The return to the ships had been swift and near silent under the cloak of night. The wind whispered over the waves, the stars casting a faint glow upon the dark waters. Yet, nothing could prepare the few men of the Night's Watch and the sailors aboard Melisandre's ship for the sight that awaited them.
Under the cold silver light of the moon, Alexstrasza descended from the heavens like a creature from legend, her massive wings unfurling as she approached. Gasps of shock and awe filled the air; some men staggered back, gripping railings or weapons in instinctive terror. Others simply stood frozen, eyes wide with disbelief at the sheer enormity and majesty of the Mother of Dragons.
With as much grace as her colossal form allowed, Alexstrasza gently laid three carts on each ship, the weight barely causing the vessels to rock. Then, in a slow, deliberate motion, she settled into the sea beside the Night's Watch ship, her scales gleaming wetly under the moonlight.
Rick and the others climbed down her back with ease, dropping onto the deck. The moment Tormund's boots hit solid wood, however, he collapsed onto his hands and knees.
"Thank the gods!" he bellowed, voice raw from screaming. He threw himself forward, pressing his lips firmly against the damp deck. "Never again! Ground, sweet, sweet ground!"
His antics sent the entire crew into uproarious laughter. Ygritte leaned against the mast, wiping tears from her eyes, while Sigorn smirked in quiet amusement. Even Freyja chuckled, and Alexstrasza let out a deep, rumbling laugh that vibrated through the air.
"Come now, Tormund," Val teased, crossing her arms. "A proud Free Folk warrior, reduced to this? You disappoint me."
"Fuck you!"
A low, rumbling growl from Alexstrasza silenced the laughter in an instant, the sheer weight of her presence reminding them that she was not just a companion but an ancient and powerful force.
"We should secure the carts on deck and get below," Freyja advised, her keen instincts picking up on what was about to happen. "I have a feeling Alexstrasza plans to carry us through the night at a speed that would send us tumbling overboard if we stay up here."
No one argued. The thought of being flung into the freezing sea at dragon-speed was enough to spur them into action. The message was relayed to Melisandre's ship, and soon enough, ropes were tightened, carts secured, and every last person found shelter inside the vessels.
Then, they felt it. A strange, weightless sensation, their stomachs twisting as the ships lurched upwards. The wood beneath them creaked in protest, and those who weren't bracing themselves stumbled as the ships lifted clear off the waves.
This time, Tormund was perfectly fine. Without the sight of the ground rushing past beneath him or the relentless assault of the wind tearing at his face, he had no trouble. Locked safely inside the cabin, he could almost pretend they were still on the water—almost.
Rick, however, stood by one of the small cabin windows, his sharp eyes catching glimpses of the land far below. They were flying over solid ground now, a direct path cutting across hills and rivers instead of following the winding coastline. It made perfect sense. There was no need to adhere to the constraints of the sea when they had the freedom of the skies.
With this route, they would reach the Wall in a fraction of the time, bypassing unnecessary detours and obstacles. It was a strange thought, traveling this way—a luxury no king or conqueror had ever known except for the dragon riders.
As dawn broke, the entire crew felt a gradual loss of altitude. The ship's gentle descent was almost imperceptible, until they noticed the absence of the whipping winds and the high-pitched howl of the air around them. It wasn't long before the soft, rhythmic motion of the sea beneath the ship confirmed what they all suspected—it had landed.
The crew made their way to the deck, and Rick looked out across the now calm waters. The temperature had dropped significantly. It wasn't quite the bone-chilling cold of the North, but it was close. He rubbed his hands together, trying to warm them.
"We must be somewhere in the Shivering Sea," Rick murmured, his eyes scanning the horizon.
Alexstrasza stood nearby, her form striking against the backdrop of the soft morning light. The droplets of seawater clung to her skin, glistening in the early sun like a veil of shimmering crystals. Her blood red hair, wet and slicked back, dripped water onto her shoulders, and the curves of her figure were outlined by the moisture that clung to her skin. The wind played with the droplets, scattering them in soft sprays that danced like tiny jewels in the air.
