Guards patrolled the perimeter of the camp, while the rest sheltered from the drizzle inside their tents. Without a sound, Wright drifted down from the sky, landing silently in the center of the camp. No one noticed the extra presence.
The nobles' tents were at the heart of the camp, each marked by banners displaying their house sigils. Wright recognized the coats of arms of Riverlands and Westerlands houses, including the golden lion of Lannister and the silver trout of Tully.
"So this must be Edmure and Jaime's camp."
Finding the commander's tent was easy—the grandest tent in the very center was the one.
The ground was a muddy mess, trampled by countless boots and hooves. Wright had no intention of stepping on such filth. Each step he took landed on a smooth sheet of ice; by the time his foot neared the ground, a layer of frost had already formed beneath him. A gleaming, frost-covered path extended in his wake, trailing cold mist.
"Who are you?"
A young knight's squire peeked out from a nearby tent, staring in alarm at Wright's unusual appearance. Before Wright could reply, the boy scrambled away in panic, shouting at the top of his lungs.
"Enemy attack! A monster is here!"
"Shit!" Wright cursed.
Not everyone had seen his dragonbone armor before. The massive bone plates, the menacing pauldrons, and the horned black helmet gave him an eerie, demonic look. The drizzle hissed as it landed on his armor, evaporating into mist and further obscuring his form. Beneath him, the frost-covered path continued to exude an ominous white chill.
The Westerlands army was here to fight monsters—so the squire, naturally, thought he had just encountered one.
"Well, this saves me the trouble of calling them out." Wright remained where he was, waiting for Edmure and the others to appear.
The camp exploded into action. At the cry of an enemy attack, soldiers scrambled for their weapons, cursing as they rushed toward Wright's location. However, upon reaching him, none dared to make the first move.
"Stay alert! He's a powerful Warlock!" Some among them had the sense to recognize what they were dealing with.
The first to arrive were the young soldiers, forming a wary circle around Wright, weapons drawn. They were only doing their duty as soldiers, and Wright bore them no ill will for it. In the meantime, he observed them in return.
Before long, the crowd parted as nobles forced their way to the front. Wright noticed quite a few young women with golden hair among the Westerlands contingent.
He did not underestimate women in battle—such warriors were common in Dorne and Tyrosh, and even in his own personal guard. But this was different. Westerlands armies rarely included women, and when they did, they were usually in non-combat roles. The ones before him had clearly received only basic military training—the way they held their swords made that obvious.
"Lord Wright?" A man in his thirties, sword in hand, spoke up.
"I am Wright," he replied, not recognizing the man.
"I am Devon Lannister. I led the Westerlands spear companies during the siege of Tyrosh."
Devon had only heard of Wright's dragonbone armor but had never seen it in person. With the helmet obscuring most of Wright's face, leaving only his mouth and eyes visible through the rising mist, recognition was difficult. Still, Wright's answer was enough. He gestured for the surrounding soldiers to lower their weapons, though he did not lift the camp's state of alert.
"Wright?"
Edmure Tully pushed through the crowd, half-dressed in armor, still fastening the straps on his shoulder plates.
BOOM!
A deep, resounding impact echoed from the distance.
All eyes turned toward a nearby hill, where an enormous red-and-white dragon, larger than Riverrun itself, had just landed. Wings folding, its serpentine neck lifted as it gazed toward the camp.
"Oh, it really is Lord Wright!" Edmure, ever the familiar sort, walked up as if to clasp Wright's hand and pull him toward the tent.
Though Edmure and Wright were not particularly close, they had met at several ceremonies. They had also briefly worked together when Wright served as Hand of the King. However, Edmure was very familiar with Robert Baratheon, and the two shared certain… interests. In fact, he had been Robert's very first premium customer in the King's Landing establishment.
Wright sidestepped his outstretched hand. "Careful—you'll burn yourself."
"Oh! Right—haha. This way, please. What brings you here?" Edmure retracted his hand awkwardly.
Wright did not answer. "I bring the king's orders. We'll discuss inside."
"Send word to stand down! Everyone, back to your posts!" Devon Lannister took charge, ensuring the camp returned to order. He also instructed messengers to summon the gathered nobles to Edmure's tent.
A royal decree had arrived for Lord Edmure. By tradition, unless it was a secret missive, the more witnesses present, the better. This was an opportunity for the recipient to display their royal favor—something many nobles would never experience in their lifetimes.
The military tent was far from the luxury of Robert's royal pavilion, but it was spacious enough to accommodate several dozen officers for a war council.
