Then, Dany swept her gaze over the knights and Night's Watch brothers watching her with complex expressions and spoke loudly: "There has never been a savior.
Even though High Septon Benerro believes I am the prophesied child, even though my experiences resemble the prophecy of Azor Ahai in some ways, I have never seen myself as a savior.
The Long Night is long and full of danger—only we can save ourselves."
"When we are hungry, food does not fall from the sky; we must toil, till the land, herd cattle and sheep. When we are cold, winter never ends abruptly, nor does a long summer suddenly arrive—we must chop wood, make fire for warmth; men must hunt, women must weave and spin, sew winter clothes and tan furs. When we fall ill, neither the Seven, the Red God, nor the Old Gods will save us—only those who know the healing arts can cure disease and restore health. When we die, we may pray for our souls to reach the divine realms, but the world after death has never been seen by the living."
"From birth to death, from summer to winter, from kings to monks to common folk, from beyond the Wall to Oldtown, there has never been a savior, never divine intervention.
Now the wildlings have come, and the White Walkers follow closely behind. But it is the Night's Watch who stand against them—it is the Wall, it is you with your swords, and it is me with my dragons, and Stannis with his red priestess.
This is the result of all our efforts. No single person can claim all the credit.
To acknowledge a savior is to deny yourselves, to deny the kingdom itself.
Brothers of the Night's Watch, knights—there is still blood on your swords, wounds still bleeding on your bodies. You are fighting with your lives!
And now, because of one prophecy, an uncertain reincarnation of Azor Ahai, you want to deny your own life-and-death struggle?"
Dany's voice rang out like the leader of a revolutionary group, forcefully hammering the idea into everyone's minds.
And it worked—remarkably well. Nearly every member of the Night's Watch nodded in agreement, and even many knights under the banner of the Red Heart looked thoughtful, quietly nodding along.
"Well said, very well said!" Maester Perestan, his gray robe soaked with blood, squeezed out from the crowd, eyes brimming with tears, waving his arms as he exclaimed, "We can only rely on ourselves! Gods, saviors, prophesied children, magic, dragons—they are all illusions, unreliable. In this real world, only our own efforts are real."
Dany glanced coldly at the red-nosed old man and asked, "Why are you back?"
The old maester blinked and replied, "The wildling queen gave birth—it's a boy. Both mother and child are safe."
When Stannis attacked the wildling camp, Mance's wife, Dalla, had gone into labor and faced complications.
Jon had intended to call Maester Aemon to assist with the delivery, but Dany felt the old man was too frail for the ordeal—being lowered in a basket over the wall—so she summoned the red-nosed old maester instead.
Almost all maesters are trained in healing, let alone one as experienced as him.
Dany waved her hand to dismiss him. "There are still many wounded outside the castle—wildlings, rangers, Baratheon men. You've donned black now. Do your part."
"I..." The old man looked a bit aggrieved. Wasn't I standing up for you because I saw you were isolated and unsupported?
Melisandre swept her gaze around and said with a charming smile, "You do not understand what you are truly facing. The ancient dark gods are gathering power—terrifying, evil, and strong beyond mortal means to resist.
The cold winds are already rising, and soon, the never-ending Long Night will come.
I do not deny the power of the people, but kings fight kings, armies battle armies, peasants grow food, and lords rule.
Compared to the White Walkers, the wildlings are just an appetizer. And compared to the death-and-cold-preaching dark gods, even the White Walkers are nothing.
When that time comes, only the prophesied one can be relied upon."
"You mean the Old Gods when you say dark gods?" Dany frowned. "I know the great Lord of Light is supreme in your eyes, and all other gods and religions are heresies. But we are mere mortals—we do not take part in the wars of gods. Dealing with the White Walkers is enough for us."
"Daenerys, you are far above other mortals, but your human eyes still cannot see through the mist," Melisandre said slowly.
"Your Majesties, my lords—it's snowing outside and quite cold," suggested one-armed Donal. "Shall we go to the hall, sit by the fire, and properly discuss the wildlings' resettlement?"
Maester Aemon furrowed his brow and said, "King Stannis just fought a great battle with his men. I doubt he rested much last night. And we have the fallen—bodies in the wild cannot be left unattended.
Better to rest for a day. Let the soldiers treat their wounds, and have the bodies outside burned immediately. We can hold a formal meeting tomorrow."
"Yes, the bodies must be burned before nightfall. Otherwise, they'll be gone by morning," Ygritte chimed in.
"And you are?" Stannis's cold gaze swept over the courtyard, noting the obvious wildlings and giants among the Night's Watch. "Why aren't the prisoners in the dungeons? Not even in chains?"
"That's right, I'm a war prisoner—captured by the Dragon Queen," Ygritte said, rubbing her flat nose and grinning, revealing her crooked white teeth. "With dragons watching us, do you think we'd dare rebel? We're helping the crows rebuild the wall. Chains get in the way of work."
Prompted by the red-haired girl's words, Stannis finally noticed a new semicircular stone wall being constructed outside Castle Black. The foundation was still being laid—the wall had yet to rise.
Stannis's face hardened, his eyes burning like small lanterns, and he roared at the Red Pomegranate quartermaster, "No castle of the Night's Watch is permitted to build walls. Are you rebelling?"
