In the two years since Hadrian Peverell had taken up the lordship of Skagos, the island had undergone a transformation unlike anything seen in generations. Once a harsh and unforgiving land where survival was the sole ambition, Skagos had become a place of prosperity and relative peace under Hadrian's rule. The people, who had once feared starvation and violence from rival tribes, were now well-fed, safe, and loyal to their lord. The harsh winds that blew in from the Shivering Sea no longer seemed to bite as deeply, as the warmth of security and the promise of stability had settled over the island like a protective shroud.
Hadrian, or Harry as he was known to those closest to him, had built a circle of trusted advisors from among the younger ex-chieftains of the various tribes and villages that once governed themselves independently. It had not been an easy transition—convincing the fiercely independent Skagosi to accept a single ruler and relinquish their old ways of life was a monumental task. But Hadrian had found a way. He had not only gained their loyalty but their respect, something few rulers had managed in the turbulent history of Skagos.
The tribal leaders who once clung to their own isolated corners of the island were now living within Norhold's walls, their families integrated into the new order Hadrian had established. These former chieftains had been young, ambitious, and hungry for change, recognizing that the old ways were no longer sustainable. In time, they had grown to appreciate the benefits that came with unity. It was not that their warrior spirit had been dulled—far from it. Hadrian encouraged the continued training in martial ways, for the North and the world at large were dangerous places, but now that training was no longer about raiding and fighting amongst themselves. It was about defending Skagos from outside threats and ensuring their future prosperity.
One of Hadrian's earliest and most significant changes had been to address the island's food shortages. Using his knowledge of magic and agriculture, he had initially cast wards over the island's crops, spiking their growth and providing an unprecedented bounty. For the first year, the people marveled at the abundance of food. What had once been meager harvests that barely sustained them through the brutal winters had become plentiful, ensuring that no one went hungry. Fish from the sea and game from the forests still supplemented their diet, but the crops, the grains, and vegetables had become a lifeline. The Skagosi were not accustomed to such abundance, and for a time, their gratitude had bordered on reverence for their new lord.
But Hadrian had been careful. He knew the dangers of absolute power, of fostering blind loyalty. For that first year, the wards on the crops had carried a subtle enchantment that ensured loyalty in those who consumed the food. It had been a necessary measure in those fragile early days, ensuring stability while the people adjusted to the changes. But after that first year, he had quietly altered the wards, removing the enchantment that affected loyalty. The crops continued to flourish, their bounty as great as ever, but the people now followed Hadrian because they wanted to, not because they were compelled to.
Loyalty, Hadrian had come to believe, was a double-edged sword. The Skagosi were fiercely loyal now, as loyal as any northern hound, but it was loyalty born of respect, not fear or enchantment. This was how Hadrian preferred it. If word ever spread that he had manipulated his people's minds, even for a short time, it would not bode well for his reputation or the stability of his rule. Nor could he allow such practices to continue; he wanted free-thinking, independent people by his side, not thralls.
And so, Skagos flourished, but not just in the material sense. Hadrian had introduced systems of governance and education that were previously unheard of on the island. The younger generation, in particular, had taken to these changes with enthusiasm. Schools were established in Norhold, teaching everything from reading and writing to the histories of the Seven Kingdoms. Even magic was discussed in hushed tones, though Hadrian kept his own talents mostly to himself, revealing only what was necessary to keep the more curious at bay. There were, after all, dangers in showing too much of what he could do. Magic, while fascinating to many, could just as easily spark fear and resentment.
The Skagosi, despite their wild and rugged nature, were not ignorant people. Their history was long and filled with stories of warriors and kings, but they had been cut off from much of the world for so long that many of their traditions had stagnated. Hadrian had reignited a spark in them, reminding them that while they were islanders, they were also part of the North, part of the larger realm of Westeros.
