"I am the Mother of Dragons," she began, her voice carrying an echo of ancient power, as if the very air around them trembled at her words. "Created by the gods of Valyria, to guide the people who worshipped them. My purpose was once clear, and my power immense. I was the force that connected them to their gods, their magic, their very survival. But as with all things born of power, the Valyrians' hubris grew to match their might."
Her gaze darkened as she spoke, her fiery eyes flickering like embers. "They were the dominating civilization in the world. They believed themselves above the gods, untouchable, beyond reproach. In their arrogance, they sought to control even me — their mother. They sought to chain me, to lock me away, believing their power would last forever."
Rick listened, his heart heavy with the weight of her words. He could feel the pain and betrayal in her voice, a timeless sorrow that had never faded.
"They crafted a spell," she continued, the bitterness in her tone palpable, "and runes — runes that I taught them, runes that once were a means of connection, of communication with the divine. They twisted my own magic, used it against me to form chains that bound me in place. And my own blood, the very essence of my being, became the anchor that kept me imprisoned. My very life force was used to keep me confined. To keep me forgotten."
She paused, her expression a mixture of rage and sorrow, her fists clenched at her sides. "But that wasn't enough for them. No, they didn't just imprison me. They perverted my children — the dragons, my brood, my kin. They twisted them, reducing them to nothing more than mindless beasts, simple creatures of flame and instinct. Their minds, their spirits, dimmed and diminished, their true nature locked away behind a veil of magic. It was not enough to chain me — they needed to desecrate everything I held dear."
Rick felt a shiver run down his spine as she spoke of her children, the dragons, once majestic creatures of incredible power, now reduced to the status of mere animals. His mind swirled with the implications of her words. These were creatures who had once soared through the skies, rulers of fire and destruction. The idea that they had been twisted, made less than what they were meant to be, stirred something deep within him — a shared sense of loss, of something precious corrupted by those who sought only control.
Her voice grew darker, colder, as she continued, "And when they had finished defiling my children, they used my magic to fuel their ambition. They used it for everything — from their greatest constructions to their darkest rituals. They used me, my blood, my essence, to power their dominion over the world. They drained me, piece by piece, until there was nothing left but the chains that bound me."
She closed her eyes, a long breath escaping her lips. "But in the depths of their arrogance, they sought to perform a ritual — one of blood and fire — through the Fourteen Flames, the very heart of Valyria's power. A ritual so vile that it should have never been conceived. I knew what they were doing. I could feel my magic stirring, and I knew the cost. But I also knew something else."
Rick, now fully gripped by her words, leaned in slightly, sensing the turning point of her tale, the moment where everything had changed.
"I had one final choice," she whispered, her voice tinged with sorrow. "One final act of defiance. They wanted to control me completely, to bind me utterly. So I did the only thing I could. I poured everything I had left into their spell. I gave them more magic than they could comprehend. More than they deserved. Almost everything I had left."
Her eyes locked onto his, and in that gaze, Rick felt the weight of ages. "And the Doom happened as a result. The world they had built crumbled, their empire turned to ash. The magic that had once sustained them, that bounded me, was unleashed — and the Valyrian Freehold fell. The doom they so arrogantly invited upon themselves."
Rick stood silent, his mind struggling to fully grasp the enormity of what she had shared. Her sacrifice, her fury, the destruction of an entire civilization — it was all contained in those final words. The power she had given, the fury of a mother scorned, the wrath of a being who had been enslaved for centuries, and the cost of defying the gods themselves.
The Mother of Dragons stood before him, a creature of myth and fire, of life and death. And in that moment, Rick understood. Her pain, her rage, her incredible loss, and her choice to bring the doom upon the Valyrians — it was all connected. She had been more than a weapon, more than a force of destruction. She had been a mother, protecting what she loved, even at the cost of everything she had ever known.
Rick took a slow breath, the weight of the world on his shoulders, and nodded. He understood now. She had not been the cause of the Doom. She had been its instrument. The last act of defiance, of vengeance, from a being who had been broken and remade.
"We need your help. The dead, the Others," Rick began, his voice steady, but the weight of his words heavy in the air.
The woman before him, the Mother of Dragons, didn't flinch. Her red eyes bore into him with ancient understanding, as if the matter of life and death were as common to her as the changing of seasons. "I know," she said, her voice a low, resonant tone that carried with it the echoes of centuries. "I may have slumbered for nearly a thousand years, but I am aware. How do you think the doom happened while I was asleep? As for the Others… I was the one who sent Azor Ahai to the North eight thousand years ago."
