The Old Bear watched Roman's tactical manipulation with a heavy heart. He knew he could no longer prevent the wildlings from crossing the Wall.
Roman operated on a classic negotiation strategy. He wanted to open a window, so he first demanded to tear down the roof. When Lord Eddard furiously refused to let the wildlings march south, Roman casually threatened to slaughter them all, forcing Ned to frantically agree to open the window—settling them in the New Gift.
These surviving wildlings were now legally classified as prisoners of war. Releasing them back into the Haunted Forest was a death sentence, nor could they simply be abandoned to wander the North. House Stark was officially the only authority suitable to manage their resettlement.
With Lord Eddard officially endorsing the decree, the Night's Watch could not raise any serious political objections.
"Lord Eddard," Roman added smoothly. "Take this opportunity to communicate with your new subjects. You might be surprised to find genuine civilization hidden beneath the frost."
Ned remained stubbornly noncommittal. His unease was palpable. To the lords of the Seven Kingdoms, the word 'wildling' was synonymous with bandit, murderer, and rapist. As the Warden of the North, whose ancestors had fought them for centuries, Ned's prejudices ran incredibly deep.
Roman harbored no such historical baggage. He immediately marched the five hundred defectors straight to a massive expanse of untouched wilderness within the New Gift.
The soil here was surprisingly fertile, and the region boasted abundant timber. It was a rare agricultural treasure. However, the North's population had always been too sparse to properly cultivate the land.
"People of the Free Folk," Roman addressed the gathered defectors. "You have chosen to follow me, and I will strictly fulfill my end of the bargain. However, you must fulfill your responsibilities in return. Starting today, you will learn how to build, work, and thrive under my banner."
Roman had already dispatched a raven to Lord Wyman Manderly of White Harbor, requesting an immediate shipment of heavy building materials, iron farming tools, and draft oxen.
Under Roman's strict supervision, the wildlings began constructing longhouses and tilling the soil. The Harrenhal heavy infantry and auxiliary units actively worked alongside them, demonstrating proper architectural techniques.
Roman was intentionally using these initial defectors as a pilot program. He needed to prove to Lord Eddard that wildlings could be trusted to cultivate the land before migrating the rest of the horde.
The Free Folk had never seen such advanced southern technology. When they were handed Harrenhal's high-carbon steel tools and observed modern construction methods, they genuinely believed Roman was a god walking among mortals.
At first, the wildlings were terribly clumsy with the plows and saws. Yet, driven by the absolute terror of being sent back beyond the Wall, they proved incredibly eager to learn. Within a few weeks, they were efficiently operating the tools and working seamlessly alongside the Harrenhal soldiers.
Lord Eddard and the Old Bear observed this rapid industrialization from a distance. They watched in silent disbelief as the savage raiders gradually shed their feral habits, transforming into productive, disciplined subjects of the realm.
Naturally, there were still troublemakers. A few stubborn wildling warriors refused to abandon their raiding mentality and repeatedly challenged the Northern guards' authority.
Lord Eddard showed absolutely no mercy to these dissidents, punishing them with swift Northern justice. Conversely, the wildlings who worked diligently were consistently rewarded with extra rations and better housing.
Watching from his holding cell at Castle Black, Mance Rayder realized his people were willingly obeying Roman and Ned's orders, completely abandoning their sacred ideals of absolute freedom.
"Roman, I must admit you possess a terrifying talent," Mance muttered during one of Roman's visits. "You actually managed to break the Free Folk's spirit."
"Break their spirit? No, Mance, you are entirely mistaken," Roman replied flatly. "I simply ensured they were fed and clothed. Your abstract 'freedom' cannot patch a freezing roof, but the steel and bread in my hands will keep them alive."
Mance sneered bitterly. "That is easy for a southern lord to say. These lands originally belonged to the Free Folk. Your ancestors built a massive ice wall, drove us into the frozen wastes, and claimed the continent for yourselves. Now you act like a savior for handing us scraps of our own stolen land."
"Then I have simply returned the Free Folk to their ancestral homeland," Roman countered smoothly. "Is that a crime?"
Mance was instantly silenced, utterly unable to refute the logic.
"Mance, as long as you are not completely blind, you know this is the only path forward," Roman said, stepping closer to the cell bars. "Work with me. Help me migrate the rest of the Free Folk south of the Wall. Together, we can prepare the realm for the apocalyptic winter."
Roman stared into Mance's eyes. "I am the only lord in Westeros who will give your people a chance. If the Free Folk reject this offer, they will be crushed between the swords of the Seven Kingdoms and the claws of the dead. You are their king. Start acting like one."
Roman turned and walked away, leaving the King-Beyond-the-Wall alone in the dark. Mance knew exactly what he had to do, but his immense pride was making it incredibly difficult to swallow his defeat.
