The sky hung heavy with dreary gray clouds, and a bitter wind, thick with swirling snowflakes, lashed at faces, stealing warmth and leaving icy droplets sliding down necks. The chill was relentless, gnawing at exposed skin and making every breath sting.The giants, however, were unfazed. Their upper bodies were sheathed in thick, coarse fur, and the snowflakes that landed on them were nothing more than a soft, insulating layer. Their lower bodies were even more thickly covered, giving the appearance of fur-lined pants woven by nature itself.Among these towering beings, Marga stood out as the strongest. He was nearly three and a half meters tall, a behemoth among his kin. His head seemed almost fused to his shoulders, lacking a discernible neck, and his flat, ferocious face was punctuated by small, dark, bead-like eyes set on a forehead scarred by countless battles. His massive chest was humanlike, though broader and more powerful, tapering into a lower body even wider than his upper half. Thick, muscular arms ended in large, clawed hands, gripping a log club with a stone bound at its end, a weapon as terrifying as his own frame.Marga's round, sensitive nose constantly sniffed the wind, searching for the faintest scent of his opponent. In the snow-laden gust, he quickly located Eddard. Opening his massive mouth to reveal jagged teeth, he let out a sound that was half belch, half roar—a booming, primal laugh.Eddard lifted his gaze to the snow-filled sky, then back to Marga, who stood fifty meters away, poised for combat. Calmly, he slid his sword, Heartbreaker, back into its scabbard.The surrounding Free Folk gasped audibly."Does he not want to fight anymore?""He must be scared. No human can duel a giant one-on-one, not even Mance!""Waramir might've handled it; he had three wolves, a bear, a shadowcat, and an eagle. That would keep Marga busy.""Quiet! Just watch the show," Tormund snapped, silencing the murmurs with two sharp slaps. "Waramir is dead, killed by Eddard Karstark. I want to know how he did it."Marga paused, then lowered his club and bellowed roughly. "Marga wants to know if you'll still fight. If not, he'll take his kin and leave."Tormund translated loudly for all to hear. Giants, though intelligent, had simpler minds, akin to newly civilized savages. Marga assumed that Eddard had either backed down or intended a different fighting style—perhaps mounting a horse or using long, steel-tipped spears.Eddard did not respond. While no human could match a giant in raw strength, his own constitution was three times stronger than ordinary men. Agile movements, coupled with the deadly precision of Heartbreaker, gave him confidence. He could chip away at Marga with skirmishing attacks, gradually wearing the giant down, much like the Red Viper had done against the Mountain.Of course, Eddard would never foolishly close in and risk being crushed. But fate seemed to intervene anyway. The snow, falling like goose feathers, quickly soaked the ground, melting to form mud and uneven terrain. For Marga, immense strength and a log club were enough to navigate it. For Eddard, however, a single misstep could be fatal. Giants had no concept of restraint; to them, a fight was an all-or-nothing affair.Eddard lowered his weapon and chose a different approach. This was a demonstration, not a desperate duel. Magic might create a far stronger impression on these Free Folk, instilling awe and obedience without risking death.He raised his right hand and beckoned with a single finger. The gesture meant simply: Come here.Gasps rose in the crowd."Is he crazy? Fighting a giant bare-handed?""Forget that, I want to see Marga smash him like a bug!""Wait, look at the armored cavalry returning. Maybe we're next!"Tormund and Styr's eyes widened, eager to witness the confrontation. Even giants understood the gesture. Marga opened his mouth, unleashing a roar that shook the snowy ground. He strode forward, the log club dragging heavily, thudding "dong… dong… dong…" with every step.Eddard calmly raised both hands, palms glowing faintly. Four times, he summoned flashes of light."Witchcraft! He knows witchcraft!" whispered some onlookers. "He's a Green Seer!"Even amidst the blaze and chaos, Marga could barely see him—a blurry shadow only detectable by scent. But the crowd's reaction began to chip away at the giant's composure. Suddenly, the club in his massive hand felt impossibly heavy.Confused, Marga spun the club and threw it with all his might. The impact would have destroyed a normal man. But Eddard responded instantly. A bolt of lightning, summoned with Thunderbolt, blasted the spinning weapon aside. Five shimmering arrows appeared from thin air, piercing Marga's limbs, followed by another concentrated lightning strike that sent smoke curling from the giant's fur.Marga collapsed, writhing in pain, the intense numbness and heat searing through him. Despite their legendary resilience, the giant could not sustain consciousness.The Free Folk gasped, whispering rumors."He can control lightning! He's the Lord of Thunder from the songs! A god among men!"Eddard, unfazed, ignored the ceremony of awe. He mounted his horse under thousands of eyes and rode past the charred remains of Mance Rayder's tent.Turning to Jon Snow, who approached, he said coldly, "I've handled these Free Folk. Cleaning up this mess is your responsibility. First, ensure the children and women pass through the Wall. Able-bodied men stay behind—collect and burn all the bodies from this chaos. No excuses."Jon nodded. Having mingled with the Free Folk before, he was not intimidated by their awe, but even he had never seen someone wield magic so vividly.Eddard, hardened by the world he now lived in, had long ceased to see individual lives as more than tools and numbers. Survival demanded blending in, exploiting opportunities, and recognizing power where it lay. Gods and faith were irrelevant to him; let Melisandre and her cults play their games. He had no desire to intervene.The children, women, and elders emerged as darkness lifted, forming lines and advancing along the Wall toward Black Castle. Occasionally, someone stumbled, helped up by a companion, and continued onward.Carter Pyke grumbled under his breath, "I never thought I'd be escorting savages through the Wall." The wind swallowed his words.Eddard's voice rang out, strong and commanding, "These savages will aid in guarding the Wall. Treat them neither as brothers nor enemies. But no harm shall come to them under my watch. This is my will—and the will of Robb Stark, King of the North!"As heavy snow fell and the North's horizon turned white, the survivors labored to salvage supplies, chop wood, and bury the dead. Over a thousand cavalrymen patrolled in organized teams, some tracking fleeing Free Folk, ensuring they returned safely to the camp.Though the riot had been fierce, the lesson was clear: strength and controlled power commanded respect. The North had survived another storm, and its walls, both physical and symbolic, remained unbroken.
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