Chapter 3: The Stone Wolf's Bite
The air in the Velaryon manse in Valyria was cloying with the scent of jasmine and the subtle, metallic tang of ozone from the nearby geothermal vents that powered much of the city's sorcerous infrastructure. Aelyx, now a young man of seventeen, stood before his father, Aerion Velaryon. His silver-gold hair was impeccably styled, his robes of the finest watered silk. He projected an aura of dutiful composure, discussing the latest reports from the Velaryon shipping ventures in the Jade Sea.
"The currents are proving… unpredictable this season, Father," Aelyx stated, his violet eyes meeting Aerion's. "And the whispers of increased piracy near the Stepstones give me pause. I was thinking of personally overseeing a convoy to Lys, and then perhaps taking a smaller, faster vessel to survey the northern trade winds towards the Shivering Sea. Our interests there have been neglected."
Aerion beamed, pride puffing his chest. "Excellent, Aelyx! Initiative! This is what I like to see. The North… yes, your mother's people. Perhaps strengthening those old, neglected ties could prove fruitful. The Starks are an ancient line, if somewhat… rustic. Take what resources you need. Show those Lyseni that House Velaryon's reach is long, and its gaze sharp."
Aelyx inclined his head. "Thank you, Father. I shall endeavor to bring honor to our name."
Beneath the calm exterior, Aelyx's mind was a razor, honed and ready. The "survey of northern trade winds" was his meticulously crafted alibi. The true destination was far bleaker, far more ambitious: Skagos, the Isle of Stone, reputed home of cannibals, unicorns, and a savagery that made even the hardened Northmen wary. It was to be the first tangible stone in the foundation of his eternal sanctuary.
For months, the final preparations had been underway, orchestrated with the silent, terrifying efficiency of his house-elves and the inexhaustible, untraceable wealth of the Philosopher's Stone. The thirty thousand strong Shadow Legion, trained in the hidden caverns beneath the waves, were ready. Their loyalty to Aelyx was absolute, forged in shared hardship, rigorous indoctrination, and the subtle, pervasive influence of his magic. They knew him only as the 'Shadow Lord,' a figure of immense power and unwavering resolve who had delivered them from bondage.
The fleet he had assembled was a motley collection of some fifty sturdy merchant cogs and a dozen swifter, nondescript galleys acquired from various ports across the Free Cities, all retrofitted for troop transport in secrecy. Their crews were a mixture of mind-controlled sailors under long-term enchantments, individuals bound by unbreakable magical oaths brokered by Voldemort's darker knowledge, and a core of house-elves skilled in seafaring, their forms glamoured to appear human. Mipsy, with her genius for logistics, had ensured every vessel was laden not only with soldiers and their arms, but also with provisions for months, tools, seeds, and prefabricated sections of basic fortifications.
Aelyx himself would not sail with the main fleet initially. His departure from Valyria needed to be public, his destination plausible. He would join them en route, his personal vessel a sleek, dark ship, enchanted for speed and stealth, crewed entirely by his most trusted house-elves.
Days later, after a conspicuous departure from the Valyrian capital amidst the well-wishes of his unsuspecting family, Aelyx's 'trade mission' made its ostentatious stop in Lys. He conducted carefully staged negotiations, signed minor trade pacts, and then, under the guise of exploring northern routes, his vessel slipped away from the Valyrian sphere of influence, heading into the colder, greyer waters of the Narrow Sea. Tibbit, his ever-resourceful scout, had charted a rendezvous point far from common shipping lanes.
The rendezvous was seamless. Aelyx's dark ship, appearing like a phantom from the mists, joined the waiting armada. He transferred to the flagship, a reinforced cog renamed Night's Maw. He did not reveal his Velaryon identity to the Legion. Here, he was their Shadow Lord, his features subtly altered by a constant, low-level glamour that lent him an air of timeless authority, his Valyrian finery replaced by dark, practical leathers identical to those of his soldiers.
The journey north was grim. The Shivering Sea lived up to its name, its waters cold and choppy, its skies perpetually overcast. The Legion, packed into the holds, endured with stoic discipline. Aelyx spent his time in his cabin, a spartan affair, meditating, reviewing his plans, and using his greensight to probe the mists of the future that lay over Skagos. He saw flashes of brutal skirmishes, of stony terrain slick with blood, of eyes burning with feral hatred. He also saw the eventual raising of stone walls, of fields being tilled, of a dark banner bearing a sigil he had yet to finalize – perhaps a snarling wolf's head of obsidian, its eyes chips of ice, a nod to his Stark heritage and the fierce nature of his new domain.
