There was no struggle; the man died quickly.
This was the truest face of the world. Violence was the bond that maintained social stability. Therefore, there was really nothing surprising about killing someone.
Perhaps only the purest souls could feel fear. The nearby horses neighed and reared up, but were quickly calmed by their riders, who were skilled horsemen.
"Let's go," Duke Eddard said in a low voice, though the laws of the kingdom had been enforced, it was clearly not a pleasant thing for him.
The silent group turned their horses' heads and headed back the way they had come.
Clay heard Duke Eddard speaking softly to Bran, his young son, who was witnessing the execution for the first time. At this moment, Eddard Stark removed the solemn mask of the Warden of the North and began to play the role of a kind father.
He had just instructed the captain of the guard to take two guards and go to Wolfwood to get the bark of a Sentinel tree for him.
Although he didn't understand the young master's intentions, the captain of the guard still resolutely carried out the order. When Duke Eddard gave the command to return, the three men and their three horses left the main force and plunged into the endless Wolfwood.
The horses' hooves moved forward slowly, seemingly reflecting the master's gloomy mood.
Clay was indeed very agitated. He knew this was the year 298 of the Conquest, but he never expected the incident of killing a Night's Watch deserter to happen so quickly.
Originally, his plan was to use this trip to Winterfell to figure out the relationship between the Weirwood, or the Heart Tree as the northerners called it, and the Old Gods' faith, which had taken root in the lands north of the Neck for thousands of years.
Previously, in the godswood of White Harbor, there was a small, stunted Heart Tree. When Clay touched it, he did feel a bit of power flowing into his body along his arm, and his mana pool also increased slightly.
Clay believed that when he was allowed to touch the oldest Heart Tree in Winterfell, his mana pool would definitely be sufficiently replenished.
But now the plan had to be overturned. Clay knew very well that the execution meant that Jon Arryn, the Hand of the King in King's Landing, must have already died from the poison of Littlefinger Petyr.
King Robert I, who had overthrown the Targaryen Dynasty, must now be on the King's Road towards Winterfell with his court.
Now, Clay was undoubtedly a small player, unable to influence Duke Eddard's decisions. Once the direwolves marched south, and the unsuspecting Stag and Direwolf had their throats ripped out by the Lion, the War of the Five Kings would become inevitable.
Northerners valued honor above all else. If Robb Stark led his army south, Clay couldn't avoid participating. But when he thought about the northern nobles captured during the war, and the Stark family's fate at the Red Wedding, Clay felt a chill run down his spine.
He wasn't a god. Since he was in this game of thrones, he was mostly swept along by the tide. He didn't have much time to break the deadlock...
Jon and Robb, who had ridden far ahead, were standing on a low hill, shouting towards the main group, "Father, Bran, come see what we found!"
In the deathly silence, Clay saw the two intertwined corpses by the bridge. The giant wolf, whose size was astonishing, had been impaled through the throat by the stag's antlers. The party from Winterfell, sensitive to heraldry, remained silent.
Northerners believed in the gods, and therefore they also revered them. The bloody scene, with its obvious symbolism, filled everyone with fear, except Clay.
Clay arrived late. The five wolf pups had already been taken out and were huddled in the arms of Bran and his brothers.
"This is a bad omen. Born of death," Clay heard someone murmur.
Theon Greyjoy wore a cynical smile on his face as he drew the sword from his waist, addressing his supposed brother, Bran.
"Bran, those things won't last long. Toss them over here!"
Clay had never liked Theon, especially that long face of his that always wore an annoying grin. Annoyed, he blurted out without thinking,
"They're not your wolves, what's it to you!"
The bridge, which had been quiet, fell silent, and everyone turned to look at Clay. Theon was stunned for a moment, then became enraged, and the gleaming blade pointed toward Clay's horse's head.
He probably didn't control his strength, and the tip of the sword actually struck Clay's mount in the cheek. The horse was startled and reared up, throwing Clay off.
Rolling half a turn on the ground in a rather awkward manner, Clay steadied himself. He looked at Theon Greyjoy, who was grinning silently, and a towering rage surged within him. Clay, never one to be pushed around, reached for the longsword that had fallen to the side...
Seeing their young master unseated, the Manderly family guards instinctively reached for the hilts of their swords, but in the presence of Eddard Stark, they did not dare to draw them.
"Say that again, Manderly boy!" Seeing that no one spoke, Theon became even more arrogant. Just as he was about to say something nasty, a sharp hand-and-a-half sword flashed, whistling toward his face.
Ser Rodrik, who had just been about to stop Theon, instinctively raised his sword to block. There was a sharp clang, and the elderly knight stumbled back two steps, his remaining weapon a broken sword with a large notch. The weapon Clay had thrown with all his might was now shaking, embedded in the ground in front of Theon's legs.
"Stop!" Duke Eddard roared, kicking his foster son to the ground.
"Take him back to Winterfell." The Winterfell guards hoisted the ashen-faced and slightly incontinent Theon and quickly departed.
Duke Eddard glanced at Ser Rodrik's broken sword and examined the now-calm Clay with a strange look. He didn't ask why Clay had drawn his weapon, but instead inquired, "Manderly, why did you say that?"
Relieved that Duke Eddard wasn't pressing the issue, Clay breathed a sigh of relief, chiding himself for his impulsiveness, and replied, "Just the corpses of a wolf and a stag. Why must we pick on the surviving wolf?"
"Those are direwolves, and they've never been seen south of the Wall," Robb chimed in.
"I know. If that's the case, then what I'd most like to do right now is pull out the direwolf's teeth, find a lion, jam it in the wolf's eyes, and then throw the lion's corpse into the sewers of Casterly Rock," Clay shrugged.
The matter ended with Duke Eddard's exceptionally rare laughter. He instructed his children to personally raise the direwolf pups, and oh yes, the white wolf that belonged to Jon as well. He made no further mention of the incident between Clay and Theon.
On the way back, bathed in the friendly gazes of the people of Winterfell, Clay noticed that Robb, riding beside him, kept unconsciously moving his teeth, as if testing their sharpness...