Giants

38 AC

Beyond the wall

Theon Stark Pov

"Ragnar, " I said, turning back to the wildling king and looking at the large group of people behind him. "You mentioned a big group. Can you tell me the real numbers? How many people have you brought south of the Wall?"

Ragnar looked back at me, his face serious. "We are a lot, Magnar Wolf. Generations have lived and died beyond your ice wall. Hunger and cold have killed many, but still... we are a people. In my camp, there are about a hundred thousand people. That includes the fighters you saw, yes, but also our women, our children, and our old people. We've brought everything we have left."

A hundred thousand. That's a huge number. It's more people than I've ever seen together. Finding homes and food for that many people in the North, especially with winter coming, is going to be a massive job. The lords will argue, and the common people will be scared. But these are lives that would be lost to the dead, and they could fight with us in the big war. This alliance, started because we're desperate and have a shaky agreement, will test how much the North has and how kind we can be.

"Giants, Ragnar?" I asked, shifting my focus to the other ancient race. "Your people must have encountered them in these vast lands. Where do they dwell? Their villages, their gathering places?"

Ragnar's expression shifted, a hint of awe mixed with curiosity entering his eyes. "The giants… they are different from what the tales often tell, Magnar Wolf. They do not live as we do, hunting flesh. They have learned to live from the land, harvesting what they can with the aid of the great mammoths. They move in large family groups, and sometimes they gather in sheltered valleys, places where the earth yields roots and hardy plants, and the mammoths help them till the frozen ground."

"Villages, then?" I pressed. "Specific locations where they gather regularly?"

Ragnar nodded slowly. "There are certain valleys, hidden deep within the Frostfangs, where they return each season. Places where the mammoths know the best grazing and the earth offers sustenance. My scouts have seen their trails leading to these valleys. They are not villages as you understand them, but they are places where the giants gather in numbers."

"Can you lead me to these valleys?" I asked, my voice urgent. "Or guide my Wolfpack? We need to speak with them. Their strength, and their connection to this land, could be invaluable in the battles to come."

Ragnar stroked his beard, his gaze thoughtful. "The giants are a proud and wary folk. They do not easily trust the little people. But if they sense the coming darkness, as you say, perhaps they would listen to a warning. I have trackers who know the paths through the mountains, who have seen the giants' gatherings. I will lead you to them. I know the way to these valleys."

"Then show me these valleys," I urged, my gaze intent. "Lead my Wolfpack to these gathering places of the giants. I will speak to them. I will try to make them understand the danger that approaches from the north, the threat that knows no size or strength."

I paused, my hand instinctively resting on the hilt of Jon. "And if words fail… then perhaps there is still the old way. A challenge. A demonstration of strength that even they can understand. But I pray it does not come to that. We need allies, not enemies, in the Long Night that is coming."

The following dawn broke cold and grey over the desolate landscape. True to his word, Ragnar Lothbrok and his group of skilled trackers guide me and a contingent of my Wolfpack towards the rumored gathering places of the giants. The wildlings, hardened by years of survival in this unforgiving land, moved with a silent efficiency, their knowledge of the terrain proving invaluable as we navigated treacherous passes and icy plains.

Frost, nestled securely in a specially crafted pouch on my saddle, remained a silent companion, his white fur a stark contrast to the rugged landscape. The journey was arduous, the biting wind and the uneven terrain testing the endurance of both men and horses. We saw signs of the giants – colossal tracks in the snow, trees uprooted with unnatural force, and the faint scent of mammoth lingering in the air – each sighting fueling a mixture of awe and apprehension among my men.

Three days later, after enduring bone-chilling nights huddled around meager fires and days spent traversing seemingly endless white expanses, the trackers signaled that we were approaching our destination. A vast valley opened before us, sheltered by towering peaks. In the distance, colossal shapes moved against the snow-covered ground. The giants. And with them, the massive, shaggy forms of mammoths, their tusks like ivory spears against the white. This was their gathering place. Now came the true test: could I convince these ancient beings to heed the warnings of a man?

As we cautiously approached the valley, the sheer scale of the giants became apparent. They were immense, their forms towering over the mammoths that moved beside them. Their voices, when they rumbled, sounded like the grinding of glaciers. One giant, larger than the rest, with a thick, matted beard and eyes like ancient stones, stepped forward, regarding us with a wary curiosity. This had to be their magnar.

Taking a deep breath, I dismounted, Frost whimpering softly in my pouch. I stepped forward, my voice echoing in the vast valley. "Magnar of the giants," I called out, my tone respectful but firm. "I have come with a warning. A long night is coming, a darkness filled with death. It will not spare the free folk, nor the giants. We must stand together against it."

The giant magnar tilted his massive head, studying me with an unnerving intensity. His voice, when it finally came, was a deep rumble that shook the very ground beneath my feet. "Why should we heed the words of a littleling? You are small, weak. What threat can you truly face?"

