I wouldn’t have found her, if not for my decision to deal with Ramsay’s hounds… personally. Unlike the Late Walder Frey, the Boltons were not so foolish as to ignore a Targaryen Queen, her armies, and her three dragons. They’d sent out emissaries to try to meet with Daenerys as she’d marched north under my coaxing direction.
 
It was also under my coaxing direction (though Sansa played a part as well in this) that Daenerys gave the emissaries an ultimatum. Switch allegiances and swear loyalty to her and her alone… or die. Surprisingly enough, one of the emissaries actually had enough loyalty to the Boltons to choose the latter option. I got to eat that one. The other chose wisely and told us quite a lot about how the Boltons had set themselves up in Winterfell.
 
Not that it truly mattered, at the end of the day. Unlike Dragonstone, with its rows of Scorpions, designed for combat against dragons, Winterfell was sorely lacking in that regard. Oh, they’d gone ahead and tried. Roose Bolton, at least, was no man’s fool, and from the look of things, he’d started construction on siege equipment designed to have a chance at taking down dragons as soon as he’d heard about the existence of me and my brothers.
 
Of course, at the size I was now, a Scorpion might as well be the same thing as a bow, for all the good that the bolts that came flying out of them could do against my massive body and my hardened black scales. I fell upon the army outside of Winterfell like a vengeful god, and while I was still careful to avoid getting punctured, I wasn’t too worried about it. My power was growing. Not just in terms of physicality, though that was also true, but in other ways as well. My internal magic was expanding on itself, and new pathways were being opened to me.
 
I didn’t quite know what I was destined to become yet, but I was more than excited to find out, if I was being honest. I thought… I thought I just might be growing beyond this world, slowly but surely. And perhaps that was exactly what whatever or whoever had put me here wanted out of me. Perhaps that was to be my eventual destiny.
 
Regardless, destroying the Bolton army outside of Winterfell was easy. But removing the Bolton infestation from the castle itself was a little bit more difficult than ending the male line of the Freys had been. After all, Winterfell wasn’t the Twins. It was a bit more important than that, especially to people I and my Queen were now relatively close to. People named Sansa Stark.
 
So, in the interest of keeping Sansa’s Ancestral Home intact for her to eventually rule over as Daenerys’ loyal subject, I didn’t demolish Winterfell down to its foundations as I had the Twins. Instead, I let the Unsullied, under orders from their Queen, do the dirty work. I did, however, show them the way. After demolishing the majority of the Bolton’s army outside of Winterfell, I’d walked my way right up to the gates of the castle and, reaching out with one massive wing talon… I’d flicked them inwards.
 
The medieval hinges hadn’t lasted for even a single second under my strength, blasting forward and even catching a few of the Bolton bannermen ‘lucky’ enough not to be on the demolished battlefield I’d just gotten finished with. The Unsullied had poured in through the hole I’d made, and Winterfell had soon fallen beneath their weight.
 
In the aftermath, I’d shrunk myself down into my more humanoid form and taken a walk into the kennels. Ramsay’s dogs… they didn’t deserve their fate. But he’d given them a taste for human flesh, which meant they had to be put down. As something of a lover of animals, I considered it my duty to be the one to do it.
 
… Alright, so I burnt them all to a crisp and then consumed them. Perhaps I was a bit peckish. But hey, I’d already eaten my fair share of people. What were a few rabid hunting dogs on the side, right? Regardless, it was on my way out of the kennels that I found her. In her own little cage, just down the way from where Ramsay had kept his dogs. Not kept in the dungeon, but in the kennel.
 
“Oh now… what’s this?”
 
It took me a moment to even realize it WAS a her, as I stepped into the cage. She was, to put it bluntly, absolutely filthy and entirely unrecognizable at first glance. One might even mistake her for a beast at first glance. But no, she’s human. She smells like a human, even if she also smells absolutely awful in several different ways.
 
