Castle Black — Daniel's POV
The first light of dawn crept through the narrow window, pale and thin against the frost‑rimmed glass. Daniel sat on the edge of his cot, the leather‑bound book resting open in his hands. The brazier had burned low in the night, but he hadn't felt the cold.
He had read until the candles guttered, the words sinking into him like water into dry earth. Now, in the stillness before the day began, he read again — not rushing, but letting each line settle.
The light shines in the darkness, and the darkness has not overcome it.
The verse seemed to breathe in the quiet. He traced the ink with his thumb, feeling the grooves where the scribe's hand had pressed the quill. It was more than a sentence — it was a promise.
The noise of the waking castle began to stir beyond the door: boots on stone, the clatter of buckets, the low murmur of men greeting the cold. Daniel closed the book gently, tying the leather strap. The weight of it in his hands felt different now — not heavy, but anchoring.
He knelt beside the cot, the chill of the floor seeping through his knees, and bowed his head.
"Lord, You've given me more than I asked for. Not just answers, but a way to see. Keep my steps steady. Let my hands heal, my words guide, and my sword defend only what is true. And when the storm comes… let me stand." When he rose, the restlessness that had haunted him since the Fist was gone. In its place was a stillness — not the stillness of the grave, but of a man who knows where he is meant to be.
He slipped the book into the inner pocket of his cloak, close to his heart, and stepped into the corridor. The day awaited — and with it, the first test of this new clarity.
The corridor smelled faintly of smoke and wet wool. A few brothers passed him, heads down, their breath misting in the cold. Outside, the yard was a churn of slush and bootprints, the sky a pale wash of winter light.
A supply cart stood near the gate, its wheels half‑sunk in the thawing snow. Two men strained at the traces, trying to shift it free, while a third stood off to the side, coughing into his sleeve. The others worked around him without a glance.
Daniel crossed the yard, meaning to head for the stables, but his steps slowed. The coughing man's shoulders were hunched, his hands bare and red to the bone. He looked young — younger than most — and the way he kept his eyes on the ground spoke of someone used to being overlooked.
A week ago, Daniel might have walked on. The Watch had its own rhythm, and a man learned to keep pace or be left behind.
Instead, he stepped to the cart, braced his shoulder against the wheel, and pushed. The wood groaned, the snow gave way, and the cart lurched forward onto firmer ground. The two men grunted their thanks, already moving on.
Daniel turned to the coughing brother and held out a pair of wool gloves from his own belt. "You'll need these," he said.
The young man hesitated, then took them with a nod. No smile, no words — but when Daniel walked away, he could feel the weight of the man's gaze on his back.
The day had only just begun, but the stillness in him held.
XXX
Castle Black — Training Yard, later that morning
The clang of steel rang sharp in the cold air, each strike echoing off the black stone of the Wall like a hammer on an anvil. Breath steamed from the mouths of men and boys alike, curling into the pale light before vanishing into the wind. Jon Snow moved among them with a watchful eye, his voice cutting through the scrape of boots on packed snow.
"Again. Guard high. You drop your shoulder, you're dead."
Daniel stepped into the yard without ceremony, the crunch of his boots swallowed by the noise. He took up a blunted sword from the rack, the leather grip cold against his palm. The weight felt familiar, but the way it settled in his hand was different — balanced, as if his own center of gravity had shifted overnight.
Jon's gaze swept the line, pausing for the briefest moment when it reached Daniel. His eyes flicked past him, toward the edge of the yard where the young brother — the one with the raw cough — now wore a pair of wool gloves. The faintest crease formed between Jon's brows, but he said nothing, only moved on.
The bout began. Steel met steel in a staccato rhythm, the air alive with the grunt of effort and the hiss of blades sliding past guards. Daniel's movements were measured, deliberate. No wasted lunges, no impatient feints. His eyes stayed on his opponent, not drifting to the looming Wall or the open gate beyond. He yielded ground when he needed to, pressed forward when the opening was real, each choice made without hurry.
Across the yard, Jon called a halt. The recruits froze, chests heaving, boots shifting in the snow. Jon's gaze moved down the line, assessing, weighing. When it reached Daniel, it lingered — not in suspicion, but in quiet appraisal, as if Jon were trying to name the thing he saw but couldn't quite put into words.
A heartbeat passed. Then Jon barked the next order, and the yard erupted again in the clash of steel and the crunch of snow underfoot.
Daniel fell back into the rhythm, the stillness in him unshaken, as if the cold and the noise could not touch it.
Castle Black — The Wall, midday
The wind cut sharper up here, threading through the gaps in Daniel's cloak. He stood on the walkway, the Wall stretching away in both directions — a frozen spine against a pale sky. Below, the yard bustled with dark‑cloaked figures moving between stables, armory, and hall.
