Game of Thrones: A Second Chance

Tormund I

A/N: I was gonna wait to publish this but decided it was too good to keep hidden away. On the subject of my other story, I'm not sure when I'm gonna update that. The writing is just... bad. But I do still have plans for it. I also have another story in the works, with the first chapter containing 10,000 words. That'll be published when it's done. This story is gonna be updated more frequently than what my usual is, and that's because I'm literally sitting around doing nothing all day. Alright enough blabbering. Enjoy!

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Tormund wanted his little Crow back. The one that blushed at the talks of sex, and the one that spluttered at the stories Tormund told him, especially the one about the giant's wife. And Tormund will admit, virgin Jon was better than the one that came back from the far south. He atleast acted human.

What he had now was the shell of a man he once knew. Jon had been up past the wall for a week now, and he hadn't said a word about what happened. He would barely eat, and he rarely slept. When he did, he kept muttering things like 'I'm sorry' and 'I didn't want to.'

Tormund had asked him what he meant by these ramblings, but Jon only waved him off saying everything was fine, and to bring him more ale. All Tormund knew, was that he was sent here for treason. Against the Dragon Queen, Tormund decided. But why would he do that? Last he saw him, he wouldn't shut up about how great she was. Now when her name was mentioned, he would close himself off even further, with a haunted look in his eyes.

Right now it was time for supper, and Tormund was the one who brought food to Jon. His tent was a ways away from the rest of the camp, on top of a hill, completely out of sight. Tormund wondered what he did up there when he was left alone. Fucking girls was out of the question. The one time Tormund sent one up, a quite pretty one indeed, she had come back with a bruised wrist and tears in her eyes.

"He didn't mean to hurt me," the girl name Lenna said. "He was just trying to make me stop." Tormund hadn't sent another one after that. He enjoyed Lenna for himself that same night, though. She was quite the minx, that one. She was no big woman, though.

Tormund was huffing as he made it to Jon's black tent. He pulled open the flap with one hand as he held the bowl with the other. Upon entering, the sight was the same as usual.

Jon sat on his bed furs, facing the wall. His back was hunched and his head was resting on his pulled up knees. A blade picked at his fingernails as he seemed lost in thought. In the corner, lay Ghost, whose head perked up at the entrance, before laying back down.

"Jon," Tormund spoke. No answer. "I brought you mutton stew. Your favorite, if I recall correctly."

"Put it on the table," Jon rasped, not even glancing his way.

"Alright if you say so," Tormund put the warm bowl on the hastily crafted table that Tormund made for Jon. "It's getting colder by the second."

"You can leave now," Jon told him, not seeming to care about the stew.

"I think I'd rather stay," Tormund challenged, taking a few steps until he was standing next to Jon. "You're going to tell me what happened. Why did the Dragon Queen send you here? What did you do, Jon?"

"She didn't send me here," he answered. It was the first time he answered a question.

"Alright, so it wasn't her. Who did?" Tormund pressed on, hoping that Jon was actually in an answering mood for once.

"King Bran," Jon muttered. His knife was starting to pick at his skin a little deeper. Tormund reached out and took the knife away from him before he could hurt himself.

"King Bran," Tormund repeated, a little confused. "There's no Queen Daenerys? Why'd Bran send you to the wall?"

Jon finally turned to look at Tormund. The haunted look was still there, but he could see tears forming. "I killed her."

He killed her. Killed who? Killed... Things were piecing together in Tormund's slow mind. There's no Queen Daenerys because she is dead. Jon killed the Dragon Queen.

"Oh, Jon," Tormund murmured, and brought his friend into a hug. Upon contact, Jon let out a sob that he was probably holding in for weeks now.

"I kissed her, and then I killed her," Jon choked through his sobs. "I told her I love her, and then I kill her the next day!" His fingers tightened around Tormund's arms.

Tormund didn't know what to say. He held Jon, though, and let him vent his sorrows. It's always good to let it all out.

"I thought I was doing the right thing," he whispered hoarsely, then hiccuped. "She had just burned down the city, she was going to kill my sisters if I didn't do it. But I can't help feel like I did the wrong thing. I love her, I can't live without her."

Jon was broken. His heart, his mind, everything inside him was broken. Tormund only hoped that he could be fixed.

"We'll get through it, Jon. Just tell me from the beginning. What about that dragon of yours?"

A/N: Short but enough. Tormund POV can be fun to play with.