77 AC
Moat Cailin
The morning dawned crisp and clear, the pale Northern sun casting long shadows across the courtyard of Moat Cailin. After a night spent pondering the mysteries of Northern hospitality, I rose with a renewed sense of purpose. Today, we would continue our journey to Winterfell, deeper into the heart of Stark territory. My ladies-in-waiting, Darlla and Rosmund, were already bustling about, ensuring that our preparations were proceeding smoothly. Our retinue, a mix of Southern knights and servants, moved with practiced efficiency, packing our belongings and preparing our mounts. Lord Sköll and his family, dressed in their customary grey and black, were also preparing to depart, their movements as precise and unhurried as ever.
The courtyard of Moat Cailin, usually a place of military efficiency, buzzed with a different kind of energy this morning. Horses were being saddled, carriages were being loaded, and servants scurried about, attending to the needs of both the royal party and the Sköll retinue. Lord Sköll, his face as inscrutable as ever, oversaw the proceedings with a quiet authority, his commands brief and to the point.
I, along with my ladies-in-waiting, Darlla and Rosmund, were dressed in practical riding attire, though the fine fabrics and subtle embellishments hinted at our royal status. I couldn't help but feel a sense of anticipation, mixed with a touch of trepidation, as I prepared to venture further into this strange and formidable land.
As the morning progressed, Lord Sköll approached me, his expression still unreadable. "Your Grace," he said, his voice deep and resonant, "we are ready to depart. I trust your journey has been comfortable thus far?"
"As comfortable as the Neck allows, my lord," I replied, offering a polite smile. "Your hospitality, however, has been most... efficient."
He inclined his head, a gesture that could have been interpreted as either agreement or polite dismissal. "The North values efficiency, Your Grace. It is a necessary virtue in a land where survival is a constant struggle."
He then gestured towards a path leading away from the main gate of Moat Cailin, a path I hadn't noticed before. "If Your Grace will follow me," he said, "I will take you to your transport."
I exchanged a curious glance with my ladies, and we followed Lord Sköll, our retinue trailing behind us. The path led us away from the familiar sights of the fortress, winding through a narrow passage between two of the ancient towers.
As we rounded a bend, the landscape opened up, and I saw something that made me stop in my tracks. It was a sight unlike anything I had ever seen before: a long, metal serpent, resting on two parallel tracks of iron. Smoke billowed from its front, and a low, rhythmic chugging sound filled the air.
My eyes widened in astonishment. "What... what is that?" I stammered, my voice barely a whisper.
Lord Sköll's face remained impassive. "This, Your Grace, is a railway train. It is a marvel of Northern engineering, a testament to our ingenuity and resourcefulness."
I stared at the train, my mind struggling to comprehend its scale and complexity. The carriages were large and ornate, crafted from polished wood and gleaming metal, with large windows that offered glimpses of plush interiors.
"A train?" I repeated, still incredulous. "I have never seen anything like it."
"The South is... less advanced in such matters," Lord Sköll said, his tone suggesting a mixture of pride and disdain. "The North has embraced progress, for the benefit of its people."
He then gestured towards the train. "This will be your mode of transport to Winterfell, Your Grace. It will be a much faster and more comfortable journey than by horse or carriage."
I hesitated for a moment, still overwhelmed by the sight of the train. But then, a sense of adventure washed over me. I was a Targaryen, a dragon rider, and I would not be intimidated by a mere machine.
"Very well, my lord," I said, my voice regaining its composure. "Lead the way."
Lord Sköll led us towards the train, and we boarded the first carriage. The interior was even more impressive than the exterior, with plush velvet seats, polished wood paneling, and intricate brass fittings. It felt like a mobile palace, a far cry from the cramped and uncomfortable carriages I was accustomed to.
