The morning snow of Castle Black fell on the basalt towers with a rustling sound.
Karon Karstark led the way, his black robe hem sweeping over the frozen stone steps. He pointed to the towering Wall in the north, voice wrapped in the cold wind: "Prince, behold. This is the foundation of the Night's Watch—three sides without walls, relying solely on the Wall as a shield. Since Brandon the Builder, Castle Black has been like a stone embedded in the ice wall, uncrushed by wildlings, Others, or time."
Daemon looked up. The outlines of the castle were exceptionally clear in the snow mist:
The Tower of Guards on the east was the most solid, grey stone walls without a crack, overlooking the wooden stairs between the Kingsroad and the Wall;
The Hardin's Tower on the west leaned terrifyingly. Several weathered stones lay in the clearing, like bone fragments casually discarded by giants;
The tallest Lance was thin as a needle, yet its two hundred feet only reached a third of the Wall's height. Cracks on the tower body loomed in the snow light, as if about to collapse the next second.
"That is the King's Tower." Karon pointed to a round tower. Iron nails on the oak door gleamed coldly. "No king has stepped foot here since Aegon's Conquest. Axe marks from Andal attacks still remain on the battlements." He led everyone inside. Thin frost covered the spiral stone steps; every step carried the ancient creak of old times. "The Wormways are faster in summer, but in winter we must climb the tower—those underground passages are cold enough to freeze breath."
The lookout at the tower top overlooked the entire Castle Black—the high-ceilinged wooden Common Hall on the south side, where dozens of crows preened under rafters, and Night's Watch brothers drank hot ale from pottery bowls, steam condensing into white mist in the cold air;
The Rookery next to the Maester's quarters, where several ravens flapped wings, delivering messages south;
The wooden door of the Armory was open, revealing neatly stacked spears and quivers inside. Sunlight fell on black iron daggers, gleaming darkly.
"The Library is beneath the barracks." Karon continued leading the way across the frozen courtyard. "It holds things even the Citadel lacks—ancient scrolls of the Children of the Forest in the Old Tongue, rubbings of weirwood faces, and several fragmented Valyrian manuscripts sent by Queen Alysanne back then."
Beren sped up immediately upon hearing this, leather notebook pressed painfully against his chest. "Really records of the Children of the Forest? Citadel Maesters say those are just legends."
"The Night's Watch never lives on legends." Karon pushed open the iron door of the Library. Warmth mixed with old paper and musty smells rushed out. Parchment scrolls on shelves were piled higher than a man. "Lord Commander Lothor Burley relied on these manuscripts back then to believe the Wall's spells needed weirwood power to maintain."
Daemon's gaze fell on a yellowed parchment scroll depicting a blurred ice field pattern. Ancient annotations beside it were darkened by time. Just as his fingertip touched the page, the brand on his right shoulder suddenly grew slightly hot—as if echoing this secret hidden for a thousand years, and reminding him of the eternal winter threat beyond the Wall.
Just then, urgent horn blasts pierced the morning mist, sharp as breaking ice. A Ranger in black robes stumbled over, cloak stained with snow and mud, voice trembling: "Lord Commander! The tunnel—wildlings blocked in the tunnel! Came through an unknown secret path, with supplies and women and children, blocked by us at both ends!"
Karon's face darkened instantly, bowing apologetically to Daemon: "Prince, allow me to handle this first."
"I'll go with you." Daemon pressed the hilt of Blackfyre, gaze sweeping his followers behind. "Gael, Mysaria stay here; Royce twins guard them. Brandon, Rupert, Mycah, the rest of you follow me."
Gael tugged his sleeve, worry hidden in her pale violet eyes. "Be careful."
Daemon nodded, following Karon and Rodrik Stark to the Wall passage.
The three iron gates at the tunnel entrance were shut tight. Watchmen held spears but didn't unsheathe. Through gaps in the bars, dozens of wildlings were visible squeezed inside—men holding bone spears, women holding children, elders huddled in corners. Oat and herbs peeked from cloth bags in their arms. Not a bit of raider ferocity, instead looking like fleeing refugees.
"Why not attack?" Mycah Rivers gripped his new battle axe, knuckles white.
"They didn't hurt anyone." Rodrik, who blocked them from behind, shouted. "Only took some grain in the Gift, left iron pyrite as exchange—we Night's Watch don't kill those seeking survival."
Wildlings in the tunnel stirred seeing Karon. A burly man squeezed to the front, face painted with pale blue patterns, speaking broken Common Tongue: "I am Gorin of the Thenn clan! The long winter is too long; no beasts beyond the Wall. Elders and children are starving! We only took things to live, never killed anyone!"
