Our farewells to Lord Willas Manderly were brief but warm. He stood at the castle entrance, a grand carriage already waiting. "Princess," he said, indicating two sturdy Northmen in Manderly colors, "these men will guide you on the first leg of your journey."
"Thank you, Lord Manderly," I replied, genuinely grateful for his hospitality. "For everything."
The carriage lurched forward. We traveled for perhaps twenty minutes, the landscape outside transforming from city to rolling hills, when the Manderly guard leading our escort raised a hand. Our carriage, and the accompanying fifty royal guards on horseback, came to a halt.
"Princess," the guard called, dismounting, "we must disembark here. From this point, we travel by train."
My brow furrowed. "Walk? What do you mean by that? And... a train?"
The guard, a young man with a clear, steady gaze, seemed unfazed by my confusion. "A train, Princess," he explained, gesturing towards a long, low building a short distance away. "It is a metal carriage, used for swift travel across the lands."
Elinda and Sarisa exchanged bewildered glances. A metal carriage? Used for travel? It sounded like something out of a child's fanciful tale. Then Sarisa gasped softly. "There were rumors," she whispered, her eyes wide. "Tales from when Queen Alysanne visited the North decades ago. They said she traveled on something like this, but no one in the South truly believed it. After the war, North closed its borders to the outside world, and no new information ever reached us."
I nodded, the pieces of this strange, advanced puzzle slowly beginning to fit. We stepped out of the carriage, my Kingsguards looking just as perplexed as my ladies. The Manderly guards led us to the building, a long, low structure of stone and glass. As we approached, a low, rhythmic hiss filled the air.
Inside, the building opened onto what looked like a vast, covered platform. Along a set of shining metal rails sat an enormous, gleaming **metal carriage**, truly like a long, dark snake. It was made of polished steel, with rows of large, square windows, and a strange hum emanated from it.
"This is the train, Princess," the guard said, gesturing to an open door on the side of the metal serpent. "Please, step inside."
Hesitantly, we climbed the steps. The interior was unlike any carriage I had ever seen. Instead of facing each other in a small, enclosed space, there were rows of comfortable, padded seats, all facing forward. The floor was covered in a soft, thick rug, and the windows were remarkably large, offering wide views of the outside. The air inside was warm, almost unnaturally so, with no visible fire or brazier.
"By the Seven Hells," Elinda breathed, running a hand over the smooth, cool metal of the wall. "It's so... spacious."
Sarisa, meanwhile, was peering out the window at the platform, her mouth slightly agape. "And it's all metal! How does it move? What pulls it?"
I looked around, my mind reeling. The air inside was warm, the strange, rhythmic rumble a constant, low thrum. It was spacious, far more so than any carriage. No horses, no mud, no jolting over uneven ground. This was a completely different mode of travel, a testament to the sheer ingenuity that thrived in this independent kingdom. The North truly was a land of wonders.
The great metal snake shuddered, a deep rumble vibrating through the floor beneath our feet. Then, with a gentle lurch that pressed us back into our plush seats, it began to move. Slowly at first, the platform outside glided past the vast windows, then gathering speed, the rhythmic clatter of metal on metal became a hypnotic rhythm. The world outside transformed into a blur of green and grey, the smooth, paved landscape a testament to the North's meticulous engineering.
"Gods above," Elinda breathed, her face pressed to the glass, "we're flying!"
"It's not flying, Elinda, it's... going very fast," Sarisa corrected, though her own eyes were wide with awe. "Faster than any horse I've ever ridden."
I, too, found myself captivated by the view. The immense windows offered an unparalleled panorama of the Northern landscape, unmarred by the jarring bumps and jolts of a typical carriage. The guard, a quiet, solid man whose name I learned was Jorun, stood respectfully by the door, observing our reactions with a faint, knowing smile.
"Jorun," I began, unable to contain my curiosity, "this… this train. How does it work? What powers it?"
Jorun turned to me. "It runs on steam, Princess. Water is heated to great temperatures, creating steam under immense pressure. That steam pushes pistons, which in turn move the wheels."
