Craster's Keep—that is, if those crooked wooden palisades and these few moldy-smelling shacks could be called a keep.
As soon as Viserys entered, he saw over a dozen women dressed in ragged furs, heads bowed, busy boiling water and preparing food. They didn't dare spare a single glance at the outsiders entering.
Benjen and the other Night's Watchmen were clearly accustomed to everything here. After unloading their gear, they began helping Craster's women move barrels and clear a space to rest.
After nightfall, Craster held what he called a "feast" in this great hall. Flames crackled in the hearth, yet they could never quite dispel the chilling dampness and the faint, lingering stench.
Piled upon several rough wooden tables were loaves of black bread, hard cheese, and a pot of stew cooked so thoroughly that the ingredients were unrecognizable, along with several jugs of cloudy, pungent-smelling "ale."
The quality of this food was inferior even to that of the lowest servants in Dragonstone, but in a godforsaken place like Beyond the Wall, this was likely all the "sincerity" Craster could muster.
Craster sat beside the seat of honor, which he had yielded to Viserys, yet he appeared somewhat restless. His small eyes darted toward the door from time to time, as if he were worried about something. He tried to maintain a welcoming facade, but his smile always felt stiff, and a sense of calculation was hidden deep within his gaze.
"My Lord, try this." Seeing that Viserys hadn't touched the food on the table, Craster assumed he wanted to be served and pushed the bowl of stew toward him. "This is all fresh venison, caught just today."
However, no one believed his words; after all, the color and texture of the meat didn't look fresh at all.
Viserys didn't touch the meat. He simply picked up the cup, sniffed it, and set it back down. His gaze swept over the Night's Watchmen eating in silence before finally landing on Craster's face. He offered a word of praise: "You are very thoughtful."
Craster gave a couple of dry laughs, his eyes darting about, and suddenly clapped his hands. A few young women walked in with their heads bowed. They wore patched homespun dresses, their greasy hair either plastered to their faces or braided, and they appeared to range in age from their teens to their early twenties. They stood in a row, fingers nervously twisting the hems of their clothes, not daring to look up.
"My Lord." Craster rubbed his hands and stood up, a fawning smile plastered on his face as he lowered his voice. "You've had a long and tiring journey. Surely you'll need someone to warm your bed tonight? These are all my daughters, very obedient. Pick one, or several if you like."
As he spoke, his own gaze swept over the women as if displaying merchandise, finally stopping on the girl who looked the youngest, with light brown hair.
Craster suddenly raised his voice, "Gilly, what are you dawdling for? Get over here and pour some wine for our honored guest."
The girl named Gilly shuddered at the mention of her name. With her head bowed, she shuffled forward. As she approached, Viserys could smell an indescribable scent lingering on her, and old bruises were faintly visible on her neck.
"There is no need." His voice wasn't loud, but it carried an unquestionable coldness. "We are tired from the journey and need rest. Let your women leave as well."
The smile on Craster's face froze. He gave a couple of dry laughs. "Yes, yes, the Lord is right. It is time for an early rest." He waved his hand as if driving cattle. "Did you hear that? Get out of here, quickly. Don't be an eyesore to the Lord."
Craster sat down sheepishly and gulped down a large mouthful of ale. He stopped trying to converse with Viserys and instead turned to whisper and laugh with a few familiar Night's Watch veterans, telling crude jokes to hide his embarrassment. Most of the Night's Watchmen responded perfunctorily, and the atmosphere remained oppressive.
Ygritte, sitting on Viserys's other side, leaned close to his ear and muttered in a voice only the two of them could hear, "Craster is more disgusting than the filthiest mole. Those daughters of his are also his women. We have bastards among the tribes Beyond the Wall, but someone like him is truly worse than a beast."
It was no surprise that Ygritte knew this; after all, Craster was quite famous Beyond the Wall.
The feast soon came to a hasty conclusion.
The Night's Watchmen were all arranged to squeeze into a large common bunkhouse, while Viserys and Ygritte were invited to the "best" room Craster had vacated—a slightly cleaner room with a dilapidated wooden bed and a broken chair.
Viserys let Ygritte sleep on the bed while he sat in the chair wrapped in his cloak, resting with his eyes closed. He didn't require much sleep, especially in a place like this; his spiritual perception remained constantly alert to his surroundings.
He already sensed several "fluctuations" of cold, eerie energy at the edge of the woods near the keep. It wasn't the aura of living things; it was closer to certain death magics he had felt in Valyria, but purer and far colder.
Others. And more than one.
Craster was not drunk today, because tonight, he had something more important to do than drinking.
Soon, in the dead of night, he slipped out of the keep's gate, clutching a bundle wrapped in old furs, and headed silently toward the northern forest.
At almost the same time, there was a slight movement in the Night's Watch bunkhouse. Benjen and two other watchmen—Othell, an experienced veteran, and Ellyn, who was young but skilled—also rose quietly and followed behind Craster.
Clearly, they hadn't let down their guard either.
Once they had all departed, Viserys also rose gently. Without disturbing Ygritte, he silently left the room, blending into the night as he followed Benjen and the Others.
Naturally, he only brought dark sister with him this time, leaving the other two swords behind, as it was inconvenient to carry so many while tracking.
Simultaneously, with a slight flicker of thought, he sent a signal to Ghidorah, who had been feigning sleep outside the keep, telling her to be ready to support him at any moment. Ghidorah had discovered the Others even earlier than Viserys, but she hadn't acted; after all, her perception told her these beings posed no threat to her at all.
However, now that Viserys told her to prepare, she couldn't ignore it. She remained lying where she was, but her middle head rose slightly, staying poised toward the direction of the Others.
The snow Beyond the Wall shimmered with a faint blue-white glow under the moonlight. Craster walked carefully upon it. Occasionally, a faint whimper of an infant came from the bundle in his arms, but he would quickly and roughly muffle it with his hand.
Benjen and his two companions trailed from a distance, using the terrain and the forest for cover. Their coordination as they moved demonstrated the professionalism of elite Rangers.
After walking for about ten minutes, Craster reached a clearing in the woods. In the center of the clearing stood a massive black stone half-buried in snow, its surface flat.
Craster stopped here and placed the bundle on the stone. He unwrapped the fur, revealing a newborn baby boy; his skin was now turning purple from the cold, and his breathing was weak.
Craster stepped back a few paces and knelt, chanting toward the north. His voice was hurried, filled with fear and a twisted kind of piety.
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