The Lord of Winterfell's solar was a room that spoke of eight thousand years of accumulated wisdom and careful stewardship. Ancient tapestries depicting the deeds of long-dead Stark kings hung alongside more recent maps of the North, while shelves lined with leather-bound ledgers and carefully maintained records created an atmosphere of scholarly authority. The great desk that dominated the center of the chamber—carved from a single piece of ironwood and polished smooth by generations of use—bore the subtle marks of countless important decisions made and sealed with the Stark sigil.
Lord Eddard Stark sat behind this desk with the unconscious dignity of someone born to command, his grey eyes thoughtful as they studied their guest. At his right hand, Maester Luwin had arranged his notes with characteristic precision, his weathered fingers drumming softly against the desk's surface as he organized thoughts that had been churning since their earlier conversation. The evening light filtering through the chamber's tall windows cast long shadows across ancient stone, creating an atmosphere of weighty deliberation that seemed entirely appropriate for the discussion ahead.
Hadrian Potter entered with the confident stride of someone entirely at ease in the presence of power, though he'd clearly taken considerable care with his appearance for this formal meeting. Gone were the practical traveling clothes he'd worn during combat training; instead, he wore what appeared to be formal robes of deep emerald green that seemed to shift and shimmer with their own inner light. The material looked like silk but possessed an otherworldly quality that suggested far more sophisticated craftsmanship than any earthly textile could provide.
The robes were cut in a style that was both foreign and unmistakably aristocratic, with silver threading that formed intricate patterns across the chest and sleeves—patterns that seemed to move and change when observed directly, creating an effect that was subtle but unmistakably magical. At his throat, a silver pendant caught the light with crystalline brilliance, and his dark hair had been arranged with the kind of casual perfection that suggested considerable time spent in the company of people who understood the importance of proper presentation.
"My lord, Maester Luwin," Hadrian said with precisely calibrated courtesy, inclining his head in acknowledgment while somehow managing to suggest that he considered himself their equal rather than their subordinate. "Thank you for receiving me this evening. I hope I haven't kept you waiting."
"Not at all," Ned replied with genuine warmth, gesturing toward the chair that had been positioned across from his desk. "Please, be seated. Maester Luwin has shared some fascinating insights from your earlier discussion, and I find myself eager to hear more about your thoughts regarding Northern development."
"Eager might be an understatement," Luwin interjected with obvious enthusiasm, his blue eyes bright with intellectual excitement. "Some of the concepts Hadrian described this afternoon represent revolutionary approaches to economic and strategic thinking. Potentially transformative, if implemented properly."
"High praise from a man of your learning and experience," Hadrian observed with obvious pleasure as he settled into the offered chair with fluid grace. "Though I should emphasize that most of these ideas aren't particularly original. They represent applications of principles that have been tested successfully in other contexts, adapted for the North's specific circumstances and opportunities."
"Nevertheless," Ned said with the careful attention to detail that had made him an effective lord for nearly two decades, "I'm curious to hear your assessment of our situation. What do you see when you look at the North that we might have overlooked?"
Hadrian leaned forward slightly, his emerald eyes taking on the focused intensity of someone settling into his element—the realm of strategic analysis and systematic planning that had served him well during years of magical warfare.
"Vast potential constrained by structural limitations," he said without hesitation, his voice carrying the confidence of someone who'd clearly given these matters considerable thought. "The North possesses extraordinary natural resources, strategic geographic position, and—perhaps most importantly—a population characterized by exceptional loyalty, competence, and work ethic. By all logical analysis, it should be the dominant power in Westeros rather than a peripheral player that gets grudgingly involved in southern politics."
"And yet it isn't," Ned observed with the dry humor of someone who'd spent years dealing with the practical limitations of Northern power projection. "Which suggests that potential and reality are two rather different things."
