Screams rent the air. Bloodthirsty cries of men rose above the din of destruction outside. Crouching in the cellar, your sweat-slicked palms covered your mouth, silencing the sounds of terror that threatened to erupt as you listened to the echoes of death. The sounds of Wildings.
Growing up in The Gift, legends of Wildling raiders had always ended in Rangers from the Night's Watch and the villagers banding together to defeat the barbarians from beyond the Wall. The wall kept you safe. And the watchers on the wall would always come to your aid. You grew up safe with that knowledge.
The daughter of the local tavern owner, life was somewhat easier for you than your friends. You never went hungry, but your father worked you to the bone. He refused any offer of marriage for you, knowing anyone he hired after you would demand pay and work half as hard. The old gods had cursed him with a daughter instead of sons, but in you, he had a cook, washerwoman, and barmaid for the price of none. Why would he ever part with that?
Grateful to escape the fate of the other young women in the village, you worked tirelessly to keep the tavern clean and well stocked while your father enjoyed the fruits of your labor. The stew and bread served at the establishment was as sought after as the meads and wines thanks to you and a few hearty herbs in a small window box garden. The knowledge of how to care and cultivate them was all you had left of your mother. Someday, after your father was gone, you had planned on taking that knowledge south and building a new life; one that would never involve selling yourself to a man either in marriage or a brothel.
Over the past few years, however, legends had turned into reality as reports of Wildings south of the wall began occurring with more frequency and moving further south than ever before. More and more villages were abandoned as small folk sought the safety of settlements near a great house like Winterfell. But your father refused to listen to reason like so many others whose fathers and grandfathers before them had worked The Gift to provide for the Night's Watch.
Now you were hiding behind barrels of wine, beneath the stairs under the trap door that lead to the kitchens wondering if your father was still alive. If he had managed to hide or find his way to safety. You knew he would not survive a fight.
A sudden crash from above broke you from your thoughts. Heavy footfalls shook the ceiling above you as you heard the tossing of furniture and the rolling of barrels. Gathering your black cloak around you, you hugged your satchel of prized possessions, praying you would live to escape from this nightmare.
Light flooded the stairs above you, as the trap door swung open. Dirt rained down with each fall of the heavy footsteps that now descended, step by step. You prayed to gods old and new to keep you hidden, tucking your chin to your chest, trying to conceal your face. Fighting your instincts to following the intruders progress around the cellar, you squeezed your eyes shut and focused on keeping your breathing shallow and silent.
You were sure he was taking stock of the wine, mead, and food stocks that were kept down here. When they left, you would have nothing. But if you were lucky, you would have your life.
You weren't.
The barrel next to you shifted suddenly. A gasp and jump gave you away. An iron grip clasped around your upper arm, dragging you to your feet.
"What do we have here?" a deep voice asked, pulling you towards the light.
You dug your feet into the ground, but the dirt gave way leaving tracks in your wake. Your free hand clutched at anything it could trying to stop your forward momentum. One jerk broke whatever meager grip your hand managed to gain. Your hood fell back across your shoulders as you found yourself face to face with the first Wildling you had ever laid eyes on.
He was tall. So much taller than your father. His unruly hair sat in waves upon his head, long beard covering most of his face. His eyes, fixated on you, froze you to the core. You had expected to see madness, hatred, and rage staring down at you. What you saw was hunger.
The corner of his mouth quirked into a slow grin as his eye traveled over you. Turning from you, he pulled you after him as he ascended the stairs. A reflection of light, sent you into motion. Leaning forward, you grabbed the dagger tucked in the leather straps wrapped around his fur-lined boot. Without thinking, you slashed at the hand gripping your arm. It opened, sending you tumbling, the blade falling from your hand as you reached back to catch yourself.
You scrambled to your knees, crawling to the weapon just beyond your reach. His boot came down on top of the blade as your hand clutched the hilt. His laugh filled the small room.
Tears blurred your vision before warming your cheek as they fell to the ground. He knelt next you, fingers lifting your face.
"You should have stabbed me, girl," he said, voice thrumming with amusement.
His hand moved to the dagger, removing it from your grasp. Your arms crossed over your head blocking the blows you knew were coming. A scream was cut short, your stomach collided with his shoulder as he tossed you easily over it and proceeded up the stairs.
The kitchen was demolished. Table broken. The box with your herbs growing in the window lay fractured on the floor. Everything of value gone.