She raised a hand, pointing toward the distance, her gaze sharp as ever.
"I saw a city with a very big statue in that direction," she said, her voice strong and clear, unaffected by the mist of the sea.
"A tall statue, you say? That must be Braavos," Rick mused, his eyes squinting as he tried to trace the faint outline of the distant city in the mist.
"That one city we visited first?" Val asked, her voice laced with recognition as memories of their earlier travels surfaced.
"That one, yes," Rick confirmed with a nod.
Ygritte's voice cut through the air, filled with a mix of surprise and admiration. "We made in one night the journey we did in almost a moon."
The realization of how far they'd come in such a short time hit them all at once. The sea stretched out before them, tranquil and vast, and yet in a matter of hours, they'd gone from a place of fire and dragons to the familiar chill of the northern waters.
Benjen, standing slightly apart from the group, allowed himself a rare moment of relief. "That means tomorrow night, we'll be at the Wall," he commented, the words carrying the weight of a long-awaited homecoming. His tone was lighter, almost relieved, as he looked at the horizon. The thought of being back in the cold, familiar embrace of the North, away from the sweltering heat of Valyria, filled him with an unexpected sense of joy. He was done with the stifling atmosphere, the oppressive heat, and the eerie remnants of the ancient city.
The idea of finally returning to his home—where the air was crisp and the landscape, though harsh, was at least familiar—was a balm to his weary soul. He felt the familiar tug of anticipation, a promise of respite after a long journey.
Since they would be at the Wall in a few hours, there was no need for them to sail west. Instead, they stayed anchored in place, and Rick seized the opportunity to continue his training with the spear with Val as his sparring partner. It was becoming a routine, one that had swiftly gained Rick's dedication and focus. Just like with Maege, he was progressing at a remarkable pace, his movements sharper, more fluid. Every bout, his strikes became more precise, his footwork more disciplined. Less and less often did Val win their bouts, and when she did, it was with noticeably more effort.
"His progression is really unnatural. He's barely started with the spear a sennight ago," Benjen observed from where he stood, watching Rick's graceful yet powerful movements. His tone held a mix of awe and skepticism.
Alexstrasza, standing off to the side, glanced over with a knowing smile, her eyes following Rick's every move. "He's the chosen one," she said, the words heavy with meaning.
Benjen blinked, his brow furrowed as he processed her statement. "Is that a gift from the gods? The ability to…?" He trailed off, unsure of how to phrase the question.
"No," Alexstrasza interrupted, her voice soft yet certain. "He's the chosen one because he has this ability, among other things. Everything he is, every skill he possesses—it's all natural."
Freyja, who had been observing the exchange, corrected her gently, her voice calm but resolute. "Mostly. He was conceived on the Isle of Faces. The Old Gods... just blessed him with the ability to feel magic and them at an earlier age than normal. Otherwise? It's all him."
Rick's fluid movements and steady focus were a testament to his hard work and determination. But as Freyja's words settled over the group, they realized the path he walked was not one of pure chance—it was one woven with destiny. It was the result of something ancient and powerful, something deeper than any of them fully understood. The Old Gods had touched him, yes, but the way Rick embraced that gift—and how far he had come—was something only he could truly claim as his own.
Alexstrasza turned to face Melisandre, her gaze intense yet thoughtful. "What does your god want with him?" she asked, her voice carrying an edge of curiosity and concern. "I know what my gods want, and what the wolf's gods desire. But yours?"
Melisandre, standing solemn and poised, met her gaze without hesitation. "I do not know," she admitted softly, her voice almost reverent. "The Lord of Light shows me glimpses, pieces of a puzzle. He revealed to me that this young man was crucial in the fight against the Others. I understand why now. He is Azor Ahai reborn."
There was a heavy silence as the group processed her words. Benjen spoke up, a frown furrowing his brow. "Azor Ahai? But she was a woman."
"Apparently," Melisandre responded, her tone shifting slightly with amusement, though it was laced with a deeper, understanding seriousness. "Perhaps rebirth wasn't meant in the literal sense. All the signs of the prophecy were there. The smoke from the fire, the dragon awakening from stone, the red comet..." Her words hung in the air, thick with significance.