Later that evening, Fili intercepted Roman with an urgent message. The captured giants were finally coherent enough to speak.
As Roman entered his private quarters at Castle Black, a golden blur crashed directly into his chest.
"Fili! Calm yourself, girl! You nearly knocked the wind out of me," Roman chuckled, steadying her.
"You have been marching around the Gift for an entire month, Lord Roman! I have barely seen you," the blonde girl whimpered, burying her face into his armored chest.
It took Roman a considerable amount of effort to gently pry his fiercely loyal aide away. "Alright, alright. I missed you too. Now, let us get down to business. Are the giants truly ready to negotiate?"
"Yes, my lord! Mag the Mighty specifically requested an audience with you. He is waiting in the reinforced storehouse right now!"
Roman affectionately patted Fili's head, issued a few brief instructions, and strode out toward the storehouse.
As Roman ducked his massive, horned head to enter the storehouse, Mag the Mighty visibly trembled. The other captive giants immediately cowered behind their king, utterly terrified to even look at the demonic lord who had shattered their legs.
"I am Roman Rivers, Lord of Harrenhal," Roman announced. "What is your name?"
"I am Mag the Mighty. My people have chosen me as their king," the giant replied in perfect, unbroken Common Tongue.
Roman blinked in genuine shock. When did the giants learn to speak with such fluid pronunciation?
"Giants do not possess the vocal structures to articulate human languages so clearly," Roman noted suspiciously. "How are you doing this?"
"The golden-haired Lady Fili gifted this understanding to my mind," Mag the Mighty replied respectfully.
Ah. Her Apostle telepathy is permanently altering their cognitive functions. That explains it.
"Since you requested this audience, you must have something crucial to discuss," Roman prompted. "Speak plainly."
Mag the Mighty glanced over his massive shoulder at his trembling kin. He let out a long, rumbling sigh.
"Lady Fili told us you are a terrifying, yet benevolent lord. I beg you to take my people south. We will submit to your rule and obey your commands, so long as we are safe from the cold death."
It was done. Roman felt a surge of triumphant joy, but carefully maintained his stoic, intimidating facade.
"As long as your people follow my laws, my power will serve as your absolute protection," Roman declared. "However, to save the rest of your kin, you must convince them to surrender yourself."
Mag the Mighty nodded solemnly. Thanks to Fili's magical cognitive boost, the giant king fully comprehended the geopolitical stakes.
Roman immediately authorized a massive expenditure, chartering a fleet of heavy transport galleys from White Harbor. He shipped Mag the Mighty and his royal guard back beyond the Wall to the coastal settlement of Hardhome.
Using his legendary prestige—and shocking the wildlings with his newfound, articulate wisdom—Mag the Mighty convinced the remaining giant clans to board the Harrenhal ships. This massive logistical operation also scooped up thousands of desperate, starving wildlings who had fled the White Walkers.
These giants and wildlings were immediately shipped south to Roman's specialized labor camps in the Gift. There, they worked alongside the initial defectors, learning basic agricultural techniques and Westerosi etiquette so Roman could successfully integrate them into the realm without sparking a holy war.
While Roman was aggressively annexing the Free Folk population, Mance Rayder was agonizing over his conscience in the ice cells. Ultimately, the grim reality of the White Walkers shattered his pride.
The Free Folk were entirely out of options. If they missed this migration, they would become an army of the dead.
Over the past month, Mance had finally understood Roman's true nature. The Lord of Harrenhal was an industrial pragmatist. He would move mountains to protect his loyal subjects, but he would absolutely crush anyone who stood in his way with overwhelming military force.
Mance marched to his cell door and pounded on the iron bars. "Tell Lord Roman I accept his terms!"
A few days later, Roman and Mance Rayder stood together before the remaining wildling holdouts. Mance delivered a passionate, desperate speech, ordering his people to abandon their pride and follow the dragon south.
Mag the Mighty and the newly civilized wildlings stood behind them, serving as living proof of Roman's benevolence.
Roman remained perfectly silent, his towering physique wreathed in intimidating, crackling Pale Flame. His terrifying presence ensured no wildling dared to attempt an assassination or launch a riot.
In the end, over three-quarters of the remaining Free Folk agreed to follow Mance through the gates. Roman did not waste a single breath trying to convince the stubborn minority who chose to stay and freeze.
Under the strict, combined supervision of the Northern levies and the Harrenhal Vanguard, the massive wildling horde was marched into the New Gift. They were forced to learn agriculture, animal husbandry, and weaving. While they bitterly resented kneeling to southern lords, they were undeniably warmer, safer, and better fed than ever before.
With the northern border finally stabilized, Roman prepared to officially march his army back to the Riverlands.
"Lord Eddard, Lord Commander," Roman smiled as he shook their hands in the Castle Black courtyard. "I told you the wildlings could be civilized. Do you finally believe me?"
