Rick couldn't go beyond the Wall without visiting his uncle. That's why, after reaching the bottom of the Wall on land, he trekked fifty leagues east to reach Castle Black. The terrain and the bitter cold made the journey take nearly a fortnight. He had been fortunate, avoiding any significant dangers along the way—no ferocious beasts stalking him, no wildlings slipping through cracks in the Wall.
His luck didn't end there. Upon arriving at his destination, Rick found the gates open, and carts of prisoners clattering through, the iron bars of their cages clanging. Dressed in black, he blended in easily, infiltrating the seat of power of the Night's Watch without attracting any attention. His eyes instinctively sought the Lord Commander's quarters. There, just beyond a small wooden railing, he saw the familiar, imposing figure of Jeor Mormont overseeing the goings-on in the castle. Rick made his way toward him, standing just beneath the old bear's gaze. Jeor sighed when he saw him, his face a mix of surprise and relief, before motioning for Rick to come up to his solar.
The room was quiet as Rick entered, the faint crackling of the fire filling the space. His uncle, Maester Aemon Targaryen, sat close to the hearth, warming himself. His pale, blind eyes turned toward Rick, and for a moment, there was a weighty silence between them. It was a rare moment where neither spoke immediately, knowing how much unsaid passed between them in a single glance.
"Lord Commander, Maester Aemon," Rick greeted, his voice steady as he walked toward his uncle, his eyes softening at the sight of the frail, blind man.
"Nephew!" Maester Aemon exclaimed, a warmth in his voice despite his frailty. He attempted to rise, but Rick quickly stopped him, moving to embrace the old man where he sat.
"I was worried," Maester Aemon said, his voice tinged with a hint of concern, "I didn't receive any raven from you this moon. You're so punctual usually." His weathered face softened, though the worry never left his expression.
Rick chuckled quietly, pulling away slightly. "I wanted my visit to be a surprise."
"Visit? You're not taking your vow then?" Jeor Mormont's voice came from the side, his tone gruff but curious.
Rick shook his head, his lips twisting into a faint smile. "No. I'm too young, and there's too much I need to do before I take the black. Maybe one day. The Wall will still be here, after all."
Jeor's gruff voice carried approval. "Good thinking."
"Thank you, uncle." Rick glanced down at his hands, his thoughts drifting before returning his gaze to Maester Aemon. "I do have the intent of going beyond the Wall, though."
Aemon's brow furrowed, the faintest shadow of concern creeping into his voice. "Lad…"
"I must," Rick replied, his voice firm despite the uncertainty in his heart. "I need to investigate what my dreams are showing me."
"Your dreams?" The old Bear's voice faltered with confusion, his brow knitting further.
"Dragon dreams," Rick replied quietly, the weight of the words sinking in as they left his lips. "Or green ones. Perhaps both."
Maester Aemon leaned forward slightly, curiosity taking over his concern. "What are they about?"
Rick's gaze grew distant as if the very memories of the dreams took him to another world. He spoke slowly, his voice low. "Cold winds blowing, and dead rising. Eyes illuminated in a pale and eerie blue light. Figures with hair as white as snow, skin blue as if they held no blood in them… as if made of ice…"
Jeor and Aemon listened in silence as Rick retold the haunting images of his dreams. The room seemed to grow colder with each word, the very air heavy with the weight of what Rick described. The old men exchanged a look, one filled with unspoken understanding, as if they both recognized the gravity of the situation but had no easy answers to offer. When Rick finished, Jeor's tired eyes lingered on his Maester for a moment longer, his expression unreadable. The Lord Commander exhaled a heavy sigh, the kind of sigh that came from years of carrying burdens that no one else could understand.
"Things are changing beyond the wall. Rangers report entire camps and sometimes villages completely empty. Deserted. Proofs of struggles and bloodshed all over, yet no bodies. None."
"It's true then? The others are back?" Rick's voice was laced with a mix of disbelief and unease.
