Chapter 275

North of the Neck, aside from White Harbor, Robb and the hundred Winterfell guards accompanying him had never encountered a place as bustling as this.

The wooden houses were occupied by employees of the Night’s Watch logistics division, who worked in an orderly fashion to receive visitors, selling only grain, clothing, and essential supplies. Each entrance was guarded by at least four armed men to maintain order. Due to strict official pricing on key resources, transactions, despite the heavy foot traffic, were quick and silent: payment, identity verification, and delivery.

“For security, these shops don’t store any goods themselves. All critical supplies are kept in warehouses behind the walls. Every morning, logistics staff bring them out in carts to restock the shops before business begins. Essential goods like grain are sold in limited quantities, with each tribe restricted to purchases based on headcount. Tribes may choose to buy less to save money for other uses, but they cannot buy even a fraction more than their allotment,” Aegor explained as he led Robb and the inspection party along the final stretch of the King’s Road to Crown's Rest. “Weapons are prohibited on this street, except for Night’s Watch soldiers and logistics staff. Fights, arguments, or any disturbance of the peace are strictly forbidden. Violators face severe penalties.”

Robb nodded approvingly but was curious about Aegor’s last remark. “What kind of severe penalties?”

“Three levels, depending on the severity of the offense: fines, flogging, and hanging. The Gift doesn’t have the legal or judicial resources to establish a comprehensive system, so we’ve had to rely on simpler, more direct methods.”

“Just these three?” Robb raised an eyebrow. “It’s simple and direct, sure, but don’t you think it’s... excessive?”

“I understand your concern, but the Gift is unlike the rest of the Seven Kingdoms. There are no wealthy individuals here. Money is food, clothing, and tools—resources everyone depends on for survival. No one considers themselves wealthy, especially the newly arrived Free Folk, which means no one would dare treat fines lightly,” Aegor replied quickly. “It’s also important to note that fines aren’t levied on individuals alone; they apply to the offender’s entire tribe, calculated per head. Even if someone commits a grave offense and is flogged or hanged, the collective fine still applies.”

Robb was intrigued. “So even if the offender is executed, their entire tribe still bears the penalty?”

“Correct. It sounds harsh and unreasonable, but unprecedented situations require unprecedented measures. This approach not only motivates the Free Folk to self-regulate but also weakens the tribal divisions that might otherwise threaten the stability of the Gift.”

“Doesn’t that mean larger tribes suffer more?”

“We welcome large tribes splitting into smaller ones if they wish.” Aegor shrugged. No tribe had made such a request yet, but if it ever happened, he would wholeheartedly support it.

“And if a large tribe openly defies the Night’s Watch, sheltering their own and resisting your authority?”

“Thanks to a tribe called ‘Thule’ making an example of themselves, the Free Folk have already learned what happens when they challenge us. I’m doing everything I can to feed these people and keep them from being driven back beyond the Wall to die—or worse, sold into slavery across the Narrow Sea. I don’t ask for gratitude, just that they don’t make my life harder. If they can’t even give me that much, well... even someone as patient as I am can lose his temper.”

It didn’t take a genius to grasp Aegor’s underlying meaning. Robb had already heard about the events in the Gift. The strict management and hardline approach satisfied him. Having only asked casually, he had no intention of challenging Aegor further. As they continued riding, Robb’s attention was drawn to the lively market stalls.

Vendors shouted their wares, customers haggled loudly, children laughed and cried in the crowd. Pigs grunted, sheep bleated, and chickens and ducks clucked and quacked in a cacophony. Among the noise, music played—not particularly tuneful, but unmistakably present. Even Winterfell, the heart of Stark power, seemed serene in comparison to this lively chaos.

...

“Key resources are controlled by the Night’s Watch logistics division, but we allow the Free Folk to trade among themselves for other items—gathered goods, hunted game, handmade crafts, and livestock. Of course, the newly arrived Free Folk don’t have much to trade besides labor. Most of the vendors here are from the original Giftfolk—what you might call the ‘locals,’” Aegor explained.