As the rest of our party boarded the train, I settled into a comfortable seat, my gaze fixed on the passing landscape. The train began to move, slowly at first, then gathering speed with a powerful surge. The world outside became a blur of green and grey, and I felt a thrill of excitement coursing through my veins. This was a new experience, a new adventure, and I was eager to see what the North had in store for me
The rhythmic chugging of the train and the gentle sway of the carriage soon became a soothing backdrop to our journey. The initial shock of seeing the mechanical behemoth had worn off, replaced by a sense of wonder and curiosity. I settled into my plush seat, the soft velvet a welcome change from the hard leather of a saddle. My ladies-in-waiting, Darlla Mallister and Rosmund Redwyne, sat opposite me, their expressions a mixture of awe and amusement.
"By the Seven," Darlla exclaimed, her eyes wide as she gazed out the window at the blurring landscape. "I have never seen anything like this in all my days. It's like... like a dragon made of metal, devouring the miles."
Rosmund, ever the pragmatist, adjusted her seat, her brow furrowed in concentration. "It's certainly... efficient. We are covering ground at a speed I would have thought impossible. Imagine how this could change trade, communication... everything."
"Imagine the King's Road," Darlla mused, her gaze dreamy. "Instead of weeks of travel, one could reach Winterfell in a matter of days. It would shrink the realm, bring us all closer."
"Or make us all more vulnerable," Rosmund countered, her tone sharp. "Such speed could also be used for war, for invasion. It is a powerful tool, this Northern invention, and we must be wary of its potential."
I listened to their conversation with interest, my own thoughts swirling. The train was indeed a marvel, a testament to the North's ingenuity. But Rosmund's words echoed my own concerns. Such power could be a blessing or a curse, depending on who wielded it.
"The North is full of surprises," I said, breaking my silence. "From the formidable strength of Moat Cailin to this... this iron dragon. They are a people of contrasts, it seems, both ancient and modern, stoic and innovative."
Darlla shivered slightly, though the carriage was comfortably warm. "It is a harsh land, Your Grace. One can feel it in the air, in the very stones. It breeds a different kind of people, a people who are both resilient and... wary."
"Wary of outsiders, perhaps?" Rosmund suggested, her gaze thoughtful. "I sensed it in Lord Sköll's demeanor. He was courteous, but distant, as if he were measuring us, trying to discern our intentions."
"He is a lord of the North," I reminded them. "Loyalty and duty are paramount in these lands. He is likely cautious of any Southern presence, especially a royal one. We are, after all, a symbol of the crown, of the power that has often sought to control them."
"And a symbol of dragons," Darlla added, her eyes sparkling with excitement. "Imagine what the Northerners must think, seeing Silverwing flying overhead, and now this... this iron dragon carrying us through their lands."
Rosmund chuckled dryly. "They probably think we are trying to conquer them with machines now, instead of fire and blood."
I smiled, a genuine smile for the first time since entering the North. "Perhaps. But I hope they will see that we come in peace, seeking understanding and cooperation. We are all part of the same realm, after all, and we must find a way to coexist."
The conversation continued in this vein for much of the journey, our initial apprehension slowly giving way to a grudging respect for the North and its people. We discussed the strange sights we saw from the train windows: vast stretches of untamed wilderness, towering forests of ancient trees, and bustling industrial towns that seemed to spring up from the very earth.
"It is a land of extremes," Darlla observed. "One moment we are passing through a desolate wasteland, and the next we are surrounded by the smoke and clamor of industry. It is as if the North is a land of two faces, both wild and tamed, both ancient and modern."
"And both fiercely independent," Rosmund added, her gaze fixed on the horizon. "I have a feeling we will find the Starks to be a proud and stubborn people, unwilling to bend to the will of the South."
As the hours passed, the train continued its relentless journey northward, carrying us deeper into the heart of the wolf's den. The landscape outside became increasingly stark and beautiful, a testament to the enduring strength of the North. And as we traveled, my own resolve hardened. I would meet the Starks with respect and honesty, and I would do everything in my power to forge a lasting peace between our two kingdoms.
The next day, as the pale Northern sun began its ascent, we arrived at Wintercity. The journey by train, while novel and efficient, had been long, and I was eager to finally reach our destination. We disembarked the train, the rhythmic chugging fading into the distance as we gathered our belongings. Carriages, drawn by sturdy Northern steeds, awaited us, ready to convey us the rest of the way to Winterfell.
