Four moons had passed since Alaric had connected the North to the Beyond-the-Wall. Now, he stood by the Teleportation Ring in his castle, Winterhold, the massive structure of carved weirwood and silver runes humming with expectant power.
A moment later, the gate flared with blinding emerald light. Out stepped Torrhen Stark, the King in the North, his wife Maege Stark nee Mormont, and beside them, their ten-year-old son and heir, Edric Stark.
"Welcome, brother, good sister, and little nephew," Alaric greeted them, striding forward to embrace the King. He held Maege in a tight, familiar hug. "Maege, you look well. Did the journey through the mirror not give you too much of a shock?"
Maege laughed, pulling back. "It felt like stepping from a fire into a sunbeam, Alaric. You make the impossible mundane. But look at you—you've built a whole country up here!"
Torrhen, still recovering from the shock of instant travel, could only stare past Alaric. His eyes, and Maege's, were drawn immediately to the Godswood. There, piercing the heavy clouds, was a sight to defy all reason: the seven-hundred-foot weirwood tree, a colossus of white bark and scarlet leaves, its presence demanding silence and reverence.
"By the Old Gods…" Torrhen whispered, Maege only managing a choked gasp. Edric, however, simply stared up, his mouth open, a look of pure awe replacing any fear.
"It anchors this kingdom," Alaric explained, a note of quiet pride in his voice. "It is the source of warming runes that keep this fortress comfortable. Come."
Alaric led them into the grove. The air here was alive with a silent hum.
"Do you smell that?" Edric whispered to his father, wrinkling his nose in confusion. "It smells like sweets."
"That, nephew, is the smell of pure magic," Alaric said.
A small, green-skinned being stepped forward, its eyes large and golden. This was Leaf, the leader. "Welcome, King Torrhen, and Queen Maege," Leaf's voice was a soft, musical rustle, like dry leaves skittering across stone.
Torrhen and Maege were gobsmacked. "The Children of the Forest are real," Maege breathed, gripping Torrhen's arm.
"They are real, and they are protected," Alaric confirmed. "They have chosen this forest as their dwelling."
Edric, utterly unfazed by the sight of the strange, delicate creatures, broke away and ran toward a group of the Children's young. "What are you playing?" he asked, his voice ringing with excitement. He immediately sat down and began talking to them, seemingly understanding their soft whistles and gestures.
"He's certainly his Alaric's nephew," Maege murmured to Alaric, smiling tenderly at Edric. "Always running toward the strangest thing in the room."
"He has the sight of a King," Alaric agreed. After a brief, respectful conversation, where Alaric explained the Children's role as guardians of the wild, he led his family away.
After a tour of the rune-heated Winterhold Castle, Alaric proceeded to the outermost layers.
They stopped at the Giant's Village—a dizzying sight of colossal, wooden dwellings. They met Wor Tun Dah Meg, the amiable leader of the giants.
Edric, peering up at the massive structures and tools that looked like logs with handles, was wide-eyed. "Are their beds bigger than the Great Hall?" he asked Alaric.
"Nearly," Alaric chuckled.
"Truly, Alaric," Torrhen admitted, shaking his head. "You have achieved a working relationship with races our ancestors only fought with."
"Mutual respect, brother," Alaric corrected.
The middle layer, the sanctuary for his enhanced beasts, was the true climax. As they reached the edge of the forest, Alaric gave a sharp, clear whistle. After a tense silence, the ground began to tremble.
The first to emerge was Akela, followed by the twenty members of her pack. They were majestic and terrifying—Direwolves whose shoulders were easily three times the height of a typical warhorse. Akela, with her midnight-blue coat, was a truly monstrous size, her green eyes fixed entirely on Alaric.
Torrhen's jaw went slack. He stared at the blue-furred alpha, then whipped his head to Alaric. "What sort of monstrosity have you created now, Alaric? Aren't the huge wolves in Winterfell not enough? You've created Direwolf cavalry?"
