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Clay needed no more than a minute to finish reading the message on the slip of paper—words that were enough to send tremors throughout the Seven Kingdoms.
King Robert Baratheon I had died. According to the report, he was attacked by a wild boar during a hunting trip in the Kingswood, and succumbed to his injuries two days after returning to King's Landing.
Eddard Stark, Lord of Winterfell and Hand of the King, had publicly declared that Joffrey Baratheon, Robert's supposed heir, was in fact the illegitimate child of Queen Cersei and her brother, Jaime Lannister the Kingslayer. Therefore, Joffrey had no rightful claim to the Iron Throne.
Tensions erupted in the Throne Room. When Queen Cersei tore apart the king's last will and testament, chaos ensued as conflict broke out between the two opposing factions.
Although outnumbered, Eddard Stark relied on several hundred elite Northern soldiers under his command to carve a bloody path out of King's Landing. Despite suffering heavy casualties, he managed to escape and retreat toward the North. His current whereabouts remain unknown.
Joffrey Baratheon has already declared himself king in the capital. Branding Eddard Stark a traitor, he has commanded the nobles of all Seven Kingdoms to capture and deliver the former Hand of the King to face judgment.
Due to the shortage of White Sea Guard personnel in King's Landing, the usual system of dispatching daily messages could not be maintained. This message had likely been sent four days earlier, and the raven's journey to White Harbor would have taken even longer.
Nonetheless, the message was unmistakable. Clay understood one thing with certainty: war had begun.
Although the letter did not state it outright, Clay had no doubt that both Stannis and Renly Baratheon had already left King's Landing before King Robert's death. It would come as no surprise if either of them now wore a crown.
A flash of intensity surged in his gaze. Clay turned abruptly to the Overseer Waters, who had remained silent at his side until now. His tone was stern and solemn.
"Has the Lord been informed of this?"
The overseer shook his head, though it was clear from his expression that he fully understood the gravity of the situation. The commander's continued vigilance regarding King's Landing had proven entirely justified. This was no ordinary political shake-up—it was a cataclysm.
"My lord," he replied gravely, "the Wolf's Den must have received word first. We don't yet know whether King's Landing has issued messages to the rest of the realm or when those ravens might arrive."
Clay nodded in understanding. The overseer's implication was clear: King's Landing was well aware that, once the Northern lords learned of this betrayal and the persecution of their liege, their reaction would be explosive. At this point, perhaps only Winterfell had been informed.
There was no more time for deliberation. Regardless of the location or setting, Clay issued his orders at once.
"Withdraw half our personnel from King's Landing. Maintain only the bare minimum necessary to keep open our channels of information. Relocate the rest immediately to the Riverlands and the Westerlands."
"For the Riverlands, I want every inch of terrain mapped out. I will not tolerate a single mistake."
Without sparing a glance at the overseer's surprised expression, Clay continued, not realizing that the command regarding the Riverlands should technically have been directed to the overseer Rivers instead. But now, his voice became almost a mutter.
"I'm certain of it… that will be the battlefield."
After a brief pause, he looked back at the overseer, locking eyes with him. He continued, this time turning his attention to the Westerlands.
"As for the Westerlands, there's only one task for our people there: find out exactly how many men the old lion can muster from his domain. Am I understood?"
The overseer did not respond in words. He simply placed a hand to his chest in a respectful salute, then spun on his heel and raced from the courtyard. Without pause, he mounted his horse and galloped toward the Wolf's Den.
War had come. In such times, even a few hours' advantage in intelligence could mean the difference between life and death.
Clay issued one final set of orders. He disbanded the assembled Witcher squads and instructed them all to begin teaching Raven the Signs as soon as possible.
He forced himself to steady his thoughts. The most pressing matter now was to inform the old lord and learn what course of action he intended to take in the face of this gathering storm.
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Sea God Tower, Merman's Court
The members of House Manderly, spanning three generations, had all gathered in the long-disused Merman's Court. From Lord Wyman and Ser Marlon of the elder generation, to Clay's father Wendel and uncle Wylis, and then to Clay himself, along with his older sister Wynafryd and younger sister Wylla—the core of the Manderly family was present.
