Skyrim System In Westeros

The weapons once forged by the now-vanished Valyrian Freehold could now be crafted by House Baratheon. The long-lost techniques, forgotten for five centuries, had been revived.

As of now, only the four Baratheon brothers, Nymeria, Tereni, and Dofas, the Triarch of Volantis, knew this secret. Yesterday, Prince Oberyn became the latest to learn of it.

Many already knew that Wright could reforge Valyrian steel. As a child, he had often crafted small trinkets from broken fragments and given them away. But now, he was forging entirely new weapons—a secret that would be revealed before the first auction. Wright wasn't worried about thieves. Enchanting Valyrian steel weapons required souls, and any fool who tried to rob him would simply be offering themselves up.

Dark Sister was too famous a sword. Everyone present had seen battle, and all warriors longed for a Valyrian steel blade—except for those lucky enough to already own one.

Dunstan Drumm of the Iron Islands rested his hand on Red Rain's hilt with a knowing smile. Dickon Tarly, standing at the back without a seat, held Heartsbane in his arms. Kingsguard Lyn Corbray had Lady Forlorn at his waist, while Jorah Mormont had propped Longclaw against his chair.

Despite his sleepless night, Oberyn was now fully alert, watching as Ashara Dayne tested Dark Sister in her grip.

She unsheathed both swords from her back. One was ordinary steel, and without hesitation, she handed it to Jon Snow.

Dark Sister fit perfectly in her left hand, its length complementing her height. In her right hand, she held Dawn—longer and broader, better suited for powerful strikes.

"Ah-ha!"

With a loud cry, Ashara's entire body burst into flames. The fire surged across both swords, though their enchanted steel merely glowed red rather than melting.

Hummmm—Hummmm—

As the twin blades whirled, flames traced their arcs, casting golden-red reflections across every face in the hall.

Robb and Jon had already stepped back the moment Ashara went wild.

Though Robb carried twin swords, he had only ever trained in single-sword combat. If nothing unexpected happened, he would inherit his father's greatsword, Ice. For now, he simply stood aside, watching her display while flipping through the spellbook Wright had gifted him.

Like Robb, Jon had received a custom-designed spell set from Wright. His swordplay focused on thrusting attacks, enhanced by illusions and rapid movement—striking through the gaps in enemy armor rather than clashing steel-for-steel. He wasn't envious of Ashara's weapons. The best weapon was the one suited to its wielder.

Wright called out to her, "That's enough. There's still more to this gathering. You'll have a lifetime to study that sword."

"Thank you, Master! Ha, ha, ha!" Ashara dismissed her flaming cloak spell but clung tightly to both swords.

Wright reached out and tousled her short, messy hair. "Grinning like an idiot. You three, step aside for now—the gathering isn't over yet."

As he returned to his seat, the next topic was brought forward, one that didn't concern him.

"This generation's Sword of the Morning is truly formidable! Congratulations, Prince Oberyn—Dorne has gained a powerful warrior."

"This is what I imagine the Sword of the Morning should be!"

"Edrik Dayne, your house's legacy is destined to shine once more!"

"If she enters the tourney circuit, do any of us even stand a chance?"

Praise flooded in from all sides.

Robert, sensing it was time, signaled to Kingsguard Lyn Corbray. The knight stepped forward and called out, "Everyone, silence. Presenting: Salladhor Saan of Lys!"

The gathered nobles returned to their places.

A soldier hurried outside and signaled toward the entrance. Moments later, the Lysene pirate captain strode into the hall, clad in his flamboyant attire. Walking through the central aisle, he knelt before King Robert.

"Your Grace, King of Westeros, I am Salladhor Saan of Lys. I come before you with my fleet and men, seeking to join the Royal Fleet."

The infamous pirate had already secretly defected and had been stationed at Bloodstone Port for some time. Many had wondered about the presence of these ships, but now, before all assembled, the formalities were being observed.

Salladhor Saan was officially inducted into the Royal Fleet and swore loyalty to King Robert. However, he was not granted a knighthood—aside from skirmishing with the Iron Fleet at sea, he had yet to prove himself worthy of such an honor.

With the ceremony concluded, he no longer had to wait outside and was free to join the gathering. Some had already begun making conversation with their new comrade.

Lyn Corbray stepped forward. "Sawane Botley, Lord of the Iron Islands!"

The hall fell silent in an instant. All present understood that the joyous occasion had now given way to someone else's misfortune.

Sawane Botley rose from his seat and stepped into the aisle.

Robert leaned forward in his chair, eyes fixed on him. "Sawane Botley! The Iron Fleet defied orders and launched an unauthorized attack on Lys. Over a third of your fleet and men were lost. What do you have to say for yourself?"

Sawane knelt on one knee. "Your Grace, the orders were issued in my name, but I was gravely ill at the time and not even present. Someone forged my seal. By the time I recovered aboard my ship, the fleet had already begun landing in Lys."

A wave of murmurs spread through the hall.

Forging a Lord's seal? Issuing false commands? These were crimes of the highest order—punishable by execution and the exile of one's entire family. A scandal was unfolding before their eyes.

