"Ned, can you tell me what you're holding in your hand?" Duke Eddard Stark asked sternly.
This was the epitome of being caught red-handed. Clay, Robb, and Jon were like children caught misbehaving by their parent.
Clay glanced at Robb, who was completely flustered, pressing his lips together, unable to utter a word, and still gripping the bottle of wine.
Unlike Clay, the two Stark boys were honest, looking down and accepting their reprimand.
Not wanting to deal with these two at the moment, Eddard had more pressing matters. He stepped aside, and Clay saw the imposing figure of his grandfather.
"Uh... Grandpa?" Clay hadn't expected his grandfather to arrive so quickly.
Clay knew why Count Wyman was here. To be honest, he had already exceeded his goals for this trip to Winterfell.
First, through Duke Eddard, Clay had secured his recognition as the heir to White Harbor among the nobility. Second, he had completed the preparation of the Witcher decoctions and, coincidentally, successfully underwent the Witcher mutations, despite the unpleasant process.
Additionally, during his stay in Winterfell, he had befriended the younger generation of the Stark family, leveraging his status as a noble. Although he possessed the Witcher system and could theoretically expand his influence quickly, it required time. At this critical juncture, aligning with the Stark family was crucial.
Actually, he had little choice. His background dictated that he must align with the wolves for now. What the future held would be another story...
Of course, not everything was positive. He had been outwitted by Littlefinger, and although he managed to mitigate the consequences, his sister's reputation had been tarnished, making it unlikely for her to marry soon. However, this aligned with Wylla's own wishes—she had no desire to wed.
Moreover, the mysterious magical power from the weirwood tree and the dense magical threads on Bran made the ostensibly peaceful capital of the North brimming with magic.
Clay had intended to investigate the source of Bran's magical threads, but his grandfather's sudden appearance disrupted his plans. He could only hope to meet Bran once more before leaving.
This wasn't driven by a saintly urge. From his perspective, understanding the source of the magic was crucial. He couldn't confidently use magic for Witcher training without knowing its origins.
"Hmph, you rascal, look at the mess you've made here!" Count Wyman scolded, though he was quite pleased with Clay's actions. Still, he had to chastise him for the trouble caused to Duke Eddard.
"Enough, Wyman. Clay acted for the honor of House Manderly. There's no need for this," Eddard Stark intervened, pulling Jon and Robb out of the dungeon, leaving Clay and his grandfather alone.
After a moment of silent staring, both Clay and Wyman burst into laughter.
"Well done. You're better than your father. Back when we followed Lord Eddard into King's Landing after the Lannisters sacked the city, their men were committing unspeakable acts. Our White Harbor soldiers tried to stop them but were thrown into the Flea Bottom."
Count Wyman's eyes reflected the painful memories, but he continued, "Your father drew his sword but didn't have the guts to kill under the gold and crimson lion banner. You, however, did well!"
The old count patted his grandson's back. Clay could tell the Lannisters' actions in King's Landing had left a terrible impression on the Northern lords.
At this moment, the White Harbor guard captain, Hoster, rushed in. Seeing Count Wyman, he immediately knelt, placing his sword on the ground.
"Hmph." Count Wyman snorted but refrained from reprimanding him here. "Get up. Gather your men and bring Wylla from the main keep to my guards."
Hoster swiftly picked up his sword and left. He understood that not being punished immediately was a reprieve.
"Let's not waste time here. Let's go." Count Wyman said, pulling Clay along.
Clay hesitated. He couldn't predict when he might return or who would be the lord of Winterfell by then.
He sighed inwardly, then said to his grandfather, "Before we leave, I need to meet the Stark boys one more time."
Count Wyman paused, looking at Clay, waiting for an explanation.
"I'm friends with the Stark boys now. Leaving without a word doesn't feel right. Besides, Grandpa, you wanted me to build good relations with them, didn't you?" Clay's tone was confident.
"You don't mince words. Seems you've done well?"
"Yes," Clay replied honestly. His grandfather shared his interests, so there was no need to hide anything.
"Then go. I'll wait outside. Remember, no more trouble."
...
Duke Eddard agreed to Clay's request to meet the Stark boys before leaving. Being a man of honor, he appreciated Clay's gesture.
In the great hall of Winterfell, Clay met with Jon, Robb, and a young Bran. There was no need to see little Rickon.
Clay embraced Jon and Robb, sealing their bond with a man's hug, strengthened by shared drinks.
But his true focus was on Bran and the dense magical threads enveloping him.
Before hugging the slightly shy Bran, Clay discreetly activated his system and the magic pool.
As his hands touched the invisible threads, he felt them flow into him, like finding the end of a tangled skein of yarn.
Instantly, Clay's eyes narrowed. The magical energy felt strikingly familiar—he had encountered it before, at the heart tree!