The stench of sulfur filled the air as Rick and his companions made their way to the shore of the fabled ruins of Valyria. Two row boats were used, creaking under the weight of the group, their oars cutting through the thick, acrid air. Despite the overpowering scent of sulfur, none of them had considered turning back. The promise of what lay ahead, the ancient secrets and the looming threat of the Others, outweighed the discomforts of the journey.
Everyone aboard was on high alert. Melisandre, to Rick's surprise, had insisted on joining the expedition despite her inability to defend herself directly. Her acolytes, however, stood at the ready, their eyes scanning the desolate landscape as they approached. Their leader's silence was unnerving, though Rick wasn't sure whether it was the weight of the moment or something deeper at play.
The tension on the boats was palpable. Sigorn, ever stoic, gripped his weapon tightly, and Tormund shifted uncomfortably, muttering under his breath as if the air itself were trying to choke him. Even Freyja was unusually still, her sharp eyes scanning the horizon as she stood at the bow, her human form less familiar and less comforting than her direwolf shape.
Rick kept his focus as he remembered the passage from the book his uncle Aemon had given him. Aerea Targaryen had flown with Balerion the Black Dread in late 54 AC, only for both of them to vanish without a trace for over a year. When Balerion returned in 56 AC, he was badly wounded—with a nine-foot-deep gash along his side—and Aerea was dead within the day. It had been a mysterious return. Aerea's fate was sealed upon their arrival, and Balerion's injury spoke of a power that could hurt even the mighty dragon.
Rick's mind drifted to the significance of that wound. The thought of something—someone—inflicting such damage on the mighty Balerion was terrifying. The possibility of an enemy capable of such an attack hung over him, adding to the weight of what they were about to face. If Balerion could be hurt, then what kind of power was there on the other side of the ruins, lurking in the shadow of the Old Gods' forgotten realm?
He glanced around at the others. Everyone was ready. Even though none of them were certain of what they would face, Rick knew that there was no turning back now. The shore of Valyria loomed ahead, a land of fire and smoke, and the risk was real. But so was the necessity of finding answers. For the sake of the living—and perhaps to unravel the mysteries of the Others—the journey could not be avoided.
"Keep your eyes sharp," Rick said quietly, his voice carrying over the sound of the oars. "Whatever is here, we'll face it together."
The group ventured deeper into the heart of Valyria, their path winding through jagged rock formations and the remnants of once-majestic structures now broken and crumbling. The air hung heavy with an oppressive heat, the sulfur stench never quite leaving their nostrils, and the ground was slick with a strange, viscous substance that glimmered faintly under the light. The land seemed alive with a deep, ominous hum, a vibration that thrummed in their bones, as if the very earth itself was a creature of dark magic.
The further they ventured into the ruins, the more alive the place seemed to be with twisted remnants of creatures and forces that should have died long ago. The hairs on the back of Rick's neck stood on end, and Freyja, though always composed, seemed wary. Her sharp, blue eyes darted about, scanning every shadow, every crevice, every broken wall that could hide danger.
"Stay close," Rick murmured to the group, his voice barely above a whisper. He didn't need to say much; everyone knew that Valyria was a place of untold danger.
As they continued to explore the ruins, a sudden rustling noise from an abandoned tower caught their attention. A low growl, almost too quiet to hear, rippled through the air, followed by the unsettling scrape of claws against stone. Sigorn, ever vigilant, raised his bronze axe, and Tormund gripped his massive steel battle axe tighter.
"Did anyone else hear that?" Ygritte asked, her voice low, tense.
Before anyone could respond, the air around them seemed to shift. A beastly howl, like a chorus of wolves and men mixed together, echoed through the broken stone.
"Get ready!" Rick shouted, instinctively drawing his long sword. Freyja stood beside him, her eyes now glowing with the feral intensity of a direwolf, her senses attuned to the danger.
The first attack came suddenly—a screech that sent shivers down their spines as twisted, monstrous beasts leaped from the shadows. Their bodies were distorted, covered in scales, with gaping maws lined with jagged teeth. The creatures were fast, but not as fast as the warriors of the group.
Sigorn was the first to react, his bronze axe rising in a deadly arc, cutting one of the beasts down with a brutal swing. Tormund swung his steel battle axe in a wide arc, slamming into another creature's side, sending it reeling before finishing it off with a vicious overhead strike. Benjen's long sword flashed, his movements sharp and efficient as he dispatched a third creature with a clean strike to its throat.
Ygritte, with her keen eyes and steady hand, let loose an arrow from her longbow, piercing a creature's eye as it lunged at Val, who thrust her spear with deadly precision into another's chest. The beast let out a deafening screech before collapsing, and Val was already on to the next one, her daggers flashing as she cut through the air with speed and grace.
Rick, feeling the pulse of battle, shifted his grip on his long sword, weaving through the chaos with the fluidity of someone born to fight. His throwing knives found their marks in the eyes of the oncoming beasts, and his weirwood bow hummed as it released arrow after arrow with perfect accuracy. One of the acolytes, wielding a longsword, was the first to fall, his chest torn open by a creature's claw. Another acolyte, a tall man with a thick beard, was ripped apart by a large beast with multiple limbs. The other five men fought valiantly, but one by one, they were picked off, the horrors of Valyria taking their toll.
Despite the losses, Rick and the others pressed on, refusing to turn back. They didn't come this far to retreat. They needed to learn more, and this cursed land had answers, even if they were buried beneath blood and bone.
By the time the first wave of creatures was vanquished, only three of Melisandre's acolytes remained—each battered but still alive. The group moved forward, their resolve unshaken. They had come for a purpose, and they would not leave until that purpose was fulfilled.
As they continued into the heart of Valyria, the land grew darker and more twisted. The ground itself seemed to hum with an unnatural energy, and the ruins around them whispered with the lost voices of the past. The remaining acolytes were more wary now, their weapons tighter in their hands as they kept close to Rick's group, trusting in their leadership and strength.
They encountered another set of creatures, this time larger and more aggressive. The battle was fierce, but this time, the remaining acolytes held their ground, fighting valiantly alongside the group. Sigorn, Tormund, and Benjen cleared a path with their weapons, each strike making the ground shake. Ygritte's arrows kept the creatures at bay, while Val and Rick moved with deadly synchronization, cutting down any who dared get too close.
The last two acolytes, their swords slick with blood, fended off another creature that had attempted to flank them. One was gravely injured but managed to fight on, though he was barely standing. The final blow came from a creature with enormous claws, but Benjen was quick, his long sword piercing the beast's side and sending it crashing to the ground.
