Hi guys! Here's a new story I've been pondering for awhile but finally gained the motivation to actually write it. This is my take on how season 8 of Game of Thrones should have gone based on the perspectives of my four favorite characters from the series. Please do not judge: if you do not like my story or how I portray my favorite characters then do not read. If you have any questions, just ask. I'm always open to feedback and suggestions.

Disclaimer: All rights belong to George R.R. Martin


Chapter 1: What If

Red and orange bathed the wintered lands as the sun dipped below the horizon.

The wind grew silent as light snow fell from the clouds circling above. Winter was here.

The scent of burning flesh permeated the air, drowning out the stench of sweat and stale blood.

Destruction littered the lands as the curse of death still lingered- the Long Night fought but not yet forgotten.

Through the devastation, those victorious were celebrating.

"Your turn," Tyrion hummed in Jaime's ear, the stench of alcohol on his lips.

The older Lannister brother hesitated, his eyes scanning at everyone sitting around him. Eventually, his gaze settled on Brienne who wore a wide smile on her face. "You-" he began as he pointed at her. "are an only child."

"I told you I was." Brienne retorted immediately.

"You didn't."

"I did!" Brienne exclaimed, unable to contain her smile.

She knew for a fact that she had mentioned to Jaime about her being an only child growing up. The Gods knew how long they had been on the road together, getting to know one another while fighting to survive.

"I surmised," Jaime countered. Brienne wanted to wipe the shit-eating grin off his face.

Tyrion, who had been watching the exchange, gestured towards the wine cup sitting in front of Brienne at the table. "Drink!"

Rolling her eyes, the female knight took her cup and brought it to her lips, allowing the sweet liquid to travel down her nudged Jaime with his elbow. "Go again."

Nearly spitting out her wine, Brienne shot Tyrion an incredulous look. She pointed at Jaime. "Why does he get to go again?"

"Because it's my game." Tyrion mused.

Jaime, with his cheeky grin and all, turned his attention back on her. When he spoke, the words fell from his tongue in one fluid motion. "You have danced with Renly Baratheon."

Brienne licked her lips as she glanced over at Podrick, who merely returned her gaze and shrugged, shaking his head.

"Drink." Tyrion ordered.

The female knight took another long drink of her wine, Podrick kindly refilling it when she was finished. This was the drunkest she had ever been in her entire lifetime. She could feel the tingling sensation of the alcohol in her bloodstream with every fiber of her being and it made her feel all warm and fuzzy. She never drank but winning a battle as gruesome as the one against the dead gave cause for celebration and Tyrion had insisted.

"You were married-" she started, shifting her gaze from Jaime to Tyrion. "before Sansa."

Before Tyrion could deny the claim, Jaime looked at his younger brother and passed him a firm look. "Drink."

Tyrion narrowed his eyes at Jaime, ready to deny the accusation but it wasn't worth it, so the dwarf of a man shook his head and downed more wine from his cup. Brienne shot another quick glance at Jaime before looking back at Tyrion. Since she did not know him as well as Jaime, he was quite hard for her to read. So instead, she said the first thing that popped into her mind.

"You're drinking wine but you prefer ale!"

"No!" Tyrion answered, belting out a hearty laugh as he watched Brienne take another drink of wine.

Once she was finished, Tyrion kept his gaze on her, contemplating his next move. He studied her face, trying to figure her out. After a moment of silence, he spoke. "You're a virgin."

Brienne, not expecting Tyrion's statement, was caught off guard. Her eyes flicked back and forth between him and Jaime as she straightened her posture, her body becoming tense. Tyrion's words had struck a nerve, that much was certain and they could see it. Trying to diffuse some of the tension, Podrick gulped the large sum of wine in his cup, nearly choking on it in the process.

"That's a statement- about the present." Jaime replied, trying to make a point that what his brother had said was uncalled for.

"And at no point in the past or up until this very moment have you slept with a man, or a woman." Tyrion added as he leaned back in his chair, making himself comfortable.

Brienne averted her gaze towards the table, at a complete loss for words. Whatever buzz she had been feeling earlier diminished as she sobered up. Tyrion had insulted her and wounded her pride. She felt uneasy and embarrassed. Swallowing, Brienne stood from her seat and glared at Tyrion.

