valyrian forgery. As if there was such a thing as Blackfyre. “Works for me,” he said.

Tormund sheathed his sword. “Oh, this should be good,” he said, and retreated to seat himself near the food. “Then after we've decided what it's name is, we'll eat.” He clapped his hands like a King, ready to be entertained. “Away you go!”

“You saved me some?” Clegane asked, suddenly realising how famished he was, and Brienne nodded as they began to draw closer to each other.

“We waited for you.”

“Well, now you're just trying to make me feel bad about defeating you,” he said, smirking.

“There you go,” she shot back, “getting ahead of yourself. That's your problem, you know.”

“Is it?” he demanded, and she nodded, her eyes twinkling. He lunged for her and she side-stepped easily, using Oathkeeper to knock his blade out of the way.

Clegane laughed as they both backed up a step. “All right,” he conceded, nodding. “But I'll still win. You want to know why?”

“Why?” she asked.

“Because this is finally a fair fight,” he noted. “And Brienne? I'm better than you.”

Her lips compressed into a straight line, and she went for him so quickly, but the new sword was light and swift, and he countered her again and again. In fact, it became like a sport, holding her off, and finally he saw her getting frustrated, breathing too fast, not backing away when she should because she was letting it get to her...

He tapped her leg with the side of the blade, and she froze, long enough for him to disarm her and then trip her up, until she was on her back, the tip of Blackfyre at her heart. At once he sheathed the sword and reached down to help her to her feet.

“I'm going to have to improve,” she said, shocked, and he grinned, but she was almost fizzing in excitement at having a decent opponent. He could see it in her eyes. They walked over to Tormund, who was laying out a lot of fruit, cold meat and hunter's pie on a blanket. There were even sweet pastries too. He hadn't been exaggerating about everything in that basket.

They helped each other with their armour so they could sit down on the ground.

“Blackfyre it is then,” Tormund said. “Which one of you wants to tell me what that means?”

Clegane and Brienne looked at each other. She smirked. “It means he's going to go on and on about his 'special' sword for the rest of his life,” she murmured, teasing, and Tormund laughed. Clegane could not be pissed off. He simply stretched out on his side, and started in on some of the food.

“Well, beauty, we'll just have to test it out later, won't we?” And he dropped her a wink, then as one they both looked at him. Clegane instantly imagined himself in the middle and almost choked on a bit of ham.

He spluttered. “I don't suppose there's any point in telling you two to behave, is there?” he managed darkly, after a long drink of water. They both laughed at him, the wildling and his wife, and Clegane began to think he might be in some serious trouble after all. No matter what his bloody sword was called.

To be continued...

Author's Note: Thank you for reading – I hope you had fun! I did enjoy this chapter, I have to admit. More naughty stuff to come, as they all retire... who will get to be in the middle? I sense something different is about to happen. Please leave a word or two for the muses.

Note on the sword: Honestly, I'm not sure it's Blackfyre, so please don't take that bit seriously. The Targaryen's did have more Valyrian swords, so anything is possible. But it seemed to me that Snow, Clegane and Brienne would all have their imagination captured by a whimsical what if? As for him giving it to Clegane, he means for that tactic to work. And, if he'd taken it himself, and given over Longclaw, he'd have had all kinds of questions to answer. Being as he's probably found out about his own relationship to Daenerys at this point, I don't think he's quite feeling up to those questions. Poor sod.
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