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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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Author's Note: Sorry, no smut this time either, but someone makes an appearance... also, Beric is here, and he's not having a great time. Some remembered pieces of dialogue in italics from the show do not belong to me. I make no money out of this.

Thank you to reviewers from the last chapter: fofanna, Jades, SheBear, Freeeecheese and Sceletor – you're all amazing! <3 <3 <3

Thank you too to BronxWench for help with this chapter!

Chapter Thirty-seven

Clegane expected to be in a bad mood for the rest of his life after all of that, so it was a surprise to him to find he was kind of cheerful. In fact, it almost felt as if he had something to look forward to at the end of the day. He deliberately set his face into an unbecoming scowl and flatly refused to think about it, any of it. It was a punishment, and he would treat it as such. He would definitely take it as such. There was no way he was looking forward to it. Not at all.

So he was looking mean, bad and dangerous as he strode along the corridors on his way to see Beric Dondarrion. He also wasn't really watching his feet, or where he was going, so he almost walked right into her before he even realised she was there.

He stopped dead. Sidestepped as he looked down at her. So did she, getting herself in his way again with a slight, infuriating smile. He frowned and stepped the other way. So did she. At last he sighed, realising he wasn't going to get away without at least acknowledging her, no matter what kind of mood he was in.

“When I heard it I almost didn't believe it, but it's true. You're alive,” he noted.

“So are you,” Arya responded, as if that was just as much of a miracle. Perhaps it was, but he didn't like the way she said it. As if he shouldn't be. Especially after that conversation they'd all had the night before about not being able to die. If it was true, just how far back did it extend? Had it been going on all his life? Was he supposed to be walking around, or should Gregor have killed him right at the beginning?

“So what?” he said with an angry curl to his lip that had nothing to do with her. “After all this time...” he said slowly. “You finally going to finish the fucking job now, girl? Because if not,” he said, jerking his head towards the other end of the corridor. “I've got plenty of other people to do.”

“What?!” Arya said, clearly astounded, shaking her head. “No!” She looked at him as if she'd just scraped him off the bottom of her boot. “Why are you always so rude?”

Clegane grinned. Or perhaps he scowled. He was aware that sometimes it was difficult to tell the difference. But honestly he was beginning to enjoy himself. She was older, but she hadn't changed a bit. “Why are you always so annoying?”

“I'm not annoying!” Arya argued. “Anyway, I'll never 'finish the job' as you put it. I've got other people to do, too. And besides, you're not even on my list any more.”

“Oh?” he queried, privately stunned. Maybe there really was something to this not dying business. “How did I manage that?”

For a moment, she looked slightly uncomfortable. “Because you taught me something.”

Well, now he was even more intrigued. “Taught you what?”

She looked up and down the corridor, then took a slight step towards him. “Where the heart is,” she said, her voice somewhat quieter. They stared at each other, and he understood without her needing to spell it right out for him. He actually felt damned proud of himself for it too. He'd done some good, at least. Perhaps Beric was right, and there was hope for him. But then the moment passed, just like they all did.

“Oh, right,” he said. “That's it, is it? I see you didn't take my other advice,” he noted, gesturing at her, “about the sword and the armour. You still got that little needle of yours.” He smirked and jerked his head up, making her raise her eyes to his instead of looking down at her own clothing. “You still doing your water dancing, too?” he sneered.

Arya grinned. “Yes. I'm much better at it now.” Something about her seemed suddenly wicked, and Clegane recalled Brienne's brief assessment of Arya in King's Landing. That warning about getting in her way. “Want to dance with me?”

Fuck it. Maybe he'd said he wouldn't, but... warnings were for other people.

“For old times' sake?” he asked, grinning, hand already going to his sword. He wanted to see what she was capable of. She'd impressed Brienne. He had to see it for himself. “I'm game if you are, girl.”

They stared at each other, eyes twinkling, and he almost missed the figure that hurried by them down the passage. But Arya didn't. She suddenly frowned and motioned at him to hold off. He took his hand away from the hilt of his sword as she turned around.

“Wait,” she called out. “Hey! You there! Stop!”

He watched as Podrick, of all people, froze in place.