My voice, however, does catch her attention. Her one good eye flickers up to meet my face, and I’m startled by just how… blue it is. Blinking, I crouch down and take a good, long look at her. She’s knelt in the far back of the cage, likely because she doesn’t have the strength to stand anymore. Her arms are chained up on either side of her, held in place by shackles that go up towards the corners, where the walls meet each other and the ceiling.
 
One of her eyes is just… gone. Gouged out of her head, from the look of things. The wound has healed poorly and is clearly festering. But then, the woman is covered in filth and wounds all around, and many of them are likely infected. Her hair has been shorn from atop her head, leaving her with an undiscernible hair color due to the sheer amount of mud and grime and filth covering her scalp.
 
She’s naked, of course, and further down, her body is… ruined for lack of a better word. Her nipples have been flayed off, as have other parts of her breasts. All over her form, in fact, the vast majority of her wounds are from flaying. Until one gets to her digits, that is. Her fingers haven’t been flayed… they’ve been cut from her, wholesale. Two fingers missing on her left hand, three missing on her right.
 
Further down, her genitals have not been shown any mercy either. Her clit has been removed, and her inner thighs have been half-flayed, leaving the skin just… resting back, not fully or properly removed from her. It is grotesque. The entire scene is grotesque. It’s exactly the sort of thing a psychopath like Ramsay Bolton would engage in.
 
Though, I had to admit to some surprise. From what I knew of the Bolton bastard, he didn’t tend to leave the girls alive this long. And it was obvious that this particular woman had been here for months, judging by the state of her. Ramsay’s MO was to flay disloyal men, while hunting and killing pretty young women.
 
What made this one different? Was it her defiance? Even now, even in her current state, that single blue eye that was staring at me had so much… life left to it. Her body was a broken, mangled mess, but I could tell just by looking at her that her mind? Her mind remained intact. That was intriguing, and even exciting.
 
“I wonder… can you tell me your name?”
 
Her ruined face twists into something I can’t quite decipher, all of the emotion and the like lost beneath the grime. But when she opens her mouth, I have my answer all the same. The ruin is not only outward… it’s inward as well, her tongue clearly cut from her as a low hacking sound leaves her throat. An attempt at words? An attempt to spit on me? Either way, she gets nowhere, and I realize I won’t be getting any answers from her like this.
 
However, as it was, I couldn’t really stand to leave her in her current situation any longer anyways. Not when I was pretty sure I could do something about it.
 
“… I’ve never done this before, but it’s not like you have anything else to lose, so just bear with me, alright?”
 
Giving that single glaring blue eye my widest, toothiest smile, I go ahead and reach out. There’s no real place to grab onto that hasn’t been disfigured and flayed, so I settle for simply tapping one of my claws, atop one of my index fingers against her forehead. And then I focus. It’s not precisely healing, what I’m doing. I don’t know if I’m capable of that.
 
What I am capable of is something like… localized reality-reshaping? I focus on what I want to happen, and it happens. Or so I think. Like I told her, I’d never ever done this before. Mostly because it was a new ability, one that had come to me shortly after I finished eating pretty much every man in the Twins and demolished the castle. That feast, combined with the amount of gold that my gracious mother had allowed me to add to my hoard from the Late Walder Frey’s coffers, had given me something of a new level of power. It wasn’t just adding maidens to my collection that did that, after all.
 
As I focus, the woman before me, flayed, disfigured, and maimed a dozen different ways… begins to shift and spasm. And the wounds? They start to fall away from her. Not literally. Nothing falls off onto the ground, thankfully, that would be pretty gross as well. No, rather, the grime and the blood and the wounds themselves all begin to disappear, closing up, healing over… but like I said, it’s not quite healing. It’s more like a reversal of time for her and her alone, turning back her body’s clock to before she’d ever experienced this pain in the first place.
 
