Behind the Wedding

Read 20+ Chapter's Ahead in Patreon

Although he did not fully understand Clay's reasoning, Ser Marlon ultimately decided to accept all of Clay's requests without resistance. After all, Lord Wyman had done something similar in the past, though not with the same boldness or urgency.

In truth, under Lord Wyman's leadership, White Harbor had been steadily expanding its fleet. During the tenure of the previous Lord Manderly, the harbor had barely possessed a handful of small skiffs and three or four decrepit old ships barely held together.

But now, the White Harbor Fleet boasted more than twenty warships. This was the fruit of Lord Wyman's tireless efforts over the years, though he had kept these actions low-key, never openly announcing his ambitions.

Ser Marlon, with his years of loyal service to House Manderly, could faintly sense that the head of the family and his heir might be orchestrating something far grander behind the scenes. And as an old knight who had devoted his life to the family, he would never allow himself to become an obstacle to their plans.

Having given his final instructions to Ser Marlon, Clay considered his pre-departure preparations complete. Now, only one final matter remained: attending a wedding that was far from joyous and dealing with a few unwelcome individuals...

That evening, Juven once again visited the Tower of the Sea God to deliver the detailed arrangements for the wedding to be held the next day. As a noble lord, Clay's act of serving as the officiant for a commoner's wedding was a gesture of extraordinary honor and had to be meticulously planned in advance.

Juven and his younger brother, Elric, were deeply entangled in this matter. However, Juven's new bride, Mana, was entirely uninvolved. Clay understood Juven's intention clearly—no matter what, he did not want Mana to learn the truth about what had happened.

In this kind of matter, one must defer to the wishes of the host. Clay naturally agreed. Besides, even if the truth were revealed to the poor woman, what purpose would it serve? It would only add to her burdens, and they were not even his to bear.

At dawn the next morning, Clay mounted his steed and, accompanied by his guards, rode straight toward the godswood beyond the Wolf's Den. This secluded grove of sacred trees, far from the city and seldom visited, had become the chosen place of oath for the couple devoted to the Old Gods.

Clay had already issued a command: as soon as Juven and his bride departed their home, Elric was to be placed under close watch. Clay would not allow any mishap to mar this final step of his plan.

Upon arrival, he found that Juven and a small gathering of family and friends from the bride's side—barely a dozen in all—had already assembled beneath the heart tree at the center of the godswood. It was the same tree under which Clay had once spoken with the Three-Eyed Raven and received the wooden box that contained Gaelithox. They now stood in quiet anticipation, awaiting the arrival of their lord.

For Mana, the entire experience still felt like an impossible dream. As a woman of humble origin, she could scarcely believe that, at her wedding, she would have the future lord of the family, the Northern hero Clay Manderly himself, presiding over the ceremony.

When she had first heard the news from her betrothed, she had struggled to believe it, her emotions caught in a whirlwind, as though her feet no longer touched the ground. Even as she entered the godswood, her heart remained in a state of constant anxiety, plagued by the fear that Clay might not appear after all.

Only when the sound of hooves pierced the air, reaching the ears of all present, and that tall, broad-shouldered figure clad in noble garments came into view did Mana finally feel her heart settle with relief.

To speak plainly, Clay had been in Westeros for quite some time now, yet he had never truly witnessed a complete wedding ceremony. His childhood memories of such events were vague at best, and the few banquets he remembered stood out only for their delicious food.

As such, he had little personal insight to draw upon and could only proceed according to tradition and custom. Fortunately, the couple were followers of the Old Gods, and their wedding rites were far simpler compared to those of the Faith of the Seven practiced in the South.

Dismounting from his horse, Clay was promptly greeted by Juven, who came forward at once to welcome him. His demeanor was composed, and his expression betrayed no trace of sorrow despite the troubling matter concerning his brother Elric.

Perhaps it was genuine joy. Perhaps, in this moment, all that mattered to Juven was his wedding.

Generally speaking, in recent times, the weddings of commoners had little to do with nobles. Yet a few centuries ago, the first night of a commoner bride's marriage was considered the right of the local lord—a practice known as the First Night.

This abhorrent custom persisted until the reign of King Jaehaerys I, who, moved by the counsel of his beloved queen, Alyssane, finally abolished it. Nobles cursed her name, while the common folk praised it with fervent gratitude.

Clay's presence at this ceremony was seen by the bride and groom as a supreme honor. To others, it would be taken as a sign that both the Old and the New Gods had bestowed their blessings upon this union. It was the greatest wedding gift they could ever hope for.

"My lord, thank you for coming."

Juven lowered himself in a deep bow before Clay. The guests behind him followed suit, bowing respectfully in unison. Clay stood tall and accepted their gestures with quiet poise. As a highborn noble of pure and proud lineage, he had long grown accustomed to such displays.

"A promise made is a promise kept."

Clay gave a faint smile as he looked at Juven. The latter was dressed in an embroidered blue tunic, trimmed with gold at the sleeves—a garment clearly beyond the means of an ordinary guard. It was evident this outfit had been prepared especially for the occasion.

