Wright sat in the reception hall's large chair. On the left side of the long table sat Ser Robb Stark and his wife, Seran Farman. On the right side sat Wyman Manderly, the Lord of White Harbor in the North, along with his son, Ser Wylis Manderly.
Robb's visit was tied to family affairs. With the war in Dorne underway, spices from the region could no longer be transported to Tyrosh for processing. Since spices were compact and highly profitable, their trade acLorded for one-third of Winterfell's commercial revenue, and White Harbor's warehouse income had also suffered. The two had come to inquire about Tyrosh's spice supply and see if they could secure alternative goods.
Wright turned to the lower end of the table and said, "Wright, bring out the Tyroshi spice samples."
Wright Seaworth, well-versed in the types and prices of all goods passing through Tyrosh, stood up and retrieved over a dozen small bottles from a nearby cabinet, placing them on the table.
His father had once ceded his military merits to him, allowing him to become the Lord of Storm's End. Since then, he had diligently served at Wright's side, learning and working with dedication. Now, he was a competent tax officer and lord. Given his family's history in smuggling, he could tell by touch alone if a burlap sack contained contraband, earning him the nickname "Ghost Hand" among merchants.
This matter should have been handled by Finance Officer Gunthor Hightower, but he had recently offended Wright and, fearing another mistake, had thrown himself into dealing with family affairs. Thus, he had sent Wright in his place.
Wright began introducing the different products: "The most popular Dragon Pepper is now in short supply, and Tyrosh can no longer continue its production."
Robb picked up a bottle of Dragon Pepper, which was a staple in Winterfell's meals. "This spice's heat drives away the cold, making it very popular in the North. Even the Westerlanders and Reachmen have grown fond of the flavor. Lord Wright, when will the war in Dorne end?"
"I'd like to end it as soon as possible, but you must understand that marching in the desert is different from fighting inland. They require far more preparation." Wright sighed. "Spices aren't something you can just grow anywhere. They are extremely particular about climate and soil. I've tried many times in Tyrosh, but the Dragon Peppers grown here completely lost their spiciness and could only be used as cheap vegetables."
Dorne's Dragon Peppers were shipped to Tyrosh for processing and bottling, then transported north along the eastern coast of Westeros, reaching King's Landing and being distributed to the North. In Winterfell, the large bulk packages were repacked into smaller bottles with local branding before being sold south along the western coast to the Westerlands and the Reach.
Wright didn't interfere with Northern sales, and the North didn't meddle with his supply chain—both sides maintained a purely business-based relationship. Eddard Stark often said this arrangement felt somewhat improper, yet he had continued it for years.
Still, Wright introduced them to other options. "Tyrosh recently held a liquor trade fair. You just missed it, but I still have plenty of samples. The North is cold, so cheap, strong liquor would be a great choice. Even if you can't drink it, you can use it for heating."
Wright retrieved several bottles of spirits and glasses from the cabinet. "This is pear brandy from Orchard Hall, and this is high-proof rum from Volantis. Both come in three price ranges, as you can see from the bottles."
The cheapest option came in a simple, thick dark-glass bottle with only a paper label. The mid-range version was in clear glass, while the highest quality bottle was adorned with gold and silver embellishments.
Wright poured each of them a glass to sample.
"Cough! Cough! Cough!" Seran Farman's face turned red as she coughed uncontrollably after taking a sip.
"Excellent!" The large-bellied Wyman Manderly, on the other hand, found the drinks quite to his liking.
In the end, they sealed a large order for pear brandy and rum, along with some unfamiliar spices they planned to take back and test on the Northern market.
Wright then turned to Robb. "Robb, have the wildlings beyond the Wall shown any strange movements?"
Having downed several glasses of strong liquor, Robb remained unfazed. He thought for a moment before answering, "Mance Rayder, the so-called 'King Beyond the Wall' and former Night's Watch deserter—according to the Watch, he's been uniting the various wildling clans. Some believe he's preparing to march south and attack the Wall; others think he's gathering forces to fight the Others."
