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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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Author's Note: Some more for you. And another piece of the puzzle at the end for you to wonder about.

Chapter Thirty-eight

After Clegane left Dondarrion, he wandered aimlessly for a while. It was still too early to go to bathe before dinner, and yet there wasn't time to train either, even alone, which was a shame because he was full of frantic, nervous energy. Every time his thoughts turned towards the evening ahead his mood blackened.

No matter how he put it to himself, there was no escaping the conclusion that he had agreed to become Tormund's new toy for the evening. Clegane thought he would rather have endured something more conventional. Perhaps a lashing, or something... anything. It wasn't that he was averse to what Tormund wanted, especially since there was a good chance the evening would have ended up there anyway. No, this was all about being told. Worse, that he knew Tormund intended to make him enjoy it. But then, what else did he expect Tormund to do? Did he want to suffer? Why? What was the point of that? Would it ease the guilt he felt?

His thoughts went round in endless circles, until he felt all tied up in ridiculous knots, and it wasn't a sensation he was used to at all. Clegane didn't entertain dilemmas much, as a rule. He had made for himself a set of fairly basic principles, which he tended to stick to, more or less, and they had served him well. This was eating him alive!

Instead of wallowing, he decided to focus on what was happening around him instead, and here he found fault with everything. All over Winterfell people were making preparations to leave, and yet, as he watched them, he heard himself growl under his breath. Why, you would think these people were going on a pleasure trip!

As he strode through the courtyard, a group of three or four young men were joking around together about the best way to pack a tent. They were clearly practising for when they would be on the road. Clegane shook his head. They were laughing, shoving each other, completely oblivious to what awaited them. All of a sudden, he found he could keep quiet no longer.

“You!” he called out, and one of them turned.

“Sorry,” the lad called back. “Me?”

Whichever one it was, didn't matter. Clegane nodded. “Yeah. You. Come here,” he said. “I want to tell you something.”

The man walked away from his group, completely unguarded, an inane grin on his face. About five feet away he stopped.

“Closer,” Clegane said, and at last he saw a whisper of nervousness as the easy smile fled.

“Like, how close?”

Impatient, Clegane took a couple of steps and grabbed hold of his tunic, pulling him forward so they were eye to eye. “This close!” he growled, then lowered his voice still further. “Now, listen to me, because this is important.”

He waited for a moment, just to make sure he had the man's full attention. “You're going to die,” Clegane said carefully. At last, it seemed to get through, and the youth seemed frightened at last.

“Oh, Gods, no... please!” he begged.

“Yes,” Clegane confirmed, his voice grim. “You, and all your friends,” he said, nodding at them. “Your family. Everyone you know.”

The youth sniffled in misery. “But I haven't done anything to you,” he gibbered.

Clegane shook him, suddenly angry. “Not me, you dumb cunt!” he shouted. “There's a hundred thousand strong army out there made up of dead people,” he explained, like he was talking to a child. “They can't be killed. They're going to win. And then they'll come for everyone else. Do you understand?”

“Oh, that!” the lad said in relief. “Yeah, I get that.”

Letting him go, Clegane pulled a face. He was utterly disgusted. “No. You really don't.”

As he ran back over to his friends, Clegane called after him. “Fucking idiot!”

The group made a quick exit, and a few minutes later, another likely candidate hurried through the courtyard, smiling like a moron. Clegane grabbed him, a stout middle-aged man carrying a shoulder full of bows.

“You! You're going to die!” he said, vehement.

The man went pale as a ghost. “Gods! Please, make it quick!” he cried out, trembling in Clegane's grip. Clegane dropped him at once in abhorrence. He ran.

It occurred to him that this wasn't exactly what he had agreed to earlier when he'd been with Tormund, and the wildling had accepted the plan, but fuck it. He was being rebellious.

The courtyard was empty again. Or was it? Now he could see people huddled at the edge, clearly afraid now to venture out into the middle, where he was. He shook his head and began yelling at them. “You're all going to die! The army of the dead is going to kill you! Every last stinking one of you is going to die!”

Behind him, a soft, familiar voice spoke out, and he whirled around. “I see you're doing your bit for morale, Clegane. Very effective. Though I might be able to provide a couple of pointers.”

Tyrion Lannister was seated on the edge of the well, watching him. Somehow he'd missed spotting him when he'd scanned the courtyard before. “What the fuck are you doing here?” Clegane demanded.

“Daenerys is here,” Tyrion told him. “She and Snow have personal business. So I thought I'd come and remind myself of the place. It hasn't changed much.”

“What business?” Clegane asked, bored already.

