Frost Giants. [She breathes the word out, not needing to ask any more questions. She imagined a giant, reanimated for the army of the dead, breathing ice instead of fire.]

Your Jotunhem sounds like what I've been told North of Westeros is like, or my home in the dead of years-long winters.

[When sometimes the clouds were so thick you didn't see daylight, and men wandered off to hunt with no intentions of returning. Terrible, but great]