Upon their departure from King's Landing, the elite troupe of well-intentioned renegades sailed purposefully towards their fate - whatever horrors it may bring- unwittingly forsaken by Cersei and her sociopathy. For all they knew, they were privileged to receive her full support in their endeavors to defeat the undead army which marched determinately south, and they were in relatively good spirits despite the tribulations they all expected to face once they had more closely approached Eastwatch.

Brienne of Tarth in particular was relieved to no longer be of disparate intentions with Sandor Clegane, now able to speak amicably with him about the state of affairs and development of their mutual ward. They stood on the ship's bow and she looked out across the water in the direction of their first destination: Winterfell. She had just begun updating him about Arya's aptitude at swordplay when he divulged his curiosity.

"Is she getting along well enough with Sansa then? Not murdered her yet, has she?"

Brienne smiled at The Hound's inquiry, appreciating his concern for both Stark girls. The prospect of vengeance had so clearly weighed heavily on Arya's consciousness, and Clegane knew only too well what lengths she would go to in order to fulfill her (possibly warped) sense of justice. He had seen firsthand how readily Sansa had taken to being with Joffrey in the beginning, and would have been surprised had it not caused a substantial rift between her and Arya.

"She seems to have pardoned Sansa for any perceived indignities or disloyalty. Difficult as it's been for both of them, it's something of a wonder. Family does seem to override all, in the end…at least for the Starks."

Brienne glanced over at him expectantly, wondering if he would acknowledge her subtle hint at the subject of him and his relationship with his brother. She felt something of an affinity with Sandor now, them having both endeavored to protect Arya and developed a parental instinct in regards to her…she would prefer not to see him dismembered by a monster like The Mountain. He seemed to be a decent enough man, even if his motives in the past had proven questionable at best. He had been a formidable opponent in battle, and not regarded her as an insignificance based solely on her gender. She found herself having a sort of affection for him she had not anticipated.

"Aye, the bloody Starks, the bloody Lannisters…to Hell with the lot of them. None of this familial bullshit will make any fucking difference once we're all a bunch of snarling corpses."

He flicked a cockroach off the boat and into the water, bewildered by her eagerness to make conversation. He was an unlikeable man, in his assessment, and she was as surprising out of battle as she was in. Fierce and brutal, she admittedly was, but in speaking with her he had discovered that she was also thoughtful and discerning. Certainly she must have better prospects than him for passing the time on their journey. He found himself disoriented and self-conscious, and it was unwelcome to say the least.

Brienne smiled indulgently at his irascible, fatalistic response. For a while, it had seemed impossible that she could fulfill her pledge to Catelyn Stark and ensure the survival of Sansa and Arya. Nevertheless, they were safe. If there were any miracles to be had in this world, she figured she'd born witness to at least two of them.

"I choose to remain a bit more optimistic than you, I think. We've each managed not to perish for a good amount of time now, despite our best efforts. I like to imagine it's unlikely that we'd be defeated by a bunch of dead men when we escaped each other relatively unscathed."

Sandor stared at her incredulously, undeniably tempted to correct her and provide details of how close to death he had truly been after their fight. Something kept him from doing so. Was it pride? It wasn't that he was ashamed to have been defeated by a woman; he had come to terms with that quite readily. Did he not want her to think of him as weak? What did he care what she thought of him anyway?

He realized he hadn't stopped looking at her, but even now, he found it difficult to remove his gaze. She had an air of refinement about her, despite the incredible brute force she displayed in physical combat, and he admitted to himself that she was quite a rare woman as he contemplated her seemingly endless facets. He'd had little experience with women, and that which he'd had, he'd acquired through payment. No woman had ever loved Sandor Clegane. The condition of his face ensured no woman ever would. Still, he felt a creeping sort of wistfulness as he assessed Brienne of Tarth and all of her virtues.

He spoke despite himself, without forethought or intention.

"Tormund is a lucky man."

His heart sank as he heard the words leave his mouth, embarrassment and horror overtaking him. Where the hell had that come from? If there was any kind of God, he hoped it would strike him down where he stood, before she had time to respond.

