Chapter 309

When the Wildling army, accompanied by giants, crossed the Wall into the Gift, the Night’s Watch, after careful deliberation, settled the giants in a forest by the riverside, several dozen miles northwest of Oakenshield. Coincidentally, this location was just south of Ice Mark, making it a convenient stop for the Northern lords during their inspection tour. It didn’t require backtracking, saving time and effort.

Driven by urgency to protect their homes, the Northern lords packed up at an astonishing speed. Shortly after breakfast, the group set out along a trail worn down by the Gift’s new inhabitants delivering food to the giants. By midday, they had reached the forest, now dubbed the “Giant’s Nest,” a previously nameless stretch of woods made notable by its towering residents.

Despite the persistent snow that had started when Robb arrived at Castle Black, visibility was clear enough for the group to spot their intended quarry—or rather, their hosts—from a considerable distance. The giants were hard to miss, not because they built grand shelters or camouflaged themselves, but because they didn’t bother with such things at all. Regardless of the weather, the giants simply found a windbreak and lay under the open sky.

Their thick fur, immense size, and layers of insulating fat rendered the harsh winter inconsequential. Even as the full force of the season took hold, the giants remained at ease.

Beyond the faint silhouettes of towering figures in the woods, the group could also hear the distinct trumpeting of mammoths. Unlike the sheep and pigs brought in by the Wildlings—most of which had already been slaughtered for winter stores—the giants’ pets and mounts were strictly off-limits. Not even the boldest members of the Night’s Watch dared suggest otherwise.

It wasn’t that Aegor lacked the ability to convince people, but giants weren’t intelligent enough to be swayed by reasoned arguments, and besides—mammoths were powerful, trainable beasts.

Who knew what use they might have in the future?

The group dismounted just outside Giant’s Nest.

Aegor sent a translator—one of the few people who could speak the Old Tongue—to call for an audience.

Meanwhile, the inspection party waited at the edge of the woods.
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“I heard giants eat raw meat, drink blood porridge for breakfast, and devour entire bulls in one sitting,” Mors Umber remarked, his booming voice carrying over the crisp winter air. The old lord, clearly in good spirits after reuniting with his daughter and grandson, casually stretched his burly frame. “How do you even feed creatures like that?”

“Like most tales about them, that’s utter nonsense,” Aegor replied with a faint smile. “Giants are herbivores—strictly so. Their teeth and digestive systems can’t handle meat even if they wanted to. When we settled them here, it was precisely because this area had water and vegetation and was centrally located within the Gift, making it easier to supply them with vegetables and other plant-based food. Giants are generally peaceful creatures…though that doesn’t mean they lack aggression entirely. We stopped here instead of entering their camp to avoid any unnecessary incidents. There are over a hundred giants in that forest, and since we haven’t lived alongside them for long, the chance of upsetting them by accident is too great a risk.”

“You let so many giants through the Wall and into the Gift. Aren’t you afraid they’ll rebel someday, leaving the Night’s Watch unable to control them?”

“Of course I was concerned. That’s why we only allowed a few to cross at a time and monitored every step. But after interacting with them for a while, we realized they weren’t as terrifying as the legends made them out to be.” Aegor gestured toward the woods, where a giant was following the guide toward them. “Take a look for yourself—aren’t they smaller than you imagined?”

About a hundred yards away, the guide walked beside a towering giant. The man, roughly five and a half feet tall, looked comically small next to the behemoth, which stood over twice his height. The stark contrast drew uneasy stares from the Northern lords, though many had to admit: the giants were indeed smaller than the myths suggested.

In tales and legends, giants were said to be titanic beings, standing dozens of meters tall, capable of tearing down castle walls with their bare hands and swallowing men whole. Yet the figure approaching them—just shy of three and a half meters—while imposing, lacked the overwhelming grandeur of the Wall itself or the earth-shaking strides depicted in stories. The ground didn’t quake beneath its feet as it walked.

Robb studied the approaching giant from a distance, estimating its strength. His assessment was straightforward: a handful of well-armed soldiers with polearms could take it down.

“They’re smaller than I expected,” Robb admitted. “Are all giants around this size?”

“This one seems to be their new leader,” Aegor explained. “The previous leader was killed during the attack on Castle Black. Like wolves, giants’ leaders are usually the strongest of the group, so the others are either this size or smaller. Exceptions are rare.”

“Hm…” Robb nodded thoughtfully. “You’ve brought the Wildlings into the Gift as settlers. Have you considered training the giants to work for the Night’s Watch or fight in battle?”

Aegor had anticipated this question. “Of course I’ve considered it, but there are numerous challenges—related to their intelligence, physical capabilities, and practicality. I’ll explain in detail shortly.”

Their conversation paused as the giant approached. Under the watchful eyes of the Northern soldiers, the massive creature knelt a short distance away and rumbled in the Common Tongue, “Kneel…to the Lord of the North.”

“Wow!” Arya almost squealed in excitement. “Can I touch him?”