Rick's breath caught in his chest. "You did?!" Melisandre exclaimed, her eyes wide with shock and awe.
"She did," Freyja confirmed, her gaze never leaving the Mother of Dragons. "She was quite the woman."
Rick blinked, trying to process the words. "Wait, wait, wait. Azor Ahai, the Last Hero... was a woman?!" he interjected, his mind struggling to reconcile what he knew of the legendary figures with what was now being revealed.
"She was," both women confirmed in unison, their voices as strong as the stormwinds that had carved the lands they stood upon.
The revelation hit Rick like a thunderclap, his world shifting beneath him. It was as if the very foundations of everything he knew had cracked open, revealing a new, uncharted truth. The Last Hero, the very figure he had thought was the ultimate hero, the savior of the realm, had been a woman? It was mind-boggling. It defied everything he had been told, everything he had come to understand about the history of the world.
Freyja's voice cut through his swirling thoughts. "Just as I gave my blood to Brandon Stark, I gave my blood to Azor. With fire and ice in her veins, she was able to defeat the Night King. But," she paused, her gaze darkening, "unfortunately, the ice in her veins was artificial. At that time, there was only so much magic I could give her, as I was already using my strength to fight the effects of the Long Night."
Rick's heart raced.
Freyja's eyes met his, their weight settling on his soul. "You, Rick, your blood is different. The mix is natural, unlike Azor. That is why the magic within you is so potent, so powerful."
His mind whirled with the implications of her words.
"You have the strength to do what she could not," Freyja continued, her voice soft but firm. "But you must be prepared, for the road ahead will not be easy. The Others are coming, and you must rise to face them as you know."
"One thing I don't understand, Freyja," Rick said, his brow furrowing with confusion. "You said you didn't know anything about..."
"Alexstrasza," the Mother of Dragons interrupted smoothly, her voice rich with an ancient authority. Her red eyes flickered, a glint of something deeper, more mysterious, hidden beneath her words.
Rick blinked at the name, it felt powerful, familiar yet foreign. His curiosity piqued, but Freyja continued without missing a beat. "Because I didn't. Azor spoke little of her, save that she was sent by two other pantheons from the east. I didn't pry further into her origins. Her presence here was clear—she was here to help, and everything else was irrelevant."
Her words hung in the air, laden with the weight of countless years of wisdom and restraint. As if, in Freyja's mind, the origin of Alexstrasza was less important than her purpose. A simple statement of practicality, born from a time when gods and dragons moved like fleeting shadows across a world teetering between life and death. The past, the whispers of ancient beings, were far less important than the present—what they could do now, what was needed in this very moment.
Rick turned to Alexstrasza, his voice heavy with the weight of his realization. "The gods said you were the key. To defeat the Others."
Tormund, ever blunt, chimed in from behind him. "You could burn them all."
Alexstrasza's eyes darkened, and she gave a slow shake of her head. "I cannot. Just like the Mother of the North, my magic is severely diminished. But I can help in other ways."
Rick's brow furrowed as he processed her words. The conversation was veering toward something even more ancient than he could understand, something tied to old magic. He spoke up, a question pressing against his chest. "The gods spoke of the first flame?" he asked.
Alexstrasza's gaze grew distant, and there was a deep reverence in her voice when she answered. "That is me. I was the one to bring fire to the Valyrians. With this fire, they learned to work metal."
Benjen, who had been listening intently, whispered in disbelief, "Valyrian steel."
The words seemed to echo in the air, as if the very mention of them carried a weight that transcended time. Alexstrasza, however, merely nodded, acknowledging the significance of the ancient metal with a quiet, almost regal air.
"Yes," she confirmed, her voice steady. "The same fire that birthed the Valyrians' greatest weapons, forged in the blood of dragons. It was my gift to them, and through it, they became masters of metal, of magic, and of the world. Valyrian steel is not just a weapon; it is the essence of fire itself."
Rick's gaze sharpened as he took in Alexstrasza's words. The sheer weight of the situation pressed heavily on him, yet her insight brought a glimmer of hope.
"You know how to make it?" he asked, the question weighing on his tongue with an edge of urgency.
Alexstrasza met his gaze with a quiet certainty. "Yes. You need the right ore, then dragon fire, and finally blood saturated in magic," she revealed, her tone even, as if she were speaking of something long known to her. "The blood is what gives the metal its true strength. Without it, it's just steel."