"Exactly," Hadrian agreed with obvious approval. "The gap between potential and reality represents both the problem and the opportunity. Close that gap systematically, and the North becomes not just self-sufficient but genuinely formidable. Ignore it, and the North remains vulnerable to external pressures that shouldn't represent serious threats to a region of this size and wealth."
"External pressures such as?" Luwin prompted with scholarly curiosity.
"The Ironborn, primarily," Hadrian replied with the crisp precision of someone conducting a military briefing. "Maritime raiders operating from secure island bases, striking coastal settlements with impunity before retreating beyond the reach of effective retaliation. Classic asymmetric warfare—small forces achieving disproportionate strategic impact through superior mobility and the inability of their targets to project power effectively into their operational area."
Ned's expression grew more serious, his weathered face reflecting years of frustration with exactly this problem. "The Ironborn have been raiding our western coasts for generations. We've never found an effective way to address the threat permanently."
"Because you lack the infrastructure necessary for effective maritime power projection," Hadrian explained patiently. "You cannot retaliate against island-based raiders without naval forces capable of reaching their home waters and threatening their own population centers. And you cannot maintain naval forces without proper ports, shipbuilding facilities, and all the supporting infrastructure that makes sustained maritime operations possible."
"The North has never been a maritime power," Luwin observed thoughtfully. "Our strength has always been land-based—infantry, cavalry, defensive fortifications."
"Which is precisely why the Ironborn can raid you with relative impunity," Hadrian replied with devastating logic. "They've identified a critical vulnerability in your defensive posture and they exploit it systematically. Every successful raid validates their strategy while demonstrating your inability to respond effectively."
"So what do you suggest?" Ned asked, though his tone carried the weary patience of someone who'd heard numerous impractical solutions to this ancient problem.
"Build a port," Hadrian said simply. "Western coast, properly fortified, capable of supporting a fleet specifically designed to patrol your coastal waters and project power into the Iron Islands when necessary. Make it economically prohibitive for the Ironborn to continue their current strategy by ensuring that every raid results in immediate, devastating retaliation."
"A port requires..." Ned began, then paused, clearly working through the implications.
"Enormous investment in infrastructure, specialized craftsmen, years of sustained effort, and more gold than the North currently possesses," Hadrian finished cheerfully. "Yes, I'm aware of the practical limitations. But the long-term strategic benefits far outweigh the immediate costs, especially when you consider the cumulative damage that continued Ironborn raids will inflict over the coming decades."
"Even assuming we could afford such an undertaking," Luwin interjected with scholarly precision, "it would require expertise we simply don't possess. Shipbuilding, harbor construction, naval tactics and strategy..."
"All learnable," Hadrian replied with unassailable confidence. "Knowledge can be acquired, skills can be developed, expertise can be imported from people who already possess it. The Reach has excellent shipwrights, the Riverlands have experienced river-fighting specialists, even some of the Free Cities have maritime experts who could be hired for appropriate compensation."
"You make it sound almost simple," Ned observed with the kind of careful neutrality that suggested he was genuinely intrigued despite his obvious reservations.
"Simple to understand, extraordinarily complex to implement," Hadrian clarified with characteristic precision. "But consider the alternative—continued vulnerability to maritime raiding, ongoing economic losses, persistent strategic weakness that your enemies understand and will continue to exploit. Sometimes the expensive solution is actually the economical one when evaluated properly."
He leaned back in his chair, his expression taking on the satisfied look of someone building toward a larger point. "But maritime defense is only one aspect of a comprehensive security strategy. The North's southern approaches are equally problematic, though in different ways."
"Moat Cailin," Ned said immediately, recognizing the strategic reference.
"Exactly," Hadrian confirmed with obvious approval. "One of the most strategically vital fortifications in Westeros, controlling the only practical approach to the North from the south. In proper condition, it should be virtually impregnable—the kind of fortress that allows a relatively small garrison to hold off armies indefinitely."
"In proper condition," Luwin emphasized with pointed irony. "Which it most decidedly is not."