The Wildling proceeded to the front room where the men of the village had once gathered to enjoy food, wine, and women. Blood pools surrounded the bodies of those who had tried to seek shelter. In the corner, behind an over turned table you saw the boots that belong to your father, splayed in either direction, red seeping around his legs.
It was worse outside. Bodies were everywhere. Men, women, children. All laying where they were slain. Blank eyes staring towards the sky. The village, your home, everyone you had ever known was dead.
Fists hammered at the back of the man hauling you through murder and mayhem. Legs flailed trying to land a kick. Tears collected on your eyelashes and slipped down your forehead into your hairline. You choked on the moisture collecting in your nose and throat as you fought upside down against your captor. A knot in your stomach tightened and bile churned as he laughed at your efforts.
You were lowered in front of him and struggled against his arms that held you against his chest, too close for you to even land an effective kick. The tears flowed freely down your face, you coughed and sobbed until you felt your lungs would shatter.
"Ygritte!" His chest vibrated with the force of his yell.
You were spun around in his arms. Bleary eyes made out a young woman with hair as red as his, running towards you covered head to toe in leathered skins and fur. She looked from you to him and glared.
"Really?" she asked. "You can't be serious." Disgust and contempt dripping from every word, she looked at you as though you were maggoty meat.
"Oh, yes," the deep voice rumble behind you.
Confusion and fear had twisted your stomach. Sobs cramped your sides. Lungs burned in the cold air. Through the pain and anguish, your brain desperately tried to piece together what was going to happen to you. Why wouldn't they just kill you already? You knew it was coming. Why did they prolong your torment? Everyone else was granted a swift death.
Ygritte rolled her eyes. "I'm not listening to that caterwauling for the next fortnight."
You were thrust forward. Held out at arm's length. The woman stepped forward. You registered her arm swinging forward towards you a split second before pain exploded in your face and the world went dark.
Gentle rocking, arms holding you close, it felt too good. A dream you didn't want to wake up from. But your eyelids fluttered open against your better judgement to find yourself in a nightmare. You were staring up at the ginger-haired man who had stolen you from your home after killing and raiding the village. Glancing down, you realized the motion was caused by the steady steps of a horse beneath you.
Clutching at the broad chest behind you, eyes squeezed shut, his arms squeezed tighter. Not wanting to fall, you resisted the urge to fight the embrace.
"First time on a horse?" his deep voice rumbled above you.
You nodded. Horses were for people who traveled. Your father had everything he needed brought in by merchants and traders. He would never have spent money on something that cost more money after the initial purchase. Feeding and keeping a horse alive was a risky investment. So, there was never a need for you to learn how to ride. You were the only business investment your father seemed to care about. And he made sure you could never leave.
Taking a deep breath, you tried to push away from his chest needing to gain what little distance you could. His arms around you didn't budge.
"How is your head?" His fingers lifted your chin.
You raised your eyes to meet his and your stomach clenched at the concern you saw staring back from his blue ones. Jerking your face from his fingers, you mumbled, "Fine."
"Ah…so you can speak? That's good." He patted your thigh. "What's your name?"
You turned your head, staring at the caravan of wildings in front of you. Wagons pulled food, some goats, and other goods. All stolen. You quickly reached for the strap of your satchel and breathed a sigh of relief that they hadn't take it from you. Before you could sink further into your thoughts, his hand gripped your thighs.
"I asked you a question, girl. I expect an answer," the wildling growled.
Turning once more to face him, you said your name through gritted teeth, wanting to slap the smirk that spread across his face.
"Don't you want to know my name?" He winked at you, his teeth showing under his mustache, eyes crinkling in what he must have thought was a charming smile.
"No," replied, crossing your arms.
His whole body shook with laughter, threatening your precarious balance. "You shall have it anyways. My name is Tormund. And you, girl, are mine."
You rode for what seemed like hours. You were cold regardless of your woolen dress and cloak. Winter was well on its way and you feared the frigid temperatures that awaited you when night fell. Grateful for the silence that had settled between you. You turned your attention your surroundings.
The Gift was good farmable land, flat and fertile. You wished it was thick and forested like the lands near Winterfell you had heard of. You might have had a chance of escape with some cover. You shifted uncomfortably trying to will your bladder into silence until the growth of an old orchard came into view. You must be near an old village. It wasn't a forest, but it might do.
"What's the matter?" Tormund asked after you moved once again.
It was now or never. A full bladder was as good an excuse to go into the overgrown tree line as any. "I need to make water," you whispered feeling your cheeks warm.