Despite their victories, the cost was clear. Almost all of Melisandre's acolytes had fallen, their bodies littered across the cursed land. But they had made it through each fight, and as the sun dipped below the horizon, they set up camp, nursing wounds, but unbroken.
"Keep your guard up," Rick said, his voice low. "There's more out there. We keep moving."
Benjen nodded, blood streaked across his face, his expression unreadable. "We push on, then. No retreat."
The deeper Rick and his group ventured into the heart of Valyria, the more oppressive the silence became. The sulfuric stench was constant, but it wasn't the only thing that weighed on their minds. There was something about the land here—a haunting stillness, as though the very earth was holding its breath. The once frequent attacks by the twisted creatures of Valyria became fewer and farther between, but when they did happen, the beasts they faced were stronger, more cunning, and far more dangerous.
Melisandre's acolytes had dwindled over the days, and now only one remained. The others had fought valiantly, but the cursed creatures of Valyria were relentless, and one by one, they had fallen. The remaining acolyte, pale and exhausted, moved in silence, his eyes haunted by the horrors they had faced. He followed closely behind Melisandre, his weapon gripped tightly in his hand, but the light in his eyes had dimmed. The land had taken its toll on them all.
Sigorn and Tormund were battle-worn, but their spirits hadn't faltered. Even Ygritte, her sharp eyes always scanning the horizon, seemed unnerved by the land's unnatural quiet. Benjen's grip on his longsword tightened, ever-watchful for the next threat.
One such attack occurred late one afternoon, when the sun was a faint sliver in the sky. A massive creature, its body a writhing mass of tendrils and scales, emerged from the shadows. It was faster than anything they had faced, its sharp claws raking the ground with a terrifying screech. Benjen was the first to react, raising his long sword to block the creature's first strike. The clash rang through the air as the beast's claws scraped against the steel of his blade.
Tormund was quick to move, his battle axe swinging through the air in a wide arc. He struck the creature's side with a powerful blow, but the beast barely flinched. It retaliated with a vicious swipe, knocking Tormund back a few paces. Ygritte loosed an arrow with precision, aiming for the creature's eye, but it missed by mere inches. The beast roared, thrashing in frustration.
Rick stepped forward, his long sword raised. With a quick calculation, he ducked under one of the creature's strikes, slicing through the air in a well-practiced motion. His blade met its side, and he twisted the weapon, feeling the crack of bone beneath the scales. The creature let out a final screech before collapsing to the ground, dead.
But even as the group caught their breath, they knew this wasn't the first time they'd faced such a creature, nor would it be the last. Their enemies were growing stronger, more relentless. Yet, the deeper they went, the less they were attacked.
As the days stretched on, the group noticed a shift. The land around them seemed to change. The jagged rocks and towering ruins gave way to a strange, unnerving stillness. The air thickened with something more than just the sulfur—it was almost as if the land itself was watching them, waiting for something. Despite the dangers they had faced, there was no sign of the monstrous creatures anymore.
For the first time, Rick began to wonder if the silence was a sign that they were nearing the heart of Valyria—the place where its dark secrets lay. The land itself seemed to have stopped resisting them.
The remaining acolyte, though weary, moved forward without question. Rick's instincts told him that they were on the verge of something—something ancient and powerful, but dangerous. His mind wandered to the stories of Valyria, of its fall and the destruction that had come before. Was this silence the calm before another storm? Or were they walking into something far worse?
Benjen, his long sword gripped firmly in his hand, scanned the horizon. "No more attacks," he said, his voice low. "Doesn't feel right."
Rick's thoughts raced as he took in the eerie silence that had settled over the land. The creatures they had encountered were growing stronger with each attack, but now, nothing. The stillness felt unnatural, as if the land was holding its breath, waiting for something. He couldn't shake the feeling that this was no mere coincidence.
He glanced at Benjen, then at the rest of the group. His mind worked quickly, but he kept the thought to himself. If the beasts they'd fought had been growing more dangerous with each encounter, it stood to reason that whatever waited deeper in Valyria was far worse. He didn't want to say it aloud. He couldn't risk demoralizing them now. They were already so deep in this cursed land; telling them that the worst was yet to come would only make it harder to push forward.
After what seemed like an eternity of cautious movement through the toxic haze and cracked, crumbling earth, the air began to shift. The thick smoke and fumes that had hung over the land started to thin, dissipating into the sky.The landscape cleared before them, revealing the actual ruins of the Valyrian civilization—monuments of a once-great empire, now nothing more than crumbled stones and forgotten power.
Rick squinted into the distance, his gaze fixed on the towering structure that rose above all else. It was a sight he had seen before, but not in reality—in his dreams. The tower, tall and imposing despite the damage it had suffered over the centuries, stood as the last remnant of the Valyrian people's magnificent architecture. It seemed defiant, as if it had weathered the downfall of an entire civilization, still reaching toward the sky despite everything.
The brown-red mountain loomed behind the tower, its jagged peaks casting a long shadow over the ruinous landscape. Rick's breath caught. This mountain, too—he had seen it in his dreams. The very same one. The mountain that seemed to call to him.
"This is it," Rick murmured under his breath, almost to himself. His heart pounded in his chest, the weight of his visions sinking in. This was the place. The center of it all. The land of Valyria, with its ruinous towers and smoldering past, had not just been a place of power—it had been a place of something else entirely, something that had drawn him here, through dreams and through danger.
Benjen, walking beside him, followed his gaze, frowning as he took in the tower and the looming mountain.
"You recognize it?" Benjen asked, his voice low.
Rick nodded slowly, his eyes never leaving the distant peak. "Yes," he said, his voice a whisper. "It's from my dreams."
The others gathered around, looking at the tower, the mountain, the land that stretched out before them. Some were more apprehensive than others, but the silence between them was filled with a shared understanding: They were on the edge of something far greater than they had anticipated.
Melisandre's eyes were wide, her expression unreadable. She seemed to sense the significance of the place as well, her dark gaze shifting from the tower to the mountain behind it.
"We're close," she said, her voice soft yet filled with a strange, almost reverent tone. "I can feel it. Something is waiting here."
Rick could feel it too, a deep sense of purpose stirring within him, an unshakable pull toward the place he had seen in his dreams. He didn't know what awaited them, but he knew it was only just beginning.
They reached the base of the tower, the ancient stones worn by time but still standing firm. The air around them had cleared even further, but the silence that now enveloped the place was oppressive. The ruins seemed to stretch on endlessly, with every step they took through the broken landscape, they found more remnants of a forgotten world—crumbling walls, shattered furniture, and the skeletal remains of what had once been men, women, and perhaps even children. All were frozen in time, their bones bleached white, scattered across the stone floor like forgotten offerings to the old gods.
