"King Robert has led his new Hand, Lord Eddard, south to the Neck. Upon receiving the letters, Lord Eddard's eldest son, Robb Stark, will act as the Warden of the North, exercising the powers of the North."
That was all the letter said. Lord Wyman placed the note on the table, his brow furrowed as he stared at it.
The previous generation of Northern lords, and their sons, had suffered a horrific fate in the south, burned alive. Many Northern nobles were uneasy, not wanting Lord Eddard Stark, whom they respected, to once again enter the stinking cesspool of King's Landing.
But they, like Clay, couldn't influence the Warden of the North they admired. Just as Lord Eddard's own thoughts didn't matter, he couldn't dictate the king's will.
Now, with Lord Eddard himself following the king's procession through Moat Cailin, leaving the North entirely, the vassal families of the North had to consider whether to engage with Robb Stark, the young heir.
"Clay, tell me, what kind of person is this young Stark?"
The old lord sipped his golden-red wine, somewhat relieved that his grandson had made contact with the younger generation of Starks ahead of time. This would allow him to get a more truthful view than the usual empty praise.
Hearing the old lord's question, Clay recalled the young face he'd seen on the training grounds of Winterfell. How to evaluate him? That wasn't a problem for Clay.
"He's not that different from his father. Or rather, his idol since childhood has been his own father. The only difference is that he's younger and more impulsive."
This was Clay's answer. The old man nodded after hearing it, and commented, "It's a common ailment of the young, you're the same."
Clay knew what the old man was referring to and could only chuckle foolishly. But the old man didn't intend to say anything more, instead asking Clay another question:
"Do you think our King Robert's choice of Lord Eddard as the esteemed Hand of the King is a good one?"
This was a bit of a test, because this wasn't something Clay should be concerned with or assessing at this stage. But since the old man had asked, Clay couldn't not answer. He couldn't exactly say he didn't know, could he?
After some thought, although he remembered Lord Eddard's unfortunate end, the current events absolutely didn't lead to the bizarre scenario of the king's death and the Hand being beheaded by the queen.
"King Robert is a warrior king by nature. Or, in my opinion, he's more like a pure warrior than a king. I'm not at all surprised that he chose Lord Eddard, who has a deep friendship with him."
"And?" The old man followed up with a smile, pressing him.
"Furthermore, from the beginning of Robert's Rebellion, the alliance of the Tully, Stark, Arryn, and Baratheon families has been the foundation for maintaining the kingdom's stability. After the death of the old Hand, Jon Arryn of the Eyrie, apart from King Robert himself, who is of the Baratheon, Lord Hoster Tully is said to have been bedridden for a long time. Therefore, Lord Eddard is his best choice."
After listening to this, Clay saw his grandfather finally reveal a satisfied smile. He pointed to the wine cabinet, signaling Clay to help himself. Clay didn't hesitate.
He wasn't a connoisseur, but that didn't stop him from enjoying a drink. He selected a bottle of Summer Red, just like his grandfather's, grabbed a small knife from the table, and knocked out the cork. He took a satisfying swig.
"Your points are mostly correct, but there's one thing you're wrong about. Lord Eddard wasn't his best choice; he was his only choice."
The old man shook his head, correcting Clay's statement. Seeing his grandson's intrigued expression, he stroked his chin and slowly said:
"You saw it in Winterfell. Our King has the same feelings about the Lannisters as we do, not a shred of goodwill. But the King has been in King's Landing for years, and the Baratheons around him are far fewer than the Lannisters."
The old man gulped down a large mouthful of wine, a hint of a smile on his face as he continued:
"If our Lord Eddard were to refuse our King, besides completely offending him, there would be a secondary consequence. It would force the King to leave Winterfell and go to the Westerlands, swallowing his pride and asking the old lion to be his Hand in King's Landing. Think about the consequences."
"The balance of power between the royal family and the Lannisters in King's Landing would be lost. The King himself probably wouldn't be able to sleep soundly."
"You're right, that's exactly what it is. Our King, the gods gave him a talent for the battlefield, but forgot to give him the ability to govern the country, and he knows it himself."
It was true, the old man was absolutely right. He'd been focusing too much on historical factors and neglecting the current political balance.
However, Clay also detected a hidden meaning in the old man's words. After a moment's hesitation, he asked the question that was on his mind.
"Grandfather, how did you know about the King's attitude towards the Lannisters in Winterfell, and what's happening in King's Landing?"
Having asked, Clay saw no surprise on the old man's face. Lord Wyman seemed to have expected the question. He smiled and tapped his finger against the wine bottle, producing a light "ding."
"Because in the group that went to Winterfell with you, and in that cesspit of King's Landing, we have eyes from the Manderly family, you just didn't know it."
Seeing the stunned expression on his grandson's face, the old man waved his hand and continued, "Don't be surprised, it's not uncommon. In fact, our good neighbor, the Old Skinner of the Dreadfort, also has a force doing the same thing. Haven't you heard? There are probably more spies in the flea-bottom of King's Landing than there are paupers."
My god, how many things do you old, cunning noblemen still have that I don't know about!
Shocked, Clay suddenly felt a sense of unfamiliarity with the world of A Song of Ice and Fire, a world he once thought he knew very well.
Indeed, there wasn't a single good-natured person among these families that had stood on the continent of Westeros for hundreds or even thousands of years. Truly terrifying, they were all schemers.
Thinking this, Clay took a sip of the Summer Red, the sweetness now tasting like nothing in his mouth. The old man beside him watched with a smile, as if waiting for him to digest the information.
After about ten minutes, Clay had almost recovered. He realized the old man was still watching him. Just as he was about to speak, he heard the old man's voice:
"Our group is called the White Sea. Well, are you interested in becoming their commander..."
Oops, I'll fix any typos later, just trying to stay safe!
Spies aren't the goal themselves; it's the timely acquisition of information that matters. The protagonist is currently far from the centers of power. The existence of spies is a necessary means for him to perceive the situation. I think it's a reasonable extension that major families have their own spy networks. In the original work, only Littlefinger and Varys in the royal family used spies to engage in schemes. But this thing doesn't require a professional license or intellectual property protection. Who says other families can't do it? There are many families richer and more powerful than those two. Other families aren't stupid, not everyone is as loyal and honest as the Starks.
....
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