"So that's why the number of wildlings arriving in Tyrosh has decreased lately!" Mance was constantly on the move beyond the Wall, making it difficult to track him. Finding trouble with him would require staying at Castle Black for some time and waiting for the Watch to report his position. Wright reconsidered and decided to hold off—so long as Mance didn't betray humanity by siding with the Others, his efforts to unite the scattered and factionalized wildlings might actually be beneficial.
Wright asked, "Any news of the Others?"
At the mention of the Others, Seran and Lord Wyman's expressions tightened as they stared at Wright in alarm.
Robb shook his head. "Not yet, but the people of Craster's Keep—Craster and his family—have all disappeared. The Night's Watch rangers stopped by during a routine patrol to resupply him and drop off some Dragon Peppers, but when they arrived, his house was nearly buried in snow, looking like it hadn't been occupied for a long time."
"I have a bad feeling about this. Chances are, he took his family and defected to the Others." Wright remembered that Craster had always given his newborn sons to the Others for transformation. If his entire household had vanished, he had likely become a full-fledged collaborator.
Robb asked, "Should the Night's Watch send men to look for him?"
"No. If he's joined the Others, the Watch won't be able to handle him." Wright fell into deep thought, contemplating the best course of action.
"Do White Walkers really exist?" Seran tugged at Robb's sleeve.
Across from them, Lord Wyman Manderly craned his neck, listening intently.
Robb replied, "Westeros has dragons and the Children of the Forest—White Walkers are just another intelligent species with magic. No need to be so alarmed! The problem is, their way of life is fundamentally opposed to humanity's. Wherever they exist, it becomes a dead land for us."
"Robb, when Stannis sailed north with his fleet to recruit the wildlings, he also brought some dragonglass to the Wall. Have your father write to Lord Commander Jeor Mormont and ensure every Night's Watchman gets a dragonglass dagger. If the supply runs short, ask Stannis for more—his ships were never fully stocked when heading north. I'll also arrange for some wildfire from King's Landing to be sent to the Wall."
"Understood," Robb nodded.
"There are books on how to fight White Walkers and wights in the library at Castle Black, passed down from previous generations. Tell Lord Commander Mormont to retrieve them and have every Night's Watchman study them." Wright continued. As a mage, his own approach to White Walkers was straightforward—attack on sight. But humanity had fought them for centuries and had developed tried-and-true methods.
With business concluded, Robb and Seran left the hall. Wright noticed that Seran seemed like she wanted to say something to him, but he ignored her—he had no time. Besides, Wyman Manderly was still there, lingering.
Once Robb, Seran, and Arlad had left, only Wright, Wyman Manderly, and his eldest son remained.
"Lord Manderly, you fought alongside King Robert during the rebellion. You know my Baratheon brothers well. If there's something on your mind, just say it."
Wright poured another round of the pear brandy for Wyman and his son, knowing how much the portly lord enjoyed it.
"I knew you were a straightforward man, Lord Wright!" Wyman downed his drink in one gulp, exhaling warmly before continuing. "Do you know the history of House Manderly?"
Wright responded, "I know you built White Harbor into the North's greatest port. The city is clean, well-kept, and your family upholds the highest values of the First Men. Robert often told me stories of your battles together—except he mostly joked about how you were too fat to march properly, ha!"
Wyman laughed heartily, pouring himself another drink. "That was after we settled in the North. Three hundred years ago, during Aegon's Conquest, many histories were destroyed or rewritten by later kings. House Manderly may have First Men blood, but we didn't come from the North. We came from the Reach!"
Wright raised an eyebrow. "The Reach? The bloodline of Garth Greenhand?"
"Not at all! We were his enemies," Wyman declared. "A thousand years before Aegon's Conquest, the scheming Peake family, descendants of Florys the Fox, used deception and treachery to drive us from our ancestral lands. We were forced to flee north, and we have never forgotten that disgrace!"
Wright chuckled. "So, after all this time, you're looking for revenge?"
"House Peake is no better than a den of vipers! Lord Titus Peake's wife is Margot Lannister, and he's long been colluding with Tywin, waiting for a chance to betray the Tyrells!"
