Elara led me through another series of familiar corridors, her quiet steps echoing in the stone halls, until we reached a less familiar part of the castle. She stopped before a heavy, unadorned wooden door. She knocked once, a soft, respectful sound.
"Princess Rhaenyra Targaryen, Your Grace," Elara announced, her voice clear.
"Enter," a deep, resonant voice called from within.
Elara pushed the door open, revealing a large, warm solar. It was less grand than the King's own chambers, more practical and lived-in. Bookshelves lined the walls, filled with tomes of varying sizes. Maps, remarkably detailed and modern, were rolled and stacked in corners. A large, sturdy desk dominated one side of the room, covered with parchments and carving tools.
Seated by a roaring hearth, in a simple, comfortable chair, was Theon Stark. He looked even older, but his grey eyes, though weary, were still sharp, missing nothing. He gestured to a chair opposite him.
"Come, Princess," he said, his voice carrying the rasp of age but still strong. "Sit. Elara, please pour the Princess some winter berry juice."
Elara moved silently, pouring a warm, steaming cup of the winter berry juice I had tasted in the market. She presented it to me, then, with a final curtsy, quietly slipped out, leaving me alone with the man who had humbled the Targaryen dynasty. The silence that fell was thick, broken only by the crackle of the fire and the distant murmur of the castle. It was an intimidating silence, filled with unspoken history.
Theon Stark regarded me for a long moment, his gaze assessing, patient. It felt as though he was looking not just at me, but through me, weighing my very spirit.
"So, Princess," he finally began, his voice soft, "how fares Asgard in your eyes? Has Wintercity met your expectations? Are your chambers comfortable?"
I took a slow sip of the drink, gathering my thoughts. "Your Grace," I began, choosing my words carefully, "Asgard has far exceeded any expectations I might have held. White Harbor is a city of remarkable prosperity, and Wintercity... it is a marvel of planning and construction. The roads, the warmth of the castle, the light bulbs," I emphasized, a genuine note of awe entering my voice, "and the train... they are all unlike anything I have ever witnessed in the South."
He nodded slowly, a flicker of something akin to satisfaction in his eyes. "And your chambers?" he prompted. "Are they to your liking? We wished to ensure your comfort after such a long journey."
"They are more than comfortable, Your Grace," I assured him. "Warm, private, and exceptionally well-appointed. I am most grateful for your family's hospitality."
Theon leaned back in his chair, his gaze steady upon me. "Good." He paused, and then, his voice dropped slightly, becoming more direct. "You have seen much today, Princess. More than just our stone and steel, I imagine."
Theon Stark's grey eyes, ancient and piercing, held my gaze. "You have seen much today, Princess. More than just our stone and steel, I imagine."
I nodded, feeling a curious blend of awe and apprehension. "Indeed, Your Grace. The advancements are... astonishing. I confess, they challenge many of the notions I held about the North."
A faint, almost imperceptible smile touched his lips. "Good. That is precisely why the College of Winterhold was conceived. Not merely to teach sums and letters, but to foster innovation, to understand the world, and to prepare our people for the future." He paused, his gaze seeming to look beyond me, into a distant vision. "North needed to be stronger, smarter, more self-sufficient. The College is the heart of that vision. It is where we forge not just scholars and healers, but engineers, strategists, and thinkers. It is where we build the minds that will build Asgard."
He spoke with a quiet intensity, and I found myself utterly captivated, sensing the depth of his purpose. We talked for a while longer about the College's curriculum, its focus on practical knowledge, and how it differed from the Citadel's approach.
Then, his expression shifted, becoming gravely serious. The casual comfort of our conversation evaporated. "Princess," he began, his voice dropping slightly, "we have allowed you to enter Winterhold because we believe it will help maintain a healthy and peaceful relationship between our kingdoms. We seek no conflict with the South. We paid our price for freedom, and we wish to live in peace." His eyes, however, held a stark warning. "I hope you truly learn everything Winterhold teaches you and are prepared to rule when, in the future, you become queen."
He leaned forward slightly, his gaze unwavering. "You are going to be the first queen to sit on the Iron Throne in a century. The lords, steeped in their traditions, will question your ability to rule. They will whisper, they will scheme, and they will always try to undermine you. If you were a boy, they wouldn't have questioned you. So now, you have to work twice as hard, be twice as cunning, and rule with twice the wisdom of any great king. Even then, many will not be satisfied."
His words, blunt and unvarnished, struck a chord of truth within me. He saw the challenges that my own father, in his hopeful naiveté, often overlooked.
"Here is my advice," he continued, his tone softening only slightly. "Be wise. Make sure those you keep around you for counsel will give you good, honest advice when needed. Trust their wisdom until you are grown enough to fully trust your own. And even when you are, if they are truly wiser, you will continue to take their counsel."
Then, a surprising warmth entered his eyes, and a faint smile touched his lips. "My great-granddaughter, Mordred Stark, will be joining you in your studies at Winterhold. I hope you two become good friends." He chuckled softly. "She is a hurricane, that one. Does as she pleases, and never truly shies from giving her opinion. So don't take it to heart if she says anything inappropriate. She means no malice, simply speaks her mind."
He rose, indicating our time was at an end. "The feast will likely start in an hour. Go and get ready for it, Princess. I trust you will enjoy the Northern fare once more."
I rose, curtsied, and made my way out of his solar, my mind reeling. Theon Stark, the quiet, formidable Wolf who Walked Away, had seen through me, seen through my father, and seen the treacherous path ahead of me. His words were a blend of wisdom and chilling prophecy.
Elinda and Sarisa were waiting for me outside the solar, their faces etched with curiosity. I gave them a brief, sanitized version of the conversation, omitting the more foreboding parts. We then prepared for the evening feast, which, though as grand and warm as the last, I found myself contemplating the meaning of 'hurricane' and the weight of the crown rather than the taste of the roasted boar.
That night, my second day in Winterfell ended. I lay in the warmth of my bed, the constant glow of the light bulb a familiar comfort, and wondered what other truths Asgard held, and what kind of ruler I would become under its unforgiving, yet strangely honest, tutelage.