(Game of Thrones)

The Red Bear and the Blue Lady

A/N - Hello, my dears! I know you've been waiting what seems like forever, but real life is still wringing me out. I was able to settle my mind enough to continue this story, which I fully intend to do. Bear with me. Thanks so much for reading, and for all the reviews, faves, and follows! Please let me know what you think.

Winterfell

The great hall of Winterfell was silent as Queen Danaerys Targaryen spoke. They had discovered Jaime Lannister, the Kingslayer, in their midst. The guards had brought him to Sansa first, but once the dragon queen had gotten word, she had insisted on having a tribunal of sorts, to confront the man who had slain her father and to hear why there had been no accompanying army as was promised by his sister, Cersei.

Now, everyone stood silently to hear what would be Jaime's fate. Brienne sat just behind his left shoulder, her heart in her throat. She worried greatly for her friend and one time infatuation.

"When I was a child, my brother would tell me a bedtime story. About the man who murdered our father," Danaerys' soft, cold voice began. "Who stabbed him in the back and cut his throat. Who sat down on the Iron Throne and watched as his blood poured onto the floor."

She did not blink as she spoke. "He told me other stories as well. About all the things we would do to that man, once we took back the Seven Kingdoms and had him in our grasp." She stared at Jaime, her words a menacing specter hanging in the air.

He did not speak.

"Your sister pledged to send her army North," Dany continued.

"She did," Jaime answered.

"I don't see an army. I see one man, with one hand. It appears your sister lied to me."

Jaime glanced at his brother dejectedly. "She lied to me as well. She never had any intention of sending her army North. She has Euron Greyjoy's fleet and twenty thousand fresh troops, The Golden Company from Essos, bought and paid for. Even if we defeat the dead, she'll have more than enough to destroy the survivors."

"We?" the queen asked with a sneer. It was obvious she did not intend to let Jaime stand with her forces.

"I promised to fight for the living," he argued. "I intend to keep that promise."

All he received in response were narrowed purple eyes.

Tyrion quickly stepped forward, fearing what his queen's next words would be. "Your Grace, I know my brother-"

"Like you knew your sister?" she mocked.

The dwarf paused at her words. "He came here alone, knowing full well how he'd be received. Why would he do that, if he weren't telling the truth?"

"Perhaps he trusted his little brother to defend him," she answered coolly. "Right up till the moment he slits my throat."

The Lady of Winterfell broke her silence. "You're right. We can't trust him," Sansa agreed. "He attacked my father in the streets. He tried to destroy my house and my family the same as he did yours."

"You want me to apologize?" Jaime's voice was incredulous. "I won't." He did not balk at Sansa's disbelief. "We were at war. Everything I did, I did for my house and my family. I'd do it all again."

"The things we do for love," said soft, stale voice.

The arguing parties turned toward Brandon Stark as he sat staring emotionlessly at Jaime. His cryptic words seemed to minimize Jaime's insolence as he dropped his gaze.

Brienne was unsure how Jaime would talk himself out of this. Everyone present seemed keen on killing him, even with the threat looming over them all.

"So why have you abandoned your house and family now?" the queen asked.

Brienne was shocked. Had Jaime just glanced at her?

He had. "Because this goes beyond loyalty." He gave Brienne a more pointed look, and she remembered the words she'd uttered to him back at the Dragon Pit.

"This is about survival."

Brienne could not let him continue to struggle on his own. If there was anyone present who could speak for Jaime Lannister, it was she.

She shot to her feet. At the odd looks from the great table, she quickly began speaking as she moved forward. "You don't know me well, Your Grace, but I know Ser Jaime. He isa man of honor. He was my captive once. But when we were both taken prisoner, and the men holding us tried to force themselves on me, Ser Jaime defended me...and lost his hand because of it."

She looked at Sansa. "Without him, my lady, you would not be alive. He armed me, armored me, and sent me to find you and bring you home. Because he'd sworn an oath to your mother."

Sansa contemplated her words for a moment. Brienne could see in her eyes that she was conflicted. "You vouch for him?"

"I do."

"You would fight beside him?"

Aside for her love for Tormund, Brienne had never been more sure of anything in her life. "I would."

