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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
- 33
- 34
- 35
Author's Note: With apologies for the extended wait, here is the next chapter. In a change, this is written from the point of view of the Lord of Light.
Beta read by the wonderful BronxWench - thank you so much! You're amazing! :)

Chapter Thirty-four

A place like Winterfell was never truly asleep, even during the darkest, deepest night. Even in times of peace, and these weren't. Guards patrolled, dogs yapped, and the sleepless stayed up into the small hours, burning oil and wax. In the night, a place like Winterfell was a beacon of light in the north of the world, and it shouldn't be so, because night was night no matter the season, but it seemed especially true at the beginning of Winter.

Those who were sleepless turned up their collars and muffled themselves against the chill winds that crept into corridors, the cold that seemed to sink into the very stones, layering over and over like the snow itself in frozen days and frosty nights. Fires were lit to keep the cold at bay, but the wind always prevailed. It whispered around windows, moving draperies. It found its way inside clothing, touched the faces of those who slept.

Someone in Winterfell never really slept now. He closed his eyes and he rested, he was even sometimes unconscious, for the most part, but Bran was awake in the way that mattered, in the way of Greenseers past, present, and future. But even the newly awakened three-eyed-raven could not perceive what visited Winterfell at present, though he may observe its effects in his dreams.

It passed Bran's door without pausing and moved on, invisible and unnoticed by those it passed in the corridors. It needn't keep to constructs, and the stones of Winterfell itself were no barrier to it, but it was a courtesy, perhaps, to observe such things at a time such as this. And so it came to a door, and instead of passing through, without hesitation it slipped into the gap below, emerging on the other side in an amorphous cloud of invisible light.

Light could not be seen. It was only light's reflection that could be seen by the living. The world was its mirror. It was only the existence of other things that made light present. In this way it appeared. Light was not autonomous. Only in the belief and faith of others could it claim agency. In this way it had a will and a purpose. In this way it moved to the far side of the room, where Beric Dondarrion lay sleeping and looked upon him.

The motes of dust in the air sparkled suddenly, as the light attempted to settle upon an appearance. It shifted, golden and indistinct, between several well used incarnations. For a moment it was the Crone, ageing in reverse to become the Mother, and then the Maiden. Unsatisfied, it shimmered, sexless and skeletal, and shuffled quickly through the other identities of the seven. It lingered for a few seconds as Jaqen H'ghar, then seemed to melt, its arms raising to the ceiling as it drowned itself, becoming something new again. For a moment it seemed even to be a face in a weirwood tree, but then it was done, and a small, pale child stood by Beric Dondarrion's bed, the gender impossible to determine. A child with a sword. Just and right for a soldier to its cause.

Having decided, it seemed to solidify, and it leaned close as he slept, reaching out with its free hand as if to touch him. Beric's form was suffused with golden light, and he awoke gasping, staring out into the darkness of the room above him as the lines of pain on his face eased, as something about him seemed to rejuvenate.

At first, he didn't notice the child stood by his bed, but when he did, he didn't seem entirely surprised. “There you are!” he said, his voice full of warmth and wonder. “Again. Why don't I ever remember you?”

It said nothing, and Beric Dondarrion smiled, happy. Then that smile faltered. “You've come to tell me, haven't you?” he asked, and it nodded in silence. A look of pain and horror came over him, and he shivered, but he did not move.

“I understand,” he said faintly, memory returning, as if aware that this was a nightly occurrence. “Tell it to me once more. Tell it to me so that I'll remember, when the time is right. Tell me what I have to do.”

It smiled, leaned in closer, and whispered into his ear. It whispered a story, one that it had repeated over and over like a lesson. But this lesson was not for Beric Dondarrion. It was for all. It might have been a song, with each repetition a verse and a chorus. Or perhaps the song was a fugue, and there was hope for a change, no matter how gradual. Hope that in the end, this repetition would cease, that they would learn the lesson of it. A song of ice and fire.

Beric listened very carefully, bedclothes pulled up to his chin, shivering, eyes wide open and staring, but unseeing. At the last, he listened to his own part in the song, his purpose, and he shuddered, but did not refuse. He murmured assent through trembling lips. It was over.

