Chapter 15: The Shadow Pups in the Wolf's Den
Several years had woven their tapestry since the Volmark children had first stepped into the hidden heart of Mount Skatus and accepted their weirwood wands. Under the patient, exacting tutelage of Aelyx and Lyanna, and the specialized guidance of the house-elves, their innate magical talents had begun to blossom within the sanctuary's protective embrace. Torrhen, now a thoughtful young man of fourteen, displayed a remarkable aptitude for defensive charms and transfiguration, his calm demeanor belying a sharp, strategic mind. His control over his nascent warging abilities, inherited from his Stark blood, was growing; he could already sense the thoughts of the Skagosi wolves that roamed the island's highlands, a silent communion his father encouraged within the bounds of secrecy.
Visenya, at twelve, was a whirlwind of fiery Valyrian spirit and potent elemental magic. Her control was still a challenge, her spells often more explosive than intended, but the raw power she wielded was undeniable. She excelled in offensive magic, her violet eyes flashing with exhilaration as she mastered new incantations. Lyra, a quiet eleven-year-old, had become the sanctuary's unofficial naturalist. Her greensight unfolded like a blooming night-flower, granting her fragmented but increasingly accurate glimpses of the future, and her affinity with animals was profound. She could often be found in the phoenix aviaries, the magnificent birds treating her as one of their own, or in the deeper caverns where unique Skagosi flora, nurtured by magic, thrived under her gentle care.
Maegor, now nine, was all boisterous energy and martial enthusiasm. He loved practicing with his wand as if it were a miniature sword, his spells often accompanied by loud roars. His magic was strong but untamed, much like his personality. He was already showing a surprising connection to the younger dragons, often sneaking into their outer pens (under the discreet watch of house-elves) to observe them, his fearlessness bordering on recklessness. Aenar, the youngest at eight, remained a solemn, watchful child. His magic was subtle but deeply intuitive; he could manipulate energies and sense magical currents with an acuity that sometimes startled even Aelyx, his violet eyes holding a wisdom far beyond his years.
Their public lives in Icefang Keep were a carefully constructed counterpoint. They were drilled in Northern customs, history, and etiquette by Lyanna. Torrhen and Maegor spent hours in the practice yards with Skagosi weapons masters, their Valyrian steel training swords (gifts from their father, passed off as Velaryon heirlooms) a constant source of pride. Visenya and Lyra learned needlework, music, and the management of a great household, though Visenya often chafed under the restrictions, her spirit yearning for the freedom of the spellcasting chambers. They were Volmarks of Skagos, children of a powerful Northern lord, their magical core hidden beneath layers of mundane training and societal expectation.
It was late summer, the air crisp with the promise of autumn, when the raven arrived from Winterfell. Lord Cregan Stark, his seal prominent on the parchment, extended a warm invitation to his kinsman, Lord Aelyx Volmark, his wife, the Lady Lyanna, and their esteemed children, to attend the annual harvest feast at Winterfell. It was a time of celebration, of thanks to the Old Gods for their bounty, and an opportunity for the great Northern houses to gather, reaffirm alliances, and engage in the intricate dance of feudal politics. For Aelyx, it was another perfectly timed opportunity.
"Our cousins wish to see their Skagosi wolves," Aelyx announced to his family, a rare hint of amusement in his tone as he read the invitation aloud in their private solar in Icefang Keep. Lyanna smiled; the thought of returning to Winterfell, of seeing her family, always brought a warmth to her Elixir-sustained youthfulness.
Preparations began immediately. Aelyx viewed this visit not merely as a social obligation, but as a strategic deployment. His children were his most potent, long-term assets. Their successful integration into the highest echelons of Northern society, their ability to charm, to impress, and to subtly influence, was paramount. They were also living advertisements for the prosperity and strength of House Volmark.
The gifts prepared for their Stark relatives were even more lavish than before. For Lord Cregan, Aelyx selected a magnificent breastplate of what appeared to be exceptionally crafted Skagosi steel, inlaid with obsidian and silver in intricate weirwood patterns – in truth, it was a light but incredibly resilient alloy transmuted by the Philosopher's Stone, subtly enchanted by Aelyx for enhanced protection. For Lady Arra Stark, Cregan's wife, there were bolts of a unique Skagosi silk, woven from giant silkworm cocoons cultivated in the magically heated sections of the Glass Gardens, its texture and sheen unlike anything produced on the mainland. For Cregan's sons and daughters, there were finely wrought jewelry from the "Skagosi gold mine," Skagosi hunting knives with weirwood handles, and for the younger ones, masterfully carved wooden toys depicting Skagosi beasts – shadow-cats, snow bears, and even miniature, non-magical looking "stone lizards" that bore a suspicious resemblance to young dragons. Tokens of similar, if lesser, value were prepared for other prominent Northern lords they were likely to encounter.