"Silence!" Lyn Corbray commanded.

Robert slammed his palm against the armrest of his chair, his voice thunderous with fury. "You expect me to believe that? The Iron Islands sent ten thousand men. Every lord was involved. Are they all children, following orders they didn't understand?"

"Your Grace, I swear I was ill! The fleet was resupplying in Oldtown when I signed an order to dock at Sunspear. That was my last act before I collapsed!"

Robert turned his gaze. "Dunstan Drumm! What orders did you receive?"

Dunstan, his unsheathed Red Rain in hand, let its crimson blade glint under the torchlight as he stepped forward. "Your Grace, the lords of the Iron Islands did debate our course in an Oldtown tavern. But the final orders I received—sealed by the lord—commanded us to attack Lys."

Robert's glare darkened. "And the other Ironborn lords?"

One by one, they confirmed the same—while there had been discussions in the tavern, the official orders they received all commanded an assault on Lys.

The truth was now evident to all.

Sawane Botley had been present at the tavern discussions. He had issued the final orders himself.

Robert waved his hand. Several Kingsguard rested their hands on their sword hilts and advanced toward Sawane, ready to seize him.

The Ironborn lord knew resistance was futile. Defying orders was one thing, but resisting arrest in this hall would see him butchered where he stood. He rose, preparing to surrender—yet he wasn't ready to abandon his last hope.

"Your Grace, I admit I was at the tavern and took part in the discussion. But we were drunk—just speaking nonsense! I was too ill to endure the southern climate and collapsed afterward. I never issued a formal order." His gaze turned sharply. "Dunstan Drumm! Who handed you the official orders?"

All eyes now fell upon Dunstan.

If he named Sawane Botley, the lord would lose his head. If he named another, the situation would become far more complicated.

The hall grew still.

Everyone waited for his answer.

Sawane Botley had no choice but to accept Asha and Theon's advice—if he didn't shift the blame, he was doomed. Yet, when he turned to the other lords, he quickly realized that they all held him in contempt and outright rejected his proposition. Now, hearing their testimonies, all recounting the true events at Oldtown, he knew he was finished.

After a long pause, Dunstan Drumm finally spoke.

"Harras Harlaw! I received the official order from Harras Harlaw."

Sawane Botley, restrained by the Kingsguard, instantly relaxed. His legs nearly gave out beneath him, and he would have collapsed if not for the knights holding him up.

Dunstan had no intention of saving Sawane Botley. In fact, he despised Harras Harlaw and had long wanted him dead. But more than that, he valued fairness. He had no respect for Botley's pitiful attempts at political maneuvering—better to let men like him die sooner rather than later.

What changed his mind had happened just this morning.

Robert's voice thundered once more. "And the rest of the Ironborn lords?"

One by one, they all confirmed the same—Harras Harlaw had issued the final orders.

Robert's face darkened with fury. "Harras Harlaw! Where is he?"

The crowd turned toward the Ironborn contingent—only to realize that Harras Harlaw was missing.

A soldier, his body wrapped in bloodied bandages, stepped forward.

"Your Grace, Ser Harras Harlaw… is dead!"

Robert let out a mirthless laugh. "Dead! Ha! You Ironborn really think you can kill the only witness and dump the blame on a corpse?"

"It wasn't us, Your Grace!"

"We had nothing to do with it!"

"He owed me a fortune! Why would I kill him?"

The wounded soldier pressed on.

"It was Asha Greyjoy and Theon Greyjoy. We left together this morning. Theon claimed that Harras Harlaw's sword, Nightfall, rightfully belonged to House Greyjoy. They argued, and the guards tried to intervene—but the fight escalated. Theon killed Harras and took Nightfall. Asha slew several guards. By the time the rest of us reacted, they had already escaped. I was knocked into a drainage channel and washed out to sea—that's how I survived."

An uproar filled the hall.

Robert called his closest men aside for a brief council.

Soon after, Lyn Corbray's voice rang out. "Silence!"

As the room quieted, Robert Baratheon sat on his throne and delivered his verdict. "The matter of the forged orders is closed! Harras Harlaw is dead, and his family will face no further punishment."

The Ironborn did not protest. They knew exactly what had happened.

Robert turned to Sawane Botley. "Lord Sawane Botley, you failed to withdraw your men after landing in Lys, contributing to the Iron Fleet's losses. Your house will forfeit three-quarters of its spoils from this campaign as compensation to the other Ironborn lords."

"I accept the terms, Your Grace."

"Much appreciated, Your Grace."

Dealing with the Ironborn was never easy. Without evidence, some had tried to pin everything on a dead man. If that was what they wanted, so be it. In times of war, keeping the army stable was more important than chasing justice.

Robert's voice carried across the hall. "For the crimes of murdering a lord and stealing a Valyrian steel sword, I am issuing a bounty across the Seven Kingdoms. Nightfall must be recovered, and Asha and Theon Greyjoy are to be taken dead or alive!"

"Death to Asha and Theon!"

"Death to Asha and Theon!"

The hall erupted with fury.