"Centuries of neglect have reduced it to a collection of ruined towers and flooded courtyards," Hadrian agreed with the matter-of-fact assessment of someone who'd clearly studied the situation in considerable detail. "Barely capable of housing a token garrison, completely inadequate for its intended strategic purpose. It represents a critical vulnerability that any competent southern commander would immediately recognize and exploit."
"Restoring Moat Cailin would require..." Ned began, then stopped, clearly recognizing the pattern of their conversation.
"Even more investment than the western port," Hadrian finished with devastating cheer. "Drainage engineering to deal with centuries of flooding, complete reconstruction of multiple towers and defensive walls, modernization of the entire fortification complex to incorporate lessons learned from more recent military architecture. Probably five to ten years of sustained effort with the very best engineers and craftsmen available."
"Assuming unlimited funds and unlimited access to expertise," Luwin observed dryly.
"Precisely," Hadrian agreed. "Which brings us to the third component of a comprehensive Northern security strategy—economic development sufficient to support these kinds of major infrastructure projects without bankrupting the region or creating unsustainable debt obligations."
He paused, his emerald eyes taking on the calculating look of someone preparing to reveal information that would fundamentally alter the strategic landscape.
"Which is where the Gift becomes relevant," he continued with obvious satisfaction. "According to the historical records I've been studying in your excellent library, the Gift was granted to the Night's Watch specifically because of its extraordinary natural wealth—resources that were intended to provide sustainable funding for the Wall's maintenance and the Watch's operations."
"The Gift is largely wilderness," Ned pointed out with the practical experience of someone who'd actually visited the territory in question. "Forests, hills, scattered ruins from settlements abandoned centuries ago. Hardly what anyone would describe as wealthy."
"On the surface, certainly," Hadrian agreed with the kind of patient enthusiasm that suggested he was about to reveal something genuinely surprising. "But surface appearances can be deceiving, particularly when systematic resource surveys haven't been conducted for several centuries."
He reached into what appeared to be a small leather pouch at his belt—though the movement seemed oddly disproportionate, as if he were reaching much deeper than the pouch's visible size should have allowed—and withdrew a leather-bound journal that clearly belonged in Winterfell's library.
"The personal journal of King Torrhen Stark," Hadrian announced with obvious satisfaction, placing the ancient volume carefully on Ned's desk. "Written during the negotiations that led to his submission to Aegon the Conqueror. Fascinating reading, actually—detailed observations about Northern resources, strategic considerations, and long-term planning that extends far beyond immediate political concerns."
Ned leaned forward with obvious curiosity, his grey eyes widening slightly as he recognized the Stark seal impressed into the journal's leather binding. "I had no idea this existed. Where did you find it?"
"Misfiled in the library's historical section," Hadrian replied with the satisfaction of a scholar who'd made an important discovery through careful research. "Catalogued as 'miscellaneous correspondence' rather than being properly identified. Maester Luwin's predecessor apparently had some interesting ideas about organizational methodology."
"And what does King Torrhen have to say about the Gift's resources?" Luwin inquired with growing fascination.
Hadrian opened the journal to a page marked with a thin strip of parchment, his finger tracing lines of faded ink that had been carefully preserved despite their considerable age.
"'The lands granted to the Watch,'" he read with careful precision, "'contain wealth sufficient to sustain a kingdom, though buried beneath soil and stone where men fear to seek it. Silver in quantities to rival the mines of the Westerlands, marble finer than any quarried in the Reach, and forests of ironwood so vast that properly managed they could supply the realm's shipbuilding needs for a thousand years.'"
The solar fell silent as both Ned and Luwin absorbed the implications of what they'd just heard. Finally, Ned spoke with the careful precision of someone trying to verify information that seemed almost too good to be true.
"Silver? In the Gift? Are you certain that's what it says?"
"'Silver in quantities to rival the mines of the Westerlands,'" Hadrian repeated with academic precision. "King Torrhen was apparently quite specific in his assessments. He also notes that several preliminary mining surveys were conducted during his reign, though the results were kept confidential to avoid political complications with other kingdoms."