In Westeros, few took issue with attire that might exceed one's station. As long as you were not walking around with a golden crown on your head, no one could truly stop you.

Even so, among the common folk, wearing clothes that appeared even slightly extravagant often led to trouble. It marked the wearer as someone with coin in his pocket, perhaps even a few gold dragons more than he ought to show. Such an impression drew attention, and often the wrong kind.

Today was his wedding, though. It was likely that Juven had rented the outfit from a tailor in White Harbor for this special occasion. The same went for the long white fur cloak that draped over his bride Mana's shoulders, which now served as her wedding gown.

In the southern lands, a bride might wear a gown of ivory silk for her wedding. Margaery Tyrell, for instance, had worn such a dress at her own. But in the North, where the chill of the air forbade such luxuries, such garments were not practical.

Under the gaze of the ancient heart tree, with the all-seeing eyes of the Three-Eyed Raven rooted in White Harbor watching him, Clay gave a brief speech to mark the beginning of the ceremony. Though the words held little practical meaning, the guests listened with great interest and reverence.

Mana's father, wearing a solemn expression that seemed carved from stone, stepped forward as the bride's elder and placed her hand into Juven's. Mana then draped a short cloak of dark brown wool across her shoulders. In Westerosi tradition, this was called the "maiden's cloak."

Had she been a noble daughter of a great house, the maiden's cloak would have borne the sigil of her family, perhaps a direwolf or a rose, depending on the house. But Mana was a common girl. Her cloak was plain and unadorned, nothing more than a simple piece of dark brown cloth.

To speak harshly, it was just that—a piece of cloth. If it had rested on the shoulders of any nobleborn girl, it would have brought shame to her and her house. But for Mana, it was different. She wore it with pride, her affection for it as clear as the joy in her eyes.

Standing before Clay now, the two young people glowed with anticipation, their eyes brimming with excitement. Clay let out a silent sigh and resumed his role as officiant. He spoke:

"Lady Mana, do you wish to take Juven as your husband?"

There were no flowery phrases or elaborate oaths. The North favored simplicity and honesty in all things, and this moment was no exception.

"Yes. I have chosen him."

That was Mana's reply, the classic words of a Northern bride. The moment the words left her lips, Clay's keen hearing caught the sharp exhale that came from Juven. A rush of breath, thick with relief. He had been holding it in, waiting for this very answer. Clay understood. That reaction was only natural.

"Take each other's hands. In the presence of the gods, kneel beneath the heart tree."

Juven and Mana obeyed, kneeling down upon the earth, their hands clasped tightly together. Clay proceeded to the next part of the ceremony.

"Bow your heads. Those blessed by the gods must show them humility."

"Pray now. Make your vows to each other before the gods…"

While the couple whispered their oaths, Clay's own lips moved in silence. He completed the final verse of the prayer beneath the heart tree in his heart:

"One flesh, one heart, one soul. From this day until the end of all days."

The wind swept through the grove, stirring the thousands of purplish-red leaves of the heart tree, setting them rustling like a whispered chorus. No one spoke. The godswood had fallen into a silence so profound it felt sacred. And yet, in Clay's eyes, something subtle shifted.

As Juven and Mana prayed, the faint strands of magical energy coiled around the heart tree stirred, growing more animated.

It was as if the sincerity in the newlyweds' vows had roused the old gods, breathed new strength into this long-dormant node of ancient power. A curious phenomenon indeed. Clay gazed at the scene with thoughtful eyes, his mind turning over one idea after another. He did not understand the nature of what he was witnessing, yet his thoughts churned with possibilities, countless threads of speculation flitting across his mind.

Then, a whisper rode upon a stray gust of wind, brushing softly against his ear:

"The vows of the devout possess great strength. But you, one who walks in the name of foreign god, I have never sensed true devotion within you. You must be devout. This is a gift from the world…"

The voice faded, or perhaps it drifted away with the wind once more. It no longer mattered. What mattered was the message. Clay quietly pondered the words spoken by the Three-Eyed Raven, letting them echo within his mind. Within that brief whisper might lie a sliver of truth, a glimpse into the mysteries veiled behind this world itself.

He had known that holding the ceremony here, under the heart tree, would not go unnoticed. The Three-Eyed Raven was a witness, ever watchful, silently observing everything that unfolded beneath the branches of the old gods.

The prayers concluded. The vibrant ripples of magical energy gradually faded into stillness. Juven rose to his feet, holding his wife's hand, steady and proud. Now came the final step. He would remove her "maiden's cloak" and replace it with the cloak he had prepared for her as his bride.

Although Juven served as a guard to the Manderly family and had once attended to Lord Wyman himself, he held no right to wear the Manderly family cloak. In Westeros, the rights to names and symbols were guarded with iron resolve.

But Clay had granted him the privilege of using the cloak worn by Manderly guards. Juven was, after all, still one of their household retainers, at least for the moment. As long as that remained true, he could wear the cloak. Clay would not argue the point. It was the last time, after all.