Bowen Marsh turned pale and stammered, "It... it was Queen Daenerys who gave the order."
Dany explained, "Last time, just 150 raiders nearly captured Castle Black. If the White Walkers try the same trick, the Night's Watch won't survive."
"White Walkers can climb the Wall?" Stannis frowned.
"We don't know. But they are intelligent—even the wights retain memories from their former lives. One pretended to be a corpse, was brought through the Wall by the Night's Watch, and then rose at midnight to assassinate Lord Commander Mormont."
The White Walkers are far more intelligent than the undead. Back when the Night's Watch was still unaware of them, they deliberately left a few reanimated Night's Watch brothers pretending to be corpses at the gate of the Wall. Naturally, the Night's Watch would retrieve the bodies of their fallen brothers to bury them.
Come midnight, the wights would crawl out of the cellar, using their remaining memories to avoid Night's Watch patrols and stealthily infiltrate the command tower, aiming to assassinate old Mormont.
If it weren't for Jon's direwolf being alert and sensing danger to wake Jon, the Night's Watch might have lost several high-ranking officers that night.
In the end, Dany added with implied meaning, "Besides, I'm not afraid of the Night's Watch rebelling and holding the castle. The Wall is useless against dragons."
Stannis clenched his teeth so hard they ground audibly. Without a word, he turned his horse and rode toward the command tower.
Melisandre pursed her lips and glanced at Dany, then followed the stag.
Castle Black can accommodate up to five thousand soldiers at its peak. Even with the King's Tower occupied by Dany, there was still plenty of space to house Stannis and his thousand-odd men.
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Soon, Stannis's knights got busy—those wounded received treatment, the uninjured escorted prisoners and cleaned up the barracks, and under the guidance of the Night's Watch, they went outside the castle to collect the dead. Melisandre even led a group to burn a massive warhorn.
Just as Dany was about to enter the gate archway to inspect the surviving wildlings in the newly established camp outside, old Aemon suddenly approached, grabbed her arm, and said gravely, shaking his head from afar, "Do not leave the dragon."
"What happened?" Dany's heart tightened. She immediately surveyed her surroundings without revealing any emotion. All she saw were busy knights and Night's Watch brothers, nothing unusual. Entering her dragon-soul state, her danger-sense wasn't spiking violently, but it was more than ten times stronger than before.
She understood Maester Aemon's concern. Helping the old man into the King's Tower, she finally spoke, "Old man, are you worried that one of Stannis's knights might suddenly make a move against me?"
"You're too young to grasp how brutal the game of thrones can be," Aemon said, deeply worried. "Stannis wasn't wrong—he also carries the blood of the dragon.
If you were to suddenly die, your dragons would likely be inherited by the one closest to your bloodline. And here, apart from me, a dying old man, the only one left is Stannis."
"My dragons are different," Dany said firmly.
"I understand what you're trying to say. Your dragon eggs came from Asshai, not inherited through the Targaryen bloodline. But there's a mysterious spiritual bond between dragonlords and their dragons," the old man frowned thoughtfully, then said uncertainly, "Maybe your soul can change them... Let's put it this way—without you, the black and white dragons wouldn't be especially close to the Targaryen line. Closer than to ordinary people, yes—but not as close as the ancestral dragons were. However, your soul and bloodline are gradually reshaping your dragons, making them more and more aligned with Targaryens—until eventually, a dragonrider is born."
"How do you know all this?" Dany asked in surprise.
The old man smiled wistfully. "In the Royal Library, I read every book related to dragons and learned many royal secrets passed down orally.
Our ancestors weren't as foolish as you might think. They didn't entrust every secret to the Citadel. In the past couple of days, I even tested it myself—your dragons show almost no hostility toward me."
Dany laughed too and said, "Then let me tell you a dragon secret even Ser Barristan doesn't know."
"Oh?" The old maester grew curious.
"I am no ordinary dragonrider. In my dragon-soul state, it's a bit like a skinchanger—I can enter Drogon's soul sea, and he can enter my mental sea."
As she spoke, the light in Dany's violet eyes suddenly dimmed. "Godry Farring is provoking my giant prisoner."
Then, her violet pupils turned slightly red, the irises narrowing and elongating into vertical slits. A tangible pressure radiated from her body, forcing even old Aemon to avert his gaze.
"In this state, I can mimic the Dragonhorn. Once I put on armor, even if ten knights attack me at once, I won't be afraid." As she spoke, she withdrew the dragon's might, her pupils returning to their round, violet form.
"Seven above, I never imagined there was such a thing as the dragon-soul state. I always thought dreamwalker 'Daenys' was the most powerful and mysterious of dragonlords," Maester Aemon said, eyes wide in amazement as he looked at Dany.
"That's dragon dreaming. I can do that too," Dany said proudly. "There are two types—conscious and unconscious. In the unconscious state, one can glimpse fragments of the future.
Of course, like the glass candles, most visions are illusions. Before Drogon and the other two dragons hatched, I dreamed of the black dragon.
In fact, of the five dragon eggs I possess—including the red one now in my chamber—I can encounter all of them in my dreams."
"Amazing. None of our ancestors ever had your kind of natural talent," Aemon said, invigorated.
(End of Chapter)
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