AWAY FROM THAT LOT
AN: Post season 7. In my SanSan FanFiction, Burning a Northern Winter, Brienne and Tormund meet each other again at Winterfell whilst preparing for the war with the army of the dead, Tormund is as keen to catch the eye of Brienne as he has ever been. He invites her to train with him with dragon glass daggers and they place a wager upon the match. If she wins he must leave her alone for a week; if he wins, she must spend time alone with him. Tormund, having won the bet, has Sansa declare they must spend a set amount of time alone together each day for a week to balance the bet Brienne initially made. Starting with one hour, they must reach agreement each day for the next. This is a record of their seven "dates".
If you wish to read their fight it is chapter 7 (my labels) Burning a Northern Winter.
DAY 1 - 1 HR – MORNING
As far as she was concerned one hour alone with the shaggy ginger would discharge the bet, hells half of that would, but her fear that Sansa would declare much more time each day had encouraged her to agree to the arrangement notwithstanding her reservations.
She strode from the room steely faced with Tormund in hot pursuit, a happy grin spread from ear to ear on the wildling as he came up close behind her.
"May I suggest a stroll around the winter garden?" Sandor called out after them, knowing full well it would anger Brienne further. Her peeved grunt in reply could be heard the length of the hall, despite the breaking of fast commotions throughout.
"Where are we going my beauty?" Tormund asked somewhat apprehensively.
Her sapphire blue eyes rolled in her head, even though he followed behind unable to see her ire.
"Away from that lot!" Was her cold reply.
She found herself climbing the stairs to the roof. At least that way their time alone would be hindered by regular interruptions as patrols carried out their watch. Surely the simpleton was not clued up enough to recognise her plan. When she reached the roof, and looked out over the landscape she felt suddenly becalmed. She wasn't sure why she acted so annoyed around him. In truth she was flattered by his constant attention, though if asked she would deny it until her death. She'd been let down in the past by men, well boys, when she thought upon it. They'd offered false flattery to make her the subject of their japes, and it had undeniably hurt her.
She had to admit, at least to herself, that this seemed different. The wildling appeared genuinely struck by her and had from the moment their eyes had first met all that time ago. His attempts to inflame her desire were beyond crude. (Seriously, was that story about shagging a bear really supposed to garner her attention?) Complexity seemed beyond the man, so she doubted he had it in him to manipulate her the way those boys had done all those years ago.
She knew that there was a hulking mass of man beneath the furs he wore. She'd felt his strength during their fight, the firmness of his muscles and a perplexing heat at his touch. When he'd whispered his sweet nothings in her ear, crude as they were, she'd found her curiosity piqued, even though it angered her to be bested by him. He was certainly handsome of face. After being wild at him when he ultimately won the match, she now found that in the odd moment of reflection she wondered what it would be like to grab him by the beard and pull him into a kiss. It was unlikely she'd find out the answer to that ponderance today.
An hour, on the roof was his lot, and he looked bloody grateful for it too. He was leaning out over the ramparts alongside her, his hand so near that she felt the heat from the side of it warm her own.
"So, what is it like beyond the wall?" She heard herself say.
He spoke lyrically of the place, its cold tundras, icy fiords, and vast spines of white alps criss-crossing the land. The people were hard and hearty, and free from the oppression of societal expectation. It made her almost long for the place. Society had been hard on her. She hadn't fitted the mould of what nobility required of a lady in look, nor in action.
True northern women were as tough as the men, he told her, and no allowance was made for any perceived feminine weakness in battle. They fought alongside the men. No man would hesitate to strike or kill a woman in a fight, or they would find their own life rapidly at its end. If a wildling woman were given the opportunity to meet ladies of the south they would without doubt laugh at them prancing about in their impractical dresses, carrying out their useless past-times. Reliance upon yourself was crucial to survive against the elements and wildlife beyond the wall, and every wildling regardless of sex was proficient at every skill necessary to sustain life.
He told her he would never have left the beautiful vast lands of the true north had he not been forced further south by the army of the dead, but with it he'd become loyal to Jon, an unexpected pleasure, and now he was glad that he had met her.
She scoffed at him and kicked her foot against the wall they looked out over, but again she felt the warm buzz of his flattery.
DAY 2 – 1 HR – MORNING
"Well, are you coming?" She'd said, glaring at him.
"Naturally!" He'd said with enthusiasm.
He still walked behind her as they left, but it was just slightly to her side. One could even surmise he was within her peripheral vision.
Another hour alone to fill. How in seven hells am I to do that? She thought as they stepped out of the great hall and along the corridor. When they reached the courtyard, they stood, looking about. Although many still broke their fast inside, there was already a hive of activity before them. She thought for a moment and strode off towards her room.
"Don't get any funny bloody ideas." She said as they approached the door.
Her jaw clenched, and a small grumbling sound escaped her as she spoke again, "Ugh, we're just collecting some supplies."
