Please Don’t Micromanage

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As the saying goes, men lie through their teeth—but women like this… well, as long as you've got coins, they'll still cough up something useful.

"So, right now all the armies in the Riverlands are gathered near Riverrun?"

"Of course," the woman replied, her tone carrying a touch of pride. "That's what the men in town are saying. The kings down south are too busy beating each other bloody in King's Landing to bother with whatever's going on up here in the Riverlands. So Lord Edmure gave the order to summon everyone at Riverrun."

The woman was full-figured and clearly quite pleased with herself. Men loved to talk about war and fighting, and whatever she'd managed to pick up was all thanks to listening in on their drunken chatter.

But Clay, hearing this news, only frowned. What the hell was the so-called God of War of the Riverlands up to now? Since your name is not Napoleone—so stop micromanaging like one. When he left the Riverlands, he'd specifically made a point of keeping a garrison at Harrenhal, the southern gate. And now you've just… abandoned it?

Harrenhal didn't have enough troops to hold for long. Any army coming from the south—if it moved fast enough—could ram straight through, punch deep into the Riverlands, and seize every castle east of Riverrun in one decisive stroke.

Lucky for them, the troops of the other three kings were still locked in a stalemate near King's Landing. Otherwise, the Riverlands' defenses, at least in Clay's eyes, looked about as sturdy as a pair of black stockings from his memory—nothing but an invitation to be torn open.

Clay only half-believed the woman. He couldn't imagine Edmure's advisors failing to spot such a stupid move. Foolishness wasn't contagious, was it? Surely Riverrun couldn't be entirely staffed by idiots.

Either way, he had better head back to the Twins first. The troops of House Manderly belonged to the Northern military structure and technically weren't included in Riverrun's levies. He would speak with the old man and see how things stood from there.

And if Edmure Tully really was this incompetent… then there was no way Clay was letting him lead troops into battle this time.

As for Robb Stark, whatever excuse he gave, the truth was plain enough. He had already stuck the crown of the King in the North on his own head. And crowns weren't tigers; it wasn't like there could only be one king in a mountain. Even so, having two in the same realm? Sooner or later, something had to give.

Even if the banner they marched under said they were declaring war on House Lannister, there was only one throne to claim. Thinking Stannis and Renly would just recognize Robb Stark as King in the North without bloodshed? Not a chance.

Clay was absolutely sure Robb had no real desire to sit the Iron Throne. He knew that boy well enough to know—deep down, Robb just wanted to keep to his Northern lands in peace, without anyone bothering him.

But this time, he'd probably been pushed too far into a corner. Add in the impulsiveness of youth and the temptation of a crown—it was no surprise he'd ended up calling himself King in the North.

That said, it wasn't the worst move. But for Robb Stark, the best timing definitely wasn't now. Ideally, he should've marched south, helped crush the Lannisters, then let the Baratheon brothers rip each other apart. Once the dust settled, he could've used the strength of the North and the Riverlands to demand the best possible deal… then turn on them, if necessary.

Still, Clay wasn't about to spell any of that out to Robb. The Manderly family was fated to break away from the Northern lordly structure sooner or later. And the stronger that structure remained, the harder it would be for House Manderly to escape it. That didn't serve Clay's interests at all.

After all, wasn't his last name Manderly, too?

He listened patiently as the woman spilled everything she knew about the Riverlands, her words tumbling out like beans from a bamboo tube. When she finally finished, Clay gave a small nod. He'd already eaten—not that he expected a little town like this to offer anything resembling real delicacies.

He just needed something to fill his stomach. Tomorrow, he'd be heading north again.

He rose from his seat and began walking toward the room he'd rented upstairs. He didn't stop the woman who followed after him, her eyes glittering as they roamed over his body.

He had no intention of giving her what she wanted, but slamming the door in her face would only raise suspicious eyebrows. After all, what kind of hot-blooded young man hires a decently shaped woman, then spends the entire night asking half-baked questions without laying a hand on her? That would definitely get people talking.