The children themselves were meticulously prepared. Their public manners were polished, their knowledge of Stark lineage and Northern customs refreshed. Aelyx and Lyanna spent hours coaching them on how to answer questions about Skagos, to speak of its beauty and bounty without revealing its true secrets. For Torrhen and Visenya, the eldest, Aelyx reinforced their Occlumency training. "Your minds must be your own, always," he cautioned them. "Curiosity is natural, but the North is not ready for the truths we carry. You are Volmarks, children of a proud Northern house. Let them see your strength, your intelligence, your loyalty. Let them not glimpse the fire beneath the ice, not yet."
Their retinue was chosen for its appearance of Northern robustness and unwavering loyalty: a hundred "Skagosi household guard," their dark grey Volmark livery immaculate, their discipline absolute. Among them, as always, were glamoured house-elves, Mipsy overseeing Lyanna's and the children's needs as 'Head Steward Myra,' Tibbit acting as Aelyx's discreet 'Master of Intelligence Torvin,' and others scattered as unobtrusive servants, their magical senses alert.
They sailed from Shadowport in a small flotilla of House Volmark's finest ships, vessels that, while not overtly magical, possessed a speed and resilience that subtly spoke of superior craftsmanship. The children, accustomed to the often wild seas around Skagos, were good sailors. For Torrhen and Visenya, it was a return to a land they vaguely remembered from their earliest years. For Lyra, Maegor, and Aenar, the mainland North was a new, exciting world. Lyra, in particular, was fascinated by the coastline, her greensight giving her fleeting, confusing glimpses of ancient battles and forgotten settlements along the shores.
Winterfell welcomed them with a warmth befitting close kin and powerful allies. Lord Cregan, his stern face creased in a genuine smile, embraced Lyanna and clasped Aelyx's arm with hearty fellowship. Lady Arra Stark fussed over the Volmark children, marveling at their growth and their striking looks – the blend of Stark darkness and Valyrian etherealness was captivating. Torrhen, with his solemn violet eyes and quiet composure, immediately drew Lord Cregan's approving gaze. Visenya's fiery beauty and sharp wit charmed some and intimidated others. Lyra's gentle demeanor and affinity for the castle's hounds and horses endeared her to the stablemasters and kennel keepers. Maegor, bold and boisterous, quickly sought out the Stark cousins closest to his age, eager for play and mock battles. Aenar, ever watchful, clung to Lyanna's side initially, his violet eyes absorbing every detail of the vast, ancient castle.
The primary purpose of the visit, beyond the harvest feast itself, was to formally introduce the Volmark children to Northern society. They were the heirs to a house that was rapidly becoming a cornerstone of Northern power and prosperity, thanks to the seemingly endless bounty of the "Heir's Hoard" gold mine.
In the days leading up to the feast, the children were frequently in the company of their Stark cousins and the offspring of other visiting Northern lords. Torrhen found himself in conversation with Lord Cregan's eldest son, Rickon, a young man only a few years his senior. They spoke of hunting, of stewardship, of the responsibilities that would one day be theirs. Torrhen, carefully coached by Aelyx, spoke eloquently of Skagos's unique challenges and opportunities, impressing Rickon with his maturity and insight. In the practice yards, Torrhen's skill with his Valyrian steel training sword, a gift from his father, was evident. He moved with a speed and precision that hinted at training far beyond what was typical for his age, though he was careful to allow his Stark cousins a few victories to avoid appearing arrogant.
Visenya, paired with Lord Stark's daughters and nieces, found their talk of needlepoint and marriage prospects stultifying. She preferred the company of her more adventurous cousins, often slipping away to watch the knights train or to explore the battlements of Winterfell. Her sharp tongue and quick mind sometimes got her into minor scrapes, but her inherent Valyrian charm, when she chose to deploy it, usually smoothed things over. She was particularly intrigued by tales of warrior women from Northern history, like Queen Nymeria, a fascination Aelyx had subtly encouraged.
Lyra, with her quiet grace, found solace in Winterfell's ancient godswood. She would spend hours by the heart tree, feeling the ancient power of the Old Gods, her greensight flickering with images of Stark history. She befriended the castle's animals, who seemed to trust her implicitly, a subtle display of her Stark heritage that many noted with approval. She once calmly soothed a spooked warhorse that even its master struggled to control, earning her a nod of respect from Lord Cregan himself.
Maegor, true to form, was a whirlwind of energy. He engaged in wrestling matches, mock sword fights with wooden staves, and endless games of chase with the other Northern children. His fearless nature and booming laughter were infectious, though Lyanna often had to rein in his more boisterous impulses. Aenar remained the quiet observer, his violet eyes missing nothing. He seemed particularly fascinated by the architecture of Winterfell, the way the ancient stones fitted together, the flow of people through its halls.
Aelyx and Lyanna watched their children navigate these social currents with a mixture of pride and vigilance. They were performing their roles admirably, their secret identities secure. Aelyx used every interaction as an opportunity, subtly reinforcing House Volmark's image, gauging the political winds, and identifying potential future allies or rivals among the next generation of Northern nobility.
