The morning light of the New Gift carried biting cold, dyeing the snow at Black Cloak Inn pale gold.
When Daemon pushed open the wooden door, north wind carrying snow particles hit his face. The Cannibal let out a low moan outside. Thin frost formed on black scales, yet they still looked like ink-soaked cold ice, exuding deterrence.
Rodrik Stark and the Night's Watchmen had packed. Five packhorses carried oats and salted meat. Black cloaks snapped in the wind.
Seeing Daemon emerge, Rodrik walked up, handing over a polished short knife. "This is a hunting knife commonly used by Rangers, inlaid with black iron edge; useful against wildling bone spears." He paused, blue-grey eyes sweeping the distant snow line. "Don't stay long at the Golden Tower of Queenscrown. Rangers reported seeing wildling scouts nearby recently. Head to Mole's Town after visiting; we'll meet you there after gathering supplies, then to Castle Black together."
Daemon took the knife. The hilt was wrapped in deerskin for grip; the black iron edge gleamed pale purple in the morning light. "Many thanks, Ser Rodrik." He looked at the Night's Watch group. "The wind of the Wall is fiercer than imagined."
"You'll know what fierce means at Castle Black." Rodrik smiled, patting Brandon's shoulder. "Please watch my nephew, Prince; don't let him cause trouble." Brandon retorted immediately: "When did I cause trouble? Last time at Barrowton, I helped Willam chase off poachers!"
When the Night's Watch departed, the sound of hooves on snow faded. Daemon watched their backs disappear behind the snow line before turning to everyone: "Depart for Queenscrown."
The retinue moved north along the Kingsroad. Snow on the road was blown loose and soft by the wind. The Cannibal and Dreamfyre flew low. Dragon shadows on snow looked like two moving shades, occasionally startling snow hares hiding under snow, drawing soft exclamations from Mysaria.
Beren rode a pony, hugging Geography of the North, occasionally looking up to record—he wanted to write the Golden Tower of Queenscrown into his notes, to show Citadel Maesters what the place Queen Alysanne stayed at really looked like.
After about an hour, a touch of gold finally appeared in the snow ahead.
Queenscrown sat in a col. Dozens of wooden huts surrounded a tall tower. The tower top was painted bright gold, looking like melting gold in the sunlight, exceptionally striking.
The lake below the tower was thinly frozen. The shadow of a stone causeway was faintly visible at the bottom. According to Brandon, it was built during Queen Alysanne's visit for carriage passage, now a place for children to skate.
"That's the Golden Tower!" Brandon pointed ahead. "Queen Alysanne rode Silverwing here and stayed a night at the top. Villagers later painted the top gold, saying to 'catch some true dragon light.' The wooden bed the Queen used is still inside, covered with fur bedding, well preserved."
By the old locust tree at the village entrance, several women in rough cloth skirts were weaving wool blankets. Seeing Daemon's group, especially three giant dragons, they stopped work to watch curiously.
A white-haired old man walked over leaning on a cane, holding a worn silver badge carved with Silverwing's pattern. "Targaryen Prince? This badge was left by the Queen; we've passed it down for forty years, said to keep peace."
Daemon took the badge. Though blurred, the Silverwing pattern still showed exquisite workmanship. "Did Grandmother hold a 'Women's Court' at Mole's Town?" He remembered Mole's Town history and asked casually.
The old man's eyes lit up. "Yes! The Queen chatted with women there, saying she'd free girls from fear of the Lord's Right to the First Night. Later the King really ordered the rule abolished. Our Queenscrown girls never had to hide on wedding nights again."
Everyone followed the old man into the Golden Tower. Stone steps wound up. Faded tapestries hung on walls, embroidered with scenes of Silverwing flying over the lake.
The room at the top wasn't big. A wooden bed by the window was covered with thick wolf fur. A pottery jug on the bedside table was said to be used by Queen Alysanne.
Gael walked to the window, pushing it open. Cold wind and snow blew in, but distant snow lines and the lake were visible. "Standing here, one can see most of Queenscrown. Mother must have liked this view staying here."
Mysaria touched the fur bedding gently. Soft fur held the warmth of sunlight. "So warm, softer than Winterfell's beds."
Alys Rivers stood in the corner, green eyes scanning a hidden compartment. The old man said it was where the Queen kept letters. Several yellowed parchments remained, letters to King Jaehaerys saying "Queenscrown snow is clean, villagers kind."
After visiting the Golden Tower, Brandon suggested visiting the stone causeway by the lake. Beren followed immediately to sketch it.
Daemon stayed at the village entrance chatting with women by the locust tree, asking about recent wildling traces—a woman said a man in furs loitered by the lake a few days ago, eyes fierce, chased off by Night's Watchmen. Now they dared not let children out at night.
"Must leave quickly," Daemon told Gael. "Rodrik was right; wildling scouts are nearby."
Leaving Queenscrown, the Golden Tower's shadow shrank.
Mysaria looked back, holding a small wood carving gifted by the old man—a mini Golden Tower, exquisitely carved, kept as a souvenir.