She could see that Sansa had made her decision. "I trust you with my life. If you trust him with yours, we should let him stay."

Danaerys glanced at her with displeasure. The two women were not in agreement on this matter. It added to the enmity between them.

That was no concern to Brienne. Her lady had spoken. Her testimony given, Brienne bowed her head and returned to her seat.

The queen turned to Jon Snow, looking for support. "What does the Warden of the North say about it?"

The former King in the North seemed like he could have sank through the floor without complaint. He struggled to please his sister, his queen, and the people of the North. But he was at least confident when he said, "We need every man we can get."

Jon spoke true, and the queen knew it. She met the gaze of her father's killer, but then her eyes dropped. "Very well." She looked to the captain of her Unsullied, who returned Jaime his sword.

The gathering dispersed after that, each person departing unhappily. When Sansa left, Brienne went after her, as was her duty. She and Jaime shared a glance that promised a conversation long overdue. She was glad to have been able to help him.

Everyone was gainfully employed. Brienne walked through the practice field, watching men and women preparing for battle. The Unsullied were helping to prepare the trench. Dothraki checked their horses. And Podrick...

She watched as he expertly parried his opponent, advising him on his technique like a professional. Brienne looked on him proudly. He'd been so green when he first had come into her service. Now, he just might survive.

She felt a presence at her side. Jaime . He'd found her. She was suddenly nervous. They had befriended each other, yes. But she had sensed the slightest sexual tension in their last interactions with one another. There was a time she had harbored a growing affection for him that had rivaled her feelings for Renly.

But now things were different. She was not a free woman. And she could not let this continue.

She found it difficult to meet his eyes. "Ser Jaime," she greeted.

He made a bow that seemed mocking, even if he hadn't meant it so. "Lady Brienne."

They watched Pod together. "He's come a long way," he observed.

"He's alright," she answered, turning away. "He still has a lot to learn."

Jaime trailed after her. "I'm sure you'll teach him." They walked further, observing more of the activities around them. "I've been told you're commanding the left flank."

"I am," she affirmed, almost defensively. She softened her tone. He wasn't there to question her. "It's uh, it's good ground."

"It is," he agreed.

"The rise," Brienne said, motioning to the higher area of land. "It should give us some advantage. If we can keep a tight formation, we might be able to beat them back."

"Yes, I think you're right."

This was becoming odd and very uncomfortable. She turned on him. "What are you doing?"

Jaime stared. "What?"

"I think you know." She was in no mood for his japes.

He looked incredulous. "I truly don't."

"We have never had a conversation last this long without you insulting me, not once." She wasn't sure what was going on, and it frustrated her.

"You want me to insult you?" Jaime asked incredulously.

"No." Certainly not.

"Good."

There was an awkward silence before Jaime spoke again. "I didn't insult you when you left Kings Landing, did I?"

He was right. Brienne had forgotten. "No. No, you didn't. My apologies."

Jaime nodded with a small smirk. But then his face turned serious again. "I came to Winterfell because..." He looked pleadingly into her eyes. "I'm not the fighter I used to be. But I'd be honored to serve under your command, if you'll have me."

Brienne assessed his face. He wasn't joking in the least. This was Jaime putting aside his pride and coming to the one person he hoped would stand with him. She was no fool. She had heard the conversations amongst the Northmen. He was a pariah, a man who might never find redemption in the eyes of Westeros despite his efforts.

From the moment he'd lost his sword hand, Jaime had never been the same.

And here he was, asking acceptance. From her . Brienne would not deny him. She'd meant what she'd said in front of the queen and her lady.

She gave him a nod. The gratefulness in his eyes broke her heart.

"I'd better get back," she told him, unsure what else to say. Ser Jaime's stare was a heavy weight upon her face.

He stepped aside, but as Brienne rejoined her men, she could feel those eyes burning her back.

The small group of weary men upon even wearier horses crested a ridge. The journey seemed to take forever, made longer by the roundabout way they'd had to traverse to avoid the army of the dead. Edd had driven the garrons as fast as he'd dared, hoping they wouldn't give out before they reached their destination. Thankfully, they'd seen no Walkers or wights ...or that wretched dragon.

Still, it seemed to drag on and on until they feared they'd become lost. The North was such a massive place.

