Awakening

Winterfell – Night of the Fifth Name Day

The fire in the hearth had dimmed to soft embers, casting a warm orange glow over the stone walls of the nursery chamber. The twins, Theon and Jonnos, slept soundly beneath thick woolen blankets, their breathing quiet save for the occasional sleepy murmur.

But within Theon's mind, something stirred. Something old. Something not of this life.

The Dream

At first, there was only darkness — vast and endless, the kind that stretched beyond thought. Then, a shimmer of silver light pierced the void, and with it came the voice.

"Ah... so the boy begins to remember."

Theon's dream-self stood barefoot in the same void where once he had floated, aimless and forgotten. But this time, he knew.

His breath caught in his throat. Memories surged like a rising tide — memories not of the North. Of another life.

He saw flashes:

City skylines and humming machines.

Stories he once read — Naruto, One Piece, Game of Thrones...

And then...

"You have two choices," the voice of ROB echoed."Reincarnate in the normal world... or choose a world of fiction. With wishes."

He had chosen the second.

Images slammed into him like a wave crashing on rock:

A scroll compartment in the lord's solar, to be discovered at age five.

A potion to awaken the blood of direwolves in all of Stark kin.

The breath techniques of Demon Slayer.

The swordsmanship of Dracule Mihawk, stripped of haki but rich with talent.

The scientific brilliance of Senku Ishigami.

Ancient knowledge of magic runes and wards.

And lastly… a bond between Starks and ice dragons, as in Eragon.

He remembered now — everything. His choices. His death. The deal struck between souls.

In the dream, Theon whispered to the void, more to himself than to the voice.

Theon (dreaming):"I chose this... I asked to become a Stark. To change the North. To prepare it for what's coming..."

And then came the final echo — ROB's voice, faint but clear.

"The pack survives. The storm comes. Awaken, wolf of winter. It is time."

Back in the Nursery

Theon gasped awake in the dark. The wind howled against the stone walls, and for a moment, he felt disoriented, caught between two worlds. He sat up in bed, heart pounding, looking at his sleeping brother.

His hands trembled. Not from fear, but from certainty.

He was not just a boy. He was something else.

Theon (whispering):"The gods have not forgotten. And neither will I."

From the hallway beyond, a sudden creak echoed — soft, but distinct.

And something deep within the old stone walls of Winterfell stirred.

Winterfell – Early Morning Light

The first rays of sunlight filtered through the high windows of Winterfell, catching dust motes in their golden glow. The quiet hum of the keep awakening murmured through the stone, but the nursery remained still.

Theon Stark, sitting by the hearth wrapped in a wolf-fur cloak, stared into the fire, his grey-silver eyes focused not on the flames but on a vision — a future not yet written.

His mind, older than his body, carried memories of another world, and now, his new path had begun.

His Thoughts

"The North is strong — in pride, in blood, in history. But not in coin. Not in roads. Not in defenses. That must change."

He closed his eyes, drawing a mental map of the region. White Harbor, the only real port. Karhold, cold and isolated. Deepwood Motte, dense and distant. And then…

Moat Cailin.

"A fortress built for wars long past… still the gateway to the North. Crumbling. Mired in swamp. But it doesn't have to be."

A slow smile curled on his lips.

"If I rebuild Moat Cailin — not just as a keep, but as a trade hub, a fortress of learning, magic, and power — it becomes the North's shield and its teeth."

He looked across the room at his brother, Jonnos, still curled up in bed.

"He may not have the memories I do, but his spirit is fierce. Let him be the lord of Moat Cailin — a Stark to guard the Neck."

His vision expanded. Roads leading from Winterfell to Moat Cailin, guarded by rune-warded towers. Storehouses for grain. Wells that didn't freeze in winter. Training grounds for freefolk and lowborn alike. A northern army fed, armed, and loyal — not by fear, but by honor and prosperity.

"A united North. Fed by strength, not fear. Bound by blood and purpose."

He Stands

Theon rose from his place, stepping toward the frosted window. Outside, Winterfell was waking — smoke rising from chimneys, snow crunching under boots, distant voices echoing from the yard.

He placed a hand on the cold stone sill, his expression steel.

Theon (softly):"Moat Cailin will rise again. The Neck will be ours, fortified and proud."

"Jonnos will stand at its walls. And I… I will raise the North to heights not even the dragons dared imagine."