"Make water?" His brows furrowed then raised. "Ah, you need to piss. Make water…so delicate." His amusement at your expense made you wish you weren't so delicate. Made you wish you were raised to be fierce. Like Ygritte. You hated her for knocking you unconscious, but had to admit she was unlike any woman you had ever seen before.
Tormund lead the horse over to the orchard and dismounted. He reached up, grabbing your hips, and easily lowered you down next to him. "Go. Make your water. Make some dirt too if needs be." He laughed and pointed you towards a small copse of trees a few yards away.
Lifting your skirts, you stepped over fallen branches and general undergrowth. You maintained a slow pace. You ducked behind the trees, squatting to take care of your needs, not knowing when you would have a chance to stop next. Noting the position of the sun, your eyes scanned the horizon for a path to take without being noticed. The trees had become gnarled, lower branches stretching out no longer trimmed, thick with leaves and apples yet to fall. You grabbed a few apples and placed them in your satchel.
A few deep breaths and you took off as fast as you could. Jumping over roots, ducking beneath branches. Your heartbeat rushed in your ears. Never had you done anything so risky. So brave. So foolish.
If you kept heading south, you might find a village in land belonging to the Umbers. You'd barely made it a few yards when you heard your name roaring from Tormund's throat behind you. You pushed your legs as hard as they could go, weaving in and out of trees, trying to avoid detection. You failed.
Snapping twigs and the crunching of underbrush were closing in on you. The pace outstripping your own. Tears prickled your eyes, but you forced them down. You couldn't afford tears now. This could be your only chance. You may not live to take another.
"Did you really think you could outrun me?" He was so close now. His breathing hard.
You chanced a glance over your shoulder. His red brows furrowed, eyes hardened, fixated on you. You stumbled over the trunk of a tree, a sob wrenched from your throat as the tears you had ignored filled your eyes before spilling down your cheeks.
"No!" you screamed as his hands came down on your shoulders, pushing you against the nearest tree. "Please," you gasped. "Please, just let me go."
Tormund bound your wrists together with a strip of leather in front of you. "No. You belong to me now. I underestimated you this time. It won't happen again." He scooped you into his arms and carried you back through the orchard to the horse.
Sitting astride in front of Tormund, weary from tears and sore from the ride, you shivered as the evening wind whipped around your exposed calves, your skirt bunching around your knees. Tormund's arms wrapped around you, pressing you into his chest. "We'll camp soon," he whispered, his beard tickling your ear.
You swayed as the horse finally stopped, bracing yourself as much as you could with your hands tied together as Tormund slid to the ground first. Your legs gave out as soon as your feet hit the ground, and for a brief moment, you were grateful for the arms that caught you.
He carried you to a clearing where people were busy building fires and spits to roast meat. You sat staring at the embers. In the matter of one day, your whole life had gone up in flames. Nothing of who you were yesterday remained. Clutching your bag, you reminded yourself you still had something.
Tormund, sat beside you, staring down at you. "What do you have in there?" He pointed to your satchel.
You hugged it to yourself. You didn't want to speak of yourself, your past. He had stolen those from you. He didn't deserve them.
He leaned in. "I asked you a question. Don't make me repeat it."
Knowing you wouldn't win this argument, you sighed. "Dried herbs. Seeds. And now two apples."
"Herbs? What do you need herbs for? Are you a witch? A healer?" His hand stoked his beard as he studied you.
You shook your head. "Just a cook." At least you were. Now you weren't sure what you were. You would never travel south. You would never work at an inn where travelers would come as much for your food as a roof over their head. You would never be free.
"Cook? That's good. A fine skill." He patted your shoulder and left to fetch some supper.
As he reached the group around the fire, the men all laughed, slapping Tormund's back and shooting furtive glances in your direction. Not wanting to give them the satisfaction of anymore tears, you glared back. One of the men facing you nodded in your direction. Tormund turned and smiled. There was no understanding that man.
He fed you by hand, picking pieces of cooked meat off the bone and holding it your lips. When you protested, he said, "I take care of what is mine." When you were done, he began eating voraciously, his eyes never leaving yours. Was it a Wildling custom to stare?
Stars were infinite above you, the cinders burning low. Your head nodded and jerked back up as you blinked slowly. You couldn't resist when Tormund laid down next to you and pulled you close. You felt the weight of fur cover you. The warmth from his body radiated around you. Turning away from him, you let sleep overcome you.
A gruff grunt brought you out of a deep slumber. You back stiffened as you realized a hand was lifting the skirt of your dress to your hips. Another covered your mouth as your lung expanded ready to fuel a scream.