Finally, and blessedly, Winterfell had come into sight. Tormund felt revitalized despite his aches, pains, and exhaustion. They had made it! The dreary castle had never been so beautiful to his eyes. But it was who could be contained within that excited him so. Brienne . He hoped with all his heart that she was there. Surely she had returned from her mission south by now.

"Come on, Crow!" he cried, putting his heals against Edd's horse's flanks despite sitting behind him. The animal nearly threw them both.

The horses snorted, but the faithful beasts got them to the castle as the horn sounded their arrival. Within the walls, they dismounted as many sets of running feet were heard. Men, Free Folk, Northmen, and other Black Brothers alike, came to greet them.

As he was patted and given smiles and salutations, Tormund couldn't help but search the courtyard, hoping to see flaxen hair on the head of the tallest woman he'd ever seen. His heart sank when he found no such person. Putting a smile on his face despite his anguish, he stepped to the side to speak with more of his Free Folk, ones he hadn't expected to see.

Out of the corner of his eye, another person he had missed appeared. Jon Snow came across the courtyard at a brisk walk, damned near running, on a collision course with Edd Tollett as he and Samwell Tarly were embracing. We'll see about that. Jon hadn't seen him yet.

Just as Jon was about to reach his Brother, the big Wildling pummeled him with a great hug, completely surprising the boy.

"My little Crow," Tormund laughed fondly. Jon returned his embrace. He'd missed his friend.

"I thought we'd lost you," Jon murmured.

"Almost."

Tormund stepped back so Jon could welcome Edd and Beric. "How did you find each other?" Snow asked.

Edd answered. "We met up at the Last Hearth."

"The dead got there first." Tormund added.

Jon looked troubled. "The Umbers?"

"Fighting for the Night King now," Beric responded.

"We had to travel around them to get here," Tormund explained. "Whoever's not here now is with them."

"How long do we have?" Jon asked him dishearteningly.

"Before the sun comes up tomorrow."

The men all shared weary looks between them. But it wasn't long before Tormund's mind shifted to another matter. He turned his head toward the inner courtyard. "My big woman still here?"

Jon smiled. "That she is. She was putting the men through their paces. But she's most like with Sansa by no-"

Jon was unable to finish his sentence, as Tormund had already hurried off to find his wife.

Sansa and Brienne were taking a small meal in the anteroom off the great hall. Her lady had wanted to speak privately with Brienne.

"How fare the men?" Sansa asked.

"They have courage," Brienne answered. "Despite their fear, they will fight with all they have. Many are seasoned, though I'll not lie and say that makes the most of the bunch. But the novices show promise."

Sansa gave her a searching stare. "The truth, Brienne."

Sighing miserably, she told her, "Many will not live past the first push. There are far too many boys and those lacking skill, and I haven't the time required to train them to be more than that."

She leaned toward Sansa. "My lady, if I should fall, I just want you to know that it has been an honor serving you. I hope that I have fulfilled at least some of the service I owed you and your mother, Lady Catelyn."

Sansa took Brienne's hands in both of hers. "You have done that and more, Brienne. I don't know what I would have done had you not saved me and Theon that day in the Wolfswood. I am thankful to you, and I know my mother would be grateful as well. But don't lose faith yet. We may yet survive this night. We have you and many other brave fighters protecting this castle."

Brienne tried to echo Sansa's positive words, but truth be told, she was fearful. She had never seen any of these reanimated corpses, but from what she had heard from those who had, they were the stuff of nightmares. And her heart ached that she still hadn't heard any word of Tormund. Had everyone died at Eastwatch?

Worse yet, would she meet her husband across the battlefield, as a shambling, murderous wight?

She shivered at the thought.

Both women turned at the sounds of a commotion outside the closed anteroom doors. "Oi! You cannot enter here without leave!" they heard one of the guards exclaim.

"Move!" bellowed a deep voice...a voice Brienne had feared she would never hear again. She rose slowly to her feet, blue eyes wide and hopeful. Sansa smiled softly.

The door burst open, and in trudged Tormund, one guard on each arm as they struggled to restrain him. The large man paid them no mind, his eyes only for Brienne.

His smile was one like to melt the snows from the North as far as Brienne was concerned. "My lady," he purred.

