A huge question mark popped into Clay's mind when he heard that name.
Petyr Baelish!
Littlefinger?
After just a second of blank surprise, Clay realized who the name referred to.
Why would this famous schemer from Game of Thrones be the one who sent someone to kill him?
To be honest, Clay felt a faint, strange emotion he did not quite know how to describe. Saying he was flattered would certainly be wrong, but it was something close to that.
Wait, that's not right. Robert hadn't brought Littlefinger with him to Winterfell at all.
The assassin wouldn't kill me just because I'm the heir to White Harbor. It must be because of my conflict with the Lannisters.
But how did Littlefinger know about any of this? Had he sent an assassin from so far away to sneak into the prison and kill me?
And what kind of messaging method was this?
It had only been two days since the incident. How could it be that fast? And that included the return trip!
As far as Clay knew, the south had always been better than the north at training ravens. Even his family's ravens, plump from good feed, needed a full day to flap their way from Winterfell to White Harbor.
Judging by the distance, if the message really had been sent by raven, this particular messenger raven had to be at least twice as fast as the ravens of White Harbor.
For some reason, the image of a bodybuilding raven covered in bulging muscles suddenly appeared in Clay's mind. Honestly, it was an assault on the eyes...
Shaking off the thought, Clay decided to stop speculating. It would be better to ask directly.
"How did Petyr contact you?"
"Raven." The assassin spat out the word without a trace of warmth, wooden and stiff.
It really was a raven? Honestly, this changed Clay's understanding of these creatures. Used properly in war, they could let someone exploit information gaps to spectacular effect.
But he did not want to dwell on details that meant little for the moment. What he wanted to know more was why Littlefinger wanted to kill him.
The powerful magic of the Axii Sign really was unfailingly effective against ordinary people, but Clay soon realized that the assassin before him was merely a killer carrying out orders. He did not know why Clay had to die.
After casting Axii on him once more, Clay ordered him to lie facedown on the floor. He did not want the man's ugly face spoiling his mood.
"I can't get an answer out of him. What should I do next?" Clay muttered to himself in the silent cell.
Clay absolutely could not kill him here. Although it would now be effortless for Clay-he could even order the assassin to slit his own throat-Littlefinger would achieve his goal whether Clay died or the assassin did.
If Clay died, the queen would have to face an enraged Duke Stark and a king who could not possibly let such an affront slide. The queen would not be deposed over his death, but she would lose even the last pretense of civility with the nobles of the North.
The queen knew perfectly well that she had not sent an assassin. She might even think House Stark had staged the whole thing.
And if the assassin died, his very existence would achieve the same effect, only with Clay still alive. So, as things stood, whatever the outcome, the goal of driving a wedge between House Stark and House Lannister had already been achieved.
How fucking underhanded!
At that thought, Clay asked:
"Was that stupid Lannister part of your arrangements too?"
"...Our job was merely to lead him there at just the right time." His voice was somewhat distorted with his face pressed against the floor, but Clay understood him clearly.
There was nothing more worth asking for now. The assassin remained prone, in intimate contact with the cold floor of the cell.
Clay now pondered how to clean up the mess. It was not as though he could make a living person vanish. What was he supposed to do?
The candle burned quietly, translucent drops of wax falling one by one as time slowly passed. Clay cast another Axii Sign out of habit. Just as he finished casting, his hand suddenly froze in midair.
Right! I can't kill him, but I can make him leave on his own!
Everything clicked into place in an instant. The more Clay considered it, the more workable it seemed. Once he had refined the idea, he ordered the dust-faced assassin to stand, then spoke to him in a serious, clear voice:
"Remember, you have already killed Clay Manderly. You will leave now and immediately report this to your master, Petyr. You will no longer investigate any information concerning Clay."
"Yes, I remember." The assassin answered mechanically.
The Axii Sign had a limited duration. Although it tampered with cognition, the effect was only temporary. Clay
only needed him to send the message to Littlefinger.
Just imagine: after sending the message to Littlefinger, as long as he did not actually see Clay, he would not doubt himself. People did not actively seek to invalidate themselves.
Even taking a step back, what could he do if he really discovered that Clay was still alive?
Send another letter to Littlefinger saying, "Sorry, master, the one I killed earlier has come back to life. Just wait, I'll kill him again for you"?
Unless this assassin was an idiot, he would not do that, because Littlefinger would see it as either blatant betrayal or proof that the sender was not remotely sane.
And a tool that had lost its value or betrayed its owner ought to be discarded or destroyed immediately. Littlefinger was certain to understand the art of cutting his losses.
So, as long as this assassin wanted to live a little longer-perhaps long enough for a chance to flee across the Narrow Sea-he would have to accept that Clay was dead and pretend not to see him even if he did...
There were three of them in the king's entire retinue, and he was the only one who had actually received the assassination assignment. That was also why Clay dared to do this.
Dazed and staggering, looking for all the world as though he had been ***, the assassin left in a stupor. Before leaving, he even shut the door for Clay, then returned the key to the belt of the jailer he had knocked unconscious outside. The service was quite thorough.
Reviewing the incident, Clay discovered that he had somehow become a pawn in Littlefinger's efforts to stir up conflict between House Stark and House Lannister. This annoyed him immensely.
At the same time, he realized that he was still playing at far too low a level. Only when trouble was upon him had he noticed the slightest hint that something was wrong. Yet, swept along by events, he had been sent into a cell by one little scheme from the other man.
Even from over a thousand miles away, Clay could feel the coldness behind Littlefinger's mischievous smile.
Things had come to this. Though Clay was a pawn, that pawn now stood squarely in the middle of the board, even if it was a very unfavorable position.
Having stumbled into the game without understanding what was happening, Clay had no intention of staying in prison any longer. News could not reach him here, and he was far too passive in everything.
Clay rather wanted to know whether Bran had seen the queen and her brother's live sex show yet.
The Direwolf family's second son being crippled in a fall was no great matter while Robb was still around, but once something happened to Robb, this young cripple would be the lord of the North.
That had much to do with why the Ironborn dared to openly march troops hundreds of miles to attack Winterfell. In this world, a healthy, strong male heir was extremely important.
Countless lessons of blood and fire had taught the many lords and nobles of Westeros that only a lord who could wield a sword could keep wicked neighbors outside his gates.