Hadrian Peverell: High Lord of Skagos

Chapter 41: The Arrival at White Harbor

Hadrian stood tall at the prow of his ship as it glided gracefully into the bustling docks of White Harbor. The cold northern wind swept across the harbor, but it did nothing to shake his composure. Wrapped in the luxurious cloak, lined with deep red that flared out like blood beneath the grey, he was the embodiment of power and grace, a lord of Skagos stepping onto southern soil.

As the ship docked, sailors rushed to secure the ropes, but the activity on the docks slowed as Hadrian and his entourage descended the gangplank. The sight of the finely dressed lord, followed by the imposing Skagosi guards in their polished steel and fur-lined armor, drew the attention of everyone nearby. Even the seasoned dockworkers paused to stare in awe at the spectacle.

The Heir of White Harbor, Ser Borian Manderly, was among those who had come to greet them. His eyes widened with surprise as he took in the sight of Hadrian Peverell, dressed in fine attire rarely seen north of the Neck. Hadrian's doublet, made from luxurious wool, shimmered slightly as the intricate embroidery of red and gold caught the dim northern sun. The sigil of House Peverell, a black phoenix, was subtly stitched in places, a reminder of the ancient power that the house held. The cloak of direwolf pelts hung heavily over his shoulders, the fastener shaped like the Peverell crest in gleaming gold.

Behind him, the House Peverell guards stepped off the ship in perfect formation. They were giants of men, their Skagosi blood giving them a presence that few in Westeros could match. They moved with purpose, their spears gleaming in the light, and their armor, while battle-ready, was beautifully adorned with the colors of their house—red, gold, and grey. The fur cloaks they wore rippled in the wind, blending with the snowy landscape that framed the harbor. Each carried a polished steel spear, a longsword at their side, and a shield slung across their backs, ready for whatever challenges might arise.

Ser Borian, still recovering from his initial shock, stepped forward to greet the lord of Skagos. "Lord Hadrian Peverell," he said, bowing slightly in respect, "White Harbor is honored by your presence."

Hadrian inclined his head in acknowledgment, his cold grey eyes locking with Ser Borian's for a moment before glancing toward the city beyond the docks. "I trust my arrival is timely. The winds were kind to us."

"They were indeed, my lord," Ser Borian responded, his voice regaining its usual confidence. He straightened up and gestured toward the grand city of White Harbor, with its towering walls and the proud fortress of New Castle looming in the distance. "Come, my father awaits you in New Castle. We have prepared bread and salt for your safe passage."

Hadrian gave a slight nod, signaling to his guards to follow as Ser Borian led the way through the city's bustling streets. As they moved deeper into White Harbor, it became evident that the news of Hadrian's arrival had already spread. The streets, lined with stone buildings and market stalls, were filled with curious onlookers. The people of White Harbor watched in awe as the tall, imposing figures from Skagos passed by. The sight of their polished armor and the direwolf pelts marking their noble status was unlike anything the common folk had seen.

Ser Borian, walking just ahead of Hadrian, maintained a steady conversation as they walked. "The winter's been hard this year," he remarked. "Trade's been slower than usual, but we manage. I imagine Skagos is no stranger to harsher winters."

"Indeed," Hadrian replied, his voice smooth yet carrying a hint of an accent foreign to these lands. "The cold of Skagos is something we've embraced, but the winds have shifted in our favor. This is only the beginning of what's to come."

Ser Borian glanced over his shoulder, intrigued by the cryptic response, but he did not press the matter. Instead, he led Hadrian through the gates of New Castle, where the Lord of White Harbor, Marlon Manderly, awaited them.

Lord Marlon, a large man with a broad chest and a belly to match, sat on a stone chair draped in furs. His face, though flushed with the warmth of the hearth, wore a welcoming smile. As Hadrian entered, his keen eyes caught the slight flicker of surprise that crossed the lord's face at the sight of the imposing figure before him. The Peverell cloak, the rich embroidery, the direwolf pelts—it all spoke of power, wealth, and a heritage that demanded respect.

"Lord Hadrian Peverell," Lord Marlon greeted, rising slowly from his seat. "White Harbor is honored to receive the Lord of Skagos. Please, sit. Bread and salt await you, as is our custom."

Hadrian stepped forward, his boots making soft thuds on the stone floor. He accepted the offer of bread and salt, a ceremonial gesture that ensured guest right within the Manderly halls. With that simple act, any tension melted away, and the formalities of their introduction gave way to a more relaxed discussion.

Marlon Manderly wasted no time, motioning for Hadrian to sit beside him at the long table. As they sat, servants brought out plates of food—hearty northern fare, with roasted meats and thick stews filling the room with mouth-watering aromas. Hadrian, always one for efficiency, allowed the pleasantries to be exchanged but soon turned the conversation toward business.

"The purpose of my visit, Lord Manderly," Hadrian began, his voice low but commanding, "is not merely to enjoy your hospitality, though I am grateful for it. Skagos has changed, and with those changes come opportunities for all of us."

Marlon leaned forward, his fingers tapping lightly on the edge of the table. "Opportunities, you say? Skagos has always been a distant and... rugged place. What opportunities could it bring to White Harbor?"

Hadrian gave a knowing smile. "It is true, Skagos has been isolated, but no longer. We have build a fleet—a fleet that will soon rival those of the great houses. Our ships are laden with goods that will interest the markets of the south and Essos. But more than that, we have the resources to make alliances. And for that I have brought a gift, a token of our respect for House Manderly."

With a gesture, one of Hadrian's guards stepped forward, holding a long, ornately wrapped package. He placed it on the table before Lord Marlon, then stepped back.

Hadrian reached out and carefully unwrapped the gift, revealing the gleaming trident he had crafted for House Manderly. The weapon was a masterpiece, its steel shafts polished and adorned with emeralds that sparkled in the firelight. The trident symbolized both the Manderlys' ties to the sea and the power they held as lords of White Harbor.

Marlon's eyes widened as he took in the sight. "This... this is extraordinary," he breathed, running his fingers along the shaft of the trident. "A gift fit for a king."

"Consider it a gesture of goodwill," Hadrian said smoothly, "a promise that Skagos and White Harbor are not simply neighbors, but partners."

Marlon Manderly was silent for a moment, clearly moved by the gift. "You have my thanks, Lord Peverell," he finally said, his voice thick with emotion. "And you have my word—White Harbor will remember Skagos as a friend."

Hadrian inclined his head, satisfied with the response. "Then our business here is done. But know this, Lord Manderly: the winds are changing. It would be wise to ensure we are on the right side of them."

Lord Marlon nodded, a flicker of understanding crossing his face. "Indeed, Lord Peverell. Indeed."

As the night wore on, the conversation between the two lords became more relaxed, but the foundations of something greater had been laid. The bond between Skagos and White Harbor, once tenuous and based on little more than proximity, was now something stronger—an alliance forged in gifts, respect, and shared ambition.

Hadrian knew that this was only the beginning. The trident was more than a symbol—it was a tool to secure his place in the politics of the North. And with the resources of Skagos at his disposal, there was no telling how far his influence would reach.