Rick led the way inside, stepping carefully over the rubble. The wooden doors had long since rotted away, leaving nothing but splinters and rusted hinges. Beyond them, the interior of the tower was dark, save for the faint light filtering in through the cracks in the stone. The air was thick with dust, and the faint smell of decay lingered, mingling with the scent of sulfur that still hung in the atmosphere outside.
"This place..." Benjen's voice trailed off as he stepped over a broken chair, his sword held tightly in his grip. He looked around, uneasy. "It's like it's been untouched for centuries. But it doesn't feel... abandoned. Not entirely."
Rick nodded, the hairs on the back of his neck prickling. "It's not abandoned. Not by the living, anyway."
They moved further inside, navigating through the maze of broken furniture and collapsed stone walls. Every step was cautious, as though the weight of history in this place might suddenly shift, swallowing them whole. The tower was clearly once magnificent, its walls adorned with strange carvings, some familiar to Rick, others completely foreign. But time had taken its toll—what was once a place of grandeur had become a hollow shell, barely clinging to its former glory.
Among the wreckage, they found signs of the Valyrian civilization's former inhabitants—pieces of shattered pottery, ancient tapestries long since faded, and walls covered in intricate symbols. Yet, despite the damage, there was something oddly intact about this place, as if it was waiting for something to stir it back to life.
Rick looked around the room they had entered, taking in the layout. The stone walls were surprisingly intact, and the ceiling, though cracked in places, still held strong. It was a large, circular space, wide enough to give them some breathing room but small enough that they could keep an eye on each other. The light was dim, casting long shadows across the cracked stone floor.
"This will do," Rick said, his voice low. "We'll make camp here for the night."
Benjen nodded, stepping forward to inspect the area. "It's well defended," he agreed. "And out of sight from anything that might be lurking outside."
The others began to set up their small camp. Tormund gathered what little wood they could find for a fire, while Ygritte and Val kept watch at the entrances, their weapons ready. Sigorn and Benjen checked their gear, making sure their weapons were sharp and their armor intact.
Melisandre's voice broke through his thoughts. "You sense it, don't you?" she asked, her tone distant, almost reverent. "The power, the magic... it's alive here. It's waiting."
"Beyond the tower," Rick muttered to himself, his gaze lingering on the distant brown-red mountain. "In my dream, this is where I stood. The tower at my back, the mountain at my front."
His words were barely audible, but Melisandre was nearby, and she turned toward him, her sharp eyes catching the gravity of his tone.
"Your dreams," she said, stepping closer, "they've always guided you. But this... this is something more. This place, this land, it feels as though it remembers what has been lost."
Rick nodded, his mind racing. He could still see the dream so vividly: the towering structure behind him, the ominous mountain looming ahead. He had stood there, at the heart of Valyria, knowing there was something waiting—something crucial.
The weight of that knowledge pressed heavily on him. He had come this far, and yet the answers remained elusive, scattered between visions and the shifting shadows of the past. The dream had shown him this place, but what it meant, what it wanted from him, was still unclear.
"I think we need to head toward the mountain," Rick said after a long pause, his voice more certain now. "It's where everything in my dream pointed to. The tower is only a part of it. We need to move further."
Benjen, ever the pragmatist, eyed the landscape. "Moving towards it, then. But we need to stay cautious. Who knows what other dangers are waiting beyond the tower."
"Agreed," Rick said, his tone firm but cautious. "We stay alert. But we go to the mountain. We'll find what we need there."
As he spoke, the faint smell of sulfur still clung to the air, and the weight of Valyria's silence felt even more oppressive. The sense that something was drawing them toward that distant mountain, something that had been waiting for them for centuries, was almost palpable.
Rick stood for a moment longer, his eyes scanning the horizon, the tower, and the mountain. His dream had been clear, yet it felt incomplete, like a puzzle missing its final piece.
Rick couldn't sleep. There was something out there waiting for him, and though it unsettled him, it didn't feel entirely wrong. It was as if the pull of the land itself was urging him forward. Relentless, he left his bedroll and began to quietly explore the tower. His footsteps echoed softly in the empty halls as he moved through the crumbling corridors.
He wasn't alone, though. He knew Melisandre was awake too, a quiet presence moving with purpose. She had followed him.
"I couldn't sleep," she said, her voice barely above a whisper as she appeared from the shadows.
Rick nodded but didn't respond immediately, his focus still on the tower's unsettling silence. It was clear she didn't quite understand why she was awake, why the same restlessness that had taken hold of Rick had affected her as well.
"I understand why you're awake," she continued, her eyes searching his face, "but I don't understand why I am."
Rick glanced at her. He had the blood of the Valyrians, a connection to the magic of the land, a pull that made him feel attuned to something deep within the ruins. It was likely the reason he couldn't rest. The magic in the air, the weight of ancient power lingering in the broken stones, called to him. But Melisandre—her gods were different, distant from this land's magic. She shouldn't be affected by it. She had always been connected to the Red God, yet here, in Valyria, something else was reaching out.
But she didn't voice these doubts. Instead, she merely followed Rick, staying close without speaking further.
They moved together through the tower, careful of every step, aware of the weight of their surroundings. The air felt thick with unseen eyes, but neither of them spoke of it. They both knew something lingered in the depths of this place, and whether it was a presence, a memory, or something darker, it was waiting.
Rick didn't mind the feeling, not exactly. There was a purpose to it, a strange pull that urged him forward.
And so, with no more words shared between them, they continued their exploration, moving deeper into the crumbling remains of Valyria, each step taking them closer to what awaited.
The library was a strange discovery. Rick couldn't help but pause at the sight of it, standing there like a forgotten tomb of knowledge, untouched by time. Despite the tower's decay, the library seemed to have been preserved remarkably well, the walls intact, and the shelves lined with books. But what caught his attention first were the runes carved into the doorframe and the walls around it. He studied them, feeling the faint pulse of magic, but couldn't make sense of them. They were intricate, defensive in nature, likely placed there to protect whatever knowledge lay within.
Valyrians were known for their mastery of blood magic, and Rick couldn't help but wonder how many lives it had cost to power such ancient runes, created almost four hundred years ago. The thought lingered in his mind, and he shuddered slightly. Such power, wielded for the sake of knowledge, was a dangerous thing.
Without much surprise, the books inside were written in High Valyrian. It was a tongue Rick could read and understand, thanks to his heritage. Melisandre, too, was fluent in it, given her origins in Volantis, where High Valyrian was still spoken.
Rick found an index book and began searching for anything related to a "stone prison" or the "Mother of Dragons." He skimmed through the pages but found no mention of them. Frustrated but undeterred, he continued his search. That was until he came across a compendium of Valyrian history.
