Hi readers! I know it’s been a while and it’s strange to return with a Fanfic post, but here we are. I promise to have more book reviews and post on writing soon, but with the end of Game of Thrones I thought it might be nice to post something fun.

***Minor Game of Thrones Spoilers***

Tormund took a deep breath, feeling the stiff air, the frost that still lingered even as the world thawed. He smiled. He was home, beyond the wall, back where he belonged. He waited as Ghost sniffed and pawed at the frozen earth. The dire wolf raised his head, flicking his torn ear.

Tormund had taken the wolf down from Castle Black where they had been staying with the other survives of the battle of the dead. It had been cramped and crowded in the castle and both the wolf and the wilding needed some space. Tormund thought a walk would do them both a measure of good.

“Find something?” Tormund asked. Ghost stared back at him, before trotting up, tail swaying behind him. “Nothing?” Tormund asked as they continued on. The wolf kept his snout focused on the path ahead.

Tormund grunted, ahead was always better than behind. He took big steps to keep up with the wolf. They traveled in silence for a bit, Tormund taking the measure of his silent companion.

“Do you miss him?” Tormund asked, after they stopped to drink from a stream thick with ice melt.

Ghost looked at him. “It’s alright if you do, I miss him.” Tormund admitted. They continued, “Don’t be sad about him leaving you behind.” Tormund said, “His name’s snow, he belongs here as much as you or I. He’ll be back come summer when the green returns. The Crows never could never handle a true winter.”

Ghost snorted.

“I know it’s hard.” Tormund said, his eyes fixed on Ghost’s missing ear. “We fought the dead, we survived only to get our hearts broken.” Tormund grunted, thinking of the big woman. “It’s the way it is, but it’s better here, we’re free.”

Ghost whined as they turned down the path.

“I know it hurts. Jon is a good man, a king if any man is a king, but he’s from the south.” Tormund said. “They might make good iron there, but they make shit men. It’s their lords, and kings, and keeps. It makes them mad; they fight wars over stone and metal and who owns who, they aren’t free, their minds aren’t right.” Tormund stopped, blinking at the insanity “They ride dragons!”

Ghost stopped. He looked down, before craning his head up in mournful howl.

“What?” Tormund asked. Ghost looked at him, ear tucked behind his head. “No!” Tormund said shaking his head. “He didn’t leave you for the dragon! He’d never do that.”

Ghost gave out a panting bark.

Tormund came over and padded the wolf on the stomach. “I mean it, he wouldn’t! The dragon’s not even his! It’s that dragon queen lady.” Tormund titled his head, “What do you think of her? A woman that can ride a dragon, that’s quite a woman. But the people that follow her, you know the Unsullied don’t drink? Not even after he we killed the dead! Who doesn’t drink after that?!”

Tormund grinned, “But her horsemen, the Dothraki? They drank, they drank well.” Tormund laughed, “Jon should bring some of them when he returns, they would do well here.”

Ghost nestled Tormund’s hand looking for more rubs. Tormund abilaged, nodding to the wolf. “I know, I know, it hurts, come, come on, the cold makes it better.”

They kept walking, talking of the battle and the future for the Free Men now that the dead were gone. Tormund talked for so long he didn’t realize how far they had traveled from Castle Black. He didn’t smell the smoke of their fire until he was on them.

Ghost growled. Tormund stopped. There were four Wildlings in front of them, two with bows, a big bastard with an axe, and a hairy fucker with two long knives. Tormund remembered the hairy fucker.

“Korse?” Tormund said, “You’re alive?”

Korse blinked, “Tormund fucking Giantsbane? I was going to say the same thing about you!” Korse girned, his yellowing teeth parting his hair fucking face. “I thought you went with the Crows to fight the dead.”

“I did.” Tormund said, “We won.”

Korse looked to the others, they looked back at him and then up at Tormund. They were afraid, Tormund smiled, they should be.

“So, the Night King’s dead? What a thing,” Korse shook his hairy fucking head.

“It was.” Tormund said, looking at Korse. “Where were you? Everyone from Hardhome to Wall was supposed to be dead; was hoping you were one of them.”

Korse laughed and his men laughed. “No, we’ve been doing great! Stayed back from the dead but followed close.” Korse leaned in like he was telling a secret, “See, when people die, they leave their stuff and if you’re not dead you get to take that stuff, with everyone dead, we got a lot of stuff.”

