Wind song of the barrows
The wind blowing through the Barrowlands carries the chill of frozen earth. As it sweeps across the rolling hills, it blows the withered grass on the graves close to the ground, as if wrapping the gray-white mounds in a dry blanket.
As Daemon's team set foot on this wasteland, the morning light had just pierced through the clouds, and the thin light fell on the scattered graves—some of the round mounds were taller than a person, while others were only half-exposed. The First Men runes on the tombstones had been worn away by time, and only a few deep grooves could still be discerned as patterns of frost and wolves.
"This is where the First Men are buried." Rodrik Dustin reined in his horse, his rusty axe pointing to the highest mound in the distance, its summit covered with a thin layer of snow that gleamed coldly in the morning light. "The Great Barrow, some say it holds the First King, others say the King of Giants. My grandfather's generation, and the Night's Watch, came here searching for traces of the First Men, but they only found a few fragments of bone."
Daemon looked up and saw the Great Wilderness Clan, like a lurking giant beast, crouching in the center of the hills, surrounded by smaller clans like stars around the moon.
As the wind swept across the hills, it made a whooshing sound, like countless whispers mixed with the echoes of wolf howls. At the edge of the Wolfswood in the distance, several Grey Ghost flashed by; they were gray wolves, common in the the North, watching the caravan with the dragon warily.
The Glutton seemed to dislike this desolate land. The Black Dragon's nostrils twitched, and its claws occasionally scratched at the frozen earth, uncovering several fragments of pottery from the time of the First Men.
Gael followed behind, riding Dreamfyre. Her pale blue dragon wings folded slightly to protect Gael and Mysaria on her back. "The wind here is colder than in the the Neck."
"After passing the Great Barrow, we'll reach our Barrowton." Rodrik pointed southeast with his whip. "Over there, you can see the water of Saltspear. You southerners probably haven't seen such a mudflat before—it's long and narrow, like an iron spear thrust into Bay of Brightflame. At low tide, you can see the ground covered with seashells; they're edible, but they have a strong fishy smell."
The group proceeded along the path through the hills, the surface gradually changing from frozen soil to hard earth covered with salt particles.
After walking for about an hour, the distant horizon began to shimmer with a pale blue light, and the outline of Saltspear gradually became clear—it was a long, narrow mudflat, with hills on one side and the gray-green sea on the other. Waves crashed on the beach, churning up white foam, and a salty wind carried the scent of frozen earth, creating a unique aroma of the the North.
"The mouth of the Rills is over there," Rodrik said, pointing to a silver ribbon at the end of the mudflats. "The river flows down from the the Neck, carrying swamp mud, and becomes murky here. In the Summer, at high tide, half of the mudflats are submerged, and fishermen have to tow their boats to higher ground to avoid being washed away."
Mysaria clung to the Dreamfyre's neck, gazing curiously at the figures on the beach. "Are those fishermen?"
"They're tenants of the House Dustin," Rodrik nodded with a smile. "When there are no fish to catch in winter, we go to the beach to collect seashells, or cut down some tamarisk along the mudflats for firewood. That's how we get through life in the the North."
After another half hour of travel, the outline of Barrowton finally appeared at the end of the hills.
It was a town built along the river, with wooden houses scattered about, their roofs covered with peat and thatch, and several dirt roads extending from the town entrance to the surrounding farmland.
The most conspicuous building is the Wilderness Hall in the center of town—built on a hill to the west of the Wilderness family. The wooden walls are three zhang high, and a square tower stands at each of the four corners. The watchtowers on the top of the towers fly the flag of the House Dustin: on a yellow background, between two crossed black-handled rusty axes, a black crown is attached, fluttering in the wind.
"We're home!" Rodrik spurred his horse forward, his rusty axe gleaming in the sunlight. "Let me show you my wife's roasted wild boar!"
Before the gate of the Barrow Hall, several guards in gray armor were already waiting. Upon seeing Rodrik, they all knelt on one knee. "Earl Excellency!" When the leading guard's gaze swept over the two dragons, his pupils contracted slightly, but he still maintained some composure—perhaps because he had never experienced Dragonfire before, the people of the the North, though they rarely saw dragons, rarely showed fear like the people of the South.
Daemon dismounted, his feet creaking as he stepped onto the wide wooden staircase. The staircase led from the town entrance to the castle on the hill, flanked by hardy rye stalks that swayed gently in the wind. The lawn and courtyard inside the gatehouse were neatly maintained, with an old windmill in the center, its blades covered in a thin layer of frost, clearly indicating it hadn't been turned in a long time.
"Rodrik! You're finally back!" A woman in a brown dress hurried out to greet him, the hem of which was embroidered with three green sentinel trees—the coat of arms of the Tallhart family of Torrhen's Square.
She had a dignified face, and although there were fine lines at the corners of her eyes, she exuded the competence of a woman from the the North. She was holding the hand of a little girl who looked about five years old, with two braids and her cheeks red from the cold.
"This is my wife, Ala Tallhart." Rodrik stepped forward, put his arm around the woman's shoulder, and then pointed to the little girl, "Our youngest daughter, Ada."
Ala curtsied to Daemon and Gael, her voice gentle yet firm. "Welcome, Your Highness and the Princess, to the Barrow Hall. The children are waiting inside."
Ada hid behind her mother, only her round eyes peeking out. She stared curiously at Daemon's silver hair, then quickly glanced at the magnificent Dreamfyre, and whispered, "Mommy, is that a dragon? Can it breathe fire?"
Amused by her appearance, Gael bent down and took out a candied date from her cloak pocket—it was brought from Riverrun and was still covered in frosting. "Yes, it can breathe fire, but it's very well-behaved and won't breathe fire randomly. Here, have this."
