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From an emotional standpoint, even if Clay were given ten thousand chances to decide, he would never allow his family to marry into such a household. A vast and treacherous family like this, filled with endless scheming and power struggles—one would likely find it impossible to sleep soundly at night.
If he were to approach the matter purely from the perspective of his position as White Harbor's heir, considering only the benefits to his family, then it would be an opportunity worth seizing. In the past, when his grandfather took his elder sister, Wynafryd, to Winterfell, Robb had likely not yet come of age to understand such matters.
Thinking about the later descriptions of Robb Stark's wife, Jeyne Westerling, Clay couldn't help but ponder—rather than marrying into an obscure branch of House Frey, why not consider the Stark family instead?
House Frey's greatest advantage lay in their control over the bridge, a key passage that could block the Northern army from crossing the Green Fork during wartime. However, if Clay's journey south proved successful and he discovered a way to bypass or take control of this bridge, then House Frey, aside from its three thousand soldiers, would hold no real value.
Therefore, even from a purely rational standpoint, Clay had no reason whatsoever to agree to this marriage proposal. More importantly, he had already given his word to his sister, Wynafryd.
As the heir to White Harbor and the undisputed future lord of the city, Clay held the authority to influence the marriages of his family's women. This was precisely why Ser Aenys Frey had approached him.
In fact, even before Clay's arrival, House Frey had already deliberated over the matter. Beyond attempting to secure a marriage alliance with Clay himself, they had also considered proposing matches for either Wynafryd or Wylla—particularly with the eldest Frey daughter, Wilfred.
Observing Ser Aenys Frey's expression, which appeared utterly sincere and devoid of deception, Clay inwardly scoffed.
"Ser, your proposal is indeed generous, but unfortunately, such a significant matter must be discussed with my grandfather, as well as my sister and younger sister. I deeply respect their opinions."
His face was equally sincere, his brows furrowed ever so slightly, a touch of hesitation flickering in his expression—as if he genuinely supported Ser Aenys Frey's plan, yet simply lacked the authority to decide.
The elderly Frey, now past fifty, was visibly displeased by Clay's response. Stroking the gray-white tuft of his beard, he scoffed with evident disdain:
"Clay, you are the heir to White Harbor, the most valued descendant of the Old Lamprey. Why can you not make this decision? It is your rightful authority as the family's successor."
The moment those words left Ser Aenys Frey's mouth, Clay's expression darkened, his earlier amicable facade vanishing in an instant.
He despised the condescending, lecturing tone in those words. Did this Frey from the Twins truly believe Clay needed to be taught his own rights and responsibilities? Did he think Clay was ignorant of what he could and could not do?
Fixing his gaze on Ser Aenys Frey's slightly reddened, damp-looking eyes, Clay's voice turned cold. "The affairs of House Manderly are ours to decide. That is not your concern, Ser."
No matter how dense Aenys Frey was, even he understood that no agreement would be reached here. Clay, whom he had dismissed as young and hot-tempered, had made that abundantly clear.
Ser Aenys Frey's expression soured. He muttered a few vulgar Riverlands curses under his breath before storming off in frustration. But between the two men, only they knew how much of that anger was genuine and how much was mere pretense.
As Frey departed, the captain of Clay's guards, who had been keeping a watchful eye on the exchange, stepped forward. Narrowing his eyes at the retreating figure, he lowered his voice and asked,
"Young lord, what just happened?"
"Nothing significant," Clay replied coolly. "Aenys Frey was trying to arrange a marriage between his grandson and Wynafryd or Wylla. Over my dead body. Remember—tell the men not to speak of this meeting."
The captain immediately nodded in acknowledgment of Clay's order. However, he couldn't quite understand the young lord's barely concealed hostility toward House Frey.
After all, the North and the Riverlands had once fought side by side in the rebellion against House Targaryen. Although Lord Frey had been late to join, the veteran soldiers still held a favorable opinion of the Riverlands nobility.
Concerned for Clay, the captain hesitated before finally voicing his thoughts,
"Young lord, did House Frey do something to offend you?"
Clay shook his head. "Not to that extent… Why do you ask?"
"Well, you seem to… strongly dislike them. I mean no offense, but given that we are on Frey land, perhaps it would be wise to avoid conflict with them."
Clay understood the captain's concerns, but he was fully aware of the stakes. He had no intention of stirring unnecessary trouble with the Freys.
"Let me ask you this—how many unmarried children does Lord Walder Frey have?"
"Uh… I'm not sure, my lord. But I know it's a lot."
Though puzzled by the question, the captain answered honestly.
Clay chuckled. Retracting his hand from the damp stone of the castle wall, he brushed back the strands of hair tousled by the wind. Then, resting his hand lightly on the captain's shoulder, he spoke softly,
"No, you do know. The word 'a lot' is telling enough. There are too many Freys. The name itself holds little value. There is absolutely no need for us to send one of our own into that graveyard of a family for the sake of potential Frey support."
He never expected hardened warriors like his guards to fully grasp the intricacies of noble politics. Westeros was a land bound by rigid class structures—if one was not born a noble, it was nearly impossible to think like one.
Foolish nobles certainly existed, and in great numbers. But for the most part, nobility produced individuals who understood the game.
The humid, stifling wind from the Green Fork brushed against Clay's skin, leaving behind an unpleasant, sticky sensation. Yet, in just this brief moment, he had already cast aside his thoughts of Aenys Frey.
"Let's go," he said to the captain, who was still frowning in contemplation. "Let's continue surveying the walls."
The captain quickly snapped out of his thoughts and followed closely behind, keeping pace with Clay.
Their footsteps echoed against the moss-covered stone bricks. It seemed rain had fallen recently—small puddles still lingered in the crevices of the weathered walls.
The Frey soldiers stationed along the path had no idea what had just transpired between Clay and Aenys. Even if they had known, they likely wouldn't have cared. At the Twins, military power rested solely in the hands of Lord Walder Frey.
Aside from his eldest son, Ser Stevron Frey, who commanded a small retinue of his own, the rest of Walder Frey's numerous offspring were forbidden from maintaining more than fifty armed men within the castle.
As the White Harbor men passed, clad in armor adorned with the silver merman of House Manderly, the Frey soldiers made no move to obstruct them. These Northerners were esteemed guests of the Lord of the Twins—it was not their place to intervene.
Clay strolled leisurely, unhurried as he ascended the gatehouse and made his way along the southern section of the wall, surveying its condition with a keen eye.
By the time he returned to the gatehouse, his conclusion was clear—this was an aging fortress with unimpressive defenses, further weakened by years of neglect.
Given enough time, even simple siege engines like trebuchets could batter these walls down. But breaching the Twins was not the real challenge—it was ensuring that no one escaped. The Freys could easily flee in the opposite direction, and that was the real problem.
How could he completely encircle the castle? How could he ensure that not a single Frey slipped away?
It was a question that would require further thought…
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[Chapter End's]
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