Benjen's brow deepened further, but his voice was sharp with skepticism. "There was no salt."
Alexstrasza's expression softened, her eyes thoughtful as she gazed at Rick. "He cried, then," she murmured, the truth unfolding before her. "For his fate."
Melisandre's voice followed, almost a whisper but with the weight of truth. "The salt in his tears." She nodded, her voice quiet but filled with conviction. "He accepted who he is and his destiny. He shed away his identity—whether that of a prince of the realm, or a simple free man. He accepted that he was the gods' champion. Some kind of rebirth, indeed. Reborn in your fire, Dragon Mother."
Benjen stood silent, his hand gripping the railing of the ship as he looked out into the distance, eyes clouded with doubt. His thoughts churned, and though he had listened to the arguments, it did not sit well with him. His nephew, barely five and ten, was bound to the fate of the world, tasked with a burden no one should bear. A boy who had yet to know love, yet to even experience the freedom of his youth. Benjen felt a deep, gnawing resentment—he would curse the gods if he could for burdening such a young man with this destiny. A life marred by pain, loss, and torment, now twisted further by this overwhelming weight. He couldn't help but feel a flicker of anger for the gods who had made this choice, and for the man Rick had to become.
But in the end, Benjen said nothing. What could he say? The prophecy, the fate, all of it had already been set in motion, long before any of them had stepped onto this path. All he could do was watch, hoping against hope that Rick, in his youth and vulnerability, would find a way to bear it.
The day had passed swiftly for Rick. Despite the exhaustion weighing on him, there was a quiet contentment in his bones, a restfulness that settled deep in his muscles. He sat against the wooden hull of the ship, the creak of the vessel's movements becoming almost rhythmic. Val sat beside him, mirroring his posture. There was a comfortable silence between them, not awkward, but filled with an unspoken understanding. Rick found himself thinking, just for a moment, that this might even be called friendship—something he hadn't allowed himself to think about too much. But there it was, nestled between the quiet moments and the shared glances.
As the sun dipped beyond the horizon, the warmth of the day slowly fading, night descended. The ship was bustling again as everyone prepared for the next leg of the journey. Once again, Alexstrasza, in her dragon form, bore the ship eastward toward Eastwatch-by-the-Sea. The air grew colder as the stars took their place in the sky, and Rick, wrapped in his thoughts, settled into the movement of the ship, the gentle rocking lulling him into a comfortable state of half-wakefulness.
As dawn neared, the crew was already stirring, donning warmer clothes for the frigid temperatures that awaited them. Rick, though still a bit groggy from the journey, rose and dressed quickly, the cold air biting at his skin. By the time the ship reached the small port of Eastwatch-by-the-Sea, the first light of morning had begun to paint the sky in hues of gold and pink.
Alexstrasza had already shifted back to her human form, the dragoness towering over them with her beauty and power. The transformation was always a marvel, and as always, it left Rick in awe. She had changed her attire with a wave of magic, draping herself in a thick fur coat, though this time, instead of the usual white of Freyja's attire, Alex chose a deep blood red, a striking contrast against the starkness of the early morning.
Her body, still sensitive to the cold, seemed to draw her to Rick even more. Without hesitation, she wrapped her arms around him from behind, her body pressing close to his. The warmth he radiated, even through the cold air, seemed to draw her in like a magnet. Her head nestled atop his as she inhaled deeply, finding comfort in both the closeness and the warmth of her mate. Though her body was accustomed to heat, the chill had made her sleepy, and Rick's presence gave her a sense of solace, a feeling of peace that she had come to crave in the three days since she's met him.
Rick, though taken by surprise at the closeness, didn't pull away. Instead, he allowed it, feeling an unspoken connection deepen between them in that moment. It was one of quiet intimacy—a touch that needed no words, yet spoke volumes.
"We'll need horses to pull the carts. Lots of them because they're heavy." Rick remarked, eyes scanning the group as he considered their next move.
