A night at Castle Cerwyn
The morning mist in Barrowton had not yet dissipated; the grayish-white water vapor, carrying the chill of the frozen earth, swirled around the wooden walls of Huangjia Hall.
As Daemon's group packed their belongings, the Dustin family was already waiting in front of the gate. Mrs. Ala was carrying several burlap sacks filled with scones and smoked meat, while Ada hid behind her mother, holding a small Direwolf doll made of animal hair, her eyes full of reluctance.
"It's foggy, walk slowly." Rodrik Dustin patted Rupert Crabb on the shoulder and handed him a steel sword from behind—a long, narrow blade with a cold gleam, a hilt wrapped in non-slip deerskin, and a small House Dustin crest pendant hanging from the end. "This is my spare sword from when I was young. I've used it to cut Ironborn and lizard lions. You, half -Wildlings boy, are perfect for me. Remember, a sword is a weapon for killing. Don't just learn those fancy moves from the South; develop your own style as soon as possible."
Rupert took the sword with both hands, his knuckles turning white from the force. He suddenly knelt on one knee, his forehead touching the scabbard. "Thank you Earl! I will certainly live up to your teachings!" The silver armor gleamed faintly in the morning mist, and the boy's eyes, which had been amiable before, now held a hint of the resoluteness of a the North.
On the other side, Myles Rivers, with red-rimmed eyes, was embracing Rodrik's servant.
The burly servant handed over a newly forged battle axe—the blade was two fingers wider than Myles's old axe, the handle wrapped with black iron hoops and engraved with simple anti-slip patterns. "So that you won't have to go to the battlefield with that chipped old axe, I searched all over the ironworks in the Barrowton and had the old the Smith forge this one overnight. Remember, a real battle axe must be heavy and ruthless; one strike should draw blood."
Myles took the battle axe and tried to swing it. The wind whipped up by the axe blade swept through the morning mist. He nodded, choking back tears, "Thank you—thank you, Master!" The usually boisterous boy couldn't even finish a sentence. He could only hug his servant tightly and bury his face in the other's armor.
Mrs. Ala handed the burlap sack to Mysaria and then gave Gael a copper brazier to warm her hands. "The bread will keep for seven days, and the smoked meat is smoked with pine branches, so it keeps well. I've replaced the charcoal in the brazier; it'll be cold on the road, so don't catch a chill." She then pushed Ada forward, "These are dolls Ada made for the princess and Miss Mysaria. She said she hoped you would remember the Barrowton."
Ada's little face flushed red. She stuffed the Direwolf doll into Gael's hands and quickly hid behind her mother, only her bright eyes showing. Gael held the soft Direwolf doll and whispered, "Thank you Ada. I'll keep it safe."
Just then, Rodrik pushed Beren out from behind him again. The boy, clutching his book, his ears bright red, nervously fiddled with the pages. "Your Highness, I heard that after your tour of the the North you will go to the South. I've always wanted to see what the Citadel looks like, and to know if the 'Secrets of the Stars' the maesters spoke of is true. Could you take me with you?"
Daemon, seeing the expectation in Beren's eyes, then grinned at Earl Rodrik Dustin: "That lad is always talking about the Southern Citadel, since His Highness is going the same way, could we let him come along and broaden his horizons? William is going to Winterfell to serve as Lord Stark's squire, so the two brothers can have company on the journey."
William stepped forward and bowed to Daemon: "Your Highness, I know the way well. I know every path from Barrowton to Winterfell. Please allow me to lead the way."
Daemon nodded, a smile playing on his purple eyes. "Welcome, Beren. If you'd like to read on the journey, I have a few in my carriage; you can take them."
Beren's eyes lit up instantly, and she thanked him repeatedly, clutching the book even tighter.
The farewell ceremony was devoid of elaborate words. Rodrik simply patted Daemon on the shoulder. "When you get to Winterfell, give Benjen Stark a message: the House Dustin axe is ready to be summoned by Winterfell at any time."
"I'll definitely bring it." Daemon climbed onto the Glutton's back, and the Black Dragon let out a low growl, its wings sweeping through the morning mist and stirring up tiny ice particles.
As the group slowly left Barrowton, Dustin's family was still standing in front of the gatehouse waving. Ada's small figure grew smaller and smaller in the morning mist until it was hidden by the hills.
Daemon looked back; the yellow flag of the Barrow Hall was still fluttering in the wind, and the outline of the Great Barrow was faintly visible in the mist, like a silent guardian.
"The people of the the North are truly honest." Gael Dreamfyre alongside, her pale blue dragon wings protecting Mysaria and the bronze furnace in her arms. "They don't have those fancy Southern customs, yet they warm your heart."
"Their warmth is hidden in their bones." Daemon gazed at the edge of the Wolfswood ahead, where the Grey Ghost of several Direwolf flashed through the trees. "Like the snow in the the North, it looks cold, but it protects the wheat seeds in the fields, so they will sprout in spring."
Beren rode a pony beside William, occasionally peeking out at the distant dragon with eyes full of curiosity.
