Nothing Is Harder Than Making a Choice

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So, Juven's younger brother was a spy? No wonder Juven had chosen to approach him in the dead of night. Clay found himself intrigued by the unfolding matter.

Although the White Sea Guard had repeatedly reassured him that White Harbor was relatively clean and secure, claiming that any southern spies hiding in the city had already been uncovered and thrown into the dungeons beneath the Wolf's Den, only to be dragged out later and strung up from a tree, Clay had always remained silent in the face of such assertions. He had never expressed agreement or disagreement. In his view, the southern lords were no fools, and White Harbor, even in the past, had never been a place so small or insignificant as to escape their notice.

And now, with White Harbor standing at the heart of House Manderly's dominion, stretching across both the North and the Riverlands, it would be more surprising if no one had tried to infiltrate the city.

What he had not expected was that after just a single day back in White Harbor, he would hear whispers of a southern spy coming directly from Juven's mouth—a man who, as a guard, had free access to the Sea God's Tower.

"Tell me," Clay said calmly, his voice steady as he looked Juven in the eye, "how exactly did you confirm that your brother is a spy for the South? This is no small accusation. If true, it's enough to have him hauled out and beheaded without even a chance to confess."

The expression on Clay's face grew solemn as he laid bare the consequences. He had to make sure Juven understood the weight of what he had just revealed. As a lord, it was his duty to be clear and honest, no matter how harsh the truth.

"I understand, my lord," Juven replied. "My brother, Elric... he's tall and strong, and his swordsmanship isn't half bad. When you led the army south, both he and I were summoned. You know how things are in White Harbor—no one dares refuse a lord's call to arms. If they do, they can forget about making a life here."

Clay gave a small nod. That was indeed the way of things, not just in White Harbor, but across all of the North. When the lord calls, every able-bodied man must answer. Unless you were crippled or so old you could no longer walk, refusing the summons would earn you nothing but contempt.

"Elric was drafted as a foot soldier," Juven continued. "He marched south with Lord Robb to face Lord Tywin's forces. But blades on the battlefield do not care who they cut. When I returned, he had already lost both his legs. He was lying in bed, completely helpless, and the neighbors had been the ones looking after him."

He paused, swallowing hard. "While I was helping tidy up his things, I happened to lift a filthy old rug. That was when I discovered the basement underneath. Inside... I found some things."

He hesitated, his breath quickening. "There was a key, exactly the same as the one I wear on my belt—the key that grants access to the Sea God's Tower. And there was also a chest. Inside... were documents. Intelligence. Detailed notes about you, my lord, and various members of House Manderly."

"I never used to touch his belongings," Juven admitted, his voice heavy. "If it hadn't been for the fact that I was taking care of him this time and happened to clean up for him, I would never have discovered any of it. He... he must have been doing this for a very long time."

As the final words left his lips, Juven exhaled deeply, as though a great weight had been lifted from his chest. Finally speaking it aloud brought a strange sense of relief, even though the man in question was his own brother.

Clay fell silent, lost in thought. Something about this felt far more complicated than it appeared on the surface. He asked, his tone probing,

"Juven, does your brother Elric live with you?"

"No," Juven shook his head. "We split households a long time ago. He's... difficult. We can't even hold a proper conversation without getting into a fight. Most of the time it turns into a heated argument about which is better, the North or the South. He's always yearned for the southern lifestyle."

There was a flicker of sorrow in his eyes as he spoke. In the past, he had never understood why his brother had been so stubborn, so enamored with the South. Now, looking back, it all made sense. His brother's heart had long since abandoned the North.

"Very well," Clay said slowly. "Let's assume what you say is true, that your brother Elric truly is a spy for the South. Then two questions immediately arise. First, why would he do this? Who gave him the order? And second, how did he manage to transmit the information?"

The first question, Clay knew, could not be answered for now. Only Elric himself might hold the key to that mystery. But the second question... that was something Clay could venture a guess at.

Given the abysmal state of transportation and communication, especially over the vast distance between the North and the South, there was only one method of long-range message delivery that remained even remotely viable. Ravens. Aside from ravens, there was no other way.

But then another issue emerged. In all of White Harbor, who had the ability to use ravens effectively? Other than the old lord himself, who held personal authority over the ravens, who else had such access?

A figure emerged in Clay's mind. He saw the image of a man in a gray robe, his neck adorned with a jingling chain of links. Yes, it had to be him. But what puzzled Clay was how this man had managed to carry out such a scheme under everyone's nose.

If it truly was him, then Elric certainly could not have acted alone. How much could one man learn on his own?

