Snap!
Wright dispelled the illusion formation with a snap of his fingers.
Margot Lannister, now fully awake, saw Wright standing before her, neatly dressed. Just as she was about to speak, she realized the sun had already risen, and smoke curled up from the campfires around them. The scent of burning wood and wheat porridge filled the air.
"My newly accepted disciple and her family will soon leave the Westerlands for Tyrosh. You and Lord Titus can travel with them," Wright said, offering no further explanation as he handed Margot a waterskin.
"Thank you." Having stood all night, Margot gradually regained feeling in her legs. They ached from fatigue, and she was both cold and hungry. She uncorked the waterskin and took a sip.
"We will travel with the king's entourage to Casterly Rock. After visiting Tywin, whom I haven't seen in years, we will continue to Tyrosh." Perhaps Wright's repeated indifference had humiliated her, so she invoked Tywin's name to elevate her status.
House Peake might have fallen into decline, but a Reach lord was still a lord. Marrying him meant she was closely related to the main branch of House Lannister. By blood, she was Tywin's cousin. Even Jaime would have to address her respectfully.
But status was the least of Wright's concerns. Hearing her words only deepened his dislike for Lord Titus, the man who had manipulated her into this situation.
Stretching his limbs, Wright conjured a blanket from inside the tent using his Mage Hand and dropped it onto Margot's lap. "Titus is not suited for you. There are many men in Tyrosh worthy of your status."
Whether they separated or not, he intended to plant this seed of doubt in her mind. Titus was skilled at molding his wife into an obedient, devoted woman, one who would sacrifice herself for him without hesitation. Once in Tyrosh, Wright planned to strip Titus of his wealth by any means necessary. Margot did not deserve to be shackled to such a man. Left destitute, there was no telling what Titus might force her to do next.
"Westeros is not at peace. Traveling with my disciple, you'll have other mages accompanying you. The journey will be safer." Wright turned back to add this before striding away.
"I will remember your advice!"
As he rounded a corner, Margot's voice rang out behind him. He couldn't tell whether she meant leaving Titus or heading for King's Landing as soon as possible.
Wright arrived at a separate tent, where a dozen Red Keep guards stood at attention, swords in hand.
"Lord Wright!"
The guard at the entrance immediately stepped aside and lifted the tent flap for him.
Wright nodded in acknowledgment and stepped inside.
A Silent Sister, tasked with handling corpses, passed him on her way out, carrying a wooden bucket. She paid him no mind, simply sidestepping him before exiting. She was one of Robert's servants, assigned to tend to the tent's occupant.
Daenerys Targaryen, shackled at her wrists and ankles, had just finished relieving herself. Struggling to adjust her coarse linen dress, she sat back down on the wooden chair at the sight of Wright's arrival. She made no effort to cover herself, instead straightening her posture and staring at him with her swollen belly protruding forward.
The tent contained little besides a bed, some basic necessities, and stacks of books. Forbidden from leaving, reading was her only means of passing the time.
"I'm here to check your condition."
With a tap of his foot, the same magical formation she had seen in Meereen appeared beneath her. That familiar sensation spread through her body once more. The slight prickle of magic made Daenerys close her eyes in rare comfort, savoring the fleeting respite.
The spell ended quickly.
"It's not good," Wright admitted.
Her illness would be passed on to the child. If the baby survived past a year, it would be a mercy of the Seven, but it was far more likely to die within a week of birth—or be stillborn. And on the day the child was born, Daenerys was to be executed.
"You are young. You should have had a bright future. Our families were not destined for annihilation; there were countless opportunities for reconciliation. But fate is cruel, and now we've reached the worst possible outcome."
He reached into his pocket and placed a wind-up music box into her hands. "This is something made in Tyrosh. I misjudged the market, and it failed to sell. I lost a fortune on this thing. Keep it to pass the time."
Daenerys raised her shackled hands and pointed toward the side of the tent. Wright followed her gaze—several more identical music boxes sat on a shelf. They had all been gifts from him to Robert.
"So Robert gave them all to you." Wright sighed. "Keep it. One more makes no difference."
Daenerys nodded and clutched the music box tightly in her hands.
"You won't be buried in King's Landing or Dragonstone after your death. Your nephew Aegon has a memorial outside Meereen. Many have visited it to mourn him, and I never gave the order to stop them. I can promise you this—your ashes will rest beside his." Wright's voice was slow, deliberate.
Daenerys nodded once more, her expression unchanged. She harbored no hope for her future.
