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Although Robb Stark had not yet earned enough military glory at this point in time, his resolute decision to seize control of the Twins had gradually secured his place as the commander of the Northern army.
Now that the continent of Westeros was fractured between three rival kings, whether Robb Stark could claim the long-dormant crown of the King in the North no longer depended solely on him. The heart of the matter lay with his father, Eddard Stark.
Eddard Stark, the Warden of the North, enjoyed immense prestige and unwavering respect from all corners of the North. Unlike in another timeline where he was imprisoned in King's Landing and ultimately beheaded by King Joffrey, here he remained alive—though his whereabouts were unknown.
As harsh as it may sound, the truth was simple. When the father perished, the son stepped forward. Only after Eddard Stark's execution did Robb Stark have a clear and rightful reason to proclaim himself King in the North.
But now, with no confirmation that Eddard Stark was dead, Robb could not bypass his father to seize the crown for himself. In this land, there was no such thing as a retired emperor. The kingship Robb hoped to inherit had always belonged, in principle, to the ancient line of the Stark family—a legacy that dated back to King Torrhen Stark, who had knelt before Aegon the Conqueror on the banks of the Trident.
Therefore, if this crown were to be passed down once more, then by rights, it should rest upon Eddard Stark's head. Yet, with Eddard's fate uncertain and his location unknown, if Robb were to claim the title of king now, what would happen when his father returned? How could the two possibly face each other then?
Clay, who was well-versed in the disposition of the northern lords, understood that the North had always been the greatest center of separatist sentiment in all of Westeros.
Much like Dorne in the far south, the North stood apart by relying on its natural defenses. Northerners had little interest in the chaos and disputes of the South. What they truly desired was to shut their gates, crown their own king, and live their lives in their own way.
When the Northerners submitted to the Targaryens, it was out of awe for their dragons. They bent the knee willingly, with both heart and voice. However, after the dragons died out and became extinct, the North began preparing for rebellion without the slightest hesitation.
Now that both Stannis and Renly had declared themselves kings, the situation had grown even more chaotic—and far more interesting.
"None of them are worth a damn. We don't recognize any of those so-called kings."
Jon Umber cursed loudly, drawing a burst of laughter from those gathered in the great hall. His words were crude, but they reflected the true sentiment of many of the Northern lords present.
"That's right! We do not recognize any southern king unless one of them can help us thrash that little brat in King's Landing and make Lord Tywin soil himself."
Someone shouted from among the crowd. The language was vulgar, even outrageous, but among these battle-hardened Northern lords, it struck a powerful chord. A surge of agreement followed, loud and immediate.
Clay's eyes swept across the gathered nobles, quietly observing their expressions. He was well aware that Roose Bolton had his gaze fixed on him. Aside from him, Robb Stark and his mother were also watching closely. But what caught Clay's attention most was an elderly man seated beside Lady Catelyn, clad in black scale armor.
He was one of the few in the hall who had not laughed.
Clay knew exactly who he was. This man was Ser Brynden Tully, known as the Blackfish, younger brother of Hoster Tully and uncle to Catelyn.
Once a knight of the Bloody Gate in the Vale, Ser Brynden had resigned from his post the moment he learned that Robb Stark was marching south. When the Eyrie refused to answer Robb's call to arms, the Blackfish gathered a small force and personally joined the Northern army just days ago.
Clay had heard of the man's wisdom, though he had not had the chance to speak with him directly, being preoccupied at the time with capturing the Twins.
Looking back, it now occurred to Clay that he had taken a castle belonging to the vassals of this man's brother. If one were to consider House Frey still a vassal of House Tully, then Clay had indeed seized their lands.
However, judging by the old knight's current attitude, it seemed he bore no resentment toward Clay for his actions. On the contrary, he appeared to share the widespread dissatisfaction toward Walder Frey, who had refused to lead his army to reinforce Riverrun or halt the Northern advance outside its gates.
"Everyone, allow me to say a few words!"