"It's alright," Sansa announced. "Release him." The guards obeyed and left, huffing and puffing and muttering about oafish Wildlings.

Brienne was on him before the doors closed. Her arms wrapped around his neck as she squeezed with all her might, all the longing and worry she had carried all these months conveyed in her embrace. She was ready when her bear took her mouth with his.

Tormund's arms crushed her to him, and she became lost, the world falling away around her. All that mattered was this day, this moment, this man, his arms, his skin, his lips, his beautiful eyes, his voice that could both calm and heat her blood and drown her in pleasure when she lay with him under the furs.

She could have kissed him forever. And maybe she would have, had Sansa not straightened her voice pointedly.

Brienne and Tormund reluctantly parted. "Apologies, my lady," she hastily cried, blushing heavily. "I did not mean to offend."

Sansa shook her head, her small smile still in place. "Not at all. But maybe this interlude is best in a more...private setting. Lord Tormund, it is good to have you back again. Brienne worried greatly for you." Looking at Brienne, she added, "You have my leave to go. We will be meeting to discuss strategy very shortly. Feel free to get re-acquainted until then."

Bowing, Brienne followed Tormund out of the room. Together, they went up to her quarters.

The door had hardly closed before they fell on each other. The room was dim, the fire having started to die hours ago. Neither cared.

Holding her face, Tormund kissed her deeply, his tongue a soft caress against her own. When they parted to breathe he stared, his breaths labored. "I missed you, woman," he rasped. "On that Wall, when I thought I was going to die, all I could think of was you."

Brienne felt the sharp sting of tears. She had clung tenaciously to the hope that her man would return to her. She'd prayed to the Seven, had even gone to the godswood to beg of the Old Gods of the North, in hopes that someone listening would watch over Tormund and guide him back to her.

And here he was, in her arms again, against all odds.

She said a quick thanks in her mind as she stared into Tormund's expressive blue eyes. She reached into the space in the armor bordering her neck. Struggling for the moment, she managed to pull out the bone bear pendant he had carved and gifted her so long ago.

Tormund glanced at it, grinning. "You still have it," he murmured.

"Of course I do," Brienne affirmed. "I treasure this bauble more than any other possession. Every day I would grasp this bear and say a prayer that you would make it back into my arms. This proves it. We are tied you and I. Not even the Night King can take you from me. I won't allow it."

Tucking the bear safely back inside her armor, Brienne kissed her husband as her tears finally loosed down her cheeks. "I love you."

His eyes were soft and filled with adoration. "And I love you." He wiped away her tears.

They embraced, the two of them silent but for the beating of their full hearts.

A knock sounded on her chamber door. "My lady," Podrick called. "Lady Sansa sends her apologies, but the strategy meeting is beginning. Your presence is requested."

"Damn," Tormund grumbled. As the leader of the Free Folk, he would be expected there as well. "I wish we could just run away from this fucking place."

Brienne was frustrated too. But she kept it out of her voice as she answered her squire. "Thank you, Pod. We will be along shortly."

With regretful steps, the two made their way out to meet with the other commanders, their lady, and their queen.

The strategy meeting had been a tedious affair, and when it had dispersed, the mood had been morose. Nearly everyone believed it to be their last night in this world. Tormund's assertion that they would all die didn't help matters. "At least we'll die together," he'd said, looking at Brienne, who hadn't responded. Surely he'd been jesting.

Brienne refused to lose hope.

She had her husband, her friends, and many adept warriors to fight this battle. This bolstered her morale when she had been depressed and unsure of their chances before. Surely some luck would be on their side. When the sun rose in the morning, Brienne fully intended to still be standing...right alongside her husband.

Tormund had gone to meet with his Wildlings. While she waited for him, she and Pod made their way toward the great hall and the large hearth contained within. Winterfell was a large castle, and, though it was built over hot springs that ran through its walls like lifeblood, it was still cold.

It was mildly surprising when they entered to find it already occupied by the Lannister brothers. Jaime and Tyrion appeared to have been there for some time, sipping wine by the fire.

Jaime quickly stood. "My lady."

