Game of Thrones Imagines Book Two

Stuck - Tormund x Reader

"Why did it have to be you? I mean, out of everyone, why did it have to be you? Baylor would have been a delight. Genmund would have been wonderful. Dantis would have been fun. But nooooooooo. I had to get stuck with you." (Y/n) groaned, as she pulled the old, moth eaten blankets around herself. Trying her best to warm up, using the small fire that Tormund had been able to rustle up. The cold still cutting through her despite her furs.

"Look woman. Ya not the only one that's not happy about this situation. I would rather be stuck with havin ta face the Night King and his hoards again. But we both lucked out now, didn't we?" Tormund groaned in return. The big red man dropping down onto the floor, on the opposite side of the fire. Doing his best to ignore her.

"Well, if it wasn't for you, we wouldn't have got stuck here in the first place. Would we? Ser I know what I'm doing. Ser I kill giants. Ser I'm such a damn know it all, and I know where I'm going, Giantsbane. (Y/n) hissed in reply, as she remembered that if there was one thing that she hated, it was being cold. And being cold and stuck with Tormund Giantsbane, just made it all ten times worse.

The mission was supposed to be simple. Just go out on a patrol beyond the Wall. Nothing seemingly new. Jon insisting that (Y/n), and Tormund were the best ones for the job. And that spending some time together, might just thaw out their frosty relationship.

To begin with, it had gone well. The trip into the frozen lands had proceeded without a hitch. Yet, when it had come to returning home, Tormund had insisted that he know a better way. A way that was safer, quicker. But that had not been the case. The track had become impassable. Their horses falling into a deep crevasse. The pair finding that they had had to change their plans quickly and make a run for it through an opening that that neither of them recognised. Unfortunately having to take refuge in an ancient rundown wooden shack at the base of a steep hill. A shack that was now snowed in, with no communication between the waring duo and Jon, the Nights Watch, or the other Free Folk.

"Don't ya ever stop complaining? I mean, seriously. And ya nag too. Sometimes I would swear that we were married............"

"Oh please. I wouldn't marry you even if you were the last man in the world. And I do not complain or nag. Also, I will have you know, that being married to me would be like a dream.........."

"Aye, it would be a dream alright. I believe that those dreams a called nightmares." Tormund scoffed. Interrupting the interruption. The Wilding smiling smugly, as (Y/n) growled under her breath.

"Has anyone ever told you, that you are a pompous, arrogant ass. Who has a face that closely resembles a Wight's backside? And that you have the manners of a Kings Landing gutter rat!" (Y/n) exclaimed, as she got to her feet. Deciding that she had already spent more than enough time looking at Tormund's face. The female warrior choosing instead to search their refuge, looking through the cupboards and boxes of the run down shack, in hopes of finding something that could be more edible than the dried meat that she had in her bag.

"What are ya looking fa?" Tormund sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose as (Y/n) banged cupboard doors and threw boxes.

"Something.........anything.........."I don't know." (Y/n) replied. Doing her best to ignore the Tormund's continued grumbles.

"There ain't gonna to be anything. This place probably hasn't been used in a hundred years. We're just lucky that it's still standing. I.........."

"RUM!" (Y/n) suddenly declared, as her freezing fingers brushed away the dirt from the label. The full bottle of spirits, promising warmth, and an escape from the big man's constant whining about how bad a warrior she was.

"And given the vintage, I would say that this place hasn't been used in two hundred years. I'm surprised that this isn't just vapours. Someone like Tywin Lannisters, would have paid a fortune for a bottle like this." (Y/n) chuckled, as she made her way back to the fire. Dropping unceremoniously to the floor, and slowly, ever so slowly, separating the bottle from the stopper. (Y/n) taking in the heady aroma and sighing happily.