Skyrim System In Westeros

King's Landing was overcrowded—but only for the common folk. Families of three or four squeezed into two rented rooms in a small building, grumbling about the cramped conditions yet unwilling to leave. Nowhere else could offer so many job opportunities for free folk.

For nobles and wealthy merchants, however, comfort followed them wherever they lived. The gathered nobility of the realm resided in their luxurious three- or four-story townhouses, easily accommodating visiting relatives. Even their accompanying retainers had rooms, though they had to do without grand gardens.

Many nobles had brought an overwhelming number of relatives and retainers, leaving them no choice but to take up residence in the city's inns and taverns. Some shrewd individuals had foreseen this as an opportunity, shipping in large quantities of food and hiring dancers to profit from the influx. With so many arrivals, the streets teemed with carts transporting goods and laborers hauling heavy bundles. The entire city bustled with activity.

The nobles from the Stepstones all had relatives in the city, and their soldiers were unconcerned about lodging—after all, they were used to sleeping in ship cabins.

At Blackwater Bay's new harbor, people disembarked from the Tyroshi fleet in an endless stream. A large group of Dornish nobles, clad in their exotic attire, had also arrived at the docks.

The last time Dornish nobility had come to King's Landing was for Wright's wedding years ago, and even then, only a few had attended. This time, nearly every family had sent representatives. Their strange sigils adorned with vipers and scorpions, their distinct features, and their unusual clothing stood out starkly from the mainland's nobility. Many of the gathered onlookers had never seen Dornishmen before and regarded them with unabashed curiosity.

Margaery and Renly had lived in Tyrosh for over half a year, so she recognized the Tyroshi nobles and maintained good relations with them. She was chatting casually with a few of them while little Rosamund clung to her sleeve, shyly hiding behind her.

"Ashara, has your marriage been settled?" Margaery asked when she saw Ashara walking over, clinging to Gendry, who was half a head taller than her.

"Haha, yes! It's him!" Ashara laughed heartily, slapping Gendry's breastplate with a loud clang.

When Margaery had left Tyrosh, Gendry had still been nothing more than a master blacksmith, lacking even a noble title. Now, he was a Lord. Given that he was Robert's bastard, a simple knighthood would have sufficed. Even in Storm's End and Highgarden, a few craftsmen had been knighted, but Margaery couldn't fathom why Wright had granted a mere blacksmith such a lofty rank.

Ashara lifted Gendry's arm and flipped up his tassets, gesturing at his thigh. "Look at these! Arms and legs thick as this—I chose him for his strength!"

"Not bad. Strong features, well-built muscles," Margaery said with a smile, playing along.

Asha, idly twirling the handle of her axe, eyed Gendry's lower body. "Oh, Count Gendry isn't just strong. On the ship, Ashara's room creaked all night—we couldn't get a wink of sleep!"

Margaery chuckled. "Didn't you once say you'd only marry someone who could defeat you, Ashara?"

"As if! I was on top!" Ashara loudly retorted.

Flushed red, Gendry looked as bashful as a maiden, lowering his head and mumbling, "I actually won her over with sincerity."

At that moment, Dickon Tarly and his men disembarked as well, keeping a low profile. They pulled up their hoods and slipped into the crowd, disappearing before they even reached the port.

As the Stepstones' nobles passed by, Margaery greeted them one by one but found no sign of her brother, Garlan.

"Have you seen my brother, Garlan?" she asked again.

"They're hosting the nobles from Volantis and Lys—their ship hasn't docked yet. It'll be this afternoon at the earliest," Sarella replied. As a maester, she referred to titles by function rather than rank. "Garlan, as the Commercial Supervisor, is working alongside the Taxation Chief, Allard, and the Southern Navy Commander, Hobber. Their positions deal closely with foreign powers, so Wright put them in charge of the reception."

"Then I won't wait for him." Margaery regained her smile and turned to the others. "Tonight, Stannis will host a banquet to welcome you all. In the meantime, you can rest at my home."

Stannis wasn't just welcoming the new Tyroshi nobility—he was also hosting dignitaries from several Free Cities. Many of them had never set foot in King's Landing or even Westeros before. For Stannis, soon to be crowned king, their presence carried significant meaning.

"Lady Margaery, greetings." Meredyth Crane was a man of few words, somewhat reserved.

