Yara looked at the four guards on duty. They exchanged glances, their expressions utterly innocent. She knew they hadn't seen anything. Holding the scroll, she examined it closely; it looked like any ordinary scroll, with only two pressed seals on the wax.
She crushed the wax and unrolled the parchment. She frowned slightly at the first line, but her eyes widened as she read further.
The letter claimed that even if she met Theon, he wouldn't come with her. It also stated that her uncle Euron, missing for many years, would return to the Iron Islands, kill her father Balon, and seize control.
The second claim wasn't entirely implausible. Although her father had forbidden Euron's return, she didn't believe her uncle would obey him.
But the first claim was absurd. She could imagine how Theon must have been tortured; he must be desperate for her to save him. Why wouldn't he come with her?
Holding the letter, she glanced at her Ironborn subordinates. They watched the parchment in her hand with curiosity, wondering what it contained. How had a letter been delivered so quietly despite the guards on duty?
Seeing no abnormality on her subordinates' faces, Yara didn't let her guard down. The ability to deliver the rolled-up letter silently instead of using arrows made them all suspicious.
Her greatest fear was a traitor within the group, someone who might turn against them at a critical moment, not only failing to save Theon but also dooming them all.
But with things having come to this, she couldn't possibly lead such a large group back to the Iron Islands. All she could do was be extra cautious.
Having seen Yara receive the letter from afar, Drogon continued flying north. As long as Yara delivered the message to her father, Drogon doubted Balon would be caught off guard by Euron's schemes. Neither brother was to be underestimated.
Even if Balon couldn't defeat Euron, as long as he could inflict significant damage, the message would have been worth sending.
After more than an hour, the temperature dropped sharply, and a biting cold swept over him. Patches of unmelted snow were visible in the shadows of the mountains.
Drogon knew he was close to the Wall. After flying for less than ten minutes, amidst the howling wind and snow, he glimpsed a massive, ice-blue wall in the distance. As he drew closer, the sheer, overwhelming presence of the Wall truly struck him.
The Wall stood about 200 meters high, its end stretching beyond sight. From the sea in the east to the mountains in the west, Drogon recalled from a map on the wooden table at Dragonstone that the Wall's total length was nearly 500 kilometers.
The foundation of The Wall is made of massive stones, while its walls are constructed from a combination of these stones and ice, reinforced with magical power.
At the foot of The Wall stands a small castle, the renowned Castle Black, where most of the Night's Watch brothers reside. The others are stationed at Eastwatch-by-the-Sea on the eastern end of The Wall and Shadow Tower on the western side. Apart from these three locations, few other forts or strongholds are garrisoned by the Night's Watch.
The Wall has no gates, only a single underground tunnel connecting it to the outside world. This tunnel is lined with several iron grates, designed to repel invaders. In times of crisis, the Night's Watch would destroy these grates and seal the tunnel with massive stones, isolating the fortress from invading White Walkers or Wildlings.
Within Castle Black, a large elevator platform, controlled by a massive winch, transports personnel and supplies to the top of The Wall.
Compared to the White Walker invasion thousands of years ago, the Night's Watch has dwindled drastically in numbers. No longer the glorious legion it once was, it has become a refuge for thieves, traitors, raiders, and all manner of criminals.
Drogon cast a brief glance at Castle Black before flying onward. He wanted to survey The Wall itself, as the area around Castle Black wasn't ideal for sightseeing.
Drogon landed softly on the Great Wall. The top of the wall was about fifteen meters wide, and besides large stones, logs, and debris, a ballista stood every few hundred meters. However, their condition was questionable; it was uncertain whether they could still be used.
Standing atop the Wall, the juvenile Drogon felt even smaller. Facing the biting wind, he took a breath of the icy air, as if his body and soul had been cleansed.
Beyond the Wall stretched a vast expanse of white. The storm-ravaged wilderness and distant snow-covered forests were barely visible through the blizzard.
Drogon found it hard to imagine how the Wildlings had survived for millennia in such harsh conditions, only to be forced to cross the Wall and flee south from the White Walker army.
Drogon estimated that Jon Snow might not be at Castle Black at this time. After learning of his father Eddard's execution, his sister's imprisonment in King's Landing, and his brother Robb's march south with an army, Jon had failed to escape and instead joined the Rangers, patrolling beyond the Wall to monitor the movements of Wildlings and White Walkers.
As Drogon circled above Castle Black, he observed that the blizzard kept most people indoors. Only the guards of the Night's Watch huddled in corners, taking shelter from the storm.
After observing Castle Black from a distance, Drogon quietly approached the rooms and peered inside, but he didn't see anyone resembling Jon, nor Samwell's stout figure. He had no choice but to give up.
*Jon is probably out in the snow or a cave, fooling around with some Wildling woman,* he thought. *I'm not going to stand around like an idiot in this freezing wind waiting for him.*
Less than twenty minutes after leaving Castle Black, the weather grew warmer. Drogon decided to hunt some wild game to fill his stomach and regain his strength before continuing his flight. He still had at least three hours to fly to the grasslands, and he couldn't fly on an empty stomach.
The North, vast and sparsely populated, was a paradise for wild animals. Having grown accustomed to the rich sheep and sturdy horses of the grasslands, a change of pace with some wild game was a welcome treat.
After flying through a forest for two minutes, Drogon spotted a robust wild deer grazing leisurely on the grass. The deer had just noticed him and was still curious about this new species when the hook of his wing swept across its throat. It lay on the ground, struggling for a few moments before dying.
He easily lifted the deer, ten times his own weight, and flew to a small stream. After skinning and gutting it, he used his wing hooks to section the bright red meat and laid the pieces on a flat stone.
He gathered sticks of varying thickness from the surrounding woods to use as fuel and propped up a makeshift roasting rack.
Sitting on the ground, Drogon opened his backpack and took out flint and a bundle of dry grass. His small claws gripped the flint tightly, and with two strikes, he ignited the grass. He carefully placed it in the woodpile.
As the thick smoke gradually dissipated, the dry wood burst into yellow flames. Drogon then skewered the venison on a wooden stick and placed it on the roasting rack. He flew up to evenly sprinkle it with spices, coarse salt, and chopped scallions, turning the stick to ensure even cooking.
Soon, oil began to sizzle and bubble from the marbled meat, dripping into the flames with a satisfying sizzle.
As the meat gradually browned, Drogon skewered another piece, removed the finished portion, and continued roasting while he ate.
"Not bad!" Drogon thought to himself. It wasn't as good as Ji Qi's cooking, and it was far inferior to the Dothraki's, but the tender and chewy venison compensated for his lack of roasting skill.
After savoring the first piece of meat, his eating pace gradually quickened. Half of the robust wild deer was soon gone.
"Hmm?" Drogon suddenly sensed something while chewing his roasted meat. He turned to look behind him and saw several figures approaching up the nearby hillside—men, women, and children.
His gaze was immediately drawn to the towering figure at the head of the group. The man was at least two and a half meters tall, dressed in tattered clothes. Behind his massive frame dragged a wooden plank as wide as he was, and on it lay another person.
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