Wright leaned back in his chair, contemplating. On the surface, the Reach seemed prosperous, its people focused on trade. But beneath that façade, its noble houses were full of schemers. "Go on."
"I hold no illusions about reclaiming old lands; that's all in the past. But since House Tyrell has strong ties with you and Lord Renly—Lady Tyrell is Renly's wife, after all—I wanted you to be aware of this. I simply can't stand those treacherous Reach lords."
Wright believed half of what Wyman said. Power struggles often brewed from such "casual gossip."
He could also sense Wyman's deeper intentions. The Reach had flourished under Renly and Wright's economic policies. Mace Tyrell had secured the position of Master of Coin, while Mathis Rowan became Hand of the King, and his daughter was now queen. The royal court in King's Landing was filled with Reachmen. Wyman must have been jealous of his old enemies gaining influence.
"Lord Manderly, my focus is on the war in Dorne. The Reach is too far for me to concern myself with. Besides, King Robert will be traveling there soon—you should take your matters to him."
Wyman grinned. "You're right. It's all in the past. No need to dwell on it. Actually, the real reason I came to you, Lord Wright, is to find my son a position in Tyrosh."
Wright turned his gaze to Wyman's son. "Oh? Your son is not the heir of White Harbor. Isn't he sworn to the North?"
Wyman called toward the door, "Wendell! Come in!"
The door opened, revealing a round-faced, bearded man—Wendell Manderly, Wyman's second son. He was around thirty years old, bald like his father and brother.
"Lord Wright, good afternoon!" Wendell's voice was deep and gruff.
Wright trusted House Manderly's honor—they had never broken an oath. He laughed. "So, even White Harbor has heard that Tyrosh is in need of men! Wendell, have a seat."
"So Lord Wright agrees?" Wyman Manderly asked.
"Lord Wyman, Tyrosh is at peace. Your son will have to follow the normal process. If he joins the military, he starts as a squad leader. If he works in administration, he begins as a squire."
"Of course the military! There are no cowards in House Manderly! I want him to study Tyroshi warfare under you, and I suspect another war isn't far off." Wyman pulled a high-interest bond from Myr out of his pocket and placed it on the table.
Wright eyed the burly lord. People mistook Wyman for a soft, timid man who only cared about food, but he was sharp as a blade. He turned to Wendell. "Your father must have told you that joining the army comes with chances for glory. But war is close to Tyrosh—you'll have to endure grueling military training. Can your body handle it?"
Wendell declared, "I ate too much meat in White Harbor. I'll cut down. I'll keep up with the men, no question."
He was already calling Tyroshi officers his brothers. The Manderlys were truly quick to settle in. "Very well. Swear your oath."
Wright and the others rose. Under the watchful eyes of his father and brother, Wendell Manderly knelt on one knee and solemnly swore fealty to Wright.
---
Ser Tyrion Lannister, known as the Imp, and Ser Jorah Mormont, the Great Bear of Bear Island, sat on a rock, chewing on dry, crumbling hardtack.
"Hey, big guy over there, spare a drop of water?" Tyrion's throat was parched beyond tolerance.
The towering officer glanced at him. "Fifty gold dragons per pouch of water!"
Tyrion glared. "It was ten gold dragons yesterday. Why the sudden price hike? Send me back to the Westerlands, and I'll pay you five hundred!"
Jorah, rising to his full height, stepped toward the officer. "We are not your prisoners. This could provoke a war!"
The officer's gaze dropped to the bear-shaped pommel of Jorah's sword. "You were captured under suspicion of espionage. The Lord spared your weapons out of respect for your status. I'd advise you not to play any tricks."
"Come on, Jorah, don't waste your breath. He knows nothing," Tyrion called.
Jorah shot the officer a glare. "I'll remember your face."
"Hmph!" The officer scoffed and turned away without leaving any water.
Jorah kicked a small rock aside and cursed. "Damn luck!"
"At least we're not in chains and still have food. Could be worse," Tyrion replied with a bitter smile.
Winterfell had run out of spices, and Bear Island's fur trade had taken a hit. The southern lords saw furs as mere rugs or trophies, with little demand. As lord of Bear Island, Jorah had sought to expand his trade routes.