“You don't know?!” Tyrion asked, clearly shocked. “Clegane, where have you been?” Then he suddenly smirked. “Oh, wait. I'll bet I know exactly where you've been.”

Clegane shook the innuendo away as if it were a bothersome fly. “What business?” he asked again, more interested now. Tyrion motioned him closer, and then lowered his voice.

“Snow is a Targaryen. Not a Stark at all. Bran told him, and he told her.” Clegane reeled a little, but only a little. It wasn't really anything to do with him.

Tyrion's voice resumed a more natural volume as Clegane leaned away from him. “And so naturally, everyone who is anyone knows now. And quite a lot of people who aren't anyone at all. They all know too.”

Tyrion regarded him thoughtfully. “And yet, you don't. Why is that?”

Rolling his eyes, Clegane sighed. “Ah, right. Shit. I've been kind of busy.” He frowned then. “He didn't say anything to me.”

“Should he have?”

“No. I suppose...” his voice trailed off as he realised. “Wait. Yes. Yes, he should. If this is really true, then it makes a difference. He's not who he was. It means I'm free.”

If Snow wasn't really Snow, then how could he, Clegane, be expected to honour a pledge made to him? It was simple. Clegane was sure he felt his heart lift. That it should turn out to be so simple.

“Free?” Tyrion echoed, none the wiser.

“Completely.” Clegane nodded, mostly to himself.

“I wasn't aware you were imprisoned here.” Still digging, but Clegane was in no mood to humour Tyrion Lannister right then.

“I'm not,” he replied, without explaining any further. Just then, the bell rang announcing that dinner was served, and he realised he was going to be late.

“Fuck. I'd better go,” he said, quite a bit more sombre, already walking away towards the baths.

“Where?” Tyrion called after him.

“To find the others,” Clegane said, stopping and turning to face him. “I'm free, and we're not going to die. Or, maybe not. Either way, makes no odds tonight.”

“And yet, you sound like you're going to attend your own execution,” Tyrion pointed out, clearly at a loss.

“Yeah. I've had that day once or twice already, I think,” Clegane told him, remembering Gregor, and his first fight with Brienne. “They were a piece of piss compared to this.”

“Hmm, well, good luck.”

Clegane smiled, remembering the news Tyrion brought with him. “You know what? I don't think I hate you as much as the rest of the Lannisters.”

“Good to know.” Tyrion nodded. “Well, have fun with whatever it is.” He paused. “Whoever's brains are involved.”

Narrowing his eyes, Clegane curled his lip. “Yeah, I don't hate you as much. You're still a cunt.” Then he turned and walked away quickly, leaving Tyrion alone.

He was late, and so thankfully the baths were empty for now. Everyone else was already at dinner. Clegane sank into the warm water gratefully, with a groan, hoping the heat would soothe the racing tension in him a little. The closer it got, the more wound up he felt.

He made quick work of getting clean, and then just relaxed back against the side of the bath, closing his eyes. He kept them closed when he heard someone join him. A minute passed, then two, and he couldn't help himself. He sneaked a look, and then sighed heavily, a little bit of a grumble thrown in for good measure.

Tormund was in the bath opposite him, arms spread out along the side, muscles bulging, ginger hair everywhere. His eyes were closed, though, and so Clegane indulged himself in the looking. The wildling was a slightly different size and shape to himself, but their bodies were similar enough, so why did he inspire this strange interest? Clegane tried to puzzle it out as he stared, letting his gaze linger on the lines that Tormund's body made, on the planes of muscle that lay at rest above the level of the water.

Tormund wasn't just anyone. That made this different too. The wildling let his head fall back as the steam from the bath rose around him and Clegane felt his cock give a little twitch of interest that stunned him. If Tormund wasn't threatened by what might happen between them, why should he be? Clegane struggled for a long minute or two, and then privately conceded that everything he'd ever been led to believe about men loving men was probably wrong. Obviously, both of them were still hard and dangerous as fuck. It was clearly no longer useful to him to hold onto those old ideas. He made a deliberate decision to let them all go, and sighed again.

“You can touch as well if you want,” Tormund said, having opened his eyes and noticed him looking. Clegane bristled immediately. Just because he'd had some kind of private little epiphany, didn't mean that the wildling couldn't annoy him, and he scowled.

“Will you fuck off?” he said, as exasperated with Tormund as ever, and dipped his head under the water for a moment or two, letting it rinse through his hair.

When he surfaced, Tormund had moved closer alongside him, and he splashed about, startled. He remembered it was the evening, and he'd promised not to protest. Deliberately again, he made himself still, waiting, but Tormund didn't do anything.