"History," Rick muttered to himself. His curiosity piqued, he flipped to the relevant section, the sound of his fingers moving across the delicate pages filling the quiet of the room. He found what he was looking for, after a bit of searching through the aisles of ancient tomes.
He pulled a heavy book off the shelf, dust motes swirling in the dim light as he opened it. He began to read, his brow furrowing as the words painted a startling picture.
Apparently, the Mother of Dragons was the very first dragon. It wasn't a surprising revelation to Rick, as he had already assumed something similar. However, what struck him was how the Valyrians spoke of her—not as a revered creature, but as a monster. They spoke of how they had subdued her, imprisoned her inside a stone prison at the heart of the peninsula.
Rick paused, the weight of the revelation sinking in. The Mother of Dragons—an ancient, terrifying power, trapped by the very people who had once controlled dragons.
He looked up at Melisandre, who had been quietly watching him. Her eyes were wide, her expression unreadable, but Rick could feel the pull of her curiosity as much as his own.
"She was more than a dragon," Rick murmured, still processing what he had just read. "They trapped her... as a monster."
Melisandre stepped closer, her gaze fixed on the pages. "And now you believe she may be the key?" Her voice was soft, yet laced with uncertainty.
Rick nodded slowly, staring back at the pages. "I don't know. The gods think she is. Something tells me we're meant to find her but I'm beginning to think..." Rick muttered, his voice low, his gaze still fixed on the ancient pages before him. "That the Valyrians, in their arrogance, tried to subdue a demi-goddess—and they succeeded. If she is to the dragons and the Valyrians what Freyja is to the North... they betrayed her and depicted her as a monster."
The weight of those words settled heavily on his shoulders. The idea of a demi-goddess, one so intertwined with the dragons, bound and imprisoned—by those who saw themselves as gods in their own right—made Rick uneasy. He had always known that the Valyrians held their power with a sense of entitlement, believing they were superior to the creatures of the world. But to subdue a being of such power, to turn her into a prisoner and paint her as a monstrosity—it unsettled him deeply.
Rick pocketed the book, his thoughts still swirling around the implications of what he had just read. He decided that was enough exploration for the night. He had already uncovered more than he had expected, and the weight of it all sat heavy on his mind. Without a word, he turned and made his way back to their makeshift camp, Melisandre following silently behind him. The tower's ruined halls were eerily quiet, the only sounds their soft footsteps echoing against the ancient stone.
Once inside the relative safety of their chosen room, Rick settled himself near the dim glow of their lanterns, pulling out the book on Valyrian runes and blood magic. He needed to understand what he was dealing with, even if every page made him feel more and more disgusted.
Across from him, Melisandre sat in her own corner, her red robes pooling around her as she opened another book, one he didn't recognize. She didn't say what it was about, and Rick didn't ask. They read in silence, each lost in their own thoughts.
For the rest of the night, the only sounds in the ruined tower were the faint crackling of fire and the slow, steady turning of pages.
Val was the first to wake. She stirred from her bedroll with a soft sigh, stretching her limbs before pushing herself up. The dim morning light filtering through the cracks in the ruined tower barely reached their camp, but her sharp eyes caught sight of Rick still awake, hunched over a book.
Brows furrowed in curiosity, she padded closer. "You're still awake?" she murmured, crouching beside him.
Rick barely glanced up. "Couldn't sleep."
Val huffed. "What's even the point of all these books? You spend hours staring at those little scratches on paper instead of resting. You can't fight with a book, can you?"
Rick finally looked at her then, a hint of amusement flickering across his tired features. "Depends on the book. Some of them could kill a man if you hit hard enough."
She snorted but peered at the open pages, her expression shifting to one of mild frustration. "I don't see how staring at old words helps us. We fight, we win, we live. That's how things work."
Rick tapped a finger against the book's worn cover. "That works fine if you only have enemies made of flesh and blood. " He closed the book and looked at Val with a thoughtful expression. "Books aren't just about winning fights, Val. They're about understanding the world, the people in it, and the things that came before us."
She raised an eyebrow, unimpressed. "And what use is that when we've got swords, bows, and axes?"
Rick smirked. "Where do you think those weapons came from? People learned how to forge them, refine them, and improve them. That knowledge was written down so it wouldn't be lost. Without books, we'd still be fighting with sharpened sticks."
Val tilted her head, considering that. "So, books are just another kind of tool?"
"Exactly," Rick said. "They hold the knowledge of healers who can mend wounds, of builders who can make homes stronger, of sailors who can cross the sea without getting lost. If someone figures out something important, a book makes sure others can learn it too—long after the first person is gone."
She frowned slightly. "The Free Folk don't have books."
Rick nodded. "That's true. You pass your knowledge through stories and songs. But stories can change with time. A book, if it survives, stays the same." He tapped the cover of the one in his hand. "That's why the Valyrians wrote things down—so their knowledge wouldn't be lost, even centuries later."
Val studied him for a moment before giving a small shrug. "Hmph. I still think I'd rather have a sharp spear than a heavy book."
Rick chuckled. "Nothing says you can't have both. Sometimes, books aren't just about knowledge. They can be entertainment too—fabricated stories meant to amuse, inspire, or even scare the reader."
Val frowned. "Why would someone waste time writing a story that isn't real?"
Rick leaned back against the stone wall. "For the same reason people tell tales around the fire. Stories make people feel things. They can make you laugh, cry, or see the world in a different way. Some are about heroes, some about monsters, and some are just about life."
Val crossed her arms. "If they're just made-up, what's the point?"
Rick shrugged. "What's the point of a song? Or a joke? Not everything has to be useful in a practical way. Stories can teach lessons, help people escape their troubles for a while, or just make the world feel a little bigger."
Val thought about that for a moment before sighing. "I suppose I can see the appeal. But I still think I'd rather hear a tale from a living person than stare at words on a page."
Rick chuckled. "Nothing wrong with that. But books let you hear the words of people who died centuries ago, as if they're still speaking to you." He held up the book. "This one? It was written by someone who lived before the Doom. That means I'm reading the thoughts of a Valyrian who walked these lands before they turned to ruin."
That seemed to make Val pause. "Hmph. That is… interesting." She gave him a teasing smirk. "Maybe I'll have you read me one of those made-up stories sometime. I want to see if they're as good as you claim."
Rick laughed. "Deal."
Rick's expression shifted, his usual confidence dimming just a little. He glanced down at the book in his hands, running a thumb over its worn cover. "Books were my escape," he admitted. "Back in the Red Keep, when I was locked away in my room."
Val raised an eyebrow, a little confused. She knew he was a prince, so she assumed he must have had freedom—at least more than most. "But you were a prince. You could do whatever you wanted, right? Why were you locked up?"