"We don't know. There are also rumors of a new king-beyond-the-wall, uniting wildlings. Maybe he and his people are responsible for those attacks."
"Lord Commander…" Aemon chided softly, a touch of reprimand in his tone.
"Two moons ago a scouting team brought back the bodies of two rangers. During the night they… attacked me in my own quarters. They had blue eyes." Jeor's words were heavy, as if the admission alone weighed on him more than anything else.
"So my dreams were not just dreams." Rick's grimace deepened as the full extent of what he was hearing sank in.
"Perhaps, perhaps not. It could have been foul magic from the wildlings for all we know," Jeor suggested, but his voice lacked conviction. It was a theory more than a belief, an attempt to make sense of the impossible.
"... Really? You're going with that?" Rick's skepticism was palpable, his disbelief bordering on frustration.
"..." Jeor remained silent, his eyes fixed on the fire, troubled by the thought that even he had no clear answer.
"More reason for me to go," Rick said, his voice firm, yet tinged with the urgency of his resolve.
"More reason for you not to go." Jeor's retort came quickly, his voice laced with concern. "The Wall is not a place for a boy, especially not with this… whatever it is, brewing beyond it."
"You can't not investigate," Rick said, almost pleading now. He knew that these visions and signs, however fragmented, pointed toward something much greater than just his fate.
"True, but that's why the rangers are here for," Jeor countered, trying to hold onto some semblance of logic in the face of the unknown.
"The rangers do not have dragon or green dreams to guide them." Rick's words hung in the air, heavy with meaning.
"Guide?" Maester Aemon interjected, his voice quiet but attentive, sensing that the boy's words were more than just an explanation—they were a key.
"Ever since I left Bear Island I… have been having a recurring dream," Rick began, his voice low, as if trying to make sense of it himself. "A gigantic heart tree in a cave, tended by… I'm not sure but I think they are children of the forest. They are short and their skin is a brownish green. They have pointy teeth and ears, and their nails are long and sharp. There is… a man dressed in black fused to the heart tree. Held up straight and restrained by thick roots. His head is… his head is the head of a raven with a third eye on his forehead. He always says the same thing: 'North of Craster's keep and East of the fist, come find me.'"
"The Three-Eyed raven." Aemon whispered the name as if it were a forbidden thing, the legend springing to life in his mind.
"Uncle?" Rick's voice cracked slightly, a note of urgency slipping into his words.
"Brynden Rivers, a former Lord Commander, had the greensight too," Aemon continued, his voice distant as the memories of the past resurfaced. "He dreamed of a Three-Eyed raven calling for him."
"And?" Jeor's eyes narrowed, pressing for more.
"And that's it, Lord Commander. He never said anything more about it but I believed that his last ranging was to find it," Aemon finished, his voice tinged with sorrow, as if the past had not been kind to those who sought knowledge in such ways.
"What about the location? I know of the fist but Craster's keep? Is it real?" Rick pressed further, unable to shake the feeling that everything was leading to this unknown place.
"It's west of here. A place you don't want to go, nephew." Jeor's voice held a note of finality, one that warned Rick of dangers far worse than the physical ones he might face beyond the Wall.
"Craster is the biggest scum I have ever met. He…" Rick trailed off, the thought of the man's depravity almost too much to bear. "Nevermind, you're not going there because you're not passing the wall." Jeor's words were firm, a finality in his tone.
"I must," Rick said, his voice unyielding, his heart set. "The dreams are more and more insistent. I want it to stop and I think the only way is to meet this Three-Eyed raven."
"You're going to die, lad, if you go." Jeor's words were low and heavy, but there was an undeniable sorrow beneath the command. He knew the dangers. He knew what waited beyond.
"Then I'll die, but I'll die free," Rick said with quiet resolve, his eyes locking with Jeor's, a silent promise to himself and to those who had cared for him. The path ahead was uncertain, and death was a constant companion in the world they lived in, but freedom—freedom was worth it.
