Game of Thrones: The Witcher System

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Looking at Clay's dumbfounded expression, Lord Wyman's once-smiling face turned stern. All warmth vanished in an instant. With a loud thud, he slammed the wine bottle onto the table, his voice grave as he addressed Clay:

"Clay Manderly, you shouldn't be surprised. If you are, it only means you have never truly understood just how important you are to House Manderly!"

"In front of Lord Stark, I must uphold our House Manderly dignity. Do you have any idea how relieved I was when His Majesty, instead of executing you for cutting down a Lannister, merely threw you into the dungeons for 'protection'?"

"What are you looking at? Do you seriously expect a trial by combat, hoping the gods will deliver you fairness and justice? Forget what His Majesty thinks for a moment—let me make one thing clear: if the Lannisters had truly pushed the issue, the King wouldn't have risked conflict with them just to protect you. You are not important enough for that!"

"Let me tell you something else—don't expect fairness or justice from the king's council or the southern lords. If not for the army I still command—an army strong enough to demand respect—you'd have long since met the gods!"

The old man grabbed Clay by the arm, pulling him toward the window. He pointed at the bustling port outside, his voice cold:

"Think about your place. Your father and uncle? They are warriors, nothing more—reckless men who live by the sword and know little else. Entrusting them with governing a city this vast would be nothing short of a fool's dream. As for your sisters, the best future for them is to marry into a good house, so that White Harbor might gain one or two allies to rely upon."

"You must recognize your role. You are the best—and the only—heir to House Manderly. I won't even mention your absurd decision to become a warrior of the Forgotten Valyria without my consent—that river has long since frozen over. But next time, if you ever entertain such a notion again, you will tell me first!"

The old man pointed to his own head full of white hair, his breath heavy as he continued:

"I am already sixty years old. Any day now, I could return to the embrace of the gods. The strength of White Sea Guard is your greatest tool to shape the future and place this city where it should be. You must take charge of it!"

Clay remained silent. Until this very moment, he had still been treating everything with a somewhat carefree attitude, as if he were merely a spectator in his own story. Deep down, he had never truly grasped what it meant to bear the title of heir to House Manderly.

Whether it was cutting down a Lannister in rage or dealing with the assassin, he had always acted on instinct, never considering that his every word and action of his represented House Manderly—a powerful family that had ruled White Harbor for a thousand years.

The old man was not afraid of Clay wielding the family's power or gaining influence. On the contrary, he feared that Clay might act recklessly, disregarding the strength and standing of their house. As Lord Wyman had just said, Clay was the only heir. What did it matter if he took some power into his hands?

Realizing this, Clay lowered his head and admitted his mistake. He spoke honestly:

"I understand, Grandfather. Next time, I will consult the family first."

Lord Wyman let out a couple of grunts, considering that enough to let Clay off the hook. He then sank his large frame into his chair, and Clay could clearly hear the wood groaning under his weight.

This time, however, the old man did not reach for his wine bottle. Instead, he gazed out the window, as if lost in thought, before speaking again.

"Did you know? While you were still sailing back to Westeros across the Narrow Sea, Marlon and I were already discussing your marriage prospects."

Marriage? Clay barely had time to process the sudden shift in conversation. How had we ended up here?

"While you were away from White Harbor, I received an invitation from House Frey. They have invited you to the Twins to attend the name day celebration of one of Lord Walder Frey's countless children. It is obvious that they want to see if they can marry one of their daughters to you."

Although the amount of information was overwhelming, Clay forced himself to remain calm and simply nodded. Now that he had truly accepted his role as White Harbor's heir, he understood that this was entirely reasonable.

Among the noble houses of the Seven Kingdoms—excluding the Great Houses and the Greyjoys of the Iron Islands—Clay, as the heir to a powerful Northern house, was undoubtedly an excellent candidate for marriage. White Harbor's standing in the North was akin to House Hightower's in the Reach—an economic powerhouse, though lacking the prestige of the Citadel and its maesters.

"Then, Grandfather, how did you respond?" Clay asked cautiously.

Though he knew such matters were inevitable in the future. But to be thrown into an arranged marriage the moment he got home—and with the Freys, a family he had a terrible impression of—was something he found hard to accept.

Lord Wyman glanced at him briefly, then grinned before replying in his usual slow manner:

"I sent Lord Frey a courteous reply, informing him that you were still in Winterfell and that a decision would be made upon your return."

He raised a hand to silence Clay before he could protest.

"Don't speak just yet. Listen to me first. My advice is that you should write a letter to Lord Walder Frey yourself immediately. Or better yet, let me write it for you. Either way, I suggest you go to the Twins. That old man has never been generous for a single day in his ninety-some years of life."

"But let me be clear—you are attending solely out of respect for the marquis's pride. After all, the location of his castle is too crucial to ignore. As for the Frey girls… mind yourself. It is not yet time for you to be using that part of your body."

The old man's words were crude, but Clay understood the meaning behind them. The Lord of the Twins, nicknamed "the Late Lord Frey," was highly influential, but his reputation was utterly foul. While attending the event was a necessary political gesture, his grandfather had no real intention of binding the family to House Frey through marriage.

Lord Wyman's view likely reflected that of most Northern lords. Clay recalled how Robb Stark had once broken his betrothal to a Frey, choosing love over duty. Perhaps the Young Wolf had shared the same wariness about tying himself to that family.

But what Robb had failed to grasp was the depths of Walder Frey's vengeful nature.

And so, at his own wedding feast, the undefeated Young Wolf fell—stabbed through the heart with a dagger bearing the Lannisters' regards. The war, once filled with hope, descended into chaos, forever marked by what would be remembered as the Red Wedding.

Clay had no room to resist this arrangement, so he simply nodded in agreement. Yet, deep in his heart, a question lingered: What kind of person would I ultimately choose?

If the choice were entirely his, he would unhesitatingly pick between Daenerys Targaryen and Margaery Tyrell. Not because of their beauty—that was just an excuse.

He had never met Daenerys Targaryen, nor had he met Margaery Tyrell. He had no idea what they actually looked like. To claim he desired them for their beauty would be a self-deception, a mere illusion.

What he truly admired were the crowns upon their heads.

Queen. Or future Queen. It was not love, nor lust, but the allure of conquest that drove him.

But in reality, he was merely the heir to White Harbor. Even if ambition burned within him, it had to remain hidden in the depths of his heart. In this world, noblemen and noblewomen—especially those of great houses—were creatures of power and profit. How many of them threw themselves into love with reckless abandon and lived to tell the tale?

Perhaps, one day, when he commanded an army of ten thousand and bore titles so long that men stumbled over their words trying to recite them—perhaps then, he would have the right to choose his own marriage.

For now? He would endure.

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About the Female Lead:

Let's talk about the heroine for a moment. Personally, I am all for love and freedom (got my armor on first). However, in the world of Game of Thrones, the story repeatedly emphasizes one truth—nobles who pursue love at the expense of their families never meet a good end.

Just think about what sparked Robert's Rebellion. Think about Robb Stark's fate. It's all the same lesson.

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[Chapter End's]

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