Hadrian awoke to the familiar chill of Winterfell's stone walls, the weight of his direwolf cloak wrapped tightly around him. The fire in the hearth had burned low in the night, leaving only glowing embers that cast a dim, orange light across the room. The cold was biting, but it was nothing compared to the freezing winds of Skagos, and Hadrian found a strange comfort in the familiar northern air.
He sat up, rubbing the sleep from his eyes, and looked out the small window that overlooked the courtyard. The sky was still a soft grey, the light of dawn barely touching the horizon. Winterfell stirred with the sounds of morning—the clatter of servants beginning their work, the shouts of soldiers preparing for their duties. It was a reminder that his time here was drawing to a close, but there was still much to do before he departed.
As Hadrian rose and dressed, Kreacher entered the room, bowing his head respectfully. The elf-turned-human had adjusted well to his new form, though he still retained his sharp wit and piercing gaze, traits that made him invaluable. Beside him, Regulus Black stood silently, his expression calm but thoughtful. Regulus had accompanied Hadrian on this journey for reasons beyond mere loyalty; his mind was sharp, and his experience with political intrigue made him a perfect companion for the negotiations ahead.
"Morning, Master Hadrian," Kreacher said in his gruff voice, still showing deference even after his transformation. "Everything is prepared for our departure to White Harbor. But before we leave, I thought you might wish to speak about the matter of trade with Lord Stark."
Hadrian nodded, fastening the thick leather belt around his waist. "Yes, I've been thinking about it. The gift was well-received, but a mere trinket is not enough to cement our alliance. We need something more binding—an agreement, a trade deal, something that will show the other northern houses that Skagos and House Stark are standing side by side."
"Indeed," Regulus chimed in, his voice measured and precise. "A trade deal with Winterfell will send ripples through the North. The other houses will take notice, and it will lend legitimacy to Skagos's reemergence as a power in its own right. If we can secure favorable terms, it will strengthen our position in the North and beyond."
Hadrian turned toward Regulus, considering his words. Regulus was a man of intelligence, with a mind well-suited to the complexities of politics and numbers. He had once been part of the highest circles of influence, and that knowledge now served Hadrian well.
"You should be the one to handle the negotiations," Hadrian said after a moment of thought. "You've got a better head for these things than I do. I know trade is important, but I lack your experience with contracts and deals. Ellard Stark respects me, but I believe he'll respect our terms more if you're the one presenting them."
Kreacher's face lit up with an approving smile, and Regulus gave a slight nod, acknowledging the compliment. "I would be honored, Hadrian. With your blessing, I'll ensure the terms are favorable for both Skagos and Winterfell."
Hadrian grinned and clapped him on the shoulder. "Then it's settled. We'll present the idea to Ellard before we depart."
The three of them made their way to Winterfell's great hall, where Lord Ellard Stark sat breaking his fast. The morning meal was simple but hearty, consisting of fresh bread, roasted meats, and thick stews that filled the hall with warmth and the rich smell of spices. Ellard greeted Hadrian with a smile, rising from his seat to welcome him.
"Lord Peverell," Ellard said, his deep voice booming in the quiet hall. "I trust you slept well?"
"As well as one can in this cold," Hadrian replied with a chuckle, shaking Ellard's hand. "But Skagos has hardened me to the chill. I find Winterfell quite comfortable."
They exchanged pleasantries for a few moments before Hadrian gestured toward Regulus. "Lord Stark, I wanted to speak with you about more than just the gift we gave yesterday. As a token of our ongoing friendship, I wish to propose a trade deal between Skagos and Winterfell. Regulus, my steward, can speak to the details far better than I can."
Regulus stepped forward, his posture formal but his tone relaxed. "Lord Stark, Skagos has come a long way since you first gave us the opportunity to rise again. Our ships now sail across the seas, carrying goods such as glass, jewelry, and fine spirits. What we propose is a formal agreement between our houses—a deal that ensures regular trade between Skagos and Winterfell, benefiting both our peoples. We would offer you first rights to our finest goods, at favorable rates, in exchange for your support in introducing our wares to the other northern houses."
Ellard listened carefully, his expression thoughtful. "It's a bold offer, Lord Peverell," he said after a pause. "But one that could benefit both of us. Winterfell has always looked after its bannermen, and if Skagos thrives, the North thrives as well. I'll need to review the specifics, of course, but I see no reason why we can't come to an agreement."
Regulus smiled slightly, his confidence showing. "I'll have the details drawn up by the time you're ready, Lord Stark. I'm sure we can find terms that are beneficial to both of us."
