Tower shadows at Castle Black
The morning snow fell softly on the basalt towers of Castle Black.
Cregan Karstark led the way, the hem of his black robes sweeping across the icy stone steps. He pointed to the Wall, which stood tall to the north, his voice carrying the chill of the wind. "Your Highness, look, this is the foundation of the Night's Watch —three sides without walls, relying solely on the the Wall for protection. Since the time of Brandon the Builder, Castle Black has been like a stone embedded in an ice wall, unyielding to Wildlings, White Walkers, or even time itself."
Daemon looked up, and the castle's outline was exceptionally clear in the snow and mist:
The eastern Shieldhall Tower is the most sturdy, with not a single crack on its gray stone walls, and it overlooks the wooden steps between the Kingsroad and the the Wall;
The Hardin's Tower on the west side leans frighteningly, with several weathered stones lying on the open ground, like bone fragments carelessly discarded by Giants;
The tallest Spear Tower is as thin as a needle, and its height of two hundred feet is only one-third that of the the Wall. Cracks on the tower are faintly visible in the snow, as if it is about to collapse at any moment.
"That's the King's Tower." Cregan pointed to a round tower, the iron nails on its oak doors gleaming coldly. "No king has set foot here since Aegon's conquest; the ramparts at the top still bear the axe marks of the Andals attack." He led the group inside, a thin layer of frost clinging to the spiral stone steps, each step making an old, creaking sound. " In Summer, the insect tunnels are faster, but in winter, you have to climb the tower—those underground passages are so cold you can freeze your breath."
The watchtower atop the tower overlooks the entire wooden hall of Castle Black on the south side. Beneath the high wooden ceiling, dozens of ravens preen their feathers, Night's Watch brothers drink hot ale from earthenware bowls, the steam condensing into white mist in the cold air.
The crows' nest was right next to the scholar's residence, and several cawing crows were flapping their wings, carrying a message southward;
The wooden door to the armory was open, revealing neatly stacked spears and quivers. Sunlight fell on the black iron daggers, giving them a dark sheen.
"The library is beneath the barracks," Cregan continued, leading the way through the icy courtyard. "Inside, you'll find things even the Citadel doesn't have—ancient scrolls of the Children of the Forest, rubbings of weirwood faces, and several incomplete Valyria manuscripts, sent by Queen Alysanne years ago."
Upon hearing this, Beren quickened his pace, the leather-bound notebook throbbing painfully in his arms. "Is there really a record of the Children of the Forest? The maesters of the Citadel said they were all legends."
"The Night's Watch doesn't live on legends." Cregan pushed open the iron door to the library, and a warm scent mixed with the smell of old paper and mildew wafted out. The parchment scrolls on the shelves were piled higher than a person. "Back then, Commander-in-Chief Rosso Berriley relied on these manuscripts to believe that the spell on the the Wall needed the power of weirwood to be maintained."
Daemon's gaze fell on a roll of yellowed parchment, on which were drawn blurry patterns of ice fields, and ancient annotations beside it were blackened by the passage of time. The moment his fingertips touched the pages, the brand on his right shoulder suddenly felt slightly warm—as if echoing this secret hidden for a thousand years, or as if reminding him of the threat of eternal winter beyond the the Wall.
Just then, a sharp horn blast pierced the morning mist, as shrill as a shattering icicle. A ranger in a black robe stumbled in, his cloak smeared with snow and mud, his voice trembling. "Commander-in-Chief! The tunnel—the tunnel is blocked by Wildlings! They came from an unknown secret passage, carrying supplies and women and children, and we've blocked them from both ends!"
Cregan's face instantly darkened, and he bowed apologetically to Daemon: "Your Highness, please allow me to deal with this matter first."
"I'll go with you." Daemon gripped the hilt of his Blackfyre, his gaze sweeping over his followers. "Gael and Mysaria stay here; the House Royce twins will provide protection. Brandon, Rupert, and Myles, the rest of you come with me."
Gael at his sleeve, her light purple eyes filled with worry. "Be careful."
Daemon nodded and followed Cregan and Rodrik Stark toward the the Wall Pass.
The triple iron bars at the tunnel entrance were tightly shut. The Night's Watch held their spears but did not draw them. Through the gaps in the bars, dozens of Wildlings could be seen crammed inside—the men held bone spears, the women held children, and the old huddled in a corner, with oats and herbs peeking out from the cloth bags in their arms. They showed no trace of the ferocity of raiders, but rather resembled a group of refugees fleeing from disaster.
"Why not attack?" Myles Rivers gripped his new battle axe, his knuckles turning white.
"They didn't hurt anyone," Rodrik, who had led the men blocking their path, shouted. "They only took some provisions from the the Gift and left some pyrite in exchange—we Night's Watch don't kill those who beg for their lives."
The Wildlings in the tunnel stirred when they saw Cregan. A burly man pushed his way to the front, his face painted with light blue lines, and spoke broken Common Tongue: "I am Gorn of the Thenn clan! The Long Winter is too long, there are no wild animals Beyond the Wall the Great Wall, and the old and children are starving to death! We only take what is alive, we have never killed anyone!"