Alexstrasza raised an eyebrow, a smirk playing on her lips. "Can't I just carry them? Aren't we so far from everything that nobody will notice me?" Her tone was light but firm, as though the idea of carrying the carts was an easy task for her.
Rick was about to reply, but Benjen interjected. "She has a point. So far north, especially at this early hour, few would see her. The ones who do will likely be Northerners or Free Folk. It's a long trek to Castle Black from here, and the terrain's rough if we're not traveling along the Wall."
Tormund grunted from the back, his face scrunching in exaggerated relief. "I'm all for not flying again!" His desperation was barely concealed, the thought of being carried through the skies clearly unsettling him more than he cared to admit.
Rick took a moment, weighing their options. He knew that heading directly to Castle Black would alert the Watch, but that wasn't the only concern. Someone needed to warn the Free Folk and Mance Rayder about their success—about the dragon's blood and the potential to turn the tide against the Others.
"Fine," Rick finally said, a plan beginning to form in his mind. "Tormund, you'll go through the Wall and tell Mance of our success. Who's going with him, to make sure he's believed?"
"I'll go," Sigorn said, his voice steady and much more fluent in the Common Tongue than when he had first started his journey. There was a new confidence in his tone, a sign of how far he'd come.
"Me too," Ygritte added with a nod, her gaze sharp. She had proven herself time and again and wasn't about to let anyone doubt their cause.
"I'll stay here," Val remarked, a slight edge to her voice. "Less the Watch forget we're in an alliance."
The group fell into a comfortable silence as they considered the plan. Each person knew their role, and there was no hesitation in the decisions that had been made. Everyone understood the importance of the task ahead, and the bonds they had formed were strong enough to carry them through whatever lay next.
Rick gave a nod of approval, his face grim but resolute. "Alright, it's settled then." Everyone agreed, and the plan was set into motion, the fate of many hanging in the balance. "Let's meet again." was the goodbye he gave his free folk friends.
Benjen, using his authority as First Ranger, arranged for Tormund, Sigorn, and Ygritte to pass through the Wall without harm. His command was swift and decisive, ensuring their safe passage, though the tension was palpable as they made their way to the other side. It wasn't often that Free Folk were allowed so easily through the Wall, and it was a clear testament to the urgency of their mission.
Once the group was on the other side, Alexstrasza turned back into her dragon form, her massive wings unfolding gracefully in the dim light of the early morning. The weight of her presence was awe-inspiring, and with a subtle flick of her tail, she signaled for everyone to climb onto her back. The moment they did, the air shifted around them, and Alex's mighty wings beat against the sky as she took flight, effortlessly carrying the carts as though they were mere trinkets.
The journey was swift, the land below shrinking in an instant. What would have taken days by foot or weeks by wagon passed in mere minutes as Alex flew toward Castle Black. The wind howled around them, but the heat of Alex's body provided warmth and comfort despite the chilling northern air. They touched down a mile from the gates of Castle Black with such precision that not a jar was jostled.
At the landing site, Freyja, always the protector of Rick, did something unexpected—she allowed Benjen to ride on her back, a privilege typically reserved only for Rick. Freyja's eyes glinted with unspoken approval as she crouched, and Benjen, with a mix of astonishment and gratitude, climbed onto her back. It was a rare and momentous occasion, marking the trust Freyja had come to place in Benjen's judgment.
The pair took off at a breakneck speed, Freyja's powerful strides eating up the distance between them and the main fort of the Night's Watch. The wind rushed past, howling in their ears, but Benjen remained steady, his hand gripping Freyja's fur tightly as they surged forward.
In mere moments, they arrived at Castle Black, the towering walls of the fortress looming ahead. Benjen's heart raced—not just from the speed of their journey, but from the realization of what they had accomplished and what still lay ahead. The arrival at the fort was the beginning of something much larger, something that would change the course of the realm. The war against the Others was drawing closer, and with every passing moment, their efforts to unite the Free Folk and the Night's Watch gained more significance.
