Theon was carefully examining the printing press machine that he had ordered to be made. It stood before him now, looking exactly as he had written and drawn in the sheets he had left behind before departing on his survey.
He could not help but recall his last life. There, he had studied these things deeply, and as a Counter Guardian he had traveled across time, witnessing firsthand how such machines were built and how they were used. His memory carried him back to the old world's turning point.
The printing press, he remembered, was a mechanical device that transferred text and images from movable type onto a print medium—most notably paper. It had been invented by Johannes Gutenberg in the 15th century, and it revolutionized the world. For the first time, information became accessible to the masses through the large-scale production of affordable books and other printed materials. Literacy spread, education flourished, and whole societies changed.
Gutenberg's genius had been to combine several innovations: a durable metal alloy for movable type, an oil-based ink, and a mechanical press adapted from winemaking equipment to apply even pressure. In Germany, around 1440, the goldsmith Johannes Gutenberg created the movable-type printing press, sparking what would later be called the Printing Revolution.
Where a scribe could copy perhaps a few pages in a day, and a hand-printing workshop forty, a single Renaissance printing press could produce as many as 3,600 pages per day. Gutenberg's hand mould made it possible to create uniform, reusable metal letters in large quantities—transforming printing forever.
From Mainz, the press spread swiftly. Within decades it had reached over 200 cities in a dozen European lands. By the year 1500, more than 20 million books had been printed. By the 16th century, that number had grown tenfold, to nearly 200 million volumes. Even across the ocean, Spaniards brought presses to New Spain in 1539, and by the mid-1600s, printing presses reached the English colonies in America.
This new enterprise even gave its name to a force greater than kings and queens—the Press. Its rise had broken the monopoly of the literate elite, weakened the power of Church and Crown, raised the middle classes, and spurred the growth of vernacular languages. It was, truly, the dawn of mass communication.
Later, in the 19th century, hand-operated presses were replaced by steam-powered rotary machines, capable of printing at an industrial scale. Theon remembered it all. And from this vast knowledge, he had chosen to draw a different model: the Stanhope press.
The Stanhope press, he knew, had been invented by Charles Mahon, the 3rd Earl of Stanhope, in the early 1800s. Unlike the older wooden presses, this one was cast entirely of iron. Its system of compound levers increased both power and efficiency, allowing greater speed and larger printing surfaces. It was squat, heavy, and sturdy, and it had changed printing in its own age. This was the design Theon had drawn for Winterfell.
His train of thought ended when he heard the maester's voice, filled with awe. "This… this will bring revolution in all the known world. Now we will not waste years writing by hand."
Theon turned. The maester was staring at him with wide eyes. "How did you get this idea?" he asked.
"I read it in a book that came from Yi Ti," Theon replied calmly. "And I confirmed it with our Yi Tish surveyor friends. But their press is not the same as ours."
"How does theirs differ?" the maester pressed.
Theon explained: "Their method is thus—they prepare an iron plate, then carve characters in sticky clay, thin as a coin's edge. Each character becomes a single type. These are baked in fire until hardened. The plate is coated with resin, wax, and ash, then the characters are set close together in an iron frame. Heated, pressed smooth with a board, the whole becomes a solid block for printing. It is clever, but slow."
The maester leaned closer as Theon continued: "But ours is different. This squat iron press will revolutionize printing. Its compound levers reduce the force required, and its iron frame gives both rigidity and speed. With it, we can press nearly 480 pages in an hour."
The maester's mouth fell open. "Four hundred and eighty pages? In an hour?" He whispered the numbers to himself, calculating, his hands beginning to shake. "That is… eleven thousand pages in a single day. Two full books, every day…" His eyes darted back to the machine, shining with disbelief. "I never imagined such a thing was possible."
Around them, the apprentices exchanged looks of excitement. They had labored long on this creation—shaping letters from iron, preparing the ink, assembling each part under the maester's supervision. And now the moment had come.
"Shall we test it?" Theon asked, looking from the maester to the others.
"Yes," the maester said at once, his voice hushed with reverence. "Yes, let us begin."
They set the type, placed the sheet, and pulled down the lever. The iron pressed down with smooth, heavy force. When the sheet was lifted, letters lay printed upon it, clear and sharp.
"Gods be good," one apprentice whispered.
"There are no blotches, no broken marks," said another, eyes wide with delight.
The maester took the sheet in his trembling hands. He studied the black letters carefully, then let out a laugh—pure, unrestrained joy. "This is revolution," he declared. "With this, we can write books without breaking our hands. We can spread learning across the North, across all Westeros. Everything will change."
Theon looked at the printed page and smiled. "It is complete. The result is perfect." He turned to the maester and the apprentices. "Now… what of the other things I commanded you to make?"
The hall fell silent, every face turning toward him with anticipation. The press was only the beginning.
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