291 AC
Third Person POV
Dragonhold
The crisp morning air carried a palpable buzz of anticipation across Westeros. From the icy reaches of the North to the sun-baked sands of Dorne, from the bustling harbors of the Stepstones to the ancient hills of Asgard, the great houses of the realm began their pilgrimages. The destination: Dragonhold, the ancient castle now transformed into the premier academy of the Seven Kingdoms, poised to host the grandest tourney in living memory.
From Winterfell, the Stark contingent embarked with a quiet, efficient grandeur, a blend of ancient tradition and cutting-edge innovation. King Rickard Stark, the King of Asgard and Lord of Winterfell, rode at the head of a formidable column. His presence, though less flamboyant than Southern monarchs, commanded an undeniable authority.
Beside him sat his wife, Queen Lyarra Stark, née Sköll. Her Asgardian heritage was evident in her serene composure and the subtle shimmer of her garments. The vehicle, a marvel of Northern innovation, moved with a steady, rhythmic chug, its polished metal gleaming in the pale sunlight. It left the traditional horse-drawn carriages of their retinue in its dust, a clear demonstration of Asgard's technological lead.
"This is certainly a faster way to travel, my lord," observed Ser Rodrik Cassel, the Master-at-Arms of Winterfell, riding his charger close to Rickard's window. His voice was muffled slightly by the carriage's glass.
"Indeed, Ser Rodrik," Rickard replied, his voice carrying clearly. A rare smile graced his lips, a touch of pride in his son Brandon's ingenuity. "Brandon's efforts have shaved weeks off this journey. We'll be at Moat Cailin before the day is out."
Behind them, in other, equally advanced steam carriages, were Princess Barbrey Ryswell, Brandon's wife, her usual sharp wit softened by the excitement of travel, and her three sons: Hadrian, already absorbed in a book of engineering schematics, his brow furrowed in concentration; Barthogan, restless and eager for adventure, peering out at the passing landscape; and young Cregan, observing everything with silent intensity, his eyes missing nothing.
Eddard Stark, solemn as ever, rode on horseback beside his wife, Princess Ashara Dayne. Her Dornish beauty, with her dark hair and striking violet eyes, seemed a vibrant jewel against the stark Northern landscape. Their children, Arthur, Beron, Marlon, and the spirited Diana, were a mix of quiet contemplation and youthful exuberance, their laughter occasionally echoing from their own carriage.
As the column snaked through the familiar, still-thriving Northern countryside, a sense of purpose filled the air. They were heading south, not for war, but for celebration, for peace. This journey, once an arduous trek, was now a demonstration of progress.
It was important that a Stark always remained in Winterfell. Thus, back in the ancient castle, Lord Bennard Stark, King Rickard's younger brother, stood as acting lord, a trusted hand left to ensure that a Stark always remained within the ancient walls of their ancestral home. He would oversee the daily affairs of the North, ensuring its continued stability.
The Northern roads, specifically designed and maintained for these steam-powered vehicles, allowed for unprecedented speed. However, these road vehicles were only used on Northern roads. South of Moat Cailin, the terrain and existing infrastructure favored the grand railway network.
At Moat Cailin, the Northern convoy would make the transition. The steam carriages would be garaged, and the Starks, along with their retinues, would board the private cars of the inter-kingdom railway. The North was moving forward, but its roots remained deep, and its innovations, while shared, were also uniquely its own.
From King's Landing, the heart of the Seven Kingdoms, came the most magnificent procession of all, a true display of Targaryen power and the realm's newfound unity. King Maekar Targaryen, austere and commanding, rode atop his great black dragon, Balerion, a formidable sight that commanded awe and reverence. The very air seemed to hum with the dragon's ancient power.
Beside him, on her own majestic dragon, Vhagar, soared Queen Rhaenys, her silver hair streaming in the wind. Her presence, a testament to her enduring strength and grace, added to the spectacle. The roar of their dragons, a sound that had once heralded war, now echoed as a powerful declaration of peace and strength, a symbol of an unassailable dynasty.
