After the battles, the nobles needed a reprieve. Merchants and entertainers from across half the Westerlands had flocked to Lannisport, awaiting the arrival of Riverlands lords traveling overland to join them. The grand tourney was set to begin in a month.
As the Queen's house seat, Lannisport held particular significance. Robert Baratheon, mindful of appearances, avoided the city's entertainment venues and instead spent his days hunting with a group of nobles. The city bustled with activity day and night, hosting lords and ladies from the Crownlands, Westerlands, North, and Reach. This lively gathering was the result of a mutually beneficial agreement between Robert and Tywin Lannister.
Wright's back injury had healed, but he feigned the need for further rest to avoid joining the hunts. Renly, uninterested without Wright's participation, decided to accompany him to Lannisport to check on their family's business interests. Having purchased a substantial amount of gold and silver from the Westerlands, they needed to coordinate transportation with Gansor Hightower, ensuring the goods traveled safely south alongside the fleet from the Reach.
As they walked through the bustling streets, Renly looked visibly frustrated. Wright knew his younger brother enjoyed seizing the limelight, and this event provided little opportunity. Hoping to lift Renly's spirits, Wright handed him a folded piece of parchment.
After reading it, Renly burned it with magic—a habit the two brothers had developed. With their sharp minds and excellent memories, they always destroyed their messages after reading, ensuring no evidence remained.
Renly stopped in his tracks and began channeling his Magicka, while Wright stood by patiently. Before long, a small ball of magical fire, the size of a fist, appeared and began to orbit Renly.
"A small trick I've been working on," Renly explained. "Keeping a magic orb rotating around me improves my control over my power."
"According to your notes, I've found a balance between Magicka consumption and regeneration, but I can only maintain one orb," Renly added as the flame wavered slightly.
"In dangerous situations, you can quickly intensify the magic to strike back," Wright suggested. "It's faster than casting a full spell. Plus, it has practical uses — fire for warmth, ice for cooling, lightning for light. Try it with ice magic."
Renly severed the connection to his fire orb, which vanished with a soft pop. A moment later, an icy sphere formed in his hand and floated to his shoulder. Cold air radiated from the orb, creating a thin veil of mist.
"This is brilliant! Feels much cooler already," Renly said enthusiastically.
"Keep it active during the day," Wright advised.
"How many can you maintain?" Renly asked eagerly, realizing the potential for showing off. The trick was an ideal way to draw attention and admiration.
"My Magicka reserves are much greater than yours, but even I can only manage three," Wright replied. He extended his hand, conjuring three icy orbs that floated into the air. With a flick of his fingers, the orbs positioned themselves behind him, spinning in a slow, deliberate orbit.
In recent weeks, the battlefield exploits of Wright and Renly, the two mages, had become legendary among returning soldiers. Stories of Wright's magical breaching of castles and his feat of slaying dozens singlehandedly within Pyke now filled every tavern in Lannisport. Each retelling was more exaggerated than the last. On the streets, Wright was frequently surrounded by gawking crowds and had even gained the nickname "Breaker of Castles."
Renly, always accompanied by his signature magical orb, basked in the attention. He enjoyed the recognition and made a habit of wandering around town with his "magical air conditioner," delighting in the admiration.
Wright, in contrast, kept a low profile, spending most of his time in Casterly Rock's library or training on the practice fields with Jaime and Jorah. Occasionally, he sought out Tyrion Lannister for conversations.
Though Tyrion was Lord Tywin's son, his status as a dwarf left him marginalized. Despite the comforts of Casterly Rock, he was relegated to menial tasks, with no say in significant affairs. At first, Tyrion assumed Wright would be another aloof noble. To his surprise, Wright spoke to him as an equal, chatting about everything under the sun. Over time, the two formed an unlikely friendship.
Wright found Tyrion fascinating. He wasn't yet the sharp and seasoned man who would one day become the Hand of the King. Lacking life experience, Tyrion was still rough around the edges, and Wright intended to observe how he might grow into his future potential.
On Casterly Rock's training grounds, Robert sparred with Eddard Stark. The king wielded his massive warhammer, while Eddard fought with his Valyrian steel greatsword, Ice. Both men wore full armor, clashing repeatedly in a thunderous exchange. After thirty or so strikes, Robert dropped his hammer, panting heavily.
"I've grown too fat these past years," Robert grumbled.
Eddard, breathing heavily but still steady, offered a rare smile. "Peace has made us all soft. I can barely lift my sword anymore."
"This time, I won't participate in the tourney," Robert announced.
