The Magic Administration Committee was granted authority by King Robert to oversee all magical affairs within the kingdom. This included the granting of mage titles, regulating the entry and exit of foreign magic users, standardizing alchemical formulas, managing magical tomes, and maintaining records of apprentices in magical academies.
The establishment of this committee signified that magic users had become an undeniable force in Westeros. It also centralized the fragmented authority over magical matters, which had previously been scattered across the Small Council, into a single governing body. From this day forward, ordinary people would no longer have a say in magical affairs—only mages would decide the course of magic. Apart from the king, Wright, as the Archmage, had now transitioned from a half-ceremonial position into a true power-wielder, officially overseeing all mages in the realm.
Hand of the King Mathis Rowan had his authority diminished as a result. That very night, he invited Wright to a tavern for a heavy drinking session, and as the wine clouded his mind, he began to pour out his grievances.
"Wright, you need to talk some sense into Robert. If he keeps indulging in women like this, it's bound to lead to trouble sooner or later."
Wright, slightly tipsy himself, smirked. "Lord Rowan, you have to understand—when Robert was leading armies at twenty-three and crowned king, I was barely five years old. Do you really think I can control him?"
Mathis took a deep gulp from his cup, his frustration evident. "My daughter may be queen, but Robert keeps bedding other women. Just recently, three of the five Bracken girls ended up pregnant. Have you any idea how many bastards he has by now? It's fine for now, but when Robert grows old and these children come of age, who's to say we won't have another Blackfyre Rebellion on our hands?"
Wright slammed his palm against the table. "They wouldn't dare! As long as I'm alive, any fool who dares turn against his own kin will find himself dumped on Skull Isle, shoveling dragon dung for the rest of his miserable life!"
Mathis, who was older than Robert by several years, had once been a man with a full head of black hair. Now, as Hand of the King, his temples had turned gray. Looking at him, Wright felt reassured that declining the role of Hand had been a wise decision. The two men clinked their cups and drained their drinks.
"Barkeep! Another round!" Wright called out. He had always liked Mathis—when stripped of power, he didn't sulk or scheme but instead invited Wright for a night of drinking to clear the air. Of course, Mathis had his own ambitions. Every man in power sought to benefit his own house, but as long as he wasn't plotting against Robert's life, Wright couldn't be bothered to interfere.
The barkeep swiftly refilled their drinks before retreating from the bar. In this upscale tavern, the entire bar counter was reserved for Wright and Mathis alone, while other patrons wisely sat at a distance, avoiding any disruption to these two powerful figures. Unbeknownst to them, Wright had already cast a spell—while he and Mathis could hear every conversation in the tavern, their own words would not leave their immediate vicinity.
Wright suddenly shifted the conversation. "Mathis, as a descendant of Garth Greenhand, how many of your kin still hold resentment toward House Tyrell?"
The question instantly sobered Mathis, shattering the previous atmosphere of camaraderie. He hesitated, considering who might have leaked such sensitive information to Wright. After a moment's thought, he relaxed—it was most likely Robert.
Three hundred years ago, during Aegon's Conquest, the Gardener dynasty met its fiery end when King Mern IX and his kin were burned to ashes by dragonfire. By all legal traditions, the rightful heirs should have been the Gardener cadet branches, yet Aegon granted Highgarden to Harlen Tyrell, the steward who had opened the castle gates without a fight.
Even in defeat, surrendering one's castle was a disgrace, and Harlen Tyrell had not even been of noble blood—just a steward elevated beyond his station. Meanwhile, the noble houses with Gardener blood were scattered across the Reach, each of them more powerful than the upstart Tyrells.
The descendants of Garth Greenhand were many:
In the northern Reach: The Rowans of Goldengrove, tracing their lineage to Garth's daughter Rowan Gold-tree. The Cranes of Red Lake, from Garth's daughter Rose of Red Lake. The Oakhearts of Old Oak, descending from John the oak.In the southern Reach: The Redwynes of the Arbor, from Gilbert of the vines. The Hightowers of Oldtown, descended from Maris the Maid. The Bulwers of Blackcrown, who came from Bors the Breaker.In the central Reach: The Tarlys of Horn Hill, founded by Herndon of the Horn and Harlon the Hunter. The Beesburys of Honeyholt, from Ellyn Ever Sweet.Other branches: The Fossoways of Cider Hall and New Barrel, stemming from Foss the Archer. The Florents of Brightwater and Peakes of Starpike, descended from Florys the Fox, who bore children by three different husbands.