Steam. Coal. It sounded so simple, yet the scale of the contraption, the speed at which it devoured the landscape, defied all common sense. "And these metal rods on the ground?" I asked, gesturing to the perfectly laid metal lines stretching endlessly before us, shimmering in the pale Northern sun.
"They are called rails, Princess," Jorun explained patiently. "Made of hardened steel, forged in our own foundries. Laid straight and true by our masons and engineers from the College of Winterhold. They ensure a smooth, swift passage across our lands."
Smooth it certainly was. The ride was incredibly gentle, allowing us to converse without shouting, to drink our tea without spilling. This was not merely faster; it was fundamentally better.
"Are there many of these 'trains'?" Elinda inquired.
"Aye, my lady," Jorun confirmed. "There are several lines now. From White Harbor, they stretch to Winterfell, to Torrhen's Square, even a branch reaching as far west as Sea Dragon Point and south to Moat Cailin. They carry goods, soldiers, and people. It is how our kingdom remains connected, how our trade thrives, and how our garrisons can be reinforced swiftly."
"And the roads," I pressed, remembering my earlier observation. "Are they all like those in White Harbor?"
"Most of the major routes, Princess," Jorun said with a touch of pride. "Especially the ones connecting our towns and cities. They are concrete, mixed with rock and sand, laid by our masons. They drain well, resist the frost, and make travel efficient for wagons, carriages, and patrols alike."
"It's astounding," I admitted, leaning back.
"The North is a vast land, Princess," Jorun replied simply. "And a harsh one in winter. Good roads and swift travel are not merely conveniences; they are necessities for a stronger kingdom."
As the hours passed, the landscape outside the window transformed. The rolling farmlands gave way to denser forests, their trees tall and ancient, laden with the white mantle of winter. Occasionally, we'd glimpse a fortified village, or a sturdy stone keep, their chimneys smoking, their glass windows glinting. Each seemed cleaner, more organized than the villages I was used to in the Crownlands.
"Are all the towns and villages governed by these non-hereditary mayors?" Sarisa asked, curious.
"Aye, my lady," Jorun confirmed. "It has been so for nearly twenty years. They are chosen by the townsfolk for their wisdom and ability to manage, not by blood. It ensures competence, and gives the common folk a voice in their own affairs. It has done much for local prosperity. But they are to answer to liege lord."
"And the guilds?" I asked, recalling my father's conversation. "Are they truly as organized as Lord Manderly suggested?"
"More so, Princess," Jorun said with a rare smile. "The blacksmiths' guild ensures every smith is skilled and honest. The farmers' guild helps share knowledge of new methods and crops. The merchants' guild sets fair prices and organizes trade convoys, ensuring safe passage for goods. It brings order, quality, and prosperity. It is another way we ensure our people are cared for, and their work is valued."
I pondered this. A system where common folk had a say, where trade was regulated for fairness, not just profit, where expertise was valued over lineage. It was a stark contrast to the South, where the desires of a few great lords often superseded the needs of the many, and where the word of a lord was law, regardless of his wisdom. The North, Asgard, was building something fundamentally different.
The train journey, a blur of speed and revelation, finally began to slow. The forests gave way to a landscape of rolling hills, and in the distance, a massive, ancient fortress began to dominate the horizon. Even from afar, its sheer scale was humbling.
"Winterfell, Princess," Jorun announced, pointing.
The train glided into a colossal station, even larger and more impressive than the one in White Harbor. It was built of the same dark stone, but here, the feeling was ancient, formidable. The air was colder, crisper, carrying the faintest scent of ice and old stone. We disembarked onto another wide platform, where a smaller, open carriage awaited us.
As we stepped out of the train, I found myself gazing at the city that had grown around the ancient Stark castle. It wasn't just a castle town; it was a sprawling, planned metropolis. Wide, well-lit thoroughfares stretched out from the station, lined with multi-storied stone buildings. Smoke plumed from countless chimneys, and the soft glow of hundreds, perhaps thousands, of light bulbs already dotted the twilight, illuminating the burgeoning city. The architecture was solid, practical, yet imbued with a stern beauty. Everything spoke of purpose, of permanence, of a people who had built for centuries.