Rick held the gaze of Jeor for a while, his eyes unwavering. The determination in his expression was as solid as the Wall itself. No matter how much authority the Lord Commander tried to assert through his gaze, Rick didn't flinch, not even a little.
"I can always use my authority as prince of the realm," Rick warned, his voice tinged with a touch of humor, as if trying to invoke the weight of the boy's title.
That made Jeor laugh softly, the sound rich with a kind of bitter amusement. From the letters Maege had sent him, he knew just how much Rick despised his station. The idea of the young man throwing around the title of prince seemed almost laughable, especially to someone like Rick, who had never sought power.
"Even if I let you go, you'll get lost. I can't have rangers escort you, we're pressed thin as it is," Jeor said, trying again to assert control over the situation.
Rick's smile was thin but resolute. "I found my way from King's Landing to here, then to Bear Island, all by myself. I'll find a way to that raven. One way or another."
Jeor sighed, clearly reluctant, but a deep understanding passed between them. With no more words to argue, Jeor gave a small nod, his resignation clear.
"Good. I'll keep my eyes and ears open about what's going around—be it about the Others or that king-beyond-the-wall. We'll need every scrap of information we can get." His voice softened a little, an edge of concern creeping through despite his usual gruffness.
Rick shifted his stance, still unsure of the weight of what he was about to undertake. His next words surprised the Lord Commander.
"I learned from Maege that the Wall has a heart tree?" The tone was casual, but there was a spark of genuine curiosity beneath it.
"Not the Wall itself, but a few hundred feet north of it. That's where followers of the Old Gods go to make their vows to the Watch," replied Aemon, the Maester's voice light as he answered.
"Are you sure you're not going to take the black?" Jeor japed, a small chuckle escaping him despite the tension in the room.
Rick gave a dry chuckle in return, shaking his head. "I am. I'm just curious. I've never seen a heart tree before, and I wish to change that."
Jeor's smile softened, but it was a fleeting thing, soon replaced with his usual stern expression. "Not for praying then?" he asked, the teasing note still present, though gentler.
"No," Rick replied quietly, his voice low with a hint of bitterness that lingered in the air between them. "The Old Gods or the New were never good to me, no matter how much I prayed. I gave up on worship a long time ago." His gaze flickered to the fire, the flickering flames matching the heat that rose in his chest at the thought. "Besides, any Gods that allow their followers to treat children the way I was treated—without any form of punishment—are either not worth following or don't actually exist."
The words hung in the air, heavy with unspoken hurt, and Jeor's face softened, understanding flooding his expression. He had never asked Rick for the details of his past, but in that moment, it was clear that whatever wounds the young man carried ran deep—deeper than the Wall, deeper than any of them could truly understand.
Rick spent the rest of the day recounting his time on Bear Island to his namesake and the old bear. After all, there was only so much one could express in a letter, and both Jeor and Aemon seemed eager for more details, especially now that Rick had arrived in person. Jeor was particularly pleased to hear that there had been no raids from the wildlings in six moons and that Bear Island was now better defended. The thought of his old friend Maege running a well-guarded home seemed to soothe him.
When Rick showed Jeor his crossbow, the old commander's interest piqued, but it was the prince's reluctance to share the weapon that drew a curious expression from Jeor.
"You're not willing to part with your crossbows?" Jeor asked, eyebrow raised in amusement.
Rick hesitated, then explained. "Because right now, only Bear Island has them. It's an advantage we would lose if the crossbow became known and popular. The ballistae, on the other hand, are difficult to make and take time. They'd be perfect on top of the Wall—they'll never find themselves south of it."
Jeor leaned forward, intrigued. "How lethal are these 'ballistae' of yours?"
Rick's voice grew more animated as he described them. "The one with the bow can fire 75 arrows in less than half a minute. The one with the crossbow… depends on the strength of the arm of the one using it. You can ask your sister for more details. She has two of each."