I could have done the same for her mind as well but based solely off of what I’d seen in that blue eye alone, I could tell that Ramsay’s ministrations had not fully broken her, and so I would not rob her of her memories in that way. Instead, it’s all physical… and as I turn back the sands of time for the poor woman, as her true shape and figure and features begin to come together, I find myself recognizing her.
 
Of course, it’s not until her hair grows out of her scalp and her eye regrows and her lips are reconstructed along with the rest of her face that I truly realize who she is… but then, that fiery red hair always was the most distinctive part of her. And then she opens her mouth, and her newly reconstructed tongue moves this way and that for a moment, running along her reformed teeth, before she finally enunciates and speaks.
 
“Y-Ygritte… my name… is Ygritte.”
 
Staring down at a woman I would have thought dead at this point in something akin to wonder, I chuckle lightly.
 
“Indeed, it is…”
 
-x-X-x-
 
Her name was Ygritte, and no matter how much that kneeler bastard had tried to make her, she’d never forgotten it, not even for one moment. It was why, in the end, after all of his flaying and maiming and the like came to a close, he’d taken her tongue before leaving her to die in her cage. Because she’d never said it, never called herself by the name he wanted her to take up.
 
Ramsay Bolton had wanted to take her and break her. Unfortunately for him, another kneeler bastard had gotten to her first. Jon Snow had broken her heart mere days before Ygritte and Tormund had been ambushed by some other kneeler fucks who called themselves the Umbers. Tormund… Tormund hadn’t made it. But the kneelers apparently had some weird fucking thing about women, because they’d taken her alive. Not to claim her or fuck her, though she’d seen more than a few giving her those sorts of eyes, but just to imprison her.
 
Eventually, she’d been given to the kneeler bastard with a penchant for flaying and maiming. From there, Ygritte’s torture had begun. She couldn’t say how long it had been. She didn’t exactly have a way of keeping track of time while in the cage, deep within Winterfell’s kennels. It was practically always dark and always cold, only her Free Folk upbringing truly keeping her from dying from exposure.
 
The kneeler bastard had done the bare minimum to keep her alive as well, washing her a few times, even as he ripped her flesh from her body, removed fingers from her hands, tore out one of her damn eyes. Only after he’d finally grown sick of her cheek and removed her tongue had he stopped coming around. He’d told her something about a Dragon Queen making her way North, and how he would soon have a more beautiful woman than her to play with, or something like that.
 
Ygritte hadn’t put much stock in his words. Either she would finally be allowed to die, or she wouldn’t. One way or the other, she was quite happy to be left in the dark to slowly rot away by that point. It was better than having his attention on her, day after day. Of course, never in a million years had the Spearwife thought she would be rescued or saved. Even if someone did come for her, what life would she lead after all that the kneelers had taken from her?
 
It seemed that it wasn’t just the Walkers and their magic stirring in the world though. At first, Ygritte hadn’t quite understood what she was seeing, when the thing entered her cage and spoke to her. She heard his words, and she comprehended his tongue… but the rest of him… she was wondering if she was hallucinating. But if she was, the hallucination had then gone on to make her feel better than she had in a long time.
 
Only seemed right to name herself after he gave her tongue back to her, since that was his last question. But now the dragon creature was looking at her with an expression of surprised delight, and Ygritte really wasn’t sure what was going to happen next. She’d been made whole again, but she was still naked, shackled, and kneeling in the middle of a fucking kennel. At least the kneeler bastard’s dogs weren’t yapping like they always did. In fact, the entire place was surprisingly quiet, given what she’d lived with for months.
 
“… Do you want revenge on Ramsay Bolton, Ygritte of the Free Folk?”
 
Ygritte’s head snaps up at that, her blue eyes focusing on the dragon creature’s face again. He looked almost like a man… but he was so obviously a monster. And yet, he spoke her tongue, and he healed her and… and now he was breaking her shackles, freeing her arms from their strained, uncomfortable position for the first time in months.
 
He grins slightly at seeing her obvious interest.
 