"Your Highness, are there really scholars in the Citadel who can predict the weather? I read in a book that they can use the stars to calculate when winter will come."
Larys interrupted with a laugh, "The maesters of the Citadel certainly know these things, but they also say that winters in the the North are the most unpredictable; sometimes it snows as soon as autumn arrives." After all, his father Citadel, and no one was more authoritative in this regard than this Clubfoot.
William continued, "Last winter came exceptionally early; the first snow fell in early October, and the river in Barrowton froze over. Herman and Ada were even ice skating on it."
The caravan proceeded along the path at the edge of the forest, the road gradually covered with snow, and the horses' hooves crunched on the snow.
The dragon's claws, left by the Glutton and the Dreamfyre, slammed into the snow, leaving huge footprints. Occasionally, gray wolves followed at a distance, but dared not approach—the dragon's aura instilled instinctive fear in these the North beasts.
After traveling for several days, the winds in the the North grew increasingly fierce, and the snow fell heavier. The outline of stone city walls appeared on the distant horizon.
"That's Castle Cerwyn!" William pointed ahead. "The House Cerwyn's capital, only half a day's ride from Winterfell. Their coat of arms is a battle axe on a silver background."
Daemon looked up and saw that Castle Cerwyn was situated on a small hill. The stone walls were three zhang high, and the square towers at the four corners were adorned with banners bearing the silver battle axe emblem, which fluttered in the wind and snow. The guards at the city gate wore silver armor, held battle axes, and stood as straight as pine trees. Upon seeing Daemon's group, someone immediately announced their arrival.
"Welcome, Your Highnesses Prince and Princess of Targaryen!" Earl Cerwyn greeted them personally. He was about fifty years old, tall, with a scar on his face that ran from his forehead to his chin, and a small battle axe at his waist, the same design as his family crest. "It's freezing cold and so late, hurry into town and rest! The fire pit is already lit, and there's freshly stewed venison soup!"
The main hall of Castle Cerwyn was even wider than the Wilderness Hall. Countless battle axes hung on the stone walls—some rusty, some as bright as new—all weapons used by the House Cerwyn's ancestors throughout the ages. The firewood crackled in the hearth, and the aroma of venison soup filled the hall, dispelling the chill.
"The House Cerwyn is closest to the House Stark," Lord Cerwyn Earl, pouring Daemon a glass of ale. "When the Andals came, our two families defended Winterfell together; when the Ironborn raided, our ancestors fought alongside Lord Stark to drive them back into the sea. Our motto is 'be prepared,' meaning we must be ready at any time to fight for Winterfell."
The young man Myles, took a sip of the venison soup, the warmth flowing down his throat. "The Earl's venison soup is truly delicious, much warming than the meat soups of the South."
"This is deer from the Wolfswood; the meat is firm," Cerwyn Earl with a smile. "Deer are fattest in winter, and we added some the North spices when stewing it to ward off the cold. If you get cold on your way to Winterfell tomorrow, I'll have the guards prepare some hot soup noodles for you."
Beren, holding a book, sat in the corner, looking curiously at the battle axes on the wall. "Earl Excellency, are these all real battle axes? Are any of them from hundreds of years ago?"
"Of course!" Cerwyn Earl interested, pointing to a rusty battle axe at the very back. "That belonged to my great-great-grandfather, and he used it to behead three Ironborn! If you're interested, I'll show you our family armory tomorrow; we even have stone axes from the First Men era."
Beren's eyes lit up instantly, and she nodded repeatedly.
Jarman Waters stood at the entrance of the hall, talking to Larys Strong, who was leaning against the steps. The one-eyed knight's gray eyepatch was covered with snowflakes. He occasionally glanced out the window to check on the dragons— the Glutton and Dreamfyre were placed in the open space behind the castle, with guards keeping a distance and not daring to approach.
As night deepened, Cerwyn Earl arranged rooms for them, all in the warmest inner chambers, with thick animal skin rugs on the beds.
Daemon stood by the window, looking at the wind and snow outside. The lights of Castle Cerwyn shone warmly in the snow, and from the distant Ruthless Forest came the distant, desolate howls of wolves.
"We'll be at Winterfell tomorrow." Gael walked in, carrying a hand warmer. "William said that if it's sunny tomorrow, we can see Winterfell's chimneys from the towers of Castle Cerwyn."
Daemon nodded, his purple eyes filled with anticipation. "Winterfell, the House Stark capital, the heart of the the North. I wonder if Lord Ellard, who returned to the the North halfway through the tournament due to illness, will be the stern and unsmiling lord of legend."
"Anyway," Gael said with a smile, handing him the hand warmer, "At least the hearth in Winterfell is definitely warmer than here."
The snowstorm outside the window continued, and the battleaxe banners of Castle Cerwyn fluttered in the wind, as if playing a prelude to the upcoming journey to Winterfell.
The fire in the hall was still burning brightly, and the aroma of venison soup, the richness of ale, and the unique hospitality of the the North added a touch of peace and warmth to this cold winter night.