"You shouldn't," Wright interjected, walking over with a jug of water. "You're the king. Who would dare win against you?" He handed cups of water to both men. Ned remained silent; while he agreed, he would never voice such thoughts aloud. Ever since Robert had become king, their relationship had grown strained, losing the easy camaraderie of their youth.
"Hahaha, fine, I won't join. There are plenty of skilled knights this year. Watching them will be entertainment enough," Robert replied, though his tone carried a hint of resignation.
"Lord Stark," Wright began, addressing Ned with respect, "It's been years since you've seen Robb. Though he's just a boy, barely five years younger than me, as his uncle, I wanted to give him a gift from Renly and me."
Wright handed Robert a necklace. Curious, Ned took it and examined the piece closely. The chain was simple steel, but the pendant was an open-mouthed direwolf cast in gray-black Valyrian steel, with swirling smoke-like patterns running through it. The back was inscribed with faint lettering, and it emitted a subtle vibration, making a faint clicking sound against his gauntlet.
"This is Valyrian steel. But the vibration?" Ned inquired, recognizing the material instantly due to his own blade, Ice.
"The steel came from Renly's contribution, but I forged it myself. The vibrations occur whenever magic is nearby. Since I'm standing here, it's responding to my presence," Wright explained.
This pendant was one of Wright's enchanted experiments. Inside the wolf-shaped accessory was a small mechanism enchanted to detect magic. When magic was detected within several hundred meters, the mechanism would spin, creating vibrations due to its irregular shape. The enchantment was powered by the soul of a wolf slain during its creation, which inspired Wright to design the casing as a wolf's head for decoration.
"This is a rare and valuable magical item. Don't you think it's a bit much to give it to Robb?" Eddard, aware of the extreme rarity of enchanted objects, raised his concern.
"Take it for your son," Robert interjected with a grin. "A good gift for my sworn brother's boy is never a waste."
"Wright gave me one shaped like a stag," Robert added. "But those two are always wandering the Red Keep, so the necklace kept vibrating nonstop. I tossed it into my wardrobe."
Eddard turned the wolf pendant over and noticed claw-like lettering etched onto the back. "What's written here?"
"High Valyrian: Winter is Coming," Wright replied.
"Then I'll thank you on Robb's behalf." Eddard's eyes softened with appreciation as he admired the pendant. It was a thoughtful gift, bearing the symbol and words of House Stark—a treasure for any Stark heir.
Robert clapped Eddard on the shoulder. "You're always so serious." Laughing, he strode off to wash up.
Wright stopped Eddard as he was about to leave. "Wait a moment. I have something private to discuss. Let's go somewhere quieter."
Eddard hesitated but ultimately nodded, following Wright to the Rock Garden. Once there, Wright cast a muffling spell to ensure their conversation remained confidential.
"Eddard," Wright began, his voice low but steady, "do you remember Ashara Dayne, the sister of the Sword of the Morning?"
Eddard's expression darkened with sorrow. "It's been years. I heard she passed away long ago." His voice was tinged with regret. Since Robert's Rebellion, aside from the Greyjoy Rebellion, he had rarely left the North.
Wright held Eddard's gaze firmly. "During the war, I was in Dorne. For the six months before her passing, I was with her. She gave birth to a daughter."
Shock flashed across Eddard's face, mingled with a flicker of hope. "A daughter? Truly?"
"Yes," Wright confirmed. "Your daughter."
"What is her name?" Eddard's voice trembled slightly.
"She has been accepted into the Dayne family and bears their name. She is called Ashara Dayne, after her mother. She was born in 283 AC, just a few months before Robb."
Eddard's expression shifted between joy and concern. His mind raced. He already harbored one secret—his sister Lyanna's son, Jon Snow, whom he claimed as his illegitimate child to protect him. Now, the knowledge of a second child, born of another noblewoman, weighed heavily on him. Unlike Robert, who brazenly acknowledged his many bastards, Eddard's sense of honor and propriety left him conflicted.
Wright allowed Eddard a moment to process the revelation before breaking the silence.
"Is she well?" Eddard asked, his voice filled with quiet concern.
"The Daynes have welcomed her as one of their own," Wright assured him. "She lives comfortably in Starfall. She also has the potential for magic. I informed the Daynes upon her birth that I would take her as my apprentice when the time comes. In a few years, I'll send for her."
"Thank you," Eddard said earnestly, pulling Wright into a rare embrace and clasping his shoulder. He was a man of few words, but his gratitude was evident.
As Eddard left the garden, his mind was already consumed by the challenges ahead. Balancing his honor, his secrets, and his duty, he walked off alone, lost in thought.
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