Chapter 60: The Imp's Keen Eye and the Shadow Isle's Impregnable Walls (Tyrion's Visit: Part 2)
The carefully managed tour of the "Heir's Hoard" gold mine at Whispering Gulch had left Tyrion Lannister with a bellyful of Skagosi ale, a notebook filled with plausible, if unexciting, geological observations, and a nagging, persistent sense of intellectual unease. The mine was rich, undeniably so. The Volmark explanations were logical, their miners hardworking, their overseers gruffly informative. Yet, the sheer, unending consistency of the wealth, the almost theatrical perfection of the operation, pricked at Tyrion's mind like a shard of ice. It felt… curated.
Aelyx Velaryon, observing through the senses of Lord Daeron Volmark and the ever-present, glamoured house-elf Elaric (Tyrion's personal attendant), noted the Imp's subtle frowns, the way his mismatched eyes lingered on details others might have missed, the probing nature of his seemingly casual questions. Tyrion was no fool; he was a connoisseur of deception, having navigated the treacherous courts of King's Landing and Casterly Rock his entire life. He might not grasp the how of Skagos's secret, but he was beginning to sense the that – that there was more to this remote Northern isle than met the eye.
In the days that followed the mine tour, Tyrion subtly shifted his tactics. If direct investigation of the gold source yielded only polished stone walls, perhaps the chinks in House Volmark's armor lay in its people, its history, or its less guarded peripheries. He became the amiable, scholarly guest, full of charming wit and an insatiable curiosity for all things Skagosi.
"Your island is remarkably… self-contained, Lord Daeron," Tyrion commented one evening, as they shared a surprisingly fine vintage of what Daeron claimed was an "experimental Skagosi ice-wine" (in truth, an alchemically perfected creation from Aelyx's own cellars, designed to impress and slightly befuddle). "Such prosperity, yet you seem to have little ambition for influence beyond your shores, save for your steadfast loyalty to Winterfell. A most un-Valyrian trait, if I may be so bold, for a house that claims such ancestry."
Daeron, Aelyx's voice a calm undercurrent in his mind, offered a wry Northern smile. "Perhaps our Valyrian blood thinned too much in these cold climes, Lord Tyrion. Or perhaps our ancestors learned the bitter lessons of Old Valyria's overreach. We find contentment in our own strength, in the prosperity of our people, and in the deep peace of our ancient gods. The south, with its endless games of thrones and shifting allegiances… it is a fire that often consumes those who dance too close to its flames."
Tyrion, a master of those fiery dances, chuckled. "A wise philosophy, my lord. Though some might call it… unambitious. Or perhaps, exceedingly clever." His eyes gleamed with a knowing light.
He requested permission to explore more of Skagos, citing his "scholarly treatise" on the remote regions of the North. Aelyx, after careful consideration, granted this, but under strictly controlled conditions. Lord Daeron assigned his own second son, young Ser Rodrik Volmark (another of Aelyx's distant, indoctrinated descendants, trained in both public Northern martial skills and the secret arts of observation), as Tyrion's guide and companion, along with a small, impeccably loyal Skagosi honor guard. Elaric, the house-elf steward, naturally, accompanied his master.
Their excursions took them to rugged fishing villages on Skagos's storm-lashed coasts, where Tyrion observed the hardy fisherfolk, their lives difficult but their larders surprisingly full, their children robust and healthy. He saw the small, well-maintained septs dedicated to the Old Gods, the carved weirwood faces in hidden groves (all carefully vetted or subtly altered by house-elf magic to reveal no undue mystical potency). He hunted for shadow-cats in the high, misty forests (the hunts carefully managed, ensuring he found sport but never strayed towards Mount Skatus). He saw a land that was indeed harsh, wild, and sparsely populated beyond Shadowport, yet one that also exuded an air of quiet, well-managed order and surprising bounty.
During these travels, Tyrion attempted to engage the common Skagosi in conversation, offering wine, coin, and his disarming wit. He found them polite but deeply reserved, their loyalty to Lord Volmark absolute, their knowledge of the "Heir's Hoard" limited to vague tales of its divine blessing and the hard work of their ancestors. There were no disgruntled peasants, no resentful lesser gentry, no whispers of tyranny or hidden strife that he could exploit. It was, in its way, almost unnervingly harmonious.