Ada took the jujube, quickly stuffed it into her mouth, mumbled "Thank you, Princess Sister," and then hid behind her mother, only her fluffy head peeking out. She walked into the main hall of the Desolate House, where warmth instantly enveloped everyone. The walls of the hall were made of rough wood, and several faded tapestries hung on them, embroidered with scenes of the House Dustin ancestors in battle.
A long table stretched from one end of the hall to the other, with ceramic bowls and wooden plates on it. A fire was burning brightly in the corner, and the sizzling sound of oil dripping from the roasted wild boar onto the charcoal filled the entire hall with its aroma.
Three teenagers ran out of the side door. The one in the lead was about fifteen years old, wearing silver-gray short armor. His face resembled Rodrik's by about seven points, but his eyes were more mature.
The boy in the middle, around twelve or thirteen years old, was holding a wooden sword and had a mischievous smile on his face.
The youngest was about ten years old, holding a book with a leather cover, his eyes behind his glasses revealing a scholarly air.
"Father! You're back?" The leading boy was about to embrace his long-lost father when he saw the distinguished guest beside his father and quickly bowed. "I am William."
"Herman!" The boy with the wooden sword also bowed, but his gaze couldn't help but drift towards the Glutton at the door. "I heard you brought a dragon back?"
"Beren," the young man holding the book said softly, clutching it even tighter, "Welcome, Your Highness."
Rodrik patted his three sons on the shoulder and introduced them with a smile, "My eldest son, William, trained in swordsmanship with me and our family's knight instructor from the South for a few years. My second son, Herman, is quite wild; he's always thinking about hunting in the Wolfswood. As for my third son, Beren, he's like one of you Southern scholars; he just loves reading."
Ala had already directed the servants to bring out the food: roasted wild boar leg, crispy on the outside and tender on the inside, rye bread sprinkled with herbs, hot ale in a clay pot, and a bowl of stewed red vegetables, thick and steaming.
"There's nothing good in the the North," she said, filling Daemon's glass with ale. "This ale was brewed last winter, with some honey added; it'll warm you up."
Daemon took a sip of the ale; the rich aroma of the beer, mixed with the sweetness of honey, slid down his throat, and a warm sensation spread through his limbs.
He looked out the window, where the outline of the Great Barrow gradually blurred in the twilight. The wind swept through the wooden walls of the castle, making a "whooshing" sound, as if the First Men were telling a long-ago story.
"The House Dustin has guarded this desolate graveyard for thousands of years," Rodrik said, taking a sip of ale, his voice tinged with emotion. "Ever since our last House of the Wastes submitted to the Stark. For so many years, whether the Andals came or the Ironborn plundered, we have guarded this place—as long as the graveyard stands, so does Dustin."
William added, "Last winter, a band of robbers tried to raid the Great Wilds' house, claiming there was gold inside, but we drove them away. Lord Stark even gave us a sword as a reward for our good defense."
Gael asked curiously, "Does the Great Wilderness really have an ancestral king?"
Beren put down his book and adjusted his glasses. "The scholar said it was just a legend, and that it might only contain a few bones of our First Men. But the village elders say that every full moon, a blue light shines over the Great Barrow, the spirit of the First King watching over us."
Ada suddenly raised her hand, still chewing on a candied date. "I saw it! Last month, during the full moon, Herman and I went to gather firewood near the Great Wilderness's house, and we really saw a blue light!"
Herman scratched his head, a little embarrassed. "It's true, but it's probably just will-o'-the-wisps from the swamp drifting over."
Everyone laughed, and the atmosphere in the hall became even more lively.
Jarman Waters and Harlan Hunter sat in a corner. The one-eyed knight's gray eyepatch gleamed faintly in the firelight. He would occasionally accept the ale offered by a servant, but he remained vigilant, his gaze frequently sweeping towards the doorway—his experiences from childhood had made him accustomed to being aware of potential dangers amidst the hustle and bustle.
Larys Strong was already sitting by the fire pit, his body draped in a black robe, like a blob of ink blending into the shadows. He didn't say much, only occasionally poking at the charcoal in the fire with a wooden spoon. His dark eyes gleamed with an unfathomable light in the firelight, as if he were deep in thought.
Mysaria leaned against Gael, taking small bites of rye bread, her gaze falling on the tapestry on the wall. "Are those House Stark Direwolf?"
Ala nodded. "That's right. Ten years ago, Lord Ellard Stark and his wife from Winterfell came to Barrowton. The Duchess, who was still alive at the time, embroidered these gifts for us herself. The House Stark have treated us well, and we must live up to that trust."
As night deepened, the conversation in the hall continued. Daemon listened to the Dustin family recount the story of the the North, watching the starlight fall on the Great Wilderness house outside the window. He suddenly felt that this once desolate wasteland also held a vibrant warmth—the resilience of the the North, like the wild grass on the Great Wilderness house, took root in the cold wind and grew over the years.
"If you're not in a rush to leave tomorrow," Rodrik raised his glass, "I'll take you to the Great Barrow, and then to Saltspear to collect some seashells. Beren can also tell you stories of the runes of the First Men."
Daemon smiled and raised his glass, "Great. It'll be good for us to see what the land protected by the House Dustin is really like."
The charcoal fire crackled in the hearth, reflecting the smiling faces of the people. The wind still blew through the wilderness of the First Men, but it was no longer so biting—perhaps because of the warmth in the hall, perhaps because of the straightforward hospitality of the people of the the North, or perhaps because this land, where the bones and blood of the First Men were buried, had finally accepted the true dragon that had come from afar.
The lights in the Barrow Hall shone for a long time in the night, like a warm star adorning this vast and desolate wasteland.
Outside the hall, Glutton and Dreamfyre huddled in the castle's open space, dragon breath condensing into white vapor in the cold air, guarding the peace and liveliness of the night.