Theon Stark Pov

31 AC

Theon Stark Pov

A year had passed since the momentous discussions within Lord Torrhen's solar. The seeds of change planted that day had begun to sprout, nurtured by dedication and relentless effort. In the courtyard of Winterfell, the familiar sounds of clanging steel and shouted commands were now punctuated by a rhythmic cadence of deep breaths.

Theon Stark, now a year older and bearing the mark of focused intensity, stood amidst a hundred hand-picked soldiers. Sunlight glinted off their sweat-soaked brows as they moved through a series of demanding exercises, their movements precise and powerful, each inhale and exhale carefully controlled. Theon's voice, though still young, carried an authority that commanded attention, guiding them through stances, strikes, and the now-familiar breathing techniques. He moved amongst them, offering corrections, encouragement, and demonstrating the proper forms with a fluid grace that belied his age. The air thrummed with a focused energy, a testament to the year of rigorous training that had transformed these men into something more than mere soldiers.

The cool Northern air filled my lungs as I watched the hundred train. A year. A full year since the vision, since the hushed discussions in Grandfather's solar. A year of sweat, of aching muscles, of pushing these men – and myself – beyond what we thought possible. Beside me, Jonnos mirrored my gaze, a proud grin on his face. He'd thrown himself into this endeavor with the same fervent energy he applied to everything.

"They move well, Theon," he commented, his voice a low murmur above the rhythmic exhales of the soldiers. "Faster, stronger."

I nodded, a sense of satisfaction warming me despite the biting wind. "Aye." I watched as a hulking guardsman, usually clumsy and slow, executed a series of rapid strikes with surprising speed and precision, his breath controlled and steady. The change in them, in us, was undeniable. We were forging something new here, something that could truly make the North stronger.

"Jonnos," I began, my gaze drifting from the training soldiers to my brother. "It's been a year. Grandfather took the first draught of the lycan potion nine moons ago. We've seen the… changes. We need to discuss our own path with it."

Jonnos shifted uncomfortably, his usual enthusiasm dimming. "What is there to discuss, Theon? Father and Mother were clear. They forbade us from even considering it until we are older. They said the transformation is too… volatile for young bodies. We just have to wait." His voice held a note of reluctant acceptance, but I could sense a flicker of curiosity beneath it.

"Aye," I replied, my voice firm. "I am also not happy with it but our fifteenth name day… that's only four years away. Given what we've seen Grandfather go through, the strength it grants, the… other aspects… shouldn't we at least start considering it? Preparing ourselves? Five years might seem long, but it will pass quickly. We need to be ready."

A small smile touched my lips at his words. That was Jonnos. Always steadfast, always by my side. "Yes," I agreed, my voice softening. "Together. Just as we've always done. When our fifteenth name day comes, we will face it together." A sense of shared resolve settled between us, a familiar comfort in our unbreakable bond. The unknown future still held its uncertainties, but facing it with Jonnos made it feel less daunting.

I stood there, watching the rhythmic movements of our elite guards, the Wolfpack. Reincarnation, memory lock. Though the faces around me—my brother, the training soldiers—were familiar and loved, beneath the surface of my current life flowed the echoes of another.

A year. A year of pushing the boundaries of what the North knew. The small-scale production of those essentials was underway, slowly but surely integrating into our daily lives. And the drinks… vodka, whiskey, gin, rum, brandy. The initial batches were… rough, but the potential was there, a new source of trade and perhaps even a way to soften the harshness of our winters.

My gaze drifted towards the horizon, where the newly erected windmills dotted the landscape. Distributing those to the Northern lords had been a logistical challenge, but the promise of increased productivity – grinding grain faster, powering simple machinery – had been a powerful motivator. It was a slow burn, this modernization, but each small step felt like reclaiming a piece of the knowledge that had been locked away, a knowledge that could elevate the North. Though the lycan potion, the breathing techniques, the swordsmanship of Hawk Eye Mihawk, and the magic gifted by ROB held immense potential, the simple necessities, the drinks, the windmills – these were the seeds of progress I had consciously sown, a foundation for a stronger, more prosperous North built on the bedrock of innovation. The memory lock might be lifted, but the drive to build, to improve, remained a core part of who I was, who I am.

