The chill winds that swept across the Dreadfort carried whispers of change. Eyron Bolton, Lord of the Dreadfort, sat in his cold, dimly lit solar, the raven's message from Winterfell spread out before him. The words from Lord Stark were brief and to the point, as they often were. House Peverell had been raised to the lordship of Skagos, their dominion over the island affirmed. Stark's tone suggested finality—a decision made, and one that the other houses of the North would be wise to accept.
Eyron read the words again, his pale eyes narrowing in thought. The fire in the hearth crackled faintly, its warmth doing little to dispel the cold that seemed to seep from the very stones of the Dreadfort. He sat back, his fingers tapping lightly on the armrest of his chair.
"Peverell," he muttered, rolling the name over in his mouth as though tasting its weight. It was an old name, unfamiliar to him in the North, but the man behind it was no doubt an outsider, someone unknown to the long-established power structures of the region.
Eyron did not like surprises. The idea of a new lord in the North, especially one on Skagos—a place so wild, so untamable—irritated him. The Skagosi had always been a strange and distant people, more akin to the wildlings beyond the Wall than to the noble families of the North. The thought that this new Lord Peverell, brought in by Stark, could be a tool of manipulation made his blood simmer with quiet anger.
The Boltons had long sought opportunities to undermine House Stark's dominance. They bided their time, waiting for moments of weakness or division to exploit. Yet this Peverell, this new player on the board, posed a threat to that strategy. If the lord of Skagos was fiercely loyal to Winterfell—as was likely, given that the Starks had bestowed upon him his title—then there would be no easy way to turn him against the Warden of the North.
Eyron's thoughts were interrupted by the quiet shuffling of Maester Uthor entering the room. The old man approached, his expression unreadable as ever.
"Lord Bolton," Uthor said with a respectful nod. "Shall I prepare a reply to Lord Stark?"
Eyron drummed his fingers on the table, considering. He would not openly oppose the decision. Not yet. The Boltons were patient, after all, and patience was key. His time would come, but for now, he would play his part.
"Yes," Eyron said softly, his voice as cold as the winter winds. "Congratulate Lord Stark on this new alliance. Offer House Bolton's recognition of House Peverell."
Uthor nodded and turned to leave, but Eyron's voice stopped him.
"And make it clear that we will watch this Peverell closely," Eyron added, his tone a shade darker. "We will see how long his loyalty to Stark endures."
As Uthor left to draft the message, Eyron sat in the gathering gloom of the Dreadfort, his mind already calculating, planning. Skagos may have gained a lord, but that lord had yet to prove his strength. And the Boltons, as ever, would wait for the moment when that strength might falter.
In White Harbor, far to the south of the Dreadfort and nestled on the shores of the Bite, Lord Marlon Manderly sat in his grand hall, a wide smile on his bearded face as he read the raven's message from Winterfell. The mood in White Harbor was far different from that of the Dreadfort, for the Manderlys had long sought opportunities to expand their influence, and the news of Hadrian Peverell's rise to power on Skagos presented just such an opportunity.
White Harbor was the North's largest city, and House Manderly prided itself on its wealth and connections to the wider world. While the other northern lords lived in stone keeps surrounded by wilderness, the Manderlys lived in a bustling port city, with ships that sailed to far-off lands. Trade was the lifeblood of White Harbor, and Lord Marlon knew that a stable, prosperous Skagos could only benefit his house.
"Skagos, a land of wild men and untapped potential," Marlon mused, stroking his thick beard thoughtfully. "It's been a place of isolation for so long, but with this new lord in place, perhaps that will change."
His daughter Jeyne sat beside him, her keen eyes reading the letter over his shoulder. She was young, but she had inherited her father's sharp mind.
"Do you think he will be open to trade, Father?" she asked, her voice thoughtful.
Marlon chuckled, his deep belly laugh echoing through the hall. "I think he will have no choice. If Peverell is to hold Skagos, he will need supplies, allies. The Starks may have raised him to his position, but even they cannot give him everything. No, Jeyne, I believe this is a golden opportunity for us."
He stood, moving toward the great map of the North that hung on the wall of his solar. His fingers traced the coastline, from White Harbor to the remote island of Skagos.
"The Skagosi are seafarers," Marlon continued. "If we can establish trade with them, if we can use their ports to anchor our ships, White Harbor's influence will grow. Skagos could become a hub for goods moving between the North and the Free Cities."
Jeyne smiled. "It would be good for the city. The more ships that pass through our harbor, the more coin in our coffers."
"Exactly," Marlon said with a grin. "And if Peverell proves to be a wise ruler, perhaps we could forge an even closer relationship. There's power in alliances, Jeyne, and with Skagos under his control, Peverell will become a man to watch."
He paused, glancing at the letter again. "Of course, we must tread carefully. The Boltons will not be pleased by this development, and they are dangerous foes. But if we play this right, White Harbor could stand to gain a great deal."
Marlon turned to his steward, who waited patiently at the edge of the hall.
"Send a letter to Lord Stark," Marlon said. "Congratulate him on the rise of House Peverell, and offer our support. And send a separate letter to Lord Peverell himself. Let him know that White Harbor stands ready to welcome any trade agreements he might wish to make."
The steward bowed and left to carry out the orders, and Marlon Manderly smiled once more. The North was changing, and House Manderly was ready to seize whatever opportunities those changes might bring.
At Deepwood Motte, nestled in the dense forests of the western North, Lord Edric Glover sat by the hearth, his expression one of indifference as he read the raven's message. The fire crackled softly, casting flickering shadows across the wooden beams of the hall. Outside, the wind howled through the trees, a constant reminder of the harshness of life in the North.