When it had done, it helped Beric Dondarrion to forget, because to remember too soon would be to leave him insane as well as scarred. As a bedtime story, it left more than a little to be desired. But he slept again, peacefully, and as it relinquished its hold over him, so its influence waned, and in his sleep Beric Dondarrion remembered his pain once more, and his age. As it should be.

The child had gone. Now there was only invisible light again, and it left the room, having no other business here, except... now it moved again in search of another place of sleep. Again it eased itself under the door, and this time it did not make itself known, only watched the three of them. They'd been clasped together when they fell asleep, arms around one another, as if they couldn't get close enough to each other. Now they were more naturally all taking up their own space.

For a while it hovered over them like a shimmering cloud, peeking into their dreams, just a gentle investigation. First, it attended to the one named Tormund Giantsbane...

It was a perfect time, these minutes just before the true dawn, when the light was grey and pale, and the night was beginning to retreat. The inside of their tent was no longer so dark, and they were both awake. Warm and pressed close together, huddled under the furs. Tormund cuddled happily against Brienne's back, his arm over her waist. His hands were longing to wander, but he kept them still with an act of effort, just for a while.

It was almost quiet too. They'd both been awoken by a terrible screaming, but their first child was suckling happily at her breast now, making occasional gurgles of satisfaction. Tormund watched, placing adoring and loving kisses to her shoulder and the back of her neck. The first of their children was a boy, ginger blond hair, lighter than his, but still... Tormund grinned.

He was six months old now, and he had no name yet. Not even a milk name, though she seemed to have a hundred names for him when she thought no one was listening to her. It was all good. Now the feeding was over, and she was holding him close, rubbing gently at his back with her hand. This had brought something out in her, a particular kind of tenderness. Tormund could never watch it without being moved.

Having waited, now he let his hands begin to roam, capturing the curves of her body, so fantastically voluptuous now. He already wanted it, but now he worked to make her want it too.

“Tormund,” she said with a sigh, not quite protesting. “Let me settle him first.”

With a deep chuckle, he allowed that. She'd insisted on a cot, but it was so close to their bed she didn't have to get up. He'd wanted the child to sleep with them, but she'd been horrified by that idea somehow. They had strange ways, the southerners. Yet he'd been right about her all along, the north suited her. She was fierce, yes, but strong, and she was thriving here.

She settled into his arms again, back pressed to his chest. “Let me guess what you want now,” she murmured, but she was moving sinuously against him, a smile in her voice. He nuzzled at her ear while his hand moved down over her thigh. She had such wonderfully long legs. He took hold of her knee and pushed it up.

“How about we make another?” he suggested, and she shivered.

“You know I'm already doing that,” she said, and he moved his hand to the front of her tummy, feeling the slight swelling there.

“So you are, beauty,” he murmured back, loving to touch her there. “Well, maybe I just want to fuck you then, woman. You're irresistible like this.”

It was true he couldn't think about anything else apart from getting inside of her just then. Usually, he prided himself on getting her to the point of begging for it, but she was so warm, so soft, so eager. He'd got her in the right position, on her side, her body all open for it, and he pressed his cock into that welcoming crease to find her pussy. She was so hot already. Pregnancy made her want it all the more, and she moaned for him.

Without saying a word, he reached to rest his hand over her breast, so tender, so sensitive, and she trembled in his arms as he pushed deep into her with a low rumble of satisfaction.

“Ohh...” she moaned. “Yes...”

Tormund smiled and looked at her face, saw her eyelashes shivering on her cheeks as he began a very slow movement. Her pussy was clutching at him, encouraging him deeper, as beautiful as she was. Suddenly he broke off to slide his other arm properly beneath her body and she held his hand in both of hers, raising that hand to her lips as he resumed his slow fucking of her.

She was moving with him, breathing fast, trying to stay quiet so as not to wake the baby again. But she was close already, her body quick to pleasure. He moved the hand that was on her breast just slightly, enough so that he could gently flick a finger across her nipple there. His finger came away damp because she was so full of milk, while her body tightened instantly, so much so that he instinctively felt himself give her a couple of harder thrusts in response.

“Tormund!” she cried in an agonised whisper of need. He grinned, enjoying himself. A little faster then. Just a little, and a minute or so later she was climaxing around him, her body shaking. Every time it felt amazing, and he closed his eyes as he continued, but he didn't bother to hold back after that, and he held her close to him when he came, shuddering.

