( Rickard )
They are beings as white as the snow you are stepping on, covered in an invincible white armor and a crystal sword that emits an otherworldly screech when it meets steel, and whose blue eyes seem to pierce your soul. Almost nothing can stop these creatures.
Not steel, not fire. Only one has died, in front of my eyes.
...
Sam the Slayer did it. The Tarly boy, he took a dragonglass dagger and stabbed him. Then, it was as if the Other just…melted away, armor, flesh, bones, eyes…everything. It was as if it never even existed. But that creature…it haunts my nights. I see it in every corner, every day, everywhere. Trust me, my lord, the Others exist."
"Still think we're being victims of a massive collective hallucination, my lord?" the king asked.
"We've heard similar stories at Eastwatch," Rickard replied, remembering the tale of the lad who had been the last survivor of his ranging party.
"But this feels very much unreal. As I said, your grace, I doubt I will believe it until I see it. Until then, I will do as your grace commands. Shall I demand fifty men be sent for this one?"
"Aye." The king nodded.
"But…my oaths?" the Dornishman protested.
"You didn't seem to like your oaths very much when you first arrived." The king scoffed.
"And who convinced me to take them seriously?" the Dornish bastard countered.
"Fair point." King Jon conceded. "But I need you. We'll be going south and I need your talents as a swordsman and someone who knows the south."
"Ask Tarly."
"He'll be coming too. He needs to see to Maester Aemon, though, his health has been deteriorating rapidly."
"Fine." The Dornish knight conceded. "I know how futile it is to argue with you. How long do I have?"
"A few days, we won't be leaving just yet. Unfinished business with Mance."
"Of course."
Rickard didn't even have time to breathe as another brother of the Watch rushed forwards. A fat-looking boy, who was already out of breath as he reached the king, which made Rickard chuckle.
"Do not laugh, Lord Karstark, you are in the presence of the only man alive who has killed an Other."
Him? Rickard would scoff at him. He barely looked like he was able to swing a sword.
"What's the matter, Sam?" the king asked.
"It's Maester Aemon, Jon…" So, this was Randyll Tarly's eldest son, Rickard could hardly believe it. He was as plump as a pig, not at all what he would expect from a boy of house Tarly. "He's dead."
"What?" the king looked aghast.
"He's just…gone." The Tarly boy continued. "I'm sorry."
"How did that happen? He seemed so jovial the past few days, as if a huge burden was lifted off of his shoulders." The king reminisced. "Even yesterday he hugged me and said that he never felt happier."
"Well one moment he was fine…and the next…dead! He had a smile on his lips and he had been laughing before."
The king sighed deeply.
"Very well. If you will excuse me, my lord, I will need to take your leave to make preparations for another funeral…"
Rickard nodded. Another death, another funeral.
When would all of this end? He tried to cleanse these thoughts from his head. It was war, and there were dead in war. Yet so many deaths were unfair, unjust even...did he not lose two sons to this madness already? Still, Rickard pushed through and went about his day as if nothing happened, preparing his troops for another potential assault by the wildlings on the Wall.
The funeral came that night, as the sun slowly set upon Castle Black. A large pyre had been prepared for the old maester, with dozens of Black brothers holding torches as the king presided over the men.
To his shock, RIckard saw the Tarly boy bring out a dragon egg, and hand it over to the king, who accepted it with a nod. Rickard quickly burst to the king's side.
"Your grace is that…" he trailed.
"A dragon egg, yes." The king nodded back. "Maester Aemon was a Targaryen after all, and each of them had an egg placed in their crib, as per tradition. Of course, it never hatched for dragons have long gone extinct."
"We could sell it and it would bring us much needed…"
"Out of the question." The king cut him off with a deep frown. "Maester Aemon told me recently that he wished to be burned with his egg when he died, isn't that right, Sam?"
"Yes, my lord." The Tarly boy nodded, his cheeks flopping up and down as he did so. "It's an old egg, from one of the dragons of the Dance. Tessarion, it was. Maester Aemon told me not even yesterday that the egg should be burned on his funeral pyre should he one day pass away."
"He is dead, your grace, I'm sure…" Rickard continued but the king's glare was one of silent rage.
"And it is only honorable to agree to a man's dying wish."
And with that, the king put the egg on the pyre, while taking a few steps back, not even letting Rickard get another word in. After a short speech from the king and several black brothers, the king himself brought the first torch and set the pyre alight.
Flames reached to the sky as the night was set ablaze, a thick cloud of smoke slowly rising into the winter night sky.
The assembly continued to watch as something moved within the flames. Rickard, tired from the day's errands, just waved it off as it being the silhouette of the old maester, covered in flames and dust. However, something bigger flickered, and suddenly everyone else was watching too.
It became bigger and bigger, a shadow through the burning flames slowly approaching them. When the shadow burst out of the flames, Rickard's heart stopped, and the courtyard fell silent.
It was a beautiful thing. A creature with two, small, blue wings, covered in turquoise scales and small horns. A creature thought lost to the sands of time. A dragon.
Under complete silence, the dragon fluttered in the sky, emitting a small screech. It slowly descended towards the centre of the courtyard, and to everyone's complete and utter shock, landed on the king's shoulders.
It screeched again, louder this time.
The king looked in shock, as he looked the dragon straight on, his eyes as wide as everyone else's. Something flickered in both of their eyes. Suddenly, mechanically, the king made to touch the creature.
The dragon extended its neck, with the king slowly caressing it, touching its beautiful scales. This continued for what Rickard saw as an eternity. Slowly, the dragon got closer to the king's face, before poking his head on the king's cheek, rubbing it against him for a brief moment, and looking at him once more.
It was as if the dragon was smiling now.
Finally, its gaze left the king and dawned on the whole assembly. This time, another screech, more powerful than all the others, accompanied by golden flames coming from its mouth. Rickard was blinded by these flames, his eyes still fixated on the small dragon during all of this time.
After a brief moment, the Lord of Karhold rubbed both of his eyes, slowly opening them while light still burst from the corner of his eye as if trying to escape what just happened.
Did he just dream this? Was he hallucinating? He was going to wake up in his bed in Winterfell with his sons wondering how much he drank after Ned's nameday feast. This couldn't be happening.
But when he opened his eyes, all he could see is that everyone had knelt, and the blue dragon was still there.
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