Setting out

Five days passed in a flash. That morning, one of House Manderly's finest squads of plate-armored cavalry assembled at the New Castle, for they would escort the young lord of White Harbor south to the Twins.

More than a dozen blue merman banners fluttered above the column. As the morning sun first touched their cloaks, the gates of the New Castle rumbled open.

Clay wore a suit of armor, a golden trident painted on his breastplate and a longsword tucked into his saddlebag. Guiding his horse, the young lord of White Harbor slowly approached his men.

Every time Clay saw this company, he found it a delight to behold. Heavily armored knights clad in full plate and bearing lances were the kings of the battlefield in this age.

And House Manderly had many more soldiers like these. With two hundred elite knights accompanying him south, this was also an opportunity to flaunt their strength before House Frey.

A slender hand caught Clay's reins. He looked at his elder sister, Wynafryd, dressed in a plain white gown.

"Remember your promise..." Wynafryd told Clay softly, gently stroking the horse's mane.

Clay nodded. He knew what Wynafryd meant. As one of the largest families in all of Westeros, House Frey had a voracious appetite for marriage alliances.

"Don't worry, sister. If any Frey really does ask, I'll turn him down for you."

Clay reassured his sister once again. Really, the most important thing was that their grandfather had not mentioned a single word about the matter. That was a very clear signal: the old man had no desire whatsoever for his granddaughter to become entangled with the Twins.

"All right, I should be going. Goodbye, Wynafryd."

Guiding his warhorse, Clay took the road to the harbor. They would sail south and land at the point in the Riverlands nearest the Twins. There was a rudimentary harbor there, small but sufficient for Clay's two hundred men to disembark.

Passing through most of White Harbor once again, Clay once again enjoyed the reverent gazes of its people. The tale of how he had struck down a Lannister in anger at Winterfell for his family's honor had long since spread throughout the port through the bards in its taverns.

Together with his position as White Harbor's young lord, this had made Clay quite popular in the city lately. It had not quite reached the point where he could eat for free, but it was not far off.

Passing through the city walls, Clay and his party of two hundred reached the military harbor built specifically for the family's fleet. Ordinary merchant ships were forbidden to berth here, and access was strictly controlled.

Even Clay, with merman banners flying behind him, was only allowed into the harbor after identifying himself.

Ever since the King in the North, Brandon the Burner, had burned all of Brandon the Shipwright's remaining warships, the North had gone over a hundred years without an organized naval force.

House Manderly, however, which held White Harbor, the North's largest city, was an exception.

Though nowhere near a match for the Royal Fleet or the Iron Fleet, the fleet Clay saw in the harbor numbered twenty-four warships, supported by White Harbor's immense wealth. It consisted mainly of large sailing ships and light, swift longships.

A burly, barefoot man in a coarse cloth coat stood at the harbor with several others. When he saw Clay's party arrive, he immediately came forward to meet them.

"Young lord, this is the captain for our voyage. We'll be taking the Old Man of White Harbor to the Twins."

After briefly grumbling inwardly about these people's skill at naming things, Clay nodded. He did not mind the unkempt appearance of the captain and his crew. He knew full well that once aboard, he might fare even worse than they did.

The Old Man of White Harbor was a large sailing ship. Vessels of this kind were primarily used to fight enemy warships and secure control of the seas. It was a mainline warship through and through.

"Young Lord Clay, I'm Ston, captain of the Old Man of White Harbor. The Old Man of White Harbor will give you a reasonably comfortable voyage."

Clay nodded and greeted Captain Stone, who grinned and led his party toward the enormous warship moored nearby.

Their horses would board a smaller sailing ship behind the Old Man of White Harbor, with men specifically assigned to care for them.

Watching Captain Stone walk across the swaying plank connecting the shore to the deck as though it were solid ground, Clay took a deep breath. Under the eyes of his guards, he was the first to step onto the plank.

The instant he stepped onto it, Clay felt a violent swaying sensation. Even his Witcher Mutations could not help him now. His calves trembled a little, but he could not retreat at a time like this.

Clay steeled himself. He knew he was a good swimmer; even if he fell, he would not drown. At worst, he would embarrass himself a little, but that was far better than backing away in fear.

With tremendous willpower, Clay regained control of his leg muscles. With visibly cautious steps, he crossed the plank bit by bit, though it should have taken less than ten seconds.

Finally on deck, Clay at last breathed a sigh of relief. Captain Stone, who had watched the whole thing, bared a mouthful of yellow teeth and said with a laugh:

"Young lord, you're much better than those good-for-nothings I've seen before. I don't often see someone who's barely been aboard a ship cross a gangplank so quickly and steadily."

Maintaining a noble's reserved bearing on the surface, Clay nodded slightly and accepted Captain Stone's praise. In truth, his calves were still trembling a little.

He turned around. The guard captain following him was clearly accustomed to traveling by ship too, crossing the gangplank smoothly in a few thudding steps.

The vast majority of the guards behind him were handpicked veterans. As soldiers of White Harbor, they had naturally been aboard ships before. Apart from a very few young men who embarrassed themselves, the hundred and fifty guards boarded smoothly.

The remaining fifty were on the second ship. After all, they had brought warhorses this time, and men were needed to look after them.

Clay noticed that the first thing these guards did after boarding was remove their heavy armor, leaving only a lighter coat of mail that offered somewhat less protection.

The guard captain remained beside Clay, and Clay asked him:

"Why are you in such a hurry to take off your armor? There's little danger in White Harbor, but there are plenty of pirates out on the Bite."

The guard captain shook his head and told Clay quietly:

"Young lord, aboard a ship, you have to shed weight. Otherwise, once the wind and waves pick up and the ship starts pitching too hard, your armor will drain all your strength."

He glanced at Clay's armor and immediately began taking it off for him.

"You haven't been aboard many ships, so it's only natural you don't know these things. I'll take this armor off for you first. It won't do much good. This isn't a dozen or so years ago. The pirates on the Bite don't yet have the nerve to fight our White Harbor sailing ships."

Since the guard captain had said so, Clay did not insist. Protected by so many men, he had no need to worry about his safety unless the ship sank. And if it really did sink, a suit of iron armor would be the best aid to reaching the bottom.

Entering the private cabin prepared for him, Clay took in the entirely new experience aboard the Old Man of White Harbor.