He delved into the meager public library of Icefang Keep, poring over what few ancient texts Lord Daeron "possessed." These were carefully curated by Aelyx – mostly mundane Northern histories, some Velaryon sea charts of no great import, and a few heavily edited, largely fictionalized "Skagosi chronicles" that spoke of hardy settlers, battles against mythical beasts, and the blessings of the Old Gods upon the Volmark line. There were no forbidden grimoires, no true Valyrian texts, nothing to hint at the vast arcane knowledge hidden deep within the mountain.
"Your family history is… remarkably focused on your Northern integration, Lord Daeron," Tyrion observed one evening, after a day spent with the dusty "chronicles." "For a house of Valyrian origin, there seems to be little mention of the Freehold, of its magic, its dragons…"
Daeron sighed, a picture of regretful practicality. "So much was lost, Lord Tyrion. Centuries passed. Our ancestors clung to survival, not to fading glories. We are Skagosi now, Northmen in heart and deed. The fires of Valyria are but cold embers in our distant memory, a tale to tell children, nothing more."
Aelyx, through Daeron, even decided to provide Tyrion with a carefully managed "supernatural" encounter. During a visit to a remote, ancient stone circle on Skagos's northernmost tip (a site Aelyx's geomancers had identified as having minor, natural earth energies, which Aenar's team then subtly amplified and shaped for effect), Tyrion and his party "witnessed" strange lights in the sky, heard unsettling whispers on the wind, and found recently placed, cryptic offerings of carved bone and twisted weirwood branches. Rodrik Volmark, with feigned Northern superstition, spoke of the "Old Ones of Skagos," ancient spirits who guarded the island's deepest secrets and its treasures, punishing any who delved too greedily or without respect.
Tyrion, ever the skeptic, listened with a raised eyebrow, but Aelyx knew the encounter would plant a seed of doubt, a hint of a non-mundane explanation for Skagos's unique fortune that was far removed from the truth of Valyrian high magic and industrial-scale alchemy. Let Tywin Lannister ponder ancient curses and territorial spirits; it was a more palatable, and less dangerous, mystery than the reality of a hidden dragon kingdom.
Throughout Tyrion's stay, Aelyx ensured his more prominent immortal children and grandchildren remained deep within the sanctuary, their Valyrian features and potent auras far too revealing. Only those descendants several generations removed, whose appearances were more typically Northern and whose magical training allowed for perfect control over any outward manifestations, were permitted to interact with the Lannister envoy, and even then, only under the strictest supervision.
The most direct intellectual sparring often occurred between Tyrion and Elaric, the glamoured house-elf steward. Tyrion, sensing a keen mind beneath Elaric's deferential facade, would often engage him in conversations about history, philosophy, and even the nature of wealth and power, hoping to glean some unguarded insight. Elaric, channeling Aelyx's centuries of wisdom and Voldemort's cunning, parried every thrust with impeccable logic, humble pronouncements, and a vast, if seemingly folksy, knowledge of "Skagosi lore" and proverbs.
"Your Lord Volmark is a fortunate man to have such wise counsel, Master Elaric," Tyrion once remarked, after a particularly insightful observation from the steward on the burdens of leadership.
Elaric bowed deeply. "Lord Volmark is wise in himself, Lord Tyrion. I merely echo the ancient prudence of our island people. We Skagosi understand that true wealth lies not in mountains of gold, but in the loyalty of one's kin, the bounty of a well-tended land, and the peace of the Old Gods." It was a sentiment designed to be both profound and utterly unhelpful to Tywin Lannister's ambitions.
Aelyx even allowed Tyrion a carefully orchestrated glimpse of Skagosi "justice." A minor dispute between two fishermen over netting rights was brought before Lord Daeron Volmark in Icefang Keep's great hall. Daeron listened patiently, questioned both men fairly, and delivered a judgment that was swift, Solomonic, and rooted in ancient Skagosi common law (itself a construct refined by Aelyx over generations to ensure order and loyalty). Tyrion witnessed a system that was efficient, just, and entirely self-contained, offering no obvious levers for external interference.