Their sons, Prince Rhaegar, mounted on his swift red dragon, Meraxes, and Prince Baelor, astride the colossal Vermithor, flew ahead, their figures powerful against the blue sky. Their dragons' shadows stretched long over the land, a visible reminder of the Crown's might.
Below them, a glittering convoy of state carriages, pulled by teams of magnificent horses, began its journey along the newly laid concrete roads. These roads, smooth and durable, were a stark contrast to the muddy tracks of old, allowing for swift and comfortable travel.
Inside the carriages, guarded by a formidable contingent of fifty Kingsguard, clad in their immaculate white cloaks, were the rest of the royal family. Each and every member of the royal family was now assigned at least two Kingsguard, their gleaming armor a constant, reassuring presence.
Princess Elia Martell, graceful and composed, rode beside Prince Rhaegar's children, Prince Aemon and Princess Daenerys. Two Kingsguard stood watch at their carriage doors. They discussed the latest news from Dorne, connected by the speed of telegrams, marveling at the rapid communication.
In another carriage, Princess Cersei Lannister held court, her golden hair catching the light, while her children, Prince Aenar and his siblings, peered out at the passing landscape, their own Kingsguard attentive to their every need. Cersei, always attuned to power, subtly assessed every noble banner they passed, ever calculating.
Princess Rhaelle, Maekar's daughter, conversed animatedly with her husband, Lord Robert Baratheon, whose booming laughter occasionally escaped the carriage windows, a sound of hearty enjoyment. Their children, Steffon and Myrcella, looked forward to the tourney's melees and feasts, their youthful excitement palpable.
The royal procession, a grand display of power and unity, moved with stately purpose towards Dragonhold, a symbol of the realm's new golden age.
As the procession moved south, it was met by other branches of the royal family, journeying to Dragonhold from their respective seats of power. The railway network, a testament to Asgardian and Targaryen cooperation, facilitated these grand convergences.
From Dragonstone, having travelled the smooth railway line from the coast, came Prince Aelor Targaryen, King Maekar's brother and the Lord of Dragonstone. He was a thoughtful man, often found in the ancient libraries of the island, but now focused on the journey.
Beside him sat his wife, Princess Vaella Targaryen, Maekar's sister, her beauty undimmed by time. They were a quiet, intellectual pair, deeply devoted to their children, Prince Daeron and Princess Jaehaera, who sat with them, each with their own Kingsguard.
"The journey was remarkably swift," Prince Aelor remarked to a Kingsguard as their private railway car joined the main royal column. "These railways truly bind the realm. We were in King's Landing by mid-day yesterday, a matter of hours from Dragonstone, rather than days by sea."
From the Stepstones, having sailed to the mainland before joining the network of concrete roads and railways, arrived Prince Aerion Targaryen, King Maekar's other brother, who held the crucial position of Lord of the Stepstones, overseeing the newly integrated kingdom. He was a more martial figure than Aelor, his face weathered by sun and sea, his Kingsguard ever vigilant.
Beside him sat his wife, Princess Dyanna Targaryen, Maekar's other sister, a woman of fierce spirit and sharp wit. Their two children, Prince Valerion and Princess Laena, sat with them, each with their own Kingsguard. Valerion was a bold, adventurous boy, already showing a talent for naval matters, while Laena was known for her striking beauty and her love of the sea.
"The routes are clearer than ever, Your Grace," Prince Aerion reported to King Maekar as they briefly met on a stretch of concrete road, the king having descended from his dragon for a moment. "No more pirate ships dare challenge our flagged vessels, not with the shadow of a dragon overhead, and the strength of our new fleet."
Maekar nodded, pleased. "Good. Prosperity flows through those channels. Your diligence ensures it."
As the days passed and the mighty convocations neared Dragonhold, the ancient castle transformed into a buzzing hub of activity. Pavilions of every house banner in Westeros sprung up around the grounds, a vibrant tapestry of colors against the green landscape, each a testament to the realm's unity.
