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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 Thirty-three

Tormund's face darkened. “We had a traitor in our midst,” he said carefully. “A crow. Going by the name of Jon Snow.”

Clegane blinked in surprise. He'd thought the two of them were close friends, seeing as how Snow had gifted Heartsbane to him.

“Wait,” Brienne said, frowning, before he'd even started. “I thought you liked Jon Snow?”

Tormund's face cleared then, and he smirked. “I do. I did, from the moment we first met, when he knelt before me in Mance Rayder's tent.”

“He didn't!” Brienne said, looking a little askance at him. Clegane had a strong suspicion the wildling might be prone to ridiculous exaggeration during the course of this story, especially going on previous evidence, but said nothing.

“What can I say?” Tormund asked, managing to shrug, all kind of nonchalant. “Poor mistaken fool. He was completely overcome and in awe of me. Prettiest thing I ever seen, him falling down at my feet like that.” Despite the light tone, Tormund sighed. “Yes. He was a kneeler when he came to us. Should have killed him then, really, before it went any further. Before he could learn another way to live. But the girl, Ygritte, liked him even better than I did. So did Mance, after a fashion. Probably the prettiest thing they ever saw too.”

Clegane rested easy as he listened, and it occurred to him he really didn't mind the sound of Tormund's voice. Even that strange wildling accent. It was kind of soothing somehow.

“Well, that and he'd killed someone we all wanted to see dead,” Tormund said. While he'd been speaking, Clegane had reached to tease the back of Brienne's hand where it rested on the wildling's chest, up and down with his fingertips, although of course doing that meant he kind of had an arm thrown over Tormund as well. It wasn't an accident. The wildling looked down, then directly at him, eyes wide, missing nothing. “So.”

“And then?” Brienne prodded, only an amused sparkle in her eyes to hint that she was aware of what was happening between the two of them. Tormund finally blinked, let his head rest back. One of the wildling's arms was around Brienne's shoulders, the other was folded behind his head, on top of the pillows.

“Ygritte took him for hers, so when he betrayed us after we'd all climbed the wall together, it was her who felt it the most. She should have killed him then, really, but she couldn't quite seem to do it either. She put a few arrows in him, and she was an expert shot too.”

Tormund raised his eyebrows in a comical fashion. “Got to be said, that boy's got more lives than a shadowcat.”

Clegane smirked. “Literally,” he put in. Tormund seemed to be a bit busy blinking, since he'd actually given up the pretence now, and his arm was definitely stretched out over Tormund. His hand was nowhere near hers either any more either. Kind of lower down, so that he could feel the narrow path of body hair that led to the wildling's navel, right against his palm. Tormund seemed to be pondering whether to say anything about it. He cleared his throat with what seemed to be an act of herculean effort, and continued...

“Anyway, did I ever tell you about the time I befriended a shadowcat? You have to wrestle with them,” he said seriously, and Clegane sighed. Brienne too. They both stared at him, until he understood they weren't falling for it. “All right,” he said then, sighing.

“Ygritte died when we attacked Castle Black,” he confided, and of a sudden his voice was soft with grief. He drew in a breath. “I should have died in that battle too, but I didn't. Instead of a clean death, that cunt put me in chains, and from there I saw Mance fail, and I saw him die too.” He swallowed. “The one man who'd done the impossible for us all, and united us so that we stood a fucking chance. Who'd brought us to make war with the crows so that we could get behind their fucking wall, and be safe, perhaps, through the winter.”

As he'd been speaking, his grief had turned quickly to passion, and Clegane flexed his fingers against Tormund's skin, tracing the shape of the muscle there, but he didn't move his hand, and he didn't look, though he was sure he could feel the heat of the wildling's reawakening interest. Tormund was blinking again, and Clegane smirked.

“That was the point of it all,” Tormund went on, trying to be ignorant. “It's all recent for you, dead things and white walkers. Not for us. Mance knew it was coming for years. We've all got our own stories to tell. We just needed to get south, to survive, that's all.”

“And then, when I couldn't hate him any more, Snow came and freed me with a plan: to get all of the free folk south of the wall.” Tormund puffed out a breath. “Yeah. Because now he was Lord Commander of the Night's Watch. And Mance was gone, and it was all down to me. Fuck. I never wanted to lead us all, but I agreed to do it anyway. Mission accomplished, right? Not a life lost for it until we got to Hardhome and I had to kill the Lord of Bones for being a cunt. Then the Night King realised we were taking his livestock away, and so we mostly failed. That was a bad day. A sad day.”

The wildling shuddered at the memory, and his eyes were closed now.