Her head whipped around and she stared at him, mouth agape, the absurdity of his statement all but stopping her heart.

"TORMUND? What in the bloody hell are you on about? That mad ginger, I haven't anything to do with that man! Stares at me without saying a word, follows me around grinning like an absolute loon, what HAS he said to you!?"

She suspected she was overreacting even as she shouted at him, but the thought of a man she barely knew claiming to know her in such a way, making Sandor believe that she was…involved with him…made her bristle. It was upsetting to her on some unspeakable level that made her heart race, anger and indignation coupling with an irrational fear that he might further misinterpret the facts of the situation.

She felt absolutely ridiculous the second she had finished speaking. This man thought he was being kind to her, by suggesting that the person she chose to be with should be considered lucky. But no man had ever chosen to be with her romantically. Tormund was the first to show her any benign interest, and by all accounts he seemed to her to be completely off his gourd. The only other men to exhibit physical desire towards her had simply been rapists. She had lived her entire life being told how unattractive she was, and it was foolish of her to accost a man who was merely attempting to be courteous towards her.

"I'm sorry. That was incredibly rude, please forgive me. I should not have shouted."

She was ashamed, it was obvious to him, and he felt like an ass for what he'd said.

"I'm sorry, I didn't realize you two weren't…ahhhh. Together. He'd told me how much he wanted to be with you and so I just thought…." He trailed off, unsure of how to finish and not wanting to upset her further. She listened to his words carefully and thought she understood him well enough. She hesitated, unsure of how much she trusted him with the truth, but decided she had little to lose by confiding in him.

"No man has ever courted me before. I am not sure exactly how it is supposed to be done, but a man waggling his eyebrows at me absurdly is not what I was expecting from someone I'm to consider a serious suitor. I thought Tormund was just being cruel like the boys I grew up with. They would pretend to be interested in me, only to reveal that it was all a big, unfunny joke, making a pass at the giant girl, the big ugly oaf who towered over all of them. Eventually I learned, and stopped making the mistake of thinking they might be sincere. Once I was old enough, I began challenging the boys to fight. They quickly realized they couldn't best me in battle and finally started leaving me alone."

He had been intimidated by her physicality upon their first meeting, and still was. Nevertheless, she was not an unattractive woman. She had no disfigurements, as he did. That she should be considered undesirable enough to warrant mockery, even as a child, struck him.

"Fuck the lot of them. They can't handle a woman if she isn't wearing a frilly dress, running to them for rescuing, you're better off."

He wasn't sure what else to say. He thought to explain how badly he'd been ridiculed for the scar on his face, but he wasn't trying to compete with her for who had the most tragic upbringing. His might have been more physically painful, but hers sounded like it had been pretty hellish in its own right.

She smiled. "Maybe once we reach Winterfell I'll borrow a frilly dress from Sansa and try my luck."

It wasn't the response he was expecting, and he found himself laughing along with her. A wild thought crossed his mind, Brienne being a half foot taller than Sansa but cramming herself into one of her dresses, awkwardly trying to walk around stiff-legged in some pretentiously fancy dress that made her look like a stuffed sausage. He shook his head in dismay.

"I think the world is better off if you stay as you are."

She looked at him quizzically but he wasn't meeting her gaze, he was staring straight ahead towards Winterfell, and she wondered what he meant by that statement.

They each resided in their own cabins for the rest of the journey. Upon their arrival at Winterfell, Sansa and Arya were eager to tell Brienne of Little Finger's fate and inform everyone that Bran had seen Cersei's true intentions in regards to the upcoming war. A heated discussion of strategy ensued privately between the Starks and Daenerys' company, which left Brienne and Sandor feeling restless and excluded. They understood they were but soldiers in this fight, to be used as needed, and were resigned to that fact. It still did nothing to relieve their boredom. Many hours had passed and Brienne had been reading a book, but it was dreadfully boring. She looked expectantly towards the clock. It had to be late. She audibly sighed when she saw that it was still only 9 pm. Perhaps she would visit with Sansa and Arya to occupy her time.

