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Though Clay's name remained shrouded in layers of mystery, all across the Seven Kingdoms it was known that a formidable force had risen from the North. With a single campaign, they devoured over ten thousand troops under the command of Lord Tywin, and even seized the infamous Kingslayer as a captive.
The scales of war between the North and the Westerlands seemed to have suddenly tipped in favor of House Stark. At least, this was the belief held by many noble lords throughout the realm.
Who in the Seven Kingdoms did not know that Lord Tywin had little affection for his dwarf son, the one mockingly nicknamed "the Imp"? It was Jaime Lannister, the golden lion of the Kingsguard, who had always been Tywin's favored child, his true treasure.
Now, with the Northern forces delivering a devastating blow and capturing Tywin's secret heir, how could the Westerlands possibly continue to wage war?
By the unspoken rules of noble conduct and wartime etiquette, many believed that the armistice negotiations between the North and the Westerlands would soon begin. As for how much Tywin would have to sacrifice in order to recover his cherished son, no one could say for certain.
While speculation ran wild and all eyes turned to the unfolding drama, stationed in Riverrun, Clay Manderly received word that Edmure Tully had successfully annihilated the remnants of the Western army previously stationed along the Tumblestone River.
Clay had no interest in witnessing Edmure Tully's self-glorifying triumph, which was so exaggerated it could drown a man in its excess. Without delay, he issued an order to the two thousand cavalrymen who had supported Edmure's campaign, commanding them to advance eastward.
At the same time, Clay secured from Lord Hoster Tully command over the remaining two thousand cavalry stationed in the Riverlands—a part of the deal he had agreed to when granting Edmure the right to raise an army in the first place.
With close to five thousand cavalry under his banner, and with another two thousand veterans soon to join him under the command of Lord Glover, Clay now directed the spearhead of his campaign toward Harrenhal, where Lord Tywin's forces lay entrenched.
Robb Stark had faced Tywin's formidable host of over twenty thousand infantry and cavalry with slightly more than ten thousand foot soldiers alone. Yet he managed to hold his ground, creating the illusion that his entire army was concentrated in that one place.
But now, with the Battle of Riverrun concluded and word spreading like wildfire, Robb's grand deception could no longer be sustained. Thus, Clay's cavalry column had to move swiftly to reinforce him.
After receiving Robb Stark's letter and analyzing the situation carefully, Clay came to agree with his judgment. Initially, Clay had planned to let Robb pin down Tywin's main host while he led his cavalry on a grand campaign to plunder the entire Westerlands.
But now, such a plan could only remain a fantasy, drawn in ink upon parchment. After all, Clay still relied heavily on the North's support. And the dragon, no matter how promising, could not mature in a mere month.
Daenerys Targaryen, after obtaining her three dragons, had acted with reckless abandon. She gave away two of them and ultimately lost her life before the Iron Throne. Had she shown more patience and waited until her dragons had grown to even half the size of Balerion the Black Dread, no scheme or treachery could have withstood her might.
Clay, however, had only one treasure—Gaelithox. He could not afford recklessness. Though Qyburn's black technologies had yet to emerge, that did not mean dragons were invincible in this world. In truth, they still had a long way to go.
Therefore, Clay's greatest strength for now lay in the nearly seven thousand cavalry under his command. This was the true force that could reshape the tide of war.
Following the battle that had purged the Westerlands of all military presence in the southwestern Riverlands, Clay left Riverlands foot soldiers behind to guard Riverrun. Then, leading his troops at a blistering pace, he maneuvered across the terrain and reached the hills west of Harrenhal in just four days.
Once the camp was established and sentries posted, Clay led a group of Northern nobles—excluding only Lord Glover and Lord Cerwyn, who remained behind to command the main camp—northward, toward the headquarters of the Northern army, which lay a day's journey away.
Having been apart for so long, he needed to meet Robb Stark face to face. No matter how far he had risen, Clay still relied on Robb's leadership and intended to consult him on the next steps of the campaign. As for the other lords, they could simply stand aside.
They set out in the morning and, before nightfall, Clay beheld the Northern encampment nestled by forest and river, protected by high walls and deep trenches. Above it fluttered the proud banner of the grey direwolf racing across an icy field, a symbol of the noble house that called this place home.
Clay's arrival had already been reported by advance riders. Within the camp, the Northern lords had strongly insisted that Clay bring his forces directly to join theirs. But Robb Stark had silenced them with a single question:
"You want Lord Clay to bring the cavalry here just so you can all take it back?"
The Young Wolf's cold gaze swept over the gathering. By defeating a larger force with a smaller one and driving Tywin to retreat in a single battle, Robb Stark had secured his own prestige within the army. No one dared to question his command.
Thus, when Clay and his retinue arrived at the camp gates, they were met by the lords of the North already assembled to welcome them. At the forefront stood Robb Stark, his face radiant with joy.