Rick nodded, piecing it together in his mind. "Good thing you didn't burn the second dragon to a crisp. We have plenty of magical blood," he said with a half-smile, though the gravity of their situation was never far from his thoughts.
Val, standing close by, frowned as she crossed her arms. "Although how are we supposed to bring it back to the Wall?" she asked. "And the ore. We don't have that."
Alexstrasza's gaze grew distant for a moment, as though recalling something long buried. "There are plenty left in the Tower," she said softly, her voice thick with memory. "It was the center of the Valyrian civilization. Deep underground, I wouldn't be surprised if you found already made weapons, armors, and containers. There must be something, something to hold the blood."
Rick's brow furrowed, the question lingering in his mind. As they trekked back to the Tower, the creatures that lurked in the ruins had grown fiercer, more violent. The remnants of the once-proud civilization were now overrun with horrors, yet he couldn't shake the feeling that there was something more to it.
"There's one thing I've wondered," Rick began, his voice thoughtful as he turned to Alexstrasza. "As we got deeper into Valyria, the monsters got stronger... but rarer. Is that because of you?"
Alexstrasza nodded slowly, her gaze distant as if reflecting on the ancient past. "Yes. Even in slumber, they could feel my power," she said, her voice low, tinged with a sense of age-old weariness. "Such is the nature of magic. They avoid what they cannot understand, what they cannot overpower, what they fear. My presence, even in the state I was in, kept them at bay."
Rick nodded, understanding the connection now. The presence of a being so powerful could easily send the twisted creatures of Valyria scurrying into the shadows, too afraid to approach. But then a new thought crossed his mind, and he couldn't keep it to himself.
"Then why did those two dragons attack you?" he asked, his tone a mixture of curiosity and confusion. "They didn't seem to be scared of you."
Ygritte, who had been listening quietly, spoke up. Her voice was direct, her sharp eyes never leaving Alexstrasza. "Yeah, why did they come after you if they felt your power?"
Alexstrasza's expression darkened, her eyes narrowing as she exhaled softly. "Madness," she said simply, as though the word held more weight than any explanation could. "The dragons that attacked me were twisted, driven by an insanity of their own making and centuries of experiments by the Valyrians. I wouldn't be surprised if they thought they could steal my power, by feeding on my flesh, drinking of my blood. But such foolishness…" Her voice trailed off, a soft bitterness edging her words. "They would not have gotten an ounce of power from me, no matter how they tried. They were nothing but desperate, mindless creatures."
They arrived at the tower just as the sun began its descent, casting long shadows across the ruined landscape. The air was cool, but the warmth of the day still clung to the stone as they made their way inside. They found what little food they could and ate together in silence. Tomorrow, they would explore the depths of the tower, but tonight, there was little more to say.
Rick had expected the quiet of the evening, but what caught him off guard was the closeness he suddenly felt. As they gathered to rest, he found himself surrounded, embraced not only by Freyja but also by Alexstrasza. It was an intimacy that stirred something inside him—a deep, ancient tension that hung between them.
Freyja, in her human form, had a way of manipulating the light around her, draping herself in ethereal clothes that were modest yet beautiful. When she wore them, she was always covered, always regal. But Alexstrasza… she was something entirely different.
Since she had taken her human form, she wore little more than a few strategically placed pieces of cloth. Her chest was barely concealed by a simple garment that barely met its purpose. Her shoulders were exposed, the fabric clinging just enough to maintain some semblance of modesty, but not much more. Around her waist, a cloth hung down, reaching just above her mid-thigh. There was no denying that her form was almost fully on display, the underside of her breasts visible, her skin glowing with an almost otherworldly radiance. Her presence was overwhelming, her beauty undeniable, and it sent Rick's mind reeling.
The warmth of her touch only intensified the feeling, and he couldn't help but whisper to her, the words tumbling out before he could stop himself.
"Let me guess," Rick began, his voice low as he fought to keep his thoughts clear. "I'm supposed to be your mate, replenish your magic, give you children—both human and... draconic?"
Alexstrasza turned to him, her smile predatory, full of purpose. "You guessed well," she replied softly, a hint of amusement in her voice.
Rick swallowed, feeling his pulse quicken as his mind tried to catch up. "Well, at least I have a choice…"
Her smile darkened, her eyes narrowing slightly. "You do not."