The lycan potion, the breathing techniques, swordsmanship of Hawk Eye Mihawk, and magic which ROB had gifted him. I will start searching for the Ice dragon after my five and ten name day. I should be able to bond with more than one dragon. I think Jonnos and Lyrra can also bond with them.

Lost in my thoughts of future advancements and the looming decision of the lycan potion, I didn't hear her approach. A sudden, light hand smacked my shoulder, and a cheerful voice chirped from behind, "Lost in your head again, Theon?"

I turned to see Lyrra, her bright blue eyes sparkling with amusement. Her brown hair, usually braided neatly, had a few strands escaping, framing her mischievous smile. Jonnos, ever the more outwardly affectionate one, grinned widely at our sister. "Lyrra! Where have you been? Sneaking around again?"

Lyrra giggled, stepping between us and looping an arm through each of ours. "Someone has to keep an eye on you two wolves. Besides," . Lyrra's grip on our arms tightened, her playful demeanor shifting to one of earnest insistence. "So," she began, her gaze flitting between Jonnos and me, "you two have been training these guards in some… special way, haven't you? I've seen the difference. They move like shadows now. It's more than just drills. It's the way they breathe, isn't it?" Her eyes, sharp and intelligent, missed nothing. "You have to teach me. I want to learn these breathing techniques too." There was a determined set to her jaw, a familiar Stark stubbornness that mirrored our own. "I won't be left behind."

"Lyrra," I began, my voice gentle but firm, "of course we will train you. You're our sister. But this breathing technique… it's demanding. It puts a strain on the body, especially when it's still growing. Father and Mother were hesitant even for Jonnos and me at ten name days." I exchanged a look with Jonnos, who nodded in agreement.

"You're still young, Lyrra," I continued, placing a hand on her shoulder. "But that doesn't mean you can't train. In fact, you should. How about archery for now? You have a natural talent for it. We can start you with proper form and technique. When you reach your tenth name day, the same age we started, then we'll begin teaching you the breathing. It's a promise."

"Come on then," Jonnos said, clapping Lyrra on the back with a grin. "Archery it is! You've got a good eye, Lyrra. We'll just need to teach you how to channel it."

I nodded in agreement. "The basics are key. Stance, grip, draw, and release. It's all about consistency." We led Lyrra across the courtyard towards the archery range, the familiar scent of wood and straw filling the air. Several targets stood at varying distances, waiting.

Jonnos picked up a bow that was appropriately sized for Lyrra and showed her the proper way to hold it, his hands gently guiding hers. I retrieved a quiver of arrows and demonstrated the correct way to nock an arrow and draw the string smoothly.

"See how my feet are shoulder-width apart, Lyrra?" I explained, positioning myself sideways to the target. "This gives you a stable base. And your grip should be firm but not too tight, like holding a bird gently."

Jonnos then showed her how to draw the arrow back, keeping her elbow high and her eye focused on the target. "Don't rush it," he advised. "Take a deep breath and aim carefully."

We took turns guiding her, correcting her posture, and offering encouragement. Lyrra listened intently, her brow furrowed in concentration as she mimicked our movements. Her initial attempts were clumsy, the arrows flying wide of the mark. But with each try, her form improved, and the satisfying thwack of an arrow hitting the target became more frequent. Her laughter, filled with a mix of frustration and triumph, echoed across the training grounds. Even though she couldn't yet learn the breathing techniques, her training had begun.

The midday sun beat down on Winterfell as Jonnos, Lyrra, and I made our way to the Great Hall, the satisfying ache of training settling in our muscles. Lyrra, flushed with the exertion and the thrill of hitting a few targets, chattered excitedly about her progress. After a hearty meal, the weight of future plans tugged at me. Leaving Jonnos and Lyrra to their own devices, I made my way to Grandfather's solar.

The familiar scent of old parchment and woodsmoke greeted me as I entered. Grandfather sat by the window, the midday light illuminating the lines etched on his face. He looked up as I entered, a knowing glint in his grey eyes.

"Theon," he greeted, his voice a low rumble. "Come in. I had a feeling you would seek me out."

"Grandfather," I began, settling into a chair opposite him, "I've been thinking about the future of the North. About connecting our lands, making trade easier."

I unfolded a rough map I had been working on. "In four years, perhaps less if the winter holds off, I believe we can complete proper roads connecting all the major holdfasts. This will ease the movement of goods and men across the North significantly."