"Perhaps this will be the last time we see each other." Her time for delivery was drawing near, and Wright had so many matters to attend to that he wouldn't return just because she was about to have her child.
Wright, clad in his full Dragonbone armor, carried a red greatsword on his back and held his helmet in his hands. Daenerys recalled that whenever Wright donned this attire in Meereen, it meant he was off to do battle.
She pushed herself up from the armrest and, dragging her shackles along, slowly moved to within mere centimeters of Wright.
Having lost her tongue and rendered speechless, Daenerys could only watch as Wright grew increasingly puzzled by her actions. Then, she raised her arm and pressed her right palm firmly against his breastplate.
She could feel the searing heat of the Dragonbone, yet the scorching metal caused no harm to her pale hand.
Wright remained still, allowing her hand to rest against his chest while his warm breath brushed her face.
At that moment, the tent's flap was lifted as a Silent Sister entered, carrying a wooden bucket.
Daenerys, her hand still pressed against his breastplate, attempted to push Wright away, but her feeble strength failed to budge the robust man. She crouched slightly, her face twisted in exertion as she used all her might to shove at Wright's chest.
In response, Wright stepped back two paces. After giving Daenerys a nod, he exited the tent.
Clutching the small music box in her hand, Daenerys stood rooted to the spot, watching Wright's departure. She observed the stillness of the tent flap, until the sound of the Silent Sister tidying the furniture brought her back to herself. Turning away from the sister, she raised her hand and wiped away the tears on her face.
King Robert was set to tour the Westerlands—a meeting with Tywin, the first in nearly a decade. Now, with one man stricken by a terminal illness and the other burdened by ten years of reparation, the two were unlikely to act as impulsively as they had in the past.
Wright wasn't concerned about a confrontation between the two sides—how they would address past events or handle the escape of Cersei and Joffrey from King's Landing was a decision for Robert alone.
After arranging the travel plans for his new disciple's family, Wright, under the watchful eyes of many, leapt onto the head of a great dragon. In the tumultuous wind stirred by its massive wings, the dragon took off.
Wright had never before visited the Westerlands or the Riverlands, and he was unfamiliar with the terrain. He could only follow intelligence reports, flying along the main roads. The people of the Westerlands departed from Golden Tooth; thus, Odahviing first headed north to Lannisport, then, after identifying the Kingsroad from the air, skimmed low over Casterly Rock before veering northeast.
Inside the study at Casterly Rock, Tywin and Kevan were busy planning how to welcome the king. Suddenly, the sky darkened; moments later, sunlight streamed in once more. Rushing to the window, they witnessed a massive red-and-white dragon, its wings casting a shadow over the land, slowly beating toward the northeast.
"Kevan, is it true that Wright has taken a girl from House Lannister as his personal disciple?" Tywin asked his brother, glancing at the receding dragon.
Tywin, lean in build, contrasted with the slightly portly Kevan. The wind outside no longer stirred their hair into the golden locks of youth—both men shared the similarity of having completely bald heads.
"Yesterday, I was equally astonished when I received the news, and this morning, I confirmed it once more. Nearly all the magic schools on the continent no longer accept people from the Westerlands. Now, with Robert arriving at Casterly Rock and Wright recruiting a third disciple, could this be a conciliatory signal delivered to us by House Baratheon through Wright?"
Tywin turned to his brother. "Not necessarily. Wright may appear to act on a whim, but he is an exceedingly cunning man. He must have other plans."
Kevan countered, "But his disciple is, after all, a Lannister. Before long, the whole continent will know about this. No matter how we perceive it, the outside world will see it as a gesture of goodwill from the Baratheons."
"First, he tricked my granddaughter into going to the North; then, he deceived Tyrion into coming to Tyrosh. And now he's stirring up trouble at Lannisport!" Tywin's fingers drummed incessantly on the windowsill.
"And how old is that girl? Is she betrothed?"
Kevan, caught off guard by Tywin's question, thought for a moment before replying, "Rosamund was born a year later than her peers. She is exactly 10 years old this year."
Without another word, Tywin pondered for a while before saying, "Jaime is 35 now. Rosamund will probably graduate in three years. Once she returns to the Westerlands, we'll have Jaime betrothed to her!"
Bang! The study door was kicked open forcefully.
"Absolutely not! How can that bastard Lannister be betrothed to Jaime?" Cersei stormed in, her skirts clutched tightly as she fumed.