After a moment or two, he turned his head to glare. “Well?” he snapped. “Get on with it then, whatever it is you want.”

Tormund only shook his head. “What do you think I want?” he queried, and Clegane scowled.

“Mostly, to annoy me to hell and back. All seven of them. Just...” He sighed heavily. “Stop talking and get to it.”

“Clegane. If you were any tighter you'd snap. I don't think so.” Tormund rested in silence for a few seconds. “There is something we should discuss before we leave here, though.”

Here it came. “What?”

“You remember last night?” Tormund questioned carefully. “You remember the things Brienne did to me?”

“Yeah.” He'd been trying not to think of that all day.

“If she becomes involved, and she does those things to you...” Tormund suggested slowly. Clegane's heart thudded heavily. “Mostly the kissing part, because, I won't leave her out of this.”

At once he knew Tormund was telling the truth, and instead of the evening ahead seeming like a fixed thing that had to be endured, it was suddenly full of new and exciting possibilities. “If that happens, you're going to want to be clean for her. Do you understand?”

Swallowing, Clegane turned his head again, stared. “Uh-huh,” he said, not really getting it at all.

“You can do it? Or you want me to help?”

At first, Clegane didn't understand what Tormund was offering at all. His mind was still imagining what Brienne might do, and hadn't moved on from that. When it did, and he truly understood, he shook his head. He tried to imagine touching himself there and failed. “Tormund. I can't...” he said, but then didn't know how to continue.

To his surprise, the wildling knew exactly what to say, exactly what to do. “Well, you could say that what we do here, we do for her,” Tormund said seriously. “I won't be lingering over you or enjoying it. It is a job that needs doing. That is all.”

“All right,” Clegane said slowly, then bit his lip. He'd agreed with words, but he was quite sure the rest of him hadn't agreed at all. He wondered how to tell Tormund that before things got kind of violent and out of hand.

“There's just one question that matters,” Tormund said then. “Do you trust me?”

They stared at each other, and really it was a ridiculous question. They'd shared her between them twice. Couldn't get any closer to fucking each other than that without actually doing it. They'd tasted each other, touched each other. In a matter of days they would be willing to entrust their lives to one another. If there wasn't trust here, it wasn't anywhere.

“Daft fucking question,” Clegane spat. “'Course I do. I just... you don't know me as well as you think, wildling,” he grumbled. “I'm not used to it. Do you know how many people I've trusted the way I trust you and her?”

Tormund shook his head. Clegane huffed. “None. That's how many.”

“I won't betray you,” Tormund promised, and Clegane suddenly remembered earlier, and what he'd said and done. The casual way he'd revealed it. He had a sudden sense of what he'd done to them both, how he'd hurt them, and he felt terrible.

“I'm sorry,” he said immediately.

“I know.” Tormund gazed at him, calmly assessing again. Then at last he nodded. “Turn around now, and rest against the side of the bath.”

Clegane closed his eyes briefly and gave a humourless bark of laughter. “Time for my punishment, right?”

To his surprise, Tormund's hands were suddenly on his face, forcing him to look. “No,” he said firmly. “You still don't understand yet?” Tormund's voice was louder. “I thought, when I teased you earlier that you might have got it at last.” There was a kind of strange intensity about him now that made Clegane wonder. “There is no punishment, Clegane. I'd as soon hurt her.” He paused. “And I'll never hurt her.”

Clegane swallowed. “All right, then,” he said, even more uncomfortable now. “No punishment. If you say so.” Though in his heart, he still didn't believe it.

Tormund let him go and he did as the wildling wanted, closing his eyes and feeling his body tense up despite himself. There were pots of salves at the side of the bath, for wounds and such, waterproof but slick, and he heard the ceramic scrape against the tiles as Tormund used one of them. He shuddered in expectation.

“Just to ease the way a little,” Tormund murmured.

Then the wildling's forefinger was sliding down between the crease of his buttocks, under the water, and Clegane growled low. “No,” he said, threatening, without even meaning to, and every muscle in his body became poised for action. Tormund stopped, dead still.

“You want to hold my other arm?” he asked, and suddenly it was there in front of him. Clegane nodded and clutched at it, holding it close to his chest with both of his hands, because really it was either that or he was going to knock Tormund out and dash his head open against the tiles. He could actually envisage himself doing it. He squeezed Tormund's arm and screwed his eyes tightly shut as the wildling's finger continued that slow downward journey.

When it got there, Tormund rubbed at him, and it felt so sensitive. That finger pressed inside a little, and before he could do anything he regretted, Clegane bit Tormund's arm to keep himself quiet and still.

