Hearing Wayne's words, Victaria gave a slight nod. Baelor, beside her, raised an eyebrow. "Should I excuse myself?"
"Makes no difference," Wayne plucked a glass of red wine from a passing attendant's tray and turned back to Victaria. "It's about the dragon."
"That really was just a rumor," Victaria said flatly, her voice as cold as a northern wind. Anyone unfamiliar with her might find her almost unapproachable. "I've already had it investigated. Apart from one drunkard, not a single person saw any so-called dragon that day."
"I'm not talking about that one incident. I an the north over these past several centuries," Wayne t the duchess's eyes. "From the ti I died until now, how many rumors about dragons have surfaced in the north?"
Victaria's eyebrow lifted fractionally. Baelor glanced at her with curiosity. "Now that you ntion it... the whole 'dragon sighting' genre of story does seem to be a northern specialty, doesn't it?"
"The north does occasionally produce tales about dragons. There are even small groups that worship them," Victaria shook her head. "But those are essentially mountain-folk superstitions. The north is mountainous, and the peaks are prone to blizzards. The mountain people interpret those storms as dragon roars. Furthermore, the north borders the Dragonborn Principality, whose people claim descent from dragons and maintain dragon-worship as an official, public faith. The mountain folk are heavily influenced by them, so it's only natural that strange stories circulate. But in truth, House Stark has lived in the north for seven hundred years and has never once seen an actual dragon in the sky. Those stories are pure fiction."
"And yet a real dragon appeared, flew right past , in fact," Wayne said mildly.
"If a dragon truly appears, you'll be the first to know," Victaria said coolly, and seed to smile ever so slightly. "Just now I thought you were going to ask to dance."
"I'll pass on that, not my forte. And after seven hundred years, I have no idea what modern dances even look like," Wayne laughed and shook his head, waving them off. "Go enjoy yourselves. Keeping a seven-hundred-year-old living fossil company can't be very comfortable. I'm fine just watching."
Both dukes' expressions stiffened slightly (Victaria's was perpetually stiff). Normally this was the kind of line they said to younger or lesser nobles at gatherings. Having it said to them for the first ti felt almost like being transported back to childhood...
And they couldn't even argue with it...
Watching the two contemporary dukes walk away, Wayne sighed inwardly.
As expected, not that easy. When the Northern Duchess had ntioned the dragon rumors during the eting, he'd thought he was onto an important lead.
Dragons had been absent from this continent for so long, nearly a thousand years without a single verified sighting, that these powerful creatures had beco practically mythological to most intelligent races. But for Wayne, who had hung in the sky for tens of thousands of years, dragons were hardly unfamiliar.
After witnessing the dragon firsthand, he'd combed through his mories and cataloged every image that contained a dragon. After reviewing them all, he'd found that virtually every dragon had co from the north.
Regardless of whether the intervals spanned millennia or re centuries, whether the visiting dragon was a solitary individual or a group, they invariably crossed the northern mountains first before entering the continent's interior. And every ti dragons appeared, they seed to have a clear purpose, they would fly straight into the heart of the continent, do sothing, and then leave quickly, with no interest in sightseeing.
Unfortunately, Wayne's aerial vantage point had been limited. He could only see part of the continent and a small stretch of the southern coastline. He couldn't even confirm how far the continent extended to the north, so he had no way of guessing whether the dragons ca from beyond the northern mountain barrier or from another continent across a distant ocean.
But he had a feeling.
Dragons would certainly appear again.
Wayne's party didn't linger long in the capital. They departed on the third day.
The aid the High King had promised would take ti to assemble. The grain and supplies couldn't travel overland, half would be consud by people and horses en route. River transport required waiting another half-month for the Dragon River on the Holy Spirit Plains to rise to navigable levels. The hundred-person team of craftsn and apprentices also needed ti to organize. The main holdup was waiting for the various guilds and associations to nominate their internal misfits, outcasts, victims of bullying, and all-around unlucky souls, then selecting the hundred unluckiest for the roster. This was a ti-consuming process, and getting these people dispatched before the grain ships sailed would already be impressively fast.
Wayne couldn't afford to wait. He'd finally obtained the Pioneering Rights he wanted, and his head was bursting with plans to implent. So after collecting the mountain of docunts the High King had provided, he left the capital without delay.