As our carriage approached the ancient seat of House Stark, I could see a gathering of figures awaiting us. Lord Stark, his family, and what appeared to be his assembled vassals, stood before the gates of Winterfell. As I descended from the carriage, a sea of grey and white knelt before me, a display of fealty that was both impressive and slightly unsettling.
The next day, as the pale Northern sun began its ascent, we arrived at Wintercity. The journey by train, while novel and efficient, had been long, and I was eager to finally reach our destination. We disembarked the train, the rhythmic chugging fading into the distance as we gathered our belongings. Carriages, drawn by sturdy Northern steeds, awaited us, ready to convey us the rest of the way to Winterfell.
As our carriage approached the ancient seat of House Stark, I could see a gathering of figures awaiting us. Lord Stark, his family, and what appeared to be his assembled vassals, stood before the gates of Winterfell. As I descended from the carriage, a sea of grey and white knelt before me, a display of fealty that was both impressive and slightly unsettling.
"Rise," I commanded, my voice clear and strong, carrying across the open space.
The assembled Northerners rose, their faces a mixture of respect and wary curiosity. Lord Stark, a tall, imposing figure with a stern countenance, stepped forward. "Winterfell is yours, Your Grace," he declared, his voice deep and resonant.
As he spoke, a young woman, a maid with a respectful demeanor, approached. She carried a silver tray upon which rested a loaf of freshly baked bread and a small dish of salt. The ancient symbols of guest right.
As the maid presented the bread and salt, a symbol of guest right I accepted with a nod, Lord Stark began the formal introductions. His voice, though gruff, held a certain warmth as he gestured to those gathered around him.
"Your Grace," he began, his gaze sweeping across the assembled group, "allow me to introduce my family. This is my wife, Diana Stark, née Mormont." A woman with a fierce gaze and a no-nonsense demeanor, she offered a curt nod.
"And this is my heir, Artor Stark, and his wife, Maege Stark, née Glover." Artor, a younger version of his father, nodded respectfully, his expression serious but welcoming. Maege, a woman with a keen intelligence in her eyes, offered a polite curtsy.
"And their children," Lord Stark continued, his voice softening slightly, "my grandchildren: Antares Stark," a young man with a quiet confidence, bowed; "Lyanna Stark," a spirited girl with a mischievous glint in her eyes, offered a curtsy; "and Rickon Stark," the youngest, who peered at me with wide, curious eyes.
He then gestured towards a woman with striking features and a foreign air. "This is my daughter, Morgan Lothbrok, and her husband, Bjorn Lothbrok." Morgan, with her proud bearing and piercing gaze, inclined her head, and Bjorn, a tall, imposing man with a warrior's presence, gave a respectful nod.
"And their children, my grandchildren," Lord Stark continued, "Ivar Lothbrok, Lagertha Lothbrok, and Hvitserk Lothbrok." Three children with a wild, untamed look about them, they offered a mix of curious stares
He then gestured towards a woman with beautiful feature blue eyes and brown hair. "This is my sister, Lyrra Karstark, and her husband, Rickard Karstark. lord of karhold" Lyrra, with her proud bearing and piercing gaze, inclined her head, and Rickard, a tall, imposing man with a warrior's presence, gave a respectful nod. "Then their sons Eddard Karstark and William Karstark"
Lord Stark then turned his attention to the assembled lords, his voice regaining its formal tone. "And now, Your Grace, allow me to introduce some of the lords sworn to Winterfell, those who have come to welcome you to the North."
With the introductions complete, Lord Stark gestured towards the interior of Winterfell. "Your Grace," he said, "if you and your ladies would like to freshen up after your journey, I have had quarters prepared for you. My wife will show you the way."
A nod of acknowledgment was all it took to signal the end of the formal welcome. The assembled lords and their retinues dispersed, their grey and white banners rippling in the crisp Northern air. Lady Stark, her expression composed and efficient, turned to us. "This way, Your Grace," she said, her voice clear and commanding, and we followed her into the ancient halls of Winterfell.