Sandor had consumed a chicken and only 2 pints of mead when the clock struck midnight, and he uncharacteristically decided he wasn't in the mood to get drunk after all. He had just finished removing his boots while leaning on the edge of the bed in his chamber when a knock sounded at his door. It surprised him, as he could think of no one who might wish to speak with him at this late an hour, and he grumbled, "Come in!" as he tossed his boots across the room in the direction of the closet. Finally, he looked up to greet his visitor.

There was a statue in his doorway, a living piece of art, undeniable but impossible all the same. She wore a nightgown, sheer, barely a whisper across skin that suddenly seemed incandescent, stretched across toned hips and full breasts that he only now registered for their femininity. He could see the shapeliness of her thighs, the triangle where her legs met and the hair at that meeting. Her navel, her narrow waist, the curve of her breasts, her nipples which strained sensuously against the fabric, it was real but unreal. She was stunningly beautiful.

He couldn't think, let alone speak. He just stared at her, unflinching, until finally she spoke.

"None of Sansa's actual dresses were big enough for me, but I suspect this looks just as ridiculous." She turned to leave, not sure what she had hoped for. Maybe he would have chuckled, as she'd basically meant it as a joke about their previous conversation, but really anything would have been better than his being horrified into silence by her. She began mentally chastising herself for putting herself in such a vulnerable position when his voice froze her in place.

"You are….absolutely….fucking perfect."

As she had turned to leave he now had a view of her from behind, an equally erotic sight to behold and he had to remind himself to breathe as he admired the curve of her back, leading into her gloriously sculpted backside and endless legs.

Slowly, she turned back around to look at him. His eyes seemed wild to her all of a sudden, and she was just as unsure of herself as when she'd first walked in.

He had never wanted anything so badly in his life as he wanted to touch every inch of her, urgently, never letting his skin break contact from hers. His mind felt like it was on fire. It was terrifying and he felt helpless to resist.

Before he had time to think, his legs had carried him across the room, in front of her, close enough to breathe in her scent and feel the heat radiating off of her body.

It was a half whisper, half growl that he leaned in and submitted to her.

"Brienne. Please."

It was all he could think to say. He knew he wasn't entitled to her. He'd done nothing to earn her affection, or even her trust. All he knew was that he wanted her.

Her heart was racing so quickly she was worried she might faint. The second her brain had processed that he had told her she was perfect, she had felt an unfamiliar rush of heat come over her entire body and pool at the intersection of her legs. She was quivering, she realized she was hopelessly aroused and had never stood before a man in this condition before. She didn't know what to do, exactly. Rampant images of his body pressed against hers began flooding her mind and she had to act, she had to make those images a reality.

He had to touch her. She needed him to touch her.

She turned her face into his neck and felt his pulse against her lips. It skittered and raced with hers. She began shaking her head, overwhelmed and stunned by her own lust as the words left her mouth of their own accord.

"Touch me."

And she found herself reaching out and taking his hand in hers, pulling it towards her, and placing it between her legs.

He stopped breathing for a moment, was this really happening?

He elicited a low groan as he cupped his hand around her mound and felt her wetness through the fabric of the nightgown.

Her skin glowed with heat and desire as he began rubbing her through the thin fabric, parting her lips and feeling more of her, losing himself in how her body was reacting to his touch. Her hips writhed and she tilted her head back, exposing her neck more fully to his adoration. He kissed her collarbone, the first kiss a man had ever placed on her body, and she gasped. How could she hope to endure any more of such a feeling? But then his lips were moving, grazing along her shoulder, up her neck and nuzzling her ear…his tongue now, hot breath teasing, tasting her skin…she couldn't take much more of this sweet torture, yet somehow wanted more all the same. She felt an aching emptiness she desperately needed him to fill, but she was scared. Even now, despite how intimate they were being, she lacked the certainty that he wanted her as she wanted him. She needed him to understand the gravity of what this interaction meant for her.

"Sandor. You would be the first man I've been with."

She looked at him for a reaction and he appeared stupefied. Yes, she had told him that no man had courted her, but he hadn't made the connection in his mind that she was still a maiden. The thought had never occurred to him. This goddess of a woman, standing before him, face flushed with desire as she looked at him, The Hound, the man with a face only a mother could love…she wanted him to be the man to take her maidenhood?