With the exception of Clay, every face in the room was frozen in stunned disbelief at the news that had just been shared.
The message was simply too earth-shattering. They hadn't yet recovered from the shock.
"Seven hells… What in the name of the gods is going on?"
The old lord muttered aloud, seemingly unaware that he had spoken. Yet his words echoed the turmoil in everyone's heart.
As Clay had suspected, no raven had been sent from King's Landing to White Harbor. From the very beginning, a clear divide had been drawn between the North and the capital.
But unlike before, Eddard Stark had not been left defenseless. With more than a hundred seasoned Northern warriors at his side, he had swept through the undertrained City Watch in a single charge. The Goldcloaks of the capital, notorious for their lack of discipline, had stood no chance.
However, a new and pressing question now hung in the air: where was Lord Stark? Branded a traitor and now a fugitive, was he even still alive?
"What should we do now? We must decide on a course of action," said Ser Marlon, the first to recover his composure. His voice brought the room back to the present, refocusing their attention on the crucial issue.
"What else can we do?" came Wendel's immediate reply. "Father, I'll begin mustering our forces at once. We'll march south to the Neck and retrieve Lord Eddard ourselves!"
A career soldier to the core, Wendel's instincts were straightforward—when faced with uncertainty, take action.
"Hold your tongue," Lord Wyman snapped. "Has any word come from Winterfell? Do you even know where Lord Stark is? You want to send our troops out blindly? Have you lost your senses?"
Wylis, the eldest son and always the more measured of the brothers, stepped in to defuse the tension.
"Father, while Wendel's suggestion was ill-considered, we still must begin rallying our forces. That is unavoidable."
He fell silent after saying this, as he often did due to his ailing health. But none present missed the meaning behind his words. Regardless of whether Eddard Stark made it back from the south, conflict between House Stark and House Lannister was now inevitable.
"Clay," Lord Wyman said suddenly, "you were at Winterfell when the king visited. Tell us—do you believe what the message says? Is that boy truly a Lannister bastard?"
Though the question didn't have immediate strategic importance, the answer would shape how the war unfolded and who would oppose the Lannisters.
An enemy's enemy might not always be a friend—but if they could be counted on to strike the enemy, that would be enough.
Clay gave a derisive snort and replied coldly, "If you'd seen that idiot boy in person, you wouldn't hesitate for a second. I can assure you—Joffrey is utterly unworthy of the Iron Throne."
Wyman frowned slightly. He did not know what made his grandson so certain, but he trusted Clay's judgment. And besides, there had long been whispers in the South about how much the so-called prince resembled his mother and uncle.
Noticing that everyone was looking at him, Clay straightened in his chair and began to speak with clarity and conviction.
"Winterfell will likely receive the news no later than two days after we did. And from what I know of the acting Lord of Winterfell, he will not hesitate to rally the banners for his father's sake."
"Whether they choose to negotiate or strike immediately, I cannot say—but we must prepare as though battle is inevitable."
Clay's voice grew louder, more resolute.
"Grandfather, we cannot afford any delay. Although our Manderly family has always stood beneath the Direwolf banner, we must prepare for uncertain times. I propose that we summon our household knights immediately and begin organizing our defenses."
"At the same time, the construction of our new warships must be accelerated. We may not be able to control the whole of the North, but we must secure Bite Bay and the eastern coastline. Those territories must remain under the protection of House Manderly."
Ser Marlon frowned slightly, unsure about this bold suggestion.
"Locking down Bite Bay… That's no small matter. What about the pirates on the Three Sisters? They won't take kindly to that."
"Pirates?" Clay sneered. "The moment war begins, we can no longer allow foreign vessels to sail freely into White Harbor."
His voice became eerily calm, yet there was a dangerous gleam in his eyes.
"If House Manderly recognizes the Sunderlands as nobles, then they are nobles. But if we do not, they are pirates who raid our merchant fleets and attack our ships."
"And pirates, my dear granduncle… there's only one fate suitable for them."
"Wipe them out. Leave none alive."
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[Chapter End's]
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