"W-what?!" Rick's voice broke with disbelief.
Alexstrasza's gaze softened just a little, the weight of her words settling over them both. "I will bear your children, chosen one. You don't have a say in this."
"But Freyja—"
"That's just me, Rick," Freyja interrupted, her voice surprisingly calm, but the flicker of emotion in her eyes was unmistakable. "I'm giving you the choice. Apparently, she doesn't."
Rick's heart dropped, the reality of it sinking in. He looked at the two women before him, feeling an overwhelming sense of helplessness. "...I won't find love, will I?" he whispered to himself, the defeat clear in his voice.
"If you mean with a mortal woman, you can. I have no objection to it. The wolf doesn't seem to mind either." Alextrasza declared with an unconcerned and detached voice.
Freyja's expression softened, her hand lightly brushing against his cheek. "I wouldn't be happy about it but I would understand. The gods are asking a lot from you, Rick. If the love of a mortal is what you want in return then I will accept it."
Alexstrasza's voice chimed in, her words almost playful. "Hm. That blonde girl would make a good mate. She keeps looking at you."
Rick's stomach tightened. He didn't dare look in Val's direction, though he could feel the weight of her gaze upon him, pressing on him like a physical force. Instead, he simply nodded, his eyes growing heavy as he tried to retreat inward, his thoughts swirling.
"I…" He cleared his throat, trying to steady himself. "I'll go to sleep." With that, he lay down, pulling his blanket around him, his mind racing with the implications of the night. He didn't know what the future held, but one thing was certain: everything was changing, and it was changing fast.
He only hoped he could find some semblance of peace in the chaos of his sentimental and (non-existent) sexual life. But deep down, he knew it wouldn't be that easy.
Morning came with a quiet calm, and after a hearty breakfast that gave them all the strength to face the day, the group gathered, ready for the next step. Alexstrasza, leading the way, moved with an almost ethereal grace, her fiery presence still as overwhelming as ever. The journey into the depths of the tower felt like crossing into another world—one that belonged to a time long past, steeped in ancient magic and secrets.
They made their way toward a massive set of double doors, their surface covered in intricate runes that pulsed with dormant power. The sheer size of the doors was daunting, but Alexstrasza approached them with ease, a knowing look on her face. She muttered words of an ancient language, her voice laced with authority, and as her fingers brushed the runes, they shimmered and then dimmed, losing their magic as she deactivated them.
With a resounding groan, the doors slowly opened, revealing what lay behind them.
The room was vast—far larger than Rick had imagined—and the air was thick with the weight of history. It was a combination of an armory and a forge, a place where weapons of unimaginable power had once been crafted. The walls were lined with racks of weapons—swords, spears, axes—all masterfully forged, though many were worn with the passage of time. Some appeared to be of the finest steel, while others bore the telltale signs of ancient Valyrian craftsmanship. They were beautiful and deadly in their design, each weapon imbued with a history that Rick could only begin to comprehend.
On one side of the room, there were piles of armor—shining breastplates, gauntlets, helms—all neatly stacked but clearly used. The craftsmanship of these pieces was flawless, made to withstand battles against enemies that had long since been forgotten. The gleam of the armor caught the dim light from the forge, and Rick couldn't help but feel a sense of awe. These were relics of a lost civilization, relics of a time when men and dragons had fought side by side.
But it wasn't just the weapons and armor that caught Rick's attention. His gaze shifted to another part of the room, where ingots of what he believed to be Valyrian steel were stacked neatly on a raised platform. The dark, lustrous metal gleamed in the faint light, its surface almost impossibly smooth, reflecting the history of the world within it. Rick's heart raced, his mind already working, imagining the weapons that could be forged from such a material.
Then his eyes fell upon something even more curious.
In the far corner of the room, near the blacksmithing area, stood massive glass pots—at least six feet tall—gathered together. Some were filled with a dark, viscous liquid that swirled in the dim light, while others stood empty, their surfaces cracked and worn from the years of disuse. The presence of the liquid in some of the pots gave the room an eerie, unsettling quality. Rick wasn't sure what it was, but he could feel the magic that clung to it, ancient and strange. There was a certain heaviness to the air around those pots, a sense of danger that whispered of long-forgotten rituals.
"These... what are they?" Rick asked, his voice quiet as he stepped forward, eyes fixed on the pots.
