"Hold on a moment."
Margaery, accustomed to the abundance of paper and ink in the mage's household, quickly found what she needed on the desk in the receiving hall.
Just then, Ser Loras, the Knight of Flowers, entered from outside, and a few attendants immediately stepped forward to help him remove his armor. "Margaery, what are you writing?"
"I've been having the same dream for several nights now," Margaery said as she wrote. "There's a great hero in it, and I think his name sounds wonderful. I'm writing down the letters now."
Renly, holding an account ledger detailing the expenses and gifts received from the recent banquet, glanced up. They had made a small profit.
Margaery tore the paper from the pad and handed it to Renly, speaking the name aloud. "Lyonel!"
"Lyonel… Lyonel… Lyonel," Renly repeated the name in different tones and accents as he looked at the paper. "Not bad. Not bad at all. I'll send it to the maesters to check if any infamous figures shared this name. If not, then that will be it."
Margaery hesitated for a moment before adding, "In my dream, the crowd gathered in the square kept calling out this hero's name, but actually—"
Before she could finish, her expression shifted to alarm. Her forehead broke into a light sweat, and she grabbed Renly's hand.
"What's wrong?" Renly and Loras immediately stepped closer to check on her.
Margaery swallowed. "Among the masses raising their arms and cheering, I noticed one or two people making a different gesture. Their hands were palm-down, arms raised at an angle toward the hero on the platform. And the name they called out… it sounded like the name of a demon."
"A demon? What's there to be afraid of? I could summon two real demons with a flick of my wrist," Renly scoffed.
Remembering the magical creatures Renly had summoned in the past, Margaery felt somewhat reassured. She whispered, "The name they called was 'Ah—'" Her voice was barely audible, but Renly and Loras managed to catch it.
"Doesn't sound as nice as Lyonel," Renly said, already set on the name. Still, he made a mental note of the other name—perhaps a future descendant might find it appealing.
Thus, Renly's son was officially named Lyonel Baratheon.
When Wright received the letter in King's Landing, he finally let out a breath of relief. The naming decision belonged to Renly, and Wright had no intention of interfering. However, he never said he wouldn't let Margaery influence Renly's choice in the bedroom.
Yet, as he read further, Wright nearly choked in rage—his nephew had almost been named after some unholy monstrosity.
Realizing the mistake, Wright revisited the magical array he had placed under Margaery's bed back at the academy. The enchantment was illusion-based, meaning its effects had to be pre-programmed in advance. To make Margaery see certain dream visions, he had to first replicate them in the spell.
The problem lay in this process. The two dream sequences were somewhat similar, and as Wright copied one into the magic circle, a few stray fragments flashed through his mind at the wrong moment. Since the enchantment was actively being cast, those fragments were embedded into the illusion, leading to the discordant figures in Margaery's dreams.
Now that he had pinpointed the issue, Wright decided to stop using this particular magic circle for a while. He needed more research before trying again—lest he cause a real disaster.
Meanwhile, the Magic Administration Commitee was officially established.
The Red Keep had plenty of rooms, but the mages qualified to sit on the council were all formidable spellcasters. Gathering such powerful individuals in one place inevitably led to magic discussions—and, potentially, explosions.
Wright had already considered this problem. However, the buildings around the Red Keep were packed tightly together. He had initially planned to purchase a property for the council's headquarters but faced polite refusals from the surrounding nobles—none of them wanted a mage's experiment blowing up their homes.
Wright could understand their concerns. Nobles had no issue hiring mages for work or even befriending them. But magic was unpredictable. A miscast spell during research could have catastrophic consequences. Some mages, like Thoros of Myr, had even burned their own beds while drunk.
With no other options, Wright took funds from the royal treasury and claimed a plot of land next to the Mage School. The only large open space left in the city was the ruins of the Dragonpit, but that was out of the question.
The council planned to construct two three-story buildings.
First floor: A reception hall, dining area, kitchen, and rooms for clerical staff.Second floor: A library for storing magical documents and offices for the council members.Third floor: Living quarters. Fortunately, there weren't too many members yet.
The second building was for general staff, with an additional rookery on the top floor. Since the council would produce a significant amount of correspondence, the magical work would be left to mages, but non-magical clerks would handle the paperwork.
After settling these affairs, Wright made his way to Maegor's Holdfast in the Red Keep.
In the reception hall outside the king's chambers, he met with Robert Baratheon and presented him with an enchanted Valyrian steel necklace—one for Robert and another for his daughter, Princess Jocelyn Baratheon.
Robert turned the stag-headed pendant over in his hands. "So you're telling me this thing is magic? Does it improve resistance to poisons and diseases? Does that mean I can drink without ever getting drunk?"
Wright, amused, walked over to the liquor cabinet and poured Robert a glass of the strongest wine available. Handing it to the king, he said, "Try it for yourself. Renly wore his and still drank himself unconscious."
Robert sniffed the drink before downing it in one gulp. "Ahhh! That's the stuff!"
"It's just in your head," Wright explained. "Alcohol comes from food—it's not a toxin. The necklace's enchantment won't do much against it. But if you eat spoiled or rotten food, you definitely won't get sick."
Robert grunted in understanding. "Got it. So… will there be more of these enchanted items in the future? Because looking around my chambers, it feels like I'm missing quite a few things."
King Robert furrowed his brows as he listened to Wright's explanation. The man had a way of seeing ten steps ahead, a talent that Robert sometimes found frustrating but undeniably useful.
"Fine, I'll issue the decree," Robert conceded. "I don't want some foolhardy noble turning this war into a seven-kingdom affair over old grudges. But you know, Wright, you think too much. Sometimes, a good fight is just a good fight."
Wright smirked. "And sometimes, a reckless fight is just a waste of lives. Better to let the Dornish handle their own affairs while we keep the rest of Westeros from turning it into another Blackfyre Rebellion."
Robert sighed, rubbing his face. "Speaking of fighting, have you seen Renly? Renly's been talking about naming his son for days now. Keeps going on about some dream Margaery had. You've been around magic long enough—dreams mean anything?"
Wright hesitated for a moment. Dreams could be powerful, especially in a world where prophecy and visions were not just myths. But in this case…
"Depends on the dream," he said carefully. "But more often than not, people see what they want to see in them. If Renly's set on a name because of a dream, it's likely because he already liked it."
Robert snorted. "Hah! He's always been a sentimental fool." He stood up, stretching his arms. "I need a drink. And a hunt. Seven hells, I need to get out of this castle before my bones rot."
Wright watched the king carefully. "You're really set on this tour of the realm?"
"Damn right I am!" Robert boomed, a grin breaking across his face. "You think I'd let a perfect excuse slip by? The people love me, Wright! And I love them. And their ale. And their daughters."
Wright rolled his eyes. "Just don't let the queen hear you say that."
Robert merely laughed, already calling for his squires to prepare his hunting gear.