“Turn around. Come back here.” And he did, slowly, obedient as a pet dog, looking from Arya to him, mystified and slightly worried.

“You're Podrick Payne!” Arya said, like it was an accusation.

“Yes, my Lady.” He lowered his eyes, and gave her a short, formal bow.

“He's not his cousin,” Clegane warned in a low voice, because he knew some of the other names on her list, after all. “Be nice to him.”

“I was going to be nice!” she protested, turning to glare at him. Then she gave her attention to Podrick again, who seemed slightly alarmed at the reference to his cousin, Ilyn.

“So you're the one they talk about,” she said thoughtfully.

“Who?” Podrick asked, bewildered, and yet Clegane got it straight away. He laughed slowly as Podrick's face paled in comprehension.

“Oh... no, really...” he intoned, shaking his head, holding out his hands, and then he glanced up for help. Clegane shrugged.

“Yes, it's you,” Arya surmised correctly. “But why do they talk about you?” She looked him up and down, once, as if she were deciding on a purchase. Podrick just stared back at her like a startled deer. He didn't stand a chance.

“I want to try something!” she said suddenly, and the boy looked uncertain.

“Will it hurt?” he asked her. Arya smirked.

“I like you already.” Podrick's eyes widened, then he blinked. It was a startlingly good impression of an owl.

“Clegane. Turn around,” Arya said. “Give a Lady some privacy.”

Smirking a little, he did as she asked, seeing Podrick shake his head in a plea for help or something. He was on his own. It was almost entirely silent for a long moment. Clegane amused himself by looking up and down the corridor, ready to see off any would be interlopers.

“Now, I'm going to do that again,” Arya said behind him, “but this time, I want you to join in. You hear me?”

“Yes, my Lady,” Podrick stammered.

“Just Arya,” she told him.

“Yes, Arya.”

This time, the moment lasted much longer, and it culminated in a slightly more definite sound. A kind of intimate scuffling followed by a sensual sigh. The sigh didn't come from Podrick. Clegane frowned, somewhat disconcerted, and tried very hard not to hear it when it happened again.

“All right. You can look again now,” she said, a little while later. Clegane turned back to them. Podrick appeared very satisfied with himself, while the girl seemed a little less hard, a little softer around the edges. Interesting. Clegane studied Podrick all over again, as if he was new.

“You. Are you fighting?” she asked of him. “In the war, I mean.”

“Yes, my...” he stopped, then corrected himself, “erm, Arya.” She looked up at Clegane and smiled at him as if she'd won.

“He trains with us,” Clegane told her.

“Do you?” she asked, clearly suddenly impressed, considering him all over again. “Mmm...”

“Only a little bit!” Podrick said with a gasp of alarm. “He doesn't mean it like that! I'm not one of them!”

Arya sighed and frowned. “Really? Well, that is disappointing.” She shrugged. “Still... that was kind of nice. Maybe they're right about you.”

She stood there, unnaturally still for a moment, and Podrick twitched, as if he didn't know what to do or how to save himself from it. At last, she seemed to come to a decision.

“You'll meet me later, in the courtyard. An hour. You understand?”

The boy nodded quickly, eyes wide.

“If you aren't there, or if you're late – I'll find you and kill you,” she told him, sweet and simple, then waited, staring. At last he jumped, startled, as if suddenly aware she was waiting on him.

“Yes, Arya,” he replied. As soon as he'd said it, she withdrew her attention from Podrick, and turned to him again.

“We'll continue this later,” she said, smiling. “I still want to dance with you. And after that I have a proposition for you, once all this mess is over and done with.”

Clegane sighed and rolled his eyes. Not another one! “We're all going to die,” he said bluntly, tired of saying it.

“No. We're not. Not before I finish my list. Yours too. We have someone in common, remember?”

Before he could argue the matter she was gone, so quickly it was almost like she vanished. Clegane shook his head.

“Seven hells!” he said, feeling suddenly disgruntled, both at the reminder of Gregor and her casual acceptance that the war would be won. “What the seven blazes is wrong with everyone?!” he asked out loud. It was as if they didn't even see it. “We are all going to die!” His voice began to get louder. “I'm going to die! She's going to die!” He pointed at Podrick. “You're going to die!”