Alexstrasza, standing beside him, gave a soft sigh, her gaze distant. "Those are remnants of rituals long past. The blood of dragons, or something close to it. This is how Valyria created their weapons, their power—the blood and fire of the dragons were the key. The runes on the pots... they were used to channel the magic, to infuse the weapons with the very essence of a dragon."
Rick shuddered, a cold feeling washing over him as he glanced from the pots to the racks of weapons and armor. The weight of what they were standing in—the power that had been harnessed here—felt overwhelming.
"We will need multiple trips to the ships to load everything," Benjen commented, eyeing the massive stockpile of weapons and armor scattered throughout the room. His mind was already working on how best to transport everything back.
Rick shook his head, considering the gravity of the task ahead. "No. I don't think… We should take weapons for ourselves and a few more, but I don't think taking all the weapons will be helpful. It doesn't fit the strategy I have in mind to defeat the Others and their army." His voice was firm, and there was a quiet intensity behind his words. "Arrows and bolts are the key to victory, spear tips too, but everything else? No. Even the armor would be useless. Metal in the cold of the North? Ill-advised. Besides, so much Valyrian steel in circulation in Westeros would be a disaster."
He paused, his gaze sweeping over the vast array of ancient weapons and armor. His thoughts were scattered, but the pieces were coming together. "The Valyrian steel is a powerful force, but it would create a target for those who would seek to control it. And I won't let that happen."
Benjen mulled over Rick's words. It was clear that his nephew had a plan in mind, one he wasn't yet fully willing to share, but Benjen trusted him. He took a step forward, selecting a sword that felt right in his hands—a finely crafted blade with a long, sturdy hilt, its steel darkened by time but still sharp and true. He also grabbed a suit of armor, sturdy but practical. It might not be of immediate use in the North, but House Stark would certainly find it useful. The thought of having enough weapons and armor for the Watch—and for the eventual defense of Winterfell—did provide some comfort, but Benjen knew that the real battle wasn't going to be fought with steel alone.
Sigorn, the young Thenn, found two one-handed axes that suited his strong, battle-hardened hands. His eyes gleamed with satisfaction as he tested the weight of each, and Rick could sense the warrior's instincts coming to the forefront. Sigorn's choices were practical—blades designed for quick, brutal attacks that would serve him well when the time came.
Tormund, of course, had a different idea. As he stalked the weapon racks, his booming voice could be heard chuckling to himself. "Aye, that's the one," he muttered, eyeing a massive two-handed battle axe that was far too large for any normal man but seemed to fit Tormund's imposing frame perfectly. Rick smirked to himself, knowing full well that Tormund would likely sleep with that axe in his arms. It wasn't just a weapon—it was an extension of his personality, wild and untamed, just like the man himself.
Ygritte, ever the hunter, wasted no time in seeking out her preferred weapons: bows. She examined several with care, eventually selecting two—one a shorter, more compact bow, and the other a longbow, as tall as she was. Neither were made of Valyrian steel, but both were crafted from dragon bones—an entirely different kind of weapon, one imbued with a different kind of magic. She gathered as many arrows as she could carry, slipping them into two quivers made of dragon hide. Rick could see the determination in her eyes as she prepared herself for the fight ahead. She wasn't just gathering weapons—she was getting ready to face down death itself.
Val, ever the enigmatic presence, moved through the room with a quiet grace. Her fingers lightly traced the weapons around her, but it was the white spear she found that caught Rick's attention. The craftsmanship was exquisite, and the spear's deadly potential was evident in its elegant design. She didn't speak much as she selected the spear, but when she moved to the knives and daggers, Rick could tell she was preparing for a variety of situations—nothing would go unaccounted for, nothing would be left to chance.
Rick followed Val's lead, selecting knives, daggers, and a spear—one with a slightly more slender, agile build than Val's. He knew well enough not to burden himself with unnecessary weight, not with the battles that lay ahead. Each weapon was chosen for practicality, light yet deadly in the right hands. But then his eyes fell upon the longsword at the far end of the armory, and he couldn't resist.
Though he had wielded Dark Sister—a Valyrian steel blade—countless times before, the sight of this new sword still held a certain allure. This one, however, was different. The moment his fingers closed around the hilt, he felt the weightlessness of the blade. It was the lightest Valyrian steel he had ever held, almost impossibly so. It wasn't just light; it was perfectly balanced, like an extension of his own arm. It was a familiar sensation, one he had experienced before with Dark Sister, but this sword felt... sharper somehow, as if it were attuned to its wielder more than any blade had a right to be.