He first traveled to Winterfell to confirm the shortage with Eddard Stark. After attending Robb Stark's wedding, he escorted Jaime Lannister back to Casterly Rock. While resupplying at Lannisport, he ran into Tyrion at a tavern.
Both well-known men, they bonded quickly over Tyrion's silver tongue and bawdy jokes. Tyrion, eager to escape his family's ire, was looking for an adventure. Jorah had planned to go to King's Landing, but with the king on progress, he turned his sights on the bustling trade hub of Tyrosh. The two decided to travel together.
Jorah and Tyrion sailed south with Jorah's merchant fleet, disembarking at Oldtown in the Reach. While the fleet returned north with fresh cargo, they took a fast ship toward Tyrosh.
But when they stopped to resupply at Salt Shore in southern Dorne, they were immediately captured by Lord Tremond Gargalen' men.
Fortunately, their distinctive appearances—a Lannister dwarf in lion-emblazoned armor and a grizzled warrior wielding the Valyrian steel sword Longclaw—saved them from imprisonment. Instead, Lord Tremond brought them along with his marching army.
As the Lord explained, "Dorne is sealed off. Any outsiders could be spies, and you two were bound for Tyrosh. Consider this a temporary inconvenience."
Jorah and Tyrion had spent most of their journey aboard ship or drinking themselves senseless in taverns. Only now did they realize that Dorne was at war.
Even worse, they were marching with Lord Tremond's forces—aligned with House Yronwood—against Nymeria, the wife of Lord Wyl.
They regretted their decision to experience Dornish hospitality firsthand.
Escape had crossed their minds, but the army followed the Vaith River upstream. Beyond the river lay endless desert—certain death for two unfamiliar outsiders. So they remained, surviving on army rations.
Now, the camp was stirring. Officers mounted their swift Dornish sand steeds, organizing troops. Men and women alike donned leather armor and grabbed their spears, rushing outside.
"A battle? Against whom?" Tyrion asked, hurriedly donning his Lannister armor. He had no intention of dying clueless.
Jorah adjusted the buckles on his black leather armor. "I don't even know where we are. I barely know any Dornish lords."
Tremond's personal guards found them and brought them before the Lord. Even as potential hostages, they were valuable bargaining chips.
Dornishmen and women thrived on conflict, and the levied farmers formed ranks swiftly. Nobles raised their banners.
"So the Gargalen troops weren't alone—House Vaith sent forces as well. No wonder the army's this large," Tyrion muttered. He clambered onto Jorah's shoulders for a better view.
Jorah grumbled, "Damn bad luck. We stay back. No charging forward and getting mistaken for enemies."
Tyrion smirked. "That goes without saying. Once the battle starts, their guards will be too busy to notice us. That's when we slip away."
Dornish war horns sounded, their snake-like melodies weaving through the air. Jorah was reminded of the Tyroshi sieges. To Dornishmen, the music was invigorating. To everyone else, it was infuriating—almost begging for violence.
With no fortifications to defend, Lord Tremond positioned his troops atop a sandy ridge, forming a straight-line defense across the undulating dunes.
Before them stretched a vast, barren wasteland of yellow rock. A rolling dust cloud rose in the distance, accompanied by the thunder of hooves.
As the wind shifted, the advancing army emerged from the haze—an endless wave of Dornish cavalry, eyes locked on their prey.
When the remaining cavalry arrived, the attackers split into two flanks and charged.
On the left, a commander in pitch-black armor wielded a black shield and spear, an orange-yellow cape and braided hair flowing behind him.
On the right, another black-armored warrior leapt from his horse just before reaching the spear line, sprinting at impossible speed. Twin swords flashed as they were drawn from his back, his entire body igniting in golden-red flames. Despite being on foot, he led the charge ahead of the cavalry.
Above them, a dragon soared.
"Nymeria with a dragon. And Ashara Dayne wielding Dawn… How do we even fight that?" Jorah recognized them instantly.
"We don't! Start digging, we're hiding!" Tyrion panicked.