The boy stared back at him in fear. He clearly hadn't heard a word. “I'm going to die,” he said, numb with shock.

Clegane thought about that. In an hour he had to meet up with Arya, alone. Probably for more of the same, and she clearly expected to be impressed. Or else. The girl he remembered had certainly grown up a little bit. “Huh. You may be right,” he agreed, nodding, and Podrick moaned like he was ill or something. Clegane pulled a face.

“You want to sit down?”

Podrick nodded gratefully. “I think so.” He paused. “Is there somewhere to sit?”

Clegane looked up and down the corridor. “No.”

“Right.” Podrick nodded again, then simply sank to the floor on weakened and floppy legs.

“Woah!” Clegane exclaimed, finally lending a hand and getting an arm around his shoulder to hoist him. “Up you get!”

He kind of had to hold the boy up for a good minute, then at last, he seemed to come around a bit.

“Any advice?” he asked, when Clegane let him go. Then he narrowed his eyes. “Any useful advice?”

“Do whatever she says,” Clegane suggested seriously, shrugging. It was the best advice he could think of right then.

“Is that what you do?” Podrick wanted to know.

Ah. Clegane suddenly saw the same parallel that the boy did, and he nodded. “More or less.”

“What do you do? Exactly?” He asked it as if his life might depend on it. Maybe it did. Clegane smiled, and he said something that Podrick would understand. It was a kindness. No doubt he'd be made to pay for it at some point, but it was necessary.

“I try my best to make her happy,” he said, completely genuine.

“Really?” Podrick seemed surprised. “Does it work?”

“Seems to be working so far.”

Podrick nodded, somewhat reassured. “I think I can do that,” he said quietly, to himself. And then he drew in a sharp breath. He grabbed hold of Clegane's shirt, naked terror in his eyes as he looked up.

“Oh, Gods! Tell me true. Do you think she's going to want to...?”

The boy needn't say it all. Clegane knew what he meant. He puffed out a breath as he considered it, startled himself by the question. He'd never thought of Arya that way, and he still didn't, never would, no matter how old she got. But she was certainly old enough now for someone like Podrick. “Couldn't say,” he responded. “She precocious enough to want it.”

Suddenly miserable, Podrick gulped. “Do you think she's done it before?”

That was a good question too. Arya was no fool. “Couldn't say,” Clegane repeated, thoughtfully, narrowing his eyes. “She's careful and wary enough not to have.”

Podrick slumped. “Oh, no,” he said, his voice dull. “This... it's terrible. Please, you've got to help me!” he cried out. “What do I do?”

At last it occurred to Clegane just what kind of trouble Podrick was in, and how deep it went. He stared back. “Fucking hell!” he swore.

“Right. You listen carefully, boy, you hear me?” Podrick nodded. “You go from here to the kitchens,” he instructed, nodding in that general direction. “You get some oil. If it comes to that, you use it on her. You take your time, and I do mean hours. As long as you can both bear it. You make her very, very happy. Ecstatically happy. Then, when the time comes, you warn her it'll hurt like a bastard.”

“She'll kill me,” he breathed, with a shiver.

“No. She won't.” Clegane grinned at him.

Podrick shook his head. “How can you know that?”

“Because I'm still here.”

The boy blinked. Then his eyes cleared as he suddenly understood how far that parallel went. “You mean, you...?”

“Me.”

Smiling faintly, Podrick finally let him go. He seemed much calmer. “Thank you.” He drew in a steadying breath. “How long have I got?”

Clegane considered. “Now? About forty minutes.”

“I've got to go!” he said quickly.

“Yep.”

As soon as he was a good few steps away, Clegane called him, thinking of something, and it came as a shock to realise he still cared about Arya enough to need to know the answer. “Podrick!”

“What?” he asked, turning back.

“You do want her, don't you?” he asked. And now at last, Podrick smiled.

“Are you kidding? Arya Stark? She's terrifying, yes, but...” He put a hand on his heart. “She's amazing!”

Clegane nodded. “Well then, run!”

As Podrick's footfalls echoed off the walls, and finally died away, Clegane smiled to himself. “And good luck,” he breathed quietly.

