The great hall of Hadrian Peverell's newly raised castle was silent but for the faint crackle of the braziers along the walls. The vast space, constructed from dark stone and illuminated by flickering torchlight, felt alive with anticipation. Rows of tall windows looked out over the still-empty city, offering a view of the cold gray skies that hung over Skagos. The village leaders of the island, their faces lined with years of hardship and weathered by the harsh northern climate, stood before him. Their expressions ranged from skepticism to curiosity, with a few lingering traces of defiance.
Hadrian sat at the head of the hall, his chair slightly raised on a dais. He had deliberately chosen not to sit upon a traditional throne, opting for something simpler—yet still commanding. His dark robes were made of thick northern fabric, practical for the bitter Skagos winters, but there was a subtle elegance to the cut, a sign of the man who wore them. His staff rested against his side, carved from a black wood that seemed to absorb the light around it.
The village leaders murmured among themselves, glancing at one another as they stood in the center of the hall. Some of them were older, their hair streaked with gray and their eyes hardened by years of leadership in Skagos' brutal environment. Others were younger, but even they bore the marks of a life lived on the edge of the known world. Their clothes were simple, rough-hewn from animal hides and furs, but they carried themselves with the authority of those who led their people.
Hadrian stood, raising his hand to quiet the room. The murmurs ceased, and the leaders turned their attention fully to him. He could feel their thoughts, the uncertainty and wariness, the skepticism that came from centuries of mistrust in anyone who claimed to be a leader. He did not blame them. Skagos had been ruled for generations by those who ruled through strength alone, men who enforced their power through fear and violence. Change, especially on an island as isolated as Skagos, would be difficult.
But change was coming. It had to.
"I welcome you all," Hadrian began, his voice calm and firm, echoing slightly off the stone walls. "I know that many of you have questions. You wonder what I am, who I am, and what my intentions are for this island. You've seen what I've built here—this city, this castle. And you've no doubt heard the stories of how I defeated your old lords. You wonder what comes next."
A few of the elders shifted on their feet, but no one interrupted. Hadrian's eyes moved over the crowd, taking in the faces of the men and women who represented the scattered villages of Skagos. These were the people he would need to bring into the fold if his vision for the island was to succeed.
"What comes next," Hadrian continued, "is change. Real change."
His words hung in the air, and he let them sit for a moment before pressing on. "Skagos has been isolated for centuries. You've lived by your own laws, followed your own traditions, many of which have been in place for thousands of years. But the world is changing. Westeros is changing. And Skagos cannot afford to remain as it has been."
The crowd remained silent, but Hadrian could feel their reactions rippling beneath the surface—some resistant, others curious.
"For too long," Hadrian said, his voice growing more passionate, "the rest of Westeros has looked at Skagos with fear and disdain. They see you as savages. Raiders. People who cling to ancient rites and brutal traditions. You are feared, yes, but you are also seen as backwards, as a people who have failed to move forward with the times."
One of the elders, a tall, broad-shouldered man with a deep scar running down the side of his face, narrowed his eyes. "And what of it?" he asked gruffly. "Skagos has survived just fine on its own. We don't need the approval of the southern lords."
Hadrian nodded, acknowledging the point. "You've survived, yes. But survival is not enough. Skagos has the potential to be more than it is. More than just a distant island of raiders and reavers. You can be stronger. More capable. But to do that, you must change."
He let his words sink in for a moment before continuing. "I have sworn myself, and this island, to House Stark of Winterfell. Skagos should have been loyal to them all along, but for too long, the old lords ruled with their own interests in mind, not what was best for the island or its people. That changes now."
At the mention of the Starks, there was a murmur of discontent from some of the leaders. One of the older men, a gaunt figure with deep-set eyes, spoke up. "You expect us to bend the knee to the wolves? We've ruled ourselves for generations. What do we care for the Starks and their distant warlords?"
Hadrian met the man's gaze evenly. "You care because the world is not as it was. The Seven Kingdoms are united under a single crown. The Targaryens rule with their dragons, and even the wildest, most distant parts of Westeros will be drawn into that unity sooner or later. If Skagos is to remain strong, if it is to retain any of its independence, it must ally itself with the North. And that means swearing loyalty to the Starks."
There was another round of murmurs, but Hadrian pressed on before anyone could interrupt again.
"But swearing loyalty does not mean giving up who you are. Skagos will remain Skagos, but it will be a better version of itself. That is why I am here. I have the power to bring about that change—to make this island stronger, more capable. But to do so, we must move forward. And that means leaving behind some of the old ways."
Hadrian stepped down from the dais, moving closer to the gathered leaders, his voice low but intense.
"The rite of strength," he said, "must end. No longer will leadership be determined by who can kill or defeat the strongest warrior. Skagos needs leaders who are wise, who can make decisions that benefit all, not just those who are the best with a blade."
There were a few disgruntled looks from the crowd, but none dared to speak out against him. Hadrian could feel the tension in the room. He knew he was treading on sacred ground here—challenging traditions that had been in place for longer than most of these people could remember.
"And the right of the first night," he said, his voice hardening. "That barbaric practice ends now. No more will a lord or chieftain claim the right to a bride on her wedding night. It is a stain on this island's honor, and it has no place in the future I am building."
The mention of the first night law brought a wave of murmurs, this time louder and more impassioned. It was a hated tradition by many, especially the women, but it had persisted for generations as a show of power by the island's lords. By abolishing it, Hadrian was doing more than just changing laws—he was signaling the end of a certain kind of rule.
"I will also bring the laws of Skagos in line with those of the North," Hadrian continued, raising his voice slightly to be heard over the growing murmur. "No longer will ancient rites and outdated customs dictate how justice is served. Instead, we will follow the laws of Winterfell—the laws of the North. They are fair, just, and they will ensure that Skagos is no longer seen as a land of savagery."
One of the younger leaders, a man in his thirties with a hard set to his jaw, stepped forward. "And what if we don't want these changes? What if we prefer the old ways?"
Hadrian's gaze settled on the man, unblinking and unwavering. "Then you are free to leave. You are free to go back to your villages and live as you have always lived. But know this—Skagos will be left behind. The world is moving forward, and those who refuse to move with it will be crushed beneath its weight."
The man glared at him, but there was no defiance left in his eyes. The reality of Hadrian's power, of the changes already wrought on the island, was sinking in.
"And make no mistake," Hadrian said, his voice cold and clear. "The rest of the world sees Skagos as a land of savages. Raiders. People stuck in the past. That is what they think of you. But I know that you are more than that. I know that Skagos has the strength to be more. And I will make sure that it is."
Hadrian's words hung in the air, heavy with meaning. He could feel the weight of their thoughts, the conflict raging in the minds of these men and women who had known only one way of life for so long. But slowly, one by one, the leaders began to nod. They could see the truth in what he was saying. They could feel the power in his words, in his presence.