Chapter 12: The Cry of the Wolf Pup and the Mountain's Golden Heart
The long Skagosi winter, though tempered within the microclimate Aelyx was carefully cultivating around Shadowport and within his miraculous Glass Gardens, finally relented, giving way to a brief, vibrant spring. It was during this season of renewal, as the hardy Northern flora burst into life on the unforgiving slopes, that the halls of Icefang Keep echoed with a new, potent sound: the lusty cry of a newborn babe.
Lyanna Volmark, née Stark, had endured a difficult labor, her Northern resilience tested to its limits. But as Healer Elyn (the glamoured house-elf Elara, whose knowledge of healing now far surpassed any maester, thanks to Aelyx's tutelage and Flamel's texts) placed the swaddled infant in her arms, a profound wave of fierce, maternal love washed away the pain and exhaustion. He was small, red-faced, and squalling, but he was hers. He had a fuzz of dark hair, like hers, but when his tiny eyes briefly opened, they were a startling, deep violet – the unmistakable mark of his Velaryon father.
Aelyx stood beside the birthing bed, his expression carefully composed into one of paternal pride and relief. He had been present, a silent, watchful figure, his very presence seeming to emanate a calm that had, perhaps, subtly influenced the difficult birth. Internally, he was a whirlwind of cold, satisfying calculations. An heir. A male heir. The first crucial step in anchoring House Volmark to the North, in solidifying his public lineage. He subtly extended his Legilimency towards the infant, a delicate probe. He sensed a strong life force, the nascent echoes of Stark blood magic – a faint predisposition towards warging, perhaps even greensight – and, most pleasingly, a distinct, if deeply latent, flicker of his own potent magical core. This child would be more than just a Northern lord. He would be a conduit.
"He has your eyes, my lord," Lyanna whispered, her voice hoarse, her gaze soft as she looked at her son.
"And your Stark strength, my lady," Aelyx replied, his voice surprisingly gentle as he reached out a finger to stroke the infant's cheek. "He is a true son of both our houses. We shall name him Torrhen. Torrhen Volmark. After the King Who Knelt, a Stark who understood the wisdom of bending to a greater power for the survival and prosperity of his people. A name that speaks of strength, and of pragmatic alliance."
Lyanna looked at him, a flicker of surprise in her eyes. Torrhen. It was a strong, respected Stark name. She had expected something more Valyrian. This choice, this nod to her heritage, was another of his subtle, disarming gestures. "Torrhen Volmark," she repeated softly, a small smile touching her lips. "It is a good name."
The birth of an heir to the increasingly influential House Volmark was an event of significance, and Aelyx intended to leverage it to its fullest. Ravens took flight from Icefang Keep, carrying elegantly scripted invitations to Lord Cregan Stark and all the prominent noble houses of the North. They were summoned to Skagos in two months' time, to celebrate the birth of Torrhen Volmark, to share in a great feast, and to witness the growing prosperity of this new Northern bastion. The wording was carefully chosen, hinting at momentous developments and reaffirming House Volmark's commitment to the North.
While preparations for the grand festivities began, Aelyx set another, far more audacious plan into motion. Skagos needed a legitimate, undeniable source for its burgeoning wealth, something beyond vague talk of "Velaryon enterprise" or "modest Skagosi resources." The Philosopher's Stone provided limitless gold, but that gold needed a plausible origin story to satisfy the increasingly curious (and envious) Northern lords.
Deep within the volcanic mountains that formed Skagos's spine, in a remote, unsettled region scouted by Tibbit, Aelyx chose his location. It was an area with some natural quartz veining, but otherwise barren. Over several weeks, working in absolute secrecy with Kreely, Gorok, and a team of house-elves, he began to "seed" a mine. Using the Philosopher's Stone, he transmuted vast quantities of common rock not just into gold, but into gold ore of varying richness, from fine dust within quartz to impressive, thumb-sized nuggets. He created veins that appeared natural, lodes that hinted at incredible depth and richness. He even alchemically aged the surrounding rock, creating the illusion of a deposit that had lain undisturbed for millennia. It was a masterpiece of geological deception.
