They had ridden in silence for the better part of the day. Brienne had taken the lead sitting proudly atop her chestnut mount, chin held high, eyes set straight ahead. Her angry seething had finally subsided, leaving her a bit unsure of where to begin speaking after staying quiet for so long. Truthfully, she was surprised that he had acted almost courteously since they had met again. She began to think that maybe he was trying, perhaps his best, to help her feel comfortable. She lowered her head at the thought, part of her grateful, part of her feeling a bit guilty for expecting the worst.
Tormund had spent the day enjoying the view of Brienne of Tarth from behind. Gods, she was the most captivating woman he had ever laid eyes on. He had dreamed of her each time he had closed his eyes since the first day he saw her at Castle Black. What in the Seven Hells was wrong with that pretty boy Lannister fool. Brienne had been the Kingkiller's for the taking, and he had used her and thrown her away. Tormund would have held on to her for dear life. She was strong, independent, and could fight better than anyone he had ever seen. She was not one of those fragile kneeler women who succumbed to the cold, or died bringing their children into the world. A man could conquer the world with a woman like that at his side. He loved her with all of his heart.
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The sky was beginning to darken in the east, the clouds overhead taking on a purplish hue. Nighttime would soon be upon them. They were so far into the heart of the North that they had left the King's Road behind hours ago. Since then Brienne and Tormund had seen nothing but miles of white covered ground stretching beyond them in all directions.
Brienne brought her horse to a stop and surveyed the land ahead. Tormund drew up beside her and at last was able to take in the full glory of her profile. She pointed to a stand of evergreen trees in the distance. "We should take shelter for the night." She almost ordered. "That should do."
His smiling eyes followed in the direction her finger indicated, and nodded his agreement. "Whatever you say." He could not help but flash her his most appealing grin, attempting to win her over with his famed charm.
Brienne nodded, ignoring his allure, and began to lead her horse on toward the forest when Tormund reached out, placing his hand on her arm to stop her. She stared at him, not understanding, but stilled the horse and waited.
Without a sound Tormund climbed down from his horse and reached across the saddle packs to retrieve a bow and arrow. Brienne bristled in the saddle and peered around nervously, alert for danger. She looked again at Tormund. He was not alarmed. He was calm and meticulous in his actions. She watched him notch the arrow in the bow. There was no sound. Even his feet made no echoes on the snow as he crept into the open field near which they had stopped. It was as if he had become the very wind itself. Brienne watched mesmerized as Tormund came to a stop, crouched slightly and raised the weapon to his eye. Needing only a slight second to aim, he let loose the arrow. It traveled so fast, that Brienne could barely see it as the thin piece of wood sped across the barren meadow. Finally, Tormund's arrow found its prize. Over a hundred yards away, a fat rabbit shuttered and spun as the arrow tore through its body. It fell to the snow lifeless and without suffering.
Brienne could not take her eyes off Tormund as he trod across the field to retrieve his kill. She had not even seen the animal at such a distance. As Tormund returned, drawing closer, she saw that most of the animal's fur was as white as the ground that had surrounded it. She knew she could not have made such a clean, quick shot from that distance. Perhaps he was more than just boasting and bravado. Perhaps she had a lot to learn about her Wildling traveling companion.
Marveling at his skill, Brienne gave Tormund a genuine smile while he proudly held up his kill for her to examine, happy to provide for his lady love. "Dinner." He proclaimed.
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Upon reaching the stand of trees among which they would take refuge for the night, Brienne was first to alight from her horse. Tying up her mount to a nearby low branch, she was eager to get a fire started and begin building a shelter. Wasting no time, she started gathering stones to create small fire pit. Tormund took his time dismounting and tying his horse beside Brienne's. He was lost in watching her actions. She was no stranger to hard work, she seemed to welcome it. What a helpmate she would be. He dropped the rabbit carcass near the circle of stones Brienne had laid out. Then drawing his sword, he joined her in cutting branches off the trees. Leaning the limbs against each other, they soon had a tiny hut that would protect them from the frigid elements for the night.
They had angled their shelter so the fire could be built outside the entrance, close enough to warm the interior but at a distance that would not present a danger. Brienne used her sword to strike a flint stone, starting a fire, and fed it with the kindling that lay all around under the evergreen trees. Soon there was a small but adequate blaze beginning to warm them. Tormund finished laying out their bed rolls and furs inside the hut, and turned his attentions to cleaning and preparing his kill for their meal.
They quickly fell into a knowing rhythm as they worked to ready themselves for the cold night ahead. Brienne used her knife to fashion a roasting spit out of several twigs. Truthfully, her toils to stay busy were more from an effort to avoid watching Tormund gutting and skinning their dinner. Since she was a young girl and her father's Master At Arms had assigned her to the slaughter house at Evenfall, attempting to toughen her up, she had avoided the task of butchering game whenever possible.