Their arrival at Skagos was heralded by jagged black cliffs rising from a churning, slate-grey sea. The island was larger than Aelyx had anticipated, a desolate, windswept land of craggy hills, stunted forests of gnarled pines, and an oppressive silence broken only by the shriek of unseen birds and the roar of the waves. There was no sign of civilization from the sea, only raw, untamed wilderness.
Aelyx had chosen their landing site with care, a wide, relatively sheltered bay on the southern coast, flanked by high bluffs that could be fortified. Under the cover of a pre-dawn mist, magically augmented by Aelyx and the house-elves to be unnaturally thick and disorienting, the Legion began their silent disembarkation. The house-elves, popping in and out of existence with supplies and equipment, were instrumental, transforming what should have been a chaotic amphibious assault into a remarkably orderly deployment.
The Skagosi were not long in discovering them. Scouts from the Legion, fanning out under the command of Gorok (whose small stature and inherent stealth made him an excellent reconnaissance leader), reported scattered tribal settlements, crude motte-and-bailey forts constructed of timber and earth, and hunting parties armed with stone axes, bone-tipped spears, and powerful yew longbows. The rumors of cannibalism were harder to confirm immediately, though the ferocity of the initial resistance lent them a grim credibility.
The first clash came within hours. A band of Skagosi warriors, their faces painted with whorls of mud and blood, their bodies clad in rough furs, charged from the treeline with terrifying howls, expecting to overwhelm the invaders with sheer ferocity. They met a wall of disciplined steel. The Shadow Legion, fighting in tight formations, their movements economical and deadly, cut them down with brutal efficiency. There was no Valyrian artistry in their fighting, no flamboyant dueling. This was the grim, methodical butchery Voldemort had instilled in his Death Eaters, refined into a cohesive military doctrine.
Aelyx observed from a high bluff, his expression unreadable. He felt no pity for the Skagosi, no remorse. They were an obstacle, a resource to be managed. He used subtle bursts of Legilimency to read the surface thoughts of the captured, confirming their tribal structures, their territories, their leaders. He learned of the three major clans: the Crow-Feasters, the Ice-River Men, and the Hornfoots, each vying for dominance over the island's meager resources.
The conquest of Skagos was not a single battle, but a brutal, grinding campaign that lasted for three grueling months. The Legion, supplied by the fleet and aided by house-elf reconnaissance, pushed systematically inland. They faced ambushes in the dark forests, sieges of primitive hillforts, and fanatical resistance from warriors who seemed to value death in battle above all else. The Skagosi fought with a desperate courage born of their harsh land, their warriors often a match for individual legionaries in sheer ferocity. But they could not match the Legion's discipline, their numbers, their logistics, or the terrifying, unseen power that guided them.
Aelyx rarely showed his own magic, preferring to rely on the Legion's strength. But when a particularly stubborn chieftain holed up in a near-impregnable cave system threatened to stall their advance, Aelyx acted. Under the cover of night, accompanied only by Kreely and Tibbit, he approached the cave entrance. Whispering spells Voldemort had used to instill unimaginable terror, spells that clawed at the sanity of those who heard them, he projected his voice deep into the caverns. The next morning, the chieftain and his honor guard stumbled out, gibbering madmen, their wills shattered. The remaining defenders surrendered without a fight. News of the 'whispering death' spread among the Skagosi clans, a new terror to add to their grim folklore.
The rumors of cannibalism proved true in isolated pockets, particularly among the more remote Crow-Feaster bands. Aelyx ordered such groups exterminated without mercy. Their practices were an anathema to the disciplined order he intended to impose. For the other clans, he offered a stark choice: submit and live as subjects of the Shadow Lord, contributing their labor to the new order, or be wiped from the face of Skagos. Many chose resistance and died. Some, seeing the hopelessness of their situation, bent the knee, their hatred carefully masked. Aelyx knew their submission was grudging, but it was a start. They would be a useful, if closely watched, labor pool.
By the end of the third month, Skagos was largely pacified. The major clan chieftains were dead or had sworn fealty, their warriors disarmed or incorporated into auxiliary labor units under Legion oversight. The cost had been acceptable: just under two thousand Legionaries had fallen, mostly to disease and accidents in the harsh terrain, with a smaller number lost in combat. Their bodies were burned on massive pyres, their ashes scattered into the Shivering Sea, their souls… Aelyx felt a familiar, cold stirring within him, a resonance with the Philosopher's Stone hidden far away. Every significant loss of life, every outpouring of psychic energy, was a potential source of power. He made a mental note.
With the conquest phase complete, the construction began. The chosen bay was renamed 'Shadowport.' Under the direction of Mipsy and with the tireless labor of the house-elves, augmented by the Legion and the subjugated Skagosi, a fortified port city began to rise. Docks of dark, resilient stone, quarried from the island itself, snaked out into the bay. Storehouses, barracks, a smithy, and a central keep were erected with astonishing speed. House-elf magic mended stone, lifted immense blocks, and shaped timber as if it were clay. What would have taken years by mundane means was accomplished in months.