Rick let out a long, slow breath, his gaze distant as memories from those years resurfaced. "Not everyone cared about me," he said, his voice barely above a whisper. "My father was focused on his heir, and I wasn't it. The realm blamed me for a rebellion. They said I was the cause of everything falling apart. I wasn't even born yet." He paused, gripping the edge of the book tightly. "And they locked me away. Five years in that room. The only light I had came from a window the size of my head."
Val's face softened, and she found herself at a loss for words. She could see it in his eyes now—the years of being neglected, cast aside. The idea of being trapped in a room, with nothing but books for company, struck her deeply. She could understand the need for escape, the longing to see beyond those walls, even if it was only through pages.
"That's why the books meant so much to me," Rick continued, his voice steadying now. "They were the only way I could live a life outside of that room. I could go to places I'd never see, meet people I'd never meet. It was the only freedom I had. You don't know how lucky you are to have been born beyond the Wall. Free."
Val sat quietly for a moment, processing what Rick had shared. She didn't say anything for a long time. Her own life had been shaped by harsh realities, and while her experience wasn't the same, she recognized the pain behind Rick's words even though she didn't really understand, she was born and lived in the lands beyond the wall where everyone was free.
She finally spoke, her voice low but sincere. "I can see why books were your way out. They gave you a life that no one else would."
Rick nodded, his fingers still lightly tracing the cover of the book. He didn't say anything more for a while, but it was clear that his past still haunted him. His lips curved into a faint, almost bitter smile as he continued, his tone lighter but tinged with a trace of frustration. "In truth, I had plenty of books. Books on how to do things, politics, history—everything they thought I needed to learn for ruling the realm one day. But only a few books with actual stories. And gods, I would've killed a man just to have one more book about false high tales. Even the kind Tormund spews out of his ass daily," he finished with a small chuckle.
Val's eyes widened for a moment, her mouth twitching as she tried to hold it in. Then, a burst of laughter erupted from her, loud and unrestrained. She hadn't expected that, and it was refreshing to hear Rick speak of something with such genuine amusement. The image of Tormund, in all his brutish glory, spinning wild tales, seemed to ease the tension in the air.
Rick looked at her, surprised at the sudden burst of laughter, but he didn't mind. It felt good to share the absurdity of his situation, even if it wasn't in a way that was usually acceptable among royalty. It was a small, simple moment of relief.
Val wiped a tear from her eye, still chuckling. "I don't know if I should be glad that Tormund's tales made you laugh—or feel bad for you," she teased.
Rick shrugged, the humor still lingering in his gaze. "I suppose I could have done with a little less of his 'heroic adventures,' but... it's something. Better than nothing."
As the morning light filtered through the cracks in the tower, the group slowly began to stir. The air inside the ruins was damp, and the faint smell of dust and decay lingered in the air, but it did little to dampen the group's resolve.
Benjen was already awake, sharpening his sword with a steady hand, his expression grim. Sigorn and Tormund followed shortly, the Thenn warrior grunting as he adjusted the straps on his axe, while Tormund cracked his neck, his eyes still half-closed from sleep. Ygritte was next, stretching as she rubbed her eyes, her bow slung across her back.
Rick's conversation with Val had brought him some semblance of comfort, but it did little to ease the weight of his thoughts. Melisandre, sitting in the corner of the room with a book, finally looked up as everyone finished breakfast.
"We move soon?" she asked, her voice soft but firm, her eyes still holding an unreadable expression.
Rick nodded, standing up. "Yes. The mountain is close. Less than half a day's travel. We'll travel light—only what we need. The goal is to make it to the mountain and return here by nightfall."
Benjen finally spoke, his voice low and steady. "We shouldn't waste time. The longer we linger here, the more likely we are to be discovered or attacked."
Tormund grunted in agreement, tightening the straps on his battle axe. "Aye. I don't fancy another fight today."
Rick glanced at the others, then back at the towering structure of the mountain in the distance. A silent understanding passed between them all. They knew the dangers of staying too long, especially in a place like this.
With minimal words, they gathered their gear—leaving behind the bulk of their supplies and provisions in the safe room of the tower. Their footsteps were swift and purposeful, the urgency of the situation clear in their movements.
As they walked out into the morning light, the ruins of Valyria seemed eerily silent, as if holding its breath, waiting for something.
Despite the danger that lingered in every corner of Valyria, the group faced no attacks. It was as though the land had decided to let them pass unhindered—an uneasy peace that hung heavily in the air. The path was strange and unfamiliar, winding between jagged rocks and ancient ruins, but there were no creatures lurking, no eerie howls echoing in the distance.
Rick's mind kept returning to his dream, the vision of the towering mountain with the faded carvings of dragons on it. As they drew closer to the mountain, he saw them—massive, ancient carvings etched deep into the stone. The dragons seemed to coil around the rock, their forms stretching across the mountainside, their faces fierce and proud even in their wear and decay. Time had ravaged the stone, but the shapes were unmistakable—dragons, the creatures that once ruled the skies of Valyria.
The group stood in silence for a moment, taking in the sight. Even Melisandre, ever focused on the red gods and their mysteries, seemed to hold her breath at the enormity of the carvings.
"It's just like the dream," Rick murmured, his voice almost a whisper, though he wasn't sure who he was speaking to.
Benjen, walking beside him, glanced at the carvings, his expression unreadable. "What do they mean?"
"I'm not sure," Rick answered, shaking his head. "But the carvings... they feel like a warning. Something tied to the dragons, and... something more."
Tormund looked up at the mountain. "I don't like this. It's too quiet. Too easy."
Val, who had been scanning the area with a sharp gaze, turned her attention to the path ahead. "We've come this far," she said, her voice steady. "No use turning back now."
They continued on, the mountain looming larger as they neared its base. The closer they got, the more the ancient carvings seemed to pulse with a strange, unspoken energy. The stones felt almost alive, their deep grooves and cracks giving the impression that the dragons might stir once again.
Rick couldn't shake the feeling that something, or someone, had been waiting for them. The air around them felt charged, heavy with ancient power.
As they reached the foot of the mountain, they could see a large archway carved into the stone, leading deeper into the mountain's heart. The path seemed to call to them, drawing them closer. Without a word, the group made their way toward the archway, passing beneath the watchful eyes of the dragons carved into the stone, and into the unknown.
Each step felt like a promise, a silent agreement between them and the ancient land. Something was waiting at the heart of the mountain, something connected to the dragons—and to Rick's dreams. He only hoped that whatever lay within would bring them answers, and not destruction.