The sun had climbed high enough to spill light across the ice, turning its surface into a shifting mirror. The glare was almost blinding, but Daniel didn't look away. The light didn't erase the cracks and shadows in the Wall — it revealed them, made them stand out in sharp relief.
A horn sounded from the west watchtower, low and steady. Not alarm — just the change of the guard. Two brothers trudged past him, their faces drawn, their eyes fixed ahead. One muttered about the cold, the other about the endless climb.
Daniel stepped aside to let them pass, his hand resting on the rough‑cut ice of the parapet. The cold bit into his palm, but beneath it he felt the solidity — the weight of centuries holding the darkness at bay.
He thought of the verse again, not as words on a page but as something alive in the air around him. The light shines in the darkness…
A shadow fell across him. Jon had come up the steps, breath misting in the wind. He stopped beside Daniel, following his gaze toward the white horizon.
"Clear day," Jon said.
Daniel nodded. "Clear enough to see what's coming."
Jon's mouth twitched — not quite a smile, not quite agreement. Before he could answer, a shout rose from below.
They descended the steps two at a time. A knot of men had gathered near the open gate, voices sharp with urgency. A rider had just come in from the east road, his horse lathered and steaming in the cold.
The man slid from the saddle, nearly stumbling. "Wildlings," he gasped. "A war band — moving fast. They'll be at the Shadow Tower within days."
The yard erupted in questions, curses, and the scrape of boots as men moved to fetch gear. Jon's gaze found Daniel's across the crowd.
"With me," Jon said — not loud enough to carry, but enough for Daniel to hear over the noise.
It wasn't an order. Jon had no right to give one. But Daniel moved anyway, because some men didn't need titles to be worth following.
The rider's words still hung in the cold air when Ser Alliser's voice cut through the noise.
"Get that horse to the stables. Bowen, fetch the First Builder. We'll need a raven to the Shadow Tower."
Men scattered to obey, but not all. A few lingered, trading uneasy glances. Jon didn't speak over Thorne — he didn't need to. He waited until the older man turned away, then stepped in beside the rider, asking low, "How many?"
"Two dozen at least," the man said, still catching his breath. "Maybe more. They're moving light."
Jon's jaw tightened. He glanced toward the armory, then to Daniel. "We'll need eyes on them before they reach the Tower."
Daniel caught the shift in Jon's tone — not a command, but the kind of statement that assumed you'd agree. "Scouts?"
Jon nodded once. "Quiet ones."
They moved toward the armory together, weaving through the churn of men. A few brothers stepped aside for Jon without thinking; others didn't bother, forcing him to shoulder past. Daniel noticed the difference — respect wasn't universal here, and without a title to back it, Jon had to earn it every time.
Inside, the air was warmer, thick with the smell of oiled leather and steel. Jon began checking the racks, pulling down a bow, a quiver, a short blade. He didn't ask permission. He didn't have to — not from the quartermaster, who gave him a curt nod and went back to his work.
"You've done this before," Daniel said quietly.
Jon's eyes flicked up. "Scouting?"
"Leading without saying you're leading."
A faint smile ghosted across Jon's face, gone as quickly as it came. "Titles slow you down. Men follow what works."
Outside, the horn sounded again — two short blasts this time. The gate was opening.
Jon slung the quiver over his shoulder and handed Daniel a pair of gloves. "Keep close. And keep your eyes open."
XXX
Beyond the Wall — Daniel's POV
The wind had teeth out here. It bit through wool and leather, found the seams in his gloves, and gnawed at the skin beneath. Daniel kept his hood low, eyes narrowed against the glare. The Wall was a dark line on the horizon now, half‑swallowed by drifting snow.
They'd left the horses tethered in a shallow cut of land, sheltered from the worst of the wind. Now they moved on foot, boots crunching over the crusted surface. Jon led, bow in hand, his gaze sweeping the ridges ahead. Grenn and Edd followed in a loose line, the wiry stranger bringing up the rear.
Daniel's breath rasped in his ears, loud in the stillness. Out here, sound carried strangely — the creak of leather, the faint hiss of snow shifting under its own weight, the occasional groan of ice somewhere far off.
Jon stopped suddenly, raising a hand. The line froze. He crouched, brushing snow aside with the back of his glove. Beneath it, a print — the shallow oval of a boot, edges softened by wind. Another beside it. Then more, angling toward the low hills.
Daniel knelt beside him. "Fresh?"
Jon's eyes flicked to the horizon. "Half a day, maybe less. They're moving quick."
Daniel studied the tracks, the way they cut across the land without hesitation. Whoever made them knew where they were going. He felt the weight of the verse again, unbidden: The light shines in the darkness… But the darkness here wasn't just the absence of sun — it was the cold, the silence, the knowledge that men could vanish into it without a trace.
Jon rose, scanning the hills. "We'll follow until we see them. No closer than we have to."