So, under the envious and regretful gazes of the tavern's drunkards, the woman followed Clay up to his room. No one tried to eavesdrop through the walls. In their experience, anyone wandering alone with a sword at their hip was someone best left alone. These smallfolk had survival instincts; they weren't about to die over curiosity.

The moment they stepped into the room, the woman shut the door behind her and locked it. She was just about to flash what she thought was her most seductive smile, ready to show this mysterious guest what it meant to be a seasoned professional—when she saw the young man raise his hand.

A flash of emerald-green runes shimmered in the air.

And then, the room fell completely silent.

Drawing on his experience with Daenerys, Clay painted a dream in the woman's mind—a beautiful, unforgettable night woven from sweet illusions. Of course, all of it existed only inside her sleep…

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Before dawn the next morning, Clay had already left Saltpans behind. He needed to reach Twins as quickly as possible. The way he'd thrown coins around so freely was bound to attract a few brainless, greedy eyes.

If he waited too long, someone was bound to get ideas. Not that Clay feared trouble—he just didn't have the time to deal with it right now.

He rode hard along the best stretch of road in the kingdom—the Kingsroad—heading north. Along the way, he passed several marching bands of troops, most belonging to minor houses. They were likely making for Lord Harroway's Town first, then taking the River Road west toward Riverrun.

Now that the worst of the fighting had passed, the kingdom's main thoroughfare was beginning to come alive again. In addition to soldiers, there were even a few merchants and caravans moving back and forth. There was an unspoken rule among the noble lords of the Seven Kingdoms: as long as you weren't transporting anything that could directly supply the enemy, generally, neither side would interfere with your goods.

Everyone understood. Westeros wasn't that big. No matter who won in the end, the realm wouldn't splinter completely. Eventually, they'd still have to sit down and trade. If you burned all your bridges now, things would only get harder later.

Once Clay passed the middle stretch of the Mountains of the Moon, those scattered forces disappeared altogether. That was because, from here on, he had entered Manderly territory.

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Four days later, Clay reached the Twins, and the castle was packed to the brim with soldiers.

The old lord had redeployed some of the family's household guards here, and among them were a few who had seen Clay before. That saved him the trouble of having to prove who he was.

Escorted by a cluster of family retainers, Clay made his way to the western keep of the castle. That was where the old man lived now. Why not the eastern one?

Well, you'd have to ask Clay why he'd been so rough with it the last time. The entire original lord's tower had been scorched straight down the middle, and after a few bouts of rain, half of it had just collapsed.

Experts had come and taken a look, and every one of them agreed there was no saving it. Might as well tear it down and build a new one from scratch.

But now, all the family's funds had been diverted into military buildup—thanks to a certain someone—so there was no money left for new construction. And so, the ruined tower remained just like that, left to crumble, with no one allowed to live anywhere nearby. If it fell… well, they'd deal with it then.

Word of Clay's return spread through the Twins like a gust of wind. Everyone had known the young lord had gone off to Essos to open up new trade routes for his house, but now, with war officially upon them, every veteran soldier understood just how important a good commander was on the battlefield.

Clay's arrival was like a stabilizing anchor for the veterans already assembled. As for those fresh recruits who didn't yet know the man's history, the older soldiers were already spinning tales of Clay's battlefield heroics.

"You rascal," the old man said, barely holding back his excitement as he greeted him in front of everyone. "You've been gone for several months. So? Did you get it done?"

Everyone thought he was asking about the trade routes, but only Clay and the old lord understood what he really meant.

"Yeah," Clay replied with a calm smile. "Everything went smoothly. The one we wanted is already in Westeros. Once this damned war settles down and the timing's right, the Manderly family is going to rise to a whole new level."

Cheers erupted from the crowd. Everyone praised Clay for the new benefits he was bringing to the family.

Only the old man stood still, frozen in thought.

The news about Daenerys being crowned in Dorne hadn't yet reached Twins.

So what Clay meant was... he had actually brought the last Targaryen back to Westeros?

Where?

The old lord's mind suddenly spiraled into a tangled, chaotic mess…

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[Chapter End's]

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