In Robb's eyes, his sworn brother had brought honor and glory to the North through a series of brilliant victories, turning the tide of a once unfavorable war. Now, with the Kingslayer and several high-ranking Western lords held captive, the North stood in a position of unmatched strength.
The only shadow cast upon his heart was the uncertain fate of his father. After their triumph over Tywin, Robb had dispatched a search party, hoping for any sign of Lord Eddard Stark. In time, his efforts bore fruit—he successfully located his sister, Sansa Stark.
When Lord Eddard had decided to split into smaller groups during their escape, he had chosen to separate from his daughters. The reasoning was simple: eggs should not be kept in the same basket.
As for Arya, she had yet to be found. However, the guards who had been protecting Sansa reported that Arya's group had moved more swiftly than theirs and might have already slipped past the Lannister blockade, heading northward.
They had likely missed Robb's main host, but at such a critical moment, the mere fact that Arya had not fallen into Lannister hands was already the best news one could hope for.
"Clay Manderly, my dear brother, welcome home!"
Robb Stark, now clad in a thick fur cloak and with a fine stubble beard lining his jaw, looked older and more seasoned, aged by at least seven or eight years. The moment he saw Clay dismount, he opened his arms wide and strode forward to embrace him. After pulling him into a firm bear hug, the two clasped hands tightly, not out of any secret intention, but because Robb Stark's joy could not be contained.
In the wake of Clay's dazzling victories across the western Riverlands, Robb had come to recognize that his brother-in-arms might very well be a warrior of the same caliber as the legendary Daeron the Young Dragon.
With Clay's main force of cavalry absent, Robb had always felt a lingering unease when facing Tywin's army. After all, infantry standing alone against cavalry would always find themselves haunted by the threat of overwhelming charge.
But now, with nearly seven thousand seasoned horsemen from Clay's command encamped nearby, and Clay himself returned to the long-separated Northern central encampment, Robb Stark could finally set down the heavy weight in his chest.
"Robb, we've both done well. We gave Lord Tywin a few solid slaps in the face. I crushed the Kingslayer's forces in the west, and you had Tywin, that old fox of the battlefield, running in circles out east. I'd give anything to see the look on his face right now."
"Heh, you know what? We probably shouldn't return the Kingslayer to Lord Tywin. Or better yet, take the sharpest blade we have and cut off something between Ser Jaime Lannister's legs. Then we force Lord Tywin to name the Imp his heir. What do you think of that?"
Seeing Robb Stark waggle his eyebrows and make such exaggerated expressions at him, Clay raised his own brows slightly, studying the changed heir of Winterfell with interest before clicking his tongue and saying,
"Who would've thought, Robb? You've done well on the battlefield, and you've got quite the knack for mischief too. If your father, Lord Eddard Stark, knew you had such a talent, he'd surely sit you down and give you a proper lesson."
At that, Clay frowned and asked,
"Robb, still no word from Lord Eddard? You've pushed Tywin back so far, didn't you send anyone out to search for him?"
Clay's memories of Eddard Stark were now growing faint, and he could no longer rely on them. All information had to be obtained by asking around himself. With Eddard Stark missing for so long, surely there should have been some news by now, right?
But the moment he saw the light dim in Robb's eyes and noticed the helplessness and worry on the faces of the Northern lords nearby, who had been quietly listening to their conversation, he immediately understood the situation.
Since the words had already been spoken, Clay did not bother to question whether it was the right moment. He simply patted Robb on the shoulder and said softly,
"Do not worry. From now on, I will lead the cavalry myself to search for him. We will double the search area. And at the same time, I'll force Tywin to send his cavalry to meet mine in the field. I want to see exactly how many men he dares bring to face me in a head-on charge."
In their earlier battles with Tywin Lannister, the North had lost more than two thousand soldiers. But with Clay's army arriving just in time, the total Northern force now stood at seventeen thousand strong. On the other hand, Tywin's forces had received no reinforcements at all.
The lords of King's Landing and the major noble houses of the Crownlands had already sent whatever troops they were willing to dispatch. Those who had no intention of aiding the Lannisters from the start were even less likely to do so now, when the Lannisters found themselves at such a disadvantage.
Moreover, nearly seven thousand blooded cavalrymen were now encamped on the edge of the Crownlands. No one in that region could claim they were unshaken by this presence. Clay's renown from the battle at Riverrun had already reached their ears.
Even if Clay were to abandon Robb Stark and Tywin Lannister and march his army straight into the Crownlands, the odds of him doing so were low. But could they truly afford to gamble on that?
"It's all right. I believe Father will return to us soon."
Robb's tone was low and heavy. And with those words, the brief welcome came to an end. Clay followed Robb into the command tent, watched closely by the Northern lords. From now on, whatever plans they made for the war, all would have to revolve around this invincible commander of cavalry.