"Skagos," Edric muttered, shaking his head. "A wild, desolate island. And now it has a new lord."
He tossed the letter onto the table beside him, uninterested. The Glovers had little to do with Skagos, and the rise of this new house meant little to them. The island was remote, its people strange and untamed. What difference did it make who ruled it?
Edric's wife, Lady Sybelle, entered the room, her face curious as she saw the discarded letter. "What news from Winterfell?" she asked.
"Lord Stark has named a new lord of Skagos," Edric said, waving a hand dismissively. "Some man named Peverell."
Sybelle raised an eyebrow. "Peverell? I've never heard of the name."
"Neither have I," Edric replied. "But it hardly matters. Skagos is an island full of wildlings and wolves. Let them crown whoever they wish—it won't affect us."
Sybelle crossed the room and picked up the letter, reading it over. "Perhaps. But it is curious, isn't it? Skagos has been without a proper lord for centuries. Why would Stark bother now?"
Edric shrugged. "Who knows? Perhaps this Peverell did Stark some favor, or perhaps he's just a convenient puppet. Either way, Skagos is too far from Deepwood Motte to be of any concern to us."
Sybelle frowned. "Still, it might be wise to at least acknowledge the new lord. It wouldn't do to offend Winterfell."
Edric sighed, nodding reluctantly. "Fine. Draft a letter of congratulations, if you must. But don't expect me to waste time thinking about Skagos. That island is a world unto itself, and it will fall back into chaos the moment Peverell dies."
As Sybelle left to pen the letter, Edric returned to the fire, his mind already moving on to other matters. Skagos might have a new lord, but in the end, it was nothing more than a speck on the map of the North—a place far removed from the concerns of House Glover.
At Last Hearth, the northernmost keep of the North, Lord Harmond Umber stood on the walls of his castle, his breath fogging in the frigid air. The raven's message from Winterfell was clutched in his gloved hand, and a broad smile spread across his face as he read the news.
"Skagos," Harmond said, his voice booming in the cold wind. "Well, I'll be damned. A new lord on that cursed island."
He turned to his son, Edric, who stood beside him, his massive frame towering over his father. Edric was still young, but he was already a giant of a man, with the strength and spirit to match.
"Think of it, lad," Harmond continued, clapping his son on the shoulder. "Skagos, finally brought under control. If this Peverell can do what no man has done in centuries, the North might just have a new ally worth having."
Edric grinned, his teeth flashing in the pale light. "And if they tame the island, think of the trade that could flow through Last Hearth. We could send furs, meat, and timber to Skagos, and in return, they could send us whatever strange goods they have."
"Aye," Harmond agreed. "And it's not just about trade. If Peverell can build up Skagos, it might mean more opportunities for alliances. The Starks are smart to raise a new house there—Skagos is a tough place, but if you can survive there, you can survive anywhere."
He paused, looking out across the frozen expanse of the North. "Send a message to Winterfell," Harmond said to the waiting maester. "Congratulate Lord Stark on his decision, and let him know that House Umber stands ready to support this new House Peverell."
"And a letter to Peverell himself?" the maester asked.
Harmond grinned again. "Aye, send one to him too. Let him know that if he needs strong arms and hearty warriors to help him tame Skagos, the Umbers will be there."
As the maester left, Harmond turned to his son once more. "We'll see what comes of this, lad. Skagos is a wild place, but maybe that's just what the North needs right now. A bit of wildness to shake things up."
Edric laughed, the sound echoing across the battlements. "I like the sound of that."
Together, father and son gazed out over the snowy horizon, their hearts full of hope and anticipation for what the future might bring.
At Karhold, far to the northeast, the old Lord Roose Karstark sat in his study, the letter from Winterfell open before him. The firelight flickered across his stern features as he read the news of Hadrian Peverell's elevation to lordship over Skagos. Unlike some of the other lords of the North, Roose had always kept a keen interest in Skagos. Though it was remote and wild, it was also a place of untapped potential—a land that, if properly managed, could contribute to the strength of the North.
Roose folded the letter carefully, setting it aside. He was a cautious man by nature, not given to rash decisions or impulsive actions. But the news of Peverell's rise intrigued him.
"A new house," Rickard mused aloud. "And on Skagos, no less. That island has always been a mystery, but perhaps this Peverell will bring some order to it."
His eldest grandson and heir, Jon, sat across from him, his expression thoughtful. "Do you think he'll succeed? Skagos is a hard place, and the people there are... different."
Roose nodded slowly. "Different, yes. But sometimes, that's what's needed. If Peverell is strong enough to hold Skagos, it could be a boon to the North. And if he's smart, he'll seek alliances with the other northern houses."
Jon leaned forward. "Should we reach out to him, then? Offer our support?"
"Not yet," Roose said. "We will wait and see how he fares. If he proves capable, then yes, we will extend a hand. But we must be careful. Skagos is unpredictable, and so too might be its lords."
He paused, considering his next move. "Send a letter to Winterfell, acknowledging Stark's decision and offering our recognition of House Peverell. But hold off on sending anything to Peverell himself. Let him make the first move."
Jon nodded, rising to carry out his father's orders. As he left, Roose sat back in his chair, his mind turning over the possibilities. The North was changing, and with change came both opportunity and risk. Skagos was a place of wild potential, but whether that potential could be harnessed remained to be seen.
For now, Roose Karstark would watch and wait, ever vigilant, ever patient.