Floor, sugar, honey… I think I've got everything in here, Brienne thinks as she inspects all the ingredients on the table in front of her, collected from Winterfell storeroom. I hope I'm not forgetting anything.

"What are you doing, love?" a familiar baritone voice startles her, making her quickly look up.

"Damn it, Tormund," she grunts, her heart pounding. "You scared me!"

"Sorry, I didn't mean to," he beams an apologetic beam. He is leaning against the kitchen doorway and holds a mug. "So, what you doing?"

She beams back at him. "I'm about to bake some honeycakes."

"Honeycakes?"

"Yeah, it's one of my favorite desserts. I've been dying to eat them, but I don't trust anyone in here to bake them, so I'm doing it myself."

"Didn't know you can cook," he comments as he leaves the doorway and places himself opposite to her.

"And I can't," she explains, a hint of sadness in her voice. "I wish I could cook something, but, apart from the odd rabbit stew when I'm on the road, I'm quite bad at it. I can bake honeycakes though."

"I ain't one for southern food, but now you got me curious," Tormund admits. "Looking forward to them.

When he places his mug on the table, when Brienne takes another look at the items and suddenly gasps, "Gods, the ale! I forgot the ale! I'll get some in the storeroom."

"Oh no, no, no," the red haired man stops her before she even gets the chance to leave the table. "Don't you worry, Brienne. Here, you can have mine," he offers her his mug.

"Are you sure?" she frowns after a brief pause, not wanting him to waste his drink.

"Aye. This ale ain't very good. I'd rather have some sour goat's milk, anyway. Take it."

He is right; the ale here is not very good. But she takes the mug from his hand, glances down at it and then at him.

"Thank you, Tormund," the lady knight smiles. "I think this much will do. And I think I have all I need now."

"You're welcome," and with that, he sits down on a stool. "Want me to help?"

"Oh," she blinks, slightly taken aback by his solicitude for some reason. "Yes, thank you."

With a beam on his face, Tormund moves around the table in order to stand beside Brienne, and together they start mixing the ingredients in a huge bowl.

"You look so gorgeous when you bake, love," he tells her at one point.

She feels her face burn at both the intensity of his gaze and his words. She giggles, "Well, I look gorgeous doing pretty much anything for you."

"That's because you are beautiful, Brienne," he declares in a serious voice, which makes her stop what she is doing to stare at him. "Believe me when I tell you that."

It is not that the blond woman does not believe him; the man has always honest with her. It is just that she is still getting used to all his praise. It is like he has been trying to make up for all those times she was called ugly. If she is being honest with herself, it is working.

"I do, Tormund. I do," she replies quietly.

"Good."

"And… thank you." She presses her lips to his in a chaste kiss before she returns to her task.

Brienne is glad Tormund and his huge hands are here to help her knead the mixture, but when it comes to shaping the buns, he shows himself to be less than useless, constantly distracting her with kisses all over her face and neck, causing her to stop to either laugh or playfully hit him.

Eventually, the cakes are ready to bake, and Brienne arranges them in a tray and puts them in the oven.

"Alright. Now we have to wait half one hour or so," she says.

This is when Tormund approaches her and flashes her one of his leers, one eyebrow arched.

"I was thinking," he begins, his voice husky, his face only inches from hers. "Maybe we could have a quick one while the cakes bake." He then wraps one arm around her waist and kisses the skin below her ear.

"A quick one?" she snorts, but gasps at the feel of his teeth on her sensitive spot. "Since when are your 'quick ones' actually quick?"

"Look what you've done to me." He makes his point by pressing his hips against hers, and Brienne is unable of holding a gasp back when she feels his hardness. "Not my fault you arouse me so much, especially baking."

"Gods, Tormund," she pleads, her breathing getting labored, as he nibbles her earlobe. "I don't want to let the cakes burn."

His mouth leaves her ear to kiss her mouth, deeply. "They won't. It will be real quick, I promise."

Brienne has to admit, she has reached a point where she can no longer deny him, even if she wanted to. She knows, however, that this will not be as quick as she would like, and she still craves for her honeycakes. Half one hour will be enough. I only hope we won't be caught.

"Fine," she finally concedes with a smile, but shaking her head at the same time. As she grabs his hand and takes him to the storeroom, she mockingly threats him, "But if they do, I swear I'll cut your balls off."

"Sure you will, love," her lover responds after he throws his head back in laughter.

"Seven hells, how I missed his," Brienne moans after her first bite of her honeycake, her mouth full. "Almost as good as my father's."

She literally had to run from Tormund's arms before they engaged in a second 'quick one', but she managed to get to the kitchen just in time to take the cakes off the oven and pour honey over them.

"It's delicious," Tormund agrees. "I'd never eaten anything like this before. Very, very good."

"Thank you. It's an old recipe from my family," she states as she finishes her first bun. "My old father taught me to bake them, who had learn from his mother. He says you can't call yourself a Tarth if you can't bake honeycakes."

"And you never wanted to learn to cook?"

"No. I was never interested in cooking. I'm better with a sword, as you well know," she winks.

"That I do," he giggles as he grabs a second bun.

They keep chatting and enjoying each other's company as they eat their honey cakes until, by the time she bites her fourth cake, Brienne feels a mild dizziness and some discomfort in her stomach, which makes her drop her food.

"What's wrong, love?" Tormund asks, alarmed. "You look pale."

She puts one hand on her belly. "Oh, I don't know. I feel sick for some reason."

"Could it be the cakes?"

"Probably. I-" before she has time to finish her sentence, she is overcome by that unpleasant sensation of something going up her pharynx and the taste of bile in her mouth. Her hand flies to her mouth and she leaves the table as fast as she can towards the first empty barrel she finds outside the kitchen, where she disgorges all the honeycakes she has eaten.

Brienne can hear Tormund calling her from behind, his hands on her arms, as she coughs, bent over the barrel. Once her vomiting ceases, she slowly raises up, still feeling dizzy, and he starts to carefully clean her face and lips with a piece of cloth. When he is done, he takes her face in his hands.

"You alright, Brienne?" he inquires, his tone filled with concern.

"Ugh, I think so," she groans. "Thank you, dear. What about you? Are you feeling well?"

"Aye," he nods. "I am well."

"I don't understand. All the ingredients seemed fine to me. It must have been that horrible ale. Or the almonds."

"Aye. Maybe," he replies, but suddenly he gets distracted. His face shows worry, but something else at the same time. Could it be… suspicion?

Brienne frowns, confused. "What? What's it, Tormund?"

Tormund blinks a couple of times, as if waking up from a dream, before he suggests, "Perhaps you should go to bed and get some rest. I can find the maester, he must have something for you."

"Yes, I think you're right. Let's go," she sighs, feeling exhausted. And so, arms wrapped around each other, side by side, the couple head to their chambers, leaving the unfinished honeycakes on the table.