The old knight, his face weathered by wind and frost and crowned with a mane of gray-white hair, struck the table before him with his fist. The deep, resonant thud echoed through the hall and swiftly brought silence.
The elder Northern lords recognized the man and were willing to listen to what he had to say.
He furrowed his thick brows, the deep lines on his face mirroring the weight of his thoughts. His piercing blue eyes swept across the hall, and his voice, low and steady, carried the gravity of command.
"My lords, I am well aware of the betrayal committed by my brother's bannerman, Walder Frey. That he and his house have met such a fate is nothing more than what they deserve."
With these words, he formally condemned House Frey's refusal to answer Hoster Tully's call and their attempt to obstruct the Northern host, declaring it an act of treason. In doing so, he offered a clear and forceful justification for the recent siege and conquest of the Twins.
"As for you, Lord Clay Manderly," he continued, turning his gaze to the young man, "I acknowledge your claim to partial authority over the Twins. But let me speak plainly, child. White Harbor alone does not possess the strength to govern so vast a territory as the lands of the Twins."
He paused for a moment, allowing the weight of his words to settle before offering an alternative.
"Rather than continue this dispute, I propose a solution. The lands east of the Green Fork River, those nearest the Twins, should fall under the rule of House Manderly. As for the western and southern holdings once controlled by House Frey, they should be withheld for now. These territories can be granted as rewards to those warriors and commanders who distinguish themselves in the war that still lies ahead."
In truth, under ordinary circumstances, when one noble house seeks to claim the lands and titles of another, it is customary to pursue such aims through marriage alliances or appeals to blood ties.
In other words, a noble's right to a piece of land is not truly tied to the name he bears, but rather to the blood that runs in his veins.
But this situation with House Frey was far from normal. For one, the Freys had alienated nearly everyone. Neither their liege lords nor their former allies cared for them anymore. They had managed to offend both of the major houses who held claim over them, and now stood isolated.
Moreover, their current heir was, quite plainly, a simpleton. No noble house in the North would willingly wed their daughter into such a bloodline.
To put it even more bluntly, even if a northern noblewoman were to offer herself unclothed in his bed, there was no guarantee that Aegon Frey would even be capable of consummating the union.
And the most pressing issue of all was that Aegon Frey's condition was not caused by injury or illness, but something he was born with. It was hereditary. Who would dare to imagine a noble line descending from the Twins that would forever be marked by such ridicule?
The Lord of the Twins, a fool by birth, and his descendants destined to inherit that flaw? What noble house could endure such shame?
Thus, setting aside any notion of violating the sacred laws of inheritance that governed Westeros, the only viable path was to let a new house directly take over the Twins and its holdings.
However, the lands of the Twins were far too valuable to simply hand over in one piece. If anyone were to claim the entire domain for themselves, it would stir jealousy and resentment among all the others.
Therefore, the old and cunning Lord Brynden Tully, known throughout the land as the Blackfish, proposed a compromise. He suggested splitting the lands of House Frey in two. One half, including the stronghold itself and the eastern banks of the Green Fork, would be granted to Clay Manderly and his house in recognition of their key role in the taking of the castle.
The other half, lying to the west and south, would be left untouched for now. It would remain as a promise, an empty parchment on the table, reserved as a reward to be bestowed upon those who proved themselves in the war to come.
A promise to reward those who achieved merit in battle? In truth, that meant rewarding commanders, not common soldiers. This was a contest of power, not virtue.
And if one were to take a bold step further, if someone could rescue Eddard Stark from captivity, or better yet, slay Lord Tywin Lannister on the battlefield, then so long as their deeds were undeniable, the entirety of that untouched land would be theirs.
A new county could be established then and there. No one would object.
This was, in essence, a bounty — a reward hung in the air for the taking. Whoever had the strength and skill to claim it would be its rightful owner.
And those who believed the Northern lords cared only for the snowy lands of the North misunderstood them. If given the chance to expand their influence south of the Neck, they would leap at it with fervor.
When no one else spoke, and two full minutes of silence passed, it was Robb Stark who, as the leader of the Northern host, finally made the decision.
