Clay ended up back in the dungeon.
To his surprise, Duke Stark never asked how he had made the assassins retreat. It seemed not to matter at all; this lord cared only about the result.
The wolves and lions maintained a surface peace, though that peace looked so fragile.
After the incident, Duke Stark issued an order allowing the White Harbor guards to temporarily replace the dungeon guards to ensure Clay's safety.
But Clay heard some news from Ser Rodrik: he might not be in the dungeon for very long, because his family's old man, Earl Wyman, head of House Manderly, was already leading a hundred cavalrymen in plate armor toward Winterfell at full speed.
That force posed no threat whatsoever to the royal party or the Stark family in Winterfell. It was simply the Earl of White Harbor displaying his strength in a show of defiance against House Lannister.
Clay could clearly sense the respect in the way these guards looked at him.
Some of these men had answered their liege lord's summons during the War of the Usurper and marched south, so, like Duke Eddard, they were deeply dissatisfied with House Lannister.
But Lord Tywin had a powerful army and countless riches. There was nothing they could do but return to the ice and snow of the North and curse.
In their eyes, Clay had struck down a Lannister without a second word to defend his family's honor, accomplishing what they had wanted to do but never managed. They therefore held him in very high regard.
In the dungeon, Clay received three visitors: the three Stark brothers.
"Robb, Jon, Bran, what are you three doing here?"
Clay pointed to the wooden chairs in the corner. None of the three minded the dirt; they glanced at them and sat down.
One look at Bran's waist told Clay that Bran had not yet climbed the Broken Tower.
"We came to see our northern hero. Father kept refusing to let us visit you. We only sneaked in this time because we saw that your own guards had replaced the guards here," Robb said, scratching his head a little apologetically.
The young men of the North were simple and sincere at heart. After spending this time together, the three wolf brothers had already come to regard Clay as a true friend.
"Father said you're a true northerner. My brothers said so too," the still-tiny Bran said adorably.
Clay smiled broadly, but surprise and thought flickered in his eyes. Since becoming a witcher, his body had become extremely sensitive to magic, and in his sight, Bran's body was covered in threads of magical power.
No, this wasn't normal!
The last time Clay had seen Bran was at the king's feast. He could not be sure whether Bran had always been entangled with these magical threads of unknown origin or whether they had only just appeared.
But either way, something was definitely wrong. Clay had seen nothing of the sort on Bran's brothers, Robb and Jon, so this had nothing to do with bloodlines.
What was going on? Wasn't this a low-magic world?
For a moment, Clay suspected this was not the world of ice and fire at all, but thinking of himself put him at ease. He himself was the world's biggest loophole; he could hardly criticize anyone else.
Still, where there were threads, there had to be a source. Clay very much wanted to know who in Winterfell was actually competing with him for a monopoly on magic. How could he allow that?!
He prayed inwardly that his family's old man would hurry up and arrive, preferably scaring the queen into backing down outright, so he could leave this damned place as soon as possible. He wanted to get out more urgently than ever.
"I'll have to make myself a medallion someday to suit my identity," Clay muttered. No one heard him clearly, and Jon asked:
"What did you say, Clay?"
"Ah... nothing. Can you tell me what's been happening outside?" Clay hurriedly changed the subject.
Robb glanced at him, thought for a moment, and said in a half-amused tone:
"Then let me tell you, Lord Clay..." He deliberately drew out the title.
He gathered his thoughts and continued:
"After you were locked in the dungeon, I heard that His Majesty had a huge argument with the queen. That night, he didn't go to her. Instead, he chose three whores from Winterfell to spend the night with."
Robb audibly clicked his tongue as he said this. Clearly, with his hormones already flowing freely, he probably envied King Robert enormously on some level. Unfortunately, Catelyn kept him on too tight a leash. He could look but not taste, much to his regret.
"My father told everyone in the family not to have any more contact with the queen's people. And I don't have to keep putting on a show for the adults with that crown prince who's not right in the head," Robb said, curling his lip.
Clay understood. Those days spent with Joffrey must have been among the most humiliating of Robb's life.
"I really didn't expect King Robert to have a crown prince like that," Jon said.
As a bastard, he had only met Crown Prince Joffrey a few times and had never spoken to him directly. But his instincts told him that the crown prince had not the slightest trace of the stag about him. All that assailed him was the sickening stench of a lion.
"Exactly. Joffrey doesn't look anything like our king. Honestly, the way he looks, I think he's more like the offspring of the Kingslayer and the queen."
Robb looked at Jon and agreed with him, never noticing the strange expression on Clay's face.
Sighing inwardly, Clay thought, This might be the reason.
No one would take the initiative to investigate Joffrey's parentage, but unfortunately, he really did resemble his uncle too much. There was not a trace of Baratheon in him.
Of the three stag brothers, Stannis and Renly were both very fond of Robert at present. If Joffrey had looked exactly like a young Robert and exuded masculinity, neither of them would have raised the banner of rebellion immediately after Robert's death.
It could only be said that the adults were to blame. Joffrey could not choose his parents, and the hysteria he displayed later had a great deal to do with his mother's upbringing.
"What about Wylla?" Clay remembered his younger sister.
"Honestly, what kind of big brother are you..." Robb rolled his eyes at Clay.
"She's fine. Father has already brought her into the main keep. She sleeps with Sansa at night. Don't worry. Once Lord Wyman arrives, Father will hand your sister over to him."
Clay nodded. In that case, there was nothing to worry about.
Jon pulled a small pouch out from behind his back, brought over a little stool to serve as a table, and took out its contents.
"What is it?"
"Heh, see for yourself."
Inside was a small jar. The moment Clay opened it, the rich aroma of wine filled the empty cell.
"Jon, Father doesn't allow..." Good boy Robb instinctively frowned, then realized how utterly dull that sounded. Besides, he was craving it too.
The two older brothers blocked the clueless-looking Bran behind them, keeping him from seeing.
And so, in that cramped dungeon in Winterfell, the younger generation of the North passed around a small bottle of wine and laughed aloud.
The protagonist's stint in prison is necessary for the plot. He can't just kill a Lannister without any consequences. But yes, I will wrap up this part as soon as possible and get him out.
Overall, I want to portray a protagonist who grows. After all, if he steamrolls everything right from the start, it might be satisfying, but there would soon be nothing left to write. If I were going to do that, why wouldn't I just give him a Gundam template, right? (Laughs.)
I'm very open to everyone's opinions, and I welcome discussion of specific plot issues. If I think a suggestion is reasonable, I will definitely adopt it, but please don't make snide remarks. Nobody has much patience online, so please bear with me.