About a second later he remembered Tormund, and what the wildling had planned, and he dropped the smile. He stalked off, scowling again. Good job the boy only had a dangerous girl to deal with, and not a wildling too.

Amazingly, he reached Beric's door without further incident, and he rapped sharply before walking straight in without waiting to be invited. Dondarrion was sat up in bed, reading with his one good eye. There were pages of the manuscript strewn about him on the bed.

“Come here, Clegane,” he said, as if he'd been expected. “Sit down.”

There was a chair by the bed, and Clegane took it, studying Beric carefully. He'd lost two fingers on his left hand, from the top knuckle, but on the right, there were three whole fingers missing. He'd never hold a sword again. Though he seemed to be quite handy with pieces of paper.

“How are you, Beric? And what are you reading up on?” Clegane fished a page from the coverlet and skimmed over it, going back to make sure he'd got it right. He shook his head. “Fairy tales!” he exclaimed. “You soft cunt.”

“It's as good a way to pass the time as any,” Beric commented. “But these are more than that. Bran has been recounting all he remembers now of the old world, as it was before. Memories that have been passed to him. He can't make much sense of them, and neither can I.” Beric sighed, then looked at the page Clegane held.

“Oh, but that one,” he said. “That's an account of all the folklore he can remember Old Nan telling him about the last Long Winter.”

“Ice spiders big as hounds,” Clegane said, unimpressed. “The dead are enough. I don't need children's stories.”

Beric gave him a strange smile. “Maybe you should ask your wildling friend about them,” he suggested gently. “The wildlings must have folklore too. Perhaps some of these 'children's stories' match.”

“I don't have a wildling friend,” Clegane grumbled, struck by a sudden surge of temper. “Anyway, I see how you are. We're leaving soon, and you're not going to be coming with us, Dondarrion.”

“No,” Beric said, putting down the papers in his hand. “You're right. I think those days of fighting are finally over for me. But it means there's hope.”

“Oh? And how do you make that out?”

“I still haven't fulfilled my purpose.”

Clegane picked up a couple of the pages and let them drift back down to the bed. “How do you know this isn't it?”

Beric shook his head. “I know. I feel it. Something in my dreams, I can never quite remember. Like it's on the tip of my tongue. Something I have to do. It's not a scholarly pursuit, Clegane.”

Clegane rolled his eyes.

“If you go to war, and you lose, the army of the dead will sweep south and hit Winterfell. But Winterfell is where I am. That can't happen. Ergo, you're going to win.”

Clegane shook his head. “Not you too. You were there. You've seen them. You know it's fucking impossible. Most of these poor bastards gathered here will be dead in the first ten minutes. And then they'll be fighting again, for the other side. So you tell me, Beric, how the fuck does that equate to a win?”

There was silence between them for a full minute, and then Beric's face hardened. “All right,” he said. “Ask.”

“What?” Clegane muttered.

“I know you're not here to enquire after me. You never were any good at making conversation. You want something. So ask. What is it?”

Drawing a deep breath, Clegane nodded. “All right. We'll do this now. You'll answer me Beric, and I'll know if you're lying. You told me you could tell. So I know you know the answer to this question.”

He paused, because he was afraid of the answer if the truth be told. And yet, he had to know. It was why he had come here. He didn't owe Beric Dondarrion anything at all. Didn't even like him all that much, despite having been one of the Brotherhood for a time. Damned fool was just a mite too sure of himself, and that never boded well in Clegane's view. Fanatics were bad news.

“I see the frostbite, what it took from you. But I want to know. Tormund can't tell me, because he was a bit busy himself. But you know. That night, up on the wall, as the dead army marched past. Did you die again, Beric?”

They were staring at each other, and Beric Dondarrion's one remaining good eye suddenly widened. He didn't need to answer. Clegane could see it in him clear as day. He stood up quickly, backing away. “Oh, fuck, no. You didn't!”

“I can't die, Clegane,” Beric said. Clegane continued backing away. But he wasn't trying to escape Beric, or the horror that he represented. He was trying to escape a conclusion that had everything to do with him.