He swung it experimentally, the motion almost effortless, as the blade cut through the air with a whisper of deadly intent. It was swift, precise, and alive in his hands. Rick knew Valyrian steel was sharp, but this was a weapon that felt as if it anticipated his every move. It felt like a natural extension of himself—a tool that would allow him to strike without hesitation or restraint.
"Now the question is... how are we going to pick those jars and fill them with the blood of the dragon you killed?" Rick asked, his eyes scanning the room as he considered the practicalities.
"Like this," Alex answered with a confident smile.
Without hesitation, she moved toward the side of the chamber, where a large alcove stood hidden in shadow. She reached up to pull a sturdy lever embedded in the stone wall, and with a loud, grinding screech, a massive elevator descended from above. The floor vibrated underfoot as the elevator settled into place, revealing not just the expected storage space, but also a row of ancient skeletons, their bones worn by centuries of time. But what caught everyone's attention were the huge carts, their wheels old but still functional, and designed for a task far beyond anything a mortal could conceive.
"Well, looks like we're lucky," Alex remarked, her voice light and breezy despite the bizarre scene. "I thought I'd have to search for a cart, but it seems like there's one already waiting for us."
She didn't pause, stepping over to the carts with a casual grace and lifting the nearest jar as if it weighed no more than a simple trinket. The jar was massive, made of thick glass and designed to hold quantities of dragon's blood. Rick's eyes widened as Alex effortlessly lifted the jar, as though the weight of it were nothing to her.
"We'll place the jars in these, get them to the surface, and then I'll bring the abomination's body here," she continued, casually stacking the jars into the carts as if this were a task she'd done a thousand times before.
The whole group of humans in the room stood frozen, their eyes fixed on her as she lifted with unnatural strength. They were utterly dumbfounded by how easily she handled the weighty jars. It was like watching a goddess in motion, her strength beyond anything they had ever seen. Rick could barely comprehend the ease with which she maneuvered everything around her.
For a moment, there was silence—no one spoke, only watched in awe as Alex continued with her work, unbothered by the astonished gazes cast her way.
"Freyja… Can you-"
"I cannot. I have more strength than a mortal, yes but not that much."
Rick stepped onto the elevator platform with Alexstrasza, the heavy cart and jars secured inside. With a metallic groan, the ancient mechanism jolted to life, gears grinding as they slowly ascended toward the surface. The ride was steady, the air thick with the scent of old stone and lingering magic. A minute or two later, the elevator came to a stop with a final clank, and they emerged behind the towering ruins of the once-great Valyrian stronghold.
Without hesitation, Alexstrasza shifted into her dragon form, her massive wings unfurling with a gust of wind that sent dust swirling around them. With a single powerful leap, she took to the sky, disappearing over the blackened ruins. Rick waited, listening to the distant rush of her wings. It didn't take long—soon, she returned, the broken body of the slain dragon clutched in her talons. She landed heavily, the force of her impact rattling the stones beneath their feet.
With clinical efficiency, Alexstrasza tightened her claws around the corpse, the sheer pressure forcing the still-warm blood to gush from its wounds. The dark, steaming liquid flowed freely into the massive glass pots, filling them nearly to the brim. The scent was overwhelming—thick, metallic, and laced with something ancient and potent, something not quite natural. When the last of the dragon's lifeblood had been drained, Alexstrasza discarded the carcass with a disinterested flick of her talons, sending it tumbling to the side with a dull, wet thud.
Rick, ever the seasoned hunter, moved without hesitation. He reached for one of his newly acquired daggers, the razor-sharp Valyrian steel glinting in the dim light. Without a word, he strode toward the fallen dragon and knelt beside it. He ran his fingers along its still-warm hide, feeling the dense, scale-covered flesh beneath his touch. Then, with practiced ease, he set to work.
The dagger bit into the thick hide, parting the scaled flesh with almost no resistance. Rick's hands were steady as he carved through muscle and sinew, extracting the strongest bones and tendons. Dragon bone—light, durable, and nearly unbreakable—was a rare treasure, and the sinew could be used for bowstrings stronger than any human-made material.
Minutes passed, then more. When the others realized he hadn't returned, curiosity got the better of them. One by one, they took the elevator up and stepped onto the surface, eyes widening as they took in the scene.