When he moved away, she sighed gently, as if aware he'd cut it short, and Tormund smiled.

“How many husbands do you have?” he asked her, not quite chiding, and she turned her head to look up at him, blushing.

“Two,” she replied, and he nodded.

“That's right,” he said, and he got up, managing to force himself into his clothes ready to go walking out while she was still all sleepy warm in bed. She would get up and join him soon, afterwards.

The tent flap moved wide, and Clegane ducked in, shaking the snow from his hair as he let it drop behind him with a tired yawn. He'd been on watch all night with the others in their new clan. Now it was almost sunrise outside and time for him to sleep.

“All clear,” Clegane said, “all night.” He began getting rid of the layers of furs he wore. They suited him. Life in the north suited him as well as it did her. They were both strong and hardy folk. Before Clegane made his way to the bed, they stood before each other.

“She's all yours,” Tormund teased. Clegane flashed him a look.

“Yeah, you say that every day. It's never true.” He didn't seem upset by it though. They shared a smile, and then a kiss. Just something quick and hard. A little reminder of what they were to each other. Tormund cast a glance at the bed.

“I think she might have fallen asleep again,” he noted with love. “Wake her up first.”

Clegane laughed quietly. “You wake her up?” he queried.

“The little 'un did for us both.”

They embraced, not quite like brothers, and it felt extraordinarily nice to be held in Clegane's arms, though there was no way he'd ever, ever say it. He went off out into the snow as Clegane got comfortable, and he heard Brienne's surprised exclamation as he lingered outside their tent.

“Oh! You're cold!” she complained, and then hissed in a loud breath. “Ah! Watch your feet!”

“You're warm, woman,” Clegane replied. “Mmm... nice and warm. Let me have some of that. Yes...”

And he walked away to the sound of Brienne's quiet moans, smiling. Perhaps their second would be Clegane's first. That would be good too...

The light twinkled for a moment, like the myriad stars in the night sky above, expressing the joy of the dream, and then attended to Sandor Clegane. The other dream had been dark, intimate and loving, but in Sandor Clegane there was a sudden vivid flash of sunlit green woods and silver steel. Violence...

It was a tremendous duel, and Clegane was grinning beneath his helm, his heart exhilarated, wild and free. It was a cool spring day, just cool enough that he wasn't too warm despite his armour. He wondered if the same held true for his opponent.

How the sun seemed to be drawn to that armour, gold and silver, shining bright, and the helm! The attacks came fast and fierce. It was difficult to compete, and for that he loved it all the more. His muscles were warm and limber, and his blood was flowing easy. He felt young again, and all the aches he'd felt recently were gone. He knew immediately he was dreaming. For a moment he looked beyond the two of them, and saw his house in the background, the banners blowing in the breeze.

This was a dance, and he knew all the moves. So did his opponent. And yet he managed to carry out a nuanced technique that had bothered him for years, so easily he shouted his glee. He also got the win, and his opponent lowered their sword in defeat, stepping back and removing the helm.

He caught his breath, even though he had half expected this, because sometimes in his dreams it wasn't her. Sometimes it was a stranger, a real enemy. But not this time. Brienne's hair was longer, falling in gorgeous blonde waves to her shoulders. It caught the sunlight, shining as she ran a hand through it. Clegane took his helm off too, putting it aside on the ground, then strode to her. She was too beautiful for there to be any distance between them. Once there he took her in his arms and kissed her deep, her hands on his hips, pulling him close.

When he drew back, she smiled at him. “You don't want to fight any more?” she asked, and he shook his head.

“I want you,” he responded. “Here. Now.” He dropped down easily onto the grass and pulled her to the ground with him. She tumbled down with an astonished laugh, only to end up in his arms, still smiling slightly.

“I always lose,” she said, talking of the duel, and he smirked.

“Well, it is my dream,” he responded, happy. “Sometimes, I think I make you too easy.”

“I'm not easy!” she protested, and he kissed her lips.

“Oh, yes, you are,” he told her, already wanting it, and she began to fight him, making him laugh.

He wasn't sure what happened to their armour. He'd probably just wished it away, but now they were wrestling in the grass, and that was fabulous too. She didn't hurt him in his dreams. Not even close. Soon enough he had her pinned beneath him, staring up into his eyes, and he knew it wasn't real. Clegane could always tell his dreams. They were too pleasant for reality. Didn't stop him enjoying them to the full, and he wanted her now.

