Hadrian Peverell: High Lord of Skagos

Chapter 42: The Arrival at Winterfell

Hadrian stood at the head of his small procession, the cold northern wind biting at their faces as they approached the ancient stronghold of Winterfell. His cloak flared behind him, the red lining flashing like blood against the backdrop of the grey sky. His guards, tall and imposing in their gleaming armor, followed in perfect formation, their spears upright and shields strapped across their backs. The Peverell sigil adorned their cloaks, standing out against the grey and gold hues of their uniforms.

Ahead of them, Winterfell loomed large, its high stone walls and formidable towers rising from the snow-covered ground. It was a fortress that had stood for thousands of years, as timeless and unyielding as the North itself. And now, for the first time in many years, it was welcoming a lord from Skagos, the wild and distant island long thought to be inhabited by savages.

But Hadrian was no savage.

He had sent an owl ahead to announce his arrival, ensuring that his visit was not unanticipated. As they crossed the bridge that led to the great gates of Winterfell, he could see the banners of House Stark fluttering in the cold breeze. The grey direwolf of House Stark, stark against the white field, seemed to watch them as they approached.

The gates creaked open, and Hadrian's procession was met by the sight of Lord Ellard Stark, standing tall at the head of his own household. The Stark lord was a man of middle years, his hair streaked with grey and his face set in a serious expression. He wore the heavy furs and leathers of the North, a sword belted at his side. Next to him stood his brother, Benjen, a tall and broad-shouldered man with the fierce look of a warrior. Their presence was a show of respect, and Hadrian was keenly aware of the unspoken weight of this encounter.

As they neared the courtyard, Hadrian could see Lord Stark's eyes flickering with confusion, though the lord's face remained impassive. He was clearly surprised at the sight of the Skagosi men in such fine armor, their weapons gleaming as if newly forged. Skagos had long been seen as a harsh and isolated land, its people rough and crude, but here they were—armed and dressed as well as any knight in the south.

"Lord Hadrian Peverell of Skagos," Lord Stark greeted him formally, stepping forward. His voice was deep and steady, but there was a hint of curiosity behind his stern gaze.

"Lord Stark," Hadrian replied, bowing his head slightly in respect. "It is an honor to stand before you, in the heart of the North."

There was a moment of silence as the two men regarded each other, a quiet acknowledgment of the significance of this meeting. Though Winterfell had long been the seat of power in the North, Skagos was no longer the distant, half-forgotten island it had once been. Its lord now stood here, not as a supplicant, but as an equal.

"You've come far," Lord Stark said after a moment, glancing at Hadrian's guards once more, his eyes lingering on the fine armor they wore.

Hadrian nodded, his cloak shifting slightly in the wind. "Far indeed, but not without reason."

"Come," Lord Stark said, gesturing toward the great hall. "Bread and salt await you within. You and your men are guests in Winterfell."

With that, the formalities of their arrival began. They were led into the great hall, where long tables were already laden with food. The smell of roasted meats and fresh bread filled the air, mixing with the warmth of the great hearth that burned at the far end of the room. The hall itself was grand but simple, its walls lined with ancient tapestries depicting the long history of House Stark.

Hadrian and his men were offered bread and salt, the customary symbol of guest right, and with it, any lingering tension melted away. The welcome was official, and Hadrian was now under the protection of House Stark.

As they sat, Lord Stark took his place at the head of the table, with Hadrian beside him. The conversation began with the expected pleasantries, a discussion of the harsh winter and the state of affairs in the North. But soon enough, Hadrian turned the conversation to the purpose of his visit.

"Lord Stark," Hadrian began, his voice smooth and deliberate, "Skagos has long been isolated, but we have begun to rebuild. Trade is flourishing, and our fleet now sails across the seas. I have come to thank you, formally, for your support during these difficult times. Without House Stark's help, Skagos might still be in ruins."

Lord Stark regarded him carefully. "You speak of a fleet," he said slowly, "and trade. Skagos has always been... distant from the rest of the North. What has changed?"

"Much has changed, my lord," Hadrian replied. "We have discovered resources that were long forgotten. Our mines produce silver, copper, and iron. We have even begun distilling our own whiskey, which I believe will find favor in the markets of Westeros."

Lord Stark raised an eyebrow. "Whiskey? From Skagos?"

Hadrian smiled slightly. "Indeed. We have much to offer now, not only to the North but to the entire realm. And as always, Skagos remains loyal to House Stark. Our prosperity is your prosperity."

The hall fell silent for a moment, as the weight of Hadrian's words settled over them. Lord Stark leaned back in his chair, his fingers lightly drumming on the table as he considered what had been said.

"You've done well to rebuild Skagos," he said finally, his voice thoughtful. "But it is not only trade that interests me. The North is changing. There are rumors from the south, talk of dying dragons and maybe war. If Skagos has resources, if you have ships, then perhaps we will need more than just trade between us."

Hadrian nodded, his expression serious. "I understand, Lord Stark. And that is why I have brought this."

With a gesture, one of Hadrian's guards stepped forward, carrying a carefully wrapped package. He placed it on the table before Lord Stark, and Hadrian stood, unwrapping the gift himself.

Inside was a finely crafted ring—a signet ring made of the purest silver. The design was intricate, featuring two snarling direwolves, their emerald eyes glittering in the firelight. It was a masterpiece, a token of loyalty and friendship, but also a symbol of the bond between Skagos and Winterfell.

"This," Hadrian said, holding the ring up for Lord Stark to see, "is a gift. A token of gratitude, but also a promise. Skagos is ready to stand with House Stark, in trade and in war, should the need arise."

Lord Stark reached out, taking the ring in his hand. He turned it over slowly, examining the craftsmanship with a practiced eye. After a moment, he nodded, slipping the ring onto his finger.

"You honor us, Lord Peverell," he said, his voice quiet but sincere. "And you have our thanks. House Stark does not forget its friends."

Hadrian inclined his head, satisfied with the response. "Then we are of one mind, Lord Stark. Skagos will always be a friend to the North."

With that, the mood in the hall shifted. The tension of the formalities eased, and the conversation turned to lighter matters. The fire crackled warmly in the hearth, and servants moved between the tables, filling cups and bringing more food. Hadrian's guards, though still vigilant, allowed themselves to relax, enjoying the hospitality of Winterfell.

As the night wore on, Hadrian found himself in quiet conversation with Lord Stark, discussing matters of trade, politics, and the growing unrest in the realm. Though he had come with the purpose of securing an alliance, Hadrian knew that this was only the beginning. The North was changing, and with it, the world.

But for now, he was content. The future was bright, and Skagos, once isolated and forgotten, was rising once more.

As the feast continued, the sound of laughter and the clinking of cups filled the great hall. Outside, the cold northern wind howled, but within the walls of Winterfell, warmth and friendship reigned. And though the night was long, Hadrian knew that when the dawn came, it would bring with it new opportunities, new challenges, and new alliances. Skagos and Winterfell—two ancient houses, bound by the cold and the blood of the North—were now united in purpose. And for Hadrian, that was all he needed.