Turning to glare at him, she lifted the latch and the door swung open, revealing her spartan room. She didn't mind it that way, needing no reminders of how she would fail to fit the prissy chamber of a proper lady.
"You can carry that lot." She said, pointing to her armour.
She gathered up some small items into a sack and they went in search of a quiet corner of the yard. Finding no joy, they walked out the gates and found a fallen log at the edge of a copse of trees to sit upon.
"We may as well make use of the time." She said, as she set about polishing her armour.
Podrick, her squire, had become proficient at the task, but not outstanding, so extra attention given to the plate would do no harm.
"I've not got a lot of experience with this stuff." He said conversationally. "A good thick hide is about as much protection as a wildling requires."
"It's just elbow grease for the main part. I'm sure you can manage that." She said tossing a rag at him.
They sat together quietly rubbing the metal, when he surprised her by asking a question. The question itself was not unexpected, what caught her off-guard was that he seemed genuinely interested in the answer.
"So, tell me about your home." He'd said. "I told you about mine yesterday, tis only fair you share yourself with me." His grin was hopeful, and ever so slightly charming.
"I come from Tarth, obviously, but I doubt you know where that is?" She said, cocking her head as she waited for an answer.
"You'd be right there." He said, his smile continuing its charm offensive.
"It's an island in the Narrow Sea. It's part of the greater stormlands, which is made up of lands south of Kings Landing. Do you know the area? She asked.
"Know would be a stretch. I've heard of the stormlands, and understand where the Narrow Sea is. What's Tarth like?" He asked, encouraging her to go on.
"It's a fairly large island and so beautiful." She said wistfully. "It's known as the Sapphire Isle for the rich blue water that surrounds it, but a more apt name would be the Emerald Isle. It is green, a green like you have never seen, so lush with high meadows spreading along its many mountains and enticing deep vales. Meadow flowers of every colour explode in spring and summer, and draw clouds of brightly coloured butterflies to their nectar."
She had stopped polishing the metal on her lap, caught up in her own words. "The mountains provide protection from the prevailing wind, so vegetation grows unhindered. Waterfalls snake craggy rock faces, catching the sun and shining like streaming jewels before crashing into deep blue-green pools." She found herself visualising it as she spoke, so real was it in her minds-eye she could almost touch it.
"It would be hard to find anywhere in the whole of Westeros to match its beauty." She added, and as the word came to her lips she felt intensely aware that she herself did not match the stunning beauty of the home she bore the name of.
"No wonder that's where you were born." Tormund said, winking.
Her face twitched uneasily with the comparison he was obviously trying to make, and she looked down at the grey metal in her hand and furiously rubbed it.
"My father is the Lord of Evenfall and the head of House Tarth. I am his only living heir, and no doubt a deep disappointment to him. I don't know what will become of Tarth when he is gone." She said with melancholy.
Tormund grunted and spoke, "How could you be a disappointment to any man? You are strong and capable, what more is there to ask of any woman?" He was genuinely confused by the idea.
"It's not like it is beyond the wall." She countered, shaking her head. "A woman should be beautiful and meek, and serve no purpose beyond match-making and child-bearing." She dropped a piece of plate in frustration, with the words running around in her head.
"What nonsense." Tormund puffed. "A woman should be tough and proud. Meek, what good is that to any man? Meek won't have your back in a fight, or stop it before it starts."
He went on, "There's no such thing as matches beyond the wall. Not when it comes to strengthening allegiances. There's no hierarchy to climb up, only a bloody great wall if you want to snatch a fresh woman from The Gift to warm your bed and heart, and suck your cock."
He grinned and winked again, and she felt herself let out a small laugh. When their hour was over she'd surprised even herself when she found herself offering two hours for the following morning. Suddenly stricken by what the offer may imply, she quickly mumbled something about training for an hour of it. He'd been so delighted, it was hard not to get swept into his enthusiasm.
DAY 3 - 2 HRS – MORNING
He'd hung around her the previous afternoon, as he always attempted to do. You had to admire his persistence. He took every opportunity to be with her, in a crowd, at a meal, any time at all satisfied him. Sometimes he sought her attention, other times he seemed content in her mere presence. She'd found that she was no longer annoyed by it, and by the time the morning arrived she thought she may even be looking forward to their time alone.
They made their way to a field outside the castle without conversation. The snow was patchy, and the ground firm beneath it. She began strapping on the last of her armour and was rejecting his offer of help when she stopped herself, and agreed instead. Feeling her cheeks flush as he buckled an awkward strap, she wondered at how her feelings towards him were changing.
She picked up a longsword and tossed it at him, "Let me see what you can do with this, before we switch to dragon glass." She said, arching her brow as she spoke.
He caught the grip of the sword without flinching, and it gave her a perverse sense of attraction. It was oddly exciting to see his automatic grasp at an unanticipated object flying within reach.
"Remember, I wear no armour." He reminded her as he squatted slightly in preparation, rolling the sword around in the air to gain a feel for its weight and balance.