“Absolutely not,” Robb warned, glaring at his sister before turning to Aegor. “I thought you said giants don’t speak the Common Tongue?”

“We’ve taught them a few words,” Aegor explained. In truth, the giant leader only knew this one phrase, and teaching it had taken considerable effort. “In the far north, they speak the Old Tongue.”

Up close, the Northern lords observed the giant in detail for the first time. It was a far cry from the “oversized humans” many had imagined. The giant’s arms were disproportionately long, nearly reaching its knees, and its entire body was covered in a thick coat of shaggy fur. Instead of clothing, it seemed to wear its own “long hair” as natural insulation.

The creature’s head protruded forward, as if permanently hunched, its flat face dominated by two tiny, squinting eyes and a pair of horn-like ridges. It resembled a massive, prehistoric ape more than any human.

“Hello there, Giant King,” Robb said, his tone polite but tinged with disappointment. After the guide translated, the giant rumbled a response in the Old Tongue, then stood silently, scrutinizing the humans before it.

Aegor resumed speaking, addressing the group: “Training giants to work or fight may sound appealing, but there are three major challenges: intelligence, physical limitations, and cost-effectiveness.”

The Northern lords listened intently, their hands never straying far from their weapons.

“First, their intelligence. Giants aren’t as clever as humans. They don’t build shelters or wear clothes. Beyond simple tasks, they struggle to understand complex instructions. They may seem thoughtful or docile when calm, but when angered, they’re no better than beasts.”

“But they can speak, can’t they? How stupid could they be?”

“Fair point. Intelligence isn’t their biggest limitation.” Aegor nodded. “Now, onto the second issue: their size. Larger bodies don’t scale proportionately in strength. For instance, if a creature doubles in height, its muscle cross-section increases fourfold, but its weight increases eightfold. Our giant leader here is roughly twice my height. Assuming we had the same build, he’d be four times as strong as me but eight times as heavy. This means much of his strength is used just to support his own body. Give him a weapon or tool proportional to his size, and he might not even be able to lift it.”

Robb nodded, understanding the implications. “So his size doesn’t translate to limitless strength. But isn’t he still stronger than any of us? That alone could be useful.”

Aegor suppressed a sigh. Explaining biomechanics to these lords would be a fruitless endeavor. He stuck to simpler points: “It’s true giants are stronger, but they have other limitations—poor eyesight and hearing, slow movements, and poor stamina. Marching even a single mile without stopping is a challenge for them. If integrated into an army, the whole force would have to slow down to accommodate them. Giants might be intimidating on the battlefield, but the effort to get them there outweighs their value.”

"Sounds like you just don’t want us taking them," Rickard Karstark muttered.

Aegor sighed. "Believe me, my lord, I’m not trying to make giants sound useless… but even if we pretend one giant equals ten elite soldiers, the cost of feeding, equipping, and maintaining them isn’t worth it."

And more than that—Aegor simply did not want the North using his giants as cannon fodder.

...

Fortunately, Robb did not pursue the matter further.

He had wanted to see the giants for two reasons—first, to determine whether they posed a threat to the North, and second… well, he had genuinely considered using them in war to compensate for the North’s vast, sparsely populated lands and its lack of fighting men.

But after seeing them in person, his enthusiasm vanished almost entirely.

These so-called giants turned out to be primitive, sluggish, and dull-witted vegetarian creatures.

Just the thought of bringing them onto the battlefield gave him a headache.

Better to simply train more soldiers.

"I believe you." Robb nodded, cutting off Karstark’s relentless questioning of Aegor and waving his hand dismissively. "Just keep these creatures under control. If they wander off and scare or harm Northern folk, I’ll hold you accountable."

Aegor let out a breath of relief. "Of course. That’s the Night’s Watch’s responsibility."

With that said, the Lord of Winterfell turned back toward the giant chieftain and raised his voice.

"King of the Giants, I am glad to have met you today. If the White Walkers ever come, I hope you will stand with us to defend the North!"

The translator, sharp as ever, didn’t need to be told what to do—he immediately relayed Robb’s words to the giant leader.

The massive being slowly nodded, then rumbled something in the Old Tongue, the general meaning of which was that he, too, was pleased to meet Robb.

With that, Robb called for the group to continue southward.

It was time to deal with the Ironborn invasion.

And, of course, he had no intention of bringing his little sister to the battlefield.

"Ser Rodrik," Robb said. "I will lead the lords southward to command the battle at Deepwood Motte. You will take ten good men and accompany Aegor back to the Wall.

"When the snow clears, travel along the road from Castle Black to Crown’s Rest and escort Arya safely back to Winterfell."

"What?" Arya pouted. "I want to go with you!"

Robb shook his head, his expression making it clear that this was not up for debate.

He didn’t even bother arguing—he simply turned away and started ordering the Northern inspection party to mount their horses.

There were still hundreds of miles to cover before they reached the western coast of the North.

If they wanted to make it in time for the battle, there wasn’t a single moment to waste.

......