Winterfell – The Great Hall

The morning sun streamed through the high windows of Winterfell's Great Hall, casting its light on the long wooden tables where the Stark family gathered for breakfast. Lords from all corners of the North, who had stayed after the namesday celebration, were still present, eating and engaging in low murmurs about matters both important and trivial.

Though the hall was busy, Theon's mind was elsewhere. He had just recently awoken with the full weight of his memories from his past life, the knowledge of the wishes granted to him by ROB, and the responsibility that had already begun to settle on his shoulders. His future plans for the North weighed heavily on his mind, but for now, he would take the time to enjoy his family and observe the men who would one day serve him.

After finishing their breakfast, Theon and Jonnos stood up and excused themselves from the table. The two brothers exchanged a quiet look — they both knew what was on Theon's mind. With a silent nod, they made their way toward the courtyard, leaving the Great Hall behind.

Winterfell Courtyard

The courtyard was alive with the clanking of swords and the rhythmic thud of feet hitting the hard earth. Stark soldiers trained diligently in their drills, practicing their forms and techniques under the watchful eye of their commanders. The cold wind of the North stung at their faces, but it did little to deter them as they honed their skills.

Theon and Jonnos stood side by side, observing the soldiers as they moved with practiced ease. Their attention was sharp, their eyes taking in every move and considering how they could further strengthen the North, should the need arise.

As the hour passed, Theon felt the familiar weight of responsibility growing once again in his chest. He knew his grandfather and father would be in the solar discussing the state of Winterfell and the North. It was time to speak with them, to lay the foundation for the plans he had in mind. His resolve solidified, and he turned to Jonnos.

Theon (softly):"Let's go. It's time."

Jonnos simply nodded, his twin brother's intent clear. They both made their way through the halls, stepping lightly as they approached the solar.

Outside the Solar of Lord Torrhen Stark

When they arrived at the door to the solar, Theon motioned for Jonnos to wait. Theon then stepped forward to address the guard standing at attention outside. The guard, a seasoned man of Winterfell, gave him a respectful nod, but Theon could tell he was wondering what business the young lord had in mind.

Theon (calmly):"I need to speak with my grandfather. Please inform him that my brother and I wish to have a private audience."

The guard looked at Theon and Jonnos for a moment before giving a curt nod. He raised his hand and knocked twice on the heavy wooden door.

Guard (calling through the door):"My Lord, Lord Theon and Lord Jonnos Stark request an audience."

A few moments later, the door creaked open, revealing Lord Torrhen Stark sitting at a large desk in the center of the solar. Papers were scattered across it, and his eyes lifted slowly from his work when he saw his grandsons standing before him.

Torrhen Stark (gesturing to the chair opposite him):"Come in, both of you. What is it you need to discuss?"

Theon and Jonnos entered the solar, closing the door behind them. The room was warm, with the fire crackling in the hearth, casting a comforting glow on the walls.

Inside the Solar

Theon stood tall, his mind filled with the thoughts of what he needed to ask. He had no time to waste, so he got straight to the point.

Theon (respectfully):"Grandfather, Father, I need to speak with all family members. There are matters I wish to discuss concerning the future of the North, Winterfell, and my role in it."

He paused for a moment, feeling the weight of the moment, knowing that the decisions made here would affect not just him, but the entire North. He felt the eyes of his family on him, waiting for him to continue.

Theon (continuing):"I believe it is time for a family meeting. I would like to have my father and mother join us. All of us must be present to discuss the matters at hand. "

Torrhen Stark (eyes narrowing slightly as he studied Theon):"Very well, if you think it's important. We'll have Brandon and Gilliane join us. They will want to hear what you have to say, as will I. I sense there's something more behind this, Theon. But we will call them. I trust your judgment."

With that, Theon moved toward the door and signaled for the guard to fetch his, Brandon, and Gilliane. After a brief exchange with the guard, the door closed again, and the family waited for her arrival.

Theon stood silently, his mind racing with the plans he wished to share — the future he envisioned for Winterfell, the strength he hoped to build for the North. But for now, it was a waiting game.

Inside the Solar – Winterfell

The heavy door of the solar opened once again, and Gilliane Stark, with Brandon Stark following closely behind, entered the room. The air in the solar shifted slightly—a touch of warmth emanating from the hearth and the presence of his family.