Beren wrote in his notebook: "Queenscrown Golden Tower, residence of Queen Alysanne, gold paint as new, stone causeway in lake, said built during Queen's time."
Another half hour north, scattered wooden huts appeared in the snow. Mole's Town.
Only a simple wooden hut stood at the village entrance. A red lantern hung under the eaves, red cloth swaying in the wind like a beating heart.
A wooden sign stood by the hut, "Mole's Town" written in charcoal, handwriting crooked but full of life.
Brandon pulled his reins, pointing to the hut. "Don't look at its simplicity; it's big underneath. Three-quarters of houses are underground. Tunnels connect to the village end; warm in winter, good for hiding from wildlings."
Pushing open the door, warmth mixed with ale and charcoal fire rushed out.
A dark hole in the earthen wall had a wooden ladder. A woman in a brown dress climbed up holding a pottery bowl. Seeing Daemon's group, she smiled: "Here to meet up? The Night's Watch Lord said True Dragon Princes would come. Please enter, underground is warm."
Everyone followed her down the ladder. Tunnels were wide enough for two abreast. Oil lamps hung on walls; dim light reflected on damp earth. Voices from next door were occasionally audible.
After about ten steps, it opened up—a huge underground cellar. Dozens of wooden huts built along walls; some hung looms, some had smithy furnaces. A red lantern hung at the innermost hut door; women's laughter was faintly audible.
"That is—" Gael frowned, about to ask. Brandon explained hurriedly: "Resting place for Night's Watchmen. Queen Alysanne held a 'Women's Court' here, chatted with girls inside, then the King abolished the First Night right."
The woman served hot ale by the hearth, recounting the past: "Grandmother said the Queen wore a silver dress, no airs at all, sitting on the ground chatting with girls, listening to their suffering from lords taking first nights. The Queen cried listening, saying she'd make the King change rules. Later really changed; our Mole's Town girls never had to fear again."
She pointed to a painting on the wall depicting a woman in silver dress surrounded by girls. "We painted this from Grandmother's description, remembering the Queen's kindness."
Daemon looked at the painting, suddenly remembering Leaf's words on the Isle of Faces: "Others wait for dragons to go extinct." Queen Alysanne abolished the First Night right to protect commoners; he came to the Wall to stop Others.
Some things seemed unrelated but connected to the foundation of Targaryen rule in Westeros—subjects present, Iron Throne stable; dragons present, Others won't threaten Westeros in the future.
Jarmen Waters leaned at the tunnel entrance, single eye scanning people entering and leaving, bow never leaving his hand.
Larys Strong sat by the hearth wrapped in black robe, fingers unconsciously tapping his knee—observing the tunnel, thinking if wildlings attacked, could this be a shelter, or... could something be hidden here.
Beren asked the woman for details of the "Women's Court," wanting to record this history for the Citadel.
Mysaria played snowballs with village children, platinum-blonde curls stained with snow particles, smiling happily.
At dusk, hooves sounded outside. Rodrik Stark returned with Watchmen. Packhorses carried more bags of salt and furs. "Mole's Town underground is indeed warm." He walked into the cellar rubbing hands. "Depart for Castle Black early tomorrow; fast horses, half a day."
Mole's Town at night was quiet. Only the hearth crackled, and occasional wolf howls from afar.
Daemon stood at the tunnel entrance watching the snowy night outside. The Cannibal and Dreamfyre curled in the clearing, breath condensing into white steam like two warm clouds.
He touched the brand on his right shoulder, slightly hot in the cold night—closer to the Wall, the threat hidden under ice and snow felt stronger. The shadow of Others seemed to wait in the Land of Always Winter behind the snow line for a chance to cross the Wall.
Alys Rivers leaned close, offering a cup of fresh hot tea. "What is our Black Dragon Prince thinking again?"
"Thinking why Night's Watchmen guard year after year." Daemon drank hot tea, warmth flowing down his throat. "No land, no wives or children, only black cloaks and oaths."
"To keep outside things from coming in." Alys watched the distant dragon shadows. "Just like your grandmother Queen Alysanne petitioned the King so girls wouldn't suffer. Someone has to do some things, right? My Prince, you sometimes feel truly like a teenager compared to the rebellious Black Dragon."
Daemon nodded. He thought of Queenscrown's Golden Tower, Mole's Town's red lantern, every story left by Queen Alysanne—not useless history, but roots of Westeros.
He wanted to guard dragons, guard these roots, guard people living hard like Watchmen and Mole's Town villagers.
Snow still fell. In Mole's Town cellar, hearth light reflected on everyone's face. Beren wrote notes, Gael dozed beside Mysaria, Larys studied tunnel diagrams, Jarmen wiped his bow, Rodrik discussed Wall defense with brothers.
Tomorrow, they would go to Castle Black, to that ice wall spanning the continent. Daemon knew the real challenge had just begun.
But as long as people beside him remained, as long as dragons remained, he feared nothing—as the Night's Watch oath said, "I pledge my life and honor to the Night's Watch, for this night and all the nights to come." And he dedicated dragonfire and sword to this land, for this night and all nights to come.
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