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"Dead…?"
"Dead. They dug him out of the rubble in the end. Found something that confirmed his identity."
Clay swirled the wine glass in his hand, his expression turning contemplative. That one was probably one of the knights involved in the ambush—just like Eddard Stark, he died at the worst possible time.
A landed knight like that usually held nothing more than a tiny fief—maybe a single village. And their so-called castles were often nothing more than a wooden loft, two or three stories high. You rarely saw stonework unless the land was lucky enough to be near a decent quarry.
But even then, for the whole place to go up in flames and not a single person managed to escape? The entire bloodline of that nameless little house was wiped out in a single night. That alone didn't sit right.
This wasn't some cotton field burning down. The Riverlands were naturally humid. If it had just been an accidental fire, how could not even one person make it out? The place wasn't completely sealed. Smoke that thick would've woken people immediately.
"Anything happen after that?"
"Nothing. The whole place burned to the ground. There's nothing left to investigate. It was a tiny village to begin with, barely populated. His castle wasn't even inside the village. It stood alone, a bit off to the side.
"By the time the fire was spotted by villagers who were asleep at the time, and they rushed over with help, the flames were already out of control. All they could do was wait for it to burn itself out, then dig through the ashes for bodies."
The old man clicked his tongue. It was obvious that there was something fishy about this whole matter. But the job had been done far too cleanly, so clean that there wasn't a single trace left to question. And if you couldn't find a problem, then it meant there wasn't one… at least not on paper.
"Clay, I really don't get it. Who could pull something like this off right under House Frey's nose? And more importantly, why? There's nothing valuable there. I went to see it myself."
"It's very simple. Someone didn't want us digging any deeper. This was a warning. And I've got to admit, destroying all evidence and erasing the scene completely… it was done perfectly. Flawless, even."
Clay's voice stayed calm as he spoke. He already understood how the whole thing fit together.
Back when he and Aenys Frey—now rotting seven layers deep in the hells—were investigating the matter together, they'd run into that person once. It had all happened in a rush, and the scene they'd thrown together afterward had clearly been a sloppy job. There had to be traces left behind.
Clay had noticed something was off at the time, but hadn't shown it. There was no way those people could've known he'd already picked up on the inconsistencies. Which meant, if something like this had happened again, there could only be one explanation: they hadn't been targeting Clay at all.
In other words, that small landed knight's territory he had never managed to visit back then… there had to be something big hiding there. That was why those people moved so quickly to wipe it clean right after Clay left.
They knew Clay would figure it out eventually. Even if House Manderly didn't control the Twins, it wouldn't matter. If the young lord of House Manderly wanted to look into something, he would definitely be able to find answers.
"How interesting," Clay murmured. "Grandfather, to be able to pull this off without House Frey even noticing? That's no ordinary group. Sure, this was just a minor landed knight, but if the territory had been even a little bigger, we wouldn't be looking at the same outcome right now."
Clay remembered that his grandfather had mentioned two things he found "interesting," so he turned and asked, "All right, I've got it. I'll keep an eye on this when I have the time. But Grandfather… what was that other interesting thing you mentioned?"
The old man had expected Clay to ask. He was always going to tell him the second matter anyway, though this one was a little strange. He hadn't quite sorted his thoughts on it yet, but he began, "Clay, do you still remember that boy Robb Stark? Ah… I suppose we should be calling him King Robb now. He's got a sister."
"He's got two sisters, one older, one younger. Which one are you talking about?"
"The younger one… Arya Stark."
"Of course I remember. Met her once in Winterfell. She was a wild little thing. Oh, by the way—didn't she go missing while we were heading back north? Has she been found?"
That thought had just struck Clay all of a sudden. So the Stark family still had a little wolf running loose somewhere in the wild. And as that image crossed his mind, so did the memory of a certain man named Jaqen H'ghar.
Wait a second…
It couldn't be… right?
"She's still missing. That's actually what I wanted to tell you. When our men were taking over the land of House Frey, they reached a small village at the very southern edge. The local petty lord there told us they'd dug up some buried bodies from their fields."
"The corpses had been buried in a hurry. When the farmers were working the land, they caught the smell and uncovered them by accident. Those people were wearing armor from the Northern army… more specifically, gear marked with the sigil of the direwolf. But Robb's march south never passed through that area."
Clay immediately understood what his grandfather was getting at. The words slipped out before he could stop them: "You mean… they were part of Eddard Stark's personal guard—the ones who entered King's Landing with him?"
The old man nodded. Clay's quick thinking never failed to please him.
"Yes. Later on, we contacted some of the guards who had escaped from King's Landing and were still recovering in the Twins. Based on certain features, they confirmed the identities of the corpses. Moreover, some of them were quite certain that among the dead were those assigned to protect Arya Stark when the group split up."
Clay was stunned for a moment. Then his dark brows furrowed deeply.
As the commander who had overseen a major battlefront at the time, he knew the Northern army's deployments like the back of his hand. He remembered exactly where every unit had been.
And the spot where those remains had been discovered was far from the main battlefield. Back then, they had assumed Arya and her escort had broken north through the lines. Now it seemed they had guessed right.
But that raised another question. All the armies were positioned farther south at the time. Both sides were locked in a standoff, each trying to pressure the other to retreat. So how had these people, who had clearly escaped the battlefield, ended up dead in that spot?
"Was it the locals who did it?"
"That's what I thought at first too. But after taking a look at the small knight's forces… the sorry state they were in made it obvious they didn't have the strength to take down seasoned Northern warriors."
"Besides, if they killed them, why not loot the armor? If not for profit, what other reason would they have to kill?"
Clay understood what his grandfather was implying. It clearly hadn't been the locals. Which meant the next question was staring him in the face.
Who was behind it? And more importantly… where was Arya Stark?
People might think a little girl wasn't that important. She was young, and she held no direct claim to anything. But having her alive could be incredibly useful. Clay remembered all too well what Roose Bolton had done after taking Winterfell—this was the same kind of move.
Not a Stark. Not a Lannister. So… who could it be?
Suddenly, Clay realized there was someone he'd completely overlooked… someone key. There was also a region with almost no presence lately, yet one that held considerable power.
What had the Vale been doing all this time?
Here, on this board, if you ruled out every wrong answer, then no matter how unlikely the last one seemed, it had to be the truth.
"Grandfather, I think Arya Stark is probably in the hands of the Vale."
Clay rubbed his chin and looked toward the old lord.
The old lord didn't look surprised. He had suspected the same all along. But what he couldn't understand was the reason why.
Lysa Tully, who held the Eyrie, had locked herself behind the Bloody Gate. Yet they were family by marriage. There was no reason for her to target Arya Stark, a little girl with no threat to her.
Which was why the old man had always doubted the Vale was involved. He simply couldn't make sense of the logic behind it. But Clay knew—there was one man who could have orchestrated all of this.
He still remembered clearly how that man had played him back at Winterfell, then disappeared completely from his view afterward. And now, sure enough, all of this mess probably traced back to him.
Sansa, Arya—Clay had no doubt what his real goal was. That one phrase summed it all up.
"Chaos is a ladder."
That was the man's truth.
Clay's thoughts circled back to the burned landed knight and the smoothed-over ruins. Something told him the Vale had its fingerprints all over this. If that were true, then the man behind the scenes had a far stronger grip on the Vale than Clay had expected.
And… that was not good news.
Right now, the Vale was completely shut off from the North. Clay and his people had no idea what their plans were.
And… that was dangerous.
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[Chapter End's]
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