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The king was alive and in his pri. Judging by his robust physique, he could continue his indulgence in wine and won for decades before the Seven finally summoned him. And knowing King Robert's temperant, should the gods call him too soon, he would likely take up his warhamr and strike each of them down in turn.
Though His Majesty had no scruples when it ca to carnal pleasures—having left his mark on countless beauties across the realm and fathered an untold number of illegitimate children—the fact remained: he had two acknowledged sons and a daughter. While the current crown prince was far from beloved, save in the eyes of his mother, the legitimacy of Robert's direct heirs was not in question.
As the Hand of the King, personally summoned from Winterfell at Robert's behest, Eddard Stark should, at this very mont, be occupied with unraveling the chaos left in King's Landing. So why, then, was he scouring the city in search of the king's bastards?
Whether they resided within King's Landing or watched from afar through their spies, all the great lords who had even a shred of understanding of the ga of thrones could see that this was not a simple matter.
The Seven Kingdoms knew well of Eddard Stark's unwavering honor and integrity—his sense of justice was as undeniable as the bitter cold of the North. Given his bond with King Robert, there was no possibility that he was acting on soone else's orders to round up these illegitimate children.
This alone made the situation highly unusual. The king would never command his closest friend to track down his bastards and have them legitimized all at once.
After all, a golden-maned lioness lay in wait within the Red Keep. Only a fool of a king would dare provoke her into a frenzy.
So what, then, was Lord Eddard Stark's true purpose in seeking out these bastards?
For years, whispers had drifted through the noble circles of Westeros, murmuring that the king's three children bore a striking resemblance to their mother—and their uncle. Though often dismissed as jest, such rumors refused to fade.
If his intent was not to legitimize these illegitimate heirs, then what was he searching for? Was Lord Stark investigating sothing? Or worse—preparing for sothing?
Reports from the White Sea Guard's informants in King's Landing suggested that the chaos following Jon Arryn's sudden death had only worsened in the month since Lord Stark's arrival.
On the contrary, the city was more turbulent than ever. Rumors and gossip spread like wildfire, reaching even the beggars on the streets, who whispered of supposed shocking truths to their fellow vagrants.
anwhile, Jon Arryn's widow, Lysa Tully, had fled King's Landing with their young son, Robert Arryn, the rightful Lord of the Vale and master of the Eyrie. She had shut the Bloody Gate behind her, sealing off her stronghold as if bracing for an impending storm.
For a seasoned noble like Wyman Manderly—who had witnessed decades of turmoil in Westeros—the undercurrents swirling beneath the realm's surface were deeply unsettling.
The repeated attacks and investigations targeting rchant caravans carrying dicinal supplies only sharpened his unease. Without hesitation, the Lord of White Harbor had summoned his heir back from the Riverlands, unwilling to leave him exposed in a region that was always the first to be drawn into war.
Veterans of the War of the Usurper knew all too well: when war erupted, regardless of the factions involved, the Riverlands would be the heart of the conflict.
If the Manderly heir remained in the Twins, and the Freys chose the wrong side, he would beco nothing more than a valuable hostage. Wyman Manderly was not the sort of man to take such reckless risks—doing so would be an unforgivable betrayal of his house.
This was no re paranoia. One needed only to recall the spark that ignited the Rebellion: a maiden of House Stark eloping with the Targaryen heir. Because of that, a dynasty that had endured for over two centuries was brought to ruin, and rivers of blood were spilled across the Seven Kingdoms.
Now, Eddard Stark was investigating Jon Arryn's death while simultaneously tracking down Robert's bastards—children who, though officially without inheritance, still carried the king's blood.
With the flood of rumors from their informants in King's Landing, how could the realm's most battle-hardened lords not suspect sothing deeper at play?
Watching his grandfather's grave expression, Clay knew all too well what was coming.
His own butterfly effect had, at best, only delayed the storm—preventing Bran from seeing what he should not have seen, indirectly sparing Tyrion from false accusations, and thus postponing the inevitable war.
Yet, as Eddard Stark's investigation continued, he would inevitably uncover the aning behind Jon Arryn's dying words—"The seed is strong"—through his search for the king's bastards and the genealogical records of Westerosi noble houses.
And once the truth ca to light, war would be inevitable.
The Lannisters' grip on King's Landing was too strong. The mont Robert fell, Queen Cersei would not hesitate to strike down the Hand of the King, regardless of any legal authority or royal decree he might wield.
Stannis, commanding the royal fleet from Dragonstone, would stake his claim to the throne. anwhile, Renly, having fled the capital, would crown himself in the Reach, rallying the forces of Storm's End and Highgarden to march upon King's Landing with an army a hundred thousand strongn.
Like a row of dominoes collapsing in succession, the realm would plunge headlong into war.
"Grandfather, King's Landing is beyond our control for now. What we need to focus on is our next move."
Clay knew ti was slipping away. That only made him more eager to press forward with the plan he and his grandfather had devised. Ser Marlon and the old lord had already selected the necessary candidates—everything was in place, save for one crucial component: the herbal extract needed for the Decoctions of the Grasses.
"Yes, yes, I know…" The old lord let out a long sigh, rubbing his temples in frustration. He shifted his massive fra, settling into his chair, and rested his chin on one hand before speaking in a deep, steady voice:
"While you were away, so materials have arrived in White Harbor. But most have been confiscated by those so-called inspectors. A delegation has already been sent to negotiate, but these things take ti."
"At best, we can gather ten doses for you. Beyond that, there's little we can do. So of the ingredients are rare to begin with, and now…"
Clay understood what his grandfather left unsaid—he was referring to the ambush at the Neck.
"Grandfather, the attack on our White Harbor rchants was no simple robbery. Soone powerful was behind it. But I must tell you—local nobles were involved as well. I saw it with my own eyes."
Clay recounted his discoveries in full, omitting nothing. Since he had already revealed his transformation to his grandfather, there was no need to hide how he had detected the ambush.
"For now, we will mark this matter for the future. Once the dust settles, I will lead our forces to that knight's estate and uncover the truth."
His tone was calm, but his words carried an unmistakable resolve.
"For now, we will use whatever materials we have. The only power we can truly rely on is the power in our own hands."
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[Chapter End's]
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