"I have to piss." she stated firmly as she walked around to the other side of the table to leave, trying to maintain whatever dignity she had left.

Before she could get too far in her escape, a wildling holding a horn filled with alcohol stepped in her way, blocking her path. Her nose twitched slightly. Tormund was the last person she wanted to deal with right now. Looking him over, the way he swayed and the nonsense spitting out of his mouth let her know that he was completely drunk off his ass.

"We did it! We faced those icy fucks, looked right into their blue eyes and here we are." Tormund said with a wide smile, a crazy look in his eyes as he simply stared at her.

Tormund's heart had been set on her since the first moment he laid eyes on her- she wasn't oblivious to that. However, she wasn't interested in romance or entertaining a man, knowing that her purpose in life was elsewhere. She had relayed that to Tormund on numerous occasions, but he still did not seem dissuaded by her words.

"Now, which one of you cowards shit in my pants?" Tormund asked, letting out a maniacal laugh as he looked over at Jaime and the others, seeming to forget about her completely. That was fine enough with her.

"Please pardon me for a moment." she excused herself again, pushing past Tormund and heading out of the hall.

Jaime, being concerned about his friend, stood from his seat. He had barely stood before he was nearly knocked on his ass by Tormund who was having a hard time standing as he made his way over to their table. Pursing his lips, Jaime pat the ginger on the arm before making his way around the wildling to follow after Brienne.

Walking to where her room was kept, Jaime halted when he got to the threshold. Nerves began pooling within his stomach and he had to take a deep breath in order to shake them away. Regaining his composure, he lightly rapped on the door before he could hesitate and change his mind. A moment later, Brienne opened the door. They merely stared at each other in one awkward pause, neither of them knowing what to say.

"You didn't drink." Jaime said, clearing his throat. Looking away from her, he entered her chambers.

"I didn't drink?" Brienne asked, confused. She shut the door behind Jaime. "I drank."

"In the game!" was his reply. He held up the wine pitcher on the table and gestured to it with his fake hand. "This is dornish, I think."

Still confused, Brienne silently watched him as he poured them two glasses of wine. Her eyebrows knit together and her lips pursed. "This isn't a game. This is only drinking."

Jaime looked up at her and handed her a cup. He smiled softly. "Suit yourself."

Blinking a few times, Brienne raised the cup to her lips and took a drink, the two of them remaining silent. She couldn't help but feel awkward with Jaime's presence in her bedchambers. The two of them had been alone before but there was something about this particular encounter with him that felt strange. She thought, perhaps, that it was merely the alcohol in her system making her think too much into things.

"Why do you keep it so warm in here?" he asked her then. Moving past her, he pulled off his jacket and discarded it haphazardly on the bed.

Brienne's eyes returned to Jaime as she set her cup of wine on the table. Her mouth became dry and she swallowed, wiping her hands that had become sweaty on her pants.

"It's the first thing that I learned when I came to the North- to get a fire going. Every time you leave the room, put more wood on."

"Well that's very diligent. Very responsible." he complimented, though his tone suggested sarcasm. It was amusing. This was the Jaime Lannister she knew, the one that liked to crack insults at her. It was the one she hadn't realized she had come to love.

Brienne rolled her eyes. "Piss off."

"You want to know the first thing I learned in the North?" he asked as he stepped closer to her. "I hate the fucking North."

Brienne couldn't stop the smirk that made its way on her face. "It grows on you."

"I don't want things growing on me," Jaime answered with disgust. He took a drink of wine. "How about Tormund Giantsbane? Has he grown on you? He was very sad when you left."

"You sound quite jealous."

"I do, don't I?" he quipped back without missing a beat.

The two of them stared at each other before Jaime eventually forced himself to look away. He chuckled nervously. "It's bloody hot in here isn't it?"

He pulled at the ties to the collar of his shirt, fidgeting with them. Brienne silently watched him, growing amused the more flustered he became. With only one hand to aid him, Jaime was struggling with his shirt's ties. Eventually growing tired and frustrated with his hand, he tried using his teeth to get the tie undone.

Having enough of watching him struggle, she smacked his hands away from his shirt. "Move aside."

She quickly got to work undoing the ties to his shirt. Before she knew it, Jaime was using his only hand to work at undoing the tying on her own clothing. When she realized what he was doing, Brienne immediately ceased her actions and stared at Jaime in disbelief. "What are you doing?"