The mountain loomed ahead, its brown-red hue striking against the otherwise gray landscape, and though it was far, the group moved quickly, their spirits unspoken but strong.
Melisandre, ever vigilant, stayed close to Rick, her eyes flicking between the ruins and the horizon, as if searching for answers. Val kept pace with her, while Benjen, Sigorn, and Tormund brought up the rear, each man silently alert.
The journey ahead seemed to hold both promise and danger—an unspoken tension in the air as they pressed onward. But for now, it was just the mountain and the unknown waiting ahead of them.Rick's gaze shifted toward the altar at the center of the space, his eyes tracing the ancient Valyrian runes etched deep into its surface. The energy in the air felt thick, oppressive, and he couldn't shake the sense that whatever happened here, whatever had been done to the Mother of Dragons, was still tethered to this place.
"What now?"
Tormund's question hung in the air, unanswered for a moment. Rick was lost in thought, his fingers curling slightly around the hilt of his sword as he considered the puzzle before them. Freyja's words, as always, broke through the confusion.
She pointed to the altar, the delicate lines of her fingers outlining the runes that had been carved into its surface. "Valyrian used blood magic," she said, her voice steady and sure. "If the Mother of Dragons had been imprisoned, they must have used blood runes to keep her locked away. Perhaps overcharging the runes with magic—"
"No." Rick shook his head, his mind racing. "More magic? I don't think it would do anything, but…" He looked at the runes again, his fingers brushing his chin as he pondered. "Maybe carving new runes. Interfering with the sequence might work."
Melisandre, who had remained silent for most of the journey, finally spoke. Her voice was low, her eyes fixed on the altar as she too examined the ancient symbols. "Blood runes… that could explain a great deal. Magic is power, but it has its limits, especially when bound to blood. You'd need more than just power, yes—you'd need to break the connection."
Rick nodded, as if something inside him clicked. The thought of carving new runes made sense. It was the only way to disrupt the intricate web of magic that bound whatever was within the mountain. But it would be dangerous. They were messing with something ancient and powerful, something that had been sealed away for centuries. He wasn't sure what would happen if they succeeded—or if they failed.
He turned to Freyja, her face unreadable as she stood with her arms crossed, studying the altar as well. "Do you think this will work?" he asked.
Freyja's eyes softened, a deep understanding in her gaze. "I believe it's the only way forward. But be cautious, Rick. The magic that holds her may not be as dormant as it seems."
Rick took a deep breath, his mind weighing the risks. If the Mother of Dragons was truly locked away, she had been imprisoned for a reason. But what if she was a threat that had been misunderstood? What if she was the key to everything they needed?
Tormund, his usual brashness tempered by the gravity of the situation, looked between them. "So, we carve more runes and hope it works?"
Rick gave a tight nod. "We don't have much of a choice. We either try to disrupt the magic… or leave this place and risk whatever has been waiting for us."
The silence that followed was heavy. Even Benjen, who had remained stoic, looked toward the altar with a mix of suspicion and curiosity. No one spoke for a moment, each lost in their own thoughts.
Finally, Rick stepped forward, his boots echoing softly against the stone as he approached the altar. He reached out with his hand, hovering just above the runes. "Let's get this over with," he muttered, more to himself than to anyone else.
He knew the risks, but he also knew they couldn't leave without trying. The fate of the Mother of Dragons, and perhaps the realm itself, might rest on what they did next. The weight of it settled on his shoulders, but he couldn't afford to hesitate. Not now.
As he began to draw new runes in his own blood, the air around them seemed to hold its breath. Red light began to pulse from the runes, flickering like the last vestiges of a dying flame before it spread, creeping from one rune to the next, unfurling in a web of glowing crimson. The light rolled over the ground and up the rocks, weaving through the area in a dance of ancient magic. For a brief moment, the entire site seemed to hum with power, as though the earth itself had been awakened from a long slumber.
Then, with a violent flash, the red light blinked out. The air grew still, almost suffocating in its silence. The runes that had once glowed with life now lay dormant, their power seemingly spent. Nothing but the eerie quiet remained.
Tormund broke the silence first, his voice as blunt as ever. "What a bummer," he muttered, though his eyes were still trained on the altar, as if expecting something more to happen.
The earth trembled beneath their feet, a low vibration at first, like a distant rumble of thunder. But the tremors quickly grew in intensity, the ground shaking violently now, sending loose stones and dust into the air. Everyone scrambled to maintain their footing as the world seemed to tremble with a ferocity they hadn't anticipated. The tremors were so violent that even the stone beneath their feet seemed to crack and split.
"Look!" Melisandre's voice rang out, her eyes wide with awe.
Everyone turned to follow her gaze, and from the sky above them, a massive ball of fire descended. It was a meteor, a flaming sphere that burned with a scorching, molten intensity. The fireball plummeted with an almost unnatural speed, crashing into the top of the mountain with a deafening roar, its impact sending a shockwave through the air. The ground beneath them shuddered again, harder this time, and the entire landscape seemed to shift as if the earth itself was alive, responding to the force that had just struck.
The tremors intensified, rattling their very bones, until the force was so overwhelming that everyone had to drop to the ground, gripping at the earth and holding on for dear life, just to stay grounded. The air felt thick, charged with energy, as if the very atmosphere had become unstable. The sound of cracking rocks and splintering stone filled the air.
Then, as the dust settled, a monstrous shape began to emerge from the mountain. The earth cracked and split apart, the rocks rolling away as something enormous stirred beneath the surface. The shape was vast—immeasurable in scale—growing larger and more defined with each passing second. And then the red revealed itself, like blood spilling from a wound, flowing through the mountain's veins, streaking the earth beneath it with a crimson hue.
The mountain continued to crumble, chunks of rock and stone tumbling down in a violent cascade, until there was nothing left of the mountain at all. What had once been solid and unyielding was now a jagged ruin, laid bare before them. And there, standing where the mountain had once been, was something that made even Balerion's legendary size seem small by comparison.
The creature before them was a dragon—though 'dragon' hardly seemed a fitting word. This beast was so massive that it defied all reason, a being of unimaginable scale. Its body stretched for what seemed like miles, its red scales shimmering in the pale light of the sun, and its eyes burned with an ancient fire. The dragon stretched its wings, unfurling them slowly. The span of its wings was so vast that it blotted out the sun, casting the entire area into shadow, leaving only the eerie glow of the runes to illuminate the scene.
Rick felt a chill crawl up his spine as the dragon's low, guttural roar reverberated through the ground, nearly deafening the group. The sound was a primal force, the cry of a creature that had slumbered for centuries, now waking to a world that had long since forgotten it. The roar sent a shiver through Rick's very bones, and he had to steady himself, his heart pounding in his chest.
