"Cheers to Her Majesty the Queen!" In the wooden hall, all the Night's Watch members stood up, raised their horn cups, and shouted loudly.
"This victory against the wildlings was only possible because of everyone's unity. Cheers to the Night's Watch, and cheers to all the villagers who fought alongside us!" Dany stood up and drained the mead from her horn in one gulp.
"Well said!" The crowd echoed with loud cheers, drinking down the strong liquor in their cups.
With the opening ceremony of the feast completed, everyone relaxed completely—eating large chunks of meat, drinking heavily, and telling bawdy jokes without the slightest restraint, even in the presence of Queen Dany.
After a few cups of wine, the blacksmith Donal frowned and asked, "Your Majesty, it seems you didn't burn the wildlings' camp. Such an opportunity is hard to come by again."
As soon as he said this, the hall grew noticeably quieter. Maester Aemon, Jon, and the others turned curious eyes toward Dany.
Dany nodded and said, "You're right. I had indeed planned to burn their supplies and tents. The wildlings lacked siege crossbows, and all the giant archers had gathered at the gate—that was a perfect chance."
"But once I flew over, I realized that apart from a few warriors, ninety percent of the camp was made up of women, the elderly, and children. I even saw several pregnant women milking goats."
She let out a long sigh, her expression complicated. "Under those circumstances, how could I bring myself to strike? I decided instead to intimidate them—to make Mance Rayder understand that his cause was hopeless."
"They are wildlings," a Night's Watch brother muttered discontentedly from below. "The wildlings showed no mercy to our women and children. Just last night, those Thenns burned every village they passed—men, children, the elderly, all slaughtered. The women were even worse off. Blood and death marked their path."
"Is that true?" Dany frowned and looked first at Jon, then at Maester Aemon—one a double agent among the wildlings, the other holding all the Night's Watch intelligence.
"It's true. Many villages were burned. Except for a few farmers who escaped by sheer luck, there were almost no survivors," Maester Aemon said, his voice conflicted.
"I didn't kill anyone, even when they tried to force me to kill Northmen to prove my loyalty. I refused. If not for a direwolf charging out suddenly, I wouldn't have made it back alive," Jon said darkly.
"Mole's Town was burned too," the whore Zea added.
Dany sighed again, a touch of helplessness in her voice. "This complicates things. I was planning to have Mance Rayder surrender and let the wildlings cross to our side of the Wall for the winter!"
"Uh—"
We were just questioning why you hadn't burned their camp, and now you want to let the wildlings across the Wall?
"Absolutely not! If the wildlings are allowed into the North, those hundreds of thousands..." The one-armed blacksmith slammed his cup onto the table with a loud thud, his voice cold and resolute. "We are the Night's Watch. Our duty is to prevent the wildlings from invading the South."
"Your Majesty, if you don't want the people of the Seven Kingdoms to hate you, you'd better abandon this terrible, shameful, and insane idea."
Meeting Maester Aemon's worried gaze, Dany didn't get angry. She just smiled lightly and returned to the previous topic. "Hurting women and children, massacring innocent civilians—these are horrifying, shameful, beastly acts. That is why you all hate the wildlings."
"But hating those who commit atrocities doesn't mean we should stoop to committing similar beastly acts ourselves."
"If I burned the wildlings' camp—killing tens of thousands of women, elderly, and children, and destroying most of their living supplies—how would I be any different from the wildlings you despise?"
"This—" The crowd fell silent, stunned.
"Your Majesty, you are right," old Maester Aemon said with a pleased smile, his face full of deep wrinkles that now seemed almost smoothed by joy.
Blacksmith Donal glanced at Dany in a mixture of surprise and doubt, then awkwardly set his tipped-over cup upright again.
"Apologies. I was drunk and spoke rudely. Please forgive me," he said.
Dany nodded and continued, "No matter how barbaric and cruel the wildlings are, they are still human beings. Now the real question is: who is our true enemy?"
"Isn't it the wildlings?" Edd asked, puzzled.
"The White Walkers!" Jon's face lit with realization, and he nodded. "The wildlings can only threaten the North, but the White Walkers could destroy all of Westeros."
"We don't even know for sure that White Walkers exist! Worrying about some imaginary threat—isn't that just foolish?" the red-nosed old man sneered.
"The White Walkers are real!" Jon flushed with anger.
"The dead really do come back!" Grenn added, his face pale with fear. "Jon killed one, and it took more than a dozen of us to cut another one into pieces. Even then, the corpse still moved—each severed limb could act independently. We even sent a severed hand to King's Landing!"
"But that damned imp didn't believe it at all. He kept Sir Alliser Thorne waiting endlessly. In the end, the hand completely melted away. With no evidence left, the Citadel and King's Landing became even more convinced we were lying," Edd said bitterly.
Dany looked meaningfully at the red-nosed old man and said, "Tomorrow, let's take a trip beyond the Wall. If the White Walkers are truly ravaging the land, forcing the wildlings to attack the Wall in desperation, then it shouldn't be hard to find them."
"Won't the wildlings attack the castle tomorrow?" the one-armed blacksmith frowned.
