Breathing Techniques

30AC

A week had passed since the vibrant energy of the harvest festival filled the halls and courtyards of Winterfell. The colorful banners had been taken down, the scent of roasting meat had faded, and the familiar quiet of the ancient castle replaced the sounds of music and laughter. The lords of the North, their bellies full and their minds buzzing with Lord Stark's ambitious plans, had returned to their respective holdfasts, carrying with them tales of new technologies, trade opportunities, and the unwavering resolve of the Warden of the North. Winterfell, once again, settled into its role as the steadfast heart of the North, awaiting the seeds of change to be sown across its vast and varied lands.

Godswood

Theon, Jonnos, and Brandon Stark stood silently before the ancient heart tree, the carved face seemingly observing their quiet reverence. After a moment of unspoken communion, their prayers offered to the old gods in the stillness of the godswood, Brandon turned to his sons, a questioning look in his eyes.

"Theon," he began, his voice soft in the tranquil setting, "you asked us to join you here. Why have we come?"

Theon exchanged a significant look with Jonnos before turning to face his father, his young face etched with a seriousness beyond his years. "Aye," he said, his voice hushed with awe, "the old gods… they showed me a vision. A warrior… unlike any I have ever imagined. He moved with a speed and power I could scarcely comprehend. I saw him… take down at least ten and five soldiers… alone… without breaking a sweat."

Brandon's brow furrowed, a hint of skepticism in his gaze. "Ten and five soldiers? Alone? So easily? That is a feat rarely seen, even amongst the most skilled knights and warriors."

Theon nodded, his conviction unwavering. "I know, Father. It was hard for me to believe at first as well. But the way he moved… the precision, the efficiency… it was like watching a force of nature. And after seeing the way he trained… the techniques he employed… you will believe it too." He then began to explain, his voice filled with a newfound intensity, the breathing techniques he had witnessed in his vision – the focused inhales and exhales, the rhythmic patterns that seemed to grant the warrior unnatural speed and strength, drawing parallels to what he had seen. He spoke of "Total Concentration Breathing" and other methods, describing how each breath could be a source of power and focus, allowing a warrior to push their body beyond its perceived limits.

Jonnos's eyes widened with excitement, mirroring the wonder in his brother's voice. "So, if we train like that," he exclaimed, a wide, joyful grin spreading across his face, "we can also take down fifteen soldiers easily! Imagine that!"

But Theon shook his head, a serious expression returning to his young face. "Aye," he corrected gently, "but we would have to train harder than any man has ever trained before. It is not that easy, brother. The discipline, the focus… it would demand everything of us."

Brandon Stark, watching his sons with a keen interest, stepped forward. The image Theon painted was extraordinary, almost fantastical, yet the boy's sincerity was undeniable. "Theon," he said, his voice firm, "you speak of these breathing techniques, this extraordinary training. Show me. Show me what you saw."

Theon closed his eyes for a moment, focusing inward. Then, he began to demonstrate the breathing technique he had witnessed in his vision. He inhaled deeply, the air filling his lungs, and then exhaled in a long, controlled burst. He repeated the process, his movements deliberate and focused, his chest rising and falling in a rhythmic pattern that seemed to emanate a strange intensity. There was a stillness about him, a concentration that seemed to sharpen his very presence.

Brandon and Jonnos watched in rapt silence. Brandon's usual stoic expression softened with astonishment, his brow slightly furrowed as he tried to grasp the nuances of the technique. Jonnos, who had been so enthusiastic moments before, now watched with wide-eyed wonder, his playful grin replaced by an expression of utter fascination. The focused breathing, the almost palpable shift in Theon's demeanor, was unlike anything they had ever seen. They exchanged gobsmacked glances, a silent acknowledgment of the unusual power that seemed to lie within this strange method.

Theon nodded understandingly. "Aye," he said, his voice respectful. "The vision showed me that there are different forms of this breathing, each perhaps more suited to different individuals and situations. What you experienced was likely a more intense form, designed for bursts of power. Others focus on endurance and sustained effort."

He continued, his gaze earnest, "But you are right, Father. This is not a simple trick. It requires the body to be trained to its absolute peak. We would need to push our strength, our speed, our stamina beyond what we currently believe possible. This breathing is a key, but it unlocks potential that must first be forged through rigorous training."

Jonnos, who had been listening intently, his earlier drowsiness completely vanished, bounced on the balls of his feet, his eyes shining with anticipation. "So, when do we start?" he blurted out, his voice brimming with excitement. "Tomorrow? Can we start training tomorrow?"

