Castle Black — Daniel's POV
The Wall rose before them like the edge of the world — a sheer cliff of ice, catching the pale light and throwing it back in cold fire. Daniel had seen it before, but never like this. Not after the Fist. Not after Craster's.
The gates stood open, black against the white, the portcullis raised. A handful of brothers waited in the yard beyond, their faces unreadable as the column trudged in. The smell of the place — woodsmoke, horse, the faint tang of forge‑iron — was almost strange after weeks of pine and snow and blood.
Jon walked beside him, Longclaw at his hip, the pale wolf's head catching the light. Ghost padded ahead, drawing wary glances from the men at the gate. Sam trailed just behind, his steps slow but steady.
No cheer greeted them. No words of welcome. Only the quiet weight of eyes counting their number — and noting who was missing.
Bowen Marsh stepped forward, his expression tight. "Where is the Lord Commander?"
Daniel felt Jon's gaze flick toward him, but it was Daniel who answered. "Jeor Mormont is dead. Murdered at Craster's Keep."
A ripple went through the yard — shock, disbelief, something darker. Marsh's mouth worked once before he found words. "How?"
Jon's voice was flat. "Mutiny. Some of our own. We barely made it out."
The silence that followed was heavier than the Wall itself.
Marsh's eyes dropped to Longclaw, then back to Jon. "And that?"
Daniel stepped in before Jon could speak. "Was given to him by the Old Bear himself. His last command."
Marsh said nothing, but his gaze lingered on the sword before he turned away, barking orders for the wounded to be taken to the infirmary.
As the yard began to move, Daniel felt the cold settle deeper in his bones. They were home, but it didn't feel like it. The Wall loomed above, unchanging, but everything beneath it had shifted.
Daniel's legs ached to follow the others inside, to find warmth and rest, but his eyes caught on a boy slumped against the wall near the stables.
The lad's face was pale beneath the grime, his arm bound in a blood‑soaked rag. No one had stopped for him.
Daniel crossed the yard without thinking. "Easy," he murmured, crouching. The boy flinched, but Daniel's hands were steady as he unwound the filthy cloth. The wound was deep, angry, but not beyond saving.
He tore a strip from his own cloak, pressing it firm. "You'll keep that arm," he said quietly, "but you'll need to trust me."
The boy's eyes searched his face — not for rank, not for orders, but for something else. Daniel held the gaze until the fear eased.
As he worked, the noise of the yard faded. He remembered the Old Bear's last words to him, spoken in the chaos after the mutiny: "The Watch needs more than swords. It needs men who remember what we're here for."
Daniel had thought he understood then. Now, kneeling in the cold with blood on his hands, he knew better. His mission wasn't just to fight the darkness beyond the Wall — it was to keep the light alive within it.
When the boy was safe in the infirmary, Daniel straightened, the wind biting at his face. The Wall loomed above, vast and unyielding, but he no longer saw it as a barrier. It was a line — one he had been placed here to hold, not just with steel, but with the truth he carried.
Somewhere beyond the ice, the real enemy gathered. And somewhere within these black stones, the seeds of rot still lingered. His faith would have to guide him through both.
XXX
The infirmary smelled of boiled linen and pine resin. The air was warmer here, but the heat felt thin against the cold that had settled in Daniel's bones. He had seen to the boy first, then the worst of the wounded, until his hands were stiff and red from washing.
When the last cot was filled, he found Maester Aemon at his desk, bent over a ledger. The old man's blind eyes lifted as if he had been expecting him.
"You walk heavier than when you left," Aemon said, voice soft but certain.
Daniel hesitated. "We lost the Old Bear."
"I know." Aemon's fingers rested on the open page, tracing the edge of the parchment. "And yet you carry something he gave you."
Daniel thought of Longclaw at Jon's hip, of the boy in the yard, of the mutineers' faces in the firelight. "Not a sword," he said quietly. "A charge."
The maester tilted his head. "To keep the Watch alive?"
"To keep it true," Daniel answered. "Steel can hold the Wall for a night. Truth can hold it for a lifetime."
Aemon's mouth curved — not quite a smile, but close. "Then you will need both. And you will need to remember that the Wall is not only ice and stone. It is men. Men who can be swayed, or broken, or redeemed."
Daniel felt the weight of that settle on him. His mission was no longer just to fight what came from beyond the Wall. It was to guard the hearts within it — to be a light when the cold crept in unseen.
Aemon reached for his hand, the old fingers surprisingly strong. "Do not mistake quiet work for small work, Daniel. The greatest battles are often fought where no one is watching."
Outside, the wind howled against the shutters, but Daniel no longer heard it as a threat. It was a reminder. The storm was coming — and he knew now why he had been placed here.