The carriage began its smooth journey towards the towering walls of Winterfell Castle, which now seemed to be the heart of a truly grand city. The castle itself was immense, its ancient walls standing as silent sentinels over the bustling life around it. I noticed barracks, training grounds, and what looked like large public buildings, all meticulously built. There were no hovels, no squalid slums; even the outer buildings of Wintercity seemed well-maintained and prosperous.
"This is Wintercity, Princess," Jorun said, his voice imbued with a quiet pride. "The capital of Asgard. And there, at its heart, is Winterfell, the seat of the King in the North."
My mind reeled. From the moment I had stepped onto their paved roads in White Harbor, to the astonishing speed of the train, to this magnificent, thriving city carved out of the heart of the North, every expectation I had held had been shattered. This was not merely an independent kingdom; it was a powerful, innovative, and rapidly advancing civilization. My father had sent me to learn governance, but I was beginning to suspect I had been sent to witness a future he could barely imagine. And at its core lay Winterfell, no longer just a castle, but the heart of an enduring, formidable new realm. My education had truly begun.
The carriage halted before the massive, ancient gates of Winterfell Castle, now truly the heart of Wintercity. Guards, clad in dark, practical armor emblazoned with the direwolf, stood at attention, their faces stern but not unwelcoming. As the gates slowly swung open, revealing the inner courtyard, a small welcoming party stepped forward.
At the forefront stood a man whose face, though younger, bore the unmistakable lineage of the Starks. This was Antares Stark, Crown Prince of Asgard, King Artor's eldest son and heir. He was tall, lean, and carried himself with a quiet authority, his grey eyes keen and intelligent. Beside him stood a woman of striking beauty, her dark hair contrasting with fair skin, suggesting the hardy mountain clans. This was Astrid Stark nee Flint, his wife.
As I disembarked, followed by Elinda, Sarisa, and the Kingsguard, Antares stepped forward. He bowed deeply, a gesture both respectful and confident, not merely formal.
"Princess Rhaenyra Targaryen," Antares's voice was calm, yet carried a certain depth, like the rumble of distant thunder. "Welcome to Winterfell. Welcome to Asgard. My father, King Artor, bids me extend his warmest greetings and hopes your journey was well."
"Thank you, Prince Antares," I replied, curtsying. "The journey, and indeed your lands, have been... enlightening."
Just as Lord Manderly had done, Antares offered the ritual of bread and salt, a simple gesture of guest right. I accepted, partaking of the coarse bread and sharp salt, sealing the ancient bond of hospitality.
"May your stay be blessed with peace and knowledge," Antares said, a faint, genuine smile touching his lips.
Astrid, his wife, stepped forward then, her gaze warm. "We are honored to have you, Princess. Winterfell is your home for as long as you choose to grace us with your presence." She was elegant in her simple, practical Northern attire, her composure radiating a quiet strength.
"This is my wife, Astrid Stark nee Flint," Antares introduced to me and my companions, laying a hand gently on her arm.
Then I introduce my companions," These are my companions Lady Elinda Massey and Lady Sarisa Blackwood, and our Kingsguard, Ser Arryk and Ser Erryk Cargyll."
Astrid offered a small nod to Elinda and Sarisa, then turned her attention back to me. "The masters at the College are eagerly awaiting your arrival, Princess. But for tonight, you must be weary. Our maid will show you to your quarters within the castle."
She then turned to a young maid who had been waiting patiently nearby. "Elara, if you would lead the Princess and her ladies to their rooms, please. See to their every comfort."
The maid curtsied deeply, then gestured with an open hand. "This way, Princess."
As I followed Elara, Antares and Astrid remained, their quiet, steady presence a stark contrast to the boisterous, often volatile, personalities of King's Landing. I couldn't help but feel a strange mix of apprehension and anticipation. The North, Asgard, was clearly not just a land of harsh winters and hardened warriors. It was a place of profound advancement, unexpected comforts, and a quiet, formidable dignity that was unlike anything I had ever known. My true journey, the one of discovery and learning, was just beginning.