"Political complications such as?" Luwin asked with growing excitement.
"Such as every other major house in Westeros immediately recognizing that the North possesses mineral wealth that could fundamentally alter the balance of power between the kingdoms," Hadrian replied with sardonic amusement. "Difficult to maintain your image as a poor but honorable northern house when people realize you're sitting on silver deposits that could make you richer than the Lannisters within a decade."
"But the Gift belongs to the Night's Watch," Ned pointed out with the kind of practical honesty that had marked his character since childhood. "Not to House Stark, not to the North. Any resources there would legally belong to the Watch."
"Legally, yes," Hadrian agreed with the satisfied expression of someone who'd anticipated this exact objection. "Which is where your friendship with King Robert becomes strategically relevant. The Watch is undermanned, under-funded, and increasingly irrelevant in the eyes of southern lords who consider it a convenient dumping ground for criminals and political embarrassments."
"Robert has mentioned that recruitment has become increasingly difficult," Ned acknowledged thoughtfully. "Fewer and fewer highborn sons are taking the black voluntarily."
"Because the Watch is perceived as a dead-end assignment with no opportunities for advancement, glory, or meaningful contribution to the realm's security," Hadrian explained with clinical precision. "A place where careers go to die rather than an honored institution protecting civilization from the threats beyond the Wall."
"And you're suggesting...?" Luwin prompted with obvious curiosity about where this analysis was heading.
"That King Robert might be persuaded to return administrative control of the Gift to the North," Hadrian replied with devastating simplicity, "in exchange for House Stark assuming financial responsibility for properly funding and equipping the Night's Watch."
The suggestion hung in the chamber's warm air like smoke from the carefully tended braziers, heavy with implications that neither man could easily ignore or dismiss.
"That's..." Ned began, then stopped, clearly working through the complex political ramifications.
"Brilliant," Luwin finished with obvious admiration for the elegant solution. "Politically feasible, economically beneficial to all parties, strategically sound, and it addresses multiple problems simultaneously. The Watch gets proper funding, the Crown reduces its financial obligations, and the North gains access to resources that could transform its entire economic foundation."
"Robert would certainly find the proposal attractive," Ned agreed slowly, his strategic mind clearly working through the possibilities. "The Crown's finances are... strained... and reducing expenses while maintaining effective border security would appeal to his practical nature."
"And to the small council members who actually handle the day-to-day administration," Hadrian added with knowing amusement. "Nothing quite like the prospect of removing a persistent budget line item to make bureaucrats enthusiastic about creative solutions."
"But this still returns us to the fundamental problem," Ned pointed out with the kind of systematic thinking that had made him an effective leader. "Even if we regained administrative control of the Gift, even if the mineral resources prove as substantial as King Torrhen suggests, developing them would require enormous initial investment. Mining operations, transportation infrastructure, processing facilities, skilled workers... the startup costs would be staggering."
"Which brings us to the comprehensive solution," Hadrian said with obvious satisfaction, his emerald eyes bright with the enthusiasm of someone finally revealing their complete strategic vision. "A coordinated development program that addresses maritime security, southern border defense, and economic infrastructure simultaneously, funded through a combination of Gift resource development and... alternative financing methods."
"Alternative financing methods?" Luwin repeated with scholarly curiosity.
Hadrian smiled with the kind of quiet confidence that suggested he'd been building toward this moment throughout their entire conversation. "The kind that become available when you have access to resources that most people consider purely theoretical."
He reached again into the small leather pouch at his belt, this time withdrawing what appeared to be a handful of coins that gleamed with the distinctive lustre of pure gold. But as he placed them carefully on Ned's desk, both men could see immediately that these weren't ordinary coins—they were larger, heavier, and marked with symbols that belonged to no currency either had ever encountered.
