Journey through North

37 AC

Theon Stark Pov

Ten moons. Ten moons since Jonnos and I rode out from Winterfell, leaving Mother's worried face in the courtyard. A year was her condition, a bargain struck with honeyed words and promises of swift return. But this journey was more than a mere survey of the North's progress. With each league we covered, with each lord we greeted, I was about a more secret task. In the heart of ancient keeps, beneath the watchful eyes of the heart trees, the ward stones were placed, a silent network of protection spreading across our lands. All the major holdfasts now held this hidden defense, all save Bear Island, its stark silhouette rising from the churning grey of the Bay of Ice as our longship pitched and rolled.

My mind, however, was not on the spray of the sea or the cries of gulls. It was fixed on the slow, deliberate changes taking root in the North. The canal, a raw gash in the earth, was nearing a fifth of its completion, a testament to the sheer grit of our people. Moat Cailin, a ruin for centuries, would rise again with the spring thaw, its strategic importance magnified by the lifeblood of the new waterway. And a quiet hope stirred within me as I considered the slow increase in our numbers. Soap, a simple thing, had stemmed the tide of sickness. Whispers of work and a healthier life had drawn back some of those who had sought their fortunes south, their return a quiet strengthening of our lands. Bear Island. The final ward stone awaited.

Jonnos' elbow dug playfully into my ribs, jolting me from my reverie. "Still brooding, brother?" he teased, a familiar grin on his face. 

"I was thinking," I retorted, though my heart wasn't truly in the playful jab. My mind had been wrestling with the weight of our secrets and the future of the North.

"Aye, thinking about how to make the snow fall upwards, no doubt," Jonnos chuckled. He followed my gaze towards the horizon. "Well, stop your deep thoughts for a moment. Look."

My eyes focused on the coastline of Bear Island as it drew nearer. But instead of the expected rugged cliffs and the stoic banner of House Mormont, a scene of chaos unfolded. Longships, bearing the unmistakable marks of reavers – lean, swift vessels with menacing figureheads – were assaulting the shore. Flames licked at what appeared to be small fishing villages, and the sounds of battle – the clash of steel, the shouts of men, and the terrified screams of the innocent – drifted across the water.

"Reavers," Jonnos breathed, his usual jovial demeanor instantly replaced by a grim alertness. "Attacking Bear Island?" A knot of cold dread tightened in my stomach. This was unexpected and deeply troubling. 

"Jonnos!" I barked, my voice sharp with urgency. "Tell the guards! Prepare for attack! Now! And order the captain to make all haste towards the shore. We need to reach them, and quickly."

My hand instinctively went to the hilts of Jon and Theo beneath my tunic. This was large raiding party; the scale of the attack suggested something far more organized, far more dangerous. 

The moment the ship scraped against the sandy shore, before the anchor even fully bit, I was moving. Jonnos was a heartbeat behind me, our guards surging forward in a disciplined wave. The air was thick with the acrid smell of burning wood and the metallic tang of blood. Reavers, their faces masked in savage glee, were hacking at fleeing villagers, their axes rising and falling with brutal efficiency.

Jonnos and I moved as one, years of training and an unspoken understanding guiding our every step. He took the left, his bastard sword, Winter's Bite, a whirlwind of steel, cleaving through raiders with brutal force. I moved to the right, Jon and Theo flashing in deadly arcs, their enchanted edges biting deep. We kept a constant awareness of each other, a silent dance of death against the chaotic backdrop of the raid. A reaver lunged at Jonnos from the side, but I was there in an instant, Theo intercepting the blow while On found its mark. Another tried to flank me, only to be met by Jonnos' furious assault. We were the teeth of the wolf, tearing into the pack of jackals despoiling Northern lands.

The chaos of battle swirled around me, a dizzying vortex of clashing steel and desperate cries. I caught sight of the woman with the spiked mace. I watched in a strange daze as she brought the brutal weapon down on a reaver's head with a sickening thwack, the force of the blow sending the man sprawling. Without a pause, she whirled, her green eyes locking onto two more raiders charging towards her. She moved with a primal grace, a furious bear protecting her cubs.

My own body moved on instinct, parrying wild swings and delivering swift strikes with On and Theo. But my focus was fractured, my mind captivated by the raw power and fierce beauty of the warrior before me.

"Theon! Gods damn you, Theon, fight!" Jonnos' voice, laced with exasperation and a hint of fear for my well-being, finally pierced through my stupor. He blocked a clumsy axe blow aimed at my back. "What are you gaping at? We're in the thick of it!"

"I… I can't help it," I murmured, my eyes still locked on the woman as she roared a challenge and smashed her mace into another reaver's chest. "Look at her, Jonnos. She fights like a storm."

"A storm that will leave you bleeding in the sand if you don't pay attention!" he snapped, shoving me back from a lunging reaver. "Focus, brother! We can admire fierce women later, after we've sent these kraken-kissers back to the sea!"

Despite his urgent words, my gaze kept drifting back to her. The way her brown hair whipped around her face with each brutal swing, the unwavering ferocity in her green eyes as she met the gaze of her enemies, the sheer, untamed power in every movement – it was mesmerizing. She was a force of nature, unleashed and terrifyingly beautiful.