Despite their lingering historical prejudices, both Ned and the Old Bear had to admit this was the absolute best possible outcome.
The New Gift was finally populated and agriculturally productive, which would permanently solve the Night's Watch's supply shortages. Furthermore, the civilized wildlings could eventually be conscripted to bolster the Wall's defensive garrisons.
Roman selected several hundred of the highly intelligent giants and a few thousand of the most skilled wildling craftsmen to march back to Harrenhal with him. The vast majority of the population remained in the North, where manual labor was desperately needed to revive the Gift.
"Lord Eddard, I have already dispatched ravens to Lady Shella," Roman informed the Warden of the North. "Massive shipments of modern farming tools, winter clothing, and alchemical fertilizers will arrive shortly. The Wall will soon be entirely self-sufficient. Until then, I rely on your Northern levies to maintain order in the camps."
Ned Stark watched the disciplined lines of wildlings working in the distance. He turned to Roman with a complicated expression.
"King Robert warned me that you were a man who brought radical changes to the world. I still do not know if you are a blessing or a curse, Lord Roman. You shine entirely too brightly. The high lords of the Seven Kingdoms will eventually try to extinguish you."
Roman simply shrugged. "If I played by their archaic rules, Harrenhal would still be a melted, cursed ruin. The smallfolk would still be starving in the mud. Times are changing, Lord Eddard. Those who cling to the old ways will simply freeze."
Ned was left utterly speechless. The sheer geopolitical genius this young bastard displayed was terrifying. Ned truly doubted whether Roman was even the same species as his own teenage son, Robb.
The Old Bear remained silent, still processing the fact that a southern lord had permanently solved the millennia-old wildling conflict in a single month using economics and overwhelming violence.
"Lord Commander," Roman said, his tone growing deadly serious. "The Free Folk are no longer your enemies. But the true threat still marches in the deep North. You saw the ice spiders. You saw the wights. The Wall is about to become the most important structure in the world. I will ensure Harrenhal supplies you with everything you need to hold the line."
Having secured his alliances in the North, Roman officially marched his vanguard south.
Their journey back down the kingsroad drew spectacular reactions from the smallfolk. The massive, docile giants walking alongside the cavalry were a sight pulled straight from the Age of Heroes.
Lord Wyman Manderly hosted a massive feast when they reached White Harbor, loudly praising Roman as a legendary figure who brought ancient myths back to life.
By the time the fleet arrived at Maidenpool, the entire Riverlands was gossiping about Harrenhal's new giant laborers. Surprisingly, no one cared about the thousands of wildlings Roman had assimilated.
To the wealthy lords of the south, the isolated inhabitants of Crackclaw Point were basically considered wildlings anyway, so Roman's new laborers did not raise any political alarms.
When Roman finally returned to Kingspyre Tower, Lady Shella initially bristled at the idea of housing Free Folk within their pristine territory. However, upon inspecting the remarkably disciplined, clean, and polite workers Roman had brought back, her objections vanished.
"Lady Shella," Roman smirked, sipping his wine. "I told you they weren't savages."
With the Northern crisis officially resolved, the people of Harrenhal finally returned to their familiar industrial routines.
Late that night, in the quiet intimacy of Roman's private chambers, Fili sat on the edge of the bed in her silken nightgown. She gently wiped the dust and grime from Roman's massive, armored tail with a warm cloth.
Roman watched her delicate movements. He realized just how crucial she had been to the entire campaign. Without Fili's evolving telepathy and raven network, Roman would have spent months blindly fighting in the snow.
Roman suddenly wrapped his heavy tail around Fili's waist, pulling the gasping girl directly into his lap.
"Fili, your abilities evolved magnificently during this campaign," Roman murmured, his voice rumbling in his chest. "I must formally thank you. Without your intelligence network, we would likely still be freezing in the Haunted Forest."
"Hehe, I am simply happy to serve you, Lord Roman," Fili blushed, leaning into his warmth. "I still do not understand how I can suddenly converse with giants and see through the eyes of beasts. The power just bloomed inside my mind."
Roman knew her Apostle abilities were directly scaling with his own expanding draconic magic, especially after absorbing the energy from the Ice Spiders. But he did not care about the magical mechanics tonight.
Roman gently traced the line of Fili's jaw with his thumb. His glowing blue eyes swept over her alluring figure, and a wicked smile touched his lips.
"So, what reward does my brilliant spymaster desire for her exceptional service?"
Fili's face flushed a deep, magnificent crimson. "Lord Roman, you already know exactly what I want. Why must you tease me?"
Roman chuckled darkly, gently pressing the blonde girl back into the soft mattresses.
"You have worked tirelessly, Fili. It is time for you to finally get some rest."
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