Looking up at the dragon, Rick couldn't help but feel a sense of awe, tempered with fear. This was no creature of legend—it was something more, something beyond their understanding. His thoughts raced, and he realized with a sickening clarity that what he was seeing before him was far beyond anything he had imagined.
From what he knew, from what little history had recorded, the Black Dread had been the largest dragon ever known, but this creature? This dragon was thrice the size—at least.
The air crackled with tension as the dragon's massive wings beat the air, the force of each movement sending gusts of wind that threatened to knock them off their feet. The roar of the beast rumbled through the very bones of the earth, and Rick could feel the pulse of its power vibrating through his entire body. This was not a creature they could fight, not something that could be slain. It was a force of nature, an ancient power that had been awakened—and now, the world would have to reckon with it.
The silence that followed the dragon's roar was deafening.
Rick felt it—an undeniable pull. The connection surged within him, just like when he first encountered Freyja, that primal need to draw closer, to understand, to be near. The fear, which had once held him in a vice, evaporated as if it had never been there. His body moved of its own accord, drawn by an invisible thread towards the dragon, while the others around him remained frozen, paralyzed by the awe and terror of the creature that had emerged from the mountain.
The dragon, massive and menacing, seemed to notice his approach. Its eyes—those ancient, burning orbs—focused on Rick, and with a low, almost imperceptible grunt, it inhaled deeply. The air crackled, and then, in an instant, the dragon unleashed a torrent of flame. The fire was a brilliant red, matching the hue of its scales, and it engulfed Rick in a blaze so intense that even the earth beneath seemed to quiver. Benjen's distressed cry echoed through the chaos, but it went unnoticed, drowned by the roaring flames and the force of the firestorm.
Yet, Rick had no reason to despair. As the flames slowly receded, only thick, curling smoke remained. The heat lingered in the air, but when it cleared, Rick stood tall and unbowed, his chest rising and falling in the aftermath, his face proud but completely exposed. His clothes, burned away in an instant, left him standing in nothing but the ashes of his former self. The fire had consumed him, but in some strange, inexplicable way, it had transformed him, too.
The dragon, still towering above him, seemed to sense something within him, perhaps recognizing something ancient and powerful. It lowered its head, its gaze intense and probing, as if studying him. The dragon's nostrils flared, and it took a deep, deliberate sniff of the air, as though seeking out the very essence of Rick's being. For a long moment, the two stood there, the mighty beast and the naked man, locked in a silent communion.
Then, as if acknowledging some unspoken understanding, the dragon began to change. Slowly at first, its massive form started to shrink, the immense size that had once filled the horizon diminishing. The red scales shifted and retracted, the massive wings folding in, the creature's shape twisting and contracting. It wasn't shrinking just in size—it was changing entirely, its form transforming before Rick's eyes.
In moments, where the dragon had once stood, there now stood a woman. She was taller than Freyja, almost half a head taller, but her presence was just as commanding. Her hair, a deep, blood-red hue, swirled around her, floating in the air as though it were alive with flame. It glowed with an ethereal quality, burning bright like embers in a dying fire. Her skin was tanned, as though she had spent long hours under the sun, a sun that had baked her into a warm, golden-brown hue. Her eyes mirrored the same intense red of her hair, a piercing, smoldering gaze that seemed to see straight through Rick.
Where Freyja's beauty had been graceful and regal, like a queen of ancient courts, this woman was something else entirely. Her features were sharp, fierce, the face of a warrior, not a monarch. Her jawline was strong, her nose slightly angular, and her expression was one of quiet power, as if she had seen war and survived it, time and again. Her body was toned and muscular, but not in a way that betrayed any masculinity. The curve of her form was balanced perfectly with her strength—an ideal blend of grace and might. Her body was fit, powerful, but also undeniably feminine, with curves that rivaled even Freyja's. There was a ferocity to her, something untamable, like a storm trapped in a woman's form.
If Freyja's presence had been a quiet force of nature, this woman exuded the aura of a battle-hardened goddess. She stood in front of Rick now, her eyes never leaving his, as though sizing him up, evaluating him in some ancient, unspoken way. For a moment, there was nothing but silence between them, a world of weight and expectation pressing in on both of them. The connection was undeniable—a bond of something old, something primal—and it stirred something deep within Rick's soul.
The woman's hand moved with deliberate grace, a slow, almost reverent motion as she cupped Rick's cheek, her fingers warm and steady. Her touch was tender, yet it held the weight of centuries—of ancient forces, of power and wisdom beyond mortal comprehension. As her thumb gently wiped away the tear that had fallen from Rick's face, the air around them seemed to hold its breath, as if even the world itself paused in the face of such a moment.
"Why the tears, chosen one?" Her voice was rich, like the sound of distant thunder rolling over the mountains, and it carried an undercurrent of something deep and unfathomable, as if she had seen the pain of countless souls before his.
Rick's gaze faltered, and for a moment, he couldn't speak. The weight of it all pressed down on him like a mountain, the burden of destiny too heavy to bear. When he finally spoke, his voice was raw, tinged with bitterness that bled into the very air around them.
"Because my last hope to not be the gods' chosen went up in flames and smoke, without even leaving a trace. No ashes. Just gone." His words felt like a confession, as if voicing his regret would somehow make the crushing weight of fate a little lighter.
The woman's lips parted, as though she might respond, but before she could speak, a deafening roar filled the air. It was so loud it rattled the very earth beneath them, causing the ground to tremble as if the mountains themselves were protesting. The sound echoed through the sky like a challenge—a primal declaration of dominance.
Everyone's gaze snapped upwards, drawn by the thunderous calls that seemed to shake the heavens. Two dragons appeared, their massive wings cutting through the air like an unstoppable storm. Rick's heart skipped a beat as he recognized one of them—The Cannibal. He had read of it in the ancient texts, the dragon that had rivaled Balerion in size and ferocity. The massive creature had disappeared over two centuries ago, and to see it now, alive, sent a cold shiver down his spine. The other dragon, slightly larger, was unknown to him—its scales gleaming with an eerie, otherworldly hue.
"Betrayers' abominations," the woman snarled, her voice thick with venom, each word laced with ancient fury. Her eyes blazed with an intensity that seemed to ignite the very air around her.
Before Rick could voice the question that bubbled in his throat, her hand shot out, wrapping around him with a strength that was impossible to resist. In one swift motion, she lifted him from the ground, hoisting him effortlessly onto her shoulder. The suddenness of it left him no room for protest; his body stiffened in surprise, but he was too stunned to speak.