“I hope you two realise I'm going to see more of my dead friends and lovers than you can ever know. You might not see anyone you recognise when we get there. How will I face Karsi if I see her? How will I end her? I saw her get up again, on the shore. Blue eyes...” Tormund shook his head in grief.

Clegane stole a look at Brienne, and she was biting her lip in concern, but unwilling to interrupt. So was he. He was no longer playing any kind of game, and he kept his hand still, waiting for Tormund to continue. It took a few long moments.

“And then here I suddenly was,” he said at last, “stuck in this world of yours with a load of twats for Kings, who believe in strange Gods and demons, mostly just to keep the rest of you down and in your place. All of you so fucked up and hard over hating each other you won't even notice until the dead are upon you and it's too late.”

Here he shook his head slightly. “I've always known my way. Always. Forward is the way. And just then there was no forward, only the war and death. Always coming, ever closer, and Snow knew it too, until they killed him. They killed him because he saved us, because he knew what it would take to survive, because their hate went deeper even than their own will to live. Fucking idiots!”

Tormund took another deep breath, calmed down.

“I liked him again then,” he said, nodding, he eyes open as he stared at the ceiling. “I liked him even more when he came back.” He frowned. “But I don't forget what he did. Not to Ygritte. She was young, but fiercer than he'll ever be. Now she's gone and there'll never be another like her.” He whistled quietly. “She had skill with a bow you wouldn't believe.”

Clegane frowned, and it occurred to him how alike they all were. For all the hatred between the wildlings and the Night's Watch, didn't the Watch say something similar about their dead? We shall never see his like again. That was it, or something like it.

“I have two daughters,” Tormund announced, and Brienne caught her breath. Clegane too. He hadn't been expecting that, but then why not? “One of them will fight with us. The other, my eldest, has babies of her own. Their mother died giving birth to the youngest. It happens north of the wall. I had other women over the years, but for one reason or another they ended. A couple of them died, or we drifted apart. That happens too. So I was here, and I was more or less alone, and for the first time there was no path before me. No way forward. All I had to do was wait for the end, like it was all done.”

Tormund sneered. “I like life. I haven't had nearly enough of it yet. So I was getting fair pissed off with that feeling.”

“And then there you were, riding through the gate,” he breathed, smiling, staring at Brienne. “The most beautiful woman I'd ever seen, and I knew it wasn't over for me.”

Brienne suddenly rolled her eyes, sighed, then prodded him in the ribs. “I came with Sansa Stark,” she pointed out, as if she'd just realised he'd been leading her down the garden path or something. Tormund turned his head properly to stare at her.

“Yeah,” he said, apologetic. “I didn't even notice her at first.”

Brienne's mouth dropped open in amazement, but it was clear he was telling the absolute truth, and Clegane laughed, his voice low. He was letting his fingers idly caress Tormund's skin again, just below his navel now, still not looking down. Brienne seemed to be struggling to work something out still.

“Wait,” she said, shaking her head. “...wasn't over?” Her eyes widened as she sat up a little. “You don't think we're going to die!” she accused, pointing a finger at him.

Tormund shook his head. “Well, I don't know, but I'm sure I haven't fucking given up yet. I'm still breathing. So are you, and so is he.” The wildling paused for a beat. “And he's still thinking about it.”

Clegane smirked, didn't move his hand. “Still going to think for a bit,” he said, teasing. Tormund groaned and let his head fall back again.

“Anyway, don't tell me you don't feel it, either of you?” When they didn't respond, just looked at him blankly, he huffed, a little exasperated, as if they were both being a bit dense. “That weird God you were on about, the one that made us into a little clan? It's still there. I mean, I take it the thing wants something from us?” Tormund looked from one to the other of them. “Whatever it is, we haven't done it yet.”

“How do you know?” Brienne wondered aloud. Now Tormund grinned.

“Because he's about an inch away from wanking me off, and he's still thinking about it.”

Clegane felt a sudden urge to move his hand, but he didn't. “I think it's probably got more ambition than seeing us get each other all hot and sticky,” he muttered darkly.

“I'm sure,” Brienne said, her voice dry, “but he is right. It does seem to want us together. All of us.”

“We don't spend more than a few minutes apart from each other every day,” Tormund said. “I don't mind, but you two? I should think you two'd be willing to kill for a bit of alone time by now.”

Clegane began to feel a little uncomfortable. Tormund had a valid point. He was usually kind of private – well, all right, he was mostly anti-social. As much as he liked having fun with the two of them, this every hour of every day business should probably be wearing a little bit thin by now. Even in love, as they were. And yet... “I'm not,” he said, troubled.