"Are you sure that's what you want?"

He thought there was no chance she would say yes, and yet if she said no, he knew that in that moment he would wish she had put him out of his misery in battle. She responded with no hesitation.

"I want you to show me how it feels to be taken by a man."

The blood rushed from his head to his groin so quickly it was dizzying, and he barely managed not to sway and fall to the floor. He captured her lips in his and kissed her the way he thought she deserved to be kissed. His lips felt hot and searing, maddeningly tender despite their urgency, and she was left absolutely breathless. The throbbing between her legs required immediate attention and she could feel his full stiffness pressed against her. She needed to see him, touch him, feel him inside of her.

She crossed her arms and grasped the sides of the nightgown, pulling it up over her head and casting it aside. She was now revealed fully to him, a vision of ethereal beauty and poise. Her taut, powerful body stunned him to silence yet again, only this time she knew better than to worry what his silence might mean.

His cock felt as though it could tear through his clothes and so he began disrobing as quickly as he ever had in his life, not taking his eyes off of her as he did so, not daring to deny his eyes the privilege of her nubile flesh. He exposed his body to her at last and it was her turn to be stunned to silence. His manhood was throbbing and standing straight up, thick and full, larger than she had thought to imagine. Her nipples hardened and she felt her muscles tighten in anticipation of being filled by him.

Her breathing was heavy as she reached out and touched him, caressing the smooth tip before attempting to wrap her hand fully around him. Her hands were almost as large as his and yet, he was too big to fit in her hand. His size was both intimidating and intoxicating. She trembled with anticipation as he suddenly moved his hand between her legs, pushing her legs gently apart so that he could access her core more easily. He slid his thumb through her lips and found her swollen nub, sighing at the sensation of her smooth skin and wetness. He began rubbing her, eliciting small moans of surprised delight from her before deciding he needed more, for the both of them.

He pressed gently on her clit with his thumb and began massaging in tight circles, then found her opening with his forefinger. She was impossibly hot and wet, and the reality of almost having a part of his body inside of her made his cock jump and slap against his stomach. He slid his finger upwards until it was buried to his first knuckle, and he gasped at the sensation of her pussy muscles contracting around him.

"God, you're so fucking tight! Oh, God, woman…"

Her body shuddered and he thought he might cum. It felt like she was trying to milk his finger, squeezing and sucking, begging for more. He knew he needed to get her ready if he had any hope of fitting his cock inside of her, and he pressed his middle finger against her opening before sliding it inside.

She cried out in pleasure, never having been filled with so much as a fingertip before, unable to fully process the sensations washing over her. Finally, he began sawing his fingers back and forth inside of her, pushing ever so slightly deeper, before he thought he should warn her.

"It's probably going to hurt a bit if I go any deeper, but then it will go away pretty quickly I think."

She understood what she was talking about, and felt a bit silly having to explain but figured it had to be done to avoid confusion.

"It won't hurt and I won't bleed, I believe all of that was taken care of when I fell during a fight when I was 15."

He had fought her, too. Yet he felt a sudden jolt of anger towards whoever had caused her that pain. He could do his best to make up for it.

No longer wary of breaking her, he pressed his fingers fully into her, curling them and continuing to rub his thumb across her clit. Almost instantly, she was crying out in ecstasy. Never in her life had she imagined a man would be making her feel this way. Thoughts escaped her as she clutched his hand and held it against her, her other hand grasping the back of his head and bringing it to hers for another scorching kiss.

The way his lips felt against hers, coupled with his fingers filling her, sent her careening over the edge and she experienced the first orgasm of her life. She screamed into his mouth and her pussy convulsed around his fingers so hard it felt like a heavenly vice.

Again, he thought he might cum without his cock even touching her. She was still moaning as he slowed the movement of his hand and retracted his fingers. She needed them to be replaced. His engorged member bobbed in front of her tauntingly.

"Please. Take me."

