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"Ser… why me? For something like this, you could easily find someone else."
Clay frowned, his expression filled with doubt. He had already made himself perfectly clear—continuing to feign ignorance would be pointless. Yet, what truly puzzled him was why Aenys Frey had singled him out. This was not something that could simply be broadcasted to multiple people—such an act would be pure suicide.
"Because you—and House Manderly behind you—have what I need. And that is gold dragons. Once I become the Lord of House Frey, I will require a vast amount of gold to pacify those unruly lords. At the same time, the backing of House Manderly will greatly ease the burden on my shoulders."
Aenys Frey, who had just moments ago revealed a glimpse of his ruthless nature, swiftly concealed it, his expression shifting back to its usual emotionless, corpse-like visage. He reached into his pocket, took out a gold dragon coin, and casually tossed it to Clay.
"Gold dragons. You want the Manderly family's wealth, and you also expect me to have one of my elder or younger sisters marry your grandson. In return, you want us to support you in committing patricide and fratricide—slaughtering your own father and brothers. Tell me, then, what does House Manderly gain from all this?"
The situation was clear as day. The Manderly family was being asked to invest a great deal, risking not only their wealth but also their reputation. Should this plot be exposed, their family name would be dragged through the mud. With such high risks, there needed to be an equally satisfying return.
Aenys Frey wanted House Manderly to step forward and use its wealth and influence to stabilize the situation after his patricide. Naturally, Clay was determined to secure a lucrative deal. And besides, he was genuinely curious—wasn't the Twins already quite wealthy? While White Harbor certainly had more gold dragons than the Twins, after reaching a certain threshold, wealth became little more than numbers on parchment.
He knew he had to bring the discussion back to this point—this was not just a matter between him and Clay; it was a negotiation between House Manderly and House Frey. That was, of course, if Aenys Frey could truly speak on behalf of his house.
Beyond the flickering flames of the bonfire, Aenys Frey raised three fingers and spoke with great solemnity:
"First, your sister—whichever one you choose—will marry my future heir, Robert Frey. I assure you, their descendants will one day rule over all of House Frey."
"Second, should my plan succeed, the Twins will permanently waive any tolls and taxes on House Manderly's trade routes—for as long as I live. You understand what an immense fortune that represents."
"Third, in the event of war, House Frey will unconditionally stand with House Manderly, no matter if your enemies come from the south, the north, the east, or the west."
Upon hearing Aenys Frey's offer, Clay couldn't help but sneer inwardly. Good gods, this was nothing short of a daylight robbery, except he wasn't even using a weapon.
Let's examine the first condition. On the surface, it seemed as if House Manderly's bloodline would be merging with House Frey's ruling line—if Aenys Frey's plan actually succeeded.
But let's be honest—if the Manderlys were going to send a daughter into House Frey, wouldn't it be to marry the direct heir? What, would she be wed to some obscure cadet branch instead? White Harbor was the fifth-largest city in Westeros, boasting a population exceeding 200,000.
There was a reason Clay's status as heir was so coveted—it was directly tied to the sheer power and influence of White Harbor. Yet Aenys Frey was acting as if marrying his heir was some great privilege, as if House Manderly should feel honored by such a proposal. It was utter nonsense.
Now, the second condition—this one at least had some merit. House Frey had controlled the Twins for generations, and while their toll collections might not match White Harbor's vast trade profits, they still amassed an intimidating amount of wealth.
If toll exemptions were granted to White Harbor's merchants, the savings would be considerable. But again, this was nothing more than an empty promise.
First, Aenys Frey was already over fifty years old—he would never live to see his father's age. Even if he were extraordinarily lucky, White Harbor would enjoy, at most, twenty years of tax relief.
Second, White Harbor had no real control over this promise. At any moment, Aenys Frey could simply change his mind and start collecting tolls again. And what could White Harbor do about it? Raise an army? On what grounds? They couldn't exactly say, "We made a secret deal with a patricidal traitor, and now he's going back on his word!"
In short, this so-called tax exemption was a mirage—whether or not House Manderly could ever benefit from it depended entirely on House Frey's whims.
And as for the third condition… expecting House Frey to honor a military alliance was more absurd than imagining Robert Baratheon kissing Daenerys Targaryen's feet. The idea that Clay could count on the Twins for support in a real war? He'd sooner believe in fairy tales.
On the surface, Aenys Frey's conditions seemed generous—House Manderly need only sacrifice a daughter with no inheritance rights, and in return, they would supposedly save a fortune in taxes and gain a powerful ally in war. What a wonderful deal…
If not for the circumstances, Clay would have loved to plant his boot directly onto Aenys Frey's face and tell him, "You're very good at making offers. Don't make another one."
Initially, he was tempted to rise from his seat and end this meaningless negotiation on the spot. But after a brief moment of thought, he restrained himself.
"Ser, may I hear exactly how you plan to… execute this scheme of yours? How, in your boundless mercy, do you intend to send your family to meet the Seven?"
According to the ancient laws of Westeros, patricide—regardless of circumstances—was an unforgivable crime. At worst, the perpetrator could be executed on the spot; at best, they would live out their days under a cloud of shame.
Take Ser Jaime Lannister, for instance. Though he had slain the Mad King, Aerys II, his reputation had never recovered. As a Kingsguard knight, his duty was to protect his liege, yet he had driven a sword through his heart beneath the Iron Throne. Even though he had sided with the victorious faction, that hadn't stopped the world from branding him Kingslayer.
For a man like Aenys Frey, who was scheming to murder his own kin, there was no need for Clay to mince words. A proper Westerosi response demanded nothing less than disdain and mockery.
And indeed, Aenys Frey was likely thicker-skinned than the Wall itself. He didn't catch the sarcasm in Clay's words at all. His expression remained serious as he spoke in a low, measured tone:
"Lord Clay, as you know, I have several maesters under my influence within our household. Furthermore, my father… spends most of his days in a near-constant haze, much as he did before we left the Twins."
"He sleeps too much. The only person he trusts is his old steward. But let me tell you something—this steward's only grandson has taken a liking to my granddaughter. And when the time comes, I can ensure that he stands with me. After all, if the old man dies, Stevron won't spare him."
"As if you would spare him," Clay sneered.
"Perhaps not," Aenys Frey chuckled darkly before continuing. "My father will pass away suddenly during a feast with Stevron. The blame? Besides the Seven, only my dear elder brother will bear it. I will execute him as a kinslayer."
"I must remind you—assuming everything goes as planned, your second brother would still be next in line for succession. You are, after all, only the third son."
But Aenys Frey's cold smile remained unchanged. He shook his head and said flatly:
"My poor second brother married a Lannister woman. He is not even in the Twins. By the time all is said and done, I will be the Lord of the Crossing. And tell me, do you think Lord Hoster Tully would ever allow a man draped in lion pelts to rule the Twins?"
"Besides, even if he did come home, the roads have become quite dangerous of late. Bandits, you see. And accidents… well, accidents happen. After all, the lords of the Riverlands would very much like to see such an accident occur."
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[Chapter End's]
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