Yarm, the appointed mayor of Crown's Rest, had executed Aegor’s plans flawlessly, even exceeding expectations. The scene before them was no mere façade for inspection. Through careful adjustments—deploying extra guards, tweaking key prices, controlling entry, and temporarily offering free food and lodging—Crown's Rest had been transformed into a bustling, orderly “capital of the Gift.”

Crown's Rest's appearance would shape Robb Stark’s first impression of the resettlement plan. And first impressions, as everyone knew, were often the most decisive in shaping decisions.

Robb wasn’t the only one intrigued by the market. As Aegor provided his detailed explanation, Arya suddenly jumped off her horse and ran toward the nearest stalls with unrestrained excitement.

Robb and the Winterfell guards immediately dismounted to follow their wayward charge, their expressions a mix of exasperation and amusement.

...

Arya wandered through the stalls, her sharp eyes darting from cages of chickens to stacks of gloves and boots. She chased a cat for a few steps before her attention was caught by the scent of roasted meat wafting from a small stall.

The stall’s proprietor was grilling skewers of small birds, rabbits, and unidentifiable rodents over a tiny stone stove. The skewers glistened with oil, emitting a mouthwatering aroma.

“What’s this?” Arya grabbed one of the skewers without waiting for an answer.

“Quail,” the vendor replied, frowning at her presumptuousness. But upon noticing the entourage of well-armed Northerners surrounding her, he quickly reconsidered his attitude. “Or maybe not. Just small birds—they taste the same. Stuffed with onions. Three copper coins.”

“And you’re charging me?” muttered one of the Winterfell guards. “Do you even know who this is?”

The vendor glanced at the group, unperturbed. “Doesn’t matter who—everyone pays.”

“Who brought money?” Robb shrugged, clearly uninterested in throwing his weight around. He wasn’t about to let his sister take the skewer for free, but as the Lord of Winterfell, he rarely carried small change.

“I’ll cover it.” Aegor stepped forward and handed over three coppers.

Arya bit into the skewer, crunching through the crisp onions and tender meat. She chewed enthusiastically and then announced, “I want another one!”

Aegor bought another skewer for her. With both hands now occupied, Arya turned to leave, but she paused, realizing it was impolite to eat alone.

“I’m fine,” Robb said, waving her off. “I’m not hungry.”

“If he won’t eat, you should, master!” Arya thrust the skewer toward Aegor.

Amused by her brazen generosity with his money, Aegor simply handed the vendor a silver coin and bought out the stall’s entire stock. Soon, the group was walking toward Queenscrown’s gates, each member munching on a skewer of roasted game.

...

“Crown's Rest allows all Giftfolk to visit, but only Night’s Watch personnel, logistics staff, and invited guests—tribal leaders or envoys from the Seven Kingdoms—are permitted inside the walls,” Aegor explained as they approached the town’s gates. “Most newcomers live outside in temporary housing—tents or refurbished ruins. Within the walls, there’s space for about a thousand residents, but I won’t risk letting them in. With these walls, ten thousand attackers wouldn’t take the town, but an internal uprising of just a few hundred could destroy it.”

Robb raised an eyebrow. “You don’t trust the new Giftfolk, yet you’re trying to convince me and others to support your resettlement plan?”

Aegor’s candor surprised him. “Trust isn’t the issue,” Aegor replied. “What matters is that we need their strength to survive the coming winter. Half the buildings inside these walls are for resource storage. The rest, besides housing logistics staff and Night’s Watch personnel, will be used for education.”

“Education?”

“When we allowed the Free Folk through the Wall, we demanded each tribe’s leaders hand over a child as a hostage. My plan is simple: control these children, and you control the tribes’ future. But this isn’t about chains and cages. These children will learn our language, grow alongside local Giftfolk and mountain clan children, and become bridges between us and their people. Through assimilation, the Free Folk will truly become part of the Gift.”

The gates of Crown's Rest opened as Aegor finished speaking, revealing Mayor Yarm hurrying forward with feigned surprise at the Northerners’ arrival. Aegor smiled, concluding, “Strict enforcement ensures order, while assimilation ensures loyalty. Relying on trust alone to secure the Wall’s future is foolish. With control, we hold the reins. That’s far more reliable than blind faith.”