"Taking your shirt off," he replied, his voice gentle.

Brienne lowered her hands from Jaime's loose ties. She stared at him for a moment before reaching her hands up and finishing what he had started. Once she was done, Brienne reached out and pulled Jaime's shirt off and discarded it on the floor. Boldly, she allowed her own shirt to slide off her body and onto the floor.

"I've never slept with a knight before," he admitted after a few agonizing moments of silence.

"And I've never slept with anyone before," she countered.

"Then you have to drink. Those are the rules."

Brienne couldn't deny that she felt awkward in that moment- standing there half-naked in front of Jaime Lannister in her bedroom. But she also couldn't deny the chemistry that her and Jaime had. It had always been there whether or not they would have admitted it aloud to one another. They had been apart for so long and the two months that they had shared together in preparing for the Great War had reignited those feelings they thought were lost.

"I told you-" she whispered, her sentence abruptly cut off when Jaime's lips crashed into hers. His kiss was nothing short of passionate- it was filled with need.

Returning the kiss, her hands entangled themselves in his hair, letting her body control her every action. Slowly, Jaime inched Brienne back until she could feel her legs hit the bed. Gently, he urged her to lie back. She obliged his instruction without hesitation, giving her consent for him to take her.

Even being this close to her, Jaime couldn't get enough of the woman that had saved his life on numerous accounts. She was the most incredible woman he had ever meant and he swore upon the gods and by his sword that he would always be loyal to her, no matter what fucked up things life had in store for him.

~GoT~

Sandor Clegane sat at a table at the far end of the hall, drinking in silence. Not one for company and certainly not the celebratory type, he sat alone drinking down his sorrows.

He barely paid any attention to Tormund, who had drunkenly stumbled to take the seat next to him, complaining something about a broken heart. "And after all that, the fucker comes and takes her from me- just takes her, like that."

Tormund turned to face Sandor who was doing his best to ignore him. However, the more Tormund spoke, the more annoyed the Hound became. This was exactly why he didn't like people.

"I mean it, Clegane. My heart is broken." Tormund whined, placing a hand on his shoulder.

Sandor slammed his cup on the table. He growled. "Don't touch me."

"You can touch me," a woman with a soft voice said.

Tormund's head whipped around the Hound to see the woman who had just spoken to him. She was a pretty young woman with long dark hair. Her dark eyes scanned over Tormund's disheveled and drunken state. "I'm not afraid of wildlings."

The redhead smirked. "Well maybe you should be."

Tormund stood as the woman approached him and he slung an arm around her shoulders, pulling her close to him. He laughed. "Well Clegane, it's time to drown our sorrows."

"I'm not done with my drink." Sandor said, not even bothering to look in Tormund's direction. He just wanted to be left alone.

Tormund, seeming to have gotten the message, walked off with the young woman. Sandor sighed and closed his eyes, taking a deep breath as he chugged down the last of the wine in his cup. Finally he could have the peace and quiet he longed for. Seconds later that image shattered when he felt a woman sit beside him.

"Are you ready now?" she cooed seductively.

It only took a second for his rough, war-beaten hands to grasp the pitcher of wine from the center of the table and pour himself another drink. "This is my drink."

The woman didn't budge, instead placing her hand on his arm to coax him into coming to have sex with her. Sandor glared at the woman and growled at her like he was a dog telling her to fuck off. It was enough to send her scurrying away.

"She could have made you happy, for a little while." a familiar voice spoke softly.

Sandor glanced up, only to be met with the piercing eyes and flaming hair of Sansa Stark as she took the seat across from him. His lips pursing slightly, he peeled his eyes away from her intense gaze. He stared down at his hands.

"There's only one thing that can make me happy."

"And what's that?" she asked curiously.

"That's my fucking business." he snapped, the words coming out much harsher than he intended. Looking up, their eyes met. She hadn't even flinched.

Studying her face, there wasn't a single ounce of fear anywhere in her. Dare he say she looked comfortable around him. That was new. "It used to be that you couldn't look at me."

"That was a long time ago. I've seen much worse than you since then," she replied as her ocean blues eyed him up and down. A small smirk tugged on her lips.