Gods! It was all wrong! Burning and fierce. How could they enjoy this, either of them? The further that finger went, the more he hated it. Tormund withdrew the finger completely, only to go back in again. And again. It never seemed to get easier, but it must have done, because it didn't hurt as much. He realised he could feel the warmth of the water as it got inside him, and it was different to the burning sensation of the penetration. Then he felt Tormund press against his internal walls, rubbing there, cleaning him out, just like he'd said he would, and it felt so intimate. Deep grunts came from him that he couldn't help. He bit down harder.

At last, it was over, and it couldn't have been longer than a minute or two at the most, but it seemed to have taken forever.

“There and done. Let me go now,” Tormund said, amused, but with a little hiss of pain as well. Clegane realised he was holding onto Tormund's arm as if for dear life, that he was still biting deep and hard onto the wildling's biceps and he let go.

There was a row of deep, dark reddish-blue crescent shaped bruises just there, exactly the same shape as his teeth. Clegane drew in a breath. “Sorry,” he said, as he straightened up, seeing Tormund flex his arm as he attempted to restore some feeling to it.

Something occurred to him though, and he just couldn't help himself. “I didn't feel it,” he blurted, and Tormund raised his eyebrows comically. “That thing,” he said. “When she did it to you and you liked it. I didn't feel it. I didn't like it.”

Tormund laughed. “You didn't expect to like it,” he pointed out. “Moreover, I didn't expect you to like it.” He grinned. “You hide under a rock and wonder why you don't feel the sun. But it's all right. You're clean. That is something. For now. I teach you the rest later.”

Wait, was that it?! “Now what?” Clegane asked, frowning.

Tormund only smiled. “Now we get out, and go to dinner. We're late.”

It wasn't until they were nearly dressed that Tormund spoke again. “So. You thought it was punishment. You thought I was going to make you suffer. And you were still going to show up for it?”

Clegane stared at Tormund, then nodded. “Well, yeah,” he said, easily. Avoiding it hadn't even occurred to him once. He looked at Tormund as if he were an idiot. Pain came easily to Clegane. It was the other stuff that was hard, really.

The most endearing expression of confusion came over the wildling then, and Clegane grinned. “Why?” Tormund asked.

At last, it felt as if he had regained some equilibrium. Tormund might understand a lot, probably much more than him, but he didn't know everything. Reaching out to get a little of his own back, he ruffled the wildling's hair and winked. “What's a little torture between friends?” he teased.

Tormund seemed even more taken aback. “What does that mean?”

“Means you're worth it,” Clegane said, grinning as he did up the buttons on his shirt.

“Ah,” Tormund said then, smiling at last. “You mean she is worth it.”

Shaking his head, Clegane frowned. “You think I can imagine being with her and not with you? It's both of you or neither. You're worth it. Both of you.”

He began to walk away, counting on Tormund to follow him, but then the wildling's hand was on his arm, and he turned. “You mean you'd let me torture you?” Tormund seemed horrified. So was Clegane – the wildling had gotten him entirely wrong.

“Are you fucking with me?” he asked, sarcastic. “No, you bloody lunatic! I'd kill you!” He sighed. “Look. What I'm saying is that I'd endure it, if that's what it took to be with you. If you don't get it after that, I can't really explain any better. You'll just have to live without understanding.”

Something occurred to him about Tormund, and he laughed a little. “You'd never endure torture, would you?” he asked, smirking. The wildling scowled.

“Death first!” he said. Clegane nodded, reached out to stroke fingers over his cheek and teased him with a quick kiss.

“That's what I figured,” he said in amusement, laughing a little. “Let's go!”

As they walked to the dinner hall, Tormund strode alongside him, all kind of bemused and bothered. It was interesting, having the upper hand for once, even if it wasn't going to last for that long. Clegane was enjoying himself immensely.

“Why are you smiling about it?”

“Because I finally found a weakness in you, my wildling friend,” Clegane said in his ear as they found their table, and he didn't miss the fact that Tormund flinched.

Brienne couldn't have been waiting long, because the food wasn't there yet. She looked at them and smiled a little. Clegane thought she looked good enough to eat. But she seemed pensive and quiet, but then writing to her father must have been difficult.

“Did you say everything you wanted to say?” Clegane asked her gently. She shrugged.

“Never that,” she said. “But enough, I suppose. I told him I love him. I told him if we win the war that I have a suitor. I told him that endings are never happy, or sad, they just are, and he should not grieve, for I would have fallen doing what I was meant to do.”

“I told him that life is a series of beginnings, and that if we survive he should expect to see us beginning something new together, because we will travel to see him to be wed.” She took a deep breath. “I told him I am as unconventional as ever, but that I recall his words just the same, and if I am going to marry the boys, I may as well do it properly.”