Before Cregan could speak, Daemon stepped forward. "Have you considered living within the the Wall? The Gift still has many abandoned villages where you can grow crops and hunt. The maesters of the the Wall can also treat your patients."
Gorn suddenly flew into a rage, slamming his bone spear on the ground with a loud thud. "You silver-haired goblin! Do you want us to kneel before the king of the south? The Thenns never kneel before anyone!"
"I am Daemon Targaryen, grandson of King Jaehaerys." Daemon turned and walked away. "Come with me, and I'll show you what I can promise."
As the group emerged from the tunnel, the sky suddenly darkened—the Glutton and Dreamfyre spread their wings, and two dragon shadows, one black and one blue, swept across the open space above. Their breath condensed into white vapor in the cold air, frightening the Wildlings into retreating in droves. Only Gorn remained standing, his eyes filled with shock.
"I swear by the dragons." Daemon's voice echoed between the ice walls, his violet eyes shining with an astonishing light. "Free Folk are willing to go to the the Gift will not have to kneel to any king, but will be responsible only to their own clan. The elderly and women will be healed, and you can hunt in the the North forests, only needing to periodically exchange supplies with the Night's Watch, or join in assisting your Night's Watch brothers—how about it?"
Gorn stared at the dragon in the sky, then looked at Cregan. Cregan nodded. "Brandon's Gift of the Gift still has many empty villages, enough for you to settle down."
The Wildlings immediately erupted into a cacophony of voices, arguing amongst themselves in their ancient language. Gorn remained silent for a moment, then suddenly drew his stone axe from his waist. "We believe in dragons, but not in the words of the southerners! If you can defeat the three bravest warriors of my clan with your sword, then we will believe in you, the Dragon King!"
"Your Highness, you are of noble birth. Why not let our Night's Watch brothers take your place in battle?" Cregan suggested with a worried expression. He had not yet witnessed the young prince's martial prowess.
"Your Highness!" Rodrik quickly interjected, "Why not let my nephew Brandon do it—"
"Uncle, don't worry!" Brandon suddenly interjected, patting his chest to declare, "Little Daemon's swordsmanship is even better than mine, the ' Wild Wolf of the North '!"
Daemon had drawn his Blackfyre, its Valyrian steel blade gleaming coldly in the snow. "If I lose, I'll let you take the supplies back to the Beyond the Wall, and I'll add ten more bags of supplies; if I win, you'll come with me to the the Gift."
Before he could finish speaking, a tall, burly Wildlings charged forward with a spear, its tip whistling through the air. Daemon neither dodged nor evaded, but instead slashed with his Blackfyre, the spine of which struck the spear shaft precisely with a muffled "hum." The Wildlings felt a tingling sensation in his hand, and the spear flew out of his grasp.
The second Wildlings swung his axe, his attack as fierce as the the North winds. Daemon dodged to the side, his sword tip lightly touching the savage's knee, and the Wildlings screamed as he fell to his knees.
The third Wildlings was the most agile, his dagger aimed only at joints, but Daemon used his scabbard to wrap around his wrist, and with a gentle twist, the dagger clattered to the ground.
In just over ten rounds, all three Wildlings were knocked down, while Daemon was unharmed; only the weapons on the ground proved the fierce battle that had just taken place. Gorn stared at the Blackfyre in Daemon's hand, then looked at the dragon in the sky, and suddenly knelt on one knee, shouting something in an ancient language.
"What did he say?" Daemon asked Cregan.
"He said," Cregan's voice tinged with amusement, " that the Thenn clan trusts in the Dragon King's will."
The Wildlings laid down their weapons, and the women and children emerged from the tunnel, their fear gradually turning into curiosity.
Daemon gazed at the group of Free Folk covered in snow, then at the towers of Castle Black— the cracks in the Spear Tower were still conspicuous in the snowy light, yet seemed to have gained a touch of vitality because of this sudden peace.
"Commander-in-Chief Cregan," Daemon turned, "Please send some men to take them to the abandoned village on the the Gift."
"With pleasure." Cregan nodded, his eyes filled with admiration. "What Your Highness has done today is more effective in protecting the the Wall than Dragonfire."
Brandon patted Daemon on the shoulder, laughing heartily, "I told you you were good! Next time you fight, you'd better take me with you!"
Larys Strong stood in the corner, his black robes sweeping across the icy ground, his dark eyes gleaming with a thoughtful light—he watched the Wildlings and Night's Watch depart side by side, then looked at the Blackfyre in Daemon's hand, having long forgotten that he had initially only been curious about the the Wall and his great-uncle whom he had never met. But now he suddenly felt that this trip to the the Wall was more interesting than he had expected.
Daemon looked up at the Wall, the ice walls gleaming a pale blue in the sunlight. The sound of the wind cutting through the cracks in the ice no longer sounded like the whispers of the First Men, but rather like a new oath, echoing between the towers of Castle Black. He knew that accepting these Free Folk was only the first step in the future fight against the White Walkers, but at least for this moment, there was finally a possibility of reconciliation between the ice and fire inside and outside the the Wall.