House Frey
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"This is the intelligence report on the members of House Frey. Before your return, I had already instructed the White Sea Guard to gather this information."
The old man pulled a small booklet from his desk and tossed it in front of Clay. As Clay picked it up, the old man added,
"The former commander of the White Sea Guard must also meet with you before you set out for the Twins. He needs to officially hand over control of the White Sea Guard to you before your departure."
Clay merely nodded; he couldn't make any other gesture. Deep down, however, he was quite curious about this mysterious White Sea intelligence agency and just how powerful it truly was.
Opening the booklet, which was bound in leather, Clay flipped to the first page and was immediately greeted by a highly detailed portrait. Below the portrait, the name of the subject was clearly written: Walder Frey.
It was the face of an old man—bald, with loose, sagging skin. Clay couldn't help but think that he bore a striking resemblance to a weasel.
[P.S: Nah, It's far too cute compared to this son of a bitch old man.]
Turning to the second page, he found a list of notes detailing Lord Walder Frey's personality and things to be mindful of. For instance, the report highlighted that he was a vengeful man with a strong sense of retribution, someone who deeply resented being called "The Late Lord Frey."
Additionally, it also mentioned his insatiable appetite for women. When Clay had just returned to Westeros, Walder Frey had taken his eighth wife. The report advised that female members of the family should avoid being alone with the lord, or better yet, avoid visiting the Twins altogether.
Furthermore, the intelligence stated that Lord Walder Frey exercised an iron grip over his household. Dissent was nearly nonexistent within House Frey, which meant that when dealing with them, one need only concern themselves with the lord's opinion—the views of his children held little weight.
The report continued for several more pages, and as Clay read through it, a vivid image of a humorless, unamused old lecher in a shadowy castle began to take shape. It made him truly appreciate the value of intelligence work.
In the room, only Clay and the old man remained. Aside from the crackling fire in the hearth, the only sounds were the rustle of pages turning and the steady thumping of the old man drinking.
A significant portion of the report focused on Lord Walder Frey himself, but the rest detailed information about seven or eight of his many offspring. This was hardly surprising—after all, the old lecher had eight wives, twenty-two legitimate sons, and seven legitimate daughters, not to mention a horde of bastards who didn't bear the Frey name.
Most of these children had long since fallen out of Walder Frey's favor and were no longer relevant to the core power structure of the Frey family, making them largely unworthy of attention.
However, there was one rather amusing section: the report listed three potential marriage candidates Walder Frey was likely to offer to Clay. The funny part? Two of them shared the exact same name—Walda Frey.
If a man bore that name, he would be called Walder Frey—which only made Clay all the more exasperated.
The first Walda Frey was the great-granddaughter of Stevron Frey, Walder Frey's eldest son. She was only eight years old, but for nobles, age was never a concern. The marriage could be arranged now, and once she reached womanhood, she would be sent over to be wed.
The second Walda Frey was the daughter of Walton Frey, Stevron's third son. At eighteen years old and still a virgin, she was known as "Fair Walda," and according to the intelligence, she was the most likely candidate for a match.
The third candidate was Marianne Vance, who held a similar position to "Fair Walda" within the Frey household. However, since her mother, Magna Frey, had married into House Vance, Marianne had lost the Frey name.
The booklet provided brief character descriptions of these three women, but Clay did not find them particularly revealing. Besides, to be completely honest, he wasn't all that interested.
Time passed quickly. By the time Clay put down the booklet, nearly an hour had gone by. The old man had waited patiently for him to finish, and in that time, the number of empty bottles on the table had increased from one to two.
"Finished reading? Anything you'd like to say?" the old man asked with a smile.
Clay shook his head, offering only a casual remark, "Our intelligence network in White Harbor is truly impressive."
The old man savored the term "intelligence network," a phrase that felt rather novel to him. Understanding Clay's meaning, he nodded proudly and said,
"Of course. This is the strength that House Manderly has cultivated for over a century. Gathering this kind of information is hardly difficult."
"It's certainly remarkable," Clay agreed once more.
"When you take over, you'll find that the White Sea Guard is even more extensive than you imagine. But to command them, you'll need this..."
The old man reached into his coat pocket and produced a gleaming golden dragon coin. This coin, minted during the previous Targaryen dynasty, still gleamed in the sunlight, unmarred by wear, as though untouched by time.
"Our White Sea Guard operates primarily in the Northern Riverlands, the Westerlands, and King's Landing. Further south, they are of little use—after all, White Harbor men struggle to blend in and don't adapt well to life there, and the cost of maintaining cover is simply too high."
"Couldn't we just recruit locals?" Clay suggested.
"Absolutely not," the old man snorted, as though the idea were beneath him. "This is a shadowy organization. If we start recruiting locals, we'd have spies from other factions infiltrating us within two days."
"Enough talk. Go make your preparations. I've already written the letter on your behalf—you'll set out for the Twins in five days. I've fabricated a reason for your visit, so just follow that explanation when the time comes."
Five days—Clay found the timeline reasonable. His Witcher army plan had only just begun, and the caravans the old man had sent to purchase materials, along with the decoy trading expeditions meant to obscure their true purpose, had only just finalized their routes. There was no point in rushing.
However, another matter crossed Clay's mind. The Three-Eyed Raven had promised to have Hodor, a stable boy from Winterfell, deliver the dragon egg to him soon. If he left for the Twins now, would that mean breaking his promise to the Raven?
Clay didn't fully trust the Three-Eyed Raven. The old being had likely been spouting nonsense, but what if he wasn't? What if there was more to him than Clay could see? He couldn't predict what secrets this eerie, detached observer of the North had hidden away.
What exactly was the not-quite-human, not-quite-ghostly Three-Eyed Raven plotting? Clay had no clue. But for now, since the Raven had granted him access to the power of the Weirwoods, there was no need to openly oppose him—at least for the time being.
Still, deep in his heart, Clay couldn't shake the feeling that anyone with omniscient vision, capable of peering into others' lives at will, should be eliminated as soon as possible. Or, at the very least, that ability should belong to him instead. The idea of constantly being under the Raven's unseen gaze unsettled him—a feeling of being trapped, like an insect pinned to a board for study, unable to move.
With that, their conversation concluded. The old man yawned, and Clay bid him farewell before leaving the room.
By now, it was midday, and he was ready to enjoy a good meal. After all, there was much to do in the afternoon.
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(By the way, when I watched the show, I didn't think much of it. But after actually researching House Frey, I was stunned. Walder Frey was practically a man on a mission to create an entire new species! His actions were truly outrageous.)
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[Chapter End's]
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