Theon, already standing with his brother Jonnos by his side, watched his mother and father enter. As usual, his mother's steps were measured and dignified, while his father's were firm, the weight of his stature adding gravity to the room. Their eyes met Theon's briefly, and they exchanged nods of understanding. The room was now complete, and the moment of truth had arrived.

Brandon Stark (nodding to Torrhen):"Father."

Gilliane Stark (softly, acknowledging Torrhen):"Goodfather."

Torrhen Stark (smiling warmly at his daughter-in-law and son):"Ah, Gilliane, Brandon. Come, sit. We've been waiting."

Everyone took their seats around the large wooden table at the center of the solar. Theon stood tall, his eyes never leaving his grandfather as he spoke—with a weight behind his words, a seriousness in his tone that hadn't been there before.

Theon Stark (clearing his throat):"I appreciate you all coming. I did not wish to waste time with pleasantries, but I wanted to discuss something important."

Torrhen Stark (raising an eyebrow, his voice curious but serious):"Go on, Theon. What is it you feel is important enough to call a family meeting like this?"

Theon's eyes flickered between his grandfather, father, mother, and brother. He could feel the weight of the moment, knowing this conversation would set the course for what lay ahead. His grandfather's perceptive eyes made him pause for a moment, but he quickly regained his resolve.

Theon Stark (addressing them all):"It is about the future of the North, Winterfell, and our family. Last night, I had a dream. I know this may sound strange, but I must speak the truth of what I remember."

Theon's words hung in the cold air like mist off the Wolfswood—heavy and unwelcome."The Long Night will return. The dead will walk. The White Walkers will come again, from the lands beyond the Wall, and they will not stop until the world is drowned in silence and snow."

The chamber was silent save for the soft crackling of the hearth. Gilliane Stark, seated beside her husband Brandon, let out a sharp breath—not one of awe, but of skepticism laced with disbelief.

Gilliane Stark:"Theon... enough. I told you those tales when you were barely able to walk. They are meant to scare children into finishing their supper, not to be spoken of as truth by the heir of Winterfell."

She shook her head, brow furrowed, reaching across to place a hand on her son's.

Gilliane (firmly):"The North has real threats, my sweet boy. Raiders, famine, and wildlings. The dead do not rise."

Beside Theon, Jonnos shifted awkwardly in his seat, clearly unsure of what to say. He had heard the same tales from their mother—stories of ice demons and endless night whispered beneath the covers during deep winters. He glanced at Theon, uncertain whether his twin was still playing at something or truly believed what he said.

Jonnos Stark (softly, almost unsure):"But… it's just a story, isn't it? Like the Ice Dragon or the Last Hero? You're not saying it's real, are you?"

Theon did not respond immediately. Instead, he looked toward the two men who had remained quiet since he began—his father, Brandon, and his grandfather, Lord Torrhen. Neither had interrupted. Neither had questioned.

Torrhen's gaze was sharp and focused—the look of a man hearing echoes from his own past. Brandon Stark leaned forward now, the firelight dancing in his grey eyes, but he said nothing.

It was Torrhen who finally broke the silence.

Torrhen Stark (his voice low, weathered):"Your mother says the dead do not rise. But she never spoke the words passed from Stark to Stark, Lord to Heir."

He turned his gaze to Gilliane—not in accusation, but with the gravity of ancient truths.

Torrhen (to her):"You were never meant to know—not until it became necessary. It is not a tale to frighten babes. It is our burden."

Gilliane's mouth tightened, her doubt now twisted with confusion—and something colder: fear.

Brandon Stark (finally speaking):"It is true. We do not speak of it lightly, even within these walls. Every Stark heir learns it. Every Lord Stark carries it in silence: the Long Night is not legend. It is memory."

Jonnos looked from his father to his grandfather, stunned into stillness. Theon met his eyes and gave a small nod, confirming what his twin could hardly believe.

Theon (quietly):"It will happen again. Before the Long Night, there will be a long summer. The North must be ready."

A hush fell over the solar. Jonnos sat still as stone. Gilliane no longer spoke. Brandon watched his father, Lord Torrhen Stark, with narrowed, searching eyes.

The old wolf moved slowly to the window, his hands clasped behind his back, gaze turned northward, as though he could see the Wall from here. After a long silence, he finally spoke—his voice a low gravel, worn by age and burdened by memory.

