99 A.C.
The wind was sharp as it cut through the trees surrounding Winterfell. Hadrian Peverell stood just outside the treeline, his cloak wrapped tightly around him as he looked up at the ancient fortress that loomed ahead. Winterfell had always struck him as an embodiment of the North itself—unforgiving, strong, and proud. The last time he had been here, it was under far different circumstances, but now he approached as the Lord of Skagos, a title that still felt strange on some days. Today, he was here to solidify that role, to speak with Lord Ellard Stark about the progress he had made in taming the wild isle.
Taking a deep breath, Hadrian pulled his hood lower over his eyes and started the walk toward the gates. He could have apparated directly into the castle itself, bypassing all the formalities, but he had learned long ago that appearances mattered. There were rules in the North—rules that even magic could not circumvent without drawing attention. Besides, he had no desire to make an enemy of Ellard Stark, who was cautious by nature.
As he approached the gate, the guards stood at attention, watching him with wary eyes. His approach was unhurried, his steps measured, as if he were merely another traveler passing through. But as he neared the guards, he drew back his hood, revealing his face to them. The men, likely having received messages from Lord Stark, stiffened slightly at the sight of him.
"Who goes there?" one of the guards called out.
Hadrian stopped a few paces away, his voice steady as he replied. "I am Hadrian Peverell, High Lord of Skagos. I've come to speak with Lord Ellard Stark."
The guard glanced at his companion, who gave a small nod before stepping forward. "Lord Peverell," the first guard said, his tone more respectful now. "You are expected. We will escort you to the great hall."
"Lead the way," Hadrian replied, following the two men as they turned and led him into the ancient castle.
Winterfell's courtyard was bustling, with men training in the yard and women carrying baskets of food from the kitchens. Smoke rose from the blacksmith's forge, filling the air with the scent of burning wood and hot metal. Despite the activity, there was a sense of order, of calm amidst the cold. Hadrian had always admired the discipline of the Starks and their bannermen—it was a quality he sought to instill in the people of Skagos.
The guards led him through the winding corridors of the castle, their boots echoing on the stone floor, until they reached the doors of the great hall. They pushed the doors open, revealing the vast chamber within. At the far end, seated on the high seat of Winterfell, was Lord Ellard Stark, his face impassive but his eyes watchful. The Throne of Winter, an old wooden chair, was simple in design but exuded an aura of ancient power. It was a symbol of the Stark dynasty—ancient, yet still mighty.
Hadrian strode forward, his gaze meeting Stark's as he approached. The hall was quiet, the murmurs of courtiers and bannermen dying away as they noticed the newcomer. Ellard Stark watched him approach, his face unreadable, though there was a glint of curiosity in his eyes.
"Lord Peverell," Ellard said, his voice low and measured. "What brings you to Winterfell?"
Hadrian inclined his head respectfully. "Lord Stark, I come to speak of the progress on Skagos. I thought it prudent to report on the matters that concern our agreement."
Ellard's eyes narrowed slightly, but he gave a curt nod. "Very well. Let us speak privately."
With a wave of his hand, Lord Stark dismissed the gathered courtiers and bannermen from the hall. The shuffling of feet and the creak of the great doors closing behind them filled the room as they departed. Ellard Stark rose from his seat, his long fur cloak trailing behind him as he motioned for Hadrian to follow him.
They left the hall and ascended a narrow staircase that led to Lord Stark's solar, a smaller, more intimate room where private discussions were held.
Ellard took a seat behind the table, gesturing for Hadrian to sit opposite him.
"You've done well for yourself," Lord Stark said, his voice calm but laced with a hint of skepticism. "Skagos is not an easy place to tame. What news do you bring?"
Hadrian settled into his chair, folding his hands in his lap. He had anticipated this question, and he was ready with an answer. "Skagos has changed, my lord. In the past two years, we have built a functioning city at Norhold, where the old Kingshouse once stood. The people are well-fed, self-sufficient, and united under one banner. The old rivalries between the tribes have been resolved, and the island is safer than it has ever been. The harvests have been plentiful, and the people no longer fear the harsh winters. We have enough food to sustain ourselves, even in the coldest months."
Ellard's eyes flicked to the fire as he listened, his expression thoughtful. "And how did you manage such a feat so quickly? Skagos is known for its harshness, its unforgiving nature."