"Shhh….if you scream, no one will help you. They'd probably want to watch. I just want to bring you pleasure. Pretend I am your old lover. You've been touched before?"
Trembling, you shook your head. You'd never given your favors freely and everyone knew if they tried to take them, their presence would not be allowed in the only tavern for miles.
"No? What a shame," he whispered. "It will limit what we can do until we reach home. You need to be able to ride a horse more than I need you to ride me. Soon enough though."
His hand reached between your legs. Thighs clenched together, he easily spread them, inserting his leg between them, opening you before him. His hand cupped your cunt. Fingers spreading your lips, stroking the folds until they were sleek and wet. You whimpered against his palm pressed against your mouth.
"See how good, I can make you feel. How wet you get for me?"
You'd never been touched this way. You didn't understand how your body could enjoy something so wrong. In the past, you never comprehended why so many women chose to be whores. If this was a taste of laying with a man, their choice made a little more sense. But this wasn't your choice, and you hated your faithless body responding to him.
The touch of his strong fingers was soft and deliberate. Each stroke stoked a warmth deep in your abdomen where a fevered heat bloomed throughout your body. Your hips rocked, whether to escape him or seek him out, you did not know. He found your most sensitive place, circling it until you felt something building inside you. Scared and curious at the new sensations, you fought the feelings threatening to overcome you.
Tormund's fingers left your clit, sinking, first one then two into your cunt. His palm pressed against your mound as he moved inside you. Logical thoughts were pushed from your mind as your hips rolled craving the pressure and fulfilment his hand promised with each thrust.
"Yes," he hissed in your ear. "This is how you move when I'm inside you."
Your breath hitched, back arched as your muscles contracted, spasming around his fingers until you were left gasping for breath. A feeling of peacefulness surrounded you, lulling you into a false sense of safety. Now was not the time to contemplate shame. Now was not the time to think of sin. Now was only the time to drift away into the oblivion your release had provided.
Your life for the next two weeks was much in the same. You ignored Tormund the best you could during the day, pretending the night before had never happened. Acting as if your nipples didn't harden when his hand brush the underside of your breast. Disregarding how wet you became if his hands rested low on your abdomen.
Every night his hands did deliciously wicked things to you. You tried not to give in. Tried not to enjoy it. Every night you failed.
What kind of woman allows herself to be pleasured by the man who took her prisoner? How had you fallen so low? Did the memory of your father, your friends, your entire village mean so little to you? The tears you still shed felt shallow next to the knowledge that the man whose hands took their lives also made you weep with ecstasy.
Tormund was not an easy many to understand. He spent the days sitting behind you telling you outlandish tales and singing bawdy songs. He tried his best to be witty and charming. He didn't seem to mind that you rarely spoke. As long as you answered his questions and followed his commands. When you didn't, his displeasure was fearsome. You'd seen what he was capable of. It was easier to give him what he wanted. If only you knew how much he wanted.
You sat alone watching the Wildlings break camp around you. Ygritte took a seat on a tree stump as she shoved a batch of new arrows in the dirt.
"Where's your man?" she asked, plucking an arrow from the ground and sharpening its edge.
"He's not my man." You glared in the direction Tormund had wandered off towards.
"Oh, he's not?" The young woman laughed. "He took you. He's kept you. That makes you his woman and him your man. Has he fucked you yet?"
You felt your mouth fall open, eyebrows raising to your hairline as you whipped around fast enough to strain your neck.
"I'll take it from those big doe eyes that he hasn't. Well, he's probably behind those trees fucking his fist…or another woman." She threw an arrow on to her growing pile and plucked a new one to work on.
Heat bloomed across your cheeks. Stomach churned, bilious and sour. The thought of him with someone else had never crossed your mind.
She leaned towards you. "If he's not your man, why did your face just turn green?" She sat back, a smug satisfied grin stretching across her face as she watched you. "Yeah, that's what I thought."
You weren't jealous, you told yourself. It didn't matter what Tormund did. Or who. But the thought of him with another hurt just the same. He made it seem like he cared for you, giving you the best bites of dinner, making sure you were warm at night, and not once had he sought his own release after giving you pleasure. Was it because someone else was doing it for him?
Being special to him was your assurance of safety. You knew the only reason no violence had befallen you was because of him. What would happen to you if he didn't want you any longer?
"You don't realize how lucky you are. You've got yourself a good raider, a good hunter, a good man. A man who'll provide well for you and you think he's scum," Ygritte snarled.
You stared at her. How could she not understand? "He helped murder everyone I've ever known."