The journey there had been a leisurely, andering affair. The return was a flat-out sprint, he'd have teleported back if he could. At tis like this, Wayne genuinely envied the "teleportation spells" he'd read about in fantasy novels from his previous life. How wonderful would it be to just open a portal and step through? Why all this hassle?
Unfortunately, on this continent of Lorath, while magic existed, it hadn't reached the convenience of fiction. The various races' utilization of magic was still largely stuck at the "compress a big fireball and lob it at soone" or "condense an arcane energy bolt and slam it in their face" level. Spells like teleportation or spatial storage weren't unrecorded, but they were essentially legendary, for instance, the Primordial Elves, who had long since vanished into history, were said to have mastered spatial teleportation. So also claid that Draconic Magic, the source of many of the world's spell systems, contained space magic related descriptions...
But nobody had ever seen the real thing.
anwhile, the Northern Duchess Victaria Stark had already returned to her castle in the northern territories, Winterfell.
The dukes who guarded the kingdom's four borders couldn't be away from their domains for long. Though the north was more stable than the east, it still needed soone at the helm. So Victaria had departed the Silver Keep imdiately after her first eting with Gwayne Seawright, riding the fastest available griffin back to her territory.
She tossed her thick, warm silver fox cloak to a servant and strode briskly into the castle's depths.
She sat down in her study. A dark-haired, dark-eyed woman of unremarkable features stepped forward, placing a cup of hot tea on her desk, then moved behind her and began kneading the duchess's shoulders with practiced skill.
"You look exhausted," the woman said. Her voice was low and calming.
"The founding duke has truly returned. That legendary Gwayne Seawright," Victaria said quietly. "The face is an exact match. The Pioneer's Sword is an exact match. I even dared to use lie-detection magic, and everything he said checked out as true."
The woman who appeared to be a maid countered Victaria's assessnt. "A skilled deceiver can evade lie detection. And even when the magic works, it's not always reliable, divination always has a margin of error. You can't rely on it too heavily."
Victaria shook her head. "Maggy, I also have my instincts."
"Instincts, then..." The woman called Maggy pondered for a mont. "So what do you intend to do?"
"The resurrected hero seems to have no interest in involving himself in the kingdom's current power structure. He only claid his Right of Eternal Conquest," Victaria recounted her capital experience with a neutral expression. "What concerned was his attitude toward the High King. I'd expected the founding duke to place extre importance on House Martell's legitimate bloodline, perhaps even to confront the current royal house on the issue. But he publicly acknowledged Denethor II's status as a descendant of the founding king... That caught completely off guard."
"They must have made contact privately," Maggy's massage paused briefly. "You were careless."
"I was careless," Victaria frowned. "And now that king is going to be even harder to manage..."
"Are you going to..."
"No," Victaria shook her head. "What House Stark wants is Andraste's eternal prosperity. Not power."
"So you don't plan to take any action," Maggy resud the massage. "You're too soft."
"I don't care for my parents' way of doing things. It no longer suits the current era." As Victaria spoke, her gaze drifted involuntarily upward, toward the opposite wall.
On that wall hung the Stark family crest and five portraits, the founding king Charles Martell and the four pioneer knights. These portraits were practically standard décor in every Andraste noble household.
Beside the Stark ancestor's portrait hung Gwayne Seawright's. The armored man holding the Pioneer's Sword gazed into the distance with world-weary eyes, as though his sight could pierce ti and see the distant future. This association made Victaria think of his resurrection after seven hundred years, and she couldn't suppress a slight shiver.
"Vicky?" Maggy's voice ca from behind.
"Take down Gwayne Seawright's portrait," Victaria Stark said quietly. "It's not appropriate to keep it hanging now."
"Take it down? Is that all right?"
"...He told himself. Said he wasn't comfortable being hung on walls while he was still alive," Victaria's voice carried an added note of weariness. "He's an elder, and a friend of our ancestor. I can hardly ignore his wishes."
"Very well." Maggy nodded with resignation and walked over to remove the painting.
Then Victaria spoke again. "By the way, Maggy, you're from the mountain clans, aren't you?"
"I am."
"Then do you know... the dragon stories? What do you make of them?"
The dark-haired, dark-eyed woman stood with her back to Victaria. She was silent for a beat, then shook her head. "Just so tireso old legends."
"But a real dragon appeared in Seawright territory, in the south."
"Is that so?" Maggy reached up and lifted Gwayne Seawright's portrait from the wall. "Then it's probably nothing good."
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