Jeor's eyes narrowed in thought. He was clearly dubious about the claims but knew Maege well enough to trust her judgment. If it was true, this new weaponry could be exactly what the Watch needed to counterbalance the meager number of men keeping the Wall. It was something he couldn't ignore.
As night settled over the keep, Rick brought Aemon back to his quarters. The Maester's frail form leaned on Rick for support, his expression thoughtful as he was helped to bed.
"You seem thoughtful, nephew," Aemon remarked, his voice a soft rasp as he settled in.
Rick nodded, his eyes distant. "I am."
"Would you like to share?"
Rick hesitated, his thoughts swirling. "It's a silly thought, not worth talking about."
Aemon chuckled softly, a rare warmth in his voice. "Humor me. Gods know there is very little humor around here."
Rick sighed, giving in to the old man's persistence. "I was wondering… what will happen to the Night's Watch once we defeat the Others for good? That's why it was created in the first place, after all. To watch and fight against the White Walkers. But if they're gone, would the Watch still be needed? Would your watch be over?"
The question lingered in the air, heavy with implications. Aemon took a moment before replying, his smile faint but amused. "You think of the most amusing things, nephew. I suppose it would not end, as there are still wildlings to watch for. Though I do imagine the Watch would change, with less urgency, perhaps."
Rick let out a sigh, a hint of melancholy creeping into his voice. "No chance of taking you out of here then?"
Aemon raised an eyebrow, surprised by the suggestion. "Oh? And why would you take me away?"
"Why not?" Rick answered. "You've served longer than any black brother. You deserve to spend the rest of your days elsewhere. You've earned it."
Aemon's smile deepened, his voice turning thoughtful. "And where would I go?"
Rick's eyes brightened as he began to imagine a life far removed from the Wall. "Lys, perhaps? Under the hot sun, being served by beautiful women, with wine and food. A peaceful life, free from all the struggles here."
Aemon chuckled, a raspy sound that came from deep in his chest. "In another life, perhaps," he said, his laughter filling the room. "But even if the Others are gone and the vows of the Watch are fulfilled, I don't think I'll be around to see it. My watch will end like any of my brothers before."
Rick's face darkened slightly, his brows furrowing. "Not if I have a say in it."
Aemon's gaze softened with fondness as he looked at his nephew. "It's good to dream, nephew. But don't forget the real world. I'm nine and ninety this year. I doubt I'll be alive for much longer."
Rick shook his head, stubbornness in his tone. "Exactly. Nine and ninety. I'm sure you can hold on for a few more years. I mean, you've already come so far. Why stop there?"
Aemon's chuckle turned into a light-hearted, weary laugh. He patted Rick's shoulder gently, his eyes twinkling with affection despite the somber reality of his words. "You're persistent, lad. Alright, I'll give you that. But now, go on and get some rest. Tomorrow, there's much to do."
"Goodnight, Uncle," Rick said, offering a smile that held a mix of gratitude and resolve.
"Goodnight, Rick. And remember, no matter where your path takes you, you always have a home here, at the Wall."
With that, Rick turned to leave, heading toward the royal quarters Jeor had prepared for him. The weight of the day, the conversation, and the decisions ahead settled over him like a blanket of snow. His thoughts churned, but for now, he would rest. Tomorrow, the journey would continue.
_____________________________________________________________________________________
As the sun's first rays lit the sky, Rick was already awake, up, and dressed to start the day. His thoughts were clear, his mind focused on the task ahead, but before he could even finish the last bit of food he had left for breakfast, the door to his quarters was flung open. Without warning, a hand grabbed his arm, pulling him back with force.
"Well, well, well, what's this? A new brother who thinks he's better than the rest of us, huh? Sleeping in the royal quarters?" The man's voice was dripping with mockery, and his grip on Rick's arm was firm.
Rick's eyes flashed with irritation. It wasn't uncommon for the brothers of the Night's Watch to mistake someone for a new recruit, but the tone of the man and his rough handling immediately grated on him.
