Blythe

The helicopter soared overhead, the army of the dead staring at them as they departed. Blythe clicked the safety on her rifle and slung it against her seat, exhaling. The two black brothers placed the swords down onto a tarpaulin, rolling it carefully and stashing it under their bench. Maester Ebrose sat next to her, sobbing slightly. Turk sat on the far edge of the bench, staring out of the window. The raven had left them already and gone to who-knows-where. She glanced down at the retreating surface before craning her neck to see the pilots. They were focused, but visibly shaken.

"How long 'til the ship?" she asked through her headset. One of the pilots clicked on his microphone.

"Ah," he began slowly. "I'd say a couple of hours. They're making their way back north so it's further for us to go," he concluded.

"Do we have the fuel?" she asked, causing the rest of the passengers to perk up slightly. The pilot gave a thumbs up from the cockpit, giving them all a measure of relief. Blythe turned to Ebrose. "Why'd he do that?" she asked him. Ebrose shrugged.

"I'm not sure. Perhaps he was just tired of this. Maybe his faith finally gave out," the older man speculated before shaking his head in defeat. "I don't know." Blythe put her hand on his shoulder.

"His sacrifice bought us the time we needed to get out," she lied. "I think he knew that." Ebrose nodded, unconvinced.

"He always had a story about some sort of hero or another," Ebrose thought aloud.

"And now it's our duty to tell his story," Beck called out. His partner nodded in solemn approval.

"We'll be drinking to his memory as long as we live." Ebrose gave a sad smile, nodding at the two Northmen. Blythe pointed at the tarp under their bench. "Can you get those swords into good working order?"

"I can approximate the techniques they used for making the grip and pommel, but I think you'd be better off letting one of your armorers take a look at them," he concluded. She frowned.

"You're not worried about losing the history? These are originals," she reminded him. He nodded his head vigorously.

"Oh, no need to worry about the furniture," Ebrose confirmed. "The blade is all that matters." Lance and Beck grinned at the use of the word 'furniture.' Even Blythe offered a smile.

"And quite the blades they are," she confirmed, looking over at Turk. "Hey, Turk?" The man turned his gaze to her. "You alright?"

"I am," he nodded. "It is... unpleasant... when he arrives. But, after some time I begin to feel myself again and all is well." Ebrose patted him on the back.

"Thank you for sacrificing yourself," Ebrose offered. "Your willingness to cooperate has saved our lives." Turk shook his head.

"This is a humorous conversation," he began. "You see, before I met you, I was arguing with him about this. He offers me a choice, but it is not a choice. I can say no, but he will simply ignore me. I can say yes, and he will remind me that I do not need to say yes. I've only accepted him because he has managed to keep me alive," he concluded. Blythe smiled.

"I... knew that," she slowly murmured. Turk nodded.

"Yes," he agreed. "And I know about your missing dog and his master," he added, causing her to flinch.

"What?" she scoffed. "How?"

"We become... how do you Westerosi say it? Blended? No," he searched for the word.

"Entangled?" Ebrose offered. Turk nodded enthusiastically.

"Yes, this word is good. We become entangled. When he enters our minds," he pointed at his temple. "He can see everything we saw. But, when he goes, I think some of him is left behind."

"Like an imprint?" Blythe asked.

"I believe this to be the case, yes," Turk concluded. "When you sleep tonight, you will dream. They will not be your dreams. You mustn't be alarmed." Blythe frowned. The black brothers took slightly aback. Ebrose looked fascinated.

"I will have your dreams?" she asked quietly. Turk shook his head.

"The ones before us," he offered. "I've had dozens of these; Sometimes I am a great warrior atop my horse. Sometimes, I am riding a dragon through the skies. Sometimes, I am a very large man who struggles to speak, and I witness his death. It is most unpleasant," he concluded. Blythe was disturbed.

"I'm not sure I like the sound of it," she lamented. Turk shrugged. "He warned you about this?" Turk laughed.

"Of course not," he spat. "I found this after. He brushed it off."

"When you dream of riding the dragon," Ebrose spoke up. "Do you know specifically who you're remembering?"

"I believe they are different people – or perhaps the same person at a different age," he admitted. "But always a female and always with silver hair."

"A Targaryen woman," Ebrose confirmed. "They rode dragons." The two rangers scoffed.

"That's a load," Beck groaned. "Tales for children." Lance nodded in agreement.

"It's not," Turk shook his head. "I have seen it."

"Turk is correct," Ebrose spoke. "We know dragons existed as early as one thousand years ago. We've seen the fossils and they're quite well documented." Beck raised his eyebrows, glancing over at his partner. Lance shook his head as if to say: I have no idea.

"But they were mounted?" Blythe asked. Ebrose and Turk both nodded.

"Absolutely," Ebrose answered. "The Targaryen dynasty conquered these lands atop dragons. Danaerys Targaryen came to Westeros with three dragons during the last Long Night before – "

"Wait a minute," Lance spoke this time. "She had two dragons. One fought the other. That's what our stories say." Beck nodded in agreement.

"We believe one of the three was killed in combat with the living before the war with the dead began," Ebrose admitted. "If the book is to be believed."

"And one killed by the Night King," Turk confirmed. "This, I have seen."

"What else have you seen?" Ebrose asked. Turk frowned.

"Most recently, I saw a battle. It was cold. There was a village on the coast. So many people were trying to escape on boats, but the army of the dead swarmed them," he explained. "Many perished and were added to the army of the dead."

"Can you recall any specific details?" Ebrose asked. Turk thought about it before admitting the truth.

"To be honest," he began, sighing. "Not really. Only that it was terrifying and that the man I was watching through was quite dour. Dolorous even."