“Neither am I,” Brienne put in, frowning at him, obviously coming to the same conclusion, because in some ways she was just like him. She wasn't afraid of her own company either. So what did that mean?

“We aren't done yet,” Tormund noted. “And as far as I'm concerned, that means we get to live for a bit longer.”

They were all quiet for a few moments, considering. “Maybe a lot longer,” Clegane murmured, disturbed. “What about Snow? Beric Dondarrion? You think if we do die we'll just get right back up again, like those two?”

A chill crept over him, imagining it. May as well be a wight. It wasn't fair, really. The two weren't really comparable, except... Beric couldn't die. He had a lot less fingers and toes now, but he was still breathing too, just the same. Maybe Jon Snow couldn't die either. And a conversation that had started from a certainty of going off to their deaths had turned all around on him in the most horrible way. What if they couldn't die? He'd always believed that if there was one thing he could count on, it would be finally getting to a day when all of this shit was finally over. At one point he was sure Brienne had given it to him, but he'd survived that. Now it came to this.

“Well, I'm not about to test it out,” Brienne said, her voice brisk. “I've had enough of this. I'm not even thinking about it. We've got enough to do as it is.”

Clegane nodded, then he had a sudden optimistic thought, and it actually made him smile. “Yeah, besides I don't see a priest or a witch anywhere around here, do you?” They both shook their heads. “Right. So we're safe. We can die just as easily as the next man. In fact, even Beric can die now that Thoros is gone.” The frostbite must have been a fluke. And as soon as he thought that, it struck him that he wasn't really all that good at being optimistic.

Brienne smiled slightly back at him. “Do you know, in a weird way, that's kind of comforting just now,” she said, and Tormund chuckled.

After a moment, he looked Clegane's way. “You still thinking about it?” he queried, and Clegane looked down. Tormund was still hard, so close to his hand. He switched to look at Brienne.

“I don't suppose you're up for a round two, are you?” he asked, hopeful, feeling something in him begin to burn just at the thought of it, but she shook her head with a long and sensual sigh.

“Maybe when I'm more used to it, but definitely not now. Not unless you really do want to find out what happens when one of us dies,” she said, completely deadpan, and Clegane laughed. All right then.

“Fair enough,” he said with a wink. He turned his attention back to Tormund as if he'd been given permission, moved his hand so that he could wrap his fingers around the wildling's cock. Tormund's eyes narrowed and he drew in a hissing breath.

“What do I get out of it?” Clegane wondered out loud, just squeezing gently. Tormund blinked, surprised.

“I said I'd repay you, with interest, remember?” he said quickly, and Clegane suddenly shuddered, remembering that promise, and the exact context of it.

Without hesitation he pulled his hand away and brought it to his mouth, dumping all of his spit in the middle of his palm before putting it right back there. He rubbed it over the head of Tormund's cock before sliding over him, nice and tight with his fingers, and then gave it to him, nice and quick.

“Oh, fuck!” Tormund groaned quietly, his body raising up into Clegane's touch. Brienne was watching, clearly fascinated by the two of them in some way. His hand must feel a hell of a lot different to hers. He was experienced for one, even if only with his own dick, and he was purposeful with that caress, not teasing.

“Right here,” Clegane demanded, his voice rough, turning Tormund's head towards his own with his other hand so they were staring at each other, and then there it was – that same intense, almost violent kiss again. One of Tormund's arms slid around his body to pull him closer, and the wildling was so strong Clegane had the sense of being handled somehow. It made him more ruthless in response, and then Tormund was making helpless little noises as they kissed, becoming more passive.

Clegane backed off a little to listen, nipping mercilessly at Tormund's lips with his teeth. The wildling's breath was hot, but not unpleasant. His cock was hot too, and hard, but close now as Clegane pulled it from him. There was a catch of breath in Tormund's throat, a tell that it was near.

“Give it to me,” Clegane growled, and then it was there, spurting all over his hand, and he slowed for it, but didn't stop, taking Tormund right to the end until it was all done, listening to the involuntary groans Tormund couldn't help. There was the strangest sense of victory in him, as if he'd won somehow, and he let Tormund go with a low laugh and a grin. So easy.

“Very nice,” Tormund commented, lazy with pleasure, as annoying as ever.

Holding his hand clear of the bed, Clegane looked around for something to clean it off with, and he only remembered what had been promised when Tormund suddenly moved down the bed.

“Oh, fuck me,” Clegane said, but he moved his legs out of the way regardless. Tormund looked up at him, his eyes dark.

“Bit late to wish for that,” he teased, but then didn't even wait for a response before lowering his head, and his tongue was hot and heavy, followed by exquisite friction from that beard, and Clegane shivered helplessly in pleasure and anticipation.