Farming was a greater challenge. Skagos's soil was thin and rocky. Aelyx drew upon Flamel's alchemical knowledge, directing the house-elves to identify and transmute certain minerals in the soil, subtly enhancing its fertility in designated areas. He had brought seeds of hardy northern crops – rye, barley, turnips, and tough-leafed cabbages. The initial harvests were meager, but they were a beginning. Fishing fleets, crewed by cowed Skagosi under Legion supervision, brought in a steady supply of protein from the rich, cold waters.
High on the bluffs overlooking Shadowport, commanding a panoramic view of the sea and the inland valleys, the foundations of a truly magnificent castle were laid. This was to be 'Icefang Keep,' the future seat of the noble house he would one day publicly establish. It was a structure of grim, imposing beauty, built from the island's black basalt, with soaring towers, crenelated battlements, and deep, defensible courtyards. Its design was a fusion of Valyrian engineering prowess, Stark resilience, and Voldemort's penchant for intimidating architecture. House-elves worked day and night, their magic shaping the stone, infusing it with subtle enchantments for strength and endurance.
But Icefang Keep, for all its future grandeur, was merely the public face. The true heart of Aelyx's burgeoning domain, the genesis of his hidden sanctuary, was located deep within the island's mountainous interior, in a secluded, mist-shrouded valley that Tibbit had discovered, a place accessible only through a narrow, easily defensible pass, or by air.
Here, Aelyx personally oversaw the initial excavations. This would not be a castle of stone and timber, but a complex carved into the very bones of the mountain, a subterranean city shielded by leagues of rock and potent, layered enchantments. He envisioned vast chambers for his future dragon broods, libraries to house the magical knowledge he would accumulate from two worlds, laboratories for arcane research, and comfortable, secure living quarters for his descendants – the immortal, dragon-riding wizards of his bloodline.
The work was slow, meticulous, and conducted in absolute secrecy, primarily by the house-elves and a small, select group of Legionaries chosen for their unwavering loyalty and discretion, their memories of the exact location subtly clouded by Aelyx afterwards. He used Voldemort's knowledge of warding and Flamel's understanding of permanent enchantments to lay the groundwork for a sanctuary that would be undetectable, unbreachable, and eternal. He even began to channel small amounts of the Stone's power, not for gold, but to energize the wards, to subtly alter the rock itself, making it more malleable to the house-elves' magic.
Aelyx remained on Skagos for a full year, overseeing the consolidation of his rule and the initial stages of construction. He established a harsh but consistent rule of law, administered by the commanders he had identified within the Shadow Legion – individuals like Kael, a hulking, taciturn man with a brilliant tactical mind, and Lyra (named by her mother after a flower, ironically, given her new, brutal profession), a whip-smart young woman with a talent for organization and a chilling ruthlessness. These commanders, and a few others, were being subtly groomed for greater responsibility, their loyalty continually tested and reinforced. Aelyx even began to teach them the rudiments of Occlumency, to shield their thoughts from potential future enemies.
He learned to navigate the rugged terrain on a hardy Skagosi pony, often riding out alone, save for the invisible presence of his house-elves, to survey his new domain. He felt a strange sense of ownership, a grim satisfaction in this wild, untamed land. It was his. Forged by his will, bought with his gold, conquered by his army.
As the first anniversary of the Legion's landing approached, Aelyx knew it was time for him to return to Valyria. The Doom was drawing nearer, only two years away now. He needed to be present, to play his part as Aelyx Velaryon, to witness the cataclysm and to be ready to reap its aftermath. Skagos was secure, for now. The Shadow Legion, thirty thousand strong (minus casualties, plus a small number of integrated Skagosi youth who showed promise and absolute subservience), was a formidable garrison. Mipsy, Kreely, Gorok, and the other house-elves would remain, overseeing the ongoing development of Shadowport, Icefang Keep, and, most importantly, the secret sanctuary. They would communicate with him instantly, telepathically, through the soul-bond, regardless of the distance.
His departure was as discreet as his true arrival. Under the cover of a magically summoned sea fog, his dark ship slipped out of Shadowport, leaving Kael and Lyra as his joint regents, with the house-elves as their hidden, all-powerful advisors.
As Skagos receded into the mists behind him, Aelyx felt a profound sense of accomplishment. The first pillar of his eternal kingdom was in place. It was a brutal, savage beginning, built on slaughter and subjugation, but it was his. The Stone Wolf of Skagos had taken its first bite out of the world. And soon, the dragons of Valyria would fall, and he would be there to gather the embers, and the souls.