Once the "mine" was prepared, Aelyx orchestrated its "discovery." A team of Skagosi prospectors (actually loyal Shadow Legion veterans with some mining experience, carefully coached for their role), ostensibly searching for iron ore on Lord Volmark's orders, stumbled upon an outcrop glittering with unmistakable gold. Their "excited" reports reached Shadowport, and soon, carefully managed rumors of a massive gold strike on Skagos began to spread like wildfire.
Aelyx received the news with feigned surprise and profound gratitude. He immediately declared it a blessing from the Old Gods, a divine favor bestowed upon House Volmark and Skagos to mark the birth of his heir and the forging of their new alliance with House Stark. The timing was perfect.
By the time the Northern lords began to arrive for the celebrations, Skagos was abuzz. The "Whispering Gulch Gold Strike," as it was quickly dubbed, was on everyone's lips. Samples of incredibly rich gold ore were displayed in Shadowport. The city itself was a testament to Lord Volmark's capability. It had grown significantly since the wedding, its harbor filled with Volmark merchant ships (and the discreet, dark shapes of his warships, presented as a "Skagosi defense fleet"). Icefang Keep gleamed atop its crag, more imposing than ever. The Glass Gardens shimmered with internal light, promising bounty. The people of Skagos, a diverse mix now numbering well over a hundred thousand, looked well-fed, well-clothed, and fiercely loyal to their Lord.
Lord Cregan Stark was among the first to arrive, accompanied by his sons and a large retinue. He was visibly impressed, not just by the scale of development, but by the aura of order and prosperity that enveloped Skagos. He met his infant grand-nephew, Torrhen, a small, dark-haired babe with unsettlingly intelligent violet eyes, and grunted his approval. "He has the Stark look about his brow, but the fire of Valyria in his gaze. A strong lad."
Other Northern lords followed: Manderlys, Umbers, Karstarks, Boltons, and more. They came with curiosity, with anticipation (given Aelyx's previous generosity), and now, with a new respect tinged with awe at the news of the gold mine. Skagos was no longer just a wild, reclaimed island; it was rapidly becoming a treasure chest.
The feast held in the Great Hall of Icefang Keep surpassed even the wedding celebration at Winterfell. The tables were laden with an astonishing variety of food: roasted Skagosi mountain goat (larger and sweeter than mainland breeds), massive sides of seal and walrus, whole-roasted narwhals (a delicacy Aelyx had his hunters procure), an incredible array of fish from the cold northern waters, and, most impressively, fresh fruits, vegetables, and fine breads from the Glass Gardens, a riot of color and flavor that seemed impossible in such a Northern clime. Wines from the Free Cities (acquired through discreet trade) and potent Skagosi spirits flowed freely.
Aelyx, with Lyanna radiant (if somewhat overwhelmed) by his side, formally presented his son, Torrhen, to the assembled nobility. The infant, held in Aelyx's strong arms, seemed unfazed by the noise and the crowd, his violet eyes calmly surveying the scene. Cheers and toasts rang through the hall.
Then, at the height of the feast, Aelyx rose to speak. "My lords of the North! Kinsmen! Friends! You honor House Volmark with your presence, to celebrate the birth of my son and heir, Torrhen Volmark, a child of Stark and Velaryon blood, a true son of the North!"
More cheers. He let them subside, then continued, his voice filled with a carefully crafted solemnity. "The Old Gods have smiled upon our union, upon our endeavors here on Skagos. For it is my profound honor to announce that, coinciding with the birth of my heir, a discovery of immense significance has been made on our island. My prospectors have located a vein of gold so rich, so vast, that it promises to secure the prosperity of Skagos, and indeed, to contribute to the strength of all the North, for generations to come!"