Then, I pointed to a bold line I had drawn on the map. "But that is only the beginning. I propose we undertake a far more ambitious project: the construction of a canal. By connecting the Fever River to the Narrow Sea, we can create a navigable waterway that effectively links the Sunset Sea to the Narrow Sea."

Grandfather's brow furrowed, his skepticism evident. "A canal of that scale, Theon? The cost, the manpower…"

I anticipated his concerns. "The initial investment will be significant, Grandfather, but the long-term profits will far outweigh it. Think of it: ships from the Sunset Sea will no longer have to brave the treacherous journey around the Cape of Good Hope to reach the eastern coasts. Trade with the Free Cities, with Essos, will become faster, safer, and more profitable for our Northern lords who have ports on the Sunset Sea. The increased flow of goods will bring wealth and opportunity to the entire North. It will take about 10 years for completion" I pointed out potential tolls, the growth of shipbuilding and related industries along the canal, and the strategic advantage of being able to move ships quickly from one side of the North to the other.

As I laid out the potential economic benefits, the increased tax revenue, and the strategic implications for our naval power, Grandfather's initial skepticism began to wane. He leaned closer, studying the map, his fingers tracing the proposed route of the canal. After a long silence, a slow smile spread across his face.

"By the Old Gods, Theon," he said, a hint of pride in his voice, "your vision is bold… but I believe you may be right. The potential… it is immense. We will need to discuss the logistics, the financing… but yes, let us begin planning this. A canal linking the seas… it would change everything."

"And Grandfather," I continued, my mind already racing with further plans, "while we are undertaking such grand projects, we must also look to our defenses. Moat Cailin… it is a shadow of its former glory. Only three towers remain of the twenty that once held back the Andal invaders for generations. It is a vital strategic location, the gateway to the North, yet it is dwindling."

I pointed to the map again, where the proposed canal snaked its way. "With the canal we are planning, we can revitalize Moat Cailin. The increased trade flowing through the canal will naturally lead to increased traffic and the need for services and infrastructure. We can rebuild the fallen towers, fortify its walls, and establish it as a major trading hub, a nexus point where land and sea routes converge."

I looked at Grandfather with a hopeful glint in my eyes. "And who better to oversee such a vital undertaking, to mold this strategic fortress and burgeoning trade city, than Jonnos? He has the spirit, the loyalty, and wisdom to rule it well. Appointing him as Lord of a restored Moat Cailin would not only secure our southern border but also provide him with a crucial position of power and responsibility."

Grandfather stroked his beard, his gaze distant as he considered my proposal. The restoration of Moat Cailin was a long-held dream, a symbol of the North's resilience. Combining it with the economic potential of the canal and entrusting it to Jonnos… it was a bold, ambitious vision. He looked back at me, a thoughtful expression on his face. "A trade city at Moat Cailin… and Jonnos as its lord. It is a grand ambition, Theon. One that would require significant resources and careful planning. But," a slow smile spread across his lips, "it has the fire of true vision. Let us discuss this further. This day has brought forth plans that could reshape the very future of the North."

"Aye," Grandfather said, a fond smile touching his lips. "Jonnos is a bright lad, full of spirit. He has a good heart and a keen mind. Giving him such a responsibility… it would allow him to grow, to prove his worth. The idea of Moat Cailin as a thriving trade hub, guarded by a Stark… it has a certain appeal."

He leaned back in his chair, his gaze thoughtful. "Now, let us delve into the finer points of these grand designs. The canal… the route, the engineering challenges, the cost. And Moat Cailin… the rebuilding, the infrastructure for trade, the defenses. We must consider the resources required, the manpower, and the potential obstacles. This will not be a task for a single season, or even a single year. But with careful planning and unwavering determination, we can make this vision a reality. Tell me, Theon, what are your initial thoughts on the practicalities of such undertakings?"

And so, we spent the remainder of the afternoon poring over maps and discussing the intricate details of our ambitious plans. We talked about potential routes for the canal, the types of labor that would be required, and the materials needed for both the waterway and the reconstruction of Moat Cailin. We considered the economic implications, the potential for trade agreements, and the strategic advantages these projects would bring to the North. The solar, filled with the weight of history and the promise of the future, became our planning chamber, the birthplace of a new era for the Stark dynasty and the vast lands they ruled.