Edmure sat in the main seat facing the entrance of the tent, while Wright declined the wooden chair brought by the attendants and instead sat on an ice chair he had conjured with magic. Wearing a dragonbone armor had its downsides—high temperatures could easily ignite the paint and decorative fabrics on chairs, and Wright had no intention of having flames suddenly burst out from under him in the middle of a conversation.
Edmure was quite talkative. Wright removed his helmet, placed his greatsword beside his ice chair, and began chatting idly with him. One by one, the noblemen of the camp entered and took their seats. Edmure introduced them to Wright as they arrived. Most of the Riverlands nobles present were from around Riverrun. Since Edmure had not issued a summons, these men had come of their own accord to lend their aid.
The entrance flap lifted again—this time, men from the Westerlands entered.
At the forefront, Jaime nodded to Wright before taking a seat directly across from him. Now the two sat on either side of Edmure. The Riverlands nobles were a mix of middle-aged men and younger lords, often accompanied by their kin. The Westerlands contingent, however, was made up entirely of young men.
Before entering the tent, Jaime had learned from Daven that Wright was here. He worried that Wright had come to hunt down Joffrey, but since Wright hadn't immediately drawn his sword, there was still room for discussion.
Last month, Addam Marbrand had been released by the Vale wildlings and sent alone to fetch ransom. The wildlings had given him only a month—returning to the Westerlands in time was impossible, so Addam had no choice but to head for the nearest stronghold, the Twins, and seek out old Frey. Only a raven could cover the distance to the Westerlands within days.
Before long, a raven from Casterly Rock arrived at the Twins. Given the great distance and the tight deadline, Tywin, acting in his capacity as Lord of the Westerlands, borrowed gold from House Frey to pay the ransom, promising full repayment once time allowed. He also requested that the Freys provide military support.
Along with the gold, Addam received a letter containing only a few words: Retrieve Cersei. Addam, commander of the Westerlands cavalry and one of Tywin's most trusted men, immediately understood the letter's meaning—Cersei had to be ransomed, but as for the others, such as Joffrey (now going by the name Donnel), his sworn shield the Hound, and Lancel, Tywin's nephew—they were not included in this mission.
Addam was loyal to his lord. The order had to be carried out. He and the Frey forces negotiated with the wildlings, paid the ransom, and secured Cersei's release. The two of them returned to Casterly Rock, while word spread that the wildling tribe responsible for abducting Donnel and the others had disappeared without a trace.
But Addam knew the truth—Joffrey was Jaime and Cersei's son. One was his childhood friend, the other his former lover. More than that, they were siblings. Their son had to be saved. And yet, Addam could not defy Tywin Lannister's direct command. The weight of these conflicting loyalties tormented him, driving him to drink heavily each day.
Then Jaime, newly freed from his confinement under Tywin, came to question him. Wracked with guilt, Addam dared not reveal that Tywin had deliberately abandoned Donnel. Instead, he made an excuse: the wildlings had sold Donnel and the others to a different tribe, and only by sending enough men into the Mountains of the Moon could they hope to track him down.
Not long after, troubling news came from the Twins—a monster sighting, prompting House Frey to mobilize its forces. Jaime used this as a pretext to gather a company of young knights in the Westerlands, ostensibly to hunt the creature, but in reality, he had another purpose in mind.
After consulting with his most trusted men, Jaime decided to take things one step at a time. His best hope was to find a way to divert Wright elsewhere.
Wright held no personal grudge against Jaime. It was Jaime's actions that had cost his family dearly, but Wright himself had no direct interests in the Westerlands. If Jaime had managed to keep his trousers laced all those years ago, they might have even been friends.
Observing proper courtesy, Jaime began introducing the Westerlands nobles to Wright.
"This is Ser Addam Marbrand, commander of the Westerlands cavalry and a childhood friend of mine," Jaime said, gesturing to a one-eyed man wearing an eyepatch.
"Ashemark—a fine place," Wright responded politely, though his mind was elsewhere. Ashemark… that's where they first appeared. Years ago, when interrogating fugitives from the Great Gold Heist, he had learned that Littlefinger and Ramsay had first been spotted within the lands of House Marbrand.
"I speak on behalf of my father, Damon. House Marbrand welcomes you to Ashemark at any time, Lord Wright," Addam said, bowing slightly before taking a seat beside Jaime.
Jaime then introduced another man approaching them, along with two women. "This one you've already met—Ser Daven Lannister, my mother's nephew."
"Good. Steady under pressure, commanding with skill," Wright remarked.