He gestured, and servants brought forth caskets laden not with coins this time, but with glittering samples of raw gold ore – quartz shot through with thick veins of yellow metal, heavy nuggets the size of a man's fist. A collective gasp went through the hall. This was not just wealth; this was the source of wealth, seemingly inexhaustible.
"We call it the 'Heir's Hoard'," Aelyx declared, "a gift from the gods to mark this new beginning! This bounty will allow House Volmark to strengthen our defenses, to expand our trade, to support our people, and to contribute even more meaningfully to the security and welfare of the North, under the wise guidance of our liege lord, Cregan Stark of Winterfell!"
The reaction was electric. Awe, envy, naked avarice – Aelyx saw it all on the faces of the Northern lords. Lord Manderly was already mentally calculating trade tariffs. Lord Umber was likely thinking of how much steel such gold could buy. Even Roose Bolton's pale eyes held a flicker of something that might have been acquisitive interest. Lord Cregan Stark looked at Aelyx with a new, profound respect; his Valyrian kinsman was not just capable, he was touched by fortune, a man whose alliance was proving more valuable by the day.
The "discovery" of the gold mine transformed Skagos's standing overnight. It was no longer just a remote vassalage; it was a powerhouse in the making, a source of unimaginable wealth that could reshape the Northern economy. Aelyx used the remainder of the festivities to subtly reinforce this, discussing potential investments, offering favorable loans from the "first fruits of the mine," and hinting at joint ventures. He was binding them to him with chains of gold, ensuring their continued cooperation and support.
While these grand public maneuvers unfolded, quieter, equally significant events were taking place within the hidden sanctuary beneath Mount Skatus. The two phoenixes, Fawkes and Auriel, in the serene, magically attuned chamber Aelyx had created for them, had laid eggs. Two of them, small, teardrop-shaped, and glowing with a soft, internal luminescence, one a fiery crimson, the other a pure, molten gold. Aelyx received the news from Mipsy with a deep, internal satisfaction. The cycle of life, of magical renewal, was continuing. More phoenixes meant more healing, more potent magical companionship, another unique asset for his immortal dynasty.
Even more remarkably, the house-elf population was showing signs of natural increase. Mipsy, her large eyes shining with a rare, personal joy, had shyly informed Aelyx that she and Tibbit were expecting their first child. Two other house-elf couples, Kreely and a quiet female elf named Felly who managed the subterranean fungus farms, and Gorok and another sturdy elfess named Binka who oversaw the dragonling nurseries, were also showing signs of impending parenthood. It seemed that the security, the sense of purpose, the good treatment, and the potent ambient magic of Aelyx's domain (perhaps even the trace emanations from the Elixir he and they now regularly consumed) were creating conditions conducive to their reproduction. Voldemort had never cared for their propagation, only their service. Flamel had only known a few. But Aelyx, with his long-term vision, understood the value of a growing, loyal population of these incredibly versatile magical beings. He offered his sincere congratulations, promising special nurseries and considerations for the expectant elf mothers and their future offspring. Each new house-elf was another pair of skilled, loyal hands, another mind bound to his service, their lives interwoven with his own extending immortality.
As the Northern lords eventually departed Skagos, their ships heavier with gifts and their minds buzzing with the implications of the Heir's Hoard, Aelyx Volmark stood on the battlements of Icefang Keep, his infant son cradled in Lyanna's arms beside him. He watched their sails disappear over the horizon. His public front was secure, his wealth now "legitimized," his influence in the North cemented.
Below, in the heart of the mountain, his dragons grew, his phoenixes awaited new life, and his house-elf support structure was expanding. Torrhen Volmark, the public heir, was but the first step. The true work, the cultivation of a hidden, magical bloodline, the mastery of sorcery that would dwarf anything this world had seen since the height of Valyria, continued in the shadows. The cry of the wolf pup heralded not just a new Northern lord, but the quiet, inexorable rise of an eternal, hidden empire. And the mountain's golden heart, a deception born of alchemy and ambition, would fuel its ascent.