The harvest feast itself was a grand affair. The Great Hall of Winterfell was packed to capacity, its rafters echoing with music, laughter, and the clatter of feasting. The bounty of the North was on full display, supplemented by exotic contributions from Skagos – strange, sweet fruits from the Glass Gardens, richly spiced fish stews, and casks of the potent Skagosi spirit that was rapidly becoming a favorite among the Northern lords.
Aelyx, seated at the high table with Lord Cregan, Lyanna, and Lady Arra, was the picture of a powerful, benevolent kinsman. He made a rousing speech, praising the bounty of the harvest, the strength of the North, and the unbreakable bond between House Stark and House Volmark. He spoke of his children, "true wolves of the North, with a fire in their hearts to serve and protect this land," and formally presented them to the assembled lords and ladies. Torrhen, Visenya, Lyra, Maegor, and Aenar, dressed in fine Northern wools interwoven with subtle threads of Velaryon violet and sea-green, stood respectfully, their bearing a credit to their lineage.
Then came the presentation of gifts. The Valyrian steel breastplate for Lord Cregan was met with gasps of astonishment. The Skagosi silks for Lady Arra were admired for their unique beauty and texture. Each gift was chosen to impress, to indebt, to further solidify the perception of House Volmark's immense wealth and generosity. The narrative of the "Heir's Hoard" gold mine was now firmly entrenched, Skagos seen as a land of incredible, divinely bestowed fortune.
During the feast, Aelyx ensured his children interacted widely. Torrhen discussed hunting strategies with Lord Umber and shipbuilding with Lord Manderly's heir. Visenya found herself in a surprisingly engaging debate with Maester Walys about the historical accuracy of certain Northern legends. Lyra quietly charmed Lady Mormont with her knowledge of healing herbs (gleaned from Mipsy and the sanctuary's gardens). Maegor regaled a group of younger lordlings with (heavily edited) tales of hunting "stone lizards" on Skagos. Aenar, seated beside his mother, listened intently, his gaze occasionally flicking towards his father, as if seeking approval or instruction.
There were, of course, moments of tension. A visiting lord, emboldened by ale, questioned Aelyx too pointedly about the true source of Skagos's wealth, hinting at Valyrian sorcery. Aelyx, with a disarming smile and a voice as cold as the Shivering Sea, reminded the lord that Valyria was ash, its magic lost, and that Skagos's prosperity was a testament to hard work, the blessings of the Old Gods upon his Stark marriage, and the fortunate discovery of the Heir's Hoard. The lord quickly backed down, unnerved by the subtle menace in Lord Volmark's violet eyes.
Another time, Maegor, in a fit of pique during a game with a Karstark boy, caused a nearby torch to flare alarmingly high. Aelyx, who seemed to possess eyes in the back of his head, caught the incident instantly. A subtle, imperceptible wave of his will, a flicker of glamoured house-elf intervention, and the torch returned to normal, the incident dismissed as a rogue draft. Maegor received a private, chillingly calm lecture from his father later that evening, reminding him of the absolute necessity of control and secrecy. The fear in his son's eyes was a necessary lesson.
Lyanna, watching her husband and children navigate the complex social landscape of her childhood home, felt a strange duality. She was proud of her children's poise and intelligence, of the respect her husband commanded. She saw the benefits Skagos's wealth and alliance brought to the North. Yet, she also felt the weight of their secrets, the constant vigilance required to maintain their public façade. She was Lady Volmark of Skagos, a Stark of Winterfell, respected and admired. She was also Lyanna, the immortal consort of a sorcerer-king, mother to a line of magical beings, her life a tapestry woven with threads of light and profound shadow.
As the harvest festivities drew to a close, Aelyx knew the visit had been an unqualified success. House Volmark's position was unassailable. His children had been successfully introduced and accepted. The perception of Skagos as a loyal, powerful, and incredibly wealthy vassal was cemented. The Northern lords were more eager than ever for trade, for alliance, for a share in the golden bounty of the Heir's Hoard.
Their departure from Winterfell was marked by genuine warmth from their Stark kin. Lord Cregan clasped Aelyx's hand. "You have done well, kinsman. Skagos thrives under your rule, and your children are a credit to both our houses. May the Old Gods continue to bless House Volmark."
Aelyx bowed his head respectfully. "Your blessing means much, Lord Stark. We shall always be true to the North."
As their ships sailed back towards the misty shores of Skagos, Aelyx watched his children on deck. They were laughing, sharing stories of their time at Winterfell, their public roles momentarily set aside. He felt a cold, possessive satisfaction. They were his shadow pups, successfully presented in the wolf's den, their true nature hidden, their loyalty absolute. They were the future, and under his guidance, that future would be glorious, eternal, and utterly his own. The game continued, and House Volmark, the public face of his hidden empire, was playing its part to perfection.