Two days had passed since Alaric Stark slew the Night King in the heart of the Land of Always Winter. The battle's end unleashed a pulse of cold that swept across Westeros, chilling the air for a day—snow falling heavier in the North, rivers icing in the Riverlands, and Dorne's sands frosting briefly.
By the second day, the unnatural cold subsided, the sun breaking through, warming the world to its natural state.
Alaric, exhausted from his three-day chase, had claimed the Night King's ice-forged sword, its blade shimmering with an eerie blue glow. When he touched it, frost crept up his fingers, biting his skin.
With a grimace, he used Wood Style to craft a box of wood and sealed the blade inside. "Dangerous," he muttered, slinging the box onto his back.
For shelter, he summoned chakra, hands clapping. "Wood Style: Four-Pillar House!" Timbers rose from the frozen ground, forming a sturdy hut with a hearth blazing from a spark of fire jutsu.
There, he rested, eating from his supplies—dried venison, bread, and "Stark's Fire" whiskey—his body mending from the grueling pursuit.
After two days of recuperation, Alaric resumed his journey south on his ironwood hoverboard, its runes humming as it skimmed the snow. The True North felt different—the oppressive cold had eased, sunlight glinting off thawing streams, birds stirring in stunted pines.
The death of the Night King had shifted the land's heart. Seven days later, Alaric reached the Haunted Forest, gliding to the weirwood clearing where the Three-Eyed Raven dwelled. The massive tree's red leaves rustled, its carved face solemn.
Leaf, the Child of the Forest, emerged from the burrow, her golden eyes wide as she saw Alaric. She invited him inside.
Inside the Three-Eyed Raven sat, his withered body entwined with weirwood roots. His milky eyes gleamed, a smile cracking his ancient face. "You've done it, Alaric Stark," he rasped. "The Night King is dead. The Long Night's shadow lifts. I thank you, anomaly."
Alaric dismounted, bowing slightly, his eyes steady. "It was necessary, Raven. The living, deserve a world free of that threat."
The Raven's gaze sharpened. "What now, Stark? What will you do from now on?"
Alaric's voice was resolute. "I'll forge a kingdom here, beyond the Wall. The free folk need a way of life—order, not chaos. With the Night King gone, the cold weakened, my magic can make this land thrive. Orchards, homes, trade."
The Raven's said, his voice a whisper. "The free folk kneel for no one, Alaric. They're wild as the wind. "
Alaric said, "I don't need them to kneel, only to stop raiding south. I'll show them a path to livelihood."
The raven said, "Your heart's true, and your power vaster than any I've seen. I wish you luck in this task, Stark. You'll need it."
Alaric nodded, his grin confident. "Thanks, Raven. I'll make it work."
The Raven's eyes softened, turning to Leaf and the other Children of the Forest lurking in the shadows. "My purpose is done. The Night King's fall frees me." With a sigh, he detached the weirwood vines from his body, the roots releasing with a soft creak. His form slumped, life fading, and he passed into the afterlife, his 300-year vigil ended.
Alaric, honoring the greenseer, dug a grave near the weirwood's roots, laying the Raven's frail body to rest in the earth. "Rest well," he murmured, covering the grave with snow.
Turning to Leaf, Alaric's voice was gentle but firm. "The Night King's gone, Leaf. What will the Children do now?"
Leaf's golden eyes flickered with uncertainty, her voice like rustling leaves. "We thought slaying the Night King would take centuries. With Three-Eyed Raven gone, we… hadn't planned beyond. We've lingered in these woods, fading, untrusting of men who broke oaths long ago."
Alaric stepped closer, his eyes meeting hers. "Join me, Leaf. Help me build this kingdom. The free folk need guidance, and your wisdom could shape it. No Stark has ever broken an oath sworn before a weirwood. Let this tree bear witness: I, Alaric Stark, swear no harm will come to your kind under my rule. Any who threaten you will answer to my sword."
Leaf studied him, her gaze wary but softening. She turned to the other Children, their whispers a soft chorus in the cavern. After a long discussion, she faced Alaric, her voice steady. "Your oath holds weight, Stark. We accept. We'll join your journey, lend our knowledge to your kingdom."
Alaric's smile was warm. "Good. Rest tonight—we'll stay in the weirwood's shelter. Tomorrow, we begin."
The Children nodded, their forms retreating into the burrow. Alaric crafted a wooden shelter within the weirwood's roots, its warmth a bulwark against the night.
As he settled, his mind turned to the free folk, the vast lands beyond, and the kingdom he'd forge—a new North, born of magic and oath, under the watchful eyes of the old gods.
A/n : Where should he build his kingdom beyond the wall from the map given