"I'm not your brother. Now, I advise you to let go of me," Rick said coldly, his voice low but carrying a warning.
The man sneered, clearly not taking the warning seriously. "Not my brother? You heard that, boys?" he yelled to his comrades working in the yard nearby. "I think we should give him a proper welcome, teach him his place. What do you think—"
Rick didn't wait for the rest. With a quick motion, he slammed his forehead into the man's nose with a sharp headbutt. There was a sickening crack as the man staggered backward, losing his grip on Rick's arm. He stepped away, his free hand wiping a trickle of blood from his brow, the echo of the impact still ringing in his ears.
"That was for putting a hand on a prince of the realm, fucker," Rick growled, his tone dripping with venom. "Next time I'll be cutting your hand off." With that, he turned, resuming his walk toward Jeor Mormont's solar.
It would have ended there, but the man's brother—sword drawn and eyes blazing—rushed forward to avenge his sibling's honor. The men's stance made it clear that their skill with a blade wasn't much to speak of. Rick moved with practiced ease, sidestepping the first wild slash and quickly sweeping the man's legs from under him with a well-placed kick to the back of his knee.
Before the man could recover, Rick seized his head in a tight grip, delivering a brutal knee to his face with a loud crunch that echoed in the courtyard. The man crumpled, unconscious, to the ground.
The second attacker, equally ill-prepared, swung his sword in a wild arc. Rick barely moved; with a quick flourish, he drew his dagger, deflected the sword's blade with a sharp twist, and slashed at the man's wrist. The sword flew from his hand, and Rick caught him by the throat, shoving him backward. The man stumbled, landing roughly on his backside, his swordless hand still trying to grasp for purchase.
The first man, recovering enough to rise, charged again, sword in hand. Rick's eyes narrowed as he sidestepped the clumsy attack and drove his fist directly into the man's already broken nose. The result was instantaneous—his opponent gasped, dropping everything as his hands shot up to his face. As the man recoiled, Rick swiftly grabbed the falling sword and, with a practiced move, swept the man's feet out from under him. He placed the sword at the man's throat and his foot firmly on his chest.
"What's the meaning of this?!" a voice roared.
Rick didn't have to look up. The Lord Commander's furious expression cut through the tension, and with a grim smile, Rick tapped the flat of the blade against the man's head.
"He…" Rick said, his voice low and steady, "assaulted me. Didn't like that I slept in my quarters."
The wounded man sputtered in a desperate attempt to defend himself. "That's not true! He slept in the royal quarters!"
Rick's lip curled in disdain as he continued, "Told him I wasn't a brother, and he riled up his little friends over there to teach me a lesson. I headbutted him, broke his nose, and gave his brothers a good lesson in manners."
Jeor Mormont, his face a mask of anger, turned to the group of men groaning on the ground. "Quiet!" he bellowed at the hapless assailant still trying to argue. "This is Prince Aemon Targaryen. He had every right to sleep in the royal quarters!"
Rick's words hung in the air like a weight. The other men, their faces now a mix of confusion and fear, could only stare as the reality of their mistake set in. They had attacked a prince—a mistake punishable by death. Their eyes widened, fear quickly replacing the bravado that had led them to attack him.
"Your grace, I…" the man began, his voice trembling.
Rick cut him off, his voice sharp and unyielding. "Save it. The next time you see someone suspicious or breaking the law of the castle, bring them to the Lord Commander. You'll avoid incidents like this. I'll consider your broken nose a sufficient punishment, so are the wounds of your brothers."
The man, now visibly shaking, muttered a quick, "Thank you, your grace," before dropping his head in defeat.
Rick, never one to dwell on petty things, tossed the sword aside, out of reach of the man, and moved to join Jeor, who was already barking orders to his men. The Lord Commander's expression softened slightly, though there was a wry edge to his voice when he spoke.
"I'm sorry about that."
