Winterfell is not just a city; strictly speaking, it is the military stronghold of House Stark.
It occupies several acres, surrounded by two massive and sturdy walls. Cley, following the Stark family guards, passed through the soon-to-be-closed East Gate and entered the capital of the North.
Guards bearing the emblem of the icy wolf lit torches, slightly dispersing the darkness lingering in every inch of the air.
"Friends of House Mandell, please wait here for a moment. I will inform Ser Rodrik, and he will arrange suitable accommodations for you."
Cley nodded. It was already evening, and visiting Duke Stark would not be appropriate at this time.
The guard hurried away. Cley and his companions waited quietly in front of the main keep, with Wilra riding on horseback, looking around.
About twenty minutes later, a stout old man with a helmet under his arm appeared in Cley's field of view.
Wearing a deep red cloak and carrying a longsword at his waist, he walked with a steady gait. "Welcome to Winterfell," he said calmly, then introduced himself, "I am Ser Rodrik, the Master-at-Arms of Winterfell. What business brings you from afar?"
Cley dismounted, and the remaining guards and Wilra followed suit, approaching Rodrik. Smiling at the old man who had devoted his life to House Stark, Cley said, "Hello, Ser. I am Cley Mandell, and this is my sister, Wilra."
Rodrik had actually heard of Cley's name when he was born, but due to Cley's low profile and his disappearance from Westeros for two whole years, he hadn't immediately remembered who Cley was.
"A branch of House Mandell?" Rodrik frowned. Having served House Stark for nearly fifty years, he had never encountered a direct request from a branch of the family to meet the Duke of Winterfell. It wasn't customary. However, everyone in House Stark understood that when winter comes, lone wolves die, but the pack survives. House Stark had no reason to refuse or drive away this peculiar Mandell lad before them.
"To see the lord, you'll have to wait until tomorrow. For now, you are welcome to stay in Winterfell. I will report to the lord tomorrow," Rodrik said succinctly, as the evening had fallen, and he had no interest in a lengthy conversation.
Following the host's lead, Cley naturally had no objections. The Stark family's guards came to take care of their horses, and arrangements were made for the guards. Cley led the somewhat afraid-of-the-dark Wilra, following behind the not-so-tall Rodrik.
The night passed quickly, and the warm sunlight once again illuminated the ancient fortress.
Cley, who had already risen early, was practicing the basic sword techniques of the first level of the Witcher's self-taught beginner wolf style. He awkwardly swung a well-crafted half-sword, putting in effort, but each move was deliberate.
"Are you practicing swordsmanship too?" Cley's sword, swinging in mid-air, was stopped by a young voice behind him.
Cley sheathed his sword and turned to look in the direction of the voice. A young man in plain clothing stood at the entrance of the courtyard where Cley's party had stayed.
With deep brown hair and a slim figure, a slightly dusty short sword hung from his waist.
Seeing Cley stop, the young man walked over and extended a hand like a little gentleman. "I'm Jon. Nice to meet you," his voice carried a hint of shyness typical of a young man.
It was strange that he didn't introduce his surname, but Cley had already guessed who he was.
"Cley." The two shook hands, and Cley stated his name without mentioning his surname.
The young man in front of him was likely Jon Snow, later known as the King in the North, Jon Snow, who possessed the blood of both wolves and dragons. The surname was a very sensitive matter for him due to his status as a despised bastard.
"Are you from... the Mandell family?" Jon stared at the mermaid flag planted in the courtyard, hesitated, and then asked.
Seeing Cley nod, a hint of dimness flashed in Jon's eyes. Although born into the noble Stark family, he would rather have his own surname, just like the Mandell guy before him. He deeply resented the damn symbol of his bastard status—Snow.
Jon quickly adjusted himself. As the best young swordsman of House Stark, he had just observed Cley's sword trajectory and footwork, which Ser Rodrik had never taught him.
Driven by his competitive spirit, he couldn't help but ask, "Hey, can I spar with you?"
Although he hadn't mastered the essence of the Wolf School swordsmanship, Cley certainly wouldn't refuse such a challenge. He laughed heartily, "Of course, Jon."
The two stood still, and the Mandell family guards, already up, instinctively made way for their young master.
"Be careful. Ser Rodrik said I'm the best in swordsmanship among the family, even better than Robb," this naive boy was completely unaware that he had just exposed his identity. After all, which noble house in the North didn't know the name of the heir to the North?
The two faced off, and unknowingly, a large circle of people had surrounded them. There were guards from House Mandell and House Stark, and Ser Rodrik was among them. Behind him stood a middle-aged man, who was staring intently at the scene.
After circling the arena a few times, Jon realized that Cley's footsteps had been pressuring him all along, not giving him a comfortable opportunity to launch an attack. Making a quick decision, he let out a low shout and charged.
With a clang, Cley's blade just managed to stop Jon's attack at the waist. He hadn't expected Jon's attack to be so fierce, and his half-sword, inherently heavier, swung with a slower speed.
Seeing his attack blocked, Jon immediately retracted his sword, yet before he could strike a second time, Cley's upward swipe forced him to defend with a horizontal block.
As the two weapons collided again, the surrounding crowd couldn't help but cheer. Ser Rodrik was also among them, and behind him, the middle-aged man frowned, looking at the scene.
After several exchanges, Jon realized that Cley's footsteps had been consistently pressing him, denying him a comfortable opportunity to counterattack. Making a quick decision, he let out a low shout and charged forward.
With a clang, Cley's blade just managed to stop Jon's attack at the waist. He hadn't expected Jon's attack to be so fierce, and his half-sword, inherently heavier, swung with a slower speed.
Seeing his attack blocked, Jon immediately retracted his sword, yet before he could strike a second time, Cley's upward swipe forced him to defend with a horizontal block.
As the two weapons collided again, the surrounding crowd couldn't help but cheer. Ser Rodrik was also among them, and behind him, the middle-aged man frowned, looking at the scene.
The weapons clashed consecutively, and the onlookers continued to applaud. However, the middle-aged man frowned and turned to the similarly furrowed brow of Rodrik. Just as he was about to speak, he heard Rodrik say, "It's not looking good; Jon might lose."
In the arena, the two youths wielded their weapons. Behind them, the Direwolf flag representing House Stark and the Mermaid flag representing House Mandell quietly fluttered in the warm morning light.
"A fascinating lad," the middle-aged man said, watching the scene. "Once they're done, inform him that I'll be waiting for him in the hall."
"Yes, my lord."