After leaving the troubled ground of Winterfell, Clay finally had a chance to consider his next move in White Harbor, a place where he could relax.
After all that time rushing about in Winterfell, things had actually proceeded according to his plans, apart from the matters of confirming his identity and obtaining magic power.
But starting with the eruption of magic power at the Heart Tree, everything that followed had gone completely off Clay's script and slipped entirely beyond his control.
Fortunately, despite a few twists along the way, Clay had at least managed to extricate himself from the murky waters of Winterfell in time.
When Littlefinger had used him as a weapon, making him a pawn in stirring up conflict between the Starks and the Lannisters, he had considered going all the way: taking the assassin straight to Duke Eddard and laying his cards on the table. After all, for a certain period, an assassin under the Axii Sign would confess everything.
But later, he had rejected the idea. He was already standing at the edge of the board. One more step would mean formally entering the game, and on the board of the game of thrones, there was no chance to start over with a different identity.
In a sense, both Clay and Littlefinger were searching for the ladder called "chaos." He liked House Stark's sense of honor and way of doing things, but that was all.
The party made its way through the vast city of White Harbor. As Clay enjoyed the respectful looks from its people, busy with their various livelihoods, warmth began to kindle in his heart.
Here, the merman banner was law, and he was the heir to that banner.
"Head back first. You'll have plenty of time to take a good look at this city. Lord Stannis and our fleet have killed quite a few pirates on the Narrow Sea over the years. The trade routes are much better than before."
Earl Wyman patted Clay, who was gazing distractedly at the city sights, and spoke with a broad smile.
"All right." Clay flicked his reins and spurred his horse toward the New Castle, where the family lived. This time, only a dozen or so experienced White Harbor veterans rode beside him as guards.
As for his younger sister Wylla, although she could not be blamed for what had happened on the trip to Winterfell, Earl Wyman had still confined her to a carriage decorated much like Queen Cersei's wheelhouse, making her play the part of a noble young lady of House Manderly.
Slowing at the entrance to the castle's inner gate, Clay saw his elder sister, Wynafryd.
The eldest daughter of House Manderly, who had already passed her nineteenth Name Day, wore a spotless, snow-white gown with gold accessories adorning her upper body. In the midday sunlight, they made her look elegant and saintly.
Clay's witcher vision let him make out the design engraved on them from far away: a trident surrounded by various sea creatures.
Dismounting, Clay came up to his sister.
"Welcome back, Clay. Where is Grandfather?" Wynafryd raised her neck slightly and looked behind him.
"Oh, I came back ahead of him. Grandfather's behind me. He'll be back shortly."
Without giving it much thought, Clay took his sister's hand and prepared to head into the castle. After so many days on horseback, he could hardly wait to bathe and rest.
Wynafryd hesitated, biting her red lip with her pearly teeth. House Manderly's rules were rather rigid. With Earl Wyman returning, she ought, as the family's eldest daughter, to wait until the end.
But she knew very well that Clay disliked such formalities, and she was rather soft by nature. Caught in a moment of indecision, she did not move.
Clay gave her a tug, found that she had not followed, and looked back to see the awkward expression on Wynafryd's face. After a moment's thought, he understood and reassured her:
"It's fine. Grandfather doesn't have time to worry about you right now. It's Wylla's turn to be in trouble."
Even Clay found himself amused as he said it. Back in Winterfell, the captain of the guards had chatted with him several times, telling him how entertaining these two sisters were within House Manderly.
It was as though they had arranged it between them: out of the seven days in a week, they took turns keeping Earl Wyman fuming for six.
The elder sister, Wynafryd, was too soft. Although she had both fine looks and a fine figure, Earl Wyman had always disliked her meek manner with others. The old man had been forceful all his life and naturally did not want his family speaking softly to people.
The younger sister, Wylla, was precisely the opposite. Day after day, she neglected the things a noble lady ought to learn, yet her personality was overwhelmingly forceful. She was also too wild and rather clumsy, without the slightest air of a noble young lady.
On Monday, Earl Wyman would see Wynafryd and scold her, asking whether she could not be a little tougher, lest she constantly be bullied after marrying. Then on Tuesday, he would see Wylla manage to spill food all over herself just eating dinner.
Interestingly enough, the sisters always gave the old man a day's rest on the weekend, presumably out of consideration for his elderly constitution.
That was why, when Clay had just said it was Wylla's turn to be in trouble and seen Wynafryd involuntarily sigh with relief, he had found it so amusing.
At dinner, dressed in a luxurious outfit embroidered with blue stripes, Clay was hard at work on the fried fish fillet on his plate.
Suddenly, he heard the old man's voice:
"Our Lord Eddard has agreed to go to King's Landing to serve as Hand of the King to His Majesty King Robert. His two daughters will accompany him."
Neither his uncle Wylis nor his father Wendel had come to this family gathering, so these words were effectively meant for Clay.
Clay understood. This letter from Winterfell amounted to a formal announcement that Eddard Stark would take over as Hand of the King. Judging by the timing, the king's party should already have set out.
Although Clay had been unable to stop the running wolf from heading south this time, he had at least prevented Bran from falling from the Broken Tower and becoming crippled. Nor would an assassin come to murder Bran while he lay unconscious.
Small as this change might seem, Clay believed that little things would add up, and he would eventually have the ability to change that crucial step completely.
Wynafryd and Wylla, who had been whispering together, fell silent. That was how things were at House Manderly's table: unless a matter concerned them personally, women were not allowed to interject.
When Clay had been absent, this had not been so apparent, but now that he had returned, Earl Wyman was, intentionally or otherwise, reinforcing or hinting at this rule.
"Direwolves aren't suited to that southern land where the heat can kill a man..."
After his earlier statement, Earl Wyman had gone back to eating on his own, though he kept muttering something under his breath. Clay knew what he meant.
Historically, the successive heads of House Stark who had gone south to King's Landing had almost never met a good end. The clearest examples were Duke Eddard's father and elder brother, who had been burned alive in the throne room by the Mad King, Aerys II.
There were probably few nobles in the North who supported Duke Eddard. They had long since grown accustomed to the North's cold but solid land and had no interest in participating in the tangled power struggles of King's Landing.
I really feel awful. I caught influenza A, and even the hospital couldn't get me any medicine. I had a severe reaction to the children's version I took, too. I'm so dizzy~~~ Dear readers, please take care.