She looked up from positioning the skewers over the fire just in time to see Tormund ripping the flesh from the rabbit carcass leaving only the sinewy muscles to be roasted. She could not veil her reflexive gasp, and looked away, repulsed. He noticed, and hurried to finish in order to cause her no further distress.
Once the meat had been secured to the skewers Brienne had sharpened and placed over the fire to cook, Tormund sat down beside her where she had cleared a patch of snow from the ground. They sat in silence as the meat cooked, giving off a mouthwatering aroma in contrast to the wretched site it had been a few minutes before. Brienne had taken a skin of wine from her saddle bag along with two small pewter cups. She poured one cup full and handed it to Tormund. The other she filled by half for herself. He downed his in one gulp, and she handed him the skin.
After filling his cup again, Tormund removed the cooked rabbit from the fire, and used his knife to split the roast. He handed one side to Brienne, who began to nibble lightly at it. He attacked his with a ravenous vengeance. She could not help but remember the last time they had actually shared a meal, and how he devoured that bread at Castle Black. A slight smile passed over her features at the thought. They ate in silence for a short while, until Tormund spoke up quizzically.
"How is it you can kill a man in battle, but you have no stomach for butchering game?" He asked smiling. He had not meant it as an insult, merely and observation of yet another quality he found wonderful about her.
Brienne's cheeks reddened and she looked away, studying the ground in a far too engrossed manner. Timidness at that moment would have never been questioned in any other woman. Was everything about her to be mocked? Tormund noticed her crestfallen and angry reaction, and realized she had mistaken his meaning.
"I'm not judging, mind you." He tried to correct his error. "It isn't the most enjoyable thing to do." He gave her a nervous smile that told her he was trying his best.
Something within Brienne realized she had no reason not to trust him. He had been understanding and helpful today, and so full of surprises. It was he who had killed, butchered, and cooked their dinner, and she did not want to seem ungrateful. Brienne supposed it could do no harm to enlighten him as to the reason for her disgust.
"When I was a girl, ..." Brienne started slowly, staring into the fire, somehow trying to burn the horrifying memory out of her mind. "...When I began my training with the Master At Arms of my father's house, Ser Goodwin, I hesitated while sparring. He said I was not hard enough to fight in battle." Her gaze was distant, as if lost in the past. Tormund said nothing, but listened carefully to her every word. She poured her painful memories out to him, glad to finally release them. "To harden me, he gave me a new duty in the slaughter house with the butcher." She swallowed hard, but continued. "Mine was to slit the throats of all the piglets and lambs." She closed her eyes, as if the thought was too disturbing to face.
Seeing her pain, Tormund stirred. He moved closer to Brienne, wanting to ease her hurt somehow. She did not see his movement, but went on with her recollection. "How they cried and screamed. I think my sobs were just as loud." She stiffened. "By the end of day, I was covered in blood from head to foot." Tormund saw how the retelling of this foul event pained Brienne. Her breath was coming in shallow waves, and she gasped as she spoke. "I had my clothes burned." She said in a whispered. Her face hardened after a moment to a proud stare. "But I have never hesitated in battle." Her fist clenched in triumph. "When I wield my sword against a man, I never flinch."
"I've seen you in battle," Tormund spoke up proudly, remembering Brienne's valor at Winterfell. "You fight as well as any man. Better than most." He reassured her, as his eyes beamed with pride. "I would fight beside you any day, anywhere." He vowed.
Brienne shook the image of the long ago trauma from her head, as if Tormund's voice had brought her back to the present. Even as he smiled at the thought of her bravery, she looked away to hide the embarrassment on her face. She had not meant to be so candid, to give so much of herself away. Understanding her discomfort, he laid his hand gently on her forearm. He wanted to tell her he hated the beasts that forced her to endure such torment as a child. He wanted to tell her he would find them and slit their throats if she wanted him to.
"I'm sorry they did that to you," was all he said quietly to her.
Her eyes glistening with stifled tears, Brienne lifted her face to his to find the same sorrow at her torment there. Part of her was so overwhelmed at his empathy for her that all she wanted to do was to lose herself in the deep blue pools of his eyes. The part of her that won was that which wanted to crawl away and hide. She snapped herself back to her usual stoicism, and hid her emotions as quickly as she allowed them to surface.
"Well." Brienne announced uncomfortably. "If we're going to get an early start tomorrow, I'd better get some sleep." She hopped up as if the ground around her were on fire. Remembering her courtesies she added, "Thank you...for the dinner." She bashfully turned her head to eye him from the corner of her lowered gaze. "...and...for listening." She added truly grateful but overcome with awkwardness. Before Tormund could answer she disappeared into the shelter, leaving him watching her go.
