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At dusk, Clay carried a wooden box and once again stepped into the brightly lit Sea God Tower.
The news of the king's death, though not yet officially announced, had already begun to spread. After all, there are no walls in the world that do not leak wind. The Manderly family's army had begun to gather, and such a massive movement could hardly go unnoticed.
Clay could clearly sense the tension that seemed almost palpable in the air among those moving in and out of the Sea God Tower.
During the conversation earlier that afternoon, the old lord had yet to decide who would lead the army. This was not an urgent matter, as the raven from Winterfell had not yet arrived. At the earliest, it would come by tomorrow.
Arriving at the study, Clay saw the guards outside leaning against the wall, fiddling with some small object in hand.
Seeing their young lord approach, the guard quickly straightened up and instinctively tried to hide the object, but it was still seen by Clay.
"What's that?" Clay tilted his chin slightly, gesturing toward the guard's left hand as he asked with a smile.
The candlelight flickered, casting a warm glow across the guard's face, which revealed a trace of embarrassment. Sheepishly, the guard brought the object out from behind his back.
Clay took it from him and narrowed his eyes for a closer look. It appeared to be a tiny shield, no larger than the palm of a hand, wrapped in a layer of coarse-stitched yarn. The interior was firm—likely made of wood.
Though it sat in the shadows, Clay's vision remained sharp. He could clearly make out the words carved into it:
"Vida and Elvie"
Glancing at the guard's reddened face and sheepish smile, Clay suddenly understood what the item was. He tossed the object lightly before handing it back to its owner, smiling as he asked:
"Is she a girl from White Harbor?"
At those words, the guard knew his young lord had seen right through him. He could only scratch his head and nod, embarrassed.
"Yes… Yes, she is. Her family has lived in White Harbor for generations."
"Married yet?"
"No… We're only engaged. With the war coming, and her family having little to offer, she couldn't do much to help me—so… so she made this little thing for me…"
The guard didn't seem to notice that his young lord had suddenly gone quiet. Instead, he became lost in a moment of sweet memory, and a small smile crept across his face.
He continued, his tone filled with anticipation, "We made a promise. Once the war's over, if I return with spoils from the battlefield, I'll buy her a big house by the Fishfoot Yard. I'll bring her whole family over, and then we'll get married."
As he spoke, he heard Clay's voice once again. The young man said:
"Keep it safe. When you return from the battlefield, I'll be your witness at the wedding."
Without waiting to see the guard's face, which must have been lit with emotion, Clay pushed open the door and stepped into the old lord's study.
Inside, the old man sat leaning back in his chair, gazing silently into the roaring fire. He hadn't noticed his grandson's arrival at all.
Clay's eyes fell upon the bottle of Summer Red wine opened beside the old lord. Clearly, he hadn't taken a sip—it had just been sitting there.
Only when Clay pulled out a chair and sat directly opposite him, blocking his view of the flames, did the old lord come back to his senses. He blinked, surprised to see Clay.
"You've got a strange look on your face, boy. What happened?"
Experienced and shrewd as he was, the old man immediately picked up on his grandson's change in mood.
"Nothing much. Just… feeling a little emotional," Clay replied.
He then recounted the brief exchange with the guard, the promise of marriage, the little handmade token, and the looming war—how even a man about to wed could be sent to the battlefield with a single command.
In the original history, over ten thousand soldiers from the North marched south. In the end, only three to four thousand ever made it back. The rest perished far from home.
Clay had always believed he could view war like a chess grandmaster—cold, calculating, and detached. But just now, a sliver of unnecessary sentiment had slipped through his armor.
The old man listened quietly to everything. He didn't say a word. There was a desk between them, and it prevented him from reaching out to pat his grandson's shoulder.
So, he turned to an old Manderly family tradition instead. He poured Clay a full glass of wine.
"You're young. You've got thoughts. But let me tell you this—thinking too much is a waste of time. On the battlefield, it's kill or be killed. How many do you think actually come back alive?"
The old lord gave a carefree laugh and pointed first to himself, then to Clay.
"We nobles might look proud and mighty in peacetime, but when it comes to war, it's all the same—one sword, one head. You want to live? Then cut down every last man who raises a blade against you. That's all there is to it."
He truly understood his grandson's feelings. When he himself was young, he too had felt that dull ache in his heart. But after the War of the Usurper, where so many died, he became numb to it all.
After a while, seeing that Clay had drained the wine, the old lord's eyes finally shifted to the wooden box Clay had brought. He tapped on it with his fingers and asked curiously:
"What's this thing? All secretive—waiting till nightfall to show it to me?"
Clay, now composed, took a deep breath. His eyes locked onto his grandfather's. With a steady gaze and a serious tone, he uttered a single word:
"Dragon."