Brandon Stark turned to his younger son, a warm smile gracing his usually stern features at the boy's infectious enthusiasm. "Aye, Jonnos," he chuckled softly. "We shall begin this training from tomorrow. But for now," he gestured towards the path leading back to the castle, "your grandfather has called for a family meeting in his solar. We should not keep him waiting."

Lord Stark Solar

The atmosphere in Lord Torrhen Stark's solar was familial yet carried a hint of the weight of leadership. Gathered around the large wooden table were Torrhen himself, his strong features showing the wisdom of his years; his son Brandon, a pillar of Northern resolve; his good daughter Gilliane, her sharp intellect evident in her thoughtful gaze; and his grandsons, the bright and inventive Theon, and the eager and spirited Jonnos.

Torrhen's keen grey eyes swept over his family. "The council with the Northern lords these past days was largely successful," he began, his voice steady. "They embraced many of the ideas for trade and improvement. However," a slight frown creased his brow, "I sense that some houses, particularly Flint, Locke, and Dustin, may harbor some discontent. We presented opportunities for new crafts and crops, but none that directly utilize the unique resources of their lands. They left without specific goods or processes tailored to their holdings."

Theon nodded, his youthful face showing a maturity beyond his years. "Aye," he said, his voice thoughtful. "Even as we discussed the broader plans, I have been considering the products for houses like Flint, Locke, and Dustin. I am currently making preparations for it. It will take approximately a moon's turn to finalize these plans and have something concrete to present to them."

Brandon Stark, ever mindful of maintaining the unity of the North, added his suggestion. "Perhaps it would be wise to send letters to Lord Flint, Lord Locke, and Lord Dustin in the interim, Father. We can assure them that they have not been forgotten, and that we are actively experimenting with a few ideas that we believe will be beneficial to their lands. We can explain that these processes require a moon's time to refine before we can share them."

Torrhen Stark nodded in agreement. "Aye. I shall dispatch those letters immediately, assuring those houses that their contributions are valued and that we are working diligently on their behalf." He then turned his keen gaze to Theon. "Now, Theon, tell us. What are these preparations you are undertaking? What manner of goods are you speaking of for the Flints, the Lockes, and the Dustins?"

Theon's eyes lit up with enthusiasm as he began to explain. "Grandfather, I have been studying ways to utilize resources that are abundant in their regions. For the Flints, with their access to forests and perhaps certain minerals, I am developing processes for making soaps and shampoos. Imagine, Grandfather, a way to cleanse oneself thoroughly, leaving one feeling refreshed and clean, far beyond what simple water can achieve. This could become a valuable commodity, not just for the North but perhaps even for trade south and essos."

He then continued, "For House Locke, who control more fertile lands and potentially have access to certain fibers, I am exploring the production of paper. Think of the ease with which knowledge, accounts, and correspondence could be managed if we had a readily available supply of paper, rather than relying solely on parchment. This could revolutionize how we record and share information."

Finally, Theon addressed the needs of House Dustin, whose lands are known for specific types of earth and minerals. "And for the Dustins," he explained, "I am working on creating inks. Reliable, lasting inks that can be used with the paper we produce. Imagine the ability to create permanent records, beautiful illustrations, and easily reproducible documents. These inks could also become a valuable trade good."

Theon concluded, his voice filled with conviction, "These may seem like simple things, Grandfather, but their usefulness and benefits will be far-reaching, improving hygiene, facilitating communication, and creating new avenues for prosperity for these houses and the North as a whole."

"Aye," Lord Torrhen said, nodding thoughtfully as he considered his grandson's words. "Those seemingly simple things often prove to be of the greatest value. Soap for cleanliness, paper for knowledge, ink for records – a wise path you tread, Theon."

He then shifted his attention, a flicker of anticipation in his eyes. "Furthermore," he announced, his gaze encompassing his family, "the long search for the necessary materials and rare herbs mentioned in those ancient scrolls – the ones speaking of the 'lycan potion' – has at last been successful. Our contacts in the Free Cities have proven their worth."

He looked towards Brandon and Gilliane. "We now possess all that is required. I believe the time has come to begin. Theon's glass gardens offer the ideal controlled environment for nurturing these unique plants. Let us commence the planting without delay. And Brandon," he turned to his son, his expression resolute, "see to the initial brewing. Let us finally uncover the secrets held within those aged texts."

