The idea was good, but the question was, how would Clay leave?
As a noble, Clay would not suffer the hardships of imprisonment, especially under House Stark's protection, but that also made leaving the prison extremely difficult.
The logic behind it could be called complicated or simple. Ultimately, it was a matter of face.
For example, if Clay were imprisoned in Casterly Rock, killed the jailer, cut down the Lannister guards, and escaped back to the North, he would not only escape punishment under the kingdom's laws but be welcomed as a hero.
Unfortunately, Duke Eddard was his liege lord. With Clay in his prison, escaping would mean cutting himself off from the North's noble hierarchy. That was a very serious matter.
In the North, this was called trampling on honor, and it would never be forgiven.
Early the next morning, a grim-faced Ser Rodrik hurried into Clay's cell.
First thing that morning, he had received a report that someone had knocked the jailer unconscious. The weathered old knight immediately realized that someone had come for Clay, because apart from him, there was not a single worthwhile target in Winterfell's dungeons.
Thoughts raced through the knight's mind along the way. He feared he would find Clay's murdered body, because that would mean Lord Eddard would break openly with the queen.
Although he knew his lord was too levelheaded to take up arms against the queen while the king was present, from then on, the wolf and the lion, who already disliked each other, would begin baring their fangs at one another.
Muttering under his breath, Ser Rodrik hurried along and soon spotted the young jailer, who stood at a loss with a large bruise across his neck.
"Is Lord Clay all right?" Rodrik asked at once.
The jailer shook his head. The old knight breathed a sigh of relief, glared at the jailer, and swept into the prison.
Passing one candle lamp after another, Rodrik reached the quietest and best-appointed cell in the depths of the dungeon.
Dressed in casual clothes, Clay was leaning against the wall, engrossed in a copy of Stories of the Old Gods of the North borrowed from Winterfell's library.
"Lord Clay, were you injured? Did you get a clear look at the assassin?"
Ser Rodrik's anxious heart finally settled, only for confusion to follow. Clay did not look as though he had survived an assassination attempt at all. His expression was utterly relaxed.
"Hmm? Ser Rodrik, what are you talking about? An assassin?" Confusion appeared on Clay's face. He gently closed the book and walked to the door. Ser Rodrik took the keys from the jailer who had followed him, unlocked the cell, and stepped inside.
"Lord Clay, someone knocked this fool unconscious last night. You... are you all right?"
Ser Rodrik's thoughts were in disarray. Clay had not seen an assassin. That was completely unexpected.
This really was bizarre. Someone had deliberately sneaked into the dungeon and knocked out the jailer, yet had not come to assassinate Clay. Then what had he come for? Just to beat someone up for fun?
There definitely had been an assassin-or someone they could call that for now. With his years of martial training, Ser Rodrik could tell at a glance that the jailer could not possibly have inflicted the marks on his own neck.
"Are you certain you didn't see anyone last night?" Bewildered, Rodrik asked again, unwilling to give up.
Clay shook his head, looking confused and innocent, leaving Rodrik at a complete loss. He instinctively believed Clay would never lie. Besides, if someone wanted to kill him, why would he lie?
After pacing around for a long while, Ser Rodrik still could not make sense of this somewhat bizarre affair, so he upheld a fine tradition among subordinates: go to the man in charge!
When he recounted the entire affair to Eddard Stark in full detail, a distinctly thoughtful look appeared on the middle-aged Lord of the North's expressionless face.
After Ser Rodrik finished, Eddard Stark sank into prolonged contemplation. A long time passed. Unsure whether to stay or leave, Ser Rodrik could only steel himself and call out, "My lord?"
"Hm?" Duke Eddard looked up, then came back to himself. His thick brows furrowed as he ordered:
"Go and bring that boy Clay here. Remember, dress him properly. Don't let the queen's people see him."
A thoroughly confused Ser Rodrik left to carry out his orders. Half an hour later, Clay stood once more in Winterfell's great hall, wearing a Stark coat.
Duke Eddard sent Ser Rodrik away, leaving only the two of them in the vast hall.
His gray eyes swept over Clay again and again, as though he wanted to get to know him anew. Only after a long while did he ask:
"Clay, was that your first time killing someone?"
As he asked the question, Duke Eddard watched Clay's eyes closely.
Without much thought, Clay nodded.
"Yes, my lord duke."
"How did it feel?"
"Uh... I didn't think that much about it."
Eddard Stark merely nodded, seemingly dissatisfied with Clay's answer. He sighed softly and pointed to a nearby chair.
Clay dispensed with formalities and sat straight down.
"As your liege lord and your elder, I can only tell you that those who use swords lightly will eventually die by them. A human life carries weight."
Eddard Stark stirred the roaring fire. Looking at the thoughtful Clay, he suddenly smiled and said softly:
"I know. What you said was right. Honor cannot be sullied. That is also why you can stand here now."
He stopped Clay from speaking, paused, then continued:
"I know the assassin must exist. But you don't want him to exist, do you?"
Glancing at Clay's abruptly stiffened expression, Duke Eddard stepped forward and patted his somewhat rigid shoulder.
"You needn't explain. It is enough that the assassin did not endanger you. You handled this well. Unwilling as we may be, House Stark truly should not clash with the queen right now. But you must understand, boy..."
He looked into Clay's eyes and said, each word distinct:
"A wolf must never fear a lion. Courage is the foundation of our survival as Northmen."
"I am glad the gods have granted you more wisdom than your father. In the future, put more of that wisdom toward helping Robb."
With that, Eddard Stark strode out of the hall, leaving Clay still standing there in a daze.
Clay was utterly surprised. He had not expected Duke Eddard to see through him at a glance. He had thought he could fool everyone like idiots, only to have that dream shattered immediately.
The wisdom in the old wolf lord's eyes as he spoke had left a deep impression on him.
This was unquestionably an intelligent man. Then why had he performed so poorly later in King's Landing?
Clay felt that what was about to happen in that southern capital of the Seven Kingdoms was far more complicated than he had imagined...
The status has been updated, so you fine readers can invest now. If you have ideas about the plot, please leave more comments. This is my first time writing, and some of your ideas may also help me avoid certain pitfalls.