“He’s not dead yet, I don’t think. And I sort of have an in with the woman that will decide his fate. She’s sort of my mother, you could say.”
 
The Dragon Queen. Ygritte just stares in silence for a long moment, digesting this semi-new information and trying to process what was happening here, trying to go back and remember all the tidbits of information that the kneeler bastard had dropped her way while she was in his custody. Honestly, she hadn’t been paying much attention at the time. That was on purpose, she’d ignored him in order to irk him. Now she wishes she knew what was going on, truth be told.
 
And yet, even if she didn’t know all of the details, Ygritte was smart enough to know that no offer came without a price.
 
“What do you want from me?”
 
Her suspicions are proved true when this provokes a slight widening in the dragon-man’s grin as he nods to her amicably.
 
“Smart girl. I would think that was obvious though. I want you. I suppose I could just take you… that is your people’s custom, is it not?”
 
And then one of his clawed hands lashes out and Ygritte’s eyes widen as she wonders if she’s about to die. But instead, the claws merely close around her neck and he grabs her up, pulling her in close as she trembles in his grasp.
 
“There. Now you’re mine, yes? My Free Folk wife.”
 
He’s not wrong, that is how it’s done. When Free Folk wanted a wife, they went ahead and kidnapped one. Of course, the woman was meant to fight back, and any relatives that she might have could also potentially deal death to the man who dared to take her. The thing was, Ygritte had no one left to fight for her… and she knew she couldn’t fight herself. Yes, the dragon-man had taken her. Now that he had her, she supposed if that was what he wanted from her…
 
Mouth dry, Ygritte wets her lips, her blue eyes shining slightly as she looks him in the eye. Her voice is raspy and hoarse, despite him seemingly healing her in every possible way, from her hair down to the very tips of her toes and fingers.
 
“Technically, Jon Snow has first claim to me… but he already renounced it. Which means Ramsay has the next best claim to me.”
 
Her tone is appropriately suggestive, and she sees the understanding dawn in this dragon-man’s eyes. He chuckles after a moment and pulls her from the cage. Ygritte lets him do so, and even lets him carry her out of the kennel. Perhaps under normal circumstances she would have demanded the right to walk, but given she was buck naked, she was willing to take the humiliation for the time being.
 
As it is, he takes her straight to another place instead, what looks to be a kneeler’s bedroom. He gives her clothes, and while they’re far too thin for Ygritte’s tastes, it is nice to be wearing something again. Boots, pants, and a very loose-fitting shirt. Then, it’s off to see this dragon-man’s mother-queen.
 
-x-X-x-
 
We have perfect timing, of course. Given my connection to Daenerys, it’s easy enough to make it so that the very moment Ygritte and I step into Winterfell’s Great Hall, Dany is currently passing judgment on one Ramsay Bolton. As we enter, I reach out to my side and pull a dagger from the waist of one of the Unsullied guards. To his credit, he doesn’t so much as flinch. In a way, I am an extension of his Mistress’ will after all, and his loyalty to me is the same as his loyalty to his Queen.
 
Regardless, Ygritte has frozen up for a moment at the sight and voice of the Bolton bastard, who is currently trying to plead his case to Daenerys, using those dimples of his to look as childish and innocent as ever.
 
“Please, Your Grace. I am little more than a bastard. I could not go against my father, Lord Bolton. What was I meant to do? I had to follow his orders. Allow me to swear myself to your service. You will not find a better, more loyal servant in all the Seven Kingdoms!”
 
He really was a smarmy asshat, wasn’t he? Unfortunately for dear Ramsay, I’d told Daenerys all about what I knew of the Bolton bastard, and Sansa had backed me up with what little she knew about the Bolton Family in general and the rumors of their propensity for flaying men alive and what not. Daenerys believed that my knowledge of Ramsay came from the scouting missions I’d taken up north while her and her armies were still traveling. Better that way, really.
 