Tormund nodded, “Ah, so you’re wearing extra furs Korse. I thought you just got fat.”

Korse laughed again, it was rattling, not-all-together laugh. “Not fat giant fucker—”

“Fucker?” Tormund said snarling, “I didn’t fuck any giant. I suckled on her tit, she was like a mother to me!” Tormund shrugged, “I did fuck up her husband, but—”

“I get it big man,” Korse said, “So what you doing back? You the only one to survive?”

“No,” Tormund said, “Many Wildlings did. I’m leading them, we’re wintering in Castle Black, but come summer we’ll be heading home.”

Korse looked to his men. Tormund noticed that they had a lot of stuff. They had on extra furs, armor, weapons. They wore roped necklaces full of trinkets: spoons, dog teeth, feathers, needles, arrowheads. Every time they moved their stuff rattled. They looked at each other with sunken eyes and twitching fingers. Tormund remembered the frantic flight from the dead, how they had fled like mice. He couldn’t imagine Korse and his men surviving for so long in the Night King’s shadow. They couldn’t be right in the head after that.

“If the Wildlings are coming back, they’re going to want their stuff aren’t they?” Korse said.

“Yes,” Tormund agreed, “How much stuff do you need?”

“What’s mine!” Korse said, “And I got a lot now Tormund, a lot.”

“Good for fucking you, Korse.” Tormund said, watching as the archers took a step back. The big bastard’s hands tightened on his axe.

“Thing is Tormund, when you get a lot of stuff, you always want more.” Korse said, his grey eyes searching Tormund.  “You kill the dead with that axe? Be nice to have.”

Tormund grunted, so Korse wanted a fight? Good. Tormund hadn’t fought anyone since the dead and that wasn’t a good fight. Tormund took his axe off his back. “I’ll give you the sharp end, Korse. Chop some of that hair off you.”

Korse laughed madly. One the archers let loose. Tormund felt the arrow smack into his shoulder. He let a cry of rage and pain. It felt good, he lifted his axe ready to charge—but stopped mid swing. He looked around axe still over his head. Korse and his warriors looked at Tormund weapons out, ready for a fight.

“What the fuck is it?!” Korse asked nervously.

“Have any of you seen a big fucking wolf?” Tormund asked. He had forgotten about Ghost and couldn’t see him anywhere, didn’t he want to fight to?

“A big fucking wolf?” Korse said, sparing a confused glance back to his men.

One of the archers screamed. Ghost pounced on him knocking the archer onto his back. The dire wolf tore into the man’s neck and shoulder and his screaming stopped. Ghost lifted up his head, gore streaked his white snout. He growled and was on the next archer before the man could run.

“There he is!” Tormund laughed, before attacking the big bastard. Tormund dodged a swing of the big fella’s axe, and swung his own axe low catching the big one in the knee. The man buckled, glaring at Tormund. But before Tormund could finish him off, Korse charged, knives flashing. Tormund bought up his forearm to block the blades and they gave him two deep cuts.

Tormund let out another roar of pain before bring the haft of his two handed axe around and smacking Korse in the head. Tormund heard the satisfying crunch of bone and saw the man real back. Tormund swung his axe, catching Korse in the side. The axe dug deep and Korse let out a gasp, hot blood splashed on the snow.

With Korse down, Tormund turned looking for the big fella. Ghost was already over him, teeth pulling on tendon and muscle. “Hey!” Tormund shouted as Ghost tore at the big fella. “He was mine!”

Ghost flicked his ears back apologetically but kept at it. Tormund sighed, swinging his axe onto his shoulder. Korse was kneeling on the ground panting, a fogging wound burning at his side, his daggers still clenched in his fist. Tormund considered the man. Their eyes met.

“I’m coming back as a fucking Wight and I’m going to cut your fat head off, you redhead, fire kissed fucker.”

Tormund hefted his axe. “Fire-kissed? They call us gingers in the south.”

“What the fuck is a ginger?!” Korse asked.

Tormund shrugged, “I don’t know, bet it’s pretty like a flower.” He brought his axe down on Korse before the man could say more.

Tormund nodded at Ghost and his work. The wolf trotted over. Tormund inspected the arrow, it was in his shoulder good and tight. He nodded, it wouldn’t impact their walk. He swung his axe back over his shoulder and let Ghost take the lead.

“So, the way you disappear, is that why Jon calls you Ghost?” Tormund asked, as the pair continued on further into the wild.