"Gringotts currency," Hadrian explained with casual precision as he arranged the coins for better viewing. "Goblin-minted gold, silver, and bronze. Considerably purer than most currencies you're familiar with, and backed by an banking institution that's been in continuous operation for over seven centuries."
"Goblins," Ned repeated thoughtfully, his merchant's eye automatically assessing the obvious quality and substantial weight of the gold coins. "The same goblins who forged your sword?"
"Among their many talents, yes," Hadrian confirmed with obvious affection for his supernatural allies. "Remarkable people, actually. Completely obsessed with precision, craftsmanship, and contractual obligations. Probably the most trustworthy business partners I've ever encountered, assuming you're scrupulously honest with them and never attempt to cheat them in any way."
"And these coins represent...?" Luwin prompted with growing fascination.
"A small sampling," Hadrian replied with devastating casualness, reaching once more into the apparently bottomless pouch. This time he withdrew what appeared to be a official banking document sealed with wax and bearing an elaborate coat of arms that seemed to incorporate multiple heraldic traditions.
"The consolidated financial statement for the Potter and Black family vaults," he continued with academic precision, offering the document to Ned with casual confidence. "Updated as of my departure from that world, accounting for all liquid assets, property valuations, investment portfolios, and miscellaneous holdings."
Ned accepted the document with obvious curiosity, breaking the seal carefully before unfolding parchment that was clearly far finer than anything produced by Westerosi craftsmen. His grey eyes moved across columns of figures written in a precise hand, and his expression gradually shifted from curiosity to surprise to something approaching shock.
"This can't be accurate," he said finally, his voice carrying the carefully controlled tone of someone trying to process information that challenged his fundamental assumptions about wealth and resources. "These numbers... they're enormous. This suggests you have personal wealth that exceeds..."
"The Lannisters," Hadrian finished helpfully. "By a considerable margin, actually. Particularly after I liquidated all real estate holdings, investment properties, and non-portable assets during the final years of the war. Turned everything into currency that could travel with me rather than risk having it seized by enemies who gained political control."
"Everything?" Luwin asked with scholarly precision. "You liquidated entire family estates?"
"Multiple family estates," Hadrian corrected with the satisfaction of someone who'd planned very carefully for contingencies that most people never considered. "Both the Potter and Black family holdings, plus various properties acquired through marriage alliances, inheritance settlements, and strategic investments over several centuries."
He gestured toward the financial document with casual authority. "When you're fighting a war against people who consider economic warfare just as important as military action, you learn to keep your resources mobile and immediately accessible. Can't fund a resistance movement with property deeds that your enemies can destroy or assets they can confiscate."
"And you carried all of this with you?" Ned asked, his merchant's instincts clearly struggling to comprehend the logistics involved in transporting such enormous wealth.
In response, Hadrian held up the small leather pouch that had produced both the coins and the financial documents, his expression taking on the satisfied look of someone about to demonstrate something genuinely impressive.
"Mokeskin pouch," he explained with obvious pride in the craftsmanship. "Expanded interior space, weight redistribution charms, security protections that would give professional thieves nightmares for decades. From the outside, it looks like an ordinary belt pouch that might contain a few silver coins and perhaps a spare handkerchief."
He opened the pouch wider, allowing both men to peer inside, and immediately they could see that the interior space seemed to extend far beyond what the external dimensions suggested was possible. Neat stacks of gold, silver, and bronze coins were arranged in precise rows, along with what appeared to be jewelry, precious stones, and various other valuable objects that clearly represented portable wealth accumulated over generations.
"How much?" Ned asked quietly, his voice carrying the weight of someone who understood that the answer might change everything.
"In terms you'd understand?" Hadrian mused with academic precision. "Sufficient to fund the complete reconstruction of Moat Cailin, build and fortify a major port on the western coast, establish mining operations throughout the Gift, construct transportation infrastructure connecting all three projects, and maintain substantial financial reserves for ongoing operational expenses."
"All of that?" Luwin asked with obvious amazement.