Clay felt a trace of regret. Back when he had been in the Sea God's Tower, why hadn't he struck that golden-haired, blue-eyed maester with an Axii sign? Who knows what he might have uncovered then?

This was getting interesting. He had only just returned, and already he had stumbled upon a matter this grave. Clay was now intensely curious. Who had dared drive such a deep nail into his territory?

Though the man in question might bore the name Lannister, that did not necessarily mean he was reporting back to the Lannisters. The question of who was truly behind him—that was the part Clay found most fascinating.

And he was about to leave soon. This issue had to be resolved before his departure. If word of his absence leaked while the old lord was still away from White Harbor, House Manderly would find itself standing in a perilously vulnerable position.

He gazed at the towering walls of White Harbor. That thick, pale wall, so strong it could hold back a full-scale assault from ten thousand men, yet it offered no protection against infiltration from all sides, no defense against those with ulterior motives who slipped in like shadows.

Once again, Clay felt that this wall could no longer give him any sense of safety. He thought of the Red Keep in King's Landing, of the web of tunnels crisscrossing beneath it, spun by the many-legged spider who lurked in its depths.

Even the king of a realm, in the privacy of his chambers, while whispering tender words to his queen, could have his every murmur overheard through a mere sliver of wall. Was that not a chilling thought?

If such things could happen in King's Landing, what hope could there be that other places were any more secure, that they were truly impenetrable?

When Clay posed his question, Juven's answer came with great pain. To be honest, he had assumed that mysterious box might hold a bachelor's love letters, written in longing for some fair maiden. But when he saw what was actually inside, he had nearly wished he had never laid eyes upon those papers, never opened that wretched chest at all.

Yet as a senior guard in service to the Manderly family, he could not turn away. Though he hesitated long and hard, he could not accept remaining in the dark. His younger brother's actions were a betrayal not just to White Harbor, but to the Manderly name itself—and to his young lord, Clay.

He had no idea whom to confide in. That day passed in what felt like the longest afternoon of his life. By evening, he could not even stomach a single bite of food. Only when the dead of night arrived, when all was silent and still, did he summon the courage to seek out Lord Clay within the Sea God's Tower.

He could not face his brother. Nor did he know how. So he handed the decision to Clay. Whatever the young lord chose, he would abide by it. That way, perhaps the weight in his heart could be made a little lighter.

"My lord… I truly don't know. He's already crippled. As for whom he might have been in contact with before, I never asked. He doesn't even know yet that I've uncovered what he's done."

Juven shook his head bitterly. When he found that key and the box tucked away in that hidden crevice, his first reaction had been a mix of shock and panic. But the strength forged in countless battles soon helped him regain his composure. He had quietly restored everything to the way it was, pretending as if nothing had occurred.

Thus, even now, his brother Elric had no idea his secrets had been exposed. It wasn't entirely his fault. He had been conscripted in such haste that he hadn't had time to sort out the materials left behind in his home.

And besides, Elric was always the solitary type. He wasn't someone others liked to be around. No one ever visited him.

Who would have thought that the next time he returned, it would be without his legs—left behind on some distant battlefield. Now he lay in bed, staring helplessly at a ceiling blanketed with dust.

"What is it you want me to do?" Clay asked quietly. "You know, Juven. From where I stand, from the responsibilities I bear, your brother Elric must face the punishment that is due to him. You are well aware of how we Northerners view betrayal."

Clay looked into Juven's eyes. Those eyes that darted away from his gaze held pain, yes, and anger, and sorrow—but more than anything, they reflected a deep, inescapable helplessness. Clay saw that clearly.

"My lord," Juven pleaded softly, "I only ask that you grant Elric a shred of dignity. No matter what he may have done, at the very least, he gave his two legs on the battlefield for the North..."

Clay raised a hand, halting the words Juven had yet to speak. He already understood what the older brother was going to say next. The fact that Juven had come to him tonight meant that he had already made up his mind.

He would say that once Elric had confessed everything he knew, Juven himself would escort him to the arms of the Seven, to offer him a clean death. He would not allow himself to overlook his brother's past treachery.

Yet he was still Elric's brother. He wished for his younger sibling to depart from this world with the honor of a warrior, with dignity—not as a traitor, despised by all and abandoned to the wilderness, where scavengers would feast upon his remains.

And in that moment, Clay suddenly understood why Eddard Stark had always held honor in such high regard. It turned out that this wasn't merely a personal belief of one man, but rather a widespread value deeply rooted across the entirety of the North. Here, many people regarded their personal honor, as well as that of their family or kin, as something sacred, something that could not be compromised under any circumstance.

Take today's situation for instance. Juven had come to him, risking much to report his own brother. If their roles had been reversed, Clay knew he would never have done the same. In his view, family always mattered more than some intangible notion of honor.