"Oh," Brienne explained. "We didn't mean to interrupt. We were just looking for somewhere warm to-"

"To contemplate your imminent death," the shorter Lannister interrupted. "You've come to the right place." Tyrion walked toward their flagon. "You want some of this piss? It's not bad." He smirked. "It's not good either."

Pod eagerly started forward. "Thank you, milord."

"I don't think that's wise," warned Brienne. "The battle might start at any moment." When the squire's face fell, she relented. It could be their last night after all. "Half cup."

"And you?" asked the dwarf.

"No, thank you. I should try and get some sleep." And look for her husband.

Jaime was amused. "Do you really think any of us are going to sleep tonight?" He placed a chair next to his. "Join us."

She didn't want to encourage him, but Brienne saw no harm in spending a short time with her friends before resuming her search for Tormund.

"Alright," she said. "Just a bit."

She settled in her chair in time to hear a familiar voice. "Well, what do we have here?" Davos came in, making a beeline for the hearth and the warmth of the fire.

"Ser Davos, join us!" Tyrion called.

"No, not for me, thanks." He stood in front of the flames. "I came here for this." Sighing contentedly, he continued. "Figured I could wait to die freezing my balls off out there, or wait to die nice and warm, in here."

Suddenly, her husband's large frame filled Brienne's vision. Her lips tipped up slightly at the sight of him. Now that he'd come, she felt complete.

Tormund's attention was only for Brienne as he stood by her chair, his gaze suggestive.

She held it. "I'm glad you're here," she told him. Their mating eyes were only interrupted by Tyrion.

"Would you like a drink?" he asked Tormund.

He lifted his drinking horn, which was undoubtedly filled with the cursed fermented goat's milk. "Brought my own," Tormund answered.

Brienne's nose wrinkled as she glanced at Jaime.

Tormund surveyed the room until his eyes also settled on Jaime. Uh-oh , Brienne thought to herself. She hoped he wasn't privy to Jaime's feelings for her. Or the ones she'd formely harbored.

"They call you King-Killer," he declared.

Jaime looked amused and bewildered at the same time, if that was possible. "I'm sure someone does."

"They call me Giantsbane," he rumbled, tilting his head in anticipation. "Want to know why?"

Jaime's expression said not especially.

Brienne could have sank beneath the floor. She sensed a story was comig, but was he really going to tell that story? She started to try and divert her lover, but he'd already pulled up a chair. There'd be no stopping him now. So, she quietly looked into the fire and prepared herself.

This was going to be painful. Westeros was truly not ready for the storyteller that was her Tormund Giantsbane.

He sat down, comfortable as ever, and began his tall tale, staring at Jaime. "I killed a giant when I was ten. Then I climbed right into bed with his wife. When she woke up, you know what she did?"

By now, the story was too far along for him to stop now. His audience, while mildly uncomfortable, were firmly in his grasp. Even Jaime seemed curious.

"Suckled me at her teat for three months," Tormund revealed proudly as he eyed the knight. "Thought I was her baby. That's how I got so strong. Giant's milk." He lifted his horn as if to emphasize his point.

Then, the love of her life proceeded to swallow down the entire horn in one go.

Brienne consequently wanted to swallow her own tongue.

The rest of Tormund's audience sat aghast at the great gulping noises, the sour liquid dripping down the Wildling's rusty beard. It was a wonder any had gotten down his gullet.

As Tormund drank the last of it, he let out a pleased breath. Brienne was just thankful it wasn't a belch.

Ser Davos stalked over to the table. "Maybe I will have that drink."

Brienne gave her husband a look half censuring, half resigned. His quirks were one of the many reasons she'd fallen for him. He smiled at her as droplets of milk dotted his beard and the front of his furs. All she could do was shake her head.

As the night wore on, there was a contemplative silence in the room. Tyrion spoke of the past, and confessed he believed they would live. At the ensuing scoffs, he went through the accomplishments of those present, starting with Ser Davos. He then spoke of Ser Jaime, who rose to refill his cup.

But when he began to tell of Brienne's and corrected his use of "Ser" before her name, Tormund took issue.

"She's not a 'Ser?'" he asked in disbelief. He looked at her when Tyrion shook his head. "You're not a knight?"

Brienne had forgotten to explain this to him. "Women can't be knights," she said matter-of-factly.

"Why not?"

"Tradition."