Regardless, as Daenerys looks Ramsay up and down with an unimpressed glint in her eye, pretending not to notice mine or my companion’s entrance, I lean over to Ygritte and press the pommel of the blade I’d taken from the Unsullied into her hand. She startles at the sudden sensation and looks down, realizing she’s armed. I hold her steady for a moment though when she tries to move forward and give her a wink as I silently urge her to wait until my mother is done talking.
 
“And what of your other… hobbies? Did your father also order you to hunt, rape, and kill young women throughout the woods of the North?”
 
Ramsay’s eyes widen at that, his smile dropping away, but before he can respond, Daenerys cuts him off with a sharp hand.
 
“No. You are scum, Ramsay Snow. I sentence you to die.”
 
Only then do I let Ygritte go. Only then does Daenerys flicker her gaze past the man in front of her, back over his shoulder. Something of a smile spreads across the Queen of the Seven Kingdom’s face.
 
“And who better to carry out the sentence?”
 
Daenerys doesn’t know as much as she pretends to, obviously. But I have passed along some knowledge of what I’ve been up to through our connection while she’s been busy holding court and passing judgment on the Boltons and their men. So, the Dragon Queen knows enough to know that the woman I’ve brought to the Great Hall with me is indeed a victim of Ramsay. Not that Ygritte would ever settle for being anything so weak as a victim.
 
No, Ygritte of the Free Folk is a survivor, and while there is some confusion in the court, Daenerys and I at least watch on with great relish as Ramsay turns around at the last second, only to lay eyes on a woman he thought he’d destroyed, physically if not mentally, made whole and hale before him once more.
 
“You-!”
 
And then Ygritte is slashing the dagger across Ramsay’s throat, cutting him off and spilling his lifeblood across his body and the floor, and even herself, a nice thick arterial spray splattering across Ygritte’s front, ruining the top I’d gotten for her and making her look like a mad woman… or perhaps the wildling woman she is.
 
I, of course, have not been idle as Ygritte moved forward, and even as Ramsay’s corpse is falling to the ground, I’m coming to a stop beside the fiery red head and putting a clawed hand on her shoulder, holding her in place.
 
“I’m happy to introduce Ygritte, of the Free Folk.”
 
Daenerys smiles sweetly, even as her eyes flicker between me and the woman who just carried out her sentence for her.
 
“Hello there, Ygritte. Am I right to assume that Drogon here has laid claim to you?”
 
To her credit, Ygritte doesn’t flinch for even a second in the face of the Dragon Queen. Jutting out her chin somewhat defiantly, the wildling woman clenches her jaw as she nods her head sharply.
 
“Aye. I’m his… and he’s mine. What of it?”
 
I grin slightly at that. It’s nice to see that not even Ramsay the Bastard has been able to break Ygritte of her spirit. Daenerys’ smile, meanwhile, grows a little more poisonous, though she doesn’t take any visible offense, instead chuckling lightly.
 
“He is mine, actually. My beautiful son. But… I have gotten quite good at sharing him. As will you. Go with my blessing, Ygritte of the Free Folk.”
 
Ygritte turns to me, and I smile as I take the bloodied blade from her hand and lead her out of the Great Hall, passing off the weapon used to execute Ramsay Snow to the Unsullied I’d originally taken from as we depart. When Ygritte takes the lead, I simply raise an eyebrow and follow. There’s only one place she could take us after all, and that was back the way we came. Seemed that the wildling woman was ready to be claimed… or to do the claiming.
 
-x-X-x-
 
It’s one thing to ride a man. It’s another thing entirely to ride a dragon. Ygritte bites her lower lip as she climbs atop the dragon-man that had effectively saved her, allowed her to take her revenge, and claimed her, all in one fell swoop. Though now she knows him by name. Drogon… seemed rather uninspired, if she had to say so herself. Very close to dragon, really.
 
Didn’t matter though. Even if she was unimaginative, the Dragon Queen certainly impressed Ygritte. Not that the red head would ever admit it, but she definitely had. It had almost seemed like warging, the way the Dragon Queen had somehow known exactly how to time her words so that she could make Ygritte’s revenge into an execution that she herself had sanctioned.
 
