The dawn mist clung to Moat Cailin's cemented walls, where the North's twenty-five thousand stood defiant against Aegon Targaryen's sixty thousand and three dragons. Alaric Stark had summoned a four-hundred-meter wooden titan with his Sage Art: True Several Thousand Hands, its thousand arms poised like a god's wrath.
King Torrhen Stark and Brandon Snow watched from the battlements, their runed swords ready, alongside lords Harlon Umber, Torren Karstark, Ryman Bolton, Bennard Glover, Fenric Reed, and Rodrik Dustin. The North's innovations had forged a powerhouse, but Aegon's conquest tested their resolve. The North faced Balerion, Vhagar, and Meraxes, ridden by Aegon, Visenya, and Rhaenys.
High above, Aegon, ruby-crowned on Balerion, stared at Alaric's titan, his shock giving way to calculation. He turned to his sisters, his voice urgent over the wind. "It's wood, sisters—grand, but flammable. We press the attack from all sides, overwhelm him. Balerion strikes the center, Vhagar the left, Meraxes the right. He can't focus on three fronts. Burn that titan to ash, and the North falls!"
Visenya, astride Vhagar, gripped *Dark Sister*, her braid whipping. "A sound plan, brother. Wood burns, no matter its size. Vhagar's fire will take the flank. Strike fast, before he moves."
Rhaenys, on Meraxes, nodded, her silver hair streaming. "Meraxes will hit the right. Divide his attention, and we'll end this. Let's fly!"
The dragons dove, Balerion's black wings blotting the sky, Vhagar's bronze scales glinting, Meraxes' silver form darting.
Aegon's army below readied, expecting a rout.
Lords Loren Lannister, Garlan Tyrell, and Osric Tully watched, frozen, their men whispering prayers.
Alaric, atop the titan, sage mode lines glowing, waited, his grin sharp. As the dragons entered range, Alaric's hands moved, chakra surging.
The titan's arms lashed out, ten hands seizing each dragon with crushing force—Balerion's neck and wings pinned, Vhagar's legs bound, Meraxes' tail and jaws gripped.
The dragons thrashed, roaring, and loosed fire, flames licking the wooden hands.
Alaric countered, his chakra weaving through the wood, making the hands twist and clamp shut over the dragons' maws, stifling their fire.
Balerion's muffled bellows shook the air, Vhagar's claws raked uselessly, and Meraxes writhed, her wings pinned.
The North erupted in jubilation. Torrhen, on the walls, thrust *Stormdancer* skyward, laughing. "Alaric, you bloody marvel! Caught dragons like rabbits in a snare!"
Brandon, *Frostbite* gleaming, roared, "That's our brother! Aegon's lizards are done!"
Lord Harlon Umber bellowed, "Stark! Stark! Stark! Look at those beasts squirm!"
Lord Torren Karstark, awestruck, shouted, "Old gods, he's caged them! Alaric's titan's our salvation!"
Lord Ryman Bolton's smile was cold but genuine. "The prince has rewritten war."
Lord Bennard Glover cheered, "Dragons bound! Alaric's our shield!"
Lord Fenric Reed murmured, "The weirwoods sing his name."
Lord Rodrik Dustin roared, "Burn us now, Targaryen? Ha!"
Northern soldiers, fear banished, chanted, "Stark! Stark! Stark!" their swords raised, some weeping with joy, others praying thanks.
Aegon's army stood paralyzed. Lord Loren Lannister, golden armor dull, stammered, "Impossible… dragons caught like flies?"
Lord Garlan Tyrell, green cloak limp, gasped, "That wooden giant… it's alive! We're ruined!"
Lord Osric Tully, fish sigil pale, whispered, "No one moves, or we're pulp."
Southron soldiers dropped bows, some cowering, others muttering, "Mother save us…" Not a man stirred, fearing the titan's wrath.
Torrhen seized the moment, his voice booming. "Winter Wolves, to me! Ride and capture Aegon and his queens!" The hundred elite guards, mounted on enhanced wolves, surged from Moat Cailin's gates, their indestructible blades flashing, wolves howling.
Alaric leapt from the titan's head, landing with a quake. He sprinted toward Balerion, where Aegon clung, furious, his ruby crown askew. Aegon's violet eyes blazed, his voice a snarl. "You Northern sorcerer! I thought to burn you like Harren, but you mock me with this… abomination! Release my dragon, or I'll see you flayed!"
Alaric grinned, sage-eyes glowing. "Need help getting down, Aegon the Conqueror? Your lizards seem a bit… tied up."
He dodged as Aegon swung a dagger, cursing, "Damn you, Stark! You'll pay for this insult! My fire will consume you yet!"
The Winter Wolves arrived, their wolves leaping, surrounding Aegon, Visenya, and Rhaenys. Visenya, pinned by Vhagar's bindings, spat, "You'll regret this, wolf!"
Rhaenys, struggling on Meraxes, hissed, "This isn't over, Stark!"
The guards dismounted, binding the Targaryens with cords, their wolves snarling. Aegon fought, shouting, "Unhand me, you curs!" but the Wolves' strength overwhelmed him.
The titan's hands lowered the dragons, still bound, to the ground, their roars muted. Alaric, escorting the captives, led the procession to Moat Cailin. Northern troops parted, cheering wildly, "Stark!Stark! Stark!"
Lords Harlon Umber and Torren Karstark hoisted tankards, shouting, "To Alaric, dragon-tamer!"
Bennard Glover and Rodrik Dustin roared, "Prince of the North!"
Fenric Reed bowed slightly, murmuring, "The old gods' champion."
Even Ryman Bolton clapped, his voice soft, "Well done, prince."
Soldiers chanted, some tossing furs, others singing of old wolves and new titans.
Inside Moat Cailin's hall, Aegon and his sisters stood bound, defiant. Torrhen faced them. "Your dragons are caged, Targaryen. Your army's broken. Speak, or face the North's justice."
Alaric stood at Torrhen's side. The Southron lords, still outside, remained statue-still, their men trembling, no rescue dared. The North, united by Alaric's magic and steel, held victory, its titan towering as a warning to all Westeros.