Rick shook his head, unconcerned. "Don't be. He wasn't wrong to think I'm one of yours with how I'm dressed, but he should have brought me to you when I denied being a brother and let it go when I told him I was a prince. Besides, I know what kind of men are most common in the Watch." He gave a rueful smile. "I expected trouble."
Jeor's eyes twinkled with a mix of amusement and respect. "I'm impressed that you handled four of them alone."
"They're not very good swordsmen," Rick replied with a shrug. "And I had to learn and master the art of dodging."
Jeor raised an eyebrow. "Dodging, eh? How do you mean?"
Rick's tone softened, almost teasing. "Your sister and niece hit really hard."
That earned a loud laugh from Jeor, who slapped his knee. "Aye, that's true. She hits like a bear. I'm glad to hear Dacey does, too."
Rick chuckled at the thought of the two women, Dacey in particular, wielding their new weapons with deadly precision. "I've never been so scared in my life as when I saw them looking at me with those new weapons in hand, like I was some juicy prey."
Jeor's curiosity was piqued. "New weapons, you say?"
Rick opened his coat and retrieved a small journal from an inside pocket, flipping it open. He turned the pages until he reached sketches of the morningstar and mace he had designed for them. The designs were intricate, the craftsmanship meticulous.
Jeor whistled low and impressed as he took in the drawings. "Aye, I would have been scared, too. That morningstar looks nasty."
Rick grinned, though it was tinged with a dark humor. "Doesn't just look nasty."
He turned the pages again, revealing the ballistae. "This is the ballistae," Rick said, his voice quiet with pride. Jeor leaned in, taking the journal from his hands to inspect it more closely. Rick pointed to the mechanisms. "By turning this handle here, the bowstring is drawn back. If you keep the trigger pushed, you just have to turn as fast as you can, and the bow will fire without ever stopping."
Jeor's eyes widened. "That's ingenious."
Rick nodded, pleased by the praise. "Thank you. But be careful. The bowstring doesn't last nearly as long with continuous use."
"I'll remember," Jeor promised. He paused, glancing up at Rick. "When do you plan on leaving? For your… quest?"
Rick's expression hardened, resolve flashing in his eyes. "As soon as I can. The Wall is no place for anyone but black brothers. I don't want to rub my freedom in anyone's face. I'll need a bit of food, and if possible, a horse. I'll pay for it."
Jeor gave a slow nod, understanding the prince's desire to move on. Rick's mind, however, was already on the road ahead. As he asked Jeor about the land he would soon explore, he couldn't shake the feeling that this journey was just the beginning of something far greater.
_____________________________________________________________________________________
Three men of the Night's Watch accompanied Rick as he ventured towards the Heart Tree. Jeor Mormont had made it very clear: Rick was not to take his vows and was only a temporary guest of the Watch, his true identity carefully concealed. Rick found the secrecy a bit unnecessary, especially since four of Jeor's men already knew who he was, but the old bear assured him they'd keep their silence. Trusting the Lord Commander, Rick rode alongside his companions, the path taking them a hundred feet west of Castle Black.
The forest around them felt wrong, the air heavy with a strange stillness that made the silence more pronounced. The quiet was unnerving, almost suffocating—but Rick didn't feel fear. Instead, a strange sense of calm settled over him. The deeper they moved into the woods, the more he felt something pulling at him, an invisible force urging him to continue. The closer he got to the destination, the more he could sense it—a quiet, insistent call. When the Heart Tree finally came into view, its white bark and crimson leaves stark against the muted colors of the forest, Rick knew he had to approach.
There was something undeniably compelling about it, despite its ominous carved face. The sad, hollow expression in the tree's trunk felt as though it had lived through centuries of sorrow. Yet, Rick could not resist. He stepped forward, his hand reaching out until he was close enough to touch the ancient bark.
"First time seeing one, boy?" one of the brothers with him asked, breaking the silence.
"Yes," Rick replied, his voice tinged with awe. "It's beautiful."