"All of that," Hadrian confirmed cheerfully, "with enough left over to probably buy a couple of the smaller kingdoms outright, assuming they were ever put up for sale."
The solar fell silent again as both men worked through implications that extended far beyond immediate infrastructure projects. Finally, Ned spoke with the careful precision of someone who understood that they'd just moved from theoretical discussion to concrete negotiation.
"What would you want in return?" he asked with the directness that had served him well throughout his political career. "Resources of this magnitude... they come with expectations, obligations, prices that extend far beyond simple monetary transactions."
"Legitimacy," Hadrian replied without hesitation, his emerald eyes holding steady contact with Ned's grey ones. "A place in this world, a position from which I can contribute meaningfully to causes I consider worthwhile, legal authority to implement the kind of systematic improvements that benefit everyone involved."
"Specifically?" Ned prompted with growing interest.
"Make me Lord of Moat Cailin," Hadrian said with quiet conviction. "Grant me the authority to rebuild it properly, garrison it effectively, and use it as a base of operations for broader Northern security initiatives. Let me prove that systematic planning and adequate resources can solve problems that have plagued the North for generations."
"Lord of Moat Cailin," Ned repeated thoughtfully, his weathered face reflecting the complexity of political calculations that such a decision would involve. "A lordship. Lands, title, hereditary authority..."
"A position from which I can implement the comprehensive development strategy we've been discussing," Hadrian clarified with diplomatic precision. "Maritime defense, southern border security, economic infrastructure, resource development—all coordinated through a single administrative center with sufficient authority to make decisions quickly and implement them effectively."
"And the funding?" Luwin asked with obvious fascination for the practical mechanics involved.
"My responsibility," Hadrian replied with confident simplicity. "Complete reconstruction of Moat Cailin's fortifications, establishment of a permanent garrison capable of defending the Neck against any conceivable southern threat, infrastructure development sufficient to support mining operations throughout the Gift, and initial funding for the western port project."
"That represents..." Ned paused, clearly trying to calculate the scope of what was being offered.
"Several years of sustained effort and enormous financial investment," Hadrian finished with obvious satisfaction. "The kind of comprehensive solution that addresses multiple strategic problems simultaneously while creating long-term economic benefits that will strengthen the North for generations to come."
He leaned forward slightly, his voice taking on the earnest conviction of someone who genuinely believed in what he was proposing. "I want to build something meaningful, Lord Stark. Something that makes this world better, safer, more prosperous for people who deserve those benefits. I have the resources, the knowledge, and the determination to accomplish things that most people would consider impossible."
"And in exchange, you want recognition as a Northern lord," Ned summarized with careful precision.
"I want the opportunity to prove that systematic competence can solve problems that have been considered unsolvable," Hadrian corrected with quiet intensity. "I want to show that honor and effectiveness aren't mutually exclusive, that good intentions backed by adequate resources and intelligent planning can achieve results that benefit everyone involved."
"A noble goal," Luwin observed with obvious approval, though his tone suggested he was still working through the practical implications.
"A practical goal," Hadrian corrected with characteristic precision. "Noble intentions without effective capabilities usually just result in good people suffering with admirable dignity while problems remain unsolved. I'm tired of watching preventable tragedies occur because people lack the tools or authority needed to address them properly."
Ned was quiet for a long moment, his grey eyes studying their guest with the intensity of someone making a decision that would affect far more than just immediate circumstances. When he finally spoke, his voice carried the weight of someone who understood the full implications of what he was considering.
"You're asking me to grant a lordship to someone I've known for exactly one week," he said with the careful honesty that had marked his character since childhood. "Someone whose background, while impressive, comes from a world I don't understand and can't verify through normal channels."
"I am," Hadrian acknowledged with complete honesty, recognizing that the lord's caution was both reasonable and necessary. "Though I would point out that most political alliances are based on considerably less substantial offers of mutual benefit."
"Most political alliances don't involve granting hereditary authority over strategically critical territory," Ned replied with dry humor that didn't disguise the seriousness of his concerns.