This was not cruelty or indifference. From any angle, Clay knew that as the lord of the house, he could no longer entrust someone like Juven with the protection of their inner circle. Even though Juven himself had never once known the truth of the matter.

His ignorance was his failure. And in this world, failure often meant death. Ignorance was a sin no less dangerous than betrayal. Clay had already shown him mercy by sparing his life and ensuring the leak of information never came to pass.

"For your wife, place upon her shoulders the cloak you have prepared, Juven."

Clay's voice rang through the grove with solemn clarity. These were the last words he would speak in this ceremony beneath the heart tree. What followed was no longer his responsibility.

---

With the wedding now behind him, Clay followed the joyous crowd as they made their way to Juven's home, nestled near the Fishfoot Yard. This was only a brief stop, for his true destination lay ahead—he was going to pay a visit to that man named Elric.

Clay lingered at Juven's home for a short while. During his stay, several opportunistic merchants, having caught wind of his presence, came to flatter him in hopes of currying favor. Clay dealt with them with practiced ease, offering polite yet distant responses before quietly slipping away from the gathering.

He had not summoned Juven to accompany him. There was no need to bring the brothers face to face. Letting the younger sibling discover that it was his own brother who had betrayed him—that kind of truth was far too cruel. From the standpoint of White Harbor, Juven had done nothing wrong. But from the eyes of the younger brother, this was undeniably a betrayal, a betrayal of something as sacred as kinship.

Elric's home was not far from Juven's, but it sat at the deepest end of a narrow alley. The surroundings were far from welcoming. It was not a matter of filth or sewage, but rather a heavy, disquieting air that lingered in the space, pressing against the senses with a suffocating unease.

Still, it was an excellent place to hide. For a man who lived as a spy, this neighborhood was ideal. There was nothing of value here, nothing to tempt even the most desperate thief. It was the kind of place few bothered to look at twice, which made it perfect for someone who needed to disappear.

"My lord, you've arrived. The man is inside. Our men are watching him closely. We've checked the place thoroughly—there's no danger. That bastard had no idea we were coming for him. Even now, he doesn't know what this is all about."

The lead guard standing at the door immediately stepped forward upon seeing Clay, eager to report. His tone was filled with deference, his expression a mixture of pride and anticipation. Clay gave a small nod. He did not mind when someone tried to perform before him, not if it revealed ambition. A man with ambition was far better than one who had given up completely.

"Keep your men ready. Guard the entrance well. No one is to be allowed inside. Make sure your ears are turned outward. I trust I don't need to repeat myself?"

"No need, my lord. Don't worry. None of us will hear a thing that happens inside."

"Good."

Clay cast a glance at the man, who immediately stepped aside and opened the way. Clay passed through the wide-open door and stepped into Elric's residence.

Juven had not exaggerated. The interior was a complete mess. Furniture lay toppled or crooked, and all manner of clutter filled the space. If Clay had even a hint of obsessive cleanliness or perfectionism, he might have hung Elric himself for such disorder.

Frowning, Clay stepped carefully over scattered debris and tilted chairs as he made his way toward the bedroom on the right. Though White Harbor's climate leaned toward the cold, which usually helped suppress foul odors, a strong stench of rot lingered in the air. It was likely from food left uneaten and long since spoiled.

On the bed, directly facing the doorway, lay a man. Beside him stood a guard, watchful and alert. When Clay entered, the guard immediately straightened and offered a respectful salute.

Clay waved a hand to dismiss him, a quiet gesture of acknowledgment. The guard understood without another word. He had accompanied Clay all the way south and knew well the commanding presence of his commander. Without hesitation, he turned and exited the room.

Elric, who had been lying with his eyes shut, stirred at the sound. When he opened them and saw who had entered, his entire body froze. Then, in a trembling voice, he stammered,

"M-My lord…?"

Of all the possibilities that had crossed his mind, this was the one he had never dared to imagine. That Clay Manderly himself would come to see him? That was something Elric had never thought possible. When the guards from White Harbor had dragged him out earlier, his heart had pounded in panic, though his mouth had confessed nothing. He had even tried to shout, hoping to draw the attention of nearby neighbors.

But it was clear his popularity was lacking. No one had come. And with the reputation of the White Harbor Guard behind them, no one would even dare interfere.

Now, as he looked up and saw the noble heir of the Manderly family standing before him, an overwhelming dread flooded his heart. He understood then that something was very wrong. A man like him had no reason to warrant the attention of someone like Clay—unless it was for something he had done. Something he should never have done.

Clay did not waste time with him. Without a word, he raised his left hand, and magical power began to gather at his palm.

For a man like this, he wanted only results and had no time to listen to his poor excuses.

A flash of green light shimmered in the room. The Axii Sign appeared within Elric's pupils like an ethereal imprint.

"Speak. When did you begin betraying your homeland?"

**

**

[IMAGE]

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------

[Chapter End's]

🖤 Night_FrOst/ Patreon 🤍

Visit my Patreon for Early Chapter:

https://www.patreon.com/Night_FrOst

Extra Content Already Available