Before I could answer, Ragnar Lothbrok stepped forward, his axe still strapped to his back, but his hand resting on its haft. "He speaks truth, Giant Magnar. And though he is small, he has a spirit stronger than many giants I have known. But perhaps… perhaps you understand a different kind of strength." Ragnar's grey eyes met the giant's stony gaze. "If he were to defeat you in single combat, Magnar of the giants, would you then lend your strength to our cause? Would you bend the knee to one who has proven his worth?"

The giant magnar, Mag Mar Tun Doh Weg, considered Ragnar's challenge, his massive gaze shifting from the wildling king to me, then back again. A low rumble emanated from his chest, a sound that could have been amusement or perhaps the stirring of ancient battle lust.

Finally, he dipped his massive head, a gesture that sent a cascade of snow from his matted beard. His voice, when it came, was like the cracking of ice on a frozen lake. "A littleling… challenge Mag Mar Tun Doh Weg? It has been many ages since a small one dared such a thing." A hint of a guttural chuckle rumbled through him. "But the long night you speak of… if it is as you say, then perhaps even the ways of the giants must change. Very well. I will battle this… Magnar Wolf." His gaze settled on me, a primal intensity in their ancient depths. "If you defeat me, little one, then the giants will lend their strength to your cause. We will stand with you against this darkness."

A collective murmur rippled through the gathered giants, a mix of curiosity and anticipation. Ragnar nodded, a grim satisfaction on his weathered face. My Wolfpack shifted nervously, their hands instinctively moving towards their weapons.

The space between Mag Mar Tun Doh Weg and me widened. The giant magnar reached for a massive club, a tree trunk stripped bare and reinforced with jagged stones. It looked like it could crush a man with a single blow. I drew Jon and Theo, the familiar weight of the twin blades a small comfort against the sheer size and power of my opponent. The air crackled with tension. The fate of an alliance, one forged between men and giants, was about to be decided in this ancient valley.

The air in the valley thrummed with anticipation. Mag Mar Tun Doh Weg was a titan, a being of raw, primal power. Standing before him, I felt impossibly small, a mere insect facing a walking mountain. His club, a length of ancient tree, looked capable of sweeping away entire ranks of men. Yet, Jon and Theo felt balanced in my grip, extensions of my will.

Mag Mar Tun Doh Weg moved with surprising speed for his size, his massive club whistling through the air like a battering ram. The wind generated by its passage buffeted me. I dodged, rolling low to the snow-covered ground, the impact shaking the earth. The club crashed down where I had been, leaving a crater in the frozen ground.

He swung again, a horizontal strike that could have cleaved me in two. I sprang to my feet, Jon and Theo flashing upwards, deflecting the blow. The force of the impact jarred my arms, sending tremors through my body. I used his momentum against him, darting in close, my twin blades a whirlwind of steel aimed at his legs, the only vulnerable targets I could readily reach.

Jon and Theo bit into his thick, leathery hide, drawing lines of dark blood. Mag Mar Tun Doh Weg roared in pain and surprise, taking a lumbering step back. I pressed my advantage, sprinting forward and leaping onto his injured knee, using it as a springboard. With a final burst of strength, I launched myself upwards, landing with both feet on his face, the force of my weight driving him backwards.

The giant magnar crashed to the ground, the earth shaking with his fall. I landed lightly beside him, Jon and Theo held ready. He lay on his back, his massive chest heaving, his stone-like eyes filled with a mixture of pain and a dawning respect. I pressed the point of On against his thick neck, the cold steel a stark reminder of my victory.

"Yield," I said, my voice clear and firm.

A low rumble escaped his chest, a sound of grudging acceptance. "I Yield," he grunted, the word heavy and ancient. Mag Mar Tun Doh Weg, Magnar of the Giants, had yielded. I had won the fight. The alliance, however improbable, was now forged.

Looking around the vast valley, the true scale of the giants' gathering became apparent. Hundreds of them, their immense forms moving with a surprising gentleness amongst the mammoths, went about their daily routines. Children, smaller than adult men but still towering, played near their parents. Others worked at what appeared to be harvesting grounds, their massive hands surprisingly adept at gathering roots and hardy vegetation, aided by the powerful tusks of the mammoths. A rough count suggested close to five hundred giants resided in this sheltered valley.

An idea sparked in my mind. Moat Cailin. Its strategic importance as the gateway to the North was undeniable, but its defenses had fallen into disrepair over the centuries. The moat itself was largely silted up, and the towers needed significant restoration. The sheer strength of these giants, coupled with the earth-moving capabilities of the mammoths, could be invaluable. Relocating them to Moat Cailin would not only offer them a defensible territory within the North but also provide the manpower – or rather, giant-power – needed for a massive construction project. They could help excavate the canal, rebuild the ancient fortifications, and make Moat Cailin the impenetrable barrier it once was. It was a bold plan, fraught with potential challenges in terms of logistics and acceptance by the Northern lords, but the potential benefits were immense. A strong Moat Cailin, defended by giants, would be a formidable deterrent against any southern aggression and a vital stronghold against the coming darkness.