After defeating Wor-Tun-Dah-Meg and claiming leadership of the giants, Alaric healed Wor-Tun-Dah-Meg with his medical jutsu. That night, Alaric Stark sat by a roaring bone fire in the giants' camp, its flames casting shadows across the Frostfangs' rugged slopes.
Leaf, the Child of the Forest, perched nearby, her golden eyes reflecting the firelight, while Wor-Tun-Dah-Meg, the former giant leader, sat across, his massive frame bruised but respectful, his stone axe laid aside.
The air was crisp, the cold softened since the Night King's fall. The twenty Children of the Forest and a hundred giants, including twenty children, murmured around smaller fires, their voices a low hum of curiosity.
Alaric spoke in the Old Tongue, "We need a place for our kingdom—one that can sustain the free folk, giants, and Children. A stronghold for trade, growth, and safety. Where should it stand?"
Leaf's voice was like rustling leaves. "The land's heart must be strong—near water, defensible, tied to the old gods. The Fist of the First Men, south of here, has stood since the Dawn Age. It's a hill ringed by stone, with rivers nearby, good for building."
Wor-Tun-Dah-Meg grunted, rubbing his bruised leg. "Fist's solid. High ground, hard to storm. Giants know it—hunted there for centuries. Rivers mean fish, mammoths can graze nearby. But it's far from our lair."
Alaric nodded, his eyes glinting. "The Fist's central, closer to the Wall for trade with the North, defensible yet open. We'll start there, build a foundation. If it thrives, the rest of your people can join." He turned to Wor-Tun-Dah-Meg. "Choose ten giants to come with me and Leaf. We'll scout the Fist, pick the best spot. Once the kingdom takes shape, the rest of your tribe can move."
The giant nodded, his beard shifting. "Ten strong ones—my best. We trust your strength, Stark." He called out names, and ten giants—tall, shaggy, armed with clubs and axes—stepped forward, ready to follow.
At dawn, Alaric, Leaf, the twenty Children, and the ten giants set out for the Fist of the First Men. To speed the journey, the Children rode on the giants' shoulders, their small forms secure as the massive strides ate the distance.
Alaric glided on his hoverboard, its runes humming. The journey from the giants' lair to the Fist took five days, the group moving through thawing valleys and past frozen streams now trickling with meltwater.
On the fifth day, they reached the Fist of the First Men, a broad hill ringed by ancient stone walls, its slopes dusted with snow. Rivers sparkled on three sides, and the Skirling Pass's mountains loomed to the west, offering natural defenses.
Alaric dismounted, surveying the land. "This is it," he said, pointing to a flat expanse between the Fist and the Pass. "Mountains guard one side, rivers the others. Fertile soil, water for fishing, grazing for mammoths. We'll build here."
Leaf nodded, her eyes bright. "A good heart for your kingdom, Stark. It needs a weirwood to bind it to the old gods."
Alaric gestured to the center of the chosen site. "Plant a weirwood seed here, Leaf. I'll help it grow."
Leaf knelt, placing a small, pale seed into the earth, her hands glowing with green magic.
Alaric entered sage mode, black-and-green lines etching his face, and poured chakra into the seed.
The ground trembled as roots erupted, a weirwood sprouting at an astonishing rate, its trunk thickening, red leaves unfurling. Within moments, it towered, its canopy vast. "Carve its face, Leaf," Alaric said.
Leaf approached, her obsidian knife flashing as she carved a solemn face into the bark, sap bleeding red.
Alaric channeled more chakra, and the tree surged upward, its trunk widening, branches stretching until it stood seven hundred meters tall, matching the Wall's height, its red eyes glaring across the wilds.
The giants, watching, dropped their clubs, jaws agape. They'd seen Alaric's strength in combat but not his magical prowess. The Children whispered in awe, their voices like wind through leaves.
"Gods…" Wor-Tun-Dah-Meg muttered, his flinty eyes wide. "You raise trees to rival mountains, Stark."
Alaric, satisfied, turned to the giants. "This weirwood's the heart of our kingdom. Now we build." He clapped his hands. "Earth Style: Great Wall!" The ground rumbled as stone walls rose around the weirwood, fifty feet high, encircling the site but leaving arched gateways for passage.
Next, he approached the weirwood, hands glowing. "Wood Style: Spiral Stair!" Timbers wove around the trunk, forming a sturdy staircase spiraling to the tree's crown, a vantage point to survey the land.
The giants and Children stared, their shock giving way to resolve. Alaric's voice rang out. "This is the start—walls, a weirwood, a foundation. Next, we'll build homes, forges, fields. Giants, Children, free folk—we'll make a kingdom to rival Winterfell."
Leaf's golden eyes gleamed. "The old gods watch, Stark. This land will live again."
Wor-Tun-Dah-Meg nodded, gripping his axe. "We'll bring the others. Build with you, Stark."
Alaric's eyes shone with purpose. "Good. Rest today—tomorrow, we continue." The group settled beneath the weirwood's vast canopy, the giants' fires roaring, the Children singing softly in the Old Tongue.
The Fist of the First Men, once a ruin, now pulsed with the promise of a new kingdom, forged by Alaric's magic and the unity of ancient races.
A/n: I'm looking for suggestions on which types of houses should be built in cold weather, considering it will be as cold as in Winterfell since the Night King is dead. Should it be using wood or using stone? Or are there any other suggestions you want to add tothe kingdom for its layout and other things.