These houses controlled the most fertile lands in the Reach. If not for Aegon's overwhelming might, any one of them could have easily crushed the Tyrells. Aware of their precarious position, the Tyrells had always tread cautiously, seeking to cement their rule through loyal service to the Targaryens and strategic marriages. Even Margaery Tyrell, the famed Little Rose, carried both Redwyne and Hightower blood.
Wright had never paid much attention to Reach politics before—his business alliances there were purely transactional. But now, Margaery had given birth to his nephew, making it a family matter he could no longer ignore.
He leaned in. "Mathis, no one in your house openly voices discontent toward the Tyrells, but tell me—which noble in Westeros doesn't know the truth?"
Mathis chuckled awkwardly. "Haha, Lord Wright, these are all old stories. My grandfather mentioned them, my father mentioned them, and now that the earldom has passed to me, wouldn't I be letting my ancestors down if I didn't talk about it in private?"
Wright raised an eyebrow. "So this is some sort of old tradition in the Reach?"
"Of course. Just take it as a joke, Lord Wright." Mathis pushed a plate of fruit between them.
"I don't care what you've done before, but the Tyrells are now one of my key business partners, and under Robert's rule, the Seven Kingdoms are at peace. So forget about physically eliminating House Tyrell."
Threats alone wouldn't work—they could provoke resentment or even defiance. The more one tried to intimidate some people, the more they resisted. Wright wasn't sure what kind of men these were, so after wielding the stick, he needed to offer a carrot. He continued, "Now it's all about who has more wealth! Lord Mace is doing business with me—just look at all the gemstones he wears."
Mathis was no fool. He had studied the personalities of the four Baratheon brothers, and Wright was the fairest among them. Now, the benefits were becoming clear. He didn't respond to Wright's warning about the Tyrells, instead shifting the topic directly to money, signaling his acceptance of the advice.
"Yes, but the raw materials grown on our land are bought up by him at low prices. We barely make a living, but what can we do? He's a Lord."
Wright leaned forward. "Right now, you're growing mostly sugarcane. I, on behalf of Tyrosh, will give you a large order. Next season, set aside a portion of your land to grow maize. It's fair competition in the market—no one can fault you for it."
"Maize?" Mathis knew Wright was wealthy and wasn't worried about him affording the large-scale production of several lords. What he didn't understand was why Wright wanted so much maize.
"The Stepstones have little land to spare, but the Reach has vast fields to supply me with raw materials. Maize can be used for food and processing. Lord Mace's industries focus on sugar refining and papermaking—maize isn't in his domain. This is a great opportunity."
Maize was a valuable crop, with numerous uses. Wright raised his goblet to Mathis.
"Alright! Next season, Goldengrove will dedicate half of our hills to maize. The rest will remain wheat and sugarcane." Mathis lifted his cup and clinked it against Wright's.
Power or economic benefits—one of the two had to be conceded. Wright steered them away from political power in the Reach and bound them through financial gain, at least temporarily stabilizing these discontented nobles. How long that stability would last depended on future developments.
With the Reach issue momentarily settled, Wright sobered up the next morning and turned to other matters.
Within the Magic Council, Wright established new regulations. The Archmage of the Seven Kingdoms would automatically serve as President. A Vice President would be appointed as a complementary role—this position went to Renly. The number of council members would always remain an odd number. Currently, there were five: Qyburn, Thoros, Malora, Archmaester Marwyn, and one seat reserved for Tyene. More would be added as the number of mages across the realm increased.
These five represented the three major magic schools in the Seven Kingdoms. Since the King's Landing school was the first to be established and housed many of the foundational texts, no one objected to it holding three seats.
Tyene Sand mastery of alchemy was widely acknowledged. Since Wright preferred to be hands-off, all original alchemical texts in the Seven Kingdoms were now transcribed by Tyene. Some mages even believed she had taught Wright alchemy rather than the other way around.
