The morning after Alaric Stark's pact with the Children of the Forest, he and the twenty Children, led by Leaf, began their journey toward the giants' lair in the far north.
Alaric, his hoverboard slung across his back, walked alongside the small, dappled figures, their golden eyes glinting in the pale sunlight.
The True North's cold had softened since the Night King's death, the snow less biting, the air hinting at life.
Alaric didn't know the giants' exact location, so he turned to Leaf, his voice calm. "Lead the way, Leaf. Where do the giants dwell?"
Leaf's voice was like rustling leaves. "Deep in the Frostfangs, beyond the Skirling Pass. A week's journey, if we move swiftly."
Alaric nodded, and they set out. Each night, Alaric clapped his hands, summoning chakra. "Wood Style: Four-Pillar House!" Timbers sprouted from the snow, forming a sturdy hut to shelter the Children, its hearth blazing with fire jutsu.
The twenty Children took turns resting, some keeping watch, their spears of weirwood and obsidian ready.
Each morning, Alaric dismantled the house with a gesture, the wood sinking back into the earth, leaving no trace.
During the journey, he spoke with the Children in the Old Tongue, his words halting but improving, their ancient language flowing like wind through branches. "You're learning fast, Stark," Leaf said, her eyes approving. "Few men bother with our tongue."
Seven days later, they reached the Frostfangs, a rugged valley where the giants' lair sprawled—a camp of mammoth-hide tents, bone fires, and crude stone forges.
A hundred giants loomed, their shaggy forms towering ten to fifteen feet, wielding clubs and axes of stone. Twenty giant children, smaller but still massive, played among scattered bones. And Mammoths of 60 in number.
Alaric stepped forward, his voice booming in the Old Tongue. "I am Alaric Stark! I seek your leader!"
The giants turned, their heavy brows furrowing, eyes curious but not hostile. They glanced at the Children of the Forest, unstartled by their presence—giants and Children had coexisted for millennia—but shocked to see them following a human openly.
A nearby giant, his beard braided with bones, grunted and gestured. "Follow. Wor-Tun-Dah-Meg leads us." He led Alaric and Leaf through the camp, giants parting like trees before a storm, their gazes fixed on the small man.
At the camp's heart, Wor-Tun-Dah-Meg sat on a boulder throne, his frame massive, his stone axe resting across his knees. His eyes, like polished flint, studied Alaric. "I am Wor-Tun-Dah-Meg, king of giants," he rumbled in the Old Tongue. "This is Leaf, known to us. Who are you, man, and why come here?"
Alaric bowed slightly, his voice steady. "I am Alaric Stark, Prince of the North. I've slain the Night King, ended the Long Night's threat. I come to fight for leadership of your tribe, to pave a new way—order, life, a kingdom beyond the Wall."
Laughter erupted, giants bellowing, their voices shaking the valley. Wor-Tun-Dah-Meg's chuckle was a landslide. "You, little man, defeat me? You think you can lead giants?"
Alaric's grin was sharp, his sage-eyes glinting. "I don't think—I know."
The giant king's laughter faded, his eyes narrowing. "Bold words. I accept your challenge. When do you fight, and what preparations?"
Alaric's hands rested on his sword hilt, the dragonglass-iron-weirwood blade which he named Brisingr sheathed at his hip. "I'm ready now."
Wor-Tun-Dah-Meg rose, his axe in hand, and strode to a clearing beyond the camp, a flat expanse ringed by giants and Children.
Alaric followed him. The two faced each other, the giant towering, his shadow swallowing Alaric's smaller form.
For a moment, they locked eyes—Wor-Tun-Dah-Meg's flinty gaze meeting Alaric's eyes, now glowing with black-and-green lines as he entered sage mode, his strength surging beyond mortal limits.
Alaric moved first, a blur of speed. He darted forward, aiming a kick at the giant's leg. Wor-Tun-Dah-Meg snorted, expecting no harm, but the chakra-enhanced blow struck like thunder, forcing the giant's leg forward.
The leader stumbled, crashing onto his back with a tremor that shook the earth. Giants gasped, jaws dropping; the Children's golden eyes widened.
Alaric seized the moment, grabbing Wor-Tun-Dah-Meg's massive form with both hands, chakra amplifying his strength. With a grunt, he hurled the giant across the clearing, the king landing with a thud that scattered snow.
The giants stood stunned, the Children whispering in awe. They knew Alaric's magic—his forests, his flames—but his raw physical power was a revelation.
Wor-Tun-Dah-Meg roared, enraged, scrambling to his feet and snatching his stone axe. He swung, the weapon whistling, but Alaric dodged effortlessly, his sage mode sharpening his senses.
The giant's attacks grew wilder, axe cleaving air, but Alaric wearied of dodging. He kicked the giant's leg again, staggering him, then sprinted to a thick pine nearby. Wrapping his arms around its trunk, Alaric uprooted it, roots snapping like twine. Holding the tree like a massive club, he advanced, dodging the giant's swings and striking back.
The pine thudded against Wor-Tun-Dah-Meg's arm, then chest, each blow precise, wearing him down. Seeing an opening, Alaric swung the trunk at the giant's head, knocking him unconscious with a dull crack. The leader collapsed, snow billowing around him.
Silence fell. Alaric lowered the tree, his breath steady, and turned to the gathered giants. Their eyes, once mocking, now gleamed with respect. The Children, though shocked, nodded in approval.
Alaric's voice rang out in the Old Tongue. "Wor-Tun-Dah-Meg lives, but I've bested him. I claim leadership—not to rule as a tyrant, but to guide. Join me, giants, and we'll build a kingdom here, with the Children, for all free folk."
A giant elder, his beard white as snow, stepped forward, nodding. "You fight like Mag the Mighty, Stark. We follow strength. Lead us."
Alaric sheathed his sword, his sage mode fading. "Rest tonight. Tomorrow, we begin forging this kingdom—together." The giants roared their assent, and the Children, led by Leaf, joined the chorus, their voices a hopeful wind in the frost.