Nonetheless, no matter how he felt about it, he owed Juven his thanks for this discovery. The old lord had long been looking for a reason to deal with the Lannister who dwelled right under their noses, and now, this incident gave him the perfect excuse.

Even so, Clay understood that he could not handle this matter with Elric in a heavy-handed fashion. He couldn't simply storm into his chambers, drag him from bed, and subject him to a public trail, forcing him to confess to conspiring with southern forces. If he handled things that way, Juven would likely most leave White Harbor forever, carrying nothing but hatred in his heart.

"I understand what you're trying to say," Clay said, his tone composed yet cold. "But from this moment forward, speak of this to no one. As for your brother Elric, you need not take any further action on your own. By the way, when exactly is your wedding scheduled with your fiancée?"

Juven parted his lips slightly, clearly caught off guard by the abrupt shift in topic. He stammered out a dry response.

"My lord, everything was already arranged. As soon as I returned, we were supposed to be married. But with this matter coming up so suddenly, I don't even know how to explain it to Mana anymore."

"You don't need to say anything. The wedding will proceed as planned. I'm giving you one day to prepare. Submit the finalized arrangements to me. The day after tomorrow, I will personally officiate your wedding. And while I'm at it, I'll also take the opportunity to meet your witless, ill-fated brother."

"My lord, I..."

"This is my decision. You simply need to follow it. Whether Elric ends up with a fate that brings good to everyone involved depends entirely on how he conducts himself. Be cautious, Juven. I am truly grateful that you came forward today and told me all of this, but let me remind you, just the fact that the Sea God' Tower's key was secretly copied under your watch is enough to warrant a beheading, no matter how many heads you have."

Juven stood frozen in place. Throughout this entire afternoon, he had been torn between his sense of justice and the responsibilities he bore for his younger brother. In this fierce internal struggle, he had completely forgotten that he himself bore significant responsibility in all of this.

After a long pause, he finally replied, his voice hollow and drained of all vitality.

"I understand, Lord Clay."

He no longer addressed him as "young lord."

"You may go now, Guard Juven."

Clay's voice remained indifferent, as if he had not just laid out a plan to interrogate a man during his own brother's wedding banquet. He acted as though it had nothing to do with him at all.

His hand, which had been still for a moment, resumed its rhythmic tapping upon the armrest. Clay knew very well that what he was doing might appear heartless and unfeeling. Yet he also understood that he had no choice.

Who could say what information Elric might have stolen from the family using that duplicated key from Juven? To put it bluntly, if this had happened under any other lord, both Juven and his brother would have been hanged on the spot with no chance of escape. The fact that Clay allowed Juven to walk away and reserved the matter for personal handling was already an act of mercy.

But Clay's mercy extended no further than that. He was a nobleman, the heir of House Manderly, and he had no surplus of kindness to bestow upon a mere guard. Even if that guard had just proven his loyalty.

Clay had no time to spare for their affairs. He had once promised to be their wedding witness, and he would fulfill that promise. But beyond that, they were no longer his concern.

There were more pressing matters awaiting his attention. He needed to issue new orders to the White Sea Guard, complete the transfer of his military command, and make arrangements for his witcher squad during his upcoming absence.

As for the spy, once he placed a Axii sign upon him, everything would be revealed. After that, Elric would have no value to him whatsoever.

A crippled man who had lost the ability to walk in the chaos of war, and with it all physical strength, could no longer carry out any so-called espionage. Whether such a man lived or died held no importance to Clay. What mattered was the intricate web behind him. Clay would pull it out by its roots and leave no trace behind. That was how he operated.

He would resolve both matters during the wedding banquet—serve as Juven's wedding witness and deal with Elric. He had no time to run back and forth to the home of an ordinary guard stationed near the harbor.

After that, he would pay a cordial greeting to Maester Theomore, who had always acted so timid and tight-lipped. Clay intended to find out exactly what tricks that old man had been playing behind his back.

For the first time, Clay truly felt the danger of the saying: knowledge has no allegiance, but a maester certainly does. A dangerous thought had begun to take root in his heart—the idea of abolishing the maester system entirely.

To allow such people unfettered access into the inner sanctums of noble households, entrusting them with matters of life and death, as well as the sending and receiving of private correspondence—no matter how many of them might adhere strictly to their vows, there would always be those who did not. And as a noble, there was no way for him to know which were which.

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This sequence would soon come to an end. After all, it would hardly be appropriate for him to simply do nothing and then ride off on a dragon without resolving anything first. For that, he will need to cut down a certain maester here—that's essential.

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