As Benjen approached the gates of Castle Black, one of his fellow black brothers, a young man who had been stationed at the gate, immediately recognized him. The man's eyes widened, and he hurried to pull open the heavy, creaking gates.
"Sir, did you—"
"Yes, I've seen the dragon," Benjen interrupted, his tone firm but urgent. "Flew on her back, even." He gave the man a knowing look, a half-smile tugging at his lips. "She's with us. And she's carrying very important material for the war against the Others. Send any horses you can spare to her location. There are carts that need to be pulled and brought back here."
The young man hesitated, clearly still processing the sheer enormity of what Benjen had just said. "What if she eats us?" he asked, his voice shaky.
Benjen's gaze hardened slightly, though the humor remained in his eyes. "She won't even be present when you get there," he replied. "Now hurry! There's no time to waste."
The young black brother nodded quickly, snapping to attention as Benjen's words sunk in. He dashed off to rally a few others to gather horses, his mind racing as he processed the news that a dragon—an actual dragon—was now part of their alliance.
Benjen stood at the gates, waiting with a steady patience as the reality of the situation began to settle in. The task before them was monumental, and the arrival of Alexstrasza was but a small part of the larger picture. But the materials she was carrying—the very essence of their future war efforts—could change everything. The time was coming when they would have to stand united against the threat that loomed beyond the Wall, and Benjen knew that every minute mattered.
Rick and Benjen moved swiftly through the halls of Castle Black, making their way to the Lord Commander's solar. The stone walls echoed with the steady rhythm of their footsteps, a rare and hushed sound in the usually busy keep. Inside, Lord Commander Jeor Mormont was deep in discussion with the chief of each assignment, the weight of leadership heavy on his brow. Maester Aemon, always a quiet presence, sat at the table with them, his wise eyes observing everything with calm intensity.
Rick approached his uncle first, a soft smile tugging at the corners of his lips. "We did it, Uncle," he said, his voice filled with a quiet pride. "We did it."
Aemon's face broke into a rare, genuine smile, his blind eyes gleaming with a mixture of joy and relief. "I knew you would, Aemon," he replied warmly, reaching out to place a hand on Rick's shoulder. "You've done more than I could have imagined."
Rick's smile grew a little wider, but it didn't last long. The reality of the situation weighed on him. The war was far from over.
Lord Commander Mormont's booming voice interrupted the moment of quiet exchange. "Alright, enough with the pleasantries," he said, his tone both commanding and curious. "Tell me about this dragon. The entire Wall has seen it by now. It's hard to believe—harder still to imagine. What happened?"
Rick and Benjen exchanged a brief look before beginning to recount their journey. They spoke of their time in the ruins of Valyria, the dragon bones, and the weapons of Valyrian steel they had found. They mentioned the encounters with Free Folk, the warning of the coming storm, and their battle against the White Walkers. But when it came to the armory, the treasure trove of weapons, armor, and the strange nature of the place, they left those details out, a knowing silence passing between them.
"I found the Mother of Dragons," Rick said, his voice calm and assured, a rare flicker of pride in his eyes. "She's like Freyja, but for Valyria. She can't fight like her, but she's the key to making Valyrian steel."
"Make Valyrian steel?!" Mormont's voice rose in astonishment, as the others in the room exchanged stunned glances. It was a moment before anyone spoke, and when they did, the disbelief was thick in the air.
Rick met their gazes, his expression unwavering. "Yes. We need dragon fire to forge Valyrian steel. That, and a few other rare things that only she can provide. There are skills in her that go beyond the reach of most, but I will see to it. It's part of what's needed for the coming war."
"I need space. A lot of space to work," Rick said, his voice quiet but resolute, his brow furrowed as he considered the logistics. "Castle Black is too cramped for the kind of work I need to do. I think I'll head to Hardhome—there's more room there, and it's isolated enough to allow for the kind of focus this requires."
