GoT Imagines One-Shots and Drabbles

Searching (Tormund Giantsbane x Reader)

Credit to the Gif creator

In the wake of the Battle for Winterfell, Tormund is desperate to find you.

Warnings: Angst, mentions and descriptions of deceased and injured people.

Word Count: 1343

Any feedback, comments or messages are very welcome and appreciated. I would love to know what you think of my little stories.

Tormund loved you... even despite the fact you were born of the South. He could still remember the look of defiance your features held, on that very first day he met you. The day he arrived at Bear Island with Jon Snow and his sister, looking for men to fight alongside them against Ramsay Bolton, in a bid to take back his friend's childhood home. You were in the hall, standing beside your feisty little cousin, Liliana Mormont, looking every bit as fiery as her. And that was it... he was done for. You were beautiful... but not in the way he had come to expect from the women of the south. You wore pants and tunics... carried a sword at your side... and you had a look about you that told him you were not easily intimidated. But it was your eyes that commanded his full attention. Even from across the room, he could tell they were the most spectacular (EC) colour he had ever seen... and you didn't once shy away from his intense gaze like so many other southerners did.

When the time arrived for the evening meal, he sat across the table from you and that look of defiance he remembered, crowned your features from the very first words he said to you. Casually, he plonked himself down on the seat and picked up the bread, ripping off a piece larger than his hand, then leaning across he helped himself to a generous portion of stew, speaking as he did so, "I'll give you southerner's one thing... you know how to eat well."

Looking to you, he winked and scooped a spoonful of stew into his mouth, your expression neither amused or upset... just defiant... and the sound of your voice when you spoke, pleased him beyond belief... he imagined himself waking up beside that voice. "You're Tormund... are you not?" Busy scooping another spoonful of stew into his mouth, he responded with a nod of his head, answering before the food even left his mouth, "Aye."

The way you held his gaze sent a roll of delight down his spine... those eyes... he wanted his babies to have those stunning (EC) eyes. After a short moment of silence, you spoke again, "I have never been... nor, will I ever be a southerner... I am a northerner." Then in your next breath, your features lightened... your perfect lips touched with the hint of a smile, "But if you must call me Southerner... then I shall call you Wildling."

Tormund couldn't hide the delight from his features, nor could he hold back his reply. Holding his spoon in the air, he waved it in your direction, "You and me... we're gonna be friends." Then raising his brows, he added suggestively, "Good friends," and when you didn't look at all repulsed by the thought, it only encouraged him more.

But that was months ago... and since that first meeting, you had been inseparable. Maybe it was because you weren't all that different from the free folk, not that he would ever tell you that. In fact, all the women from Bear Island were different from those on the mainland. They were warriors... brave... strong and not afraid to say what they think, standing behind no man. And you were all of those things and more. You were funny, witty and gods you were beautiful... and you didn't let him get away with a damn thing... always ready to punish him in the most satisfying way.

Except, now he could think of none of that... his only thought being to find you. Aye, they may have been saved in the nick of time, by the Knights of the Vale... but the battle for Winterfell had been bloody... many were lost. And now he wondered around the battlefield searching for you amongst the piles of corpses... praying to the gods that he wouldn't find you there.

Somewhere in the thick of battle, he lost sight of you. One moment he watched... almost with pride, as you easily cut down men double your size... you were fast and you were smart, far to quick for them to keep up with their heavy, cumbersome swords. In the next moment, you were gone... drowning under the feet of panicked men as they fought to escape the arch of Bolton spears, trapping them into an almost certain death. Desperately, he tried to reach you, but the sea of men pushed him further and further from your reach, completely losing you amongst the mounting pile of men, struggling to fight their way to the top for air.

Then came the sound of distance horns, followed by the thundering sound of hooves vibrating across the frost-covered ground, before over the rise came a charging cavalry of men... where at the top sat Sansa upon her horse. Never had Tormund felt such overwhelming relief, not for him and not for those around him... relief that now he could make his way through the thick of men to find you.

But that was hours ago and still, he searched... as others rummaged through the countless bloody and broken bodies, looking for survivors. The light was beginning to fade from the cold grey sky, taking with it every breath of hope that maybe somehow you had survived. And that was when the sound of shouting came from the other side of the battle sight, desperate and eager for assistance, "I've found one.... She's not looking too good, but she's alive... she's breathing."

Tormund forgot to breathe, his chest growing tight from the pressure, the only words his head could process was, 'She's alive... she's breathing,' 'she... she... she...' it had to be you. Never had he run so fast, his feet nearly tripping beneath him, reaching your side, he collapsed to his knees... his chest burning with pain at the sight of you. Your beautiful (EC) eyes were black and blue, your forehead was slashed wide open... the blood from the wound dried and matted throughout your (HC) hair... and your lips... your lips were all swollen and covered with lacerations.

The man beside him called out for help to move you, but Tormund wouldn't have any of it, his voice rough, leaving no room for arguments, "It's alright... I'll be taking this one." Moving away the cold and silent bodies that surrounded you, he carefully slipped his arm beneath your back, his other arm scooping you up from under your thighs, his eyes drawn to the flesh above your knee, cut so deep it exposed the bone. And your poor arm looked twisted and limp leaving him sure it was broken, but as he lifted you up into the safety of his arms, you began to stir... your eyelids flickering as your dry swollen lips parted, sending pained groans from your throat... the quiet sound hurting his ears. As much as your pain broke his heart, he sighed with undeniable relief to know you were stirring from unconsciousness, unable to hide the emotion in his voice when your striking (EC) eyes flickered open and settled upon him, "I've got you... my sweet Southern Bear... your gonna be just fine."

Your face was so swollen and bloody that Tormund couldn't be sure... but he could have sworn you just gave him a defiant glare as you attempted to speak... your words coming through rough and quiet between coughs, "Southern Bear..? You will... never... learn... will you... my crazy... ginger... wildling?"

Tormund wanted to throw his head back and laugh, though he restrained himself... not wanting to cause you further pain, thankful your head and wit was still in perfect working order. Instead, he gave a deep throaty chuckle as he leaned down and kissed your blood and dirt covered forehead, uncontained relief spreading throughout every fibre of his body... everything was going to be okay... you were going to be okay. Then lifting his lips from your forehead, he whispered against your ear "No, my sweet Southern Bear... I will never learn."

Any feedback, comments or messages are very welcome and appreciated. I would love to know what you think of my little stories.