"No," Hadrian agreed with a slight smile. "Most political alliances involve far less immediate practical benefit and considerably more risk of eventual betrayal or political complications."
"You're very confident in your ability to deliver on these promises," Luwin observed with scholarly curiosity.
"I'm very confident in my ability to learn from previous mistakes," Hadrian corrected with the kind of hard-won wisdom that came from surviving impossible situations through careful preparation and systematic competence. "I've had extensive experience with complex projects that require coordinating multiple moving parts while dealing with opposition from people who prefer existing problems to unfamiliar solutions."
"And if something goes wrong?" Ned asked with the practical concern of someone who understood that even well-intentioned plans could fail spectacularly. "If these resources prove insufficient, if the engineering challenges are more complex than anticipated, if political complications arise that we haven't considered?"
"Then I absorb the losses personally and you're no worse off than before," Hadrian replied with matter-of-fact confidence. "All the financial risk is mine, all the political risk is manageable through existing channels, and all the potential benefits flow to the North regardless of my personal success or failure."
He paused, his expression growing more serious as he continued. "Though I should mention that failure isn't something I've had much experience with, particularly when I have adequate resources and sufficient time to plan properly. Most of my previous disasters occurred when I was forced to operate under impossible time constraints with inadequate information and limited support."
"Previous disasters?" Ned inquired with rising interest.
"Nothing that reflects poorly on my general competence," Hadrian replied with characteristic understatement. "Merely the normal learning experiences that come from attempting to solve complex problems while people are actively trying to kill you. Very educational, though I can't say I'd recommend the methodology for general academic purposes."
Despite the gravity of their discussion, both Ned and Luwin found themselves smiling at their guest's ability to treat mortal peril as a footnote in his educational development.
"Well," Ned said finally, rising from his chair with the decisive movement of someone who'd reached a preliminary conclusion, "this requires considerably more thought than I can give it in a single evening. The scope of what you're proposing... it represents potentially the most significant change in Northern strategic posture since Aegon's Conquest."
"Take whatever time you need," Hadrian replied with obvious understanding, though his tone suggested confidence in the eventual outcome. "Decisions of this magnitude shouldn't be made hastily, particularly when they involve granting authority to someone whose primary qualification is enormous wealth and optimistic determination."
"Those aren't your only qualifications," Luwin interjected with the scholarly fairness that had marked his character throughout decades of service to House Stark. "Your demonstrated competence, strategic thinking, and systematic approach to complex problems are equally relevant to what you're proposing."
"Kind of you to say," Hadrian replied with genuine warmth. "Though I suspect Lord Stark's caution is both prudent and necessary. Granting lordships to mysterious strangers with more gold than sense has historically led to some rather interesting political complications."
"Interesting in the ancient sense," Ned observed with dry humor.
"Precisely," Hadrian agreed cheerfully. "The kind of interesting that usually involves curses, betrayals, and people dying in creative ways. Much better to think things through carefully and avoid that sort of excitement entirely."
As they prepared to conclude their discussion, the sound of music and laughter from the Great Hall reminded them that the evening's entertainment was about to begin. Hadrian felt that familiar stirring of instinct that suggested tonight would prove more eventful than anyone currently expected.
"Shall we join the household for the performance?" Ned suggested with the courtesy of a gracious host. "After our rather intensive discussion, some music and storytelling might provide a welcome change of pace."
"Indeed," Hadrian agreed with obvious anticipation, though his emerald eyes held a calculating gleam that suggested he expected the evening's entertainment to prove quite educational in ways that had nothing to do with traditional performance arts.
As they made their way toward the Great Hall, each man lost in thoughts about the evening's revelations and their potential implications, none of them could have anticipated just how dramatically their carefully laid plans were about to be altered by the arrival of certain traveling performers who weren't quite what they appeared to be.
The evening was indeed going to prove interesting.
In all the best and worst possible ways.
---
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