"If Mance Rayder has any sense left, he should abandon the idea of taking Castle Black by force. If he's even smarter, he should proactively send envoys to negotiate a surrender."
"He won't surrender, nor can he," Jon said after a moment's thought. "Wildlings aren't like us. Each little clan is like a kingdom unto itself, and many have blood feuds spanning generations. Mance Rayder could only unite them by giving them a shared goal—invading Westeros."
"Nothing is impossible. Didn't you say before that giants were too wild to tame? And yet now, aren't they all crammed into the stables as prisoners?"
Thirty-five giants stormed into Castle Black, and Daenerys captured thirty-two of them alive. The other three succumbed to their injuries despite attempts to save them.
Maester Aemon sighed and said, "Even if the wildlings surrender, where could we possibly house them? And the food situation — our current stores aren't even enough for ourselves to survive the winter."
"As for the food, His Majesty has already taken care of it," Barristan said.
"No, Ser, not entirely," Daenerys shook her head with a strange look. "I will definitely send a shipment of food to the Wall, but honestly, there's a good chance I won't be able to procure much actual grain.
You see, I'm playing with futures, and futures aren't the same as physical goods.
If the Night's Watch wants to make it through the winter safely, they'll still need to appeal to the dukes of the Seven Kingdoms and King's Landing for help. After all, I don't even have a foothold in Westeros right now — they're the true masters here."
Last night had been a rush. After dealing with the raiding party, a mountain of other matters awaited Maester Aemon. During the day, Castle Black faced another wildling assault, leaving no time for any real conversation with the Targaryen descendant. Now, after dinner, with the wounded (including captured wildlings) left to Maester Perestan's care, old Aemon, aided by Jon and Edd, made his way to the gates of the King's Tower, oil lamp in hand.
[New chapters first posted on 69 Book Bar!]
Daenerys, wearing a shadowcat-patterned black cloak, was sitting casually on the threshold, watching her two dragons gnaw on bones.
Seeing someone approach, Big Black and Little White raised their heads and snorted twin streams of flame from their nostrils. Jon and Edd respectfully averted their eyes and stepped aside, leaving the space to the two Targaryens.
"I can hardly believe it — it's like a dream," Aemon said, his voice trembling. "The dragons are right before my eyes. Your Majesty, you have accomplished the dream the Targaryen family has longed for across hundreds of years — the return of true dragons."The old man leaned on his staff, the night wind tousling his sparse white hair. His aged eyes filled with tears."Last night, when you descended from the sky atop your dragon — it was the most awe-inspiring, most thrilling sight I've witnessed in my hundred years. Dragons have truly returned."
"Old man, if you ancestors hadn't made such a mess of things and had left me a few more dragon eggs, I'd probably already have assembled an entire dragon army by now," Daenerys said with a chuckle.
Old Aemon paused, then asked curiously, "How did you hatch the dragons?"
"What is the Targaryen family motto?" Daenerys countered.
"Blood and fire," Aemon answered without hesitation.
"And how did you interpret it before?"
Aemon thought for a moment and replied, "Conquering the world through blood and fire. The kingly blood of Aegon the Conqueror flows through every Targaryen."
"Maybe that's what the person who coined the motto intended, but for me, it means something else: blood and fire are born from the same source — blood is made of fire, and fire is the beginning of life."
"Uh, what do you mean?" Maester Aemon asked, bewildered.
"To put it simply, hatching dragons needs more than just fire. It requires sorcery.
Back in the day, the Targaryens relied on two kinds of people to hatch dragons — fire mages and septons of the Seven. Which, frankly, was ridiculous.
There's a basic logical flaw: if fire mages or septons truly could hatch dragons, then who would the newborn dragons belong to?"
Old Aemon frowned. "A dragon only chooses its rider once it matures, and only true-blooded Targaryens can tame them."
"You see, I can use sorcery."
Big Black, right on cue, sneezed, spitting out a serpentine stream of flame. The dragonfire didn't shoot straight but instead coiled around Daenerys, morphing and twisting.
Maester Aemon stood frozen, watching the vivid red flames change shapes — first into a giant snake, then into a dragon, then into a massive bell, and finally into a towering flame-castle.
Each creation — the snake, the dragon, the bell — was so lifelike, down to the scales and surface textures, it seemed almost like true living creatures made of fire.
In the end, the flames shrank into a glowing red orb, no bigger than an egg, hovering above Daenerys's head.
"This kind of sorcery could only be performed by the Great Sorcerers of Valyria. Old man, how much do you know about them?"
Aemon answered in a daze, "I know a little. The Great Sorcerers ruled the Council of Magi and used magical spheres to control the entire world."
"I am the Mother of Dragons. These dragons are my children.The difference between a Targaryen dragonrider and a Dragonmother like me is the same as the difference between a street-performer fire mage and a Great Sorcerer.
And you know what? By entrusting fire mages and septons with the task of hatching dragons, you were basically handing over the ownership of the dragons to outsiders.
A dragon can only be hatched by its true master. Whoever hatches it, owns it.That's why I can break the old limit of a dragonrider only commanding one dragon — all four dragons obey me."
(End of Chapter)
Want to read the chapters in Advance? Join my Patreon
https://patreon.com/Glimmer09