Gifts

Theon slowly turned from the newly revealed doorway, his expression serene despite the blood still trickling down his leg. His gaze swept across the stunned faces before him: his grandfather, Torrhen Stark, whose usually stoic features were now etched with disbelief; his father, Brandon, his worry warring with a dawning curiosity; his mother, Gilliane, her hand still hovering in the air as if she couldn't comprehend what she had just witnessed; and his younger brother, Jonnos, his eyes wide with a mixture of fear and awe.

"I saw this room," Theon said, his voice calm and steady, cutting through the bewildered silence. "I saw it in my dreams. The old gods… they have shown me the path. They have also given me gifts," he continued, his gaze holding a strange intensity, "gifts that will ensure the prosperity of the North, gifts that will help us endure the Long Night." He gestured towards the open doorway, the darkness within seeming to pulse with an unseen energy. "This is but the beginning."

Torrhen, his initial shock giving way to a cautious curiosity, was the first to move. He stepped through the opening, the flickering torchlight casting long, dancing shadows into the newly revealed space. Brandon and Gilliane exchanged a hesitant glance before following, Jonnos close behind, his youthful apprehension battling with an undeniable sense of wonder. Theon brought up the rear, a quiet knowing in his eyes.

The air within the hidden room was still and carried the scent of aged parchment and cool stone. Their torchlight revealed a chamber filled with an astonishing array of objects. Stacks of bound books and rolled scrolls lined shelves carved into the walls, their leather and vellum darkened with age. Gleaming swords of various lengths and designs leaned against the walls, alongside sturdy-looking shields emblazoned with faded sigils. In one corner, a small hoard of gold coins shimmered invitingly, interspersed with the soft luster of pearls and the sharp brilliance of a few scattered gems that caught the torchlight like captured stars. A sense of forgotten history and unexpected wealth hung heavy in the air.

Torrhen cautiously picked up a brittle scroll, its edges softened with time, and unfurled it. The script was archaic, the symbols unfamiliar. Brandon peered over his shoulder, his brow furrowed in confusion. Gilliane, meanwhile, examined a heavy tome bound in dark leather, its pages filled with intricate diagrams and strange symbols.

"Potions… to turn Starks into direwolves?" Torrhen read aloud, a deep skepticism coloring his tone. Brandon snorted softly. "Magic? Runes to forge steel and raise wards? This seems like the fanciful tales of wet nurses, not the serious knowledge we need." Gilliane nodded in agreement, her expression doubtful. "Surely, Theon, your dreams have led you to old wives' tales."

Theon watched their reactions with a patient understanding. "The old gods do not deal in falsehoods," he said, his voice firm but gentle. "They showed me these things for a reason. Trust in their wisdom. I know it sounds unbelievable, but I know these things are true. I felt it in my bones, in my blood." He stepped closer, pointing to a particularly complex diagram in the open tome. "Look here. The way the runes are aligned… it speaks of imbuing steel with the strength of the ice, the resilience of the mountains. And these potions…" He gestured to the scroll Torrhen held. "They are a connection to our ancient lineage, a power that lies dormant within us."

He then shifted his gaze, a new intensity entering his eyes. "And it is not just these secrets of old that the gods have shared. I have seen ways to improve our lands, new methods of farming that will yield greater harvests, designs for stronger fortifications that will withstand any siege, knowledge of trade routes that will bring wealth to the North. This room… it is a treasure trove, not just of magic, but of practical wisdom that will lift us from the hardships we have endured." His conviction, the unwavering certainty in his voice, began to chip away at their skepticism, a seed of reluctant belief taking root in their hearts.

Theon met each of their gazes, his own filled with an earnest plea. "Believe in me," he urged, his voice resonating with a profound sincerity. "There is no falsehood here, no trickery. No one among us knew of this room. It was lost to the turning of ages, forgotten by time itself. The old gods chose me to see it, to reveal it. They guided my steps, showed me the way in my dreams. Trust in their ancient wisdom, trust in the path they have laid before us. This is real. This is our future."

Torrhen Stark, his gaze unwavering, studied his grandson for a long moment. The flickering torchlight played across Theon's earnest face, highlighting the intensity in his eyes. Finally, a slow nod creased the corners of his weathered features. "I will believe you, Theon," he declared, his voice carrying the weight of his authority. "If the old gods have truly shown you these visions, then it must be for a reason. Our ways are old, and sometimes the old paths are the truest ones." He looked around the hidden chamber, a newfound respect entering his gaze. "We will learn what this room has to teach us."

"Agreed," Theon affirmed, his gaze sweeping over his grandfather, father, mother, and brother. "No one outside the blood of Stark must know of this place. Trueborn or bastard, it matters not, as long as the blood of the wolf flows in their veins. But under no circumstances should the maesters learn of this room. They are grey rats, chained to their books and their logic, and they believe magic has no place in this world. They would dismiss it, study it, dissect it until its power is leached away. This knowledge, these gifts, must remain within our family, a secret strength for the times to come."

Torrhen nodded his assent, his gaze lingering on the ancient texts and gleaming weapons. "Wise words, Theon. This secret shall remain within the family." After spending more time within the hidden chamber, each of them absorbing the weight of its contents, they prepared to leave. They took a mental inventory of the treasures revealed: books detailing potent potions and forgotten magic, scrolls filled with intricate runes for crafting and protection, a collection of sturdy bronze swords and shields already etched with what appeared to be powerful runes, a substantial hoard of roughly a million silver stags – a fortune nearly equivalent to eighty thousand golden dragons – and a scattering of luminous gems and lustrous pearls. With a shared understanding of the importance of their discovery, they made their way back through the concealed doorway, leaving the secrets of the old gods undisturbed once more.

Once they stepped back into the familiar surroundings of the lords' solar, Torrhen Stark turned to his family. "Aye," he said, a thoughtful expression on his face. "Let us take our leave and take our meal. This information we have received in this short period… it will take many hours, perhaps even days, to truly grasp its significance. Let us meet again tomorrow, at the same hour, here. We will discuss how best to proceed." With that, the Starks, each lost in their own thoughts about the hidden room and its implications, left the lords' solar.