"In the name of the gods," he said solemnly, his voice firm and clear, "and in the name of my father, I hereby grant the Twins and the lands east of the Green Fork to House Manderly. As for the lands to the west and south, they shall be awarded after the war ends, to the hero who brings us victory, under the watchful eyes of the gods."
With those words, the matter was settled. There could be no further argument.
All eyes turned to Clay Manderly. He rose from his seat, drew his longsword, and planted it into the ground before him. Then he knelt, offering the formal gesture of fealty to Robb Stark.
Some of the Northern lords watching him assumed that the young man's impassive face was hiding anger — perhaps frustration at having lost half the lands he might have claimed. But they were mistaken. Deep inside, Clay Manderly was overjoyed.
Perhaps only one man in the hall understood a portion of what Clay was truly planning — Roose Bolton.
In Bolton's view, so long as Clay secured the Twins and the eastern territories, House Manderly's lands along the coast of the Bite would form a continuous, unified domain.
If managed wisely, White Harbor would become an unshakable center of power along the Bite. Its grip would be like iron.
In truth, Roose Bolton's thoughts had only brushed against the very edge of Clay's grand design. For a man like Roose, born and raised deep in the interior of the North, his thoughts were always rooted in the land. He could not yet see beyond the final barrier.
With the matter of the Twins now resolved, the question of the Frey family remained. As the defeated party, their fate was grim. The ten or so surviving male heirs of House Frey were handed over to Ser Brynden Tully for judgment.
The Northern lords had no desire to stain their hands with such blood. But Ser Brynden, a knight of the Riverlands, had no such hesitation in dealing with traitors from his homeland.
When all was said and done, Robb Stark stood again and addressed the lords before him.
"My lords, we have reached an agreement here, but the war is far from over."
With those words, he pulled everyone's attention away from the feast of spoils and back to the grim reality of the battlefield.
"Now that the Twins are ours," he said, "we must begin preparing for our first battle against Lord Tywin."
He ordered the map to be spread out on the table before them. Pointing at the Green Fork, the river that flowed from south to north, Robb began to outline his plan.
"We stick with the original plan. Lord Clay, you will lead all our cavalry, including the four hundred horsemen who surrendered from House Frey, and ride swiftly southward. Your target is Riverrun."
As he spoke, Robb's gloved hand traced a long path down the map, following the river's winding course.
"From the remaining forces, we will station five hundred archers and swordsmen to hold the Twins. They will also be tasked with securing our rear lines and protecting the transport of supplies and grain."
"Meanwhile, I will lead the rest of our forces, along with the noble lords here, down the Kingsroad to meet Lord Tywin's army head-on."
He rose to his feet, and the sword at his waist rang sharply as he drew it from its sheath.
"In the name of House Stark and the ancient bloodlines of the North, we will win this battle. We must make Lord Tywin feel the strength of the North and remind him that Winter is Coming."
At that moment, every man in the great hall rose with him. A sharp, metallic hum filled the air as swords were drawn in unison.
Cries of victory and fierce resolve rang through the towers of the Twins, echoing across the Green Fork and flowing downstream with the river's current, carrying the North's declaration of war to the realms beyond.
This battle ensured that no one would challenge Clay's command over the cavalry. The distribution of the Twins had also left a clear message in everyone's minds: wherever the Northern army marched, if a castle did not surrender, then the day it fell would mark the end of everything for its nobles.
Such a message held undeniable allure, one that would only further strengthen the fighting spirit of the Northern host. Land would always be the most tempting of rewards.
---
With the meeting concluded, Clay departed with a powerful strike force made up of five thousand Northern cavalry. He was accompanied by the Lord Glover, Lord Severn, and Lord Blackwood, as well as several other noble lords of the North.
Before he left, Clay sent a raven back to White Harbor, informing his lord grandfather of the conquest of the Twins and the control he now held over the castle and its eastern lands.
As for how his grandfather would react, Clay could already guess.