Torrhen Stark:"Do you know what Aegon said to me… on the third night of our parley at the Neck?"

He turned, looking not at Theon, but at the flames in the hearth."He did not speak of conquest, or dragons, or crowns. He spoke of the cold. Of shadows on the snow. Of a darkness that comes when the world forgets the old truths."

Theon's breath caught. Brandon leaned forward.

Torrhen:"He told me of a dream. A dream that came to him in sleep, as Targaryens sometimes see. He saw a darkness falling over the world, and a wall of death sweeping down from the true North. He saw the living turned into wights, ancient creatures riding pale horses. He saw a battle to end all things... and a prince, born of ice and fire, who could stand against it."

Gilliane murmured:"A prophecy?"

Torrhen (nodding):"He called it the Song of Ice and Fire."

He looked at his grandson now—at Theon.

Torrhen:"You wonder why I knelt. Many still think it was fear of dragons. But that night, I realized the dragons were not our enemy—at least, not yet. Aegon sought more than thrones. He sought to unite Westeros because he believed the realm would only survive the Long Night if it stood together."

Gilliane (her voice heavy):"And so you chose unity over pride."

Torrhen:"Aye. I bent the knee not to spare lives, though it did. I bent it to give the North a place in the world to come. So when the darkness returned, we would not be alone."

The solar was quiet again—but a different kind of silence now. Reverent. Awed. Fearful.

Theon stepped forward, his voice calm but certain.

Theon:"Then it's begun. That dream—it wasn't just Aegon's. It's mine now, too. I remember more than I should."

Torrhen Stark looked long and hard at his grandson, the firelight catching in his grey eyes, ancient and storm-worn."Tell me then, Theon," he said quietly. "What more did you see in this dream of yours?"

Theon stood straighter. His voice was steady, but a weight hung on each word, as though they had been carried across lifetimes.

Theon:"I saw a dragon exiled across the sea, stripped of crown and kin, gathering fire and fury in the lands of Essos. A mother of dragons, alone... yet not broken."

His mother, Gilliane, frowned."A dragon in exile? What does that mean?"

Brandon Stark didn't speak, but his eyes were sharp now—measuring, listening with the care of a lord reading signs in the snow.

Theon (continuing):"I saw a stag sit the Iron Throne—but not by his strength. He needed the wings of the falcon, the cunning of the fish, the howl of the direwolf... and even the roar of the lion to seize the crown. All was well until the stags fell."

Jonnos looked to his brother, confused."You speak in riddles, brother. Stags and fish and falcons?"

Torrhen raised a hand gently to silence the room."Sigils," he said softly. "The great houses. House Arryn is the falcon. Tully, the fish. Stark—we are the wolf. And the lion… Lannister."

Torrhen:"Then tell us, Theon... what became of the Starks when the stag fell? And what of the Long Night?"

Theon:"After the stag king died—the one who broke the crown—the realm shattered into war. The lion in the stag's clothing devoured the throne, and the wolf marched south to avenge blood. Robb Stark. He was named King in the North. A young wolf, bold and proud. He won every battle, but lost the war. Betrayed at a wedding feast. Slaughtered with his mother... while under guest right."

The silence was sharp now—the word guest right struck like ice through the room.

Brandon Stark's jaw tensed."The old gods do not forgive that."

Torrhen nodded solemnly."No, they do not. Continue."

Theon:"Winterfell was burned. The North bled. The lion sat in the south. And then... the Long Night came again."

Jonnos's eyes widened. His mother looked away.

Theon (continuing):"The dead rose beyond the Wall. An army of cold and silence, led by a king with eyes of blue fire. The Free Folk fled. The Wall fell. The North stood alone—broken, scattered."

Torrhen (whispering):"The Night King."

Theon looked up."Yes. The true enemy. One that doesn't care for thrones or names—only the end of all things."

Brandon:"But we survived, didn't we? There was still a Stark?"

Theon:"There were no more Starks. The Boltons ruled the North from Winterfell. But they weren't ready."

Torrhen leaned back slowly, his voice low and thoughtful.

Torrhen:"So... there was no Prince Who Was Promised?"

Theon:"There was. But he didn't live to see the Long Night."

Brandon straightened, his brow furrowed in disbelief.

Brandon:"What do you mean? He died? How could he die? He was the Prince Who Was Promised! How could he die before the Long Night?"