Chapter 9.4 Real Tragedy

It had been some time since Wyman Manderly's departure, and he was currently gazing out to sea wistfully, sitting beside his son on a pair of stools on the deck of the galley.

"The sea is quite restless," commented Ser Wendel Manderly.

"The sea is simply representing reality, we are in uneasy times."

"You mean because of the Dustin?".

"Not only because of them, the Boltons are also a threat, and the North, which should be strong and united, is more divided than ever. We Manderly are the only ones who can make some sort of balance in the situation. Ned Stark took three bloody years to send a letter he should have sent the moment he learned of the deal I made with the Dustins for Wynafryd's hand."

"Do you regret the engagement?"

"No, I don't regret it," Wyman replied after thinking about it for a while. "It was the best thing for House Manderly. Thanks to transporting that gold our people live better, our family lives better. It's selfish of course, but deep down we're all a little bit selfish."

"I guess you're right, House Manderly can afford to be a little selfish, but..."

"I know, son. We can never forget our debt to the Starks. We will always be at their service, though certainly, once my granddaughter becomes pregnant, things can only get more complicated."

"That is why the marriage between Robb Stark and Wylla is imperative, in order to ensure our neutrality. You should not have waited for my brother's return."

"I had to, it's the least respect I owe my son."

"Ship ahoy!" came a shout, causing the father and son duo to fix their sights on the seemingly approaching vessel. Wyman had to strain his eyes, because of his age he was having trouble making out the object that seemed to be getting closer and closer.

Wendel was a little luckier. Wyman's son's eyesight was better; quite good in fact so although he couldn't identify its owner, he could identify the outlines of the galley, and it wasn't too big; a little smaller than his own.

"Can you see who it belongs to?" asked Wyman with a loud shout to the lookout. He had a bad feeling.

The escort boat also saw the craft, but still took no action. If it kept getting closer they would have to position themselves between Wyman's boat and the new guest, as a precaution.

"Not clearly Milord" replied the lookout, straining his vision to identify the shield, but only a minute later, with the ship already a little more visible, he was able to identify it. "I think I see it, it's a white crab with long legs on a green background."

"A white crab?" muttered Wendel, trying to remember what such a crest might belong to.

"House Borrel," Wyman replied. "Lords of Sweetsister, Shields of Sisterton, Masters of Castle Breakwater and Guardians of the Night Lamp."

"Of the Three Sisters. Are they pirates then?" said Wyman's son in a nervous tone.

"There's no denying the piratical nature of the inhabitants of those islands, but we haven't had any trouble with them for a long time. In fact, they trade every day with White Harbor, and there has been no attack on the gold being transported through these waters."

"So there's nothing to worry about.." commented Wendel, but he was still scowling at the ship, already much closer to their position. They could identify a group of people watching them from the deck, though their bulky clothing hid their faces.

"It looks like it, but I wouldn't put down the..." commented Wyman, but the next moment the wind whistled loudly, and Wyman's words stopped. Wendel seemed to see something pass by to his right, but it all happened so fast that his brain could not register the scene with complete clarity.

Wendel stopped listening to his father's words, so he knew something was wrong. With some resistance he turned his head, and there he saw him, his father, still with his mouth open unable to finish his sentence, but a certain detail stood out taking away the harmony of his face.

An arrow was piercing his eye.