"Robb, could you tell me what you're holding?" Duke Eddard asked, his face stern.
This was utterly unexpected. Children caught red-handed misbehaving by their parents-that described Clay and the others perfectly.
Clay glanced at Robb. The future King in the North was completely dumbfounded, pursing his lips and stammering without managing a single sentence. To make matters worse, he was still clutching the bottle of wine.
Apart from Clay, the two Starks were honest boys, both hanging their heads in admission of their wrongdoing.
Not wanting to deal with these two troublesome brats, Duke Eddard had other business to attend to. He stepped halfway aside, revealing the broad figure of Clay's grandfather.
"Uh... Grandfather?" Clay had not expected the old man to arrive so quickly.
Of course he knew what Earl Wyman had come for. In truth, this visit to Winterfell had already exceeded his goals.
First, through Duke Eddard, Clay's standing as White Harbor's heir had gained the nobles' recognition. Second, he had finished brewing the witcher Decoction of the Grasses and, through a fortunate coincidence, successfully undergone the witcher mutation, though the process had been far from pleasant.
What was more, during his many days in Winterfell, Clay had made the acquaintance of House Stark's younger generation thanks to his own status as a young noble.
Although he possessed the Witcher System and could theoretically expand his own forces rapidly, that required time. At this particular juncture, cultivating good relations with House Stark was very necessary.
In truth, he had little choice. His birth dictated that, for the present, he had to stand firmly with the wolves. As for the future, that could wait...
Of course, there had been setbacks too. Littlefinger had played him. Although his maneuvers had reduced the consequences to a minimum, his sister's reputation had still suffered. Marriage was out of the question for the next year or two, though that suited Wylla's wishes. She did not want to marry anyway.
Moreover, between the vast magic of unknown origin within the Heart Tree and the magical threads on Bran that would drive anyone with trypophobia to their death, this seemingly peaceful capital of the North was actually steeped in magic.
Clay had planned to find an opportunity over the next couple of days to investigate the source of Bran's magical threads. In truth, he had some suspicions, but could not confirm them.
Now, however, his grandfather's sudden appearance had completely disrupted his plans. He could only try to see Bran once more before leaving.
This was not Clay playing the bleeding heart. From his perspective, he had to understand the source of the magic. Otherwise, he would not feel comfortable using it to train witchers in the future.
"Hah, you little rascal, you certainly get things done. I only sent you on a visit to Winterfell, and look at everything you've done!" Earl Wyman was actually quite pleased with Clay's actions, but since he had caused Duke Eddard considerable trouble, he had to scold him a little.
"Enough, Wyman. Clay acted for House Manderly's honor. There's no need for this." Eddard Stark waved a hand to stop Earl Wyman, then seized the miserable-looking Jon and Robb, one in each hand, and hauled them out of the dungeon.
After they left, only Clay and his grandfather, Earl Wyman, remained in the dungeon.
After staring at each other for quite a while, Clay and Earl Wyman laughed at the same time.
"Well done. You're better than your father. Back then, your father and I followed Lord Eddard into King's Landing only after the Lannisters had taken it. Those beasts were raping women and looting property to an utterly intolerable degree. Our White Harbor soldiers tried to stop them and were thrown straight into Flea Bottom."
As he spoke, Earl Wyman's eyes were full of recollection, though these were plainly not pleasant memories. After a pause, he continued:
"Your father had even drawn his sword, but in the end, he still lacked the nerve to kill anyone beneath that gold-and-crimson banner with its roaring lion. You're better than either of us. Very good!"
The old earl slapped his grandson hard on the back. Clay could tell that what the Lannisters had done in King's Landing was so vile that they had not left even the slightest good impression on these northern nobles.
Just then, Hoster, the captain of the guards, hurried over. Upon seeing Earl Wyman, he unhesitatingly took the longsword from his waist, laid it on the ground, and dropped to one knee, bowing his head without a word.
"Hmph." Earl Wyman snorted coldly at the guard captain who had failed in his duty. But this was no place to discipline a household servant, so he simply ordered:
"Get up. Take your men, fetch Wylla from the main keep, and bring her straight to the guards I brought."
Without hesitation, Hoster picked up his sword and strode away, just as he had arrived. It was already fortunate that the head of the house had not punished him then and there. He could not ask for more.
"Let's not waste words here. Come along." Earl Wyman straightened up, took Clay in his large hand, and prepared to head outside.
Clay hesitated. He could not foresee the future and had no way of knowing when he would return after leaving this time. For all he knew, even the master of this place might be someone else when he returned.
I'll do what I can. Clay sighed inwardly and said to his grandfather:
"Before I leave, I still need to see Robb and the other Starks."
At those words, Earl Wyman slowed his steps and looked back at Clay with a frown, waiting for him to continue.
"By now, the Stark boys and I are friends. I don't think it would be right to leave just like that. Besides, Grandfather, part of the reason you sent me to Winterfell was to have me befriend them, wasn't it?"
Though phrased as a question, his tone was utterly certain.
"You certainly don't mince words. It sounds like you've done well?"
"Yes." There was no need to deny it. His grandfather's interests aligned with his own in every sense, so naturally, he could speak plainly.
"Then go. I'll wait for you outside the castle. Remember, don't cause any more trouble."
Duke Eddard readily agreed to Clay's request to see Robb and his brothers before leaving. He himself valued bonds and loyalty, so naturally, he greatly approved of Clay's conduct.
And so, in Winterfell's hall, Clay once again saw the unfortunate Jon and Robb, along with Bran, who still looked very much a child. As for the youngest, Rickon Stark, Clay had no need to see him.
He gave Robb and Jon a bear hug each. Men who had drunk together were good brothers-a rule that held true in any time or world.
But those two unlucky fellows were not Clay's real objective. He kept Bran in the corner of his eye-or, more precisely, the magical threads wrapped densely around Bran's body.
Before embracing the somewhat timid Bran, Clay quietly opened his system and activated the magic pool.
The moment his hands touched those invisible threads, Clay saw the tangle surge into his body through the places where he touched Bran's back, as though someone had found the end of the thread.
In an instant, Clay's gaze sharpened. The sensation of this magic was extremely familiar, for he had felt it in one other place-the Heart Tree!
I'm done for. Caught the flu.