"Yes, I've heard. I heard you were broken in-" he paused, but only for a brief moment. "I heard you were broken in rough,"

Sandor had heard things, many things over the years. He had heard in passing how the Stark girl was forcibly passed off to the bastard son of Lord Bolton— Ramsay Bolton— to be his wife. The Hound had overheard stories of the vile man that Ramsay had been, torturing countless amounts of people- including forcing himself on Sansa and brutally raping her. The thought of someone hurting her like that made him sick. He only wished he could have been there to put an end to it himself.

"And he got what he deserved." Sansa responded bitterly. "I gave it to him."

"How?"

"I fed him to his hounds." Sansa answered proudly, eliciting a chuckle out of him.

He gave her a kind smile, one of approval. He held the wine cup to his lips as he spoke. "You've changed little bird,"

Silence enveloped the two for a moment before the Hound spoke. His eyes were fixated on the table again, pondering his words carefully. "None of it would have happened if you'd left King's Landing with me. No Little Finger, no Ramsay, none of it."

Sansa remembered that night very well, the night the Hound asked her to leave King's Landing with him. It was the night of the Battle of the Blackwater and she remembered being absolutely terrified.

"The lady is starting to panic," The Hound's rough voice spoke in the dark room, startling Sansa as she whipped around to where she heard his voice.

She could see him sitting in a chair on the other side of the room. He wasn't staring at anything in particular, just merely sitting there. It was strange, seeing him there when there was a war going on just outside the castle walls. Dread pooled in her stomach.

"What are you doing here?" she asked quickly, her voice cracking.

"I'm not here for long. I'm going," Sandor told her.

"Where?"

"Somewhere that isn't burning. North might be good, could be." he answered, sparing her a glance.

"What about the King?" she squeaked, digging her nails into the doll she clutched to her chest as if it were a lifeline.

"Fuck the King. He can die just fine on his own."

Another moment of silence passed before his gaze flicked back over to Sansa. "I could take you with me? Take you to Winterfell?"

Sandor stood and slowly approached her, trying not to frighten her more than she already was. He was offering her a way out, a way to escape the torment and return home to her family.

"I'll keep you safe. Do you want to go home?"

"I'll be safe here. Stannis won't hurt me," Sansa answered quickly, too quickly.

While he was giving her a chance at freedom, she wasn't comfortable going anywhere with him. Sansa didn't trust him, nor did she feel comfortable around him, even more so now that he was drunk. There was no telling the kinds of things that a drunk man would do to a girl her age if she agreed to leave with him.

"Look at me!" he yelled, making her flinch and begin to shake.

He had moved closer to her, close enough to where he could touch her. When Sansa glanced up at him, she could see his eyes soften slightly. It was just enough to assure her that he wouldn't hurt her.

"Stannis is a killer." he stated, his voice much softer than before. "The Lannisters are killers, your father was a killer, your brother is a killer. Your sons will be killers someday. The world is built by killers so you better get used to looking at them."

It was those last words that caused Sansa to build her courage. She knew that the Hound was referring to himself. He may have scared her, but he had also saved her life more times than she could count. She straightened her posture, looking Sandor directly in the eye. "You won't hurt me."

"No little bird, I won't hurt you," he said as he looked at her one last time before taking his exit and leaving King's Landing, leaving the young Stark girl behind.

Sansa's lip quirked up slightly at the Hound's words. They were true and sincere. He meant them. Without thinking, she reached over and placed her hand on his, squeezing it lightly. The notion caught him off guard.

"Without Little Finger and Ramsay and the rest, I would have stayed a little bird all my life."

They stared at each other for a long moment before Sansa removed her hand from his. She stood from the table, making her way out of the hall. Sandor watched as she retreated and only when she was gone did he let his eyes trail down to his hand where hers was only moments ago. He had let her touch him. It was a weird sense- touch. In all his years, he hadn't let anyone touch him, not in an affectionate way like that. Even the whores he had fucked in the past never had the nerve to touch him like that. They were always too scared of him to try.

Lost in his thoughts, he wasn't able to focus. He couldn't get her off his mind. For a long time he had wondered what had happened to her. When he was still in King's Landing, he had done his best to protect her and keep her safe from those that wished her harm. He couldn't always be there for her, but he had done his best. Then when he had left, he had heard of the horrors that had befallen her. It made him sick thinking about all the torment she had to endure at such a young age.