He paused, meeting Mormont's eyes, his tone turning a little more practical. "However, I won't leave you empty-handed. I'll leave you with some materials. Mostly dragon sinew—stronger than anything we've got. You can use it to craft cords for the ballistae. Once they're strung with this, the need for constant replacements will drop exponentially. The strength and durability of dragon sinew will make the weapons far more reliable. We'll need all of them at full effectiveness, especially with what's coming."
"What about the Lords of the North? My brother?" Benjen asked, his voice tinged with concern as he turned to Mormont.
Mormont nodded, his gaze thoughtful. "Lord Stark answered the ravens we sent him. He said he was on his way almost a sennight ago. He should be arriving in a few days."
Benjen's face softened with a sense of purpose. "I can take a horse and meet with him on the way."
"Aye, do that," Mormont agreed, his tone firm. "I won't have to explain things to him if you're there to handle it."
Rick, who had been quietly listening, leaned forward, his brow furrowing. "What about the Free Folk? How is the... tentative peace going?"
Mormont gave a rare, almost surprised smile. "Surprisingly, it's doing well. We're staying in the territories we've divided between them, and the few contacts we've had to exchange information have gone smoothly. I still can't believe it." He paused, shaking his head slightly as if still processing the fact that an alliance between the Night's Watch and the Free Folk was working. "I had my doubts, but it seems like this might be the best chance we have to stand against the Others."
Rick nodded, feeling the weight of the moment. The stakes were higher than ever, and the path forward was uncertain. But for once, the fragile alliances and fragile peace seemed to be holding together. For now, that was enough.
"Another parley with the Northern Lords will be necessary," Rick remarked, his tone sober as he considered the delicate situation ahead.
"Aye. That, I'm worried about," Mormont replied with a heavy sigh. "Some of them are right out cunts. Can't really blame them, though. The Free Folk have harassed their lands and their people for eight thousand years. Great Jon Umber, for instance, had his cousin stolen during a raid twenty years ago. The hatred he harbors for the Free Folk is legendary. And don't get me started on his uncle, Mors Crowfood Umber." Mormont shook his head, as if already weary of the man. "The father of the lass," he added grimly, referring to the Umber family's longstanding bitter history with the Free Folk.
Rick listened intently, his mind racing. "And how do we handle that?" he asked, his eyes narrowing as he thought of the complexities of diplomacy that lay ahead.
Mormont met his gaze, his face hardening with resolve. "We handle it with patience. It's not going to be easy, but if we want to unite the North and the Free Folk, we'll have to get through them, one way or another. The stakes are too high for any more division." He paused, his voice quieter now. "But don't think for a second that it'll be without bloodshed. These lords... they're stubborn and proud. If we're to keep them in line, we'll need more than words."
Rick nodded, understanding the gravity of the situation. The North was as stubborn as the ice that held it together, and convincing these men to put aside centuries of enmity would be a challenge unlike any they'd faced before.
"Maybe she's still alive? If she is, she could help smooth things over," Rick mused, thinking aloud.
"That was twenty years ago!" Mormont exclaimed, his disbelief evident. "What are the chances she survived, let alone that she'd be willing to help after all this time?"
"It's worth a shot," Benjen said with a shrug. "If she's alive and willing to speak, she might be the key to easing tensions. The Umbers are proud, but family still means something to them."
Mormont let out a heavy sigh, rubbing a hand over his face. "Aye, I suppose. But don't get your hopes up. If she's alive, she's more Free Folk than Umber by now. And if she's dead, well… the Greatjon's not going to be any friendlier."
Rick nodded, accepting the reality of the situation. "As for bloodshed… well, we'll see when we get there." His voice was steady, but there was an edge to it—a quiet readiness for whatever might come.
"By the way, I'm taking my uncle out for a bit, Lord Commander. Important… Valyrian… things to discuss," Rick said, his tone light, but the attempt at deception was weak at best.
Mormont, the grumpy old bear that he was, didn't buy it for a second. His sharp eyes studied Rick for a long moment, but instead of calling him out, he merely let out a gruff sigh, shrugged his broad shoulders, and gestured toward the door with a tilt of his head.
"Go on, then," he muttered, as if he hadn't just handed them permission.
