"King Robert has led his new Hand, Lord Eddard, south through the Neck. From the receipt of this letter by all nobles, Lord Eddard's eldest son, Robb Stark, shall serve as Lord of Winterfell and exercise the authority of Warden of the North."
That was the entire letter, for Earl Wyman had already laid the slip of paper on the table. The old man stared at it, his brow furrowed, without a word.
The tragedy of the previous Duke of the North and his son, who had gone south and been burned alive, still lingered. Many northern nobles who learned the news were, in truth, reluctant to see Eddard Stark, whom they trusted, wade once more into the stinking arena of power that was King's Landing.
But like Clay, they could not sway their beloved Warden of the North, just as what Eddard Stark himself thought did not matter, because he could not sway the king's will.
Now that Duke Eddard had passed through Greywater Watch in the king's procession and left the North's lands entirely, the northern vassal houses had to consider whether to approach the young heir, Robb Stark.
"Clay, tell me, what sort of person is this young Stark, Robb?"
The old man took small sips of his golden-red wine, rather glad that his grandson had met the younger Starks ahead of time. That gave him a chance to hear a more genuine assessment than those tedious words of praise.
At the old man's question, Clay recalled that young face in Winterfell's training yard. How should he assess him? That was hardly a problem for Clay.
"He isn't very different from his father. Or rather, his father has been his idol since childhood. The only difference is that he's younger, and more prone to acting on impulse."
That was Clay's answer. The old man nodded after hearing it and remarked, "A common failing among young people. You're no exception."
Clay knew what the old man meant and could only chuckle and play dumb. But the old man had no intention of pursuing it, instead asking Clay another question:
"Our King Robert chose Lord Eddard as his honored Hand of the King. Do you think that was a good choice in itself?"
This carried something of a test, because at this stage, the question was not something Clay ought to worry about or pass judgment on. But since the old man had asked, Clay had to answer. He could hardly say he did not know, could he?
He gave it some thought. Although Lord Eddard had met a terrible end in his memories, nothing happening at present could possibly lead him to deduce the bizarre sequence of the king dying and the queen having the Hand beheaded.
"King Robert is a warrior king. Or in my view, he's more a pure warrior than a king. I'm not at all surprised that he chose Lord Eddard, with whom he shares a deep friendship."
"And?" the old man asked with a smile.
"Moreover, since the War of the Usurper, the alliance of the four great houses-the fish, wolf, falcon, and stag-has been the foundation of the kingdom's stability. After the old Hand, Jon Arryn of the Eyrie, died, apart from King Robert himself, who is the Crowned Stag, Duke Hoster Tully has reportedly been bedridden for a long time. So Lord Eddard was his best choice."
Only after hearing this did Clay see a satisfied smile appear on his grandfather's face. He pointed at the wine cabinet, signaling for Clay to take a bottle himself, and Clay did not stand on ceremony.
He did not know how to choose wine, but that did not stop him from drinking it. He picked a bottle of summer red identical to the old man's, grabbed the small knife on the table, knocked out the cork, and took a thoroughly enjoyable sip.
"Your views are mostly correct, but you're wrong about one thing. Lord Eddard wasn't his best choice. He was his only choice."
The old man waved a hand, correcting Clay's wording. Seeing his grandson obligingly show interest, he stroked his chin and spoke unhurriedly:
"You saw it in Winterfell too. His Majesty feels the same way about the Lannisters as we do-he has no fondness for them whatsoever. Yet all these years His Majesty has spent in King's Landing, the Crowned Stag's people around him have been far fewer than those Lannisters."
The old man gulped down a great mouthful of wine, then continued with something like a smile:
"If our Lord Eddard had flatly refused His Majesty, apart from thoroughly offending him, there would have been another consequence. He would have forced His Majesty to leave Winterfell for the Westerlands, hold his nose, and invite that old lion to King's Landing to serve as Hand. Think what would have happened."
"The balance of power between the royal house and House Lannister in King's Landing would have been lost. The king himself probably wouldn't have had a peaceful night's sleep."
"Exactly. That's precisely it. The gods gave our king a gift for the battlefield, but forgot to give him the ability to govern a kingdom. He knows that very well himself."
Thinking it over, that was indeed the case. The old man was entirely right. Clay had previously given more consideration to historical factors, while overlooking the current political balance.
However, Clay caught something between the lines of the old man's words. After hesitating a moment, he still voiced his question.
"Grandfather, how did you know about the king's attitude toward the Lannisters in Winterfell, and the situation in King's Landing?"
After saying this, Clay saw no trace of surprise on the old man's face. He seemed to have anticipated the question long ago. Earl Wyman smiled and flicked the wine bottle with a finger, producing a soft clink.
"Because both the party that went with you to Winterfell and that great cesspit of King's Landing have eyes belonging to House Manderly. You simply didn't know."
Seeing the stunned expression on his grandson's face, the old man waved a hand and continued:
"Don't be surprised. This is nothing unusual. In fact, our good neighbor, that old flayer in the Dreadfort, also has a force doing the same thing. Haven't you heard the saying? There are probably more spies in King's Landing's Flea Bottom than poor people."
My god, how much else don't I know about you crafty old noble lords!
Utterly shocked, Clay felt, for a moment, a sense of unfamiliarity toward the world of A Song of Ice and Fire, which he had once thought he knew so well.
Sure enough, not one of these houses that have stood in Westeros for hundreds or thousands of years is easy to deal with. Truly frightening. Every last one of them is a schemer.
As he thought, Clay drank sip after sip. The sweetness of the summer red became tasteless in his mouth. Beside him, the old man watched him with a beaming smile, seemingly waiting for him to digest the information.
After about ten minutes, Clay had more or less recovered. Realizing that the old man had been watching him all along, he was just about to say something when he heard the old man's voice:
"This force of ours is called the White Sea. Well? Interested in becoming their commander...?"
Posting first, fixing typos later. Doge head for protection!
Spies aren't the goal in themselves; obtaining information in time is. The protagonist is currently far from the arena of power, and the existence of spies is a necessary means for him to perceive the political situation. I think great houses having their own spy organizations is a reasonable extrapolation. In the original work, only the royal court's Littlefinger and the Spider use spies to make trouble for each other, but this isn't something that requires a professional license or intellectual property protection. Who says other houses can't do it? Plenty have more money and power than those two. The other houses aren't stupid, and not everyone is as loyal and honest as the Starks.