"Margaery, send my regards to Lord Renly. We need to visit the magic school before joining you," Sansa's voice came through her white mask, slightly altered by it.

"Don't take too long. I'll save some cakes for you." Noting that the mages were carrying metal cases, likely transporting magical items, Margaery didn't press them to stay.

The three robed figures shimmered in the sunlight as they headed toward the academy.

Since the widespread study of runes and spell formations, mage robes had become distinct from noble attire. Intricate patterns of gold or silver thread formed magical sigils that gleamed in the sunlight. To maximize their surface area, the robes extended to the ankles, while the belts bore small pouches for potions. Even commoners could recognize them at a glance.

They also carried wands made of gold or silver, leading many to jest that mages wore their entire fortune on their person. Yet despite their ostentatious attire, none dared target them—any trained warrior foolish enough to rob a mage would soon find himself ensnared by an illusion, attacking his own allies instead.

Sansa was the tallest woman present, draped in a white robe embroidered with gold, her red hair cascading over her shoulders. The white mask on her face only added to her enigmatic aura. Men found her alluring yet unapproachable, especially with a massive direwolf guarding her flank, its presence making her all the more mysterious.

Meredyth' staff and red robes were funded by her family, and she did not disappoint their expectations. She made a name for herself in the Disputed Lands by exterminating bandits alongside her hawk, earning the title "Meredyth of Red Lake."

The bald giant, Paya Bolin, wore glass goggles. His blue skin and blue mage robes made him stand out the most. His magic was indeed peculiar—he only knew the most basic ice spells, but each ice crystal carried a deadly poison. A single scratch on ordinary skin meant certain death.

"Sansa has grown into a fine young lady," Margaery once again tried to play matchmaker.

"Who is that woman in black robes? She was staring at me just now." The young girl Rosamund tugged at Margaery's sleeve, pointing at the backs of the three mages.

Margaery frowned. "There are only three people."

"It's Quaithe. She stands in Sansa's shadow," Ashara grew interested and leaned down to Rosamund. "You can see her too?"

Rosamund nodded. "She's wearing a red mask. Why do she and Sansa wear masks?"

"Little one, their masks carry very different meanings. The red one is a Shadowbinder from Asshai. Sansa, who wears white, is a Dragon Priestess of the Dragon Cult."

Margaery nudged the little girl toward Ashara. "Rosamund is your teacher's new disciple. Teach her well."

"Gladly, gladly! Hahaha! I'll start by teaching you how to swing a sword and cut people down."

---

Two nights before the king's funeral, Odahviing landed discreetly outside the magic school.

On the day before the funeral, Wright, Renly, and Stannis spent the entire day in the Hand's Tower of the Red Keep. No maesters or scribes were present, and magical wards silenced all sound. Other than the idle chatter when servants brought in meals, no one knew what the three had discussed.

The king's funeral was held as scheduled at the Great Sept of Baelor. Everywhere within sight of the square in front of the Sept was draped with banners bearing the crowned stag. Even the grand statue of King Baelor was not spared—a massive cloth embroidered with House Baratheon's sigil was draped over the arm where he held up three fingers.

The Faith of the Seven was the state religion, and seven was a sacred number. A funeral of the highest honor lasted seven days, which also prevented overcrowding. People could take turns paying their respects, mourning, and offering flowers. The first four days were reserved for the nobility, while the last three were open to the common folk.

Robert lay encased in ice, his appearance preserved as it had been at the moment of his death. The corpulent High Septon conducted the ceremony at an altar surrounded by candles, while septas sang hymns to the Stranger. The seven Kingsguard knights, dressed in white cloaks, stood vigil around Robert's body in seven different directions, swords in hand.

Queen Doris Rowan, dressed in a pristine white gown, held the hand of Robert's daughter, Princess Jocelyn Baratheon. Together, they stood with Stannis, Wright, and Renly, returning bows and courtesies to each guest who came to pay their respects.

Wright and Robert were fifteen years apart—an age gap that, in this world, was almost a generational difference. As the eldest Baratheon brother, Robert had been rough and uncouth. If not for the vast wealth of Storm's End, Renly might have starved. Yet, in his own way, Robert had looked out for Stannis, Wright, and Renly.

