Tormund opened a red-fringed eye.
Had he passed out in the snow yet again, while relieving himself into the patches of snow which still fringed the great walls - those still standing after the Night King's final assault?
That was not it.
There'd been that drunken wager with Gendry.
Lord Gendry, he corrected himself. Lord Gendry of Storm's End. Lord Gendry of House Baratheon.
They'd shaken hands, Gendry's strong from years of forging iron into swords. And made even stronger from days of forging dragonglass into swords.
His blue eyes. But not the unearthly blue of the undead. These eyes were full of life. Life yet to be lived. Unlike so many of their fallen comrades, who'd died defending the living.
Some of them twice...
Tormund winced at the memory.
Something stirred at his side.
Someone with scales...
Its giant unearthly blue eye glinted.
An undead dragon.
By the old gods and the new...