Hadrian's vision for Norhold had been grand from the beginning. What had started as a rudimentary fishing village was now a thriving city, the largest and most prosperous settlement on Skagos. It was here that the bulk of the population now resided, with the exception of the few small farming villages that remained scattered across the island. These villages were self-sustaining, feeding both themselves and Norhold with their surplus crops. Hadrian made sure that each village was protected by a detachment of trained warriors, drawn from the island's own people and trained in the new ways of war that Hadrian had introduced.
Skagos was a hard land, and the people who lived there were harder still, but under Hadrian's leadership, they had found a way to prosper without losing the edge that had kept them alive for so long. The Skagosi were still warriors, still ready to defend their land with their lives if need be, but now they had something more than just survival to fight for. They had a future.
The once wild and untamed lands around Norhold had been cultivated, with fields of golden grain swaying in the wind where there had once been only rocky soil. Livestock grazed in pastures, and the forests had been managed to provide timber for construction and firewood for the cold months. Hadrian had even encouraged the planting of orchards, though the harsh climate of Skagos meant that only the hardiest of fruits could grow there. Still, it was more than anyone had thought possible just a few years before.
Within Norhold's walls, the people lived in relative peace and comfort. The city had expanded to accommodate the influx of people, with new homes and shops lining the streets. Blacksmiths, carpenters, and masons had all found their place in the growing city, and the market square bustled with activity on most days. Fishermen brought their catches from the sea, while farmers brought their goods from the surrounding lands. There was even talk of constructing a small harbor, not one for fishing, no that one already existed, but one for trade, so that Skagos could better connect with the mainland and start its own trade routes.
But it wasn't just the material wealth that Hadrian had cultivated. The people themselves had changed. Once a divided and suspicious lot, they now worked together toward common goals. The old tribal rivalries had not disappeared entirely—such things could not be erased overnight—but they had been muted, replaced by a sense of shared purpose. The younger generation, in particular, had embraced this new way of life. They had never known the days of constant tribal warfare and blood feuds, and they were eager to build something better.
Hadrian's closest allies, the young ex-chieftains, had become his trusted council. Each had once ruled their own small corner of Skagos, but now they governed together, advising Hadrian on matters both great and small. These men and women had grown to respect Hadrian not just for his power, but for his wisdom and fairness. They had seen firsthand the changes he had brought to Skagos, and they knew that without him, the island would have remained stuck in its old ways, slowly decaying as the rest of the world moved on.
One of Hadrian's most trusted advisors was Torvald, a former chieftain of one of the largest tribes on the island. Torvald had been one of the first to join Hadrian's cause, recognizing the opportunity for his people in the new order. He was a fierce warrior, but also a man of practicality, and he had seen the benefit of uniting under one banner rather than constantly warring with his neighbors.
"Skagos has never been so strong," Torvald said one evening, sitting with Hadrian in the great hall of Norhall. The two men shared a tankard of mead, watching as the fire crackled in the hearth. "The people may have grumbled at first, but now they see what you've done for them. There's more food on their tables, and they no longer fear their neighbors. You've given them something no lord has ever given them before—peace."
Hadrian nodded, his expression thoughtful. "Peace is a rare thing in this world, Torvald. Especially in the North, so near to the Wall. But it's not something we can take for granted. There are always threats, both from within and without."
Torvald grunted in agreement. "Aye. The other lords of the North have taken notice of us, haven't they? They may have congratulated you, but they won't come to you for anything, just look at the non-existent trade or ships in general from the mainland. If Skagos grows too strong, they'll start to see us as a threat, if we are to weak they see us as an island of savage cannibals. And then there's the Wildlings beyond the Wall. They've been quiet for now, but that won't last forever."
"I know," Hadrian said, his voice heavy with the weight of leadership. "That's why we must continue to prepare. The Skagosi are warriors, and they always will be. But now they must be more than that. We must be ready to defend what we've built, but also to grow, to expand our influence in the North. If we can do that, then Skagos will not just survive—it will thrive."
Torvald raised his tankard in a toast. "To Skagos. May it thrive under your rule, Lord Peverell."
Hadrian smiled, clinking his tankard against Torvald's. "To Skagos."