"Fuck it."

Sandor threw his head back and downed the rest of the wine in his cup. Standing from the table, he wandered out the door that Sansa had gone through only moments ago. He was able to spot her right away. She was standing atop the balcony that overlooked the courtyard of Winterfell, her blue eyes staring into the darkness.

Snow fell from the clouds above, dusting the earth in a white blanket. Tightening his cloak around himself to keep the air from chilling his bones, he walked up the steps to meet her. Calmly, he approached her.

"Killing my brother." he stated as he stood next to her.

"What?" Sansa asked, confused. She turned to face him.

Sandor glanced in her direction. "You asked what would make me happy. Killing the Mountain, my brother, would make me happy."

Her eyes softened as the realization hit. "Your brother is the reason you have that scar. He's the reason you're afraid of fire, isn't it?"

A soft but proud smile formed on the Hound's face. He hardly ever smiled like that. "You are quite observant little bird."

Sansa returned the smile. "I've been known to have my moments."

Silence enveloped them as they watched the snow fall from the clouds above. Sandor shivered when a cold gust of wind hit his skin through his large fur coat. He tightened the cloak further around himself.

"It's too bloody cold out here." he grumbled, annoyed. "How can you stand to live in this fucking weather?"

Sansa couldn't help the smirk that formed on her lips. "Winterfell is where I was raised. You could say I have a tolerance for it. I'm sure over time you'll get used to it,"

"I won't be staying long enough to find out," he muttered under his breath.

Another moment of silence passed. Sansa glanced at him over her shoulder. "Is killing your brother the only thing that will truly make you happy?"

The Hound mulled over her question for a moment before he answered. "Perhaps. It's all I've ever known. Killing Gregor is the one thing I've waited for my entire life and it's something I want more than anything."

"And what will you do after your brother is gone?" she asked him.

Life after his brother's death was something he hadn't considered before. Eventually, he shrugged. "I don't know. I'm not sure there'd be anything left for me in this life after my brother is finally gone."

"Well I beg to differ."

The Hound turned to face Sansa then. There was something about the look in her eyes that was different from what he was used to. Sadness, he thought, or perhaps it was pity. Either way, it was enough to give him pause. It was just a small glint in her eyes, but the emotion was there. He could feel it. He didn't understand it.

Finally, he swallowed. "You think you have me all figured out don't you? Think again. You don't know me. You don't know the things I've done, the people I've killed."

Sansa turned and stepped closer to him then, boldly bringing her hand up and placing it on his cheek. He didn't even flinch. Why was he even letting her fucking touch him in the first place?

She began caressing the skin of his cheek with her thumb, the warmth of her fingers contrasting with the iciness of his skin. Her touch was soft, gentle. No one had ever touched him like that except for his mother when he was a babe. He leaned into her touch, finding it soothing. He didn't want it to stop.

"I know enough," she spoke softly. "You don't scare me. Not anymore."

Swallowing, his eyes fit across her face, drinking in her features. He pulled away from her touch. "I should scare you. I'm a monster, little bird, I always have been."

"You're not a monster Sandor. You're not your brother. You're human and you've made mistakes. Those mistakes make you just like everyone else- they make you a man."

This woman was completely catching him off guard and tilting his world on its axis. It was the first time that she had ever spoken his name, his real name. His name coming from her lips was an entirely new sound to him and he liked it. Sandor's mind couldn't properly process what the fuck was going on. Emotions were stirring inside him, ones that he had never experienced before. He didn't understand them or what they meant.

Sandor shook his head. "You don't want this. You're young, you'll find someone that will make you happy. There are plenty of other men in this fucked up world that are more deserving of you."

Sansa stepped closer to him, leaving them only inches apart. She then began to lean in, closing the distance between them. Sandor was rooted to his spot, unable to move. Why the fuck wasn't he moving?

When their faces were only an inch apart, her eyes met his. "They're not you."

She pressed her lips to his.

Her lips were soft and gentle against his own, her movements slow and calculated. There was alcohol on his breath but all he could smell was the lavender radiating from her skin and hair in waves. She was attracted to him, seeing him for the man he was behind the mask. Flaws and all, Sansa Stark wanted him and for now, it was enough.