With the trade negotiations on solid ground, Hadrian felt a sense of relief. The bond between Skagos and Winterfell was stronger now, and the formal trade agreement would send a clear message to the rest of the North. Skagos was no longer an isolated island of savage warriors—it was a growing power, with wealth and influence to match.
After sharing a short laugh and a few more words of gratitude, Hadrian excused himself and prepared for his departure. It was time to leave Winterfell and continue his journey southward, toward White Harbor and eventually to King's Landing. But first, they had to traverse the northern roads, and those were rarely without danger.
The journey from Winterfell to White Harbor was slow, the snow making the paths treacherous, but the small party moved steadily throughout the day. Hadrian's guards, ever vigilant, rode at the front and rear of the group, their sharp eyes scanning the horizon for any signs of trouble. Regulus rode alongside Hadrian, discussing future plans and strategies as they pushed forward.
As the sun began to dip below the horizon, casting long shadows across the snow-covered landscape, they reached a clearing near a small wooded area. It was the perfect place to make camp for the night. A fire was quickly lit, and the guards set up a perimeter, ensuring that no one could approach unnoticed.
Hadrian sat by the fire, his spear resting beside him. It was more than just a weapon—his staff, disguised in the form of a spear. He could use it as both a tool of war and a tool of power, the wood thrumming with energy whenever he held it. Magic flowed through him naturally, without the need for incantations or spells. It had become as much a part of him as breathing, and he could summon it at will, with little more than a thought.
As the evening wore on, the mood around the campfire was calm, but there was an underlying tension that Hadrian could sense. The northern roads were dangerous, and the threat of bandits was always present. His guards were well-trained and disciplined, but Hadrian knew that danger could strike at any moment.
His suspicions were confirmed when one of the sentries returned to the camp with a warning. "My lord," the guard said quietly, "we've spotted movement in the trees. A small group, likely bandits. They're keeping their distance for now, but I don't think they'll wait long."
Hadrian nodded, his face grim. "How many?"
"ten, maybe twelf," the guard replied. "No more than that."
Hadrian stood, gripping his spear tightly. His guards were already moving into position, forming a defensive line around the camp. The bandits wouldn't find them easy prey, but Hadrian wasn't one to sit idly by and wait for an attack. He moved swiftly, his cloak billowing behind him as he approached the edge of the camp.
"They won't expect much resistance," Regulus muttered, standing beside Hadrian. "But they'll learn soon enough."
The bandits emerged from the trees, their faces hidden by hoods and scarves. They were ragged, desperate men, armed with makeshift weapons and driven by greed or hunger. One of them, a tall man with a scarred face, stepped forward, his sword drawn.
"This doesn't have to end in blood," the bandit leader called out, his voice rough. "Hand over your valuables, and we'll leave you in peace."
Hadrian stepped forward, his spear held loosely at his side, but there was an unmistakable authority in his stance. "You've made a mistake coming here," he said calmly. "Leave now, while you still can."
The bandit leader sneered. "Brave words, but there's only a few of you. We'll take what we want, one way or another."
Without another word, Hadrian's guards sprang into action. They moved with precision, their spears thrusting forward as they engaged the bandits. The clash of steel rang through the night as the two groups met in a brief but fierce skirmish.
Hadrian himself stepped into the fray, his spear moving with deadly grace. He parried a blow from one of the bandits and, with a swift movement, struck the man down with the butt of his spear. Another bandit rushed toward him, but Hadrian was faster. With a flick of his wrist, the spear shifted into a staff, crackling with magic. He didn't need words to summon his power; a wave of energy surged from the staff, knocking the bandit back into the snow.
His guards were equally skilled. They fought with the discipline of elite soldiers, their movements fluid and practiced. The bandits were outmatched, and within minutes, the fight was over. seven of the bandits lay dead in the snow, while the rest fled into the darkness, their courage shattered.
Regulus approached, wiping his blade clean. "Not much of a challenge," he said, glancing at Hadrian.
Hadrian shrugged. "Desperation makes men reckless. But they'll think twice before attacking another camp."
As the guards returned to their posts, Hadrian looked out into the darkness, his senses still alert. The fight had been brief, but it served as a reminder of the dangers that still lurked in the North. Bandits, wildlings, and worse could strike at any time.
But Hadrian was ready for whatever came next.
As they settled back around the fire, the night grew colder, but the warmth of victory and camaraderie kept their spirits high. Tomorrow, they would reach White Harbor and sail for King's Landing. But for now, they rested, knowing that they had survived another night in the wilds of the North.