Malora Hightower, the librarian of the King's Landing Magic School, was responsible for organizing magical tomes and overseeing their copies. Every mage in the realm knew her. An exceptional instructor, her own magical ability was only at the novice level, but her theoretical knowledge was vast. With the nature-based magic brought by the Children of the Forest, she had become an expert in six schools of magic. Even for spells she couldn't cast herself, she could still provide guidance.
Qyburn was proficient in destruction magic, but his true expertise lay in conjuring. He was highly skilled in both elemental summoning and necromancy. As the school's logistics overseer and an instructor, he had a reputation among the younger students, who both feared and admired him—particularly because he frequently summoned skeletons to scare misbehaving apprentices. Now dubbed the greatest summoner in the Seven Kingdoms. Whenever mages discussed rankings, they instinctively excluded Wright and Renly from the conversation.
Thoros was the school's field instructor, responsible for destruction magic and combat training. A regular among mercenary companies, he mingled with all sorts, from sellswords to smugglers. He was also drinking buddies with King Robert. His combat lessons were notoriously brutal—students would find themselves pelted with wildfire, nails, and quicklime mid-fight. His reputation as the fiercest instructor was well-earned.
Archmaester Marwyn had always been close to Wright. When Wright introduced the correct magical foundations, Marwyn immediately spearheaded the Citadel's reforms, founding its own magic school. His knowledge was extensive, and with the Citadel's vast archives and nationwide network, countless commoners with magical potential had been recruited. He was revered as the foremost mentor among commoner-born mage.
Meanwhile, construction projects were underway. Wright ordered expansions to the magic school. The Dragonpit Hill had become an eyesore of dust and disorder, so Wright suggested relocating everyone to Tyrosh for the time being.
After the letters from the Red Keep reached the nobles across Dorne, replies soon followed. Most of them expressed support for King Robert, believing that Dornish matters should be handled by the Dornish themselves. A few nobles who hoped for Robert's intervention were ignored, and Robert instructed his Prime Minister, Rohan, to continue engaging with them in pointless discussions.
The Stormlands and the Reach would not send troops to Dorne, but both regions had begun to organize small units to guard key passes in the Red Mountains. The Stormlands' forces would set up checkpoints along the Bone Road, while the Reach's troops would establish a station at Prince's Pass. The forces were few, but the message was clear: while they would not participate in Dorne's war, the Dornish could forget about using these roads during their conflict.
With the nobles of Westeros staying out of the war in Dorne, Wright had essentially accomplished his mission and began preparing to return to Tyrosh.
This time, Wright didn't plan to ride a dragon. Instead, he would travel by ship along with the mages from the magic school. With plenty of time on his hands, he planned to spend it teaching them, ensuring they wouldn't embarrass themselves when the time came.
Tyrosh, along with sorcerers from Essos and Yi Ti, hosted their own branch of magic, distinct from the established magical traditions. While their magic wasn't considered orthodox, it had developed its own systems, and in certain aspects, it even surpassed that of the magic school's teachings.
The school's defenses were now overseen by the city's Gold cloaks. With the ongoing expansion, the school's magical wards had been removed, and only the most critical location, the library, had been secured by Wright with powerful enchantments, making it off-limits to all.
Jon Snow, the Gold cloak commander, completed his security duties and made his way to the docks with his wolf, carrying a large leather bag on his back. Three large ships were anchored at the Blackwater port—one for passengers, one for food, and one for luggage. Wright couldn't understand why the noble children needed so many belongings.
When Jon arrived, Wright scratched the head of the direwolf at his feet. The direwolf, which had grown quickly, was now shoulder-high to Jon. If anyone else tried to pet the wolf, they'd likely lose their hand, but after spending so much time with the mages, Ghost and the other direwolves had become used to their presence. They would avoid others, but when Wright extended his hand, Ghost didn't move away. Instead, it raised its head and let him pet it.
After patting its furry head, Wright gently tapped it. "Go on!"
As soon as Wright let go, Ghost dashed forward, leaping onto the ship in a few swift steps, looking for its siblings to play with.
"You only brought this much?" Wright asked, eyeing Jon, who wore only a noble's cloak and carried a sword, with a single leather bag on his back.
Jon raised an eyebrow in response. "Huh? What else should I bring?"
Those who had lived through hardship never knew how to indulge themselves. Wright clapped Jon on the shoulder. "Alright, let's go. Once we count everyone, we'll set sail as soon as the wind picks up."