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Tormund sat considering what he had learned of Brienne from their short conversation, as he drained the wine from the skin flask. He already loved her more than even he could imagine, and yet every new piece that added to the complete story of this incredible woman made him love her more. How was that possible? How could total perfection be improved upon? She seemed to know some magic secret, because every time he laid eyes on her it felt like his heart would burst from how much he adored her.
He had thought he would never see her again, after Winterfell. Tormund hoped that after the Kingkiller had gotten what he had wanted from Brienne and crawled back into the night that she would turn to him. He knew he could have healed her broken heart and won it for himself. But they had not seen each other after that. Then, he went North of the Wall with Jon, and she had gone South to a new life in a Kings Landing. He truly had tried to forget her. He spent so many sleepless nights battling to chase her from his thoughts. It was no good. He would go to his grave belonging to her.
Then, there it was, what he had wanted most was being handed to him. Jon had chosen him to ride with her. He was certain this meant only thing, that they were destined to be together after all. Jon had understood. He had told Tormund of the differences in courting a southern woman. It called for manners and subtlety. Both of which he was lacking. He agreed to try, but it felt awkward and fake. He wanted Brienne to fall in love with him, not some fancy part he was trying to play. Besides, she had barely said a word until they had made camp. How was he going to win her over when she would not even speak to him?
He sat on the cold ground, lost in thought, until the soft rhythmic sound of Brienne's breathing from the shelter behind him eased him from his pondering. He fed and stoked the fire until it was large enough to burn through the night. Then he crawled into the hut they had made and onto his bed roll directly opposite Brienne. Sleep still would not find him, however, as he reclined against the furs and studied her.
Brienne was an angel laying there fast asleep, her features bathed by the soft firelight that shone inside their refuge. The fur under which she rested was laid across her waist. She had removed her armor and in her slumber her cloak had fallen beneath her lean round shoulder exposing the fabric of her tunic and the outline of her breast beneath. She was not generously endowed in that feature, but Tormund could tell just from the outline of her form that she was perfect. He allowed himself to imagine the sweet pleasure of exploring those perfect breasts with his tongue, of feeling the softness of her beneath his aching hands. He wanted nothing more than to be beside her, holding her in his arms. His body began to react to the thoughts of her, and he forced himself to lose his imaginings on other wonders about her.
He was glad she had shared her memory with him earlier. It was painful, but at least it was a connection. Perhaps something to build upon. He wondered what other experiences had shaped her. He thought of the exotic far off island from which she came, Tarth. Even that name was lovely. He had heard about the wonders there, but had no reference to truly picture them. Crystal blue sapphire waters, shadowy vales, veins of white marble stone, lush green mountains that met the sea, meadows of wildflowers. He did not know what a southern wildflower looked like, but he supposed them the most beautiful blossoms in the world. He could scarcely imagine an entire field full of them. Whatever they looked like he longed to lay her down in them. Filling his mind with that glorious image, he laid back against the furs and finally fell into a deep sleep. All during the night he dreamed of her.
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The next morning, Brienne awoke to the sound of sweet singing birds. She had slept just as soundly as when she had arrived again at Winterfell. The first night she had not dreamed of Jaime. The night she had dreamed of ...Tormund. She blushed at her memory, and then realization returned to her of where she was. She raised herself up on her elbow and surveyed the inside of the shelter through sleepy eyes, pained slightly from the first light of day. Tormund had been sleeping across from her, but had stirred apparently upon hearing her move. She noticed that his only protection from the cold was the layer of furs he wore. She looked down and realized the top fur from his bed roll had been draped across her body. She stared at the large thick pelt, thoroughly confused.
Sitting up, he smiled at her. "Good Morning." He beamed lethargically. He appeared to have not gotten as much sleep as she had.
"Good Morning." Brienne answered peering at her fur blanket, baffled.
"This is your fur." She stared. "Why am I...?" She began to question.
He answered before her inquiry left her throat, anticipating the information she sought. "You shivered in the night," was all he said.
She could not believe his selflessness. He had given up his fur so she might be warm. "You must be freezing." She looked at him with concern.
"You forget where I'm from." He chuckled. "This is more like a warm spring day to me."
Her eyes softened. No one, except for her own father, had ever been so thoughtful and considerate of her needs before. "Thank you." She said softly, studying him as if she was seeing him for the first time.
His eyes met hers, and returned her smile. "Anything for you." He answered before turning to gather up the furs upon which he had laid.
She stayed transfixed, studying him. Her hand went to her mouth to stop a giggle at his sleepy disheveled appearance. The breath caught slightly in her throat at pondering his rugged frame. She actually found him quite handsome. Brienne made a silent vow to be kinder to him. Perhaps she has misjudged him.