Hadrian chose his words carefully. "It was not easy. I've been fortunate enough to have the support of the former chieftains, and together we've been able to bring order to the island. We've made use of every resource available, ensuring that no one goes hungry and that every person has a role to play in our society.
Ellard's gaze sharpened. "Loyalty is a difficult thing to win on Skagos. How did you gain such unwavering devotion from people known for their independence?"
Hadrian resisted the urge to shift in his seat. He couldn't reveal the full truth—that magic had been his greatest tool in ensuring the island's transformation. The wards he had placed to increase the crop yields, the subtle enchantments that had bound the people to his cause, were secrets he could not afford to share. Not here. Not with a man like Ellard Stark, who valued honor and transparency.
"I treated them with respect," Hadrian said, his tone even. "I offered them something they hadn't had in years—stability. Once they saw that my rule brought peace and prosperity, they were willing to follow me. The people of Skagos are proud, but they understand strength. They know that their future is better with me as their lord."
Ellard studied him for a long moment, the silence stretching between them. Finally, the Stark lord nodded, seemingly satisfied with the answer.
"And you believe they can sustain themselves through the winter?" Ellard asked, his tone still probing.
Hadrian nodded. "Yes, my lord. We've prepared for the worst, stockpiling food and ensuring that the people know how to ration what we have. We're not reliant on trade to survive, though I plan to establish it once we are in a better position. For now, Skagos can stand on its own."
Ellard leaned back in his chair, his expression thoughtful. "You've done more than I expected, Lord Peverell. Many believed Skagos would remain wild and untamable, but you've proven otherwise. Still, the North is a harsh place, and winter will test your people in ways they may not be ready for."
Hadrian inclined his head. "I'm aware of that, my lord, and I am prepared for the challenges ahead."
There was a pause as Ellard seemed to weigh his words carefully. Then, he spoke again, his voice quieter. "And what of your plans for the future? You didn't come here simply to tell me that Skagos is thriving."
Hadrian smiled faintly. "You're right. I didn't. I've come to inform you that I will be leaving Skagos for a time. I need to travel to the mainland—and possibly beyond—to acquire knowledge that we lack. Skagos has been isolated for too long, and if we are to maintain our place in the North, we need to advance. Specifically, we need ships. The techniques we have are ancient."
Ellard raised an eyebrow. "You plan to build a fleet?"
"Yes," Hadrian confirmed. "A trading fleet that can connect Skagos to the rest of the world. Trade will be vital to our future, but first, we need the means to transport goods. I plan to learn the latest shipbuilding techniques, to ensure that Skagos can stand alongside the great houses of the North in more than just name."
Ellard considered this for a moment before nodding slowly. "A wise move. The North may be vast, but we are often limited by our lack of ships. If you can build a fleet, it would benefit all of us."
Hadrian reached into his cloak and pulled out a small parchment-wrapped bundle. He placed it on the table and carefully unwrapped it to reveal a snowy white owl, perched calmly on his hand. The owl hooted softly, its bright eyes glinting in the firelight.
"This," Hadrian said, stroking the bird's feathers, "is how you can communicate with Skagos in my absence. We don't have a maester on the island, so we've trained these owls to carry messages. If you ever need to contact me or my steward while I'm away, use this."
Ellard leaned forward, studying the owl with mild curiosity. "An owl, you say? That's certainly different from the ravens we use."
Hadrian smiled. "Yes, it is. But I assure you, they are just as reliable."
Ellard nodded, accepting the gift. "Very well, Lord Peverell. I will keep this in mind."
The conversation lulled into a comfortable silence, the crackling of the fire filling the space between them. Finally, Ellard rose from his seat, signaling the end of their discussion.
"You've done well, Hadrian," he said, using his name for the first time. "Skagos is stronger under your rule than it has been in centuries. Continue as you have, and you may find that the North will look to you as more than just a lord of a distant isle."
Hadrian stood, offering a respectful bow. "Thank you, my lord. I will do my best to honor the trust you've placed in me."
As Hadrian left the solar, making his way through the corridors of Winterfell once more, he couldn't help but feel a sense of accomplishment. His plans were moving forward, and the support of Ellard Stark was more valuable than gold.