"Aye, Father," Brandon replied, nodding his agreement.

Then, Gilliane, her brow furrowed with concern, spoke up. "Father, Brandon, who should be the first to test this potion, once it is brewed?"

Before Brandon could answer, Torrhen Stark raised a hand, his gaze firm. "I shall be the first," he declared, his voice leaving no room for argument. "I am of age. If there are unforeseen consequences… well, the North will not lose a potential leader in his prime."

"Father, with all due respect," Brandon protested, stepping forward slightly, "surely I should be the one. I am stronger, younger…"

Torrhen held up a hand, stopping Brandon's protest with a look of quiet determination. "Brandon," he said, his voice firm yet tinged with a hint of melancholy, "what more can this old body truly offer in the years to come? Let me, at least, be of use in this endeavor. If this potion holds the promise we hope for, then my taking the first risk will ensure the potential benefits are realized by those who will lead the North long after I am gone. Allow me this, my son."

A heavy silence fell over the solar. Brandon looked at his father, seeing the resolve in his aged eyes, the unspoken weariness, and the deep love for his family and the North. Gilliane placed a comforting hand on Brandon's arm, her expression somber. Theon and Jonnos watched their grandfather with a mixture of concern and respect. Seeing the unwavering determination in Torrhen's gaze, and understanding his desire to contribute in this significant way, Brandon finally relented.

"As you wish, Father," he said, his voice filled with a reluctant acceptance. Gilliane and the grandsons nodded their agreement, a shared sense of gravity settling over the room.

Brandon, the matter of his father being the first test subject for the potion weighing on his mind, shifted the conversation slightly, seeking a more immediate and actionable topic. "Father," he said, turning to Torrhen, "Theon also demonstrated a… peculiar breathing technique he encountered in his vision. It seemed to grant him a focus and a stillness I have rarely witnessed. Even for the brief time I attempted it, I could feel a… a sharpening of the senses, though it was also physically demanding."

He continued, his brow furrowed in thought, "I believe this technique, if properly understood and trained, could be of significant use to our warriors. Imagine our shield wall holding firmer, our swordsmen striking with greater precision, our scouts moving with enhanced stealth and endurance. It would require rigorous discipline, but the potential benefits in battle and even in daily tasks could be substantial. We should explore this further, perhaps even incorporate it into the training of our household guards."

Torrhen Stark nodded slowly, his gaze hardening with a familiar Northern caution. "Aye, Brandon," he agreed, his voice firm. "If this… breathing art… truly holds such potential for strength and focus, then it is a valuable asset indeed. And like any valuable asset, it must be guarded. We strive for a stronger North, but that strength should not be offered freely to outsiders. For now, let us keep this knowledge within the family and perhaps our most trusted men. We will master it ourselves first, understand its depths, before we consider sharing it beyond our borders. The secrets of the North should remain our own, used to protect and strengthen our people."

Theon stepped forward, his youthful face alight with a strategic vision. "Grandfather," he proposed, his voice clear and decisive, "perhaps we should begin by creating a small, elite group of soldiers. Say, one hundred men. First, we would rigorously test their loyalty and their determination – their willingness to endure hardship and obey without question. Only those who prove their mettle would then be trained in this breathing technique. If it yields the results we hope for, if these hundred men become warriors the likes of which the North has never seen, then we can gradually increase their numbers, spreading this new strength throughout our forces."

Torrhen Stark listened intently, his keen eyes fixed on his grandson. He stroked his beard thoughtfully for a moment before nodding slowly. "Aye, Theon's idea has merit," he conceded. "A measured approach. Test the waters before we commit fully. Loyalty and determination are the bedrock of any good soldier. Let us find these hundred, test them, and then see what this strange art can truly do."

The Stark family then engaged in a detailed discussion, hashing out the specifics of Theon's proposal for the elite unit. They spoke of the criteria for selection – not just martial skill, but unwavering loyalty and an unbreakable spirit. They considered who would oversee the initial testing and training, agreeing that Brandon's martial prowess and Theon's understanding of the breathing techniques would make them ideal instructors. They also touched upon the logistics of such an undertaking: where these hundred men would be housed, how they would be equipped, and the resources required for their specialized training.

After a thorough and thoughtful exchange of ideas, the family reached a consensus on the initial steps. With a shared understanding of the path forward, they rose from the table in Torrhen's solar, the weight of their ambitious plans settling upon them. Each member then departed to attend to their respective duties, the seeds of a stronger North having been sown in the heart of Winterfell.