Happy moments are always fleeting. Although his own nephew had just been born, Wright, as an uncle, couldn't stay at Storm's End for long.
With Renly's firstborn now here, he had a valid reason to take leave. The establishment of the Magic Administration Committee to Wright, along with discussions about Dorne at the Small Council. On the fifth day after the child's birth, Wright prepared to return to King's Landing.
He made his way to the library of Storm's End, intending to take a few copied manuscripts about his family's ancestors to study along the journey. While flipping through the catalog at the desk, a sudden realization struck him like divine inspiration—an epiphany.
Having grown up at Storm's End, he was intimately familiar with every corner of it. Seizing the moment when the bedroom was empty, Wright activated invisibility and sneaked inside, setting up an illusion spell formation under Margaery's bed. The spell would help her sleep better by filtering out external disturbances, though it did come with a minor side effect.
Renly was already drunk beyond recognition, being tended to by Loras in another room. Margaery, having just given birth, was sleeping separately from Renly during this period, leaving the master bedroom for herself and the baby.
Wright knocked on the door.
"Come in!" Margaery's cousin opened it.
"Is the baby asleep?" Wright entered, catching a faint scent of milk lingering in the bedroom air.
"Eat, sleep, repeat—that's what you Baratheon men do best," Margaery quipped as she got up from the sofa, pouring Wright a glass of water before instructing her cousins, "You all go on ahead. I'm going to rest soon."
Wright approached the cradle, observing the peacefully sleeping child. The blue dragon egg lay at the corner of his tiny blanket.
Once the girls had left and shut the door, Margaery stepped closer, reaching out to pinch the baby's cheek. "Some of the Stormlands' lords came to see him. They all say he looks just like Renly."
Wright chuckled. "Baratheon boys resembling their fathers is a sign of strong bloodlines."
Margaery turned, adjusting the collar of Wright's tunic. "Are you leaving?"
"There's too much to handle in King's Landing, and Dorne is becoming unstable. I have to go back." Wright noticed the red rose pendant hanging from Margaery's neck and reached out to touch it.
Margaery immediately caught his hand. "I just had a baby, Wright. Not now. But after the full moon celebration, Renly and I will head to Tyrosh. Nymeria and Tereni are due soon too—we'll have plenty of time then."
Wright took a step back. "Your mind is always in the gutter! I was just checking the magic on the necklace."
"Hmph." Margaery gave him a knowing look, straightening her posture with a playful smirk. "Then why did you swallow just now?"
Wright didn't answer—neither admitting nor denying it. Instead, he pulled her down onto the sofa beside him. "I have something serious to discuss."
Margaery reclined, resting her head on his shoulder. "Go on."
"I've mapped out a plan for Dorne. You need to persuade your father and brothers to keep the Reach lords from getting involved."
"If a war really breaks out in Dorne, there are plenty of Reach lords who hold old grudges against them. Some will undoubtedly try to take advantage of the situation."
"Robert will soon issue a royal decree forbidding interference in the Dornish conflict. I'll do the same after Nymeria's child is born. Renly's Stormlands won't participate, and the royal fleet will be stationed at the Stepstones to maintain trade routes. I need you to ensure that the Reach lords don't start scheming behind the scenes. If they do, they won't just be offending Dorne—they'll be making enemies of House Baratheon as a whole."
Margaery adjusted her position, nuzzling into his shoulder. "You're not fighting? That makes sense. Your position ties you to both Tyrosh and the Crown. But if not you, then who will lead the troops?"
Suddenly, she sat upright, her eyes fixed on him. "You don't mean to send Nymeria to war, do you? Can she even fight?"
Margaery knew firsthand about Nymeria's prowess in bed, but she had never seen her in battle.
Wright patted her head. "My healing magic is incredibly powerful, so just imagine what that means for Nymeria when she's training in combat. She reads more military strategy books than I do. She's always by my side, but because I shine so brightly, you've all overlooked her."
"But what if she gets surrounded? What if she's struck by an arrow?"
Wright burst into laughter. "It just means Tyrosh and I won't be directly involved. But I'll have Odahviing circle above her during battle. If anyone so much as touches a strand of Nymeria's hair, Odahviing will burn them and their homeland to ash!"
That was the advantage of a dragon capable of communicating with humans. A Targaryen dragon, once separated from its rider, was little more than a wild beast. Nymeria might not be able to ride a dragon, but as long as she offered the right incentives, Odahviing would fight alongside her.
"Fine. I'll write to my father. I'll also write to my grandmother—she's far more reliable," Margaery conceded, finally understanding Wright's plan.
If the Reach lords meddled in Dornish affairs behind the scenes, they'd be making an enemy of Wright. Unlike his three elder brothers, Wright didn't hesitate in his actions. If provoked, he wouldn't just retaliate—he'd burn their houses to the ground.
That very night, Wright returned to King's Landing alongside Odahviing.
The following day, after the Small Council meeting, King Robert officially sent a letter to Dorne, declaring that the kingdom would not wage war and urging Dornish lords to remain restrained. Any disputes, he suggested, should be settled in King's Landing, either by the Small Council or the king himself.
When the letter reached the Dornish lords, they scoffed at its message. Dorne's affairs would be decided by Dornishmen—what did Robert Baratheon have to do with it?
Meanwhile, in Storm's End, Margaery had been sleeping soundly thanks to the spell Wright had placed beneath her bed. She felt more refreshed than ever during the day, yet every night, she had the same dream.
In it, a black-haired man led his forces across countless battlefields, fighting valiantly and conquering region after region. When victory was finally secured, he stood atop a grand platform, raising his arm high as the masses roared his name in unison.
Margaery stood in the vast square, surrounded by the frenzied crowd. Though they ignored her presence, she remained at the man's side, listening as countless voices called out his name.
She dreamed of it every night.
After several days, she approached Renly. "Have you decided on a name for the child?"
Renly looked utterly drained, his energy sapped in an instant. "Not yet."
The child would bear the Baratheon name, but as a noblewoman of high standing, Margaery had a say in choosing his first name.
"I keep having the same dream," Margaery said. "And in it, one name keeps appearing."
Renly saw a glimmer of hope. "Let's hear it."