Lancelot looked at the wildling elders before him, who were nervously examining the writing on the horn.
Before the First Men arrived in Westeros, the Children of the Forest and the Giants had no written language. They communicated solely through speech, and sometimes telepathically.
But the First Men brought writing with them. They carved their script onto clay tablets and wooden boards. Since they lacked paper and ink, and didn't know how to preserve their records, none of it survived.
Now, only the wildlings of the Vale and the Free Folk beyond the Wall still preserved the script of the First Men.
"Lancelot, this horn is a giant's horn, also known as the Horn of Winter. It belongs to the Giants. The text says: 'When the horn is blown, the earth shall tremble, and giants shall rise from the ground to destroy anything that stands in their way,'" said the one-eyed elder.
"Then how do you blow it? I've tried, but I couldn't make a sound," Lancelot said.
"A giant's horn can only be blown by a giant. Humans cannot sound it," the one-eared chief replied.
"Giants?" Lancelot frowned.
Giants were all beyond the Wall, and even the current giants were much shorter than their ancestors.
"Exactly. Look at the size of this horn. Can an ordinary person even lift it?"
Lancelot glanced at the horn, which was two or three meters long, and shook his head. It was only natural that an ordinary person couldn't blow such a thing.
Next, Lancelot discussed with them whether they would submit to the rule of the Vale lords. They could farm the land and no longer have to worry about their next meal.
The territory of the Vale wildlings wasn't large. Unlike the Free Folk beyond the Wall who could hunt freely, the clans here had to rely on raiding to survive.
They were originally First Men too, but they had fled into the mountains because they refused to submit to the Andals. Over time, they became wildlings.
"Wildlings will never be slaves, unless you make us lords," the one-eared chief declared.
"That's right. The chief of every tribe must receive the treatment of a lord," the one-eyed wildling added.
"How many wildlings are there here? How many tribes?" Lancelot asked.
"There are about sixty thousand of us in total, divided into roughly ten tribes. But only three or four tribes have significant numbers. For example, the Burned Men, the Black Ears, and the Moon Brothers."
Lancelot thought for a moment and said, "You can form four or five large tribes and elect your own leaders. I will report your situation to the Warden of the East and King's Landing."
"If you are willing to build your own towns and live independently, perhaps both sides can be secure. In the meantime, we will provide you with grain."
"However, after the towns are built, you must swear allegiance to the Warden of the East on your honor as First Men," Lancelot concluded.
The wildling elders conferred. They had no other choice. Winter was here, and the food stores in every tribe were nearly depleted.
Their only option was to raid again, but raids weren't always successful.
If they encountered the Knights of the Vale, they would be slaughtered. The Knights of the Vale were renowned throughout the Seven Kingdoms.
"We can go with you to the Eyrie to meet the head of House Arryn," the One-Ear said.
"Agreed. We leave tomorrow. For tonight, let me stay here with you," Lancelot said.
The wildlings were surprised to hear he wanted to stay the night. Wasn't he afraid of having his throat slit in his sleep?
Lancelot was fearless because his "Divine Favored" talent granted him nine lives.
That night, Lancelot attended the bonfire party of the Moon Mountains wildlings. They brought out their best food to treat him.
The wildlings were actually quite simple and honest, much better than the scheming people in King's Landing.
They were just a bit primitive and refused to be civilized.
"Lancelot, have you heard the legend of the Fire Witch in the Mountains of the Moon?" Mya Stone asked, sitting beside Lancelot with a roasted corn cob in her hand.
"The Vale's Fire Witch? Tell me about it," Lancelot said.
When members of the Burned Men tribe came of age, they would go deep into the mountains to find a Fire Witch. She would have her fire dragon breathe fire, and different wildlings would offer different body parts to the flames.
"But in the last few decades, the Burned Men started burning themselves. Maybe because both the Fire Witch and the fire dragon died," Mya Stone said.
"Fire Witch, fire dragon!"
Lancelot suddenly thought of something.
During the Dance of the Dragons, the Targaryen civil war, Daemon Targaryen's lover, the girl Nettles, and her dragon Sheepstealer were last seen flying toward the Mountains of the Moon. The location matched.
"Nettles is definitely dead, but is Sheepstealer dead too?" Lancelot wondered.
Targaryen dragons rarely died of old age; they almost always died in battle. No one knew exactly how long a dragon could live.
Lancelot decided to go deep into the Mountains of the Moon to investigate. He mounted Hrakkar, immediately alerting all the wildlings.
"Lancelot, where are you going?" they asked.
"I'm going to look for the Fire Witch and the fire dragon, to see if I can find their remains."
With that, Lancelot rode Hrakkar, leaping forward along the mountain path and disappearing from everyone's sight.
Snow began to fall in the Vale mountains, making the road difficult. But Hrakkar felt neither cold nor difficulty. He flew and ran, though Lancelot told him not to go too fast.
The Mountains of the Moon were vast, so Lancelot only intended to check places with caves.
He found that some caves indeed contained many bones. They didn't look like leftovers from wildlings, but rather from a dragon.
Some large leg bones had been bitten through—something a human couldn't possibly do.
Scorch marks were visible on the rock walls of some caves, along with terrifying claw marks.
"Keep looking. Sheepstealer might be dead, but maybe she left some dragon eggs behind," Lancelot said.
Hrakkar continued flying with Lancelot. They searched all night and finally arrived at the best cave in the entire range. There were no signs that humans had ever been up here.
Lancelot dismounted at the entrance. He used a fireball spell to light his way and walked into the cave alone. Hrakkar was too big; he would have to crawl to get in, and he wasn't keen on crawling, so Lancelot told him to wait outside.
As Lancelot walked, he suddenly stepped on something. He looked down, illuminating it with his firelight—it was a large pile of dung.
"This is dragon dung. Could Sheepstealer still be alive?" A bad feeling rose in Lancelot's heart, and he began to back away.
From the darkness of the cave ahead came a dragon's roar, followed by a blast of scorching dragonfire that instantly roasted Lancelot into human jerky.
Lancelot died, but he had only died once.
The "Divine Favored" talent of the Nine-Colored Deer brought him back to life. When Lancelot regained consciousness, he found himself back in the wildling tribe, with Mya Stone holding a roasted corn cob, telling him the story of the Fire Witch.