"So did I. So did all of us. Doesn't make us bad people. We're just doing what we need to do to survive. Maybe your people should have been better prepared to fight."
"Prepared to fight? They were farmers not warriors. You didn't have to k—"
"Ah, here he comes. Looking mighty relaxed." Ygritte picked up all her arrows and moved towards Tormund, pausing to talk to him.
You ignored the way your stomach fluttered when he smiled at you and winked. He was your captor. Your tormentor. That was it.
He reached down to help you up. You knew better than to refuse, but the thought of pushing him over the stump onto his ass made you feel slightly less hostile. He led you to the horse you shared, lifting you up before mounting behind you, following the wagons, and others as the caravan headed to its destination.
Tormund pulled you closer, whiskers and lips tickling your ear as he spoke. "There is no need for jealousy."
"Ha. Jealous of what?" There was no mistaking the slight shake in your voice as it faltered from you false bravado.
"There's no other woman. There'll be no other women for me, save you." The backs of his knuckles caressed your cheek.
"I don't care if there are other women. I don't care if there are hundreds. Maybe then you'd set me free."
"Set you free? You think what you had in that shithole village was freedom? You don't know the meaning of the word free." His hand left your cheek to rest on your neck, applying enough pressure to cause you heart to race. "And you will never see this land again. We board ships and sail the Bay of Seals home tomorrow. You are mine. And you will always be mine."
The rest of the day was silent. Knowing you had angered him both pleased and frightened you. It was at meal times that you realized the extent of his mood. Instead of feeding you from his fingers, he thrust a leg of rabbit in your hand and began eating his without ceremony.
It was the first night he didn't touch you. He turned away from you, but rolled over wrapping his arms around you when you shivered from the frigid night air. You lay staring at the stars, willing yourself to close your eyes and sleep, but rest remained elusive. A need you had never felt before created an ache that would not subside. Pressing your thighs together and pushing thoughts of strong fingers between your legs away from your mind did nothing to alleviate it, making comfort impossible to find.
"If you don't stop wiggling your ass, I'm going to take it as an invitation," Tormund growled through gritted teeth.
You froze immediately. Surely, you didn't want him to touch you. Your body had just been trained to expect it when it was time for sleep. It was a reaction. It wasn't true desire. Was it?
There was a huff behind you as he adjusted his position. "Stupid, girl. You don't even know what you want, do you?"
The hard truth was you didn't. Did you truly want to travel South? It had been your plan for years. But would working in an inn day in and day out for the rest of your life really be fulfilling? You had given up the dreams of marriage and children, telling yourself it was something you had never wanted to begin with. Being owned by another man, chosen by your father, would have been worse than being your father's slave for his lifetime.
You had noticed some curious things about the Wildlings though. The women were outspoken. Some even seemed to have leadership roles. You had never seen a woman command such respect before. They were fierce and skilled with weapons. It might have seemed like a simple solution for Ygritte to suggest the farmers arm themselves…but none of the men her village would have ever put a sword or spear into the hands of their wives and daughters.
What manner of life would you have beyond the wall besides cold? You hadn't even thought about it. But it couldn't be better than your life had been or could be if you ever made it as far south as Winterfell, could it?
You closed your eyes tight, willing yourself to stop thinking about possibly accepting your fate with Tormund. Being his property, doing gods know what for him, and facing the unknown in a land filled with Wildlings. You didn't know which of those scared you the most.
You felt as if you had just fallen asleep when rough hands sat you up and patted your cheeks. It was still dark, but the camp was alight with activity.
"We leave soon. We'll reach the shore in a few hours and set sail," Tormund said as he took the fur you had been sleeping under and rolled it up.
A short while later, you found yourself back on the horse. Without thinking, you settled yourself side saddle, wrapped your arms around Tormund's waist, and leaned your head against his chest. Sleep was more important than pride especially if you only had a few hours to your last chance before leaving your home forever.
The Bay of Seals was nothing like you had ever seen before. The water went on forever it seemed. The Wildlings had managed to get some boats. You watched the waves wash upon the shore as boats were filled with the plunders of the raids. The big debate was whether to slaughter the goats now or somehow get them on a boat too.
You could see the wall in the distance. It was a fearsome sight. What lay beyond the towering ice scared you far more than barrier itself. You made your way south towards some trees on hill in the distance. There was so much commotion and work to do that you might be able to escape without detection. Maybe even get a head start on the other side of the hill out of sight.