"Fuck tradition." To Tormund, that was the stupidest reason for anything.

"I didn't even want to be a knight," Brienne said dismissively, earning her a disbelieving scowl from Podrick. He knew she was lying.

"I'm no king," Tormund declared. "But if I were, I'd knight you ten times over." His eyes spoke of other things than knighting, and it brought a lift to her lips and a tingle to her lady parts.

She was suddenly more eager for some alone time.

"You don't need a king," Jaime noted as if suddenly remembering. "Any knight can make another knight." He set his cup down and met Brienne's confused gaze. "I'll prove it.

He walked a ways over, drawing his sword as he went, to where there was space. "Kneel, lady Brienne."

Brienne scoffed. Surely he wasn't serious. Words are wind. He's just toying with me, like they all toyed with me. Suddenly the faces of Hyle Hunt, Edmund Ambrose, and Ben Bushy came to mind, knights in Renly's camp, who had wooed her as an elaborate jape, her maidenhead as the prize.

They'd enjoyed toying with her, and for a moment, Brienne wondered if Jaime was doing the same. His words broke into her unpleasant memories.

"Do you want to be a knight or not?" Jaime asked, waiting. She searched his face, her smirk burning away like morning dew.

He'd meant what he'd said.

"Kneel," Jaime repeated.

She glanced at her husband. His eyes entreated her to do as Jaime said.

Brienne's throat grew tight, and she glanced at her squire. Pod's mouth firmed with the barest of smiles, encouraging her. He'd heard her all the times they'd camped together as she'd regaled him of the dreams she'd had as a girl of fighting for a worthy cause under the right lord or lady.

He knew exactly how much this meant to her.

She was in a daze as she came to her feet and set down her cup, fearing that this was a dream, that she would be taken cruelly from it only to wake as she had always been, a freak of a woman, Brienne the Beauty, always trying to be what she was not.

How many times had she been shunned, mocked, and insulted for this very reason? She'd lost count.

But as Brienne walked towards Jaime, and saw the sincerity in his eyes, she dared to hope.

She kneeled.

Hefting his sword as surely as he could with his left hand, Jaime tapped first Brienne's right shoulder. "In the name of the Warrior," he began. "I charge you to be brave."

Brienne's heart was pounding.

Left shoulder. "In the name of the Father, I charge you to be just."

She clenched her fingers to still the shaking.

And back to the right. "In the name of the Mother, I charge you to defend the innocent."

Her eyes burned, and she tried not to blink for the tears.

"Arise, Brienne of Tarth," Jaime declared reverently. "A knight of the Seven Kingdoms."

It was done. Brienne couldn't believe it. She rose, staring at the man who had given her the one thing she had coveted all her life..

Jaime's eyes shone with pride. As she returned his stare, loud clapping brought their gazes to the rest of the room. Tormund was smiling widely, pounding his palms together with joy. The rest followed suit, and the room erupted in applause from the small group.

Giving her a nod, Jaime returned to his cup.

Brienne gleamed with a new sense of duty and hope. At long last, she was a knight. A knight! I wish Father could see me, she thought to herself. He would be so proud.

It didn't matter that death was looming on the horizon. Aside from her meeting and marriage to Tormund, this was the happiest day of her life.

Walking to his chair, Brienne took him by the hand. She turned to the rest of the room. "I think it's time for us to go ahead and finally get some rest," she said. Tyrion's expression said he wasn't at all fooled.

She looked at Jaime, whose eyes had lost some of their enthusiasm. "Thank you, Ser Jaime," she told him genuinely.

Pod was smiling. "When the time comes, meet me where we discussed," she told him.

He nodded. "Yes, milady."

That done, she and Tormund left the great hall. She ignored the familiar feel of Jaime's eyes watching them as they left.

When they arrived, Tormund barred the door behind them. Neither wasted time. There was only so long to do what they wanted, and this had been long-awaited. Both went to work disrobing. Tormund, with the simple garb of the Free Folk, was naked before Brienne could even finish removing her armor.

He tried to assist her. Having never worked with such elaborate fastenings before, he struggled, and by the end they were both frustrated, elapsing into laughter as the last piece was finally removed. Brienne was able to take off the clothes beneath with little effort.

