The hall was quiet, save for the occasional crackle of the fire in the hearth.
Lord Wyman Manderly sat at the head of the table, his fingers steepled before him. Across from him sat his most trusted retainers—Ser Barth Whitesmile, Maester Theomor, and Captain Halys Hornwood, commander of White Harbor's household guard.
None of them spoke at first. The weight of their lord's silence filled the chamber.
Finally, Wyman let out a long breath. "My son has changed."
Barth, ever the loyal knight, chuckled. "Aye, my lord. He's grown sharper, more confident. A fine thing."
Wyman's eyes narrowed. "Sharper, yes. But also… different. His mind works in ways I do not recognize. A year ago, he was ambitious, yes, but cautious. Now he speaks of plans that would make a Braavosi banker blush."
Theomor, the oldest among them, adjusted his spectacles. "It is not uncommon, my lord. War, near death—such things change men."
Wyman shook his head. "This is more than that."
He gestured to the parchment before him—the designs for the carracks, the new forges, the expanded docks.
"He does not hesitate. He does not doubt. He speaks of ships that have never sailed these waters as though he has seen them with his own eyes. He knows things."
The room fell into a contemplative silence.
Then, Halys Hornwood spoke. "You think this is… unnatural?"
Wyman's lips pressed into a thin line. "I do not know. But I am not blind. My son was always intelligent, but this is something else."
A Son Reforged
Maester Theomor exhaled. "Perhaps, my lord, this is simply what the gods intended. Men rise to the challenge of their fate. Maybe Wylis has simply found his purpose."
Wyman sighed. "Perhaps."
Barth Whitesmile leaned forward. "And if this change is a gift, my lord? If it makes him great?"
Wyman closed his eyes for a moment, then opened them. "Then the North will have a leader unlike any before."
The Iron Fist of White Harbor
As the meeting ended, Wylis stood in the training yard, watching the guards practice their swordplay.
Odin's voice echoed in his mind. "They see the change in you. It unnerves them."
Wylis smirked. "Let them wonder. So long as they follow, I do not care."
"They will follow. But they will also watch. Never forget that power is not just taken—it is held."
Wylis turned his gaze to the shipyard beyond the castle walls. The first beams of the new docks were being laid. The first keel of his fleet was being shaped.
Let them watch.
Soon, all of Westeros would.