At first, they simply watched. Then, as they grasped what Rick was doing, they understood. A dragon's body held more than just blood and fire—it was a wealth of resources. Without hesitation, they joined him in his work, taking up blades of their own and helping to strip the corpse for every valuable piece it had to offer. They worked in silence, the weight of what they were doing settling over them.
They weren't just scavenging a kill.
They were preparing for the war to come.
Once they had finished stripping the dragon of every useful part—its bones, sinew, hide, and remaining blood—they loaded everything onto the additional carts that Alexstrasza had retrieved from the ruins. She had found them scattered throughout the abandoned structures, remnants of a time long past, and now they served their new purpose well. By the time they were finished, they had no fewer than six massive carts, each ten feet long and six feet wide, groaning under the weight of their haul.
Tormund let out a low whistle as he surveyed the sheer amount of cargo. "And how, exactly, are we supposed to get all of this to the boats?" he asked, scratching at his beard.
"The same way I brought the corpse back," Alexstrasza replied matter-of-factly, stretching her arms above her head. "I'll carry it."
Rick frowned in thought, his gaze shifting from the carts to the towering dragon in her human form. Then, a new idea struck him. His eyes narrowed slightly as he voiced his thought aloud. "Now that I think about it… wouldn't you be able to carry the ships, too? One in each of your claws?"
A silence settled over the group as they processed his words. They had all seen Alexstrasza in her true form—her sheer, titanic size, the wings that blotted out the sky, the claws that could crush stone like dry leaves. The ships were large, but compared to her?
The idea wasn't just possible. It was likely.
One by one, their gazes shifted to Alexstrasza, their minds racing with the implications. If she could do what Rick suggested, their journey back would take a fraction of the time. There would be no need to navigate treacherous waters, no risk of losing supplies to the sea. They could be back at the Wall, preparing for the real war, faster than any of them had hoped.
Alexstrasza merely smirked, amusement flickering in her fiery eyes. "Well," she purred, "there's only one way to find out, isn't there?"
"It's better to wait until nightfall," Rick advised, his tone firm but measured. "With your size and Volantis not too far from here, you'd be spotted the moment you took to the sky. I'd rather your... awakening—and even your existence—stay a secret for now. People would panic. Others... would be greedy. I'd rather we avoid trouble altogether, even if I'm sure you could handle them with ease."
Alexstrasza tilted her head, a flicker of amusement crossing her lips at his careful choice of words. Before she could reply, Freyja nodded in agreement. "Fair point."
"Wait! Wait! Wait!" Tormund suddenly interjected, his voice rising in alarm. "The carts are going with the dragon queen, sure, but what about us?"
Alexstrasza grinned—a sharp, mischievous thing that sent a chill down the wildling's spine. "Well, I'll carry you too. Right on my back," she said, her tone far too gleeful for his liking.
Tormund's face paled instantly. He took a step back, hands raised as if warding off the very idea. "Can I sit this one out? I'm sittin' this one out. I'll just take the walk back—"
Before he could bolt, Rick and Sigorn exchanged a glance and, with perfect coordination, each grabbed one of Tormund's arms. The big redhead let out a squawk of protest, thrashing as they held him in place.
"Now, now," Rick said smoothly, barely hiding his smirk. "Didn't you always want to fly, Tormund?"
"No!" Tormund bellowed. "I have two feet! They're to walk on the ground!"
"Flying is the greatest form of freedom, Tormund," Rick said, his tone laced with mock disbelief. "I can't believe a proud Free Folk warrior like yourself wouldn't jump at the opportunity."
Ygritte smirked, eyes gleaming with mischief. "Can you imagine it? Tormund, the Sky Rider! The first of his kind! A legend in the making!"
Val crossed her arms, tilting her head in amusement. "For once, one of your tall tales would actually be true," she remarked dryly.
Tormund scowled, shifting uncomfortably in their grip. "You lot are enjoying this too much," he muttered.
The group burst into laughter, the sound echoing through the ruined landscape. Ygritte clutched her sides, nearly doubling over, while Sigorn smirked, shaking his head in amusement. Even Val allowed herself a rare chuckle, her sharp eyes glinting with mischief. Freyja's melodic laughter was rich and warm, while Alexstrasza let out a deep, rumbling chuckle, clearly enjoying Tormund's suffering.
The red-haired wildling scowled at them all, crossing his arms in defiance. "Aye, laugh it up, you lot," he grumbled. "But when I piss myself midair, we'll see who's laughing then!"
His remark only sent them into another fit of laughter, much to his chagrin.