Visibly stunned, the old man blinked several times as if questioning his own ears.
"What did you just say? Come again?"
"Dragon. To be precise—a dragon egg."
Clay opened the box without hesitation.
The moment he saw its contents, the old lord jolted upright from his chair. His massive frame shot up as if catapulted, his expression frozen in utter disbelief.
It took a long time before he finally regained his composure. Even though he had never seen a dragon egg before, one glance was all he needed to know his grandson wasn't lying.
But confusion followed. Why was his grandson, of all times and places, revealing this dragon egg to him now? Where had it come from? What was he planning?
An absurd thought flickered in his mind, and just as quickly as it came, it was confirmed by Clay's next words. Words that sent his blood pressure soaring once again.
"Grandfather, what if I told you… I can hatch what's inside this egg? And when it grows up, I can ride it and conquer the skies?"
The old man's breathing grew noticeably heavy, a sound clearly picked up by the eardrum. Clay understood that he had to explain everything.
"Back then, I found this egg together with a blood-red crystal. It was hidden alongside the secrets of a Valyrian warrior."
Clay did not want to lie, but he had no other way to make sense of something so far beyond ordinary understanding.
"At first, I couldn't figure out what the crystal was, so I kept it with me. Then one morning, I woke up and it had vanished. But something strange had awakened inside me."
"Later, I came to understand the truth. That crystal held the blood of a noble dragonlord from Valyria, solidified by powerful magic before the fall of the empire."
"Only those with dragonlord blood, who have undergone a transformation, could become the personal guards of Valyria's mightiest rulers."
If not for the fact that every member of the Manderly family knew Clay's appearance by heart, the old man might have truly begun to suspect that the person standing before him was an imposter.
But that suspicion quickly vanished. Aside from the Targaryens, no other bloodline in the world was believed to carry the legacy of the dragonlords.
And beyond that, Clay had shown powers that defied belief, and now he had dragon eggs in his possession. If he were a fraud, why would he come back to White Harbor?
With a power like this, he could have raised the dragon on his own and, in a few years, ridden it to conquer any land he desired.
The old lord trusted his own judgment. This was his grandson—of that, he had no doubt.
He drew in a deep, frosty breath to steady himself. A realization had taken hold of him. If the Manderly family could hatch and tame a dragon, and if what Clay said was true—if this was a change in bloodline—then...
This could be passed down to future generations.
In other words, the Manderlys might one day rise as the new dragonlords of Westeros, following in the footsteps of House Targaryen.
That night, the old man asked his grandson again and again—was he truly certain the egg could be hatched?
Both of them understood one thing with perfect clarity. Until the dragon was strong enough to command the skies, this secret had to be guarded with absolute care.
Then, the old man remembered his grandson's passionate plea during the family meeting—to seize the Three Sisters Islands. As someone familiar with the terrain, he instantly understood Clay's plan.
"Boy, once I see that dragon with my own eyes, I swear before the Old Gods and the New—our Manderly banner will fly over every corner of the Three Sisters."
It was a solemn vow, made not just to Clay, but to the future of House Manderly.
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(Original Author Note)
Allow me to speak briefly. I hope my lords will not find me bothersome. In the original story, House Manderly is the one that spoke the words "The North remembers." Their loyalty to House Stark is beyond question. But now, the protagonist has a dragon. In my version, the old lord accepts the dragon's existence, and the reason for that will be explained later. I write him as saying that he is a Manderly first, and only second a vassal to the Starks. Family comes before all else, and I believe there is nothing wrong in that.
Moreover, based on my understanding of the world of A Song of Ice and Fire, the laws of the realm hold little weight between noble houses. What governs them, most of the time, is a simple law of mirrored vengeance. The Mad King killed men of House Stark, and so House Stark moved to overthrow the Targaryens.
So then, I do not believe the old lord bears deep hatred for dragons themselves, nor for the Targaryens with all their symbolic weight. Put yourself in his place, and I trust you will understand.
I believe this is an issue that no one writing a story in the world of A Game of Thrones can truly avoid. The Seven Kingdoms, on the surface, all reject dragons, except for Dorne. Unless a character is utterly alone in the world, there must be an explanation for their actions to their kin. This is something that cannot be skipped.
This also includes the changes brought about by the Witcher, as well as the inevitable moment when the dragon grows large enough that its presence can no longer be hidden. In time, I will gradually have the members of House Manderly come to accept the dragon's presence. Some of them may even have the chance to ride alongside Clay, soaring through the skies on the back of a great dragon.
So I ask all you dear readers, please be patient, and allow this humble little white whale to slowly paint the tale of Westeros as it lives in my mind.
Thank you all.
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[Chapter End's]
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