Chapter 320: The Last Giant

To the north of the funeral pyre, several thousand people had gathered—wildlings, giants, and members of the Night's Watch maintaining order. Daenerys sat atop Little White at the front line, flanked by Barristan and several high-ranking officers of the Night's Watch.

Stannis stood in a corner to the east, accompanied by the red-robed woman and a group of knights. Over two hundred corpses of House Baratheon soldiers lay in that area.

"The numbers don't add up," Daenerys frowned and asked Pomegranate, "Lord Steward, where are the rest of the bodies? The free folk should've lost between three and five thousand, but this is barely half. And I saw with my own eyes—at least twelve giants died."

Earlier that noon, she had personally tasked Pomegranate with gathering the bodies and organizing the wildlings to cut wood for the pyre that night. She hadn't expected the job to be done so poorly.

"They're deeper in the woods. We didn't dare go in," Bowen Marsh said.

"Why not? Are there White Walkers? If the bodies aren't burned, they'll turn into wights."

Jon sighed helplessly. "We're not sure about White Walkers, but there are many wildlings hiding in the forest. Two black brothers tasked with recovering bodies had their eyes gouged out, tongues cut off, and their heads hung on tree branches at the forest's edge."

Daenerys's expression turned grim, and she muttered a curse under her breath. "Those bastards really don't know what's good for them. Do we know which scum did it?"

"The Weeper," Ygritte called out from behind Jon. "The Weeper loves gouging out eyes."

As everyone turned to look at her, the red-haired girl proudly winked at Jon.

Jon turned away, awkwardly scratching his nose. "The Weeper is a vicious wildling raider."

"I know the Weeper. Mance sent him to draw the main force away from Castle Black. Wasn't it you, Lord Steward, who led the force to intercept him?"

Daenerys raised an eyebrow at Pomegranate. "And you call that a victory? You didn't even take down their leader. What kind of victory is that?"

"The Weeper had three hundred raiders," Pomegranate replied, feeling wronged.

"And you had over two hundred rangers."

Pomegranate fell silent.

Daenerys continued, "Why not send wildlings to collect the bodies?"

"They'd run away."

"Sigh…" Daenerys let out a bitter laugh. "Then what's your plan for the corpses in the Haunted Forest?"

Jon replied, "Maybe the wildlings will burn their own. They all know the dead can come back."

"That's right. We're not stupid like you think," Ygritte nodded repeatedly.

While they were still discussing the bodies in the forest, Stannis and the others had already begun saying farewell to their fallen.

"The night is long and full of terrors. We mortals live and die alone, lost and helpless, stumbling through the shadowed vale."

Stannis stood shoulder to shoulder with the red priestess at the front. Hundreds of men knelt on one knee in orderly rows, solemnly reciting the prayer with reverence and gravity.

"Boom!" With a wave of the red priestess's hand, the entire pyre burst into flames as if doused in oil, shooting up seven feet into the air. The heatwave surged across dozens of meters, tousling Daenerys's bangs.

"Let's begin as well," Daenerys said, looking around. She didn't see anyone who looked like a priest and asked, "Are there no priests among the free folk?"

"We believe in the Old Gods. The Old Gods have no priests," said Mance's beautiful sister-in-law.

"The Old Gods are just faces carved into tree trunks—eyes, noses, and mouths. Pity they can't speak, or guide you through your prayers," Ser Aerys mockingly added.

"What about Brother Seledar? Should we have him play the part?" Daenerys suggested a half-hearted idea.

"Ahhh, ahhh, ahhh, I am the last giant! I have no companions!" Ygritte suddenly burst into song, startling Daenerys and those around her.

"The last giant, came from the great mountains,Once, we ruled the world.Ah, the little folk stole the forests, stole the mountains, stole the rivers…"

At first, Daenerys looked unconvinced—this tiny wildling girl claiming to be a giant?But gradually, the smile faded from her face. The sorrow in Ygritte's voice was so raw and clear that no one could ignore it—nor mock it.

Val was stunned for a moment, then joined in with a deep voice:"They built great walls in the valleys,Drained the streams of all their fish."

More and more wildlings joined the chorus. Thousands upon thousands raised their voices, the somber, resonant sound like tidal waves crashing over sandcastles—drowning out the prayers of the red god's followers with ease:

"They lit great fires in stone halls,And forged sharp spears.And I, in the mountains,Alone,With only my tears.By day, hunted by hounds,By night, pursued by torches.For so long as giants walk in sunlight,The little folk cannot rest.

Ahhh, ahhh, ahhh, I am the last giant,Remember my song.One day, I shall be gone, the song will fade,And silence shall endure—forever and ever."

The singing stopped. In the vast open land, only the howling wind and the crackling flames from the nearby funeral pyre remained.

Under the dim red torchlight, every wildling's face reflected glistening tears.

After a long silence, Dany sighed and said, "This is not your song. It's not a song of the Free Folk."

"This is our song—The Last of the Giants. You're just like Jon. You know nothing!" Ygritte exclaimed passionately.

"The one who doesn't understand is you—all of you. You all know nothing!" Dany rolled her eyes and snapped, "This song, The Last of the Giants, belongs to the previous civilization—the Children of the Forest and the Giants. And the ones who destroyed them were none other than you—the wildlings, the Southerners, collectively called 'the First Men'!

