Winterfell wasn't really a city; strictly speaking, it was just House Stark's military fortress.
It covered several acres, enclosed by two massive, thick walls. Clay, following the House Stark guards, passed through the East Gate as it was closing, entering the capital of The North.
Guards bearing the Direwolf emblem lit torches, slightly dispelling the darkness that permeated every inch of the air.
"Friends of House Manderly, please wait here for a moment. I'll report to Ser Rodrik, and he'll arrange suitable lodgings for you."
Clay nodded. It was already evening, and visiting Duke Stark wasn't a good idea at this hour.
The guard hurried off, and Clay and his group waited quietly in front of the main keep, only Vera, mounted on her horse, looking around.
About twenty minutes later, a short, stocky old man carrying a helmet appeared in Clay's view.
He wore a deep red cloak, a longsword hanging at his waist, and his steps were steady.
"Winterfell welcomes you." He said lightly, then introduced himself,
"I am Ser Rodrik, the master-at-arms of Winterfell. What brings you here, travelers?"
Clay dismounted, and the remaining guards and Vera followed suit. They approached Ser Rodrik. He looked at the old man who had dedicated his life to House Stark and smiled,
"Greetings, Ser. I am Clay Manderly, and this is my sister, Vera."
Ser Rodrik had actually heard Clay's name when he was born, but because Clay had always kept a low profile, and had disappeared for two years in Westeros, he didn't immediately recall who Clay was.
A branch of House Manderly? Ser Rodrik frowned. He had served House Stark for nearly fifty years and had never encountered a family branch directly requesting to meet the Duke of Winterfell.
This is against the rules.
But everyone in House Stark understood that when winter came, the lone wolf dies, but the pack survives. House Stark had no reason to refuse or drive away this strange Manderly lad before them.
"You'll have to wait until tomorrow to see the lord. Stay in Winterfell tonight, and I'll report your arrival to him in the morning," Ser Rodrik said concisely, showing no interest in further conversation as the day was ending.
Clay, being a guest, had no objections. Guards from House Stark took care of their horses and settled the escort. Clay, taking Vera, who was somewhat afraid of the dark, followed behind Ser Rodrik's not-so-imposing figure.
The night passed quickly, and the warm sunlight once again filled the ancient fortress.
Clay, who had already risen, was practicing the basic Wolf School Swordsmanship that came with his Level 1 Witcher class. He clumsily wielded a finely crafted hand-and-a-half sword, and although it was strenuous, he didn't neglect a single movement.
"You're practicing swordsmanship too?" The blade of Clay's sword, mid-swing, was stopped by a young voice from behind him.
Clay sheathed his sword and turned to face the direction of the voice.
A young man in simple clothing was standing at the entrance to the courtyard where Clay and his party were staying.
He had dark brown hair and was very thin, with a dull short sword hanging at his waist.
The young boy saw Clay stop and walked over, extending his hand like a little adult.
"I'm Jon. Nice to meet you," he said, his voice carrying a hint of shyness.
It was strange; he didn't introduce his last name. However, Clay had already guessed who he was.
"Clay." They shook hands, Clay stating his name, also omitting his last name.
The young boy before him was most likely the future King of the North, Jon Snow, who possessed the blood of both wolf and dragon. His last name was a very sensitive topic for him; he was very self-conscious about being a bastard.
"Are you... from House Manderly?" Jon stared at the Merman Banner planted in the courtyard, studying it for a moment before asking hesitantly.
Because he wasn't favored by Lady Catelyn, Jon hadn't received any systematic education in heraldry. He knew nothing about these complicated family relationships.
Seeing Clay nod, a hint of dimness flashed in Jon's eyes. Although he was born into the noble House Stark, he'd rather have a last name of his own like the person from House Manderly, who was a head taller than him. He greatly hated the damned bastard marker, Snow.
Jon quickly adjusted himself. As the best swordsman among the younger generation of House Stark, he had just observed Clay's sword swings and footwork, something Ser Rodrik had never taught him.
The boy's competitive spirit took over, and he couldn't help but ask, "Hey, can I spar with you?"
Even though he hadn't grasped the essence of Wolf School Swordsmanship, Clay wouldn't refuse such a challenge. He laughed heartily.
"Of course, Jon."
The two of them stood facing each other. The House Manderly guards who had already gotten up cleared a space for their young master.
"Be careful, Ser Rodrik said my swordsmanship is the best in the family, even better than Robb's." The innocent boy was completely unaware that he had just revealed his identity. Which of the Northern lords didn't know the name of the heir to The North?
The two of them faced off, and a large crowd had gathered around them without anyone noticing. There were House Manderly guards, and also those from House Stark. Ser Rodrik was among them, with a middle-aged man standing behind him, staring intently at the scene.
Jon circled the area a few times and found that Clay's footwork was constantly pressuring him, not giving him a comfortable opportunity to launch an attack. He made a decisive decision and shouted, lunging forward with his sword.
Clang! Clay's blade barely managed to block Jon's attack at his waist. He hadn't expected Jon's attack to be so fierce. His hand-and-a-half sword was much heavier, making it naturally slower to wield.
Seeing his attack blocked, Jon immediately retracted his sword. Before he could thrust a second time, Clay's upward slash forced him to parry.
The two weapons met again, and Jon felt a great force come over him, causing him to take two steps back.
At this moment, Clay was grateful that the time he'd spent on Wolf School Swordsmanship hadn't been wasted. He quickly advanced, following the practiced steps, and slashed down with his sword.
Weapons clashed repeatedly, drawing cheers from the onlookers. The middle-aged man frowned. He looked at Ser Rodrik, who was also furrowing his snow-white eyebrows. Just as he was about to speak, he heard Ser Rodrik say,
"This is going to be difficult. Jon might lose."
In the arena, the two young men were wielding their weapons. Behind them, the Running Wolf Banner of House Stark and the Merman Banner of House Manderly fluttered quietly in the morning sunlight.
"An interesting lad." The middle-aged man watched the arena, Clay's figure reflected in his gray eyes.
"When they're done, inform him that I'll be waiting for him in the hall." The middle-aged man left the crowd.
"Yes, Duke Stark."