With Robert arriving at Casterly Rock, she had listened outside the study for quite some time, hearing Tywin's plans—and the soldiers at her side dared not stop her.
Tywin narrowed his eyes at Cersei and ordered the soldiers who had followed her inside, "By my authority as Lord of the Westerlands, I formally command you: assemble a squad of twenty men and confine Cersei to Lannisport. She is not to take a single step outside her chambers without my express permission. Any who disobey will die."
"Tywin! Jaime is my brother!" Cersei screamed.
The soldiers, seeing Tywin's stern face and hearing his merciless decree, no longer dared to indulge Cersei's tantrums. Two of them seized her by the arms and dragged her out of the study.
Cersei had long since been ransomed back from the Vale wildlings, but her reputation was in ruins. There had been plans to change her name and marry her off to Edmure or a Vale lord, hoping to salvage some advantage. But now, no one dared take her. She had become little more than a beautiful shell.
"Kevan, prepare my escort. I am leaving the city," Tywin said, striding toward the door. "I will personally welcome Robert."
---
The roads and cities of the Westerlands were built in the valleys of the mountainous basin. Following the River Road eastward, passing Golden tooth and flying for some time, Wright finally reached the skies above Riverrun.
Leaping down from Odahviing, he floated into the castle and learned from the steward that the Westerlands' forces, led by Jaime, had stopped at Riverrun before heading to the Twins. Edmure had also gathered men to join Jaime, but their exact route was unknown to the steward.
Wright had a general understanding of the Riverlands' terrain. The most direct path from Riverrun to the Twins cut through the Witch Swamp—a treacherous route, particularly for cavalry and supply wagons. A single misstep could see horses and carts swallowed by the bog, requiring a dozen men to haul them out.
Dark clouds loomed over the Riverlands, and a light drizzle had fallen ever since Wright left the Westerlands. He and Odahviing had been flying above the clouds, staying dry. Continuing east along the River Road, they passed Lychester and reached the skies above the small town of Lord Harroway's Town when suddenly, Wright felt his magic tremble within him.
At the same moment, Odahviing and Wright both lifted their heads. A rift had appeared in the sky, edged with swirling red, blue, and white magical energy. Within its depths, two figures seemed locked in combat. The vision lasted less than half a second before vanishing, and the trembling within Wright's body ceased.
"Odahviing, did you feel that? What just happened?" Wright asked. He had never come across anything like this in the books he had salvaged from the void.
"There was a rift in the sky. Then it was gone," Odahviing answered vaguely.
Wright rapped his knuckles against the dragon's horn. "When the rift appeared, I felt my magic surge out of control. Did you feel anything like that?"
Odahviing suddenly tucked his wings and dove, slicing through the clouds before pulling up sharply and spiraling upward in a rapid ascent. Only after executing the full aerial maneuver Wright had taught him did he respond, "No. My magic was unaffected."
Clinging to the dragon's horns, Wright scowled. "Could this be the work of that big-eyed bastard?"
"That thing? Its domain is different from what we just saw. This wasn't its doing."
"Shit. So whatever it is, it's targeting me specifically. Just like those damn vampires. They think I've gone soft just because I haven't fought in a while?"
Wright pulled out the dagger gifted by Dagon from his belt. Climbing to the side of Odahviing's head, he drove the sheathed blade into the scales beneath the dragon's eye.
"You're seriously storing that cursed thing under my scales? Do you want me to toss you off?"
Wright ignored the threat, gently patting Odahviing's massive eyelid. "This dagger absorbs souls and strengthens itself, until eventually, it can open a portal to the Void. It's also my only weapon against the big-eyed freak. You don't want me turning into its puppet and dragging this world into darkness, do you?"
The eldritch horror that lurked in the depths of its own realm, a being nearly invulnerable and eternal, was something even Odahviing dared not challenge.
The dragon fell silent, which Wright took as consent.
"Drop us below the clouds—I've lost my bearings again." Wright patted Odahviing's eye.
The dragon plunged downward, breaking through the cloud cover. The dimmed light and cold drizzle met them immediately, though the raindrops evaporated the moment they touched Wright's dragonbone armor, hissing into steam.
"There are people below," Odahviing noted, turning his head to the left.
Wright glanced down. Amidst vast stretches of farmland, a large encampment had been set up. Judging by the number of tents and the smoke curling from their campfires, it was a sizable force.
"The area's mostly farmland. Find an open space to land—I'm going in first."
With that, Wright pushed off from Odahviing's head and dropped toward the ground.