He had one free hand which he rested on the wildling's head, only to have Tormund pull it away and press his wrist into the mattress. Well, it was true he didn't need any help. An undignified moan was drawn from him when he felt Tormund's lips slide over him, just so, just tight like that, and inside, so fucking hot. He was still holding his other hand up, at least until he felt Brienne take hold of it.

There wasn't much going off in his brain, all of his blood was down at the bottom of his body, but he saw Brienne pull his hand to her lips, tongue darting out to lick at his palm and up between his fingers and he suddenly felt like they were doing some kind of team job on him.

“Seven hells!” he said, and then bit his lip, because he thought he might actually whimper. Tormund's mouth felt so good, even though it wasn't very deep at first. The wildling drew back for a moment and looked up, then he laughed, mouth wide open around Clegane's cock, as he saw what Brienne was doing. Clegane looked from him to her, then back again, groaning in pleasure because he could feel the heat of Tormund's breath as he laughed like that, could feel the vibration of it all along his length.

With a shudder of need, Clegane twitched his body up a little, but Tormund only drew back further, drooling spittle on his cock and massaging it in before going back for more, and it felt fantastic. Clegane threw his head back and half laughed, half moaned as he stared at the blank ceiling. And he'd learnt his lesson in that one instant: don't move. He didn't move. He let the wildling do exactly as he wished.

Then he felt himself sucked and pulled deep, right into Tormund's throat, back and forth a few times like that – in Heaven – before the wildling drew back again to breathe. Meanwhile, Brienne had nearly finished cleaning his hand, sucking gently on his fingers one by one, taking her time, and he turned his head on the pillows to watch her doing it.

It occurred to Clegane that maybe he was in the middle of the two of them again, and it felt so good he couldn't possibly resent it at all. Tormund, like himself, knew exactly what he was doing. Again and again with that deep throat action. It was bliss, and he felt himself drawing closer to the end fast – too fast – Gods make it last. But he couldn't, not like this, not with the two of them.

“Tormund...” he managed, thinking to warn him, but the wildling didn't let up for an instant. In fact, it seemed to egg him on, and Clegane couldn't help moving just then. His body was not quite under his own control, and his hips moved up and back in little jerky movements as he spent, harsh deep sounds pulled from his throat as he did it.

Clegane closed his eyes as Brienne let his hand go, and so he missed seeing the exact moment, but he felt it when Brienne and Tormund exchanged places, and it was her, then, licking the last of it from his softening dick while Tormund moved back up the bed.

At last he opened his eyes, and the wildling was just staring at him, all amused. He groaned again, for longer this time. “All right,” he conceded, “I don't want to die. Even if it means we never do.” He didn't care that Tormund laughed at him, nor that the wildling encouraged Brienne to come and take her place between them. He was done. In a secret part of himself, he wondered if he'd ever have the courage to repay Tormund for that. He wondered if Tormund would teach him how to do it, the same way he'd taught her.

“You need me to ease you?” Tormund was saying, and Clegane came around, paying attention again as Brienne slowly nodded, staring into the wilding's eyes. Tormund kissed her lips, then went down to pleasure her too with his mouth, and he watched her face as she moaned, turned her head towards him, and he reflected with regret as he kissed her that he was probably too late, that the salty bitterness on her tongue was the taste of him now, and not Tormund.

Tormund was right about them. What's more, they were all getting closer, more intimate all the time. When Brienne was done, between them they made sure Tormund was in the middle, and he didn't protest at all. Clegane decided that any pretence at resistance could start again tomorrow. For tonight, he wanted something new perhaps. Just for tonight.

It was getting easier and easier to deal with the mild horror of putting out the lamps, because there was always something to look forward to after. Usually, it was Brienne, in his arms through the night. But this time it was different, and he threw his arm over Tormund without hesitation, dislodging her a little until they settled. Brienne muttered something under her breath in the dark, and he smiled.

“Share, now, woman,” he murmured to her, happy with the wildling between them, and Tormund laughed, but it still didn't put him off. Gods, but he really was sensational to snuggle up to. To think he'd been letting Brienne have this all to herself every single night since they'd started. Even if it was only once in a while... He laid his head on Tormund's shoulder, felt a large, muscle-bound arm wrap around him, pulling him close, and it was all right. Nothing about him or who he was had changed, because it was Tormund. And it occurred to him at last that, like Brienne, Tormund wasn't just anyone.

To be continued...

Author's Note: Thank you for reading! Please leave a review. Responses will be here: http://www2.adult-fanfiction.org/forum/topic/61848-pippychicks-review-replies-tv/
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