Alaric only chuckled, scratching Akela's immense head. "The Targaryens have dragons, brother. Why shouldn't the Starks have Direwolves as our ride? You cannot face the future with the weapons of the past. These are my living shields, and soon, yours."
Torrhen rolled his eyes, a flicker of tired resignation in his expression. "I should have guessed you would do something like it."
Alaric knelt and urged Edric forward. Taking the boy's hand, he guided it onto Akela's thick, soft fur. The massive wolf leaned down, letting the boy's fingers brush her head.
"Brother," Alaric said, standing. "You can choose one of them as a partner. They are tamed, and they will never harm our blood unless ordered."
Torrhen watched the tender interaction between his son and the massive beast. "I thank you, but I will not tear a pack member from the den where it has grown. They are happiest here." He smiled warmly. "When the pack grows too large, send a few through the gate. They can roam the Godswood there freely and serve as an invisible guard."
Alaric nodded, pleased. "A wise decision. Edric will soon learn to ride one of their enhanced brothers here. Now, we have one last stop: the military barracks. I want you to see the true strength of the new North."
Alaric led his brother's family past the direwolf sanctuary and through the final, thick wall, into a vast, sprawling complex humming with disciplined activity. This was the military core of the Winter Kingdom.
The air here was sharp with the scent of pine and polished steel, and the sounds were a rhythmic clash of practice swords and the deep, rumbling calls of giants. Warriors drilled in meticulously ordered ranks: Free Folk men and women, their furs and hides replaced with reinforced leather armor; children of the First Men, larger and sterner than any southron soldier; and towering Giants, easily twenty feet tall, practicing maneuvers on the backs of their massive, enhanced mammoths.
Torrhen, the battle-hardened King in the North, felt a chill that had nothing to do with the temperature. The raw, organized power here was staggering. He stopped, scanning the marching ranks and the colossal, fortified structures.
"Alaric," Torrhen said, his voice low and serious. "The sheer scale of this is... frightening, even to a Stark. How many souls have you gathered here? What is the total strength of this new kingdom?"
Alaric gave a small, confident smile, sweeping his hand over the barracks. "Total population stands at 120,000, brother, gathered from every tribe and clan beyond the Wall. And of that number, we have an active, professional fighting force of 30,000 warriors."
Torrhen's eyes widened, calculating.
"Thirty thousand? That is nearly as large as the entire strength of the North's levies, and yet these... these are full-time soldiers. You have done more than unite the Free Folk; you have built a powerful new nation-state capable of challenging any kingdom in Westeros, even the Dragon King."
Maege, ever the pragmatic Mormont, looked impressed. "And do all thirty thousand have access to your strength potions, Alaric? I imagine that makes them truly unmatched."
Alaric shook his head, a shrewd, calculating look in his eyes. "No, Maege. Not yet."
He lowered his voice slightly. "The potion is reserved only for those whose loyalty is proven absolutely, generally through years of service and blood oaths."
Torrhen nodded slowly, absorbing the information. "A necessary caution. The loyalty of the Free Folk, however won, is still new. You are a good commander, brother."
Later, back at the Teleportation Ring, Torrhen prepared for the transit back to Winterfell, the sheer weight of what he had seen pressing down on him.
"You have created a shield for the North that no dragon can burn through, Alaric," Torrhen said, placing a hand on his brother's shoulder. "But tell me honestly: when does the shield become the sword? Does this ultimate power, this knowledge of yours, have an ultimate ambition?"
Alaric met his brother's gaze, his green eyes clear. "My ambition is simple: safety for our family and freedom for those who seek it. Aegon came to conquer. I showed him that the North is untouchable. As long as I am alive, the Winter Kingdom guards the North's back, and no one, from Dragonstone to Dorne, will force us to kneel. Trust in that, Torrhen."
Maege stepped forward, giving Alaric one last firm hug. "We do, brother. Bring Edric home when his training is complete."
Alaric laughed, nodding. Edric gave his father and mother a wave, already impatient to begin his training. As the King and Queen stepped through the activated gate and the emerald light vanished.