"I'll try." She said, before adding "Perhaps." She tried to keep her face deadpan as she said it, but a faint smile tickled her lips, and her eye betrayed a cheeky glint.
"Fuck me!" He exclaimed, "You swing hard with one of these!" As the clang of their blades reverberated through the air.
"It's not an occupation for sissy's." She grunted as she swung again, their blades colliding mid-air with another loud clang.
He let go a low rumbling laugh, "Oh, I'm no sissy." He assured her, as he turned and swung again.
Her grunt was loud as she countered the heft of his swing, slipping in snow and landing on one knee as their blades clashed together once more. He leaned over her and breathed in her face, his warm breath heating her skin (or so she hoped), as his lips almost touched her skin as he spoke.
"I'm nothing but man. I assure you." He said, looking straight into her eyes.
He hovered there for a moment, taking advantage of his dominant stance to underline the point, before stepping back to allow her space to stand. There was definitely something weird going on here, she could feel it. Pushing the distraction out of her mind, she made a few aggressive moves to get him on the back foot, and knocked him off balance with the flat of her blade, so he stumbled and landed heavily on his back.
Rather than humiliating or angering him, he seemed to derive pleasure in her besting him, it seemed to fuel his desire. He was altogether a peculiar man. It did not stop him retaliating aggressively, but he did so in such good humour as if to meet her match, to show her he was worthy of her, rather than attempt to display superiority or put down her sex.
When they switched to dragon glass daggers things got rougher. He was not against pulling her by the hair, and she did not hesitate to grab his beard. They'd roll on the ground together, and one or other would end on top, each time taking a moment longer to regain their feet. At one point she found herself with her face buried in the crook of his neck, his beard brushing against her cheek, and she absently breathed in the scent of his skin mixed with fresh sweat and the lingering smell of the animal skins he wore.
Helping each other to their feet at the end of the session, she'd not been abrupt in releasing his hand. A moment flashed between them, and she was glad of the heat and sweat of exertion on her face to hide an underlying flush. She released his hand and mumbled about needing a drink and they'd gone over to a nearby stream to rinse their faces and hands, and cup water to their mouths.
Their conversation flowed easily of fighting methods, past victories and defeats, as they wiped down the swords and filled their remaining hour with chatter, before walking together back to the castle. This time it came as a surprise only to him when she offered him two hours the following afternoon.
DAY 4 - 2 HRS – AFTERNOON
She'd been surprised to see him carrying a basket of food but, after the exhaustion of the previous training session, she knew she'd be grateful for a bite of something after they went at it again. Deciding against armour, she was dressed in a tunic and breeches, having left the longswords behind. Dragon glass spears and dagger-work would suffice for today, in which case there was no need for steel plate. Even she was not convinced by her internal argument, as she removed her cloak, folded it and lay it upon the ground.
She had dressed without armour because she wanted to feel the weight of him, the shape of him on top of her or underneath her. She was never near a man physically unless trying to kill the sod, and always in armour when she did so. Despite their genuine attempts to beat the other, there was something else underlying their angered slashes and stabs, and she wanted the opportunity to feel it.
Feel it she did. When he breathed into her ear, exhausted on top of her it trigged a memory in her body that could not be there. She had no experience of physical love or lust, but there was certainly something her body knew, that she did not. There was a mortal lust when she found herself straddling him, her hand so near his face, wrapped around her dagger handle as she held the blade at his throat. His blue eyes had sparkled at her and his lips twitched, and it took all her power not to drop the dagger and lay her hand softly upon his beard and jaw.
She felt his manhood stiffen beneath her, the skins he wore and her own breeches offering little protection from the power of the blood which pumped rapidly to it. She had hesitated for a moment before climbing off him, and the sparkle in his eye made her feel sure he'd known she'd delayed on purpose.
When they went to the stream to cool their faces, he'd brought the basket with him and a fur, and rolled it out on the ground for them to sit upon and eat whilst they talked. Their hands had met in the basket more than once, and again she was sure they had both felt the delayed reaction, small as it was, of her pulling away. Their conversation turned to the blue light in the sky of the previous night, and she'd been so engrossed in his tale of riding a dragon that she'd not hurried him to finish when their second hour was done, in fact she suspected it was well into a third hour when they finally started making their way back to the castle.
"What of tomorrow?" He asked.
"You may decide when." She said, bumping her arm against him as she said it to confirm the generosity of the offering.
He smiled broadly. "Sansa told me of an enchanting place and suggested I take you there. It's only a short ride away, if that would be alright with you?" He asked hopefully.
Her eye narrowed and she looked at him suspiciously, but it was only in mock jest. "Alright." She said curious. "What time?"
"Dusk." He smiled. "Meet me at the stables, I'll be ready to go."
She nodded, and a small pit of nerves bundled in her stomach that steadfastly refused to shift all night.
AN: THANKS for reading. I appreciate your time. Please review if you have a moment, all feedback is greatly appreciated. Itching to write the next date, and reviews often inspire.