Before Karon could speak, Daemon stepped forward: "Have you thought of living within the Wall? The Gift has many abandoned villages, good for farming and hunting. Maesters at the Wall can treat your sick."
Gorin suddenly raged, bone spear thumping the ground bang-bang: "You silver-haired demon! Want us to kneel to a southern king? Thenns never kneel to anyone!"
"I am the grandson of King Jaehaerys, Daemon Targaryen." Daemon turned to walk out. "Follow me; let me show you the promise I can give."
When everyone walked out of the tunnel, the sky suddenly darkened—The Cannibal and Dreamfyre spread wings. One black and one blue dragon shadow swept over the clearing above. Dragon breath condensed into white steam in the cold air, scaring wildlings into retreat. Only Gorin stood ground, eyes full of shock.
"I swear by dragons." Daemon's voice echoed between ice walls, violet eyes startlingly bright. "Free folk willing to go to the Gift need not kneel to any king, only responsible to your own clan. Elders and women and children can get treatment; you can hunt in Northern forests. Just trade supplies regularly with the Night's Watch, or join to assist Night's Watch brothers—how about it?"
Gorin stared at the giant dragons in the sky, then at Karon. Karon nodded: "Brandon's Gift in the Gift still has many empty villages, enough for you to settle."
The wildlings exploded into chatter, arguing in the Old Tongue. Gorin was silent for a moment, suddenly drawing the stone axe at his waist: "We trust dragons, but not southerner words! If you can defeat three of my clan's bravest warriors with a sword, we believe you Dragon King!"
"Prince, you are of precious body; why not let our Night's Watch brothers take your place and fight for you?" Karon proposed with worry. He hadn't seen this young Prince's martial arts yet.
"Prince!" Rodrik also tried to stop him. "Why not let my nephew Brandon—"
"Uncle, don't worry!" Brandon interrupted suddenly, patting his chest. "Prince Little Daemon's swordsmanship is even better than me, the 'Wild Wolf of the North'!"
Daemon had drawn Blackfyre. The Valyrian steel blade gleamed coldly in the snow light. "If I lose, I let you take supplies back beyond the Wall, and add ten more bags; if I win, you follow me to the Gift."
Before his voice faded, a tall, strong wildling charged with a spear, tip whistling in the wind. Daemon didn't dodge, Blackfyre slanting up, spine knocking precisely on the spear shaft—with a muffled thud, the wildling's hand went numb, spear flying out.
The second wildling chopped with an axe, moves fierce as Northern wind. Daemon sidestepped, tip tapping the opponent's knee lightly. The wildling screamed, kneeling.
The third wildling was most agile, dagger aiming for joints, but Daemon entangled his wrist with the scabbard, twisting lightly. Dagger clattered to the ground.
In less than a dozen rounds, all three wildlings were defeated. Daemon was unscathed; only weapons on the ground proved the fierce fight just now. Gorin stared at Blackfyre in Daemon's hand, then at the dragons in the sky, suddenly kneeling on one knee, shouting something in the Old Tongue.
"What did he say?" Daemon asked Karon.
"He said," Karon's voice held amusement, "The Thenn clan is willing to trust the Dragon King's arrangement."
Wildlings put down weapons one after another. Women and children walked out of the tunnel, fear in eyes turning to curiosity.
Daemon watched these snow-covered free folk, then looked at Castle Black's towers—cracks on the Lance were still visible in snow light, but seemed to gain some vitality from this sudden peace.
"Lord Commander Karon," Daemon turned, "please send men to guide them to abandoned villages in the Gift."
"With pleasure." Karon nodded, admiration in his eyes. "What the Prince did today guards the Wall better than dragonfire."
Brandon patted Daemon's shoulder, laughing heartily. "Told you you're amazing! Next fight, must bring me along!"
Larys Strong stood in the corner, black robe sweeping the frozen ground, thoughtful light flashing in black eyes—watching the backs of wildlings and Watchmen leaving side by side, then looking at Blackfyre in Daemon's hand. He had long forgotten he was initially just curious about the Wall and his unmet grand-uncle, but now suddenly felt this trip to the Wall was more interesting than he expected.
Daemon looked up at the Wall. The ice wall gleamed pale blue in sunlight. The sound of wind passing through ice cracks no longer sounded like First Men whispers, but like a new oath echoing among Castle Black's tower shadows. He knew accepting these free folk was only the first step against the Others, but at least for this moment, ice and fire inside and outside the Wall finally had a trace of possibility for reconciliation.
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