Castle Black — Jon's POV
The hall was colder than Jon remembered. The fire in the great hearth burned low, its light swallowed by the high rafters. Shadows clung to the corners, and the men gathered at the trestle tables spoke in low voices, their words carrying the weight of news too heavy to set down.
Bowen Marsh sat at the high table, flanked by Othell Yarwyck and Septon Cellador. Their faces were drawn tight, eyes flicking toward Jon as he entered. Longclaw felt heavier at his side under their gaze.
Daniel was already there, standing near the wall, his dark hair damp from melted snow. He said nothing, but Jon caught the faintest nod — a silent reassurance, or perhaps a warning.
Marsh rose. "We've heard your tale, Snow. But there are questions yet unanswered. Questions about Craster's Keep. About the Old Bear's death. About… your sword."
Jon met his eyes. "Ask them, then."
The murmur in the hall stilled.
Marsh's voice was measured, but the edge beneath it was sharp. "You bring us word of mutiny, yet the mutineers are not here to face justice. You bring us the Lord Commander's sword, yet no witness to his last command. And you bring us fewer men than you left with."
Jon felt the heat rise in his chest, but before he could speak, Daniel stepped forward. His voice was calm, carrying just enough to reach the high table. "The truth is not lessened because it is spoken by the living. The Old Bear's last command was to see this sword in Jon Snow's hand. I was there. I will swear it before the gods."
A ripple of reaction moved through the room. Jon saw Marsh's jaw tighten, but he did not press the point.
The rest of the night was a blur of questions and half‑answers, of men weighing loyalty against doubt. Through it all, Jon felt Daniel's presence — not loud, not forceful, but steady. Like a stone in a river, shaping the current without the water ever knowing.
When the meeting broke, Jon lingered by the dying fire. Daniel passed him on the way out, pausing just long enough to murmur, "Hold fast. The storm's closer than they think."
Jon didn't need to ask which storm he meant.
The hall emptied slowly, boots scuffing against the stone, voices fading into the corridors. Jon stayed by the hearth until the last ember cracked and fell. The air smelled of smoke and damp wool, the kind of cold that seeps into the bones and stays there.
When he finally stepped outside, the night struck him like a blade. The courtyard lay silent under a thin veil of snow, the flakes drifting down in lazy spirals. Above it all, the Wall loomed — a jagged cliff of ice, pale in the moonlight, its face catching the wind's low moan.
Jon's breath misted in the air. Somewhere beyond that frozen height, the dead were moving. Somewhere within these walls, doubt was already taking root.
He glanced toward the infirmary windows, where a faint glow still burned. Daniel would be inside, tending the wounded, speaking quiet words that steadied men in ways steel never could. Jon didn't fully understand the depth of it, but he knew this — the Watch needed that light as much as it needed swords.
The wind rose, rattling the shutters, carrying with it the scent of snow and something darker. Jon pulled his cloak tighter and looked up at the Wall one last time.
The storm was coming. And when it broke, they would need every man to stand — in body, in will, and in truth.
XXX
Castle Black — Daniel's POV
The infirmary had gone still. The wounded slept in uneasy silence, the fire in the brazier burning low. Daniel sat alone at the far end of the room, his hands resting on the edge of the cot where he'd been mending gear. His fingers were raw, but his mind was restless.
He bowed his head. The words came slowly at first, rough from disuse, but they gathered strength as he spoke them into the quiet.
"Father… I have seen death walk in the snow. I have seen men turn on their own. I have seen the light in good eyes fade. If You have placed me here, then show me why. Show me how to stand when the cold comes for the heart as much as the flesh. I am only one man — but I am Yours."
The wind rattled the shutters, but the sound seemed far away. A warmth stirred in his chest, not from the brazier, but from somewhere deeper. It was not an answer in words, but a certainty — that he had been heard.
A soft shuffle of feet broke the stillness. Maester Aemon stood in the doorway, a small bundle in his hands.
"I thought," the old man said, his voice low, "you might keep this better than I."
He set the bundle on the cot. Daniel unwrapped it carefully, revealing a book bound in worn leather, its edges darkened with age. The script on the cover was simple, but the weight of it was not.
"The Scriptures," Aemon said. "Copied long ago by a brother who believed the Watch should guard more than the realms of men. I have read them often. Now… I think they are meant for you."
Daniel's throat tightened. He ran his hand over the cover, feeling the grooves of the letters.
"Thank you," he managed.
Aemon's blind eyes seemed to look straight through him. "The Wall will test your body. These words will test your soul. Keep them both strong."
When the maester left, Daniel opened the book. The first page bore a single line in careful ink: The light shines in the darkness, and the darkness has not overcome it.
He closed his eyes, and for the first time since the Fist, the path ahead seemed clear.