No sooner had you reached the trees than you became aware of someone following you. You couldn't run. It would only draw attention that you were doing something you shouldn't be doing. You turned to face Tormund but were met with a face familiar to you. Oryn, was tall and thin. His hair was scraggly down to his shoulders.
"Where's the pretty little kneeler going?" he asked, never leaving yours.
"I needed some privacy," you answered.
"Maybe. Maybe you were trying to run again." He took a step closer. "You know what happens when a man can't keep a woman? Other men can claim them. Tormund's been too soft with you. I think it's time someone treated you like the kneeler you are. On your knees girl."
"No." Tremors shook your body. The thumping of your heart was all you could hear as you tried to think. You should never have tried to leave again. You should have known this would happen.
"No? You think you have a choice? I'm gonna fuck you bloody the way Tormund should have."
A scream ripped from you throat as you turned and sprinted away from the man. There was no out running the man behind you. You knew it, but you pushed yourself to keep going. Prolonging the inevitable.
A hand gripped your neck, pulled you off your feet before you were slammed to the cold ground. All the air seemed to leave your lungs as you rolled down the hill. You tried to rise, but were once more sent down with a vicious back-handed slap across your face. Blood dripped in your mouth from your freshly split lip. Fingers dug in the ground as turned to crawl away. A kick to your stomach flipped you to your back once more. Staring up through the pain, you saw the malice in his eyes as he knelt between your legs tugging at his pants. Tears flowed down your cheeks. His cracked teeth showed through his thin lips as they spread in an evil grin. His victorious countenance faltered as he let out a grunt and fell on top of you.
You waited for him to make his move. For the pain to start. But it never came. You pushed his weight off of you, scrambled out from under his body and saw an axe buried deep in his back. Scanning the area, you find the source of your salvation as your eyes met Tormund's.
He approached Oryn, placing a foot on his back and pulled the axe from his back. "Never liked him much. Now I know why." He lowered himself in front of you. "Are you hurt?"
You stared at this man who had so scared you when you first saw him. His eyes filled with worry as he saw blood on your lips. His fingers ghosted over your cheek which you were sure was swelling. He didn't have to save you. You had made it clear that you did not want to be with him. Did not want him. And yet, here he was taking care of you with a tenderness you had not known since the death of your mother.
Gingerly, you raised yourself to your knees. You inched your way towards Tormund who remained still. Your arms reached up around his neck and you buried your face in his shoulder and shook with sobs. Sobs of relief and of remorse.
His arms wrapped around you, a large hand resting on your head. "Tears. There's no need for tears. I told you before I take care of what's mine. I won't let any harm come to you." He tried to pry you off of him but you clung tighter. "Shh," he tried to soothe. He finally cradled you in his arms and rose.
You cried the entire walk back to the shore. He sat you on the back of a now empty wagon, thumbs wiping away tears. He lifted your chin. "Eastwatch-by-the-Sea is a day's walk that way. You make think those crows would help you, but they're mostly rapists and murders now. Worse than old Oryn. It would take you weeks to get to the next village to south alone on foot. Or you can come with me."
Your brows knitted as you listened. He was giving you a choice? "Murdered, raped, starved, or slave? Those are my choices?" you asked weakly.
"Slave? Who said slave?" He crossed his arms. His glare made you hug your knees to your chest.
You looked at him confused. "What else would I be?"
"Wife. We are Free Folk. We don't own people. We take what we want. I wanted you the first minute I saw you and knew you were meant to be mine when you slashed at me with my dagger." He chuckled. "It's not an easy life, but I can make sure you are safe and keep you warm at night. But you have to choose now."
You had to choose? But what kind of choice was that? Run to the castle and hope they didn't turn you away for being a woman or rape you because you were? Walk for weeks trying to find civilization without knowing what manner of beasts and villains you would find on the way? Or to agree to go willingly with Tormund. To be his wife?
"Ugh, woman. You think too much."
His mouth was on yours in an instant. His tongue part your lips, fingers pulling your hair to angle your head. You felt your knees lower, legs spreading wider over the edge of the wagon as he stepped between, his hips resting against your inner thighs. His hands lowered, grabbing your ass, pulling closer until you felt the hard length of his erection pressing against you. A moan escaped your lips as he rubbed against your pussy until your body rocked against his.
He broke the kiss. "Tell me." He kissed your neck, his hand cupping your breast, pinching your nipple as it hardened under his touch.
"I'll go with you," you answered breathlessly.
"Then let's go before I take your maidenhead in broad daylight on the back of this wagon in front of everyone."
A/N- If you like it, let me know! Thanks!