As Clay looked at the anxious expression on Wynafryd's face, his thoughts could not help racing.
It was not that he was considering whether to agree to his sister's request. Knowing Walder Frey's character and exactly what sort of people House Frey were, how could he possibly push his own sister into a fire pit?
Only when Wynafryd made this request today did he realize something: his sister was already nineteen, an age that itself warranted some thought.
As Clay understood it, Wynafryd, a daughter of White Harbor's main line and Earl Wyman's eldest granddaughter, with looks far from plain, should long since have had noble suitors beating down her door.
Yet to this day, Clay had only vaguely heard servants mention that Earl Wyman had brusquely rejected many nobles who came seeking a betrothal. So far, his sister still had no marriage agreement.
Clay was not eager to marry his sister off. He was pondering one question: just what was his grandfather planning?
"I'll turn them down flat, Wynafryd. Don't worry."
Clay could not spend too long thinking. That would give Wynafryd the impression that he was still seriously considering the matter.
Seeing Wynafryd visibly sigh with relief, Clay could not help asking:
"Wynafryd, hasn't Grandfather ever mentioned your betrothal? You're already..."
Before he finished, Clay realized that his last remark was inappropriate and hurriedly shut his mouth. Unexpectedly, Wynafryd took no offense at all. She shook her head, her bright eyes fixed on Clay, and continued where he had left off:
"Yes, I'm nineteen. But Grandfather never brought up the question of a betrothal with me before. He never did before, but now that you're back, he will."
Her words caught Clay off guard. What did this have to do with me? Why would I affect my sister Wynafryd's betrothal? Then, thinking of his younger sister Wylla, Clay suddenly understood the reasoning.
Simply put, with his uncle having no male heir and Clay himself far away in Essos, suppose his grandfather had married off both Wynafryd and Wylla, or at least arranged betrothals for them.
That in itself would have been nothing unusual. But suppose something drastic suddenly happened under those circumstances, and misfortune befell his grandfather and both members of the second generation, Wylis and Wendel. Clay, whose status as heir had not been formally attested and who might not even hear the news, would not be there.
This was no alarmist speculation. In fact, in the original course of events, after the War of the Five Kings broke out, Wendel Manderly died at the Red Wedding and Wylis Manderly was taken captive by the Lannisters. Such extreme circumstances really did come to pass.
Who, then, was the heir to House Manderly of White Harbor? The answer was Wynafryd. But bear in mind that if she were betrothed at that point, given women's disadvantaged position in Westeros, there was no telling which house might end up pocketing White Harbor.
That was the fundamental reason Earl Wyman had repeatedly rejected betrothals for Wynafryd. His grandfather was guarding against-or rather, preventing-just such a situation.
Now Clay had returned, and with Duke Eddard's formal attestation, his status as heir was as solid as steel. Naturally, under these circumstances, White Harbor would never fall into outsiders' hands, no matter what happened. His grandfather therefore had every reason to give serious consideration to Wynafryd's marriage.
Since Wynafryd did not want to marry a Frey, Clay would of course grant her wish. He simply did not know what she herself had in mind.
Clay knew very well which houses throughout Westeros were truly fire pits. He would do everything he could to keep Wylla and Wynafryd from getting involved with them. After all, once they stepped inside, getting out again would be all but impossible.
Seeing Clay agree so readily, Wynafryd broke into a smile. Her lovely face looked incomparably beautiful among the moonlit flowers. Clay suddenly felt something called responsibility to his family. He did not want the tragedies that befell the members of House Stark to happen to his own family. Not in the slightest.
Clay, who had keenly felt the power of the butterfly effect, was summoned to his grandfather's study the following day.
He had initially thought his grandfather had learned of his conversation with his sister Wynafryd and wanted to ask what he had said.
But when Clay opened the study door and walked in, he was surprised to find a stooped, unsmiling old man standing before the desk, speaking quietly with his grandfather.
At the sound of the door opening, both old men stopped talking. Seeing that it was Clay, Earl Wyman smiled from his cushioned chair and beckoned him over.
Clay studied this old man he had never seen before. Though his legs were covered by dark trousers, Clay could tell at a glance that one was artificial.
The thick calluses between his thumb and forefinger showed that this old man had once been skilled with a longsword. His long black coat and aged face, missing one eye, gave him a slightly sinister air.
Clay instinctively sensed danger. The old man before him had a lame leg and only one eye, yet Clay could not match his presence, and it was not because of age.
He did not know whether it was his imagination, but the keen sense of smell granted by his mutation told Clay that the old man before him carried a heavy scent of blood. It was not fresh, but more like a smell that had accumulated over time.
Just then, Clay heard his grandfather introduce him:
"Clay, this is Ser Bartimus, the former commander of the White Sea Guard I told you about."
So he was the man in charge of House Manderly's vast spy network? Clay could not help studying him a little more closely. This old man addressed as "Ser" was at least a landed knight, yet Clay, the young lord of White Harbor, had never seen him before.
That made sense. If the man before him had been a dissolute young noble like the Kingslayer, Jaime Lannister, Clay would instead have found it hard to believe he headed an intelligence organization.
"Hello, Ser Bartimus." Clay nodded to him in greeting.
Ser Bartimus was also studying Clay. He was only a little younger than Earl Wyman and could likewise be said to have witnessed all of White Harbor's trials and upheavals over the years.
He had to admit that, judging by first impressions, the young man before him was indeed a suitable heir-at least far better than those heirs he remembered from the past.
In Clay, he seemed to see Earl Wyman forty years younger, except that Clay was much better-looking than Wyman.
He reached out and shook Clay's hand, merely nodding without speaking.
This was somewhat discourteous, at least in terms of their relative standing, but Clay did not mind. He had ample patience for Ser Bartimus, who had commanded the White Sea Guard for nearly twenty years.
"All right, Bartimus, this is my heir. Take him with you now. He is my successor, and yours as well. Let him see your territory. It's time he caught a whiff of the blood behind White Harbor."