Rick smiled slightly and stepped forward, offering his arm to Aemon. The old maester, blind as he was, accepted it with grace, resting a steady but frail hand on his nephew's arm. Together, they walked out, the younger guiding the elder, both carrying secrets that only they understood.
"What kind of secret would you like to discuss, nephew?" Aemon asked, his tone more amused than suspicious.
"The true story of Valyria and the Valyrians," Rick replied, his voice solemn. "Of their hubris… their downfall. This is not a happy story, uncle. It is a story of betrayal. But it can wait." He paused, then added with quiet conviction, "I made you a promise before I left, and I intend to keep it. My word is my bond, uncle."
Aemon tilted his head slightly. His milky eyes, though blind, seemed to search for something in Rick's voice. "You… You mean?"
"Yes, uncle. I will take you flying."
The old maester sucked in a breath, his fingers tightening slightly on Rick's arm.
"The Mother of Dragons… she is otherworldly," Rick continued. "In her human form or draconic one, she is unlike anything you can imagine. Her scales and her fire breath are as red as blood. She makes Balerion look like a hatchling with how big she is."
"Dear gods," Aemon murmured, a mixture of awe and apprehension in his voice.
Rick smiled, knowing his uncle had spent a lifetime dreaming of dragons. "We traveled with two ships, uncle. She carried one in each of her claws. Two days ago, we were still in the Smoking Sea. From there, she flew across Essos into the Shivering Sea in a single night."
Aemon had no words, only the faintest shake of his head in wonder.
Rick guided his uncle carefully onto Freyja's back, making sure he was secure before climbing on behind him. Without hesitation, the Mother of the North began moving, her powerful limbs propelling them forward with a smooth, almost effortless grace. She kept her pace subdued, mindful of the elderly man on her back.
Aemon was not as young as he once was, after all.
Half an hour was all it took for them to reach Alexstrasza and Val. The brothers of the Night's Watch were hard at work, securing the heavy cart behind a team of half a dozen horses, their breaths rising in the frigid morning air as they struggled with the weight.
Freyja crouched low, allowing Rick to dismount first before he turned to help Aemon carefully to the ground. The old maester's hands were steady, but there was a quiet excitement in his movements, a man standing on the edge of a dream long thought impossible.
Rick gestured toward the two women. "Alexstrasza, Val, this is my many-times-great-granduncle, Aemon Targaryen."
The Mother of Dragons tilted her head, eyes glinting with curiosity. "So you're the little dragon who wants to fly."
Aemon, despite his frail form, straightened as much as he could and bowed his head in reverence. "My Lady."
Rick smirked but turned to the others. "Let's wait until the Black Brothers depart before you shift back into a dragon. They're already on edge as it is."
Alexstrasza merely hummed in amusement but did not argue, turning her attention to Aemon, who was eager to converse with her. She smiled, pleased by the exchange, and Rick decided to give them some space.
Rick walked away with Val by his side, the two moving a short distance from the others. The wind carried the distant sounds of the Black Brothers securing the carts, but his focus was on Val.
"I'll be going to Hardhome to work," he told her. "Castle Black is too small for what needs to be done."
Val listened, nodding slightly. "Makes sense. If we're making weapons, we need the space."
He glanced at her. "There's something else. The lost cousin of Lord Umber—the one stolen twenty years ago. If she's still alive, she could help smooth things over between the Free Folk and the northern lords."
Val scoffed. "Twenty years? She'd be more Free Folk than Umber by now."
"Maybe," Rick admitted, "but that doesn't mean she wouldn't be valuable in the negotiations."
Val was silent for a moment before finally shrugging. "If she's out there, we'll find her. I can always talk to Mance about her. He'll do what's needed to make the truce go right."
Rick nodded, knowing that with her help, they just might. He turned to Val with a knowing smirk. "Do you want to fly again? When Alexstrasza takes my uncle and me up into the sky?"
Val arched a brow, her expression unreadable for a moment before a slow smile spread across her lips. "Do you even need to ask?"
Rick chuckled. "Figured I'd be polite about it."