She looked beyond him, her eyes widening. “Wait!” she said. “If this is your dream, what is he doing here?”

Clegane turned to see, and there he was. Tormund was walking towards them, just coming out from the cover of the trees. “Oh, I think he's here to make the numbers up,” Clegane murmured. Brienne trembled beneath him, and he grinned, already imagining it.

He dedicated himself to doing exactly as he wished, and perhaps he might have been buried inside her in the next moment except that he looked down, and the buttons of her shirt were just begging to be undone. He moved his hand to pop them open, one by one, parting the material to uncover her breasts.

He placed his hands over them and squeezed gently, watching how that made her nipples stick out, longing for his lips. Clegane felt his mouth water as Tormund came to join them out there on the cool grass. No one would disturb them. It was his dream, and he was in control of it now. He was in control of Brienne and Tormund too, and to be fair that wasn't perfect. In fact, that took the shine off a little, but not enough to make him wish the dream away. Far from it.

In fact, he began to imagine things he might indulge in that they'd never know about. Especially with Tormund, now there would be no consequences...

The dream continued, but it was of little interest. The light turned away from Sandor Clegane, and drew closer to Brienne Tarth. Here, there was a difference straight away. There was less imagery in her and more sensation, more depth, as if the things she dreamed of held connotations beyond their literal occurrence. Her dreams were disjointed too and jerky, shifting from one scene to another in dizzying leaps.

First, there was a feeling of weight around her. She had her eyes closed, head bowed, and the light understood. It flickered in excitement and paid attention...

“You may bring the bride under your protection...” The words, at last, and they were real, and it was Sandor and her heart felt so full of emotion. She'd long ago stopped dreaming of this, and even when she had, she'd thought the best she could hope for was union to someone she didn't even know, or possibly didn't even like. But she was in love.

What is more, it didn't seem like a joke to consider herself under Sandor's protection. He was well capable of it. It was more than a dream come true. It was a marvel. The cloak over her shoulders felt heavy and warm, and she knew her father was smiling as he watched her in this moment. It was all he had ever wanted, for her to be happy...

Later that night, in the dark of her bedchamber, and they'd somehow managed to sneak Tormund in without anyone seeing them. All together, and Sandor was so passionate it made her giggle at him.

“Is it different, now that I am your wife?” she teased, and he smiled back at her.

“Now you're truly mine,” he said. “Yes, it's different. You've been his for months. Maybe,” he pondered, the look on his face comical, “maybe you'll do what I say now.”

Brienne laughed out loud. “Maybe I will. Would you like to command me for the night?” she asked, daring, well used to their games now, and his eyes darkened. “Imagine it, if I were to surrender to your every wish. Perhaps, if you obey me tonight, I will give you that tomorrow...”

Now the scene shifted again, and it was daytime, the sun sparkling on the water just off the coast that made this the sapphire isle, because it was a deep blue. Some of the seawater had been captured and led to a private paradise surrounded by trees. Brienne dove into the clear water, happy to be home. It was cool and refreshing against her skin, and she'd missed the pleasure of swimming. She laughed at the two of them, stood watching her on the bank. It didn't take them long to join her though, and then they were all naked in the water, playing and splashing. Laughing. It was good to be home at last.

Again the dream altered, and it was night time again, but this time she was restrained, her wrists bound together and helpless. Her legs too, bound wide apart so that no matter how hard she fought, there was nothing she could do. It was a very wicked game, and yet she loved them so much it was impossible to keep up the act, and she was soon begging for what they did to her. Every single thing...

At last, unworried by them, untroubled by their dreams, the light withdrew. They would fulfil their fate, one way or the other. This time it withdrew from Winterfell, though it would return to haunt Beric Dondarrion again and again, until the day of his eventual demise. His success or failure would make all the difference, and it was still uncertain. Until it was decided, the light would continue to visit him. It had brought him back again and again in order that he should succeed.

To be continued...

Author's Note: Thank you for reading. I hope you enjoyed it. Next chapter shouldn't be as long to wait for now, given that it's partway written, and it's a return to their usual fun, if only for the one morning. Please leave a word or two for the muse! Review replies will, as always, be found here: http://www2.adult-fanfiction.org/forum/topic/61848-pippychicks-review-replies-tv/
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