…
"Quick! After them! Do not let them escape!"
A harsh, piercing cry echoed from the forest's edge northeast of Harrenhal. Eddard Stark, accompanied only by his remaining guards, had tried to slip past the final Lannister blockade. But they had been spotted.
They had not managed to kill all the sentries. And when Eddard realized that one of the Lannister scouts had gotten away and would soon alert the others, he immediately gave the order to flee north as quickly as possible.
There was no doubt about it. Their position had been exposed. And with no horses under them, being overtaken was a certainty. Now it was a race against time.
Eddard Stark had to get close enough to the North. If he could encounter scouts from the North, there was at least a slim chance of being rescued. Staying here meant only one outcome—Death!
Truth be told, he was well aware that unless he chose to take his own life, Tywin Lannister would not truly harm him. But that was not the real problem. The real problem was this—surrendering to the Lannisters, the very family responsible for the death of his sworn brother, and abandoning the honor he had clung to all his life. That was far more painful than having his head chopped off.
Under Lord Tywin's command, the Lannister forces showed a level of discipline and efficiency that far surpassed anything they had displayed under Jaime's leadership. Eddard Stark and his party had not even made it a mile north before the thunder of hooves echoed behind them. The cavalry of the Westerlands was already in pursuit.
"My lord, go now. You absolutely must not let them catch you!"
Three guards who had fallen behind exchanged a silent glance. Then, without hesitation, they stopped in their tracks. They called out to their lord, voices ringing with finality, and turned around without a second thought. Drawing their swords, they faced their enemies head-on.
They knew they would not survive. There would be no prisoners taken in a moment like this. And yet, still, they chose to stand and fight.
Eddard Stark did not look back. His heart ached with violent force. It was not out of sentimentality for those who had sacrificed themselves. He had long since grown numb to blood and death. What tormented him was not their loss, but the undeniable truth that his own foolishness had brought this fate upon them. And the worst part was, he had been powerless to prevent it.
He was utterly exhausted. His legs felt as if they were filled with lead, barely able to carry him any farther. But he could not stop. He must not.
He knew all too well what would happen if he fell into the hands of the Lannisters. The consequences would be beyond imagining.
…
Just as he settled into his seat, deep in thought, Clay was meticulously planning his next move to deal with that old lion's irritating blockade.
King's Landing is such a vast place. I want to see more of it. Tywin, you crusty old man, must you always station your men at the gates? Do you know how annoying that is?
As he pondered, the tent flap was suddenly thrown open.
Before he could even raise his head, a strong, overwhelming stench of blood hit Clay's nose.
As a witcher, his sense of smell was far keener than that of ordinary men. Combined with the fact that he had been breathing in the scent of blood day in and day out throughout the campaign, he had grown hypersensitive to it.
He jerked his head up, eyes narrowing. Standing before him was Lord Karstark, the commander responsible for the camp's defenses and the sentry units. Clad in full armor, his entire body was soaked in blood. His face was so pale it looked ghostly. Without saying a word, the lord strode into the command tent.
"What happened? Lord Karstark, answer me."
After a long, heavy silence in which their eyes met without a word, Robb Stark finally broke it with a frown of confusion.
"My lord... just now, our scouts spotted a group of Lannister cavalry chasing down some fugitives. Our men immediately closed in to investigate and discovered soldiers from Winterfell among them."
At that point, Lord Karstark stopped again. The words he spoke filled Robb with a growing sense of dread. Robb's expression tensed as he pressed on urgently.
"Go on. Tell me everything you know. What exactly happened?"
"The scout who returned told me that among the group... there was one man... it was Lord Eddard."
"What!"
The word exploded in the tent like a thunderclap. Everyone inside reacted in shock, some springing to their feet so abruptly they knocked over their chairs.
"We had only two scouts in that area. When they made the discovery, one rushed back to report, while the other charged ahead, trying to rescue Lord Eddard. But by the time I arrived... his head had already been severed."
Robb Stark's eyes were bloodshot, veins bulging with rage. He could not care less about the fate of that unfortunate scout. At this moment, there was only one thing that mattered—his father's fate.
"I pursued them all the way, but then I clashed with a Lannister detachment sent in as reinforcements. I... I failed to bring Lord Eddard back. He was gravely wounded, and the Lannisters tied him to a horse. I saw his blood... it soaked the horse's belly red."
Robb Stark's vision blurred, and darkness threatened to swallow him. The very thing he feared most had happened—his father had fallen into Lannister hands. Gravely injured. His life hanging by a thread.
A dull thud echoed behind Clay. He didn't turn. He didn't need to. He knew without looking that it was Lady Catelyn who had fainted.
Amid the rising voices and the sudden chaos, Clay had only one thought in his heart.
This is bad… really bad.
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[Chapter End's]
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