As Tyrion's extended visit drew to a close, he found himself in a peculiar position. He had been treated with impeccable, if somewhat reserved, hospitality. He had seen evidence of immense, well-managed wealth. He had observed a strong, disciplined, and fiercely loyal populace. He had encountered a ruling family that was intelligent, courteous, and utterly impenetrable. He had found no obvious corruption, no simmering dissent, no easily exploitable weaknesses. The "Heir's Hoard" mine remained an enigma – plausibly natural, yet unnaturally bountiful. Skagos was a fortress, not just of stone, but of will, of tradition, of secrets kept with an almost religious fervor.
He knew, with a certainty that settled deep in his bones, that there was more to Skagos than met the eye. He could feel it in the unnerving intelligence of the Volmark children's violet eyes, in the strange, ancient stillness of the island's high peaks, in the almost preternatural efficiency of Lord Daeron's household, and in the effortless, endless flow of gold that seemed to defy all mundane explanation. But he had no proof, nothing tangible to bring back to his father, nothing but his own sharp, unproven suspicions.
His final private audience with Lord Daeron Volmark was a masterpiece of polite, inconclusive diplomacy.
"I thank you for your generous hospitality, Lord Daeron," Tyrion said, raising a goblet of the Skagosi ice-wine. "My time on your remarkable island has been… most illuminating. I shall have much to report to my father, Lord Tywin, of Skagosi strength and prosperity."
Daeron inclined his head. "You are always welcome on Skagos, Lord Tyrion, as is any true friend of the North and House Volmark. We trust your journey back to the south will be swift and safe. Perhaps you will carry with you a better understanding of our quiet, self-reliant ways."
"Indeed," Tyrion replied, his mismatched eyes glinting. "I have learned that the North holds many… deep secrets. And that Skagos, perhaps, holds the deepest of them all." It was a subtle probe, a final attempt to elicit a reaction.
Daeron merely smiled, a calm, enigmatic Northern smile that Aelyx himself had perfected generations ago. "The deepest secrets of any land, Lord Tyrion, are usually those it keeps from itself. We Skagosi are simple folk. We work hard, honor our gods and our lord, and are grateful for the bounty our island provides. There is little more to us than that."
Tyrion knew he was being masterfully stonewalled. He had been shown precisely what House Volmark, and whoever truly guided its destiny, wanted him to see. He had been allowed to look, to ask, to explore within carefully defined boundaries, but the true heart of Skagos remained veiled, inviolable.
As Tyrion Lannister's ship sailed away from Shadowport, diminishing into the grey mists of the Shivering Sea, Aelyx Velaryon stood within his obsidian observatory, watching its departure through his scrying pool. The Imp had been a worthy adversary, his intellect a stimulating challenge. He had not uncovered their secrets, but Aelyx knew Tyrion would carry back a report that would give Tywin Lannister much to ponder, and perhaps, much to hesitate over. Skagos would be marked as a place of immense wealth, yes, but also of formidable, enigmatic strength, not a fruit ripe for easy plucking.
"He will tell his father that we are more than mere Northern savages blessed with a rich mine," Aelyx murmured to Lyanna, who stood beside him. "He will speak of our discipline, our unity, our impenetrable discretion. He will not understand why, but he will understand that we are not to be trifled with lightly."
Lyanna nodded. "Tywin Lannister is a patient man, Aelyx. His hunger for gold will not be so easily sated. He will continue to watch."
"Let him watch," Aelyx said, a cold fire in his eternal violet eyes. "Let all of Westeros watch our public face, the prosperous, loyal Lords of Skagos. They will see only what we allow them to see. The true power, the heart of our eternal dynasty, the legions of dragons and the boundless magic that slumbers beneath this mountain, will remain our secret, our shield, and ultimately, our unassailable claim to a future they cannot even begin to imagine."
Tyrion Lannister's visit had been a ripple on the surface of their timeless existence, a test passed, a potential threat managed. The Shadow King turned back to his endless work, to the nurturing of his immortal family, the breeding of his dragons, and the patient, inexorable expansion of his hidden, eternal kingdom. The world outside would continue its dance of ambition and folly. Skagos would endure, its secrets safe, its power growing, a silent, watchful titan in the frozen North.