Finally, they were both naked.

Tormund took a moment to look upon his wife. He hadn't seen her in so long. He searched her body for new scars, new signs that she'd been in battles while they'd been apart. There were none, and he thanked whatever gods were listening.

Easing forward, he took his wife in hand, guiding her back to the bed. Together, they fell onto the soft furs. Tormund was singular in his purpose. He smiled into Brienne's eyes as his fingers eased lower to tickle her nether lips.

Her breaths, already coming fast with anticipation, became heavy. She'd missed his touch, his warmth, that mischievous grin he always saved just for her. As he delved deeply, her eyes closed, and she settled her head on the pillows.

She allowed herself just to feel, to revel in the company of this man who had changed her life so thoroughly.

Soon Tormund had her gasping, writhing, her fingers scratching along his neck and into his hair. When his mouth hungrily joined his hands, she was lost.

He brought her through her first release, and just as quickly rose up along her body, his tongue leaving a playfully hot trail over her abdomen and breasts, before he claimed her mouth.

His kiss had an almost desperate quality to it. Tormund would much rather have her away from this doomed place. Though he loathed to be parted from her, he would prefer she live rather than die fighting such an evil enemy, one he did not expect to triumph over. But he left those thoughts in his head as he pleasured Brienne.

Fear and death could come later. For now, it was the two of them and this moment they had together.

Tormund took one of her legs, hoisting it high up on his hip. Brienne reached down, taking him in hand and guiding him home to her entrance. He sank into her, taking her mouth again as his hips began to move, coaxing them both toward release.

Brienne felt him striking deep, and the combined sensations of his hands on her hips, the scratchiness of his beard against her face, and the taste of him on her tongue as he grunted and fucked had her barreling toward a tremendous finish.

Giving Tormund pleasure had become the single most satisfying thing she had, and it soon threw her over the abyss with a cry that was swallowed up as he continued to make love to her mouth as his body made love to hers.

Feeling her contracting around him, he propelled his hips faster, following quickly after, grunting as he spent his seed within her. If the gods were good, he had put a child in her tonight. He had been disheartened to find she was not pregnant from their last encounter.

But maybe tonight, he would leave something behind should he lose his life in the coming battle.

Large hands came up to cradle Brienne's face, and Tormund stared into her eyes, his own gleaming in the dim light of the hearth. Her eyes were most beautiful blue he had ever seen, a shade the likes of which he would never see again.

He rolled to the side, taking Brienne with him as he went. Enveloped in each other's warmth, they fell into a light sleep.

When he woke first, Tormund went to work waking Brienne and pleasuring her again, slowly. Together they found release again.

This time Brienne rose from the bed, walking toward a cupboard. Tormund watched her as she removed a small bottle, a cordial. It's that tea , he realized.

Before Brienne could tip the contents into her mouth, her husband spoke up.

"Brienne," he spoke softly. "Do you have to?"

Pausing, she turned to him with a perplexed expression. Was Tormund really thinking of babies? Now? Of all times? "My love, it's the wise thing to do right now."

"It doesn't matter, "Tormund explained. "If we're going to die tonight anyway, it won't matter. But if we don't..." He let his words trail off.

Brienne considered his words. He was right. If she were to survive the night, it would mean that they had won. She wouldn't need to worry about fighting anymore. Sansa would not go south to fight Cersei.

She was no warrior, and there must always be a Stark in Winterfell. That meant that Brienne would stay at Winterfell, in the North.

She and Tormund could raise a family together here. She could finally have what she'd always wanted, a husband who loved her, babies to love and nurse at her breast.

Perhaps they could be happy after all. "Alright," she said, her mind made. But if I am with child, I-"

They were interrupted. It was the horn of the Night's Watch, the same one that had heralded riders each time they had come. Only this time it wasn't riders.

The horn was blown three times. Brienne turned stricken eyes to Tormund, who rose slowly to his feet. Their time was up.

The dead had come to Winterfell.

For the record, I was NOT happy with the way this season was handled. I won't get into a long diatribe about why, but I think the actors, staff, and fans deserved far better than the rushed, contrived, unconvincing writing we were given. This show was too big and affected too many for this to be such lazily-done. Let me know how you guys felt. Laters!