Ordinarily, with such a vast territory acquired so suddenly, a man of his grandfather's cautious nature would have hesitated to claim it. But now, with the strength of the Witcher and the Dragon behind him, the old man's confidence had become bold and unwavering.
What? His grandson had taken a castle in the south? Then there was no need for questions. Raise the banners and make it Manderly's. Clay imagined that from the moment his grandfather received the raven, he had already begun choosing who to send to take control of the Twins.
The division of troops began shortly thereafter. Each Northern lord brought his cavalry to the castle on the western bank of the river. Among their ranks stood a man not of the North, but of the Riverlands—Ser Brynden Tully, known to many as the Blackfish.
Ser Brynden would lead three hundred cavalrymen, acting as vanguard and scouts. He would be responsible for planning the route of march and gathering intelligence on the enemy.
This was by no means an easy task. A scout's job wasn't just to observe from afar and then report back.
He needed to determine how many enemies there were, where they were stationed, how their defenses were arranged, what kind of equipment they used, where their supply convoys were located, how disciplined their forces were, and whether there were any opportunities for attack.
All of this had to be carefully assessed by the scouts, who would often have to engage in small skirmishes with enemy soldiers.
Though not as grand as the clash of thousands on the battlefield, these encounters between scouts were often far more brutal and bloody.
As the eyes and ears of the army, letting an enemy scout escape was no small matter. It meant potentially exposing your entire army's movements, a loss and risk too great to bear in war.
Thus, such skirmishes usually ended with only one side walking away.
Ser Brynden, his breastplate bearing the dark emblem of a black trout, found Clay inside a fortress on the western bank of the river, now the headquarters of the cavalry.
He looked at the boy from House Manderly, so young he hardly seemed fit for command, and for some reason, he thought of his own nephew, Edmure.
Both were heirs, yet their conduct in war was as different as night and day.
He recalled the moment he had entered the Twins with Robb Stark and first laid eyes on Clay. The young man had just ceased his killing, leaning against the battlements to rest.
The old knight with gray hair and beard could still vividly picture the scene.
The young warrior stood in full armor, his body seemingly soaked in blood. Crimson rivulets dripped from his steel like slithering snakes.
Around him, the corpses of Frey soldiers lay piled high. Ser Brynden, hardened by a lifetime of war, needed only a single glance to understand the scene before him. This had not been a battle. It had been a swift and merciless slaughter.
Clay Manderly had wasted no motion. Every strike he made had been calculated, efficient, and fatal.
What struck him even more than the skill of the slaughter, however, was the calm in Clay's eyes as he stood surrounded by the dead.
This was someone who had seen blood before. And more importantly, this was someone who knew exactly how many men he had killed—and felt no fear at all.
It was this memory that had led Ser Brynden to voice his support for Clay during the council and to join his campaign south to Riverrun.
In war, what he feared most was a commander who lost his composure. But in Clay Manderly, he saw no such weakness.
On the contrary, the Blackfish believed this young lord would surprise him even more in the battles to come.
And so, he waited—watching in silence.
---
(Author's Note)
As for how the Frey family was dealt with, while the protagonist did play a role, I believe a greater reason lay in the political function of marriage alliances. These are not simply for affection but serve as tools to suppress resistance from local lords and surrounding nobles.
When House Bolton seized Winterfell, had they not placed a false Arya there to claim legitimacy, there would have been no means for any of the North's leading houses or officials to bow to them with even a semblance of justification.
But House Frey was a different case entirely. They had severed ties with both the Riverlands and the North. In other words, once they were taken down, no one would sympathize or object.
And what of how Tywin handled matters during the Rains of Castamere? His methods were far crueler than this.
Though it was a liege lord punishing his vassals, the logic remained the same. How did House Manderly come to flee from the Reach to the North?
When one loses, their lands and castles become spoils for the victor to distribute as he sees fit. Marriage alliances are only offered when the defeated still hold some value. But if I decide that I no longer wish to hear your name in this land ever again…
Then exile is an act of mercy. Total annihilation is the true standard practice.
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[Chapter End's]
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