Even as the last of the reavers fell silent, their bodies littering the blood-soaked sand, my eyes remained on her. She stood amidst the carnage, her chest heaving, the spiked mace dripping crimson, her gaze sweeping the battlefield with a possessive, protective fury. I couldn't look away.

Northern soldiers, their faces grim but victorious, were now assisting the shaken smallfolk, offering water and tending to the wounded. Lord Theomore Mormont, a man built like the granite cliffs of his island, his face etched with worry but his eyes holding a flicker of gratitude, approached us, his son and the fierce woman I had watched in battle flanking him.

I found myself still somewhat dazed, my gaze lingering on the woman, her brown hair streaked with sweat and blood, the spiked mace still clutched firmly in her hand.

Jonnos nudged me sharply in the ribs, a knowing smirk on his face. "Gods, Theon, try not to look quite so lovesick. Lord Mormont is addressing you."

I blinked, forcing my attention away from the captivating warrior. Lord Mormont stood before us, his expression grave. "Lord Stark," he said, his voice rough but sincere, "and your brother. Your arrival was… timely. We are in your debt."

Beside him, a younger man, his features bearing a resemblance to his father but less weathered, offered a curt nod. "Bryen Mormont," he introduced himself, his gaze assessing.

Then, her green eyes, sharp and direct, met mine. "Diana Mormont," she stated, her voice firm and unwavering, the same fierce intensity I had witnessed in battle still radiating from her.

"Lord Mormont," I replied, finally finding my voice, offering a respectful bow. and introducing to ourselves to Bryne Mormont and Diana Mormont, "Theon Stark, and this is my brother, Jonnos. We were… fortunate to arrive when we did. We are glad we could be of assistance." Jonnos echoed my greeting with a more boisterous nod.

Lord Mormont gestured towards the path leading inland. "The keep is not far. You have fought bravely alongside us. Come, we should make for Mormont Keep. There is much to discuss, and you both deserve food and rest." His gaze swept over the carnage on the beach. "And we have much to account for this… unexpected assault."

As we walked the path towards Mormont Keep, the grim evidence of the reaver attack lining our way, I voiced my concern. "Lord Mormont," I said, the image of the burning villages still vivid in my mind, "we should send word to King's Landing. King Aegon needs to know of this brazen attack."

Lord Mormont shook his head, his expression weary. "With all due respect, Lord Stark, I fear such a measure would be as effective as spitting into the sea during a storm. These were ironborn, make no mistake. Their longships, their savagery… it bears their mark. But they flew no banners, swore no allegiance to the Iron Throne in this act of piracy. When the raven arrives in King's Landing, the ironborn lords will feign ignorance, claiming these were rogue reavers, acting on their own. The King will have no proof, no lord to hold accountable. It will be our word against theirs, and our word carries little weight against the ironborn in the eyes of the Iron Throne when no banners are flown." His voice was heavy with years of dealing with the unpredictable brutality of the ironborn. "We must rely on our own strength here, Lord Stark."

As we reached the sturdy walls of Mormont Keep, the grim atmosphere of the battlefield slowly giving way to the relative safety within, Lord Mormont extended guest rights. A palpable sense of relief settled over the weary islanders as they began to tend to their own.

"Rest now, Lord Stark, and you as well, Lord Jonnos," Lord Mormont said, his voice gruff but sincere. "The maids will show you to your chambers and see to it that you have hot water for bathing. You have both earned it."

"Thank you, Lord Mormont," I replied, offering a weary nod. He returned it, then turned and strode away, Bryen and Diana flanking him. My gaze, however, lingered. Diana Mormont, even amidst the grime of battle, possessed a raw, captivating presence. The way she carried herself, the unwavering intensity in her green eyes… I found myself watching her as she spoke briefly with her father, her movements decisive and strong.

Jonnos' smirk widened, his eyes dancing with mischief. "Seven hells, Theon," he chuckled, leaning closer. "I've seen you stare at maps with less intensity. Did that mace-wielding she-bear steal your tongue along with those reavers' teeth?"

He nudged me again, a playful glint in his eyes. "I always knew you had a soft spot for the… spirited sort. But Lady Diana? She looks like she could wrestle a bear and win. Perhaps you finally found a woman who could keep you in line?"

Jonnos clapped me on the shoulder, his laughter rumbling in his chest. "Don't worry, brother. I won't tell Mother you've fallen for a She bear. Though, a Mormont lass… they're known to be fiercely loyal. Might be a good match for a brooding wolf like you."

He lowered his voice conspiratorially. "Did you see the way she handled that mace? Maker's breath! She moves like a storm. Perhaps you should ask her to show you some… techniques. For self-defense, of course." He punctuated his suggestion with a suggestive wiggle of his eyebrows.

"Come on, brother," Jonnos continued, his teasing relentless. "Though, I wouldn't blame you if you dreamt of spiked maces and green eyes tonight."

And like that, my first day on Bear Island, bought in blood and witnessed through a haze of unexpected fascination, was indelibly marked by the relentless, and ultimately endearing, teasing of Jonnos.