The Merman's Palace, the hall of White Harbor's New Castle.
The walls, floor, and ceiling were all cleverly fitted from thick wooden planks, painted with all manner of sea creatures.
"Grandfather—Domeric sent a letter saying the price of ironwork is going up again!"
"Then let it go up."
Wylfyd's eyes went wide at Lord Wyman's airy reply. "But Grandfather, this is the third time he's written to raise prices! He must think House Manderly is easy to push around. If we agree this readily again, it won't be long before he raises them again…"
"I'm delighted my precious granddaughter is thinking of the house," Lord Wyman cut in with a booming laugh.
"Of course I am—I'm a Manderly woman," Wylfyd said loudly, then her voice shrank as she muttered under her breath, "At least until I marry that bastard…"
Lord Wyman was so fat he traveled by litter, and was mocked as "the lord too fat to ride a horse."
He was around sixty, with a great belly and fingers thick as sausages. The smallfolk jokingly called him "Lord Eel," because he looked foolish—though in truth he was very shrewd.
"After the price rises, are we still making money?" Lord Wyman asked, smiling benignly.
Wylfyd shook her head, then nodded—still indignant. "We'll still earn plenty, but the profit will be much lower than before. What we used to make in one run, we'll need two voyages for now.
More importantly, we can't let Domeric keep raising prices whenever he likes. No—he's squeezing us at will."
"Then we stop doing business," Lord Wyman said leisurely. "Let Domeric hand the iron trade to other houses. White Harbor will have nothing to do with it."
"Huh?" Wylfyd's anger faltered into hesitation. "But… Grandfather, if we do that, we lose our biggest trading partner. These past few years, more than ninety percent of our growth has been driven by the iron trade. Are we just going to throw it away? What happens to White Harbor's future?"
Lord Wyman chuckled. "Now you understand, my dear. We have no choice.
Domeric Bolton, however, has countless choices. And I've no doubt half the realm would like a taste of his iron—Braavosi merchants, great lords in King's Landing… even the Redwyne fleet."
Wylfyd sighed, stepped close, and hugged her grandfather's thick arm, slipping into a coaxing tone. "Grandfather, then teach me. What do we do now? Do we simply accept being at his mercy?"
Lord Wyman patted her head affectionately. Instead of answering, he asked, "What sort of man do you think Domeric Bolton is?"
Wylfyd thought carefully. "He's quiet. Talented. He knows history, plays the harp, rides as if he was born in the saddle… and being with him feels comfortable. He has a kind of charm…"
"Ser Domeric is not only what you imagine," Lord Wyman said.
"What do you mean?" Wylfyd frowned.
Lord Wyman drew a letter from his sleeve and handed it over. "This is from your second uncle, Wendel. Read it yourself."
Wylfyd scanned the page, then looked up in surprise. "Is he really as exaggerated as Uncle claims?"
"More than that," Lord Wyman added, his gaze deepening. "He used Jorah Mormont's royal pardon to buy the Lord Commander of Castle Black—Jeor Mormont—and then he began capturing wildling slaves beyond the Wall on a grand scale. He subdued the mountain clans and took in refugees.
I remember when his holding had fewer than three thousand souls. Now it's pushing well past a hundred thousand."
He paused, then went on, even more grimly. "And what shocked me most—during that war with House Karstark, Domeric lost fewer than a hundred men and annihilated Karstark's entire host. It's absurd."
"So… impressive," Wylfyd breathed. It was the first time she had heard her grandfather praise anyone like this. Her face showed genuine shock—though she could not stop the pleased little laugh inside her.
"That Bolton boy is not ordinary," Lord Wyman said, then his expression hardened. "Clear-eyed, bold, smooth in dealing with others without being sluggish or sentimental—and with real military ability. His future is… difficult to measure."
Wylfyd tapped the letter in her hand. "But Grandfather, you still haven't told me how we answer him. Do we really agree to the price increase?"
"Why wouldn't we?" Lord Wyman said without hesitation. "A true merchant takes only a limited profit—only then can trade endure."
"And besides," he continued, "if he's that capable, it's a waste to deal with him only as a customer. Why not form an alliance with him?"
Wylfyd hesitated. "How?"
Lord Wyman smiled. "Ask yourself: why did Domeric hand the whole iron trade to us? What does he want from White Harbor?"
Wylfyd fell into thought, and her mind drifted to White Harbor's history.
Before the city was built, the surrounding lands had belonged to the Wolf's Den. Since ancient times, countless kin of the Kings of Winter—or their sworn bannermen—had held the Wolf's Den and ruled the mouth of the White Knife. The longest rule had been the Greystarks.
After their extinction, the Wolf's Den passed between houses, and at times was taken by pirates, slavers, or knights from the Vale.
Finally, a thousand years before Aegon's Conquest, a King in the North granted the lands to House Manderly—ending the era of constant upheaval. Under the Manderlys, it grew into the White Harbor of today.
After a long moment, Wylfyd answered, uncertain. "A fleet?"
"Precisely." Lord Wyman nodded. "House Bolton is among the most powerful in the North. On land, aside from House Stark, they have few equals. But they lack a navy.
White Harbor is the only house in the North with a true fleet. That is what the boy wants."
Wylfyd still looked unsure. "But Grandfather, concretely—how do we form an alliance?"
Lord Wyman guided her gently. "Then keep thinking. How do nobles most often bind themselves as allies?"
"By marriage."
"Exactly. Marriage is the oldest and most effective pact between noble houses. But before any formal match, we must confirm one thing."
"What?"
"His resolve to ally with us. In simpler terms—your weight in Domeric's heart, and House Manderly's weight in his."
"I understand." Wylfyd nodded quickly, eyes bright with eagerness—then, as the excitement settled, a note of insecurity crept in. "Grandfather… what if he refuses? He has plenty of girls he likes."
"You needn't worry overmuch." Lord Wyman's voice stretched calm and patient. "People avoid harm and chase advantage. And among nobles there are no eternal friends—only eternal interests.
Even if a marriage does not happen, if he wants White Harbor's fleet, we can still be allies.
Hold tight to the iron trade as the leash, and the bond will not break.
For an ambitious, intelligent man like Domeric, House Manderly's goodwill is not something he will refuse."
Lord Wyman's tone was unhurried as he spoke on…
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🏰 Game of Thrones: Secrets Beneath the Dreadfort
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