She flashed Tormund an apologetic smile. “I'm sorry,” she said. “It's the best I could do.”

Across the table, Tormund reached for her hand, and held it in his. “It's clever, beauty,” he reassured her. “I like it.” Brienne smiled. Clegane approved too. She'd put Tormund into her words without admitting to him outright. It was more than clever.

“Did you tell him who I was?” Clegane asked, and she shook her head.

“No.”

“Perhaps you should have,” he noted darkly. The Clegane name had become tarnished thanks to Gregor. It might not be received as positively as Brienne hoped. But she only shrugged, careless.

“He will find out,” she said. Then she drew in a deep breath and gazed at him. “But there is something you should know. My father, he is the Evenstar.”

“I've heard of it,” he said, nodding. “What does it mean?”

“It's a kind of title,” Brienne began. Just then, their drinks arrived, and Clegane was glad of the ale after the long day. “There is a little more to it than that, on Tarth. But, the Lords of Tarth were Kings once, and the people of Tarth still call him King, even though in the eyes of Westeros he is a Lord.” Brienne poured herself a beaker of water from the pitcher that had been brought to her.

“I am his only child,” she said, looking down, becoming reflective. Clegane took a deep pull on his ale as she continued to speak. “When he passes away, on Tarth I will be regarded as Queen. If we are married by then...”

Mid-swallow, his throat kind of closed up, and he ended up coughing out a mouthful of ale in a fairly undignified fashion as Brienne's voice trailed off. Some of it was still caught in his throat, and he coughed again, over and over, for almost a minute.

“Clegane. You okay?” Tormund said at last, hitting him hard on the back. That actually helped, and he sat up straight again, the coughing fit over.

“Just... went down the wrong way,” he said in a strangled voice, then he looked at Brienne. “You didn't think to say this earlier, woman?” he asked bluntly.

“King, huh?” Tormund wondered out loud.

“King. I don't think so.” Clegane repeated, not looking in Tormund's direction. “No fucking way. Can I decline it?”

Brienne frowned at him. “No, of course not! What are you two blathering on about?” she demanded, clearly getting annoyed. “If you'd let me finish, you'd understand!”

She drew in a calming breath, and then continued. “If you were married to me, you would be my consort. I could bestow a title upon you, but it would only really count on Tarth.”

For a while they were all silent, mulling over what it all meant. Brienne too, since it seemed she hadn't realised it until she'd brought it up, and said it out loud. They looked at each other.

“Right, just so we are clear,” Tormund said, very carefully, his voice low so that it didn't carry beyond their table. “If we live. Not really a King,” he said, pointing at Clegane. “Not really a Queen.” Now he gestured at Brienne. “Not really a King.” He finished with himself, holding out his hands. “That right?”

Brienne seemed a little uncomfortable. “I'm afraid so.”

“No, it's not,” Clegane put in, seeing it. “It's more like: King in all but name,” he said to Tormund. “Queen in all but name,” he said to Brienne. Then he paused, and looked down at himself. “King in all but name.”

“Yes,” Brienne said slowly. “That's definitely more... well, that's one way of looking at it.” She seemed to realise something with a gasp. “And if that sword really is Blackfyre, you're wielding the sword of Kings.”

He didn't like the conclusion to this one bit. “One hell of a coincidence, huh? Or is that just me?”

“It's not just you,” Brienne said.

“No,” Tormund said.

They stayed in silence for a short while, thinking, until their plates were placed in front of them. None of them seemed to want to be the first to eat, but Clegane felt his mouth water helplessly. It was chicken tonight. To avoid looking at it, he stared around the hall, and saw Tyrion again, staring right back at him from a few tables away. The cunt held up a tumbler of wine in a kind of salute. Clegane pulled a face and looked back at his dinner. At last, he gave in.

“Well, fuck it,” he said at last, breaking the atmosphere. “I'm too hungry to worry about it now. I missed out on lunch.”

“Gods, me too!” Brienne put in with a relieved sigh as she picked up her knife and fork. “It's been a long day, to say we didn't get any training in.”

“Hmm... yes!” Tormund rumbled, grinning again. “I am starving, and we have a long night ahead.” The wildling nudged him playfully. “Ha! Clegane, you should eat hearty. Get your strength up.”

Clegane sighed, but could not be put off his food. It would take more than Tormund to do that.

To be continued...

Author's Note: I hope you enjoyed it! If you did, please leave some encouragement for my muses – thank you! Next chapter will be a return to the smutty stuff. I think they've waited long enough now. Clegane has no idea what he is in for, lol.
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