Lord Tywin Lannister of Casterly Rock, his face a mask of shrewd calculation, entered through the main gates in a gilded carriage, its wheels rolling smoothly over the concrete. His eyes, keen and discerning, took in the organized chaos, the smooth roads, the efficient flow of arriving retinues.
A few hours later, Lord Mace Tyrell of Highgarden, a man known for his love of feasts and finery, arrived with a vast retinue, his banners of green and gold fluttering proudly. His pavilions, decorated with the green and gold of the Reach, were the most ostentatious, a clear display of Southern wealth. He beamed, greeting other lords with hearty handshakes. "A grand day for Westeros, wouldn't you say, Lord Tully?" he boomed to Lord Edmure Tully of Riverrun, whose more modest entourage had arrived via the Riverlands branch of the railway.
Edmure, ever the pragmatic one, wiped his brow. "Indeed, Lord Tyrell. Though I admit, the crowds are quite something. At least the railways are holding up. None of the usual delays."
Later, as the lords gathered for the evening feast, the Great Hall of Dragonhold, recently expanded and modernized, hummed with conversation. The air was thick with the scent of roasted meat, fine wines, and the ambition of powerful men.
Lord Randall Tarly of Hornhill, a man of commanding presence, found himself conversing with Lord Redwyne of the Arbor. "The scale of this assembly is unprecedented," Randall mused. "It speaks not only to the Crown's power but also to the perceived stability of the realm. A true testament to this golden age, and the efficacy of Dragonhold's teachings."
Redwyne, ever focused on trade, agreed. "Indeed. This peace, this infrastructure... it means prosperity for all, and our ships sail safer seas now that the Stepstones are in iron throne control."
A hush fell over the great hall, a ripple of anticipation spreading through the assembled nobility. The doors to the main courtyard, leading to the railway station, had just opened.
King Maekar Targaryen and Queen Rhaenys, along with their immediate family and a substantial contingent of their fifty Kingsguard, stood at the entrance to the Great Hall, ready to receive the last, and arguably most anticipated, arrivals.
Then, the murmurs began to grow, turning into excited whispers. Through the archway, escorted by their own loyal Northern guards, came the Stark contingent.
At their head walked King Rickard Stark, his dark furs and strong, unyielding presence a striking contrast to the vibrant colors of the Southern court. Beside him, Queen Lyarra Stark, her Asgardian grace evident in her every movement, radiated a quiet dignity.
Behind them followed Prince Brandon Stark, the architect of so much of the realm's progress, with his wife Princess Barbrey Ryswell and their three sons. Then came Prince Eddard Stark and Princess Ashara Dayne with their children. The entire Stark family, a formidable and respected presence, entered the hall.
King Maekar's face, usually stern, softened into a welcoming smile as his eyes met King Rickard's. He stepped forward, his Kingsguard moving with him, a clear path opening through the assembled lords.
"King Rickard," Maekar boomed, his voice resonating with royal authority, yet carrying a note of genuine warmth. "Welcome to Dragonhold. It is a true honor to have the King of Asgard and lord of Winterfell grace our halls." He extended a hand, palm up, in a gesture of welcome and respect.
Rickard Stark met his gaze, his own expression one of quiet respect. He took Maekar's hand in a firm, unyielding grip, a testament to the strength of both men. "King Maekar," Rickard replied, his voice a low, steady rumble, "the honor is ours. This gathering is a testament to the strength of your reign, and the enduring peace between our kingdoms."
Their handshake, firm and symbolic, was a silent reaffirmation of the century-old alliance, a powerful visual for all the assembled lords. It was the meeting of the Dragon and the Wolf, the old world and the new, united in purpose and prosperity. Queen Rhaenys then stepped forward, offering a gracious welcome to Queen Lyarra, and the two royal families began their formal greetings, a grand tableau of power, alliance, and the promise of a unified future.
The tourney was more than a mere competition. It was a grand statement, echoing through the unified kingdoms: peace endured, prosperity thrived, and the Targaryen dynasty, alongside its steadfast allies in Asgard, stood unyielding at the apex of a transformed world. The roads, the railways, the telegrams, the dragons—all spoke of a new era, carefully constructed, seemingly unshakeable.