But looking down into Drogon’s eyes, gripping and stroking his draconic cock as she positions him at her entrance, Ygritte knows that she’s not looking down at the Dragon Queen in a male body. This creature below her is his own person, with his own thoughts and his own power. Perhaps they had some way to communicate between one another, but if they did, it was far more than simple warging.
 
With a gasp, Ygritte slips Drogon’s ridged, hot cock up inside of herself. Her eyes very nearly roll back in her head on the spot. She’s been wet since she killed the kneeler bastard, so very wet, and as such, her insides are nice and slick as she slips down her new husband’s cock, impaling herself upon his draconic length. Ramsay’s blood still adorns her face and neck, and she knows that she’ll have to wash it off eventually, but for now, she wants to wear it. She wants to be reminded every moment of what she did to that fucking piece of shit.
 
At the same time, he’s dead and behind her. Now is the time to look towards the future, and that future seems to be dominated by this half-dragon, half-man currently beneath her. Ygritte places her hands upon his scaled chest and begins to bounce herself up and down on his thick, meaty cock. He’s certainly the biggest she’s ever taken inside of her. And… he’s better than Jon Snow ever was.
 
It still hurts, Jon’s betrayal. But at the same time, some small part of her still loves the crow, despite his choices. It’s shameful, how weak she is, but she still finds herself wondering about him, wondering if he still lives. Of course, that makes her wonder about the state of the Free Folk in general. Have they made it to the Wall? Have they taken the Wall?
 
Ygritte is reminded of her favorite words to use on Jon. Now, they apply to her. She is the one who knows nothing. Looking down into Drogon’s eyes, the fiery red head licks her lips and leans forward, her mouth inches from his as she continues to ride his cock towards a climatic finish for the both of them, his ridges feeling absolutely phenomenal on the inside of her cunt.
 
“You should, ah, know something, mm, dragon. The dead r-rise in the True North. The Walkers, a-ah, come f-from beyond the W-Wall.”
 
She’s fishing for information as much as she’s informing him of something, she considers deadly important. As such, Ygritte isn’t that surprised when he doesn’t look shocked by her admission. He nods once, his clawed hands gripping at her hips but not slicing her to ribbons, and grunts as he thrusts up into her in a most satisfying way.
 
“Yes. I am aware. Why do you think I have pushed my Queen this far north so quickly?”
 
Ygritte’s breath hitches at that. Because that means… they aren’t alone. The Free Folk have been fighting the dead for longer than she can even say at this point. They’ve been trapped between an army of their ancestors’ hungering corpses and the Night’s Watch on their fucking Wall, and it’s always seemed so… so pointless. Like they’re trying to outrun something that can’t be outrun.
 
But now this dragon beneath her, this Drogon who has claimed her as his own… he tells her that he knows. He tells her that he’s come north, specifically to deal with the dead, though not in so many words. It hadn’t even crossed her mind that there might be something or someone out there who stood opposite the Walkers, who wanted to defeat them, who would meet them in battle.
 
Ygritte is a strong woman. She’s had to be, all her life, through every trial and tribulation that came her way. But in that moment, Drogon’s words break her in a way Ramsay’s actions couldn’t. Letting out a sob of relief and a cry of ecstasy, the fiery red head falls forward and takes Drogon’s face in her hands, kissing him with all her heart as she slams her hips down onto his strange, draconic cock and takes his seed deep inside of her womb.
 
The future is far brighter than she ever could have guessed. She’s glad that she’s lived to see it.

-x-X-x-

If you'd like to read more of my work not seen on this website, check out Hentai-Foundry.com and QuestionableQuesting.com where I have over a thousand stories! I'm known as 'Cambrian' on those websites.

If you'd like to contribute to funding my writing at all, check me out on Patreon.com/Cambrian

Thanks for reading!