After racking his brains to no avail, Clay realized that this question was fundamentally no different from asking him what exactly R'hllor, the Lord of Light, was. It simply could not be answered right now.
Since he could not figure it out, he would leave it alone. Clay had always been easygoing like that.
He called over the guard captain, who stood as straight as a spear. Ignoring his apologetic manner, Clay asked him:
"Have you seen Robb and the others?"
"No, young master, but I heard a rumor at yesterday's feast that His Majesty and Lord Eddard intended to have the children of their two families get to know one another."
"Go on." Clay motioned for him to continue.
"You know how we northerners do things. They'll probably have to cross swords before they get close, so I think you should try the training yard if you want to find them."
Clay gave the veteran named Hoster a somewhat surprised look. He knew Hoster's judgment was probably right.
Eddard Stark's wishful thinking in sending his upright, honest eldest son to bond with the crown prince was actually easy to understand. In his and Robert's eyes, the older stag and wolf shared a deep friendship, but they were growing older by the day.
So the young wolf and stag should also forge a friendship from childhood, just as they had in their youth. At the very least, this would greatly increase the likelihood that the two sides would stand by one another if war broke out in the future.
But Duke Eddard had never imagined that the brave, battle-hardened Robert's son was actually all show and no substance, and arrogant to boot.
Clay had already warned Robb to have less contact with the royal family, but now it seemed that had been completely useless. Still, there was nothing wrong with it, really. The old wolf and the old stag were allies, but it was perfectly reasonable for the young wolf to bare his teeth at a little lion with a glossy coat.
"Let's go watch the fun," Clay ordered. Hoster, in his gleaming armor, called over two guards and followed.
It was not far. When Clay reached the training yard entrance, he saw two banners hanging on the wall: the crowned stag on the left and the roaring lion on the right. A knight whose armor bore the Lannister crest stood guard at the entrance.
Seeing Clay's party approach, he immediately raised a hand arrogantly.
"Stop. Who are you? The princes are sparring with House Stark's little whelps. No one else is allowed in."
Everyone frowned, not because they had been stopped, but because this knight of House Lannister kept calling them wolf pups. This was not Casterly Rock. As men serving the North, they naturally found those words exceptionally grating.
"Ser, insulting your hosts here is not a wise choice."
Clay offered the mild reminder. The knight had already recognized the merman crests on Clay and the others, but he did not care at all. As far as he remembered, House Manderly of White Harbor's old patriarch was still alive, so these men before him were most likely from a cadet branch.
Clay's words had been a reminder, but to the knight's ears, they immediately became an outright accusation that he was a fool. He flew into a rage.
"You little bastard! I'll call them wolf pups all I like. What can you do about it? I'd say the same even if Wyman Manderly were here!"
That was obviously nonsense. If Clay's grandfather really stood here, this petty knight would have to obediently step aside. He would not dare offend the authority of the Earl of White Harbor, who commanded a great city and several thousand troops.
Clay had yet to react to those words, but the two White Harbor guards reacted fiercely. Curses immediately rang out, and one bolder guard had already laid his hand on the sword at his waist.
"What are you doing?!" the knight immediately shouted. His hands were quick as well. The next instant, a finely crafted longsword was out of its sheath, its gleaming point aimed straight at Clay's eyes.
"Courting death," Clay murmured to himself. Nothing in his life offended him more than someone pointing a sword at him. He had intended to let the matter rest, but his opponent had only grown more brazen.
You'll make a perfect practice target!
With a faint sound from the ground, Clay became a black blur, swiftly closing on the Lannister knight. Just as the man began to move, Clay slapped him across the artery in his neck.
Intense pain and overwhelming faintness made the knight drop his longsword and stumble backward until he landed on his backside. The moment the sword left his hand, Clay snatched it up.
By the time the knight recovered from the faintness and gathered his wits, his own longsword was pointed right before his eyes. His whole body went rigid, and he dared not move.
"P-please... please..." The knight who had been so overbearing moments ago could not even manage a complete sentence now. Clay looked at this clown and shook his head, bored.
With a clang, the longsword slid back into the knight's scabbard. Clay's ice-cold voice sounded beside the knight's trembling body:
"You're only getting away with this because you're a Lannister. Mind that head of yours. Without that lion, it really wouldn't sit securely on your shoulders."
Having dealt with that minor nuisance, Clay entered the training yard with his three guards. Roaring lion banners stood everywhere, while barely any crowned stag or direwolf banners could be seen.
Clay immediately spotted Robb standing in the middle of the yard, his face flushed red. The blond-haired, blue-eyed crown prince Joffrey reclined in a cushioned chair, mocking Robb without the slightest restraint.
"Is this how you Starks train?" Joffrey stamped on the wooden sword beneath his feet.
"Shall we put His Highness the Crown Prince in a suit of wooden armor too?" an attendant standing beside him interjected with a grin.
"Yes, since this is House Stark's sacred way of fighting, let's chop down their weirwood and make a few suits of armor. Leave the rest for the wolves. Perhaps they can make a few more wooden swords out of it."
Joffrey nodded in great satisfaction, already considering whether to send someone to actually chop down the weirwood.
Looking at Robb and Ser Rodrik, who were already on the verge of exploding, Clay thought, Now I finally know where that coward outside got his behavior. When the upper beam is crooked, the lower ones follow. With a master like this, they really are quite the specimens.
Clay knew House Lannister was domineering, but that had only been a preconceived impression. He had never expected the Lannisters to be this arrogant. They were practically pressing House Stark's face into the mud and grinding it back and forth.
Chopping down the Heart Tree was exactly like smearing dung on statues of the Seven in the south. It really was courting death.
Clay's opinion of Robb and the old knight's restraint rose a notch. Had it been him, his sword would probably already have struck the neck of the fool who had just spoken.
Robb held himself back for a long while, repeatedly reminding himself that this was the crown prince. But the unrestrained laughter of the Lannisters around him made him hate the training yard more than he ever had before.
Finally unable to take it anymore, Robb hurled his sword down and strode toward the exit. Behind him came Joffrey's triumphant laughter. "Oh, House Stark's warrior is running away!"
Seeing this, Clay had no need to go any farther in. He simply turned back toward the exit to wait outside for Robb. But before Robb emerged, a House Manderly guard came running over, panting. Disregarding etiquette, he leaned straight in and whispered a few words into Clay's ear.
The moment he finished, Clay's expression darkened. He roared at Hoster, "Get the men! All of them!"
Before anyone else could react, Clay demanded viciously of the guard, "Where is he?"
"N-near the smithy."
"Get the men and surround the smithy! I want his head!" Clay roared. At that moment, he looked far more like a lion than most people in this city...
Rest easy, gentlemen. Once the phone number is sorted out, the contract will be okay. Just the final step left. This is agonizing.