And then, without a single word, the Mother of Dragons began to shift before his very eyes. Her body rippled with power as her human form seemed to melt away into something far more primal, far more ancient. The air around them grew heavy with magic, and in a blink, she was a creature of legend—wings unfurling from her back, massive and bat-like, the scales of her form shimmering like molten gold.
With a beat of those wings, she took to the sky, the force of her ascent sending ripples through the air. Rick's breath caught in his throat as he found himself soaring with her, the world falling away beneath them. The wind whipped through his hair, the ground disappearing into the distance as the dragons above them circled in the sky, the vast expanse of the world stretching out before him like a canvas waiting to be painted.
The sky above crackled with fury as the Mother of Dragons ascended, her wings beating with the force of a tempest. The two dragons above her—the Cannibal and the unknown beast—moved to intercept her, their enormous forms casting monstrous shadows over the earth below.
The battle erupted almost immediately, a primal clash between ancient forces.
The Cannibal, with its scales a deep, menacing black, lunged forward with a deafening roar. Its jaws opened wide, revealing rows of sharp teeth meant to tear flesh from bone. It came at her with terrifying speed, a savage determination in its eyes.
But the Mother of Dragons was faster, more precise. Her wings snapped forward, her body a blur of movement. With a flick of her tail, she dodged the Cannibal's strike, sending the dragon crashing into the clouds behind her.
Rick, still perched on her shoulder, could feel the power radiating from her, a force of nature that was impossible to stop.
She didn't hesitate. In a move so swift it was almost too fast to follow, the Mother of Dragons turned toward the Cannibal, her mouth opening wide. Fire exploded from her throat, a wave of red, molten flame that engulfed the Cannibal before it could even react. The heat was unbearable, a roaring inferno that scorched the very air. The Cannibal let out a final, guttural screech, its wings flailing as the flames consumed it. Within moments, all that remained was a charred skeleton, the blackened bones floating in the wake of the firestorm.
The other dragon, larger and more powerful, was quicker to retaliate. It lunged toward her with a roar that shook the sky, its jaws snapping shut in a vicious attempt to bite her in half. But the Mother of Dragons was a force of nature, and she was relentless.
With a savage growl, she shifted in the air, her wings cutting through the wind as she dove toward the other dragon. The creature tried to retreat, but it was too slow, too cumbersome. She struck with a single, devastating blow.
Her jaws closed around the dragon's neck with terrifying precision. The Mother of Dragons didn't hesitate—her teeth sank into the thick scales, and with a single violent motion, she severed the creature's head from its body.
Blood and scales rained down from the sky as the headless body of the dragon fell, plummeting toward the earth below like a massive, lifeless weight. They stood no change, she had been superior in everything from size to strength to speed.
Rick could only watch in stunned silence atop her back, holding onto her scales with everything he had, his heart pounding in his chest as the battle came to a brutal and final end. The Mother of Dragons hovered in the air for a moment, her wings beating slowly, as if savoring the victory.
The sky, once filled with the deafening roars of battle, fell silent. The only sound that remained was the wind rushing past them as they flew higher, leaving the destruction behind.
With a graceful beat of her massive wings, the Mother of Dragons descended, her body slicing through the air with deadly elegance. The ground shook beneath her as she landed, her talons digging into the earth with a resounding thud. The air was still thick with the scent of smoke, the remnants of the battle lingering in the atmosphere like a heavy, oppressive weight.
Rick's heart was still racing from the sheer ferocity of the confrontation, his body still vibrating with the rush of adrenaline. He barely had time to process the enormity of what had just transpired before the Mother of Dragons shifted before his eyes, her towering dragon form shrinking and compressing into her human form.
Without a word, she gently placed Rick on his own two feet, the soft yet commanding touch of her hand settling him to the ground as if he were weightless. The moment their skin made contact, a strange warmth surged through him, a tingling sensation that felt like the very essence of life itself. His breath caught in his throat, his chest tight as his mind struggled to process the overwhelming presence of the woman before him.
"You're safe now," she spoke, her voice both soothing and commanding, a whisper of wind and fire that seemed to echo within his bones.
Rick nodded, unable to find the words to speak. The sheer magnitude of what had just happened left him speechless. He had just witnessed a battle between ancient forces, and now he stood before the very being who had ended it in an instant.
Her gaze softened, though there was still a flicker of something ancient in her eyes. She stepped back, the wind picking up around them, her hair swirling like a living flame. "Do not fear, chosen one," she said, her voice now gentler but still filled with undeniable power. "The world has changed, and you will change with it."
The words hung in the air, charged with meaning, though Rick could not yet grasp the weight of them. He simply stood there, feeling the ground beneath his feet and the strange warmth of her touch still lingering on his skin, his mind racing with a thousand thoughts he could not yet organize.
The stillness between Rick and the Mother of Dragons hung heavy, charged with an intensity neither could easily shake. The air was thick with the aftershocks of the battle, the fire still smoldering in the distance, the weight of their shared moment pressing on Rick's chest like an invisible hand. His thoughts were scattered, trying to make sense of the impossible reality before him — a reality that was shifting and changing faster than he could process. But before he could gather his thoughts, the silence was shattered by the unmistakable, boisterous voice of Tormund.
"I think I need new smallclothes," he grumbled, his voice rough and brimming with a mixture of embarrassment and humor.
The absurdity of it — coming from the man who had just witnessed the destruction of two ancient dragons — hit like a tidal wave, and for a split second, it was as if the world had reset itself. Rick's lips twitched into a reluctant smile, despite the gravity of everything that had just transpired. Tormund, always a source of chaotic energy, had found a way to break through the tension with his usual irreverence.
Freyja, ever the quiet observer, let out a soft snort of amusement, her eyes briefly shifting to the towering woman who had just brought the two dragons to their fiery end. Even the Mother of Dragons couldn't suppress the faintest curve of her lips, a barely perceptible smile that seemed to soften her otherwise fierce presence.
Rick's own laughter, though quiet and strained, echoed the ridiculousness of the situation. "Yes," he agreed with a shake of his head. "You certainly look... less than prepared for the aftermath." He allowed himself a moment to breathe, to find some small bit of humor in the madness of it all. "Tormund, I think you're going to need more than new smallclothes. You might need a new set of everything."
Tormund, still wide-eyed and a bit shaken by the dragons' power, shot Rick a look. "Aye, well... I'll take what I can get," he muttered, running a hand through his wild, red beard. "Just don't expect me to start dressing up like some fancy kneeler. Although you're the one who needs new clothes more than I do."
The brief, unexpected moment of lightness spread through the group like a breath of fresh air, dispelling the lingering tension. Even in the face of unimaginable power, there was room for humor, for humanity, for moments of normalcy — and that was something Rick needed more than ever.