"Aye," the man agreed. "No other tree in the world is as beautiful."
Rick's gaze never left the tree. "Is the red sap always flowing?" he asked, his curiosity piqued.
"No," the Watchman replied. "It usually flows when the Old Gods have something to say to us. Or so the legends go."
Rick nodded in understanding, though he didn't truly believe in the legends. Still, there was something about this place, something that whispered of power and ancient secrets. He felt a sudden, overwhelming urge to remove his glove and touch the tree. With a shrug, he did so, not seeing the harm.
The moment his skin made contact with the smooth bark, a voice—soft yet powerful—spoke in his mind:
"Child of ice and fire, your journey is just beginning. Find the first one. Learn and bring dawn to the world. Spread our words. Give us eyes. Give us ears. She will guide you."
Rick recoiled, his heart pounding as he yanked his hand away from the tree, eyes wide with disbelief.
"Did you hear that?" he asked, his voice a little too loud, his pulse racing.
"Hear what?" one of the brothers asked, looking puzzled.
"The… the voice…" Rick stammered, but before he could explain further, a sharp crack sounded behind them, like the breaking of a branch underfoot. Instinctively, Rick's hand flew to the hilt of his sword, and the other men did the same.
"Holy shit," one of them whispered, his voice barely audible in the thick silence.
"Don't move!" another ordered, his voice trembling with uncertainty.
Rick turned, his sword drawn, expecting trouble. But what he saw instead froze him in his tracks.
A massive creature stood before them—easily the size of a war horse, its fur pure white, its eyes dark as the depths of the ocean but blue nonetheless. For a heartbeat, Rick thought he saw the glint of ice in its gaze, like the eyes of the Others. But the color was wrong, too vivid, too alive. It wasn't an enemy—it was something else, something wild and ancient.
"A direwolf," Rick murmured, almost to himself, his voice full of wonder.
The others were too stunned to respond, watching in awe as Rick, inexplicably calm, took a step forward.
"Boy! Are you out of your mind?" one of the men shouted, but Rick raised his hand, silently urging them to be still. He didn't feel fear. He felt a strange pull, something guiding him toward the beast.
Slowly, Rick advanced, each step deliberate, as if something deep inside him knew this was meant to be. The direwolf stood motionless, its head slightly lowered, its breath visible in the crisp air. Rick reached out, palm up, in a gesture of surrender—or perhaps an offering. The creature sniffed him, its nose twitching as it took in his scent, and then it licked his hand with a warm, wet tongue. Without hesitation, Rick began to scratch behind its massive ears, the wolf leaning into his touch, eyes half-lidded in contentment.
The creature's enormous head lowered further, nudging Rick's torso, silently asking for more. Rick obliged, his smile widening as the direwolf lay down in the snow, completely relaxed, its tongue lolling out of its mouth in sheer bliss.
"Holy fuck, do you guys see this?" one of the brothers asked, his voice a mix of disbelief and awe.
"You mean a 5'8" boy scratching the head of a direwolf half a foot taller than him like it's a puppy?" another replied, his voice strained with disbelief.
"Aye," the first man said, nodding slowly. "I think we're all seeing it."
Rick chuckled, kneeling beside the direwolf and putting his arm around its thick, soft neck. He buried his face in the white fur, breathing in its musky, earthy scent. When he pulled back, he looked into the wolf's deep blue eyes.
"Are you a boy or a girl?" he asked quietly, a playful smile tugging at his lips.
The direwolf barked twice in response.
"A girl, then?" Rick asked, and the wolf barked once, confirming his assumption.
Rick's smile grew. "In that case," he said softly, "I'll call you Freyja."
The direwolf let out a low growl, almost as if in approval, and Rick's heart swelled with a sense of connection he couldn't quite explain. The beast was not just a wolf—it was something ancient, something tied to him, to his very being. It was as if the Heart Tree had spoken to him, had guided him to this moment.