"I appreciate Lord Wright's forgiveness for my previous discourtesy. A military camp must take precautions," Daven replied. He was of a build similar to Jaime's, clad in Lannister armor of pale gold and crimson enamel. His golden hair cascaded over his shoulders, and his calloused hands betrayed years of rigorous training. Though a fine warrior, he lacked Jaime's striking looks.
Jaime continued, gesturing toward the two women. "And these two are Daven's twin sisters—Cerenna Lannister and Myrielle Lannister."
"Lovely ladies, a pleasure to meet you. Have you come to fight as well?" Wright asked. He preferred to be sure—if they truly intended to join the fray, he would need to keep them from becoming easy prey should they encounter vampires.
The two sisters, identical in appearance, were dressed not in armor but in elegant gowns, having lifted their skirts slightly as they entered the tent. Tiny droplets of water still clung to their hair.
Noticing Wright's gaze drift to their low-cut gowns, Cerenna straightened her posture, puffing out her chest with a teasing smile. "We are here to fight, Lord Wright. We only changed into gowns to greet you properly. If you prefer otherwise, we shall step out at once and don our armor."
Wright shook his head. "No need, no need." These two sharp-tongued girls had somehow made him out to be the villain. He waved a hand, letting them take their seats.
Myrilla said, "Thank you, Lord."
Wright wasn't even sure who she was addressing.
Next, three young men and a woman entered the tent. They were Jaime's relatives, but because of their youth and lack of titles, they were seated behind the others.
The two identical young men were the second and third sons of Kevan and currently served as Jaime's squire-knights. A pair of twins—Willen Lannister, the elder, and Martyn Lannister, the younger. They had followed Jaime to the Riverlands to rescue their elder brother, Lancel.
"You two young men look quite promising. A bright future awaits you."
Wright suddenly recalled who they were. If not for his intervention, these twins would have been captured by Robb's army and later stabbed to death in their prison cells by Karstark.
Both had golden hair and green eyes. Willen, the elder, seemed more mature. After bowing properly to Edmure and Wright, he took his seat in a composed manner. His younger brother, Martyn, on the other hand, craned his neck curiously, scanning the tent.
A slightly older young man followed. His name was Tyrek Lannister, another green-eyed youth, though he had grown his golden hair longer. His father had been Tywin's brother, a highly skilled knight, but he had died of greyscale.
"You'll be as great as your father." Wright was running out of ways to compliment young nobles.
"Thank you, Lord Lord." Wright noticed Tyrek's sword hilt—it was worn and aged, a sign of frequent use. The boy's martial skills were likely above his peers.
Finally, a blonde girl stepped forward—Joy Hill. A bastard, yet raised among the Lannisters in Casterly Rock, appearing alongside Jaime's kin. Wright had never heard of her. He turned toward Jaime.
Jaime rested a hand on the Valyrian steel sword at his waist. "Her father was Gerion Lannister."
"Your father was a great navigator," Wright remarked. He now remembered—Gerion was the one who had sailed in search of the lost Valyrian steel sword, Brightroar, only to vanish in the ruins of Valyria. That explained it. He had left before ever marrying, so his only bastard daughter would, of course, be taken in by Tywin and raised at Casterly Rock.
"Thank you, Lord Wright, for recognizing my father's legacy." Joy took her seat beside the Lannister sisters. The three of them whispered among themselves, their eyes occasionally glancing at the massive sword resting beside Wright.
Just introducing the Lannisters had taken long enough. Now, the remaining young nobles of the Westerlands were up for introduction, leaving Wright parched from all the formalities. Meeting new nobles required proper etiquette.
Edmure turned to him with a grin. "Are you here to hunt the witch? Perfect. With a mage like you around, whether it's a real sorceress or just a fraud, we'll soon find out."
Wright pulled out the royal decree from Robert. "See for yourself."
Edmure's attending maester took it first. As he read, his face turned pale with shock, his fingers unconsciously tightening around the parchment.
"If there wasn't a real possibility of vampires appearing, I wouldn't have come," Wright said. "Maester, hand the decree to Lord Edmure."
"My apologies, I was simply too shocked. I never imagined such things were real." The maester had only just traveled from Riverrun and had yet to hear of the vampire incident in King's Landing. The news had not yet spread this far.
The royal decree wasn't just addressed to Edmure. Wright remained silent as the gathered nobles passed it around, reading for themselves.
Jaime gripped the hilt of his sword tightly. After whispering to the one-eyed Addam, he turned his gaze to Wright. "If vampires do exist, Wright, what will you do?"
"I will act under the king's command," Wright declared. "As the Archmage of the Seven Kingdoms, I will take full command of both the Riverlands and Westerlands armies."
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