She scoffed. "You? Polite? Since when?"
He laughed at that, shaking his head. "Fair enough."
Val glanced toward Alexstrasza, her eyes gleaming with anticipation. "If she's willing to carry me, then yes—I want to go. There's nothing quite like seeing the world from above. There is no greater freedom."
They said nothing more, simply releashing each other's presence in a quiet, comfortable silence. The crisp air carried the distant sounds of the Night's Watch brothers as they finished securing the cart. Finally, when Rick estimated they had traveled far enough, he turned to Alexstrasza and gave her a subtle nod.
She acknowledged him with a soft hum before remarking, "I won't fly beyond the Wall." Her tone was calm, but there was an undeniable weight behind her words. "The Others' magic lingers there. In this form, I am too weak to resist it. Even in my human shape, I suspect it would leave me sluggish."
With that warning given, she closed her eyes and let the transformation overtake her. The shift was seamless—where once stood a striking woman, now loomed a magnificent dragon, her crimson scales gleaming in the dim light like polished rubies, her sheer presence commanding awe.
Aemon, though blind, straightened in quiet reverence. The power in his blood, diluted though it was, sang in recognition. He did not need sight to know what stood before him. The Mother of Dragons.
Rick moved first, guiding Aemon toward Alexstrasza's massive wing. To his quiet delight, Val followed without hesitation, lending her own steady hands to help the old man climb. The dragon's back was so broad that falling was hardly a concern, but for security, Freyja settled behind Aemon, her strong arms wrapping around him to ensure he remained steady. Rick took his place beside Val, feeling the familiar thrill of anticipation rise in his chest.
With a powerful beat of her wings, Alexstrasza lifted off the ground. She did not soar high, keeping low enough to remain unseen by distant eyes, but the sensation was exhilarating all the same. The world blurred beneath them, the wind whipping past, sharp and bracing.
For Aemon, the experience was nothing short of transformative. Though he had long since lost his sight, in this moment, he saw clearer than ever. He felt the air rush against his skin, imagined the vast, endless sky stretching above him, and for the first time in decades, he was free. A child again, flying, laughing, unburdened by age or duty.
Tears slipped down his wrinkled cheeks, but they were not of sorrow. They were of pure, unfiltered joy.
When Alexstrasza landed gracefully, her massive wings folding behind her with a final, powerful sweep, the Night's Watch brothers were already back, hard at work securing another cart to the horses. But their focus was fractured, their nerves frayed. The sight of the dragon descending had sent them into a panic, and they struggled to keep the horses in check. The animals, wild-eyed and trembling, snorted in terror, their hooves pawing at the ground as they fought to break free.
The moment the dragon's feet touched the earth, the tension in the air was palpable, the brothers barely managing to hold onto the reins. Some of them fumbled, looking around frantically as if expecting the dragon to lunge or breathe fire at any moment.
Rick, Val, and Aemon dismounted from Alex, their feet landing softly on the snow-covered ground. As Alex turned back into her human form, her towering figure became once more the striking woman that had first greeted them. The brothers froze, their eyes wide, but the transformation did little to ease their fear. While Alex was no longer the towering beast they had just witnessed, the sight of her now—her taned skin, crimson hair, and regal bearing—was still enough to unsettle the men.
The horses, however, seemed to settle. The moment Alex's dragon form was gone, their frantic movements slowed, and their frightened snorts turned to soft whinnies as they calmed, sensing the shift in energy.
Alex sighed heavily and shook her head in irritation, clearly annoyed by the spectacle before her. "Stupid animals," she muttered, her voice laced with consternation. Despite the fear the horses had shown, she couldn't help but be irritated by how easily they were spooked. With a flick of her wrist, she adjusted the fur-lined coat she wore, her gaze still fixed on the horses. "Can't even handle a little magic."
Her words were directed more at the horses than the men, but the black brothers, still visibly shaken, exchanged uneasy glances. No matter how many times they were told or saw it with their own eyes, the presence of such a creature—so vast, so powerful—was never something they could fully comprehend or accept without fear.