Her eyes held his and she saw her desperation matched there. They needed each other, right now, in this moment, and neither could deny the other if they'd wanted to. He took her hand in his and led her to the bed. She lay down and he climbed up beside her, staring down at the absurd beauty he had somehow- miraculously - become privy to. He gently traced the tops of her feet with his fingers, up to her ankles, then slowly to her calves. He circled her knees, teased her inner thighs and twirled out to her hips where he squeezed gently. Zigzags across her stomach and finally his fingers met her breasts for the first time.

He felt their firm smoothness, worshipping every inch with his fingers before he dropped his head and flicked his tongue out to taste her nipple. He quickly became incapable of restraint and his mouth was fully closed around her nipple, licking and sucking on its hardened bud, his hand massaging her other breast.

She pressed herself into him, his mouth felt like heaven as it laved her breast and she was aching to be filled by him.

She reached down to feel his cock and its sheer size again sent a jolt of excitement coursing through her body. He looked down at his erection, then back up into her eyes. They were on fire with need and he groaned in desperate arousal.

He lifted his hand from her breast and reached down to grab his staff. It leaked precum, the head was swollen to the size of a plum and he had never seen it so hard. He guided it towards her opening and pressed it against her slit. She groaned and spread her legs.

"Are you ready?"

She honestly wasn't sure she could fit him.

"Go slowly."

His cock throbbed and he pressed it forward, the tip sliding along her slick entrance. The anticipation was building excruciatingly for both of them. His fat cockhead finally breached her opening.

She screamed out in surprise and pleasure as it was now nestled inside her, the pressure causing a new kind of desperation inside of her. Her body began to move on instinct.

Her back arched and she began humping her hips off the bed, forcing him further inside of her. Each movement buried him deeper and deeper and he was too shocked by the eroticism of her motions to do anything but look down and watch as his cock was swallowed by her wet, perfectly tight pussy. She ground and writhed down on him, moaning and whimpering, lost in the sensation of having him inside of her.

"I'm going to cum if you don't slow down."

He realized she was close, but he was even closer. His balls were swollen with his seed, aching for release, and her pussy was gripping his cock in a way he'd never felt before. He wanted to make her cum first.

He pulled out of her and placed his hands around her waist, lifting her up and off the bed. He placed her next to it so that he could lie down, then pulled her on top off him.

"Sit on my cock."

His voice and his words echoed in her mind, their sensuality making her feel somehow even more aroused. She lifted her leg up over his hips and straddled him. She sat up higher to allow him clearance to position himself at her entrance, and then she sat down slowly.

His cockhead was buried in her lips again and she sighed, needed to feel him more fully. She eased herself down slowly, rocking backwards and forwards, taking in a bit of him at a time. He already felt deeper than he had when he'd been on top. She looked down and realized he was only about 2/3 of the way inside of her. She looked at him in with combined disbelief and lust.

"Do you have any bloody idea how fucking enormous your cock is?"

Her words made his cock twitch and she gasped at the sensation. He chuckled and moved his thumb to her clit.

"Do you have any bloody idea how fucking tight your pussy is?"

She groaned and reveled in the feeling of his thumb massaging her. She gradually wriggled her ass even further down into his lap, until finally she looked down and confirmed that he was entirely buried inside of her. She arched her back and began to slide up and down on his thick rod, slowly at first, then began to bounce more quickly as he increased the pace of his clitoral ministrations.

Her body felt like it was on fire. She was being filled so completely by his giant cock, this man underneath her who she had known in combat, a man whom she had seen at his most vulnerable and had seen her at hers…he now lay exposed to her, eager to please her, fucking her like she had only ever dreamed a man might want to fuck her. It was all too much.

She dug her fingers into his shoulders as she came. She screamed into the night, her muscles spasming uncontrollably around him and he cried out as he came along with her. Their bodies heaved with exertion as she slid down off of him and fell exhausted by his side.

She wasn't exactly sure what to expect from him now. Should she leave? Is that what he was expecting from her?

She was thinking about getting up to leave when he wrapped his arm around her. He wanted her to stay?

"I meant what I said before. You're absolutely fucking perfect."

She looked up at him and he smiled down at her before shaking his head.

"Brienne of fucking Tarth."

She laughed and smiled back up at him.

"The bloody Hound."