When I found you I thought you'd been dead for days. Well you were stinking already and you had bugs all over you, and bone was coming through, right there.

There's a reason you're still here... God's aren't done with you yet.

…whatever it is, it's got plans for Sandor Clegane.

“Fuck off,” he muttered, shaking his head in denial. “No. It's not true.”

“If you lose,” Beric argued, raising his voice in desperation, a world away from the calm cadence he normally displayed. “If they come here, Clegane, they can kill me again and again, but I can't die. You have to win!”

Clegane opened the door and went through it, heedless. “Don't you see?” Beric cried out after him. “They can kill me. But I can never be dead!” He shut the door and closed his eyes, and a shudder ran through him.

He breathed, and interestingly, his first thought wasn't for himself, or for Beric, whose fate was clearly worse than death. No, instead it was for Brienne and Tormund. Were they caught up in this too? The very idea made him feel like someone had stabbed him in the gut. He calmed himself down deliberately, and he reasoned that if they all had a purpose, it was likely tied up in this war. They would fulfil it in the act of going out there. Fuck, maybe this God liked Snow's plan. Then, when they had done their bit, they would die too. After thinking that through, he felt a hell of a lot better.

He turned back to Beric's door, but he couldn't deal with that yet. Not just yet. Not even if it would give Beric comfort to hear what he'd just surmised. He'd learnt his lesson well from this morning. If he talked of this to anyone, it was going to be them. And maybe, if he was right, he wouldn't have to. No reason to create alarm where there was no need for it. As much as he hated doing anything for any God, they were doing what they were supposed to do, and that would free them.

For an hour he paced up and down, thinking, swearing to himself. People kept out of his way. Again and again he found himself outside Beric's door, and he knew he couldn't leave it the way that he had.

Eventually, he strode back in, steeling himself for that mortal panic he'd seen as he left, but Dondarrion was sleeping, the pages of the manuscript scattered around him on the bed, just as before. With a heavy sigh, Clegane tidied up the papers, then took his place again and waited, feet up on the side of the bed. He waited until the sun was low in the sky and the room had darkened. A couple of times he caught himself drifting off and jerked awake in the chair. A servant came once or twice to refresh the fire, lit the lamps.

At last, Beric stirred, and he smiled. Clegane shook his head. “I had a nightmare. I thought you'd left,” Dondarrion said, seeming confused.

“I did,” Clegane replied, troubled. “You weren't yourself, Beric.”

There it was again, only this time, Beric didn't speak his fear out loud. Clegane bit the side of his lip. Damn it, he would probably pay for this act of kindness too, but it couldn't be helped.

“Look. I still don't think we'll win,” he said, his voice gruff, “but you have your purpose, and I don't think it's to be killed over and over by the Night King's army. Perhaps something will happen to take you away from Winterfell before they get here. I don't know.”

Something changed in Beric's eyes. A calmness descended. The same surety he'd displayed all along. Clegane didn't like it at all. He was still of the opinion that certainties of the kind Beric Dondarrion displayed meant trouble. But the alternative was clearly torture for the poor bastard. He couldn't leave it like that.

“You believe?” Beric said, his voice quiet, almost reverent. Clegane scowled.

“I don't know what I believe,” he snapped. “What I know is that you can't die. I don't think it's happening just so that you can live out some kind of horrific fate. So, there's that.”

“You believe in me?”

Clegane rolled his eyes. “Don't push it,” he advised, and Beric laughed slowly. At last, Clegane stood up. “Get some more sleep, and dream of better things.”

To his surprise, Beric suddenly twisted the sheets in what remained of his hands, anxious. “Dream,” he repeated. “Yes, I should dream. It's almost time.”

“Beric!” Clegane said, more loudly, and Dondarrion looked at him again, becoming calmer. “Stay with us, even if you're not coming to the fight. Don't fucking lose it.”

“I'm trying, Clegane,” he said, aware of his own behaviour. “It's just sometimes, now, there are too many pieces missing.”

Clegane nodded. At last he felt like he could leave, and he did, with Beric already sinking into a light slumber as he closed the door behind him.

To be continued...

Author's Note: If you enjoyed reading, please leave a tip on your way out. Thank you! :)
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