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Year 298 of the Aegon Conquest (AC)
White Harbor, the largest city north of the Neck, welcod another sunny morning in the long sumr.
The White Knife River flows into the sea here, where nurous fishing boats set sail from the harbor to start their day's work.
The Manderly family, rulers of this city, resided in the New Castle perched atop a hill overlooking the town. Today was an important day for the entire Manderly family.
The family's third-generation heir, Clay Manderly, was returning to the family after two years of travelling through the Free Cities.
Clay's father was the second son of Wyman Manderly, the current Lord of White Harbor. By the laws of inheritance, Clay should never have had the chance to beco the third-generation heir.
However, just six months ago, tragedy struck when Clay's uncle's wife suffered a miscarriage. The maester, Theomore, declared that she could no longer bear children.
The aging Lord Wyman imdiately dispatched urgent ssengers to the Free Cities to summon Clay ho.
Other than Lord Wyman and his two sons, the rest of the Manderly family had gathered at the harbor to welco the young man who would soon be officially recognized as the heir.
What no one knew was that the young man stepping slowly off the ship had already been replaced by a soul from another world.
This soul, before crossing over, had been grumbling about the next-gen update of a certain demon-hunting ga. Yet, in the blink of an eye, he found himself in this world he knew all too well—the world of A Song of Ice and Fire.
After receiving the mories of his new body, Clay realized he had beco a third-generation descendant of House Manderly—a character who had never existed in the original story.
Not long after arriving in the trading Free Cities, he received an urgent summons from his family, personally delivered by the elder of his house, Ser Marlon Manderly.
"White Harbor hasn't changed—a reek of fish everywhere," Clay remarked as his feet touched the soil of Westeros once more, sniffing the unmistakable sll of fish in the air.
"Hah, I suppose you've grown accustod to the perfu of Pentos?" Ser Marlon retorted dryly. He was a man with a strong sense of family values, and his tone carried a hint of disapproval for this young man who had been away for two years.
At the dock of the inner harbor, the fully ard guards of the city garrison had ford a formation.
The banners bearing the sigil of the rman fluttered high in the breeze and at the center of the gathered guards stood a group of people.
"Co, et your sisters," Ser Marlon said, leading Clay toward the crowd.
Wynafryd and Wylla, the two young won of House Manderly, dressed in deep green gowns, led the rest of the people to welco Clay's arrival.
"By the Seven, sister, look! He's grown so tall in two years!" Fifteen-year-old Wylla clutched her elder sister's arm, exclaiming excitedly.
Clay was slightly older than Wylla, having celebrated his sixteenth naday aboard the ship.
As he approached the gathered family mbers, under Ser Marlon's stern gaze, Wynafryd, Wylla, and the rest of the extended relatives perford a formal bow to Clay.
Though still young, Clay's status as heir placed him far above everyone present.
Since the bloody civil war of the Targaryen's, known as the Dance of the Dragons, had co to an end, securing heirs—especially male ones—had beco the paramount priority for all noble houses in Westeros.
After the formal greeting, the eldest sister, Wynafryd, gracefully took Clay's hand and smiled.
"Clay, Grandfather is waiting for you at the New Castle. Let us go quickly," she said.
Clay nodded. He, too, wished to et his grandfather as soon as possible, for only with Lord Wyman's approval could his position as heir be solidified.
Mounting his horse, Clay and the others rode through the Fishfoot's Yard Square and went up the castle stairs. A majestic white stone fortress, once again before his eyes, erged from Clay's mories.
This enormous fortress, which ranks among the top three in the North, was the seat of House Manderly. It was known as the New Castle to distinguish it from the Old Castle at the foot of the hill.
Guided by his two sisters, Clay entered the Manderly family's great hall, which symbolized the very heart of White Harbor's power. This hall bore an even more illustrious na: rman's Court.
Although Clay had visited this place many tis in his mory, he couldn't help but marvel at the profound financial strength of his family as he set foot here again.
The grand hall, resembling a palace, featured a ceiling and floor ticulously crafted from thick wooden planks. These precious woods had been carved into intricate and diverse marine life patterns by the finest craftsn of White Harbor. At the center of the room, a towering platform held a massive padded throne, symbolizing the absolute authority of the Manderly family.
Clay couldn't help but compare it in his mind. This hall was undoubtedly more luxurious than the Stark family's Winterfell hall, and although it still fell short of the Red Keep's throne room, for the status of a re lord, it was truly one of a kind.
Sitting on the throne was a tall and robust old man, his silver hair particularly striking under the candlelight. Clay knew at once that this was his grandfather, Lord Wyman Manderly, the Lord of White Harbor.
Wynafryd, holding her pouting younger sister, stepped aside, leaving Clay alone in the center of the rman Court's grand hall. He stood, facing the cold, unblinking gaze of the old man on the throne.
After taking a deep breath, Clay moved forward and placed his hand over his chest to bow. "Grandfather, I'm back."
With his head lowered, neither of them spoke for what seed like an eternity, rely standing there in silence, locked in a silent standoff.
"NO CURRENTS MIGHTIER!" Lord Wyman suddenly bellowed.
Clay, montarily stunned, quickly realized it was the family motto. He raised his head, gazing directly into his grandfather's eyes, and responded with equal vigor, "No Currents Mightier!"
The icy resolve on the Lord Wyman's flushed face lted away as he broke into a wide grin and burst into laughter. "Ha ha! You're back—that's all that matters!" The old man leapt from the throne and quickly strode over to Clay, circling him as he scrutinized him from all angles. Speaking at a rapid pace, he said, "Not bad, this is my grandson, indeed. Even the hair on your lip is starting to grow. Tsk… I never thought you'd turn out so handso. When you were a child, you looked just like your father—ugly as sin. But now, you're a good-looking fellow. Good! You've returned. Rest tonight, and I'll take you to Lord Eddard and ask for a marriage contract..."
Clay sighed, feeling a mix of resignation and awkwardness, as Wylla let out a soft chuckle from the side. Wynafryd maintained her composure as a lady, though the slight curve of her lips betrayed her inner amusent.
Lord Wyman continued to ramble, but upon seeing his two granddaughters' expressions, he realized he had said too much. He shot them a fierce glare and muttered, "Next month, I'll get both of you married off."
His voice was probably a bit too loud, as both unmarried ladies quickly fell silent and retreated into the corner like ostriches.
"Alright, Clay, you go ahead. Crossing the Narrow Sea is no small feat. Your room's been kept in order for the past two years, and dinner will be ready soon. It just so happens that your father and uncle are on their way back as well."
Clay nodded in agreent with his grandfather's words. With quick wit, Wynafryd ushered her sowhat silly younger sister and led Clay out of the rman's Court, avoiding further reprimands from the old man.
Lying on the bed that hadn't changed a bit from his mories, Clay reflected. One thing his grandfather had said was true: he indeed had to make a trip to Winterfell…
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[Chapter End's]
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