Game of Thrones: The Witcher System

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Clay watched the eager expression on Wynafryd's face, his mind racing uncontrollably with thoughts.

It wasn't that he was debating whether to agree to his sister's request—far from it. Knowing Walder Frey's character all too well, understanding precisely what kind of people made up the Frey family, how could he possibly push his own sister into such a pit of fire?

Yet Wynafryd's request today made Clay realize something—his sister was already nineteen years old, an age that warranted careful consideration.

According to Clay's understanding, as a direct descendant of House Manderly in White Harbor, the eldest granddaughter of Lord Wyman, and a young lady of considerable beauty, Wynafryd should have already had noble suitors breaking down the doors for her hand in marriage.

And yet, to this day, Clay had only ever heard the servants vaguely mention that Lord Wyman had bluntly rejected many noblemen who had come seeking a marriage alliance. As things stood now, his sister still had no betrothal.

Clay wasn't eager for his sister to be married off—but what truly occupied his thoughts was their grandfather's intentions.

"I will refuse them without hesitation, Wynafryd. You can rest easy."

Clay couldn't afford to think too long to respond—if he hesitated, it would give Wynafryd the impression that he was seriously considering the proposal.

Seeing the obvious relief on her face, Clay couldn't help but ask:

"Wynafryd, has Grandfather never mentioned your betrothal to you? You're already—"

Before he could finish speaking, Clay realized his last words were somewhat inappropriate and quickly shut his mouth. However, Wynafryd didn't seem to mind. She shook her head, her bright eyes meeting Clay's as she finished his sentence for him:

"Yes, I'm already nineteen. But Grandfather has never brought up the subject of my betrothal. Not before. But now that you've returned, he will."

Clay was momentarily stunned. What did his return have to do with Wynafryd's marriage? How could he possibly affect her betrothal?

Then, thinking of their younger sister, Wylla, Clay suddenly understood the reasoning behind it all.

Simply put, in the past, with his uncle lacking a male heir and Clay himself far away in Essos, consider this hypothetical scenario: if their grandfather had married off both Wynafryd and Wylla, or at least arranged their betrothals...

On the surface, it wouldn't have seemed like a problem. But under those circumstances, if an extreme event occurred—if their grandfather, along with Wylis and Wendel of the second generation, had all met with misfortune—White Harbor's inheritance would have been left in uncertainty. And with Clay being so far away, possibly unaware of any of it, he wouldn't even have been present.

This was no mere alarmist thought. In the original timeline, during the War of the Five Kings, Wendel Manderly had died at the Red Wedding, while Wylis Manderly had been captured by the Lannisters. That exact extreme scenario had already played out once.

At that moment, who would have been the rightful heir of House Manderly and White Harbor? The answer would have been Wynafryd. But had she been betrothed by then, given the disadvantaged position of women in Westerosi noble society, there was no telling into whose hands White Harbor might have fallen.

That was the true reason why Lord Wyman had repeatedly refused marriage proposals for Wynafryd. He had been guarding against—or rather, outright preventing—such a possibility from unfolding.

But now that Clay had returned, with Lord Eddard Stark himself having formally recognized his legitimacy, his claim to the inheritance was as solid as steel. Under these circumstances, there was no longer any danger of White Harbor falling into the hands of outsiders. Naturally, their grandfather was now free to properly consider Wynafryd's marriage prospects.

Since Wynafryd had no desire to marry a Frey, Clay would, of course, ensure that her wishes were honored. The only question now was—what did she want for herself?

Clay was well aware of which noble families in Westeros were true pits of hell, and he would do everything in his power to keep both Wynafryd and Wylla from getting entangled with them. Once caught in their grasp, escaping would be nearly impossible.

Seeing how decisively Clay had refused, Wynafryd's face broke into a radiant smile. Her delicate features, illuminated by the moonlight among the garden's flowers, appeared all the more beautiful.

At that moment, something stirred deep within Clay—a profound sense of responsibility for his family. He would not allow the tragic fates of the Stark family to befall his own loved ones. Not in the slightest.

---

The next day, still shaken by the ripple effects of the butterfly effect, Clay was summoned to his grandfather's study.

At first, he assumed it had something to do with his conversation with Wynafryd the night before—that Lord Wyman had somehow found out and now wanted to question him about it.

However, as Clay opened the door and stepped inside, he was met with an unexpected sight.

An elderly man, hunched over and stern-faced, stood before Lord Wyman's desk, speaking in hushed tones. The air between them was thick with solemnity, and the moment the door creaked open, both men turned to look at him.

Lord Wyman, seated in his cushioned chair, glanced up. Upon recognizing Clay, he smiled and motioned for him to come closer.

Clay's eyes shifted to the man standing beside his grandfather. Though his lower half was obscured by dark trousers, he immediately noticed something unusual—one of the man's legs was a prosthetic.

His hands, calloused and weathered, bore the marks of a lifetime spent wielding a blade, while his long black robes, coupled with his missing eye and gaunt, aged face, lent him an air of grim severity.

An instinctive sense of danger prickled at Clay's nerves. Despite the old man's missing leg and lost eye, there was a weight to his presence that subtly overshadowed Clay's own. And it had nothing to do with age.

Perhaps it was merely his imagination, but Clay's heightened senses—sharpened by his mutation—detected something else. A strong scent of blood clung to the man. It wasn't fresh, but rather something that had seeped into his very being over the years, a presence built through a lifetime steeped in violence.

It was then that Clay heard his grandfather's introduction:

"Clay, this is Ser Bartimus. He is the former commander of the White Sea Guard, whom I've mentioned before."

So this was the man who had once overseen House Manderly's vast spy network?

Clay couldn't help but study him more closely. This elderly knight, addressed as "Ser," was at least a landed knight. Yet, as the heir to White Harbor, Clay had never seen or even heard of him before.

Then again, it made sense. If this man had been the kind of gallant, high-profile knight like Jaime Lannister, Clay would have had a hard time believing he had ever commanded an intelligence network.

"Greetings, Ser Bartimus." Clay nodded and offered a polite greeting.

Ser Bartimus, in turn, was studying him just as intently. He was only slightly younger than Lord Wyman, meaning he had witnessed the highs and lows of White Harbor across decades.

And from this first impression alone, he had to admit—the young man before him was indeed a fitting heir. Far better than some he had seen in the past.

Looking at Clay, Bartimus couldn't help but see traces of a young Wyman Manderly from forty years ago. The only difference was—Clay was far more handsome.

Extending a hand, he gave Clay a brief, firm handshake before merely nodding, without uttering a word.

Under normal circumstances, such silence might have been considered impolite, especially given their respective statuses. But Clay didn't mind. He had more than enough patience for a man who had commanded the White Sea Guard for nearly two decades.

"Alright, Bartimus," Lord Wyman finally said, his tone carrying the weight of command. "This is my heir. And from now on, he is yours as well. Take him to your domain—let him see for himself what lies beneath White Harbor. He needs to breathe in the blood that lingers in the air."

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[Chapter End's]

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