There were plenty of lords who gave nothing to their younger brothers. Many even sent them away to the Night's Watch or had them trained as maesters to avoid power struggles. Robert may have quarreled with Stannis, but he still entrusted him with the Royal Fleet and Dragonstone—a key stronghold guarding King's Landing, a sign of trust despite their differences.

As for Renly and Wright, Robert had supported them in his own way. He tilted the realm's trade policies in favor of the Stormlands and even rallied noble forces across Westeros to help Wright seize the Stepstones. The bond between men did not require constant companionship. Once a brotherhood was established, even if there were tensions, a night of drinking or a good brawl could mend things. And sometimes, they could go years without seeing each other, yet when the time came, they would march through fire for one another.

Robert had been reckless with money, but Wright, Stannis, and Renly had always patched up the holes. Looking at his life this way, it didn't seem all that bad. Now, the only thing left to do was to take care of his queen and daughter.

Lord Jaime of the Westerlands looked utterly lost. He said nothing, merely nodding blankly to Wright and the others before leaving the Sept.

"I always thought Robert would drink himself to death. Never expected him to actually die on the battlefield," someone muttered.

"Could you at least phrase that more delicately?"

Had anyone else spoken like that, they might not have been charged with insulting the king, but Wright would certainly have thrown them out. However, coming from Tyrion, it sounded entirely natural.

"I sorted out Myr for you. When do I get the rest of my payment?" Tyrion followed the Westerlands' retinue, wearing not Lannister colors but a white robe he had bought in Myr.

Wright looked down at him. "Have your carriage ready. I can withdraw it from the bank for you anytime."

"You might as well send the money directly to the brothel on the Street of Steel. I've been staying there long-term," Tyrion said, motioning for Wright to lean down before lowering his voice. "Theon came back with me. He was a great help in Myr. I heard someone from the Iron Islands wants him dead."

Wright replied, "That's just a hurdle in his path to growth. I'll make sure he stays alive, but I won't solve his problems for him."

"Here we go again! Only Theon would be dumb enough to count the coins while you sell him off." Tyrion, who had drunkenly signed the contract to govern Myr, was pleased that Wright recognized his talents. But now, seeing him in person, he was still somewhat annoyed.

"This isn't selling him off! I've already laid out the titles, lands, honor, and wealth before him. What he gets depends on his own efforts. Or do you expect me to hand everything to him for free?" Wright grabbed Tyrion by the shoulder and pulled him away—there was still a long line of people waiting.

The nobles had brought along their younger family members, many of whom were meeting each other for the first time. Though no banquets could be held during the seven days of mourning, private gatherings were plentiful. As long as there was no drinking, it wasn't considered a feast.

After seven days, the ice-encased body of Robert was moved to a wooden platform in the square outside the Great Sept of Baelor. A massive crowd had gathered in a great circle around it.

Odahviing circled above King's Landing, while six dragons stood around Robert's body. The largest was Peytvahaaz, belonging to Renly, with a white base and red-yellow stripes. Lyonel's sea-blade blue dragon, streaked with lightning patterns, was slightly smaller.

Then there were two black dragons—Klogravuun, belonging to Darkseid, known among the Dornish as the Red Sand's Autumn, and Shulvokun, which belonged to Sauron. Lilith's little red dragon, Judhungaar, was also present, along with a golden dragon, Judvukah, who was shaking its head playfully, trying to nudge its siblings.

Seven dragons in total—one large and six smaller—along with formidable magic and an extensive network of alliances, formed the current power of House Baratheon. House Targaryen had been utterly destroyed, and no noble even entertained the thought of seizing the throne. However, the usual political maneuvering—alliances and sabotage—still persisted. For instance, a large group of devout Faith of the Seven followers had recently arrived from the Reach, much to Stannis' disgust.

These people were unarmed commoners dressed in simple robes, and they marched under the banner of the Faith. Killing them would mean overturning the knightly honor ingrained in Westeros for thousands of years. It would also provoke public outrage, offending both nobles and commoners alike. But if left unchecked, who knew what chaos they might cause in King's Landing? If they decided to blockade the Red Keep with their bodies, the consequences could be catastrophic.

"Dracarys!"

Wright and Renly's shouts snapped Stannis out of his thoughts.

Wright dared not let Odahviing breathe fire—the dragon's flames could melt steel and stone, leaving a massive crater in the square. Instead, the six smaller dragons unleashed their flames, marking the first royal funeral in King's Landing to feature dragonfire in over a century.