I can hear the genuine sorrow and pain in your voices, and it indeed matches the grief and despair woven into this song. But your misfortune is entirely self-inflicted. You refuse to progress, and instead, you recklessly seek your own doom."

All the wildlings glared at her angrily. If she hadn't been riding on Ghost, someone might have already rushed up to beat her.

"What are you looking at?" The Dragon Queen had a "dragon's courage." Faced with hundreds of hostile stares, she showed no fear. Her eyes widened as she shouted even louder than before: "Look at yourselves—draped in animal hides, wielding wooden clubs, eating raw meat and drinking blood, contributing nothing. What difference is there between you and beasts?

Oh right, I forgot—you are wildlings.

But have you also forgotten one thing?

Your ancestors, the First Men who crossed the sea from Essos, defeated the Children of the Forest and drove away the Giants with superior technology and social structures.

Ten thousand years have passed, and your civilization has not advanced but regressed. Your society has collapsed. The technique of forging bronze has become a so-called 'ancestral treasure' of a few tribes. Aren't you ashamed?"

"And yet, you all have the face to sing The Last of the Giants. The Giants and Children of the Forest were persecuted by the First Men—but who has ever come beyond the Wall to persecute you?

Hasn't it always been the wildlings attacking the Wall? Or are you trying to say that it's persecution not to allow you to cross the Wall and pillage the northern smallfolk?"

"The White Walkers are persecuting us! Otherwise, I wouldn't even be here," Ygritte shouted back boldly. Among thousands of wildlings silenced and pale-faced under the Dragon Queen's barrage, she alone dared to speak up.

"Got some spine, huh?" Dany nodded and said calmly, "Then let me ask you—what preparations have you made for this winter? How much food have you stockpiled? Is it enough for two years?"

Of course not.

Aside from Jon, Ygritte had almost no personal belongings.

"I—I'm a spearwife. A raider!" she argued.

"So?" Dany sneered. "If you don't cross the Wall, then the ones oppressing the Free Folk are your own people."

"Ugh..." Even the sharp-tongued redhead was left speechless.

Maester Aemon, like the nearby Night's Watch brothers, chuckled with joy. His smile carried pride and relief.

"Your Grace, it's time to light the fire," the old maester gently reminded her.

"Hiss—" Ghost leapt into the air, and Shadow, like a phantom, glided down from the wall. The two dragons circled low, suddenly breathing out bright red flames as thick as a man's embrace and over fourteen meters long. The nearby sky lit up.

"Boom—" Like divine punishment, the fire swept across the pyre. The heat was overwhelming. Flames surged and roared. In the sea of fire, the dragons soared freely. The wildlings, the Night's Watch, even Stannis and his knights stood frozen in awe, their spirits gripped by wonder.

"This... is a dragon." In the flickering firelight, Stannis's expression shifted between light and shadow. Suddenly, as if making a decision, his deep blue eyes, like the dark ocean, were filled with resolve: A true dragon must have a dragon of his own.

"That black dragon... something seems off," Melisandre's red eyes flickered with a trace of doubt.

"Hiss—" Shadow roared excitedly, the flames from his mouth growing fiercer.

In the unseen spiritual realm, a multicolored rain of spirit energy fell like a waterfall. The once-sluggish nine-colored vortex now spun like a well-oiled gear, rapidly rotating and stirring up a massive whirlwind in the magma-like soul space.

"What seems off? Demon dragons are naturally cruel. Even burning corpses excites them," said Count Fair of Fallingwood indifferently.

"We need a demon dragon too," said Ser Songger with his mouthful of rotting brown teeth, his voice deep and forceful. "The dragon has three heads. His Grace Stannis is also a true dragon."

Pink-cheeked Ser Justin Massey reminded, "She's a little different. We saw it ourselves—by day she rides the black dragon, and since returning from the south tonight, she has remained mounted on the white one. Both dragons behave obediently, without a hint of resistance.

And we all know—the dragon has three heads because one dragonrider can only bond with one dragon. Any additional dragon must find another rider."

Ser Songger chuckled darkly, "I heard that every night when she rests in the King's Tower, both dragons stand guard outside. Many Night's Watch brothers even watch them openly from the courtyard.

Why not let His Grace try communicating with them tonight? There's no danger. If he can tame one…"

Stannis's heart stirred. With a solemn face, he looked at the Red Woman. "What do you think?"

Melisandre thought for a moment and said, "It's worth a try, but don't get your hopes up. You know better than anyone—a dragon only acknowledges one rider."

"Maybe her dragons are different. I heard that when Barristan rode the black dragon to Black Castle, perhaps that one's just a promiscuous beast without true dragon pride," Ser Songger grinned, his rotten teeth fully exposed.

The Red Woman gave him a glance and shook her head. "In the black dragon's eyes, I saw intelligence and reason, a human-like wisdom. Barristan might have ridden it only under the Dragon Queen's command. If that's true, then…"

"Then it's even more terrifying," Ser Justin Massey said, his pink face pale.

Then the nobleman's blue eyes began to shimmer with a strange and unreadable light.

Freckled Ser Richard Hope let out a low chuckle and whispered, "Actually, we all know... there's a simpler and more effective method."

(End of Chapter)

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