Daniel nodded, falling in behind him. The snow whispered under their boots, the wind carrying their breath away in pale ribbons. Somewhere ahead, unseen, the wildlings were moving — and the light he carried would have to hold against more than just the cold.
The light was thinning, the sky bruising toward violet. Snow caught the last of the sun in a dull, coppery glow, but the shadows between the hills were already deepening. Daniel's breath came slow and measured, each exhale a pale ribbon that vanished almost as soon as it formed.
Jon raised a hand, sinking into a crouch. The others followed suit without a word. Daniel eased down beside him, the cold seeping through his knees.
Between two ridges ahead, movement — faint, almost lost in the shifting white. At first it was only a suggestion, a ripple against the wind. Then the shapes resolved: dark figures, a dozen at least, striding in a loose column. The lead carried a spear, the point glinting briefly before the light swallowed it.
They moved with purpose, not the meandering pace of hunters. Packs were slung high, weapons easy in their hands. Daniel's stomach tightened. These were not stragglers — this was a war band.
Beside him, Jon's eyes tracked the line of their march. He didn't speak, but his hand shifted slightly, palm down — stay low.
Daniel's fingers brushed the worn leather cover beneath his cloak, the book pressed against his chest. The verse came again, unbidden, but this time it felt heavier: The light shines in the darkness… And here, the darkness had faces, weapons, and a destination.
The wind shifted, carrying a snatch of sound — a low, rough laugh, the clink of metal. Then it was gone, swallowed by the snow.
Jon leaned close, voice barely more than breath. "We circle east. Keep them in sight until full dark."
Daniel nodded, the cold biting deeper now, though he wasn't sure it was from the wind.
The last light bled out of the sky, leaving only the pale smear of snow under a deepening blue-black. The wind had dropped, but the cold had sharpened, the kind that made the air feel brittle in his lungs.
They moved in a staggered line along the lee of a ridge, keeping the wildlings' trail just within sight. The prints were harder to read now — shadows in the snow, edges blurred by the creeping dark — but Jon seemed to find them without hesitation, his steps sure and silent.
Daniel's boots crunched once on a patch of ice, the sound too loud in the stillness. He froze, breath held, eyes flicking to Jon. Jon didn't look back, but his hand lifted slightly, palm down — slow.
Somewhere ahead, a faint orange glow pulsed against the horizon. Firelight. The war band had stopped.
They crept closer, using the folds of the land as cover. Daniel's knees ached from crouching, his fingers numb even inside the gloves. The smell reached him before the sight — woodsmoke, faint but distinct, curling through the cold.
From the crest of a low rise, he saw them: a cluster of figures around a small fire, their shapes hunched and shifting. Weapons leaned against packs. A sentry stood apart, scanning the dark.
Daniel's pulse thudded in his ears. They were close enough now that a wrong move could carry across the snow. The verse came again, unbidden, but this time it felt like a warning: The light shines in the darkness… And here, the darkness was listening.
Jon's voice was a whisper at his shoulder. "We've seen enough. Back the way we came."
Daniel nodded, easing back into the shadows, every step a careful negotiation with the snow. The cold pressed in, but it wasn't the only thing making his hands shake.
XXX
Castle Black — East Gate — Daniel's POV
The Wall loomed out of the dark like a cliff of moonlit glass, its shadow swallowing the road ahead. Daniel's legs ached from the long ride back, the cold having settled deep into his bones. The gate was already creaking open, torchlight spilling across the snow in a wavering pool.
Inside the yard, the air felt almost warm by comparison, though the wind still prowled through the open spaces. A few brothers moved about, their faces drawn with fatigue or curiosity. Ser Alliser stood near the steps to the Lord Commander's Tower, arms folded, eyes narrowing as Jon dismounted.
"Well?" Thorne's voice carried, sharp enough to cut through the clatter of hooves.
Jon didn't flinch. "War band. Two dozen, maybe more. East of the Shadow Tower, moving fast."
Thorne's gaze flicked to Daniel, as if weighing the truth in a stranger's face. "And you know this how?"
Daniel felt the weight of the moment — the unspoken challenge. "We saw them," he said evenly. "Tracks fresh. Firelight before nightfall."
A muscle worked in Thorne's jaw. "You'll write it up for the First Ranger. I'll decide what's worth sending to the Shadow Tower."
Jon's mouth tightened, but he only nodded. "They'll need warning."
Thorne's eyes lingered on him a moment longer before he turned away, barking orders to the men on watch.
As the yard began to stir again, Jon glanced at Daniel. No words, just a look — the kind that said this isn't over. Daniel understood. Out there, the danger had been the cold and the wildlings. In here, it was